Journal articles on the topic 'Malawi – History – 1994-'

On 17 May, 1995, the Malawi National Assembly adopted a democratic constitution. In terms of Malawi’s post-colonial history, the adoption of the constitution was an unprecedented event. For a period of 30 years, Malawi had been subjected to a one-party dictatorship led by Dr Hastings Banda. Supported over the years by the West because of its anti-communist rhetoric, the Banda regime found itself abandoned with the ending of the Cold War and the collapse of apartheid in South Africa. Pressure from internal and external groups led to a referendum on the oneparty state in June 1993 which the Banda regime lost and to the first multi-party elections in May 1994 which the regime also lost. A day before the 1994 elections, the Malawi National Assembly adopted a Provisional Constitution for a period of 12 months. Pursuant to section 212 of the Provisional Constitution, the National Constitutional Conference was held in February 1995 for the purpose of making recommendations to the National Assembly on a permanent constitution. Rather than replace or repeal the Provisional Constitution, the National Assembly decided in April 1995 to make modest amendments to it in order to address some of the more blatant deficiencies that were identified at the Constitutional Conference. During the coming years, the Law Commission will make a detailed study of the entire document, make recommendations to the Minister of Justice and, it is hoped, address some of the obvious drafting oversights.

A national survey of sexually transmitted disease (STD) case management was carried out at 39 health care facilities in Malawi in 1994. Fifty-four health care providers were observed managing 150 patients presenting with selected STD syndromes and 103 providers were interviewed. STD case management was assessed by calculation of WHO/GPA prevention indicators (PIs) from observation data. The overall rate for PI-6, which measures correct assessment and treatment of STD patients was 11% (81% for history taking, 46% in physical examination, and 13% correct antibiotic treatment according to national guidelines). The score for PI-7, which measures overall patient counselling was 29% (65% for partner notification and 40% for condom advice). Although Haemophilus ducreyi is at least as common as Treponema pallidum as the causative agent for genital ulcers, only 16% of patients with genital ulcers were treated effectively for chancroid vs 56% for syphilis. Female patients received less comprehensive care than male STD patients. Only 20% of STD patients were offered condoms. Overall, the survey results support the policy decision to adopt syndromic management of STDs, and provide baseline information for planning and evaluation of a national control programme.

In this personal short historical perspective I reflect on aspects of the medical history of Malawi, formerly Nyasaland, highlighting the role of Scotland and its people in the development of the Malawi medical services in both the colonial as well as the postcolonial period which began in 1964. The paper, after discussing the history of medical training in Malawi and current constraints and challenges, goes on to make some suggestions - based on historical lessons - about future role of Scottish involvement in Malawi's medical development. It would be unfortunate if, in a rush to ‘help or do something’ the mistakes of the past are repeated.

In many sub-Saharan African countries, tuberculosis (TB) cases have been increasing steadily since 1985. In Malawi, they have increased by 38% from 1990 to 1993, and extrapulmonary TB increased by 79%. Among 385 patients with a history of persistent cough presumed to be TB, 360 (94%) initially consented to be tested for both HIV and TB. Of these, 301 completed testing and 95% returned for their test results. Among test completers ( n = 301), 280 (93%) were found to be HIV-infected. Seropositivity rates were similar for males and females, and higher for urban dwellers than for rural dwellers (94% versus 79%). TB was found in only 48 (16%) patients. Among TB patients, 33 (77%) were HIV positive. This study suggests that TB may not be the main cause of persistent cough among persons using urban chest clinics in Malawi; HIV without sputum positive TB appears to be a major contributor. Clinicians in areas of high HIV prevalence should therefore suspect other HIV-related infections in a patient with persistent cough and in whom TB has been ruled out.

In the history of Malawi's transport and communications, few modes of travel can be more unusual or fascinating than the flying-boat service from November 1949 to October 1950 between Southampton in Britain and Vaaldam near Johannesburg in South Africa, via Cape Maclear, a somewhat isolated and inaccessible spot on the south-west shore of Lake Malawi, 150 miles from the then administrative capital of Zomba and a further 50 miles from the main commercial centre of Blantyre. Although short-lived and of limited immediate practical importance, its long-term significance was considerable, whilst the details of how the service came about add to our knowledge of the early post-World War II history of colonial Nyasaland, and tell us a good deal about the Governor of the time, Geoffrey Colby.

Witchcraft and Hysteria in Elizabethan London (£45, 149 pp., 1991) is edited with an introduction by Michael MacDonald, Professor of History at the University of Michigan. George Cheyne: The English Malady (1733) (£40, 370 pp., 1991) is edited with an introduction by Roy Porter, Senior Lecturer in the social history of medicine at the Wellcome institute for the History of Medicine, London. The Asylum as Utopia (£40, 240 pp., 1991) is edited with an introduction by Andrew Scull, Professor of Sociology and Science Studies at the University of California, San Diego, Clinical Lectures on Diseases of the Nervous System by J. M. Charcot (£45, 438 pp., 1991) is edited with an introduction by Ruth Harris, Fellow of Modern History at New College, Oxford. All four titles are published by Tavistock/Routledge, London, in a series of facsimile editions.

Press Corporation, a large diversified Malawian company, was the personal property of Kamuzu Banda who ruled Malawi as a dictator for thirty years from independence in 1964. The history of Press is analysed in order to generate insights into the relationship between politics and economics in Africa. Comparative references are made to the experience of East Asian countries, as there are important similarities between their development paths and that of Malawi under Banda. The activities of Press Corporation were, in general, similar to parastatal companies elsewhere in Africa but, unlike the latter, Press was profitable and viable as a commercial entity. This challenges the idea that there is a compelling logic in African patrimonialist politics which necessitates parasitism on the economy. The experience of Press points to the value of such large multisectoral companies, as they can mobilise scarce local savings and channel them as venture capital into areas where investment has large external benefits, while the discipline of the profit and loss account in the company is not lost.

During the first few decades of the 20th century, the Nkhoma mission of the Dutch Reformed Church of South Africa became involved in an ecumenical venture that was initiated by the Church of Scotland’s Blantyre mission, and the Free Church of Scotland’s Livingstonia mission in central Africa. Geographically sandwiched between these two Scots missions in Nyasaland (presently Malawi) was Nkhoma in the central region of the country. During a period of history when the DRC in South Africa had begun to regressively disengage from ecumenical entanglements in order to focus on its developing discourse of Afrikaner Christian nationalism, this venture in ecumenism by one of its foreign missions was a remarkable anomaly. Yet, as this article illustrates, the ecumenical project as finalized at a conference in 1924 was characterized by controversy and nearly became derailed as a result of the intransigence of white DRC missionaries on the subject of eating together with black colleagues at a communal table. Negotiations proceeded and somehow ended in church unity despite the DRC’s missionaries’ objection to communal eating. After the merger of the synods of Blantyre, Nkhoma and Livingstonia into the unified CCAP, distinct regional differences remained, long after the colonial missionaries departed. In terms of its theological predisposition, especially on the hierarchy of social relations, the Nkhoma synod remains much more conservative than both of its neighboring synods in the CCAP to the south and north. Race is no longer a matter of division. More recently, it has been gender, and especially the issue of women’s ordination to ministry, which has been affirmed by both Blantyre and Livingstonia, but resisted by the Nkhoma synod. Back in South Africa, these events similarly had an impact on church history and theological debate, but in a completely different direction. As the theology of Afrikaner Christian nationalism and eventually apartheid came into positions of power in the 1940s, the DRC’s Nkhoma mission in Malawi found itself in a position of vulnerability and suspicion. The very fact of its participation in an ecumenical project involving ‘liberal’ Scots in the formation of an indigenous black church was an intolerable digression from the normative separatism that was the hallmark of the DRC under apartheid. Hence, this article focuses on the variegated entanglements of Reformed Church history, mission history, theology and politics in two different 20th-century African contexts, Malawi and South Africa.

AbstractIn March 1964 the entire African labour force at Wankie Colliery, “Wangi Kolia”, in Southern Rhodesia went on strike. Situated about eighty miles south-east of the Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River, central Africa’s only large coalmine played a pivotal role in the region’s political economy. Described byDrum, the famous South African magazine, as a “bitter underpaid place”, the colliery’s black labour force was largely drawn from outside colonial Zimbabwe. While some workers came from Angola, Tanganyika (Tanzania), and Nyasaland (Malawi), the great majority were from Northern Rhodesia (Zambia). Less than one-quarter came from Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) itself. Although poor-quality food rations in lieu of wages played an important role in precipitating female-led industrial action, it also occurred against a backdrop of intense struggle against exploitation over an extended period of time. As significant was the fact that it happened within a context of regional instability and sweeping political changes, with the independence of Zambia already impending. This late colonial conjuncture sheds light on the region’s entangled dynamics of gender, race, and class.

The period covering the first seven years of Malawi's independence (1964–1971) stands out as one of the most controversial in the country's postcolonial legislative history. It was during this period, for example, that the local or “Native” Courts of the colonial era were transformed into the now controversial Traditional Courts and given an existence separate from and independent of the High Court, as well as extensive criminal jurisdiction encompassing offences like murder and manslaughter and, subsequently, treason and sedition which were hitherto the preserve of the High Court. At the same time, the participation of lawyers in traditional court processes and the right of legal representation were curtailed under the pretext of ensuring that the course of justice would not be subverted by the frequent invocation of “technicalities” which lawyers are wont to invoke because of the alien and esoteric nature of their training. This paper is not concerned with the “law” of the Traditional Courts in Malawi which, elsewhere, continues to excite appropriate scholarly interest, but with another equally controversial law of the same period whose formulation was buttressed by similar antipathy towards the legal profession. This law introduced a special and rigorous regime for the prosecution and punishment of thefts in the public service.

SUMMARYThis study examines the effects of host age and sex on the frequency distribution of Brugia malayi infections in the human host. Microfilarial (mf) counts for a large data base on the epidemiology of brugian filariasis in Shertallai, Kerala, South India are analysed. Frequency distributions of microfilarial counts partitioned by age are successfully described by zero-truncated negative binomial distributions, fitted by maximum likelihood. This analysis provides estimates of the proportion of mf-positive individuals who are identified as negative due to sampling errors, allowing the construction of corrected mf age–prevalence curves, which indicate that the observed prevalence may under-estimate the true figures by between 18 and 47%. There is no evidence from these results for a decrease in the degree of over-dispersion of parasite frequency distributions with host age, such as might be produced by the acquired immunity to infection. This departure from the pattern in bancroftian filariasis (where there is evidence of such decreases in over-dispersion; Das et al. 1990) is discussed in terms of the long history of filariasis control (and consequently low infection prevalence) in Shertallai.

Background: Sub-Saharan Africa faces region-specific risk factors for chronic kidney disease (CKD), such as nephrotoxic herbal medicines, antiretroviral therapy and infections, in addition to hypertension and diabetes. However, large epidemiological studies from this area are scarce. Methods: In a cross-sectional survey of non-communicable diseases, we conducted a prevalence sub-study of CKD in two Malawian populations. Study participants (N=5264) of 18 years of age and above were recruited and data on demographics and CKD risk factors were collected. Glomerular filtration rate was estimated (eGFR) using the CKD-EPI equation. Results: The prevalence of eGFR<60ml/min/1.73m2 was 1.4% (95% CI 1.1 – 1.7%) and eGFR<90ml/min/1.73m2 was 20.6% (95% CI 19.5 – 21.7%). The rural area had higher age-standardized prevalence of both eGFR<60ml/min/1.73m2, at 1.8% (95% CI 1.4 – 2.3) and eGFR <90 ml/min/1.73m², at 21.1% (95% CI 19.9 – 22.3), than urban location, which had a prevalence of 1.5%, (95% CI 1.0 – 2.2) and 19.4% (95% CI 18.0 – 20.8), respectively, with overlapping confidence intervals. The prevalence of CKD was lower in females than in males in both rural and urban areas. Older age (p < 0.001), a higher level of education (p = 0.03) and hypertension (p < 0.001) were associated with a higher adjusted odds ratio (aOR) of low eGFR. Diabetes was associated with a reduced aOR of eGFR<90ml/min/1.73m2 of 0.69 (95% CI 0.49–0.96; p=0.03). Of participants with eGFR<60ml/min/1.73m2, 14 (19.4%) had no history of hypertension, diabetes or HIV, while 36 (50%) had a single risk factor of being hypertensive. Conclusions: Impaired renal function is prevalent, but lower than expected, in rural and urban Malawi. Further research is needed to increase understanding of CKD incidence, survival and validation of eGFR calculations in this population.

In Africa, the natural history of SCD is often assumed to be same to the African Diaspora in the US, Jamaica, Europe or Latin America. Yet the environment can be different, including different pathogen exposure, such as malaria. To help better understand this, over 2000 references were identified using the names of all current or past names of African continent countries and the truncated word sickl$, followed by secondary nested and cross reference searches. Six cases series describing causes of death were identified, representing 182 children (Ndugwa, 1973, Athale, 1994, Koko, 1998, Diagne, 2000, Rahimy, 2003, Van-Dunem, 2007). Gender was reported in 172, 73 were female (42%). Age was reported in 118, 52 were < 5 years (44%). Four studies described some impediment to care or arrival for care in extremis in1/4 to over ½ of patients that died. In Uganda, 9/12 (75%) patient died at home. In Gabon 6/23 (26%) patients died within 4 hours of reaching the hospital and 11/23 (48%) within 24 hours. In Benin 2/10 (20%) died of splenic sequestration diagnosed at home; 38/64 (53%) of patients in Mozambique that died, lived outside of the capital. Causes of death were identified in 146 individuals. These included: fever/sepsis: n=59 (40%), including meningitis: n=15 (10%) and pyelonephritis: n=2 (1%); acute anemia: n=43 (29%), including spleen sequestration: n=28 (19%) and aplastic anemia: n=8 (5%); pain: n=22 (15%); acute chest syndrome/pneumonia: n=18 (12%); CNS: n=8 (5%), including stroke: n=4 (3%), seizure/ coma: n=5 (3%); liver disease: n=5 (3%) including hepatitis: n=3 (2%); Other: n=19 (13%) including wasting/ malnutrition: n=7 (5%), heart failure/cardiomyopathy: n=4 (3%), diarrhea and vomiting: n=3 (2%), transfusion reaction: n=2 (1%). Infectious pathogens were identified in 26, including malaria: n=10 (38%), S. pneumoniae: n=3 (12%), Salmonella: n=2 (8%), H. influenza, Klebsiella and Citrobacter: n=1 (4%) each; viral agents were reported in n=8 (31%) including HBV: n=5 (19%), HIV: n=3 (12%). Reported general population hemoglobinopathy surveys after birth revealed the following Relative Risk (RR) of observing individuals with hemoglobin SS compared to Hardy Weinberg expected frequencies (some age cohorts overlap; Tanzania '56, Benin '09, Burkina Faso '70, Central African Republic'75, Gabon'65/'80, Gambia'56, Ghana '56/‘57/'00/'10, Kenya '04/'10, Malawi '72/'00/'04, Mozambique '86, Nigeria '56/'70/'79/'81/'84/'05, Senegal '69, Sierra Leone '56). Age 0-1 years, total n=2112 observed n=22 (1.0%), expected n=16.5 (0.8%), RR=1.3 (95% CI=0.7,2.5), p=0.441. Age 0-6 years, total n=4078; observed n=39 (1.0%); expected n=40.6 (1.0%); RR=1.0 (95% CI=0.6,1.5), p=0.925. Age 5-19 years, total n=1880; observed n= 5 (0.3%); expected n= 24.8 (1.3%); RR=0.2 (95% CI=0.1,0.5); p<0.001. Adults, total n=12814; observed n= 20 (0.2%); expected n= 118.9 (0.9%); RR=0.2 (95% CI=0.1,0.3), p<0.001. Pregnant, total n=5815; observed n= 19 (0.3%); expected n= 78.5 (1.3%), RR=0.2 (95% CI=0.1,0.4), p<0.001. Cohorts of children with SCD are indicated in the table. In summary, access to care, as well as acute anemias are a frequent cause of mortality. Along with viral pathogens and transfusion related deaths this indicates the importance of a safe blood supply. By adulthood, the observed frequency of individuals with SCD is only 1/5 of expected. However, reported clinic cohorts suggest similar if not better survival than in the general population, possibly due to lost to follow up, but also malaria/bacterial infection prevention and nutritional support. Careful prospective studies are needed.TableCohorts of children in Africa with Sickle Cell AnemiaCountryAge median years, (range)Death/TotalnFollow up yearsPatient-yearsDeaths/100 patient-yearsU5M/100 child-yrs♦Uganda, 735 -9, (0-20)12/6282--2.7Senegal, ‘008 (0-22)11/323710331.12.2Senegal, 03330/55612--2.2Benin,032.910/2361.5-6.59831.02.4Kenya,096 (0-13)2/1241.21181.72.7♦: Under five year old mortality 2009 (source: Unicef), divided by 5Prophylactic interventions: Uganda: chloroquine; Senegal: chloroquine (wet season), nets, penicillin prophylaxis <5 yrs, folic acid, parasite treatment & iron supplement as needed; Benin: chloroquine, nets, penicillin prophylaxis, antibiotics for fever, folic acid, nutritional support; Kenya; Proguanil, folic acid, nutritional support, parasite treatment & iron supplement as needed. Disclosures: No relevant conflicts of interest to declare.

RESUMENEste artículo propone un recorrido a través de la figura del pensador de la Baja Edad Media a la Ilustración. Publicada en 1621, la Anatomía de la melancolía de Robert Burton dibuja la imagen del filósofo nuevo, opuesto a los desvergonzados filosofastros que daban título a la comedia de 1615. Demócrito Júnior supone la confirmación de la nueva figura intelectual que ha dejado atrás al clerc de la Baja Edad Media: el humanista del Renacimiento que, gracias a la rehabilitación llevadaa cabo por Marsilio Ficino del mal de la bilis negra, confiesa con orgullo su carácter melancólico, propio del genio fuera de lo común. Su sucesor, el philosophe del siglo XVIII ya no necesita acudir a la afección atrabiliaria para postularse como el guía que ha de conducir y domesticar al pueblo.PALABRAS CLAVE: melancolía, filosofastros, época moderna, philosophe, pueblo.ABSTRACTThis article proposes a journey through the figure of the thinker from the late Middle Ages to the Enlightenment. Published in 1621, Robert Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy depicts the image of the new philosopher as opposed to those shameless philosophasters, to which the title of his 1615 comedy refers. Democritus Junior embodies the confirmation of the new intellectual figure that has abandoned the clerc of the late Middle Ages: that Renaissance humanist who, thanks to Marsilio Ficino’s rehabilitation of the malady of the black bile, proudly confesses his melancholiccharacter, typical of extraordinary geniuses. His successor, the 18th century philosophe, no longer needs to resort to bad-tempered humour in order to present himself as the guide destined to direct and domesticate common people.KEY WORDS: melancholy, philosophasters, early modern period, philosophe, common people.BIBLIOGRAFÍAAgamben, G., Stanze. 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AbstractBetween 1908 and 1959, the predatory coccinellid, Hyperaspis pantherina Fürsch, was released for the biological control of the ensign scale Orthezia insignis Browne in Hawaii, four African countries and Peru. Substantial control was reported after all the releases, although the outcome was disputed in Malawi. Other coccinellid species and predatory Diptera were released against Orthezia spp. in various programmes from 1952 to 1977. In most cases these agents failed to establish, and there were no reported effects on the target Orthezia spp. In 1993, H. pantherina was released in St Helena for the control of O. insignis on the endemic gumwood tree, Comm idendrum robustum (Compositae). Preparatory investigations for this release revealed that the taxonomy and biology of this biocontrol agent were poorly known. Hyperaspis pantherina is redescribed and shown to be the correct name for the species previously known incorrectly as H. jocosa (Mulsant). Hyperaspis laeta Gorham and H. levrati (Mulsant) are transferred to the genus Cyra Mulsant (comb. n.). Hyperaspis metator (Casey) (stat. rev.) is resurrected from synonymy with H. levrati auctt. Studies of the life history revealed that H. pantherina normally lays its eggs directly onto the adult female O. insignis and that the first two instars of the larvae are frequently passed inside the ovisac of the female host, after which the host itself is often consumed. The information on the biology and taxonomy of H. pantherina, together with details of culturing methods, should facilitate the further use of this agent for the classical biological control of O. insignis, a pantropical pest.

Cet article traite des concepts de la pauvreté (c.à.d. de la condition de ceux qui, faute de biens ou d'un capital, sont obligés de travailler pour gagner leur vie) et de l'indigence (qui est l'état de quiconque est dans l'impossibilité de pourvoir aux besoins de sa famille). Les nombreuses baisses et crises de l'économie préindustrielle et les privations au cours de la vie sont responsables de la détérioration périodique du niveau de vie des personnes dont la subsistance dépend uniquement de leur travail. A la suite de Gutton, auteur de La Société et les pauvres en Europe (XVI-XVII siècles) (Paris, 1974), ces personnes sont définies comme pauvres conjoncturaux d'une part, parce qu'ils sont périodiquement exposés à la chute en dessous de l'indigence. D'autre part, des circonstances individuelles telles qu'une maladie permanente et le grand âge vient à causer une pauvreté structurelle, acceptée ensuite comme une situation permanente. Le présent article examine les définitions de la pauvreté tant conjoncturale que structurelle au départ d'une étude d'un cas spécifique; il prend également en considération la mesure dans laquelle les dimensions de chacun des deux types de pauvreté sont modifiées par les restrictions au cours de la vie, par les fluctuations économiques et par les situations individuelles.

Abstract Sickle cell disease (SCD) is highly prevalent in sub-Saharan Africa; however, there are relatively few studies describing the clinical profile for children with laboratory-confirmed SCD. Prior to December 2014, neither neonatal screening nor standardized methods for SCD diagnosis were routinely available in Malawi, as hemoglobin electrophoresis and alternative diagnostic methods were absent. We describe implementation of hemoglobin electrophoresis for children with clinically suspected SCD at Kamuzu Central Hospital, one of two national teaching hospitals in Malawi. Children with clinically suspected SCD were recruited January - May 2015 and underwent comprehensive clinical and laboratory characterization. 137 total patients were recruited and 117 were confirmed to have HbSS disease. Among children who were being cared for as SCD prior to enrollment, 86% had HbSS suggesting generally accurate clinical diagnosis by local providers. Baseline clinical parameters and self-reported SCD complications for the study population are displayed in Table 1. Of those with confirmed SCD, median age was 7.3 years (IQR 2.7-10.4) with 53% males. Prior malaria was reported by 39% of patients, and was higher in the 0-5 age group compared with the over 5 age group (46% vs. 31%, p=0.03). The most commonly reported SCD complications were anemia (72%), joint pain (56%), jaundice (52%), and acute pain episodes (50%). Children with confirmed SCD had median hemoglobin of 7.3 g/dL (IQR 6.9-7.9), total bilirubin of 1.7 mg/dL (IQR 1.1-2.6) and lactate dehydrogenase of 658 IU/L (IQR 527-773). Urinalysis demonstrated 26% of patients with blood and 7% with proteinuria by dipstick. As of May 2015, more than 250 samples for enrolled children as well as routine clinical care had been batch-processed weekly with an average turn-around time of 36 hours for results. Three Malawian laboratory technicians were trained to perform hemoglobin electrophoresis, all of whom have been performing the test independently since April 2015. Our findings highlight a need for wider implementation of resource-appropriate diagnostics as an essential foundation for care and research. Children had substantial clinical and laboratory evidence of SCD-related morbidity. Earlier diagnosis can improve care for this population by facilitating earlier therapeutic interventions, as well as providing a basis for research to better understand SCD-related morbidity in sub-Saharan Africa. These efforts can ultimately inform management strategies to improve outcomes and increase life expectancy among children with SCD in Malawi. Table 1. All (n=117) Male (n= 62) Female (n=55) p value Age years, median (IQR) 7.3 (2.7-10.4) 5.3 (2.3-9.4) 8.9 (4.2-11.9) 0.004 Height cm, median (IQR, n) 115 (88-131, 60) 111 (89-128, 36) 119.5 (93-140, 24) 0.21 Weight kg, median (IQR, n) 19 (13-27, 108) 16.5 (12-23.6, 58) 21 (14-30, 50) 0.01 Blood Pressure Systolic mmHg, median (IQR, n) 103 (98-110, 83) 101 (94-108, 43) 103 (99-110, 40) 0.37 Blood Pressure Diastolic mmHg, median (IQR, n) 60 (55-65, 83) 58 (53-65, 43) 61 (56-68, 40) 0.13 Heart Rate BPM, median (IQR, n) 104 (91-118, 114) 105 (94-123, 61) 104 (88-112, 53) 0.15 O2 Saturation %, median (IQR, n) 93 (88-97, 108) 91 (85-96, 59) 95 (91-98, 49) 0.004 % Hypoxemic (SPO2 < 90%), n (%) 36 (30.7) 26 (41.9) 10 (18.2) 0.005 Body Temperature Celsius, median (IQR, n) 37 (36.7-37.4, 91) 37 (36.7-37, 46) 37 (36.4-37.2, 45) 0.22 Positive History of: Malaria, n (%) 45 (38.5) 22 23 0.34 0-5 years, n (%) 25 (46.3) - - 0.03 6-18 years, n (%) 20 (31.7) - - Pneumonia, n (%) 29 (24.8) 10 (16.1) 19 (34.5) 0.02 HIV, n (%) 0 0 0 - Anemia, n (%) 84 (71.8) 49 (79.0) 35 (63.6) 0.06 Pallor, n (%) 16 (13.7) 7 (11.3) 9 (16.4) 0.43 Jaundice, n (%) 61 (52.1) 33 (53.2) 28 (50.9) 0.82 Received Blood Transfusion, n (%) 87 (74.4) 47 (75.8) 40 (72.7) 0.47 Days since last transfusion, median (IQR) 316 (133-1144) 240 (111-410) 577 (180-1784) 0.03 Pain episodes, n (%) 58 (49.6) 27 (43.5) 31 (56.4) 0.16 Joint pain, n (%) 66 (56.4) 33 (53.2) 33 (60.0) 0.34 Dactylitis, n (%) 41 (35.0) 19 (30.6) 22 (40.0) 0.29 Leg ulcers, n (%) 5 (4.3) 5 (8.1) 0 0.03 Stroke, n (%) 10 (8.5) 5 (8.1) 5 (9.1) 0.84 Nocturnal Enuresis, n (%) 24 (20.5) 12 (19.4) 12 (21.8) 0.74 Disclosures No relevant conflicts of interest to declare.

AbstractThis article seeks to shed light on a much-debated question in the history of mission and anthropology: What is the nature of religious conversion? rough archive studies of the literature produced by the Norwegian missionaries in northern Cameroon from 1943 to 1960 the author shows how the missionaries interpreted religious conversion. The missionary discourse on conversion was biased in a specific theological and cultural environment, yet it was open for negotiations with the encountered population. The missionaries used biblical images to describe conversion to Christianity that were coherent with the cultural practices of both the missionaries and the groups that accepted the message of the missionaries in order to describe conversion to Christianity. Biblical images that corresponded with the cultural practice of groups that did not accept the missionaries are, however, absent from the material. A Western Protestant discourse presented spiritual and social oppression, ignorance, sickness, and lack of moral behaviour as obstacles the Africans had to be liberated from in order to be converted to Christianity. The missionaries, lacking knowledge about the social and religious organisation of traditional society, interpreted the "spiritual oppression" as "heathendom," and interpreted it according to their own theological paradigm. The reactions of the local population to this civilising mission made the missionaries modify their approach in order for their project to fit the agency of the new Christians in northern Cameroon. Cet article cherche à éclairer une question très débattue en histoire de la mission et en anthropologie : quelle est la nature de la conversion religieuse ? Étudiant les archives de la littérature produite par les missionnaires norvégiens au Nord Cameroun, de 1943 à 1960, l'auteur montre comment les missionnaires ont interprété la conversion religieuse. Le discours missionnaire sur la conversion a été biaisé par un environnement théologique et culturel spécifique, tout en étant ouvert à la négociation avec les populations rencontrées. Pour décrire la conversion au christianisme, les missionnaires ont utilisé des images bibliques cohérentes avec les pratiques culturelles et des missionnaires et des groupes qui acceptèrent leur message. Les images correspondant à la pratique culturelle des groupes n'ayant pas accepté les missionnaires sont cependant absentes du matériel étudié. Un discours occidental protestant présentait l'oppression spirituelle et sociale, l'ignorance, la maladie et le manque de comportement moral comme des obstacles dont les Africains devaient être libérés pour se convertir au christianisme. Manquant de connaissance sur l'organisation sociale et religieuse de la société traditionnelle, les missionnaires interprétèrent l'oppression spirituelle comme « paganisme » et lui donnèrent le sens du paradigme théologique qu'ils comprenaient, celui du christianisme occidental. Les réactions de la population locale à cette mission civilisatrice ont poussé les missionnaires à modifier leur approche de façon à ce que leur projet rentre dans les schémas des nouveaux chrétiens du Nord Cameroun. Dieser Artikel versucht, eine vieldiskutierte Frage in der Geschichte von Mission und Anthropologie zu beleuchten: Welcher Natur ist die religiöse Bekehrung? Durch Archivstudien der Literatur, die norwegische Missionare in Nordkamerun zwischen 1934 und 1960 produzierten, sucht der Autor zu zeigen, wie die Missionare die religiöse Bekehrung interpretierten. Die missionarische Erklärung wurde durch eine spezifische theologische und kulturelle Umgebung beeinflusst, war aber auch offen für Verhandlungen mit der Bevölkerung vor Ort. Die Missionare verwendeten für die Bekehrung zum Christentum biblische Bilder, die mit den kulturellen Praktiken sowohl der Missionare wie auch der Gruppen übereinstimmten, die die Botschaft der Missionare annahmen. Biblische Bilder solcher Gruppen, die die Missionare nicht annahmen, finden sich allerdings im untersuchten Material nicht. Ein westlich protestantischer Diskurs stellte die spirituelle und soziale Unterdrückung, Unwissenheit, Krankheit und das Fehlen moralischen Handelns als Hindernisse dar, von denen die Afrikaner befreit werden mussten, damit sie zum Christentum bekehrt werden konnten. Die Missionare, denen die Kenntnis der sozialen und religiösen Struktur der traditionellen Gesellschaft fehlte, interpretierten die ,,spirituelle Unterdrückung" als ,,Heidentum", in Übereinstimmung mit einem theologischen Paradigma, das sie kannten, nämlich das westliche Christentum. Die Reaktionen der Bevölkerung vor Ort auf diese Zivilisierungsmission führten dazu, dass die Missionare ihren Zugang veränderten, damit sich ihr Vorhaben in das Handlungsmuster der jungen Christen in Nordkamerun einfügen konnte. Este artículo intenta aclarar un tema muy discutido en la historia de la misión y antropología: ¿Cuál es la naturaleza de la conversión religiosa? A través de estudios de archivos de la literatura producida por misioneros noruegos en el norte de Camerún entre 1934 hasta 1960 el autor muestra cómo los misioneros interpretaron la conversión religiosa. El discurso misionero de la conversión fue influenciado por un ambiente teológico y cultural específico, aunque fue abierto a negociaciones con la población que se encontró. Los misioneros usaron imágenes bíblicas para describir la conversión al cristianismo que eran coherentes con las prácticas culturales tanto de los misioneros como de los grupos que aceptaron el mensaje de los misioneros. Por el contrario, no entraron en el material las imágenes bíblicas que correspondieron con la práctica cultural de grupos que no aceptaron a los misioneros. El discurso protestante occidental presentó la opresión espiritual y social, la ignorancia, la enfermedad y la falta de comportamiento moral como los obstáculos de los que se debía liberar a los africanos para que se los pudiera convertir al cristianismo. Los misioneros, en su desconocimiento de la organización social y religiosa de la sociedad tradicional, interpretaron la "opresión espiritual" como "paganismo" y lo interpretaron de acuerdo con un paradigma que ellos sí comprendieron: el cristianismo occidental. Las reacciones de la población local a esta misión civilizadora llevaron a los misioneros a modificar su acercamiento para que su proyecto pudiera integrarse mejor en la actuación de los nuevos cristianos del norte de Camerún.

Résumé La treizième réunion du Symposium Aristotelicum, en 1993, a eu une très étrange et très triste destinée. Certes, elle s’est tenue dans le cadre enchanteur de la Chartreuse de Pontignano, près de Sienne ; elle a donné lieu, comme ses devancières, à des communications et à des discussions d’un vif intérêt. Mais l’édition de ses Actes, pour une fois, s’est heurtée à d’insurmontables obstacles. La charge en avait été initialement confiée à Mario Mignucci et à Michael Frede, deux des plus fidèles et stimulants participants du Symposium. Ils ont été tragiquement enlevés à notre admiration et à notre affection, le premier en 2004, sous les coups d’une longue et impitoyable maladie, le second en 2007, en conséquence d’un accident imprévisible et brutal. Le retard causé à la publication du XIIIe Symposium par cette double et douloureuse disparition n’a pu être comblé jusqu’à présent ; les membres du comité organisateur m’ont assuré qu’à leur avis, il risquait de ne l’être jamais. Par une coïncidence émouvante (en tout cas pour moi), trois semaines seulement avant la mort de Michael Frede, mon collègue et ami Thomas De Koninck me demanda si j’accepterais de publier dans le Laval théologique et philosophique l’étude que j’avais présentée, plus de dix ans auparavant, au XIIIe Symposium. Je passe sur les divers scrupules qui me firent hésiter quelque temps. L’insistance du Professeur De Koninck et celle de ses collaborateurs, Paul Asselin et Martin Achard, en eurent finalement raison, ce dont je leur suis très profondément reconnaissant. Quant à ce texte, le lecteur voudra bien se souvenir de la longue histoire dont il est l’ultime fruit. Il serait bien difficile de le résumer : il est, il tente d’être cela même pour quoi il se donne, à savoir pour une lecture détaillée du commentaire par Ammonius du célèbre premier chapitre du De Interpretatione, lecture focalisée non pas tellement sur la lumière que le commentaire ancien peut (ou peut ne pas) jeter sur la lettre et sur l’interprétation du texte aristotélicien que sur ce que ce commentaire peut nous apprendre sur les méthodes, les choix, les comportements intellectuels de son auteur lui-même, et sur ses propres motivations philosophiques et pédagogiques face à un texte comme celui qu’il entreprend de commenter.

Education in Oceania continues to reflect the embedded implicit and explicit colonial practices and processes from the past. This paper conceptualises a cultural approach to education and leadership appropriate and relevant to the Republic of the Marshall Islands. As elementary school leaders, we highlight Kanne Lobal, a traditional Marshallese navigation practice based on indigenous language, values and practices. We conceptualise and develop Kanne Lobal in this paper as a framework for understanding the usefulness of our indigenous knowledge in leadership and educational practices within formal education. Through bwebwenato, a method of talk story, our key learnings and reflexivities were captured. We argue that realising the value of Marshallese indigenous knowledge and practices for school leaders requires purposeful training of the ways in which our knowledge can be made useful in our professional educational responsibilities. Drawing from our Marshallese knowledge is an intentional effort to inspire, empower and express what education and leadership partnership means for Marshallese people, as articulated by Marshallese themselves. Introduction As noted in the call for papers within the Waikato Journal of Education (WJE) for this special issue, bodies of knowledge and histories in Oceania have long sustained generations across geographic boundaries to ensure cultural survival. For Marshallese people, we cannot really know ourselves “until we know how we came to be where we are today” (Walsh, Heine, Bigler & Stege, 2012). Jitdam Kapeel is a popular Marshallese concept and ideal associated with inquiring into relationships within the family and community. In a similar way, the practice of relating is about connecting the present and future to the past. Education and leadership partnerships are linked and we look back to the past, our history, to make sense and feel inspired to transform practices that will benefit our people. In this paper and in light of our next generation, we reconnect with our navigation stories to inspire and empower education and leadership. Kanne lobal is part of our navigation stories, a conceptual framework centred on cultural practices, values, and concepts that embrace collective partnerships. Our link to this talanoa vā with others in the special issue is to attempt to make sense of connections given the global COVID-19 context by providing a Marshallese approach to address the physical and relational “distance” between education and leadership partnerships in Oceania. Like the majority of developing small island nations in Oceania, the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) has had its share of educational challenges through colonial legacies of the past which continues to drive education systems in the region (Heine, 2002). The historical administration and education in the RMI is one of colonisation. Successive administrations by the Spanish, German, Japanese, and now the US, has resulted in education and learning that privileges western knowledge and forms of learning. This paper foregrounds understandings of education and learning as told by the voices of elementary school leaders from the RMI. The move to re-think education and leadership from Marshallese perspectives is an act of shifting the focus of bwebwenato or conversations that centres on Marshallese language and worldviews. The concept of jelalokjen was conceptualised as traditional education framed mainly within the community context. In the past, jelalokjen was practiced and transmitted to the younger generation for cultural continuity. During the arrival of colonial administrations into the RMI, jelalokjen was likened to the western notions of education and schooling (Kupferman, 2004). Today, the primary function of jelalokjen, as traditional and formal education, it is for “survival in a hostile [and challenging] environment” (Kupferman, 2004, p. 43). Because western approaches to learning in the RMI have not always resulted in positive outcomes for those engaged within the education system, as school leaders who value our cultural knowledge and practices, and aspire to maintain our language with the next generation, we turn to Kanne Lobal, a practice embedded in our navigation stories, collective aspirations, and leadership. The significance in the development of Kanne Lobal, as an appropriate framework for education and leadership, resulted in us coming together and working together. Not only were we able to share our leadership concerns, however, the engagement strengthened our connections with each other as school leaders, our communities, and the Public Schooling System (PSS). Prior to that, many of us were in competition for resources. Educational Leadership: IQBE and GCSL Leadership is a valued practice in the RMI. Before the IQBE programme started in 2018, the majority of the school leaders on the main island of Majuro had not engaged in collaborative partnerships with each other before. Our main educational purpose was to achieve accreditation from the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC), an accreditation commission for schools in the United States. The WASC accreditation dictated our work and relationships and many school leaders on Majuro felt the pressure of competition against each other. We, the authors in this paper, share our collective bwebwenato, highlighting our school leadership experiences and how we gained strength from our own ancestral knowledge to empower “us”, to collaborate with each other, our teachers, communities, as well as with PSS; a collaborative partnership we had not realised in the past. The paucity of literature that captures Kajin Majol (Marshallese language) and education in general in the RMI is what we intend to fill by sharing our reflections and experiences. To move our educational practices forward we highlight Kanne Lobal, a cultural approach that focuses on our strengths, collective social responsibilities and wellbeing. For a long time, there was no formal training in place for elementary school leaders. School principals and vice principals were appointed primarily on their academic merit through having an undergraduate qualification. As part of the first cohort of fifteen school leaders, we engaged in the professional training programme, the Graduate Certificate in School Leadership (GCSL), refitted to our context after its initial development in the Solomon Islands. GCSL was coordinated by the Institute of Education (IOE) at the University of the South Pacific (USP). GCSL was seen as a relevant and appropriate training programme for school leaders in the RMI as part of an Asia Development Bank (ADB) funded programme which aimed at “Improving Quality Basic Education” (IQBE) in parts of the northern Pacific. GCSL was managed on Majuro, RMI’s main island, by the director at the time Dr Irene Taafaki, coordinator Yolanda McKay, and administrators at the University of the South Pacific’s (USP) RMI campus. Through the provision of GCSL, as school leaders we were encouraged to re-think and draw-from our own cultural repository and connect to our ancestral knowledge that have always provided strength for us. This kind of thinking and practice was encouraged by our educational leaders (Heine, 2002). We argue that a culturally-affirming and culturally-contextual framework that reflects the lived experiences of Marshallese people is much needed and enables the disruption of inherent colonial processes left behind by Western and Eastern administrations which have influenced our education system in the RMI (Heine, 2002). Kanne Lobal, an approach utilising a traditional navigation has warranted its need to provide solutions for today’s educational challenges for us in the RMI. Education in the Pacific Education in the Pacific cannot be understood without contextualising it in its history and culture. It is the same for us in the RMI (Heine, 2002; Walsh et al., 2012). The RMI is located in the Pacific Ocean and is part of Micronesia. It was named after a British captain, John Marshall in the 1700s. The atolls in the RMI were explored by the Spanish in the 16th century. Germany unsuccessfully attempted to colonize the islands in 1885. Japan took control in 1914, but after several battles during World War II, the US seized the RMI from them. In 1947, the United Nations made the island group, along with the Mariana and Caroline archipelagos, a U.S. trust territory (Walsh et al, 2012). Education in the RMI reflects the colonial administrations of Germany, Japan, and now the US. Before the turn of the century, formal education in the Pacific reflected western values, practices, and standards. Prior to that, education was informal and not binded to formal learning institutions (Thaman, 1997) and oral traditions was used as the medium for transmitting learning about customs and practices living with parents, grandparents, great grandparents. As alluded to by Jiba B. Kabua (2004), any “discussion about education is necessarily a discussion of culture, and any policy on education is also a policy of culture” (p. 181). It is impossible to promote one without the other, and it is not logical to understand one without the other. Re-thinking how education should look like, the pedagogical strategies that are relevant in our classrooms, the ways to engage with our parents and communities - such re-thinking sits within our cultural approaches and frameworks. Our collective attempts to provide a cultural framework that is relevant and appropriate for education in our context, sits within the political endeavour to decolonize. This means that what we are providing will not only be useful, but it can be used as a tool to question and identify whether things in place restrict and prevent our culture or whether they promote and foreground cultural ideas and concepts, a significant discussion of culture linked to education (Kabua, 2004). Donor funded development aid programmes were provided to support the challenges within education systems. Concerned with the persistent low educational outcomes of Pacific students, despite the prevalence of aid programmes in the region, in 2000 Pacific educators and leaders with support from New Zealand Aid (NZ Aid) decided to intervene (Heine, 2002; Taufe’ulungaki, 2014). In April 2001, a group of Pacific educators and leaders across the region were invited to a colloquium funded by the New Zealand Overseas Development Agency held in Suva Fiji at the University of the South Pacific. The main purpose of the colloquium was to enable “Pacific educators to re-think the values, assumptions and beliefs underlying [formal] schooling in Oceania” (Benson, 2002). Leadership, in general, is a valued practice in the RMI (Heine, 2002). Despite education leadership being identified as a significant factor in school improvement (Sanga & Chu, 2009), the limited formal training opportunities of school principals in the region was a persistent concern. As part of an Asia Development Bank (ADB) funded project, the Improve Quality Basic Education (IQBE) intervention was developed and implemented in the RMI in 2017. Mentoring is a process associated with the continuity and sustainability of leadership knowledge and practices (Sanga & Chu, 2009). It is a key aspect of building capacity and capabilities within human resources in education (ibid). Indigenous knowledges and education research According to Hilda Heine, the relationship between education and leadership is about understanding Marshallese history and culture (cited in Walsh et al., 2012). It is about sharing indigenous knowledge and histories that “details for future generations a story of survival and resilience and the pride we possess as a people” (Heine, cited in Walsh et al., 2012, p. v). This paper is fuelled by postcolonial aspirations yet is grounded in Pacific indigenous research. This means that our intentions are driven by postcolonial pursuits and discourses linked to challenging the colonial systems and schooling in the Pacific region that privileges western knowledge and learning and marginalises the education practices and processes of local people (Thiong’o, 1986). A point of difference and orientation from postcolonialism is a desire to foreground indigenous Pacific language, specifically Majin Majol, through Marshallese concepts. Our collective bwebwenato and conversation honours and values kautiej (respect), jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity), and jouj (kindness) (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). Pacific leaders developed the Rethinking Pacific Education Initiative for and by Pacific People (RPEIPP) in 2002 to take control of the ways in which education research was conducted by donor funded organisations (Taufe’ulungaki, 2014). Our former president, Dr Hilda Heine was part of the group of leaders who sought to counter the ways in which our educational and leadership stories were controlled and told by non-Marshallese (Heine, 2002). As a former minister of education in the RMI, Hilda Heine continues to inspire and encourage the next generation of educators, school leaders, and researchers to re-think and de-construct the way learning and education is conceptualised for Marshallese people. The conceptualisation of Kanne Lobal acknowledges its origin, grounded in Marshallese navigation knowledge and practice. Our decision to unpack and deconstruct Kanne Lobal within the context of formal education and leadership responds to the need to not only draw from indigenous Marshallese ideas and practice but to consider that the next generation will continue to be educated using western processes and initiatives particularly from the US where we get a lot of our funding from. According to indigenous researchers Dawn Bessarab and Bridget Ng’andu (2010), doing research that considers “culturally appropriate processes to engage with indigenous groups and individuals is particularly pertinent in today’s research environment” (p. 37). Pacific indigenous educators and researchers have turned to their own ancestral knowledge and practices for inspiration and empowerment. Within western research contexts, the often stringent ideals and processes are not always encouraging of indigenous methods and practices. However, many were able to ground and articulate their use of indigenous methods as being relevant and appropriate to capturing the realities of their communities (Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Fulu-Aiolupotea, 2014; Thaman, 1997). At the same time, utilising Pacific indigenous methods and approaches enabled research engagement with their communities that honoured and respected them and their communities. For example, Tongan, Samoan, and Fijian researchers used the talanoa method as a way to capture the stories, lived realities, and worldviews of their communities within education in the diaspora (Fa’avae, Jones, & Manu’atu, 2016; Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Aiolupotea, 2014; Vaioleti, 2005). Tok stori was used by Solomon Islander educators and school leaders to highlight the unique circles of conversational practice and storytelling that leads to more positive engagement with their community members, capturing rich and meaningful narratives as a result (Sanga & Houma, 2004). The Indigenous Aborigine in Australia utilise yarning as a “relaxed discussion through which both the researcher and participant journey together visiting places and topics of interest relevant” (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010, p. 38). Despite the diverse forms of discussions and storytelling by indigenous peoples, of significance are the cultural protocols, ethics, and language for conducting and guiding the engagement (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010; Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Aiolupotea, 2014). Through the ethics, values, protocols, and language, these are what makes indigenous methods or frameworks unique compared to western methods like in-depth interviews or semi-structured interviews. This is why it is important for us as Marshallese educators to frame, ground, and articulate how our own methods and frameworks of learning could be realised in western education (Heine, 2002; Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014). In this paper, we utilise bwebwenato as an appropriate method linked to “talk story”, capturing our collective stories and experiences during GCSL and how we sought to build partnerships and collaboration with each other, our communities, and the PSS. Bwebwenato and drawing from Kajin Majel Legends and stories that reflect Marshallese society and its cultural values have survived through our oral traditions. The practice of weaving also holds knowledge about our “valuable and earliest sources of knowledge” (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019, p. 2). The skilful navigation of Marshallese wayfarers on the walap (large canoes) in the ocean is testament of their leadership and the value they place on ensuring the survival and continuity of Marshallese people (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019; Walsh et al., 2012). During her graduate study in 2014, Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner conceptualised bwebwenato as being the most “well-known form of Marshallese orality” (p. 38). The Marshallese-English dictionary defined bwebwenato as talk, conversation, story, history, article, episode, lore, myth, or tale (cited in Jetnil Kijiner, 2014). Three years later in 2017, bwebwenato was utilised in a doctoral project by Natalie Nimmer as a research method to gather “talk stories” about the experiences of 10 Marshallese experts in knowledge and skills ranging from sewing to linguistics, canoe-making and business. Our collective bwebwenato in this paper centres on Marshallese ideas and language. The philosophy of Marshallese knowledge is rooted in our “Kajin Majel”, or Marshallese language and is shared and transmitted through our oral traditions. For instance, through our historical stories and myths. Marshallese philosophy, that is, the knowledge systems inherent in our beliefs, values, customs, and practices are shared. They are inherently relational, meaning that knowledge systems and philosophies within our world are connected, in mind, body, and spirit (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014; Nimmer, 2017). Although some Marshallese believe that our knowledge is disappearing as more and more elders pass away, it is therefore important work together, and learn from each other about the knowledges shared not only by the living but through their lamentations and stories of those who are no longer with us (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014). As a Marshallese practice, weaving has been passed-down from generation to generation. Although the art of weaving is no longer as common as it used to be, the artefacts such as the “jaki-ed” (clothing mats) continue to embody significant Marshallese values and traditions. For our weavers, the jouj (check spelling) is the centre of the mat and it is where the weaving starts. When the jouj is correct and weaved well, the remainder and every other part of the mat will be right. The jouj is symbolic of the “heart” and if the heart is prepared well, trained well, then life or all other parts of the body will be well (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). In that light, we have applied the same to this paper. Conceptualising and drawing from cultural practices that are close and dear to our hearts embodies a significant ontological attempt to prioritize our own knowledge and language, a sense of endearment to who we are and what we believe education to be like for us and the next generation. The application of the phrase “Majolizing '' was used by the Ministry of Education when Hilda Heine was minister, to weave cultural ideas and language into the way that teachers understand the curriculum, develop lesson plans and execute them in the classroom. Despite this, there were still concerns with the embedded colonized practices where teachers defaulted to eurocentric methods of doing things, like the strategies provided in the textbooks given to us. In some ways, our education was slow to adjust to the “Majolizing '' intention by our former minister. In this paper, we provide Kanne Lobal as a way to contribute to the “Majolizing intention” and perhaps speed up yet still be collectively responsible to all involved in education. Kajin Wa and Kanne Lobal “Wa” is the Marshallese concept for canoe. Kajin wa, as in canoe language, has a lot of symbolic meaning linked to deeply-held Marshallese values and practices. The canoe was the foundational practice that supported the livelihood of harsh atoll island living which reflects the Marshallese social world. The experts of Kajin wa often refer to “wa” as being the vessel of life, a means and source of sustaining life (Kelen, 2009, cited in Miller, 2010). “Jouj” means kindness and is the lower part of the main hull of the canoe. It is often referred to by some canoe builders in the RMI as the heart of the canoe and is linked to love. The jouj is one of the first parts of the canoe that is built and is “used to do all other measurements, and then the rest of the canoe is built on top of it” (Miller, 2010, p. 67). The significance of the jouj is that when the canoe is in the water, the jouj is the part of the hull that is underwater and ensures that all the cargo and passengers are safe. For Marshallese, jouj or kindness is what living is about and is associated with selflessly carrying the responsibility of keeping the family and community safe. The parts of the canoe reflect Marshallese culture, legend, family, lineage, and kinship. They embody social responsibilities that guide, direct, and sustain Marshallese families’ wellbeing, from atoll to atoll. For example, the rojak (boom), rojak maan (upper boom), rojak kōrā (lower boom), and they support the edges of the ujelā/ujele (sail) (see figure 1). The literal meaning of rojak maan is male boom and rojak kōrā means female boom which together strengthens the sail and ensures the canoe propels forward in a strong yet safe way. Figuratively, the rojak maan and rojak kōrā symbolise the mother and father relationship which when strong, through the jouj (kindness and love), it can strengthen families and sustain them into the future. Figure 1. Parts of the canoe Source: https://www.canoesmarshallislands.com/2014/09/names-of-canoe-parts/ From a socio-cultural, communal, and leadership view, the canoe (wa) provides understanding of the relationships required to inspire and sustain Marshallese peoples’ education and learning. We draw from Kajin wa because they provide cultural ideas and practices that enable understanding of education and leadership necessary for sustaining Marshallese people and realities in Oceania. When building a canoe, the women are tasked with the weaving of the ujelā/ujele (sail) and to ensure that it is strong enough to withstand long journeys and the fierce winds and waters of the ocean. The Kanne Lobal relates to the front part of the ujelā/ujele (sail) where the rojak maan and rojak kōrā meet and connect (see the red lines in figure 1). Kanne Lobal is linked to the strategic use of the ujelā/ujele by navigators, when there is no wind north wind to propel them forward, to find ways to capture the winds so that their journey can continue. As a proverbial saying, Kanne Lobal is used to ignite thinking and inspire and transform practice particularly when the journey is rough and tough. In this paper we draw from Kanne Lobal to ignite, inspire, and transform our educational and leadership practices, a move to explore what has always been meaningful to Marshallese people when we are faced with challenges. The Kanne Lobal utilises our language, and cultural practices and values by sourcing from the concepts of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity). A key Marshallese proverb, “Enra bwe jen lale rara”, is the cultural practice where families enact compassion through the sharing of food in all occurrences. The term “enra” is a small basket weaved from the coconut leaves, and often used by Marshallese as a plate to share and distribute food amongst each other. Bwe-jen-lale-rara is about noticing and providing for the needs of others, and “enra” the basket will help support and provide for all that are in need. “Enra-bwe-jen-lale-rara” is symbolic of cultural exchange and reciprocity and the cultural values associated with building and maintaining relationships, and constantly honouring each other. As a Marshallese practice, in this article we share our understanding and knowledge about the challenges as well as possible solutions for education concerns in our nation. In addition, we highlight another proverb, “wa kuk wa jimor”, which relates to having one canoe, and despite its capacity to feed and provide for the individual, but within the canoe all people can benefit from what it can provide. In the same way, we provide in this paper a cultural framework that will enable all educators to benefit from. It is a framework that is far-reaching and relevant to the lived realities of Marshallese people today. Kumit relates to people united to build strength, all co-operating and working together, living in peace, harmony, and good health. Kanne Lobal: conceptual framework for education and leadership An education framework is a conceptual structure that can be used to capture ideas and thinking related to aspects of learning. Kanne Lobal is conceptualised and framed in this paper as an educational framework. Kanne Lobal highlights the significance of education as a collective partnership whereby leadership is an important aspect. Kanne Lobal draws-from indigenous Marshallese concepts like kautiej (respect), jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity), and jouj (kindness, heart). The role of a leader, including an education leader, is to prioritise collective learning and partnerships that benefits Marshallese people and the continuity and survival of the next generation (Heine, 2002; Thaman, 1995). As described by Ejnar Aerōk, an expert canoe builder in the RMI, he stated: “jerbal ippān doon bwe en maron maan wa e” (cited in Miller, 2010, p. 69). His description emphasises the significance of partnerships and working together when navigating and journeying together in order to move the canoe forward. The kubaak, the outrigger of the wa (canoe) is about “partnerships”. For us as elementary school leaders on Majuro, kubaak encourages us to value collaborative partnerships with each other as well as our communities, PSS, and other stakeholders. Partnerships is an important part of the Kanne Lobal education and leadership framework. It requires ongoing bwebwenato – the inspiring as well as confronting and challenging conversations that should be mediated and negotiated if we and our education stakeholders are to journey together to ensure that the educational services we provide benefits our next generation of young people in the RMI. Navigating ahead the partnerships, mediation, and negotiation are the core values of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity). As an organic conceptual framework grounded in indigenous values, inspired through our lived experiences, Kanne Lobal provides ideas and concepts for re-thinking education and leadership practices that are conducive to learning and teaching in the schooling context in the RMI. By no means does it provide the solution to the education ills in our nation. However, we argue that Kanne Lobal is a more relevant approach which is much needed for the negatively stigmatised system as a consequence of the various colonial administrations that have and continue to shape and reframe our ideas about what education should be like for us in the RMI. Moreover, Kannel Lobal is our attempt to decolonize the framing of education and leadership, moving our bwebwenato to re-framing conversations of teaching and learning so that our cultural knowledge and values are foregrounded, appreciated, and realised within our education system. Bwebwenato: sharing our stories In this section, we use bwebwenato as a method of gathering and capturing our stories as data. Below we capture our stories and ongoing conversations about the richness in Marshallese cultural knowledge in the outer islands and on Majuro and the potentialities in Kanne Lobal. Danny Jim When I was in third grade (9-10 years of age), during my grandfather’s speech in Arno, an atoll near Majuro, during a time when a wa (canoe) was being blessed and ready to put the canoe into the ocean. My grandfather told me the canoe was a blessing for the family. “Without a canoe, a family cannot provide for them”, he said. The canoe allows for travelling between places to gather food and other sources to provide for the family. My grandfather’s stories about people’s roles within the canoe reminded me that everyone within the family has a responsibility to each other. Our women, mothers and daughters too have a significant responsibility in the journey, in fact, they hold us, care for us, and given strength to their husbands, brothers, and sons. The wise man or elder sits in the middle of the canoe, directing the young man who help to steer. The young man, he does all the work, directed by the older man. They take advice and seek the wisdom of the elder. In front of the canoe, a young boy is placed there and because of his strong and youthful vision, he is able to help the elder as well as the young man on the canoe. The story can be linked to the roles that school leaders, teachers, and students have in schooling. Without each person knowing intricately their role and responsibility, the sight and vision ahead for the collective aspirations of the school and the community is difficult to comprehend. For me, the canoe is symbolic of our educational journey within our education system. As the school leader, a central, trusted, and respected figure in the school, they provide support for teachers who are at the helm, pedagogically striving to provide for their students. For without strong direction from the school leaders and teachers at the helm, the students, like the young boy, cannot foresee their futures, or envisage how education can benefit them. This is why Kanne Lobal is a significant framework for us in the Marshall Islands because within the practice we are able to take heed and empower each other so that all benefit from the process. Kanne Lobal is linked to our culture, an essential part of who we are. We must rely on our own local approaches, rather than relying on others that are not relevant to what we know and how we live in today’s society. One of the things I can tell is that in Majuro, compared to the outer islands, it’s different. In the outer islands, parents bring children together and tell them legends and stories. The elders tell them about the legends and stories – the bwebwenato. Children from outer islands know a lot more about Marshallese legends compared to children from the Majuro atoll. They usually stay close to their parents, observe how to prepare food and all types of Marshallese skills. Loretta Joseph Case There is little Western influence in the outer islands. They grow up learning their own culture with their parents, not having tv. They are closely knit, making their own food, learning to weave. They use fire for cooking food. They are more connected because there are few of them, doing their own culture. For example, if they’re building a house, the ladies will come together and make food to take to the males that are building the house, encouraging them to keep on working - “jemjem maal” (sharpening tools i.e. axe, like encouraging workers to empower them). It’s when they bring food and entertainment. Rubon Rubon Togetherness, work together, sharing of food, these are important practices as a school leader. Jemjem maal – the whole village works together, men working and the women encourage them with food and entertainment. All the young children are involved in all of the cultural practices, cultural transmission is consistently part of their everyday life. These are stronger in the outer islands. Kanne Lobal has the potential to provide solutions using our own knowledge and practices. Connie Joel When new teachers become a teacher, they learn more about their culture in teaching. Teaching raises the question, who are we? A popular saying amongst our people, “Aelon kein ad ej aelon in manit”, means that “Our islands are cultural islands”. Therefore, when we are teaching, and managing the school, we must do this culturally. When we live and breathe, we must do this culturally. There is more socialising with family and extended family. Respect the elderly. When they’re doing things the ladies all get together, in groups and do it. Cut the breadfruit, and preserve the breadfruit and pandanus. They come together and do it. Same as fishing, building houses, building canoes. They use and speak the language often spoken by the older people. There are words that people in the outer islands use and understand language regularly applied by the elderly. Respect elderly and leaders more i.e., chiefs (iroj), commoners (alap), and the workers on the land (ri-jerbal) (social layer under the commoners). All the kids, they gather with their families, and go and visit the chiefs and alap, and take gifts from their land, first produce/food from the plantation (eojōk). Tommy Almet The people are more connected to the culture in the outer islands because they help one another. They don’t have to always buy things by themselves, everyone contributes to the occasion. For instance, for birthdays, boys go fishing, others contribute and all share with everyone. Kanne Lobal is a practice that can bring people together – leaders, teachers, stakeholders. We want our colleagues to keep strong and work together to fix problems like students and teachers’ absenteeism which is a big problem for us in schools. Demetria Malachi The culture in the outer islands are more accessible and exposed to children. In Majuro, there is a mixedness of cultures and knowledges, influenced by Western thinking and practices. Kanne Lobal is an idea that can enhance quality educational purposes for the RMI. We, the school leaders who did GCSL, we want to merge and use this idea because it will help benefit students’ learning and teachers’ teaching. Kanne Lobal will help students to learn and teachers to teach though traditional skills and knowledge. We want to revitalize our ways of life through teaching because it is slowly fading away. Also, we want to have our own Marshallese learning process because it is in our own language making it easier to use and understand. Essentially, we want to proudly use our own ways of teaching from our ancestors showing the appreciation and blessings given to us. Way Forward To think of ways forward is about reflecting on the past and current learnings. Instead of a traditional discussion within a research publication, we have opted to continue our bwebwenato by sharing what we have learnt through the Graduate Certificate in School Leadership (GCSL) programme. Our bwebwenato does not end in this article and this opportunity to collaborate and partner together in this piece of writing has been a meaningful experience to conceptualise and unpack the Kanne Lobal framework. Our collaborative bwebwenato has enabled us to dig deep into our own wise knowledges for guidance through mediating and negotiating the challenges in education and leadership (Sanga & Houma, 2004). For example, bwe-jen-lale-rara reminds us to inquire, pay attention, and focus on supporting the needs of others. Through enra-bwe-jen-lale-rara, it reminds us to value cultural exchange and reciprocity which will strengthen the development and maintaining of relationships based on ways we continue to honour each other (Nimmer, 2017). We not only continue to support each other, but also help mentor the next generation of school leaders within our education system (Heine, 2002). Education and leadership are all about collaborative partnerships (Sanga & Chu, 2009; Thaman, 1997). Developing partnerships through the GCSL was useful learning for us. It encouraged us to work together, share knowledge, respect each other, and be kind. The values of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity) are meaningful in being and becoming and educational leader in the RMI (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014; Miller, 2010; Nimmer, 2017). These values are meaningful for us practice particularly given the drive by PSS for schools to become accredited. The workshops and meetings delivered during the GCSL in the RMI from 2018 to 2019 about Kanne Lobal has given us strength to share our stories and experiences from the meeting with the stakeholders. But before we met with the stakeholders, we were encouraged to share and speak in our language within our courses: EDP05 (Professional Development and Learning), EDP06 (School Leadership), EDP07 (School Management), EDP08 (Teaching and Learning), and EDP09 (Community Partnerships). In groups, we shared our presentations with our peers, the 15 school leaders in the GCSL programme. We also invited USP RMI staff. They liked the way we presented Kannel Lobal. They provided us with feedback, for example: how the use of the sail on the canoe, the parts and their functions can be conceptualised in education and how they are related to the way that we teach our own young people. Engaging stakeholders in the conceptualisation and design stages of Kanne Lobal strengthened our understanding of leadership and collaborative partnerships. Based on various meetings with the RMI Pacific Resources for Education and Learning (PREL) team, PSS general assembly, teachers from the outer islands, and the PSS executive committee, we were able to share and receive feedback on the Kanne Lobal framework. The coordinators of the PREL programme in the RMI were excited by the possibilities around using Kanne Lobal, as a way to teach culture in an inspirational way to Marshallese students. Our Marshallese knowledge, particularly through the proverbial meaning of Kanne Lobal provided so much inspiration and insight for the groups during the presentation which gave us hope and confidence to develop the framework. Kanne Lobal is an organic and indigenous approach, grounded in Marshallese ways of doing things (Heine, 2002; Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). Given the persistent presence of colonial processes within the education system and the constant reference to practices and initiatives from the US, Kanne Lobal for us provides a refreshing yet fulfilling experience and makes us feel warm inside because it is something that belongs to all Marshallese people. Conclusion Marshallese indigenous knowledge and practices provide meaningful educational and leadership understanding and learnings. They ignite, inspire, and transform thinking and practice. The Kanne Lobal conceptual framework emphasises key concepts and values necessary for collaborative partnerships within education and leadership practices in the RMI. The bwebwenato or talk stories have been insightful and have highlighted the strengths and benefits that our Marshallese ideas and practices possess when looking for appropriate and relevant ways to understand education and leadership. Acknowledgements We want to acknowledge our GCSL cohort of school leaders who have supported us in the development of Kanne Lobal as a conceptual framework. A huge kommol tata to our friends: Joana, Rosana, Loretta, Jellan, Alvin, Ellice, Rolando, Stephen, and Alan. References Benson, C. (2002). Preface. In F. Pene, A. M. Taufe’ulungaki, & C. Benson (Eds.), Tree of Opportunity: re-thinking Pacific Education (p. iv). Suva, Fiji: University of the South Pacific, Institute of Education. Bessarab, D., Ng’andu, B. (2010). Yarning about yarning as a legitimate method in indigenous research. International Journal of Critical Indigenous Studies, 3(1), 37-50. Fa’avae, D., Jones, A., & Manu’atu, L. (2016). Talanoa’i ‘a e talanoa - talking about talanoa: Some dilemmas of a novice researcher. AlterNative: An Indigenous Journal of Indigenous Peoples,12(2),138-150. Heine, H. C. (2002). A Marshall Islands perspective. In F. Pene, A. M. Taufe’ulungaki, & C. 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The contributory role Pastoral Letters play in Malawi’s democracy cannot be underestimated. Historically, Pastoral Letters have been the voice of the Malawian people, and these have forced authorities to accommodate social and political reforms. From colonialism, federations and independence to the birth and consolidation of democracy, Pastoral Letters have been issued by the Church to State authority demanding political change and improvement in governance issues. For instance, Pastoral Letters issued by the Church put pressure on the British to end colonialism in Malawi, and in 1992, Pastoral Letters hugely contributed to the dismantling of Dr Kamuzu Banda’s, and the Malawi Congress Party’s, three-decade autocratic rule. Even in the multiparty dispensation, which was ushered in during 1994, Pastoral Letters have provided checks and balances to government in the consolidation of democracy. Thus, Pastoral Letters represent the voice of the voiceless in every political dispensation. The article is informed by the Pauline Pastoral Letters’ conceptual framework. The main argument governing this article is that unless there is continuity in the issuing of Pastoral Letters by the Church in addressing specific challenges within a democracy, sustainability of democratic value will always be compromised and not realised.Interdisciplinary and/or interdisciplinary implications: This is an interdisciplinary article that touches on practical and public theology focusing on Church history and polity in assessing the role of Pastoral Letters in influencing the sustainability of democratic processes in a public square. The article contributes to a wider debate on the role the Church’s Pastoral Letters play in determining the sociopolitical landscape in Malawi. However, this is the only article written from a Pauline Pastoral Letters’ conceptual framework.

This paper explores Canadian reporting on suicide and the ways it changed over 150 years. Archival research on the reporting practices of two long-standing newspapers presented here shows that suicide was not always taboo in the media. In fact, the silencing and tip-toeing around reporting on suicide only began in the mid-20th century. Early newspaper accounts frequently included reports on suicides, both local and far removed, including details on the exact manner of death. As public perceptions of suicide, and the laws surrounding it, gradually shifted from considering the act a crime to an aspect of psychiatric malady, reporting on suicide changed. Once suicide became an untouchable subject in newsrooms the stigma became entrenched, making it hard to address in any meaningful way for decades.Cet article explore les reportages canadiens sur le suicide et la manière dont ils ont changé depuis 150 ans. Une recherche dans les archives sur les pratiques de deux journaux longuement établis montre que le suicide n’a pas toujours été tabou dans les médias. En effet, la circonspection et le silence entourant le suicide aujourd’hui ne remontent qu’au milieu du vingtième siècle. Les reportages antérieurs mentionnaient souvent les suicides, tant locaux qu’étrangers, et donnaient des précisions sur comment la personne est morte. Les reportages cependant ont subi l’influence de changements dans la perception du public et la loi envers le suicide. Dans le passé, on considérait que cet acte était un crime; par la suite, on l’a envisagé comme le symptôme d’un trouble psychiatrique. Dès lors que le suicide est devenu un sujet intouchable dans les salles de rédaction, le silence sur le sujet s’est installé, de sorte qu’il est devenu difficile de soulever la question de manière significative depuis plusieurs décennies.

Handicap : nom commun d’origine anglo-saxonne dont l’étymologie proviendrait de Hand in Cap, une pratique populaire pour fixer la valeur d'échange d’un bien. Dans le domaine des courses de chevaux, le handicap vise à ajouter du poids aux concurrents les plus puissants pour égaliser les chances de gagner la course pour tous les participants. Il apparait dans le dictionnaire de l’Académie française dans les années 1920 dans le sens de mettre en état d’infériorité. Son utilisation pour désigner les infirmes et invalides est tardive, après les années 1950 et se généralise au début des années 1970. Par un glissement de sens, le terme devient un substantif qualifiant l’infériorité intrinsèque des corps différentiés par leurs atteintes anatomiques, fonctionnelles, comportementales et leur inaptitude au travail. Les handicapés constituent une catégorisation sociale administrative aux frontières floues créée pour désigner la population-cible de traitements socio-politiques visant l’égalisation des chances non plus en intervenant sur les plus forts mais bien sur les plus faibles, par des mesures de réadaptation, de compensation, de normalisation visant l’intégration sociale des handicapés physiques et mentaux. Ceci rejoint les infirmes moteurs, les amputés, les sourds, les aveugles, les malades mentaux, les déficients mentaux, les invalides de guerre, les accidentés du travail, de la route, domestiques et par extension tous ceux que le destin a doté d’un corps différent de la normalité instituée socio-culturellement dans un contexte donné, ce que les francophones européens nomment les valides. Dans une perspective anthropologique, l’existence de corps différents est une composante de toute société humaine (Stiker 2005; Fougeyrollas 2010; Gardou 2010). Toutefois l’identification de ce qu’est une différence signifiante pour le groupe culturel est extrêmement variée et analogue aux modèles d’interprétation proposés par François Laplantine (1993) dans son anthropologie de la maladie. Ainsi le handicap peut être conçu comme altération, lésion ou comme relationnel, fonctionnel, en déséquilibre. Le plus souvent le corps différent est un corps mauvais, marqueur symbolique culturel du malheur lié à la transgression d’interdits visant à maintenir l’équilibre vital de la collectivité. La responsabilité de la transgression peut être endogène, héréditaire, intrinsèque aux actes de la personne, de ses parents, de ses ancêtres, ou exogène, due aux attaques de microbes, de virus, de puissances malveillantes, génies, sorts, divinités, destin. Plus rarement, le handicap peut être un marqueur symbolique de l’élection, comme porteur d’un pouvoir bénéfique singulier ou d’un truchement avec des entités ambiantes. Toutefois être handicapé, au-delà du corps porteur de différences signifiantes, n’implique pas que l’on soit malade. Avec la médicalisation des sociétés développées, une fragmentation extrême du handicap est liée au pouvoir biomédical d’attribuer des diagnostics attestant du handicap, comme garde-barrière de l’accès aux traitements médicaux, aux technologies, à la réadaptation, aux programmes sociaux, de compensation ou d’indemnisation, à l’éducation et au travail protégé ou spécial. Les avancées thérapeutiques et de santé publique diminuent la mortalité et entrainent une croissance continue de la morbidité depuis la Deuxième Guerre mondiale. Les populations vivant avec des conséquences chroniques de maladies, de traumatismes ou d’atteintes à l’intégrité du développement humain augmentent sans cesse. Ceci amène l’Organisation mondiale de la santé (OMS) à s’intéresser non plus aux diagnostics du langage international médical, la Classification internationale des maladies, mais au développement d’une nosologie de la chronicité : la Classification internationale des déficiences, des incapacités et des handicaps qui officialise une perspective tridimensionnelle du handicap (WHO 1980). Cette conceptualisation biomédicale positiviste situe le handicap comme une caractéristique intrinsèque, endogène à l’individu, soit une déficience anatomique ou physiologique entrainant des incapacités dans les activités humaines normales et en conséquence des désavantages sociaux par rapport aux individus ne présentant pas de déficiences. Le modèle biomédical ou individuel définit le handicap comme un manque, un dysfonctionnement appelant à intervenir sur la personne pour l’éduquer, la réparer, l’appareiller par des orthèses, des prothèses, la rétablir par des médicaments, lui enseigner des techniques, des savoirs pratiques pour compenser ses limitations et éventuellement lui donner accès à des subsides ou services visant à minimiser les désavantages sociaux, principalement la désaffiliation sociale et économique inhérente au statut de citoyen non performant ( Castel 1991; Foucault 1972). À la fin des années 1970 se produit une transformation radicale de la conception du handicap. Elle est étroitement associée à la prise de parole des personnes concernées elles-mêmes, dénonçant l’oppression et l’exclusion sociale dues aux institutions spéciales caritatives, privées ou publiques, aux administrateurs et professionnels qui gèrent leur vie. C’est l’émergence du modèle social du handicap. Dans sa tendance sociopolitique néomarxiste radicale, il fait rupture avec le modèle individuel en situant la production structurelle du handicap dans l’environnement socio-économique, idéologique et matériel (Oliver 1990). La société est désignée responsable des déficiences de son organisation conçue sur la performance, la norme et la productivité entrainant un traitement social discriminatoire des personnes ayant des déficiences et l’impossibilité d’exercer leurs droits humains. Handicaper signifie opprimer, minoriser, infantiliser, discriminer, dévaloriser, exclure sur la base de la différence corporelle, fonctionnelle ou comportementale au même titre que d’autres différences comme le genre, l’orientation sexuelle, l’appartenance raciale, ethnique ou religieuse. Selon le modèle social, ce sont les acteurs sociaux détenant le pouvoir dans l’environnement social, économique, culturel, technologique qui sont responsables des handicaps vécus par les corps différents. Les années 1990 et 2000 ont été marquées par un mouvement de rééquilibrage dans la construction du sens du handicap. Réintroduisant le corps sur la base de la valorisation de ses différences sur les plans expérientiels, identitaires et de la créativité, revendiquant des modes singuliers d’être humain parmi la diversité des êtres humains (Shakespeare et Watson 2002; French et Swain 2004), les modèles interactionnistes : personne, environnement, agir, invalident les relations de cause à effet unidirectionnelles propres aux modèles individuels et sociaux. Épousant la mouvance de la temporalité, la conception du handicap est une variation historiquement et spatialement située du développement humain comme phénomène de construction culturelle. Une construction bio-socio-culturelle ouverte des possibilités de participation sociale ou d’exercice effectif des droits humains sur la base de la Déclaration des droits de l’Homme, des Conventions internationales de l’Organisation des Nations-Unies (femmes, enfants, torture et maltraitance) et en l’occurrence de la Convention relative aux droits des personnes handicapées (CDPH) (ONU 2006; Quinn et Degener 2002; Saillant 2007). Par personnes handicapées, on entend des personnes qui présentent des incapacités physiques, mentales, intellectuelles ou sensorielles dont l’interaction avec diverses barrières peut faire obstacle à leur pleine et effective participation à la société sur la base de l’égalité avec les autres. (CDPH, Art 1, P.4). Fruit de plusieurs décennies de luttes et de transformations de la conception du handicap, cette définition représente une avancée historique remarquable autant au sein du dernier des mouvements sociaux des droits civiques, le mouvement international de défense des droits des personnes handicapées, que de la part des États qui l’ont ratifiée. Malgré le fait que l’on utilise encore le terme personne handicapée, le handicap ne peut plus être considéré comme une caractéristique de la personne ni comme un statut figé dans le temps ni comme un contexte oppressif. Il est le résultat d’une relation dont il est nécessaire de décrire les trois composantes anthropologiques de l’être incarné : soi, les autres et l’action ou l’habitus pour en comprendre le processus de construction singulier. Le handicap est situationnel et relatif , sujet à changement, puisqu’il s’inscrit dans une dynamique interactive temporelle entre les facteurs organiques, fonctionnels, identitaires d’une part et les facteurs contextuels sociaux, technologiques et physiques d’autre part, déterminant ce que les personnes ont la possibilité de réaliser dans les habitudes de vie de leurs choix ou culturellement attendues dans leurs collectivités. Les situations de handicap ne peuvent être prédites à l’avance sur la base d’une évaluation organique, fonctionnelle, comportementale, identitaire ou de la connaissance de paramètres environnementaux pris séparément sans réintroduire leurs relations complexes avec l’action d’un sujet définissant le sens ou mieux incarnant la conscience vécue de cette situation de vie. Suite au succès de l’expression personne en situation du handicap en francophonie, on remarque une tendance à voir cette nouvelle appellation remplacer celle de personne handicapée. Ceci est généralement interprété comme une pénétration de la compréhension du modèle interactionniste et socio constructiviste. Toutefois il est inquiétant de voir poindre des dénominations comme personnes en situation de handicap physique, mental, visuel, auditif, intellectuel, moteur. Cette dérive démontre un profond enracinement ontologique du modèle individuel. Il est également le signe d’une tendance à recréer un statut de personne en situation de handicap pour remplacer celui de personne handicapée. Ceci nécessite une explication de la notion de situation de handicap en lien avec le concept de participation sociale. Une personne peut vivre à la fois des situations de handicap et des situations de participation sociale selon les activités qu’elle désire réaliser, ses habitudes de vie. Par exemple une personne ayant des limitations intellectuelles peut vivre une situation de handicap en classe régulière et avoir besoin du soutien d’un éducateur spécialisé mais elle ne sera pas en situation de handicap pour prendre l’autobus scolaire pour se rendre à ses cours. L’expression personne vivant des situations de handicap semble moins propice à la dérive essentialiste que personne en situation de handicap. Le phénomène du handicap est un domaine encore largement négligé mais en visibilité croissante en anthropologie. Au-delà des transformations de sens donné au terme de handicap comme catégorie sociale, utile à la définition de cibles d’intervention, de traitements sociaux, de problématiques sociales pour l’élaboration de politiques et de programmes, les définitions et les modèles présentés permettent de décrire le phénomène, de mieux le comprendre mais plus rarement de formuler des explications éclairantes sur le statut du handicap d’un point de vue anthropologique. Henri-Jacques Stiker identifie, en synthèse, cinq théories du handicap co-existantes dans le champ contemporain des sciences sociales (2005). La théorie du stigmate (Goffman 1975). Le fait du marquage sur le corps pour indiquer une défaveur, une disgrâce, un discrédit profond, constitue une manière de voir comment une infirmité donne lieu à l’attribution d’une identité sociale virtuelle, en décalage complet avec l’identité sociale réelle. Le handicap ne peut être pensé en dehors de la sphère psychique, car il renvoie toujours à l’image de soi, chez celui qui en souffre comme celui qui le regarde. Le regard d’autrui construit le regard que l’on porte sur soi mais en résulte également (Stiker 2005 :200). La théorie culturaliste qui met en exergue la spécificité des personnes handicapées, tout en récusant radicalement la notion même de handicap, est enracinée dans le multiculturalisme américain. Les personnes handicapées se constituent en groupes culturels avec leurs traits singuliers, à partir de conditions de vie, d’une histoire (Stiker 2005). Par exemple au sein des Disability Studies ou Études sur le handicap, il est fréquent de penser que seuls les corps différents concernés peuvent véritablement les pratiquer et en comprendre les fondements identitaires et expérientiels. L’exemple le plus probant est celui de la culture sourde qui se définit comme minorité ethno-linguistique autour de la langue des signes et de la figure identitaire du Sourd. On fera référence ici au Deaf Studies (Gaucher 2009). La théorie de l’oppression (Oliver 1990). Elle affirme que le handicap est produit par les barrières sociales en termes de déterminants sociologiques et politiques inhérents au système capitaliste ou productiviste. Les personnes sont handicapées non par leurs déficiences mais par l’oppression de l’idéologie biomédicale, essentialiste, individualiste construite pour empêcher l’intégration et l’égalité. Ce courant des Disability Studies s’inscrit dans une mouvance de luttes émancipatoires des personnes opprimées elles-mêmes (Stiker 2005 : 210; Boucher 2003) La théorie de la liminalité (Murphy 1990). Par cette différence dont ils sont les porteurs, les corps s’écartent de la normalité attendue par la collectivité et sont placés dans une situation liminale, un entre-deux qu’aucun rite de passage ne semble en mesure d’effacer, de métamorphoser pour accéder au monde des corps normaux. Cette théorie attribue un statut anthropologique spécifique au corps handicapé sans faire référence obligatoire à l’oppression, à l’exclusion, à la faute, ou au pouvoir. Marqués de façon indélébile, ils demeurent sur le seuil de la validité, de l’égalité, des droits, de l’humanité. La théorie de l’infirmité comme double, la liminalité récurrente de Stiker (2005). L’infirmité ne déclenche pas seulement la liminalité mais en référant à la psychanalyse, elle est un véritable double. La déficience est là, nous rappelant ce que nous n’aimons pas et ne voulons pas être, mais elle est notre ombre. Nous avons besoin de l’infirmité, comme de ceux qui la portent pour nous consoler d’être vulnérable et mortel tout autant que nous ne devons pas être confondus avec elle et eux pour continuer à nous estimer. Ils sont, devant nous, notre normalité, mais aussi notre espoir d’immortalité (Stiker 2005 : 223)

Les années 1980 ont vu l'émergence, en philosophie, d’une éthique du care, qui n’a cessé de se développer et de gagner en importance. En rupture avec les conceptions kantiennes et rationalistes de la vie morale, cette éthique féministe met au centre de l’expérience morale la dépendance et le souci de l’autre, plutôt que la liberté et le détachement. Loin d’être des entités séparées, les individus dépendent des autres pour la satisfaction de besoins vitaux, et ce tout au long de leur vie, même s’ils le sont davantage à certains moments (naissance, maladie). Par delà leurs différences, les théoriciennes du care mettent au centre des discussions sur la justice et l’éthique la responsabilité à l’égard des personnes dépendantes et vulnérables, ainsi que le fait de prendre soin des autres (Paperman et Laugier, 2011). Le care désigne l’ensemble des gestes et des paroles essentielles visant le maintien de la vie et de la dignité des personnes, bien au-delà des seuls soins de santé. Il renvoie autant à la disposition des individus – la sollicitude, l’attention à autrui – qu’aux activités de soin – laver, panser, réconforter, etc. –, en prenant en compte à la fois la personne qui aide et celle qui reçoit cette aide, ainsi que le contexte social et économique dans lequel se noue cette relation. L’émergence de ce courant philosophique coïncide avec trois grands phénomènes sociaux et intellectuels. D’abord, l’accès grandissant des femmes au marché du travail, et la remise en cause de la division sexuelle du travail, qui conduisent les historiens et les anthropologues à s’intéresser aux tâches et aux métiers traditionnellement féminins (Loux, 1983), dont le travail domestique de soin ou les professions soignantes (infirmières, auxiliaires de soin). L’essor des recherches et des théories du care est ensuite lié au vieillissement de la population dans les sociétés occidentales, et aux préoccupations grandissantes touchant l’aide et les soins aux personnes âgées et dépendantes, plus nombreuses et vivant plus longtemps (Buch, 2015). Enfin, ces recherches et théories sont nourries par les débats sur l’assistance publique, la capacité de l’État-providence à prendre en charge les personnes vulnérables et à en décharger les familles (France, Canada), la situation de dépendance, négativement perçue, dans laquelle se trouvent ceux qui donnent et ceux qui reçoivent l’assistance (États-Unis). Les travaux sur le care mettent en évidence le fait que la responsabilité du soin aux autres revient davantage à certaines catégories sociales (les femmes, les groupes les plus démunis ou subordonnés comme les immigrants ou les pauvres). Un souci traverse et anime l’éthique du care : revaloriser les activités de soins, dont l’importance est ignorée et les savoirs déniés, du fait de leur association à des groupes d’un bas statut social ; dénoncer du même coup la manière dont les plus riches s’en déchargent sur les plus pauvres et les plus vulnérables, tout en ignorant ou oubliant leur dépendance à leur égard (Kittey et Feder, 2003). L’éthique du care ne peut manquer d’intéresser les anthropologues, qui peuvent y retrouver plusieurs de leurs interrogations et préoccupations. Premièrement, cette éthique remet en question un certain idéal du sujet, dominant en Occident, conçu comme un individu indépendant, délié de toute attache lorsqu’il fait ses choix. Les théories du care mettent en évidence sa profonde et naturelle dépendance aux autres pour la satisfaction de ses besoins primordiaux. Dans ces théories, comme en anthropologie, le sujet est le produit des rapports sociaux, il n’est compréhensible que replacé dans ces rapports généralement asymétriques. L’incomplétude de l’individu est posée dès le départ : se croire indépendant, c’est ne pas voir ses dépendances. S’il est possible de réduire sa dépendance, ce n’est qu’au bout d’un apprentissage, à l’intérieur de certains rapports sociaux et, paradoxalement, avec le soutien des autres. Deuxièmement, dans l’éthique du care, le jugement moral n’exige pas de s’abstraire de sa situation, de se libérer de toute passion et sentiment, mais plutôt, à partir de son expérience, de sa propre histoire et de la relation que l’on entretient avec l’autre, de chercher à comprendre son point de vue et sa situation. On se trouve là très proche de la démarche et de la compréhension ethnographique, fondée sur la relation que l’ethnologue entretient avec ceux qu’il étudie et dont il cherche à saisir le point de vue. Troisièmement, l’éthique du care attire l’attention sur des réalités négligées, oubliées ou dévalorisées ; elle conduit à une réévaluation de ce qui est précieux (Tronto, 1993). Comme l’anthropologie très souvent, elle s’intéresse à ce qui passe inaperçu ou demeure méconnu, mais aussi aux activités quotidiennes, en apparence banales, à ce qui s’exprime moins par des mots que par des gestes, dans les corps et les interactions, dont elle dévoile la richesse, la complexité, la signification et l’importance. Comme l’anthropologie, elle fait entendre des voix différentes, elle permet d’élargir le point de vue, de dépasser une vision dominante ou coutumière des choses. Quatrièmement, les recherches et les théories du care supportent une critique des inégalités et des rapports de domination, jusque dans la sphère privée. Elles s’interrogent sur le pouvoir qui s’exerce au sein de la relation d’aide et du lien affectif. Elles dénoncent les conditions de vie et la situation d’indignité dans laquelle se trouvent certaines personnes dépendantes (handicapées, âgées, seules, démunies), mais également les conditions de travail de celles et ceux qui apportent l’aide et les soins, et l’exploitation dont elles sont l’objet (travailleuses immigrantes, domestiques et femmes de ménage). Elles replacent ces rapports de domination au sein des rapports sociaux de sexe et des relations raciales, mais aussi dans les rapports entre les pays riches et les pays pauvres, comme le font les anthropologues. Enfin, cinquièmement, l’éthique du care conduit à une critique de la naturalisation de certaines dispositions et attitudes attribuées aux femmes : compassion, souci de l’autre, dévouement, oubli de soi. Ces dispositions et attitudes ne sont pas propres aux femmes, mais socialement et culturellement distribuées. Elles ne doivent pas être valorisées en les extrayant du contexte matériel et politique dans lequel elles s’expriment, au risque de renforcer les hiérarchies sociales et les injustices. Pareille critique est également menée par l’anthropologie, en montrant la relativité culturelle des dispositions et attitudes. Si l’anthropologie peut apprendre beaucoup de l’éthique du care, elle peut aussi apporter sa contribution aux débats sur le prendre soin, à partir de sa propre perspective et de ses méthodes : en décrivant et analysant les pratiques, les savoir-faire, l’organisation domestique, les institutions qui fournissent des services ; en prêtant attention aux gestes et aux rituels, aux expérience sensorielles, où la raison et les émotions, le sensible et l’intelligible ne se séparent pas (Buch, 2013); en comparant les pratiques et les situations entre différents pays et différentes époques, différents milieux socioéconomiques et différentes cultures, afin de montrer les constantes et les différences (Kaufman et Morgan, 2005); en sortant du monde occidental et en élargissant la perspective (l’éthique du care demeurant encore très marquée par la culture et les valeurs nord-américaines) ; en inscrivant le care et les pratiques de soins, non seulement dans les rapports sociaux et économiques, mais dans l’ensemble des systèmes symboliques, qui relient les individus entre eux, et qui tissent des correspondances entre les différentes dimensions de leur expérience, entre les âges de la vie, le passé et le présent, les gestes et les croyances, le corps et l’imaginaire (Verdier, 1979). L’anthropologie sera attentive au travail de la culture, au processus par lequel des expériences sont inscrites dans la culture par le biais de symboles, à la poétique des gestes et des paroles, à ce qui cherche à se dire et à s’exprimer, ainsi qu’aux résistances et à la distance que le soignant ou le soigné prend avec le groupe, ses valeurs et ses normes, à sa capacité de faire entendre autre chose, de faire voir d’autres dimensions de l’expérience (Saillant, 2000). Le care et le prendre soin ne forment pas un domaine spécifique de recherche, une anthropologie spécialisée à côté de l’anthropologie de la maladie, l’anthropologie de la famille et l’anthropologie du genre. Ce sont moins des «objets» d’étude, qu’une manière d’examiner des réalités multiples et variées. Faire de l’anthropologie du care et du prendre soin, c’est opérer un déplacement d’attention de la médecine vers les activités domestiques et quotidiennes, des savoirs scientifiques et techniques vers les arts de faire plus discrets, mais nécessitant tout autant un apprentissage, de l’intelligence et de la créativité, et reposant sur des savoirs. C’est également un moyen d’ouvrir l’anthropologie à des débats sociaux contemporains. Mais c’est aussi revenir par un autre chemin à la question anthropologique de l’articulation du biologique et du culturel, la manière dont le corps est culturellement investi, traversé de significations, façonné et transformé par les sociétés, la manière dont les faits naturels de la naissance, de la maladie et de la mort sont transformés en expériences humaines, inscrits dans un monde social spécifique et une conjoncture historique particulière (Saillant et Gagnon, 1999). Faire de l’anthropologie des soins, c’est ainsi reprendre à de nouveaux frais la question générale de l’articulation entre reproduction biologique et reproduction sociale.

Hundreds of thousands of Australian children were born in the shadow of the Great War, fathered by men who had enlisted between 1914 and 1918. Their lives could be and often were hard and unhappy, as Anzac historian Alistair Thomson observed of his father’s childhood in the 1920s and 1930s. David Thomson was son of a returned serviceman Hector Thomson who spent much of his adult life in and out of repatriation hospitals (257-259) and whose memory was subsequently expunged from Thomson family stories (299-267). These children of trauma fit within a pattern suggested by Marianne Hirsch in her influential essay “The Generation of Postmemory”. According to Hirsch, “postmemory describes the relationship of the second generation to powerful, often traumatic, experiences that preceded their births but that were nevertheless transmitted to them so deeply as to seem to constitute memories in their own right” (n.p.). This article attempts to situate George Johnston’s novel My Brother Jack (1964) within the context of postmemory narratives of violence that were complicated in Australia by the Anzac legend which occluded any too open discussion about the extent of war trauma present within community, including the children of war.“God knows what damage” the war “did to me psychologically” (48), ponders Johnston’s protagonist and alter-ego David Meredith in My Brother Jack. Published to acclaim fifty years after the outbreak of the First World War, My Brother Jack became a widely read text that seemingly spoke to the shared cultural memories of a generation which did not know battlefield violence directly but experienced its effects pervasively and vicariously in the aftermath through family life, storytelling, and the memorabilia of war. For these readers, the novel represented more than a work of fiction; it was a touchstone to and indicative of their own negotiations though often unspoken post-war trauma.Meredith, like his creator, is born in 1912. Strictly speaking, therefore, both are not part of the post-war generation. However, they are representative and therefore indicative of the post-war “hinge generation” which was expected to assume “guardianship” of the Anzac Legend, though often found the narrative logic challenging. They had been “too young for the war to have any direct effect”, and yet “every corner” of their family’s small suburban homes appear to be “impregnated with some gigantic and sombre experience that had taken place thousands of miles away” (17).According to Johnston’s biographer, Garry Kinnane, the “most teasing puzzle” of George Johnston’s “fictional version of his childhood in My Brother Jack is the monstrous impression he creates of his returned serviceman father, John George Johnston, known to everyone as ‘Pop.’ The first sixty pages are dominated by the tyrannical figure of Jack Meredith senior” (1).A large man purported to be six foot three inches (1.9 metres) in height and weighing fifteen stone (95 kilograms), the real-life Pop Johnston reputedly stood head and shoulders above the minimum requirement of five foot and six inches (1.68 metres) at the time of his enlistment for war in 1914 (Kinnane 4). In his fortieth year, Jack Johnston senior was also around twice the age of the average Australian soldier and among one in five who were married.According to Kinnane, Pop Johnston had “survived the ordeal of Gallipoli” in 1915 only to “endure three years of trench warfare in the Somme region”. While the biographer and the Johnston family may well have held this to be true, the claim is a distortion. There are a few intimations throughout My Brother Jack and its sequel Clean Straw for Nothing (1969) to suggest that George Johnston may have suspected that his father’s wartime service stories had been embellished, though the depicted wartime service of Pop Meredith remains firmly within the narrative arc of the Anzac legend. This has the effect of layering the postmemory violence experienced by David Meredith and, by implication, his creator, George Johnston. Both are expected to be keepers of a lie masquerading as inviolable truth which further brutalises them.John George (Pop) Johnston’s First World War military record reveals a different story to the accepted historical account and his fictionalisation in My Brother Jack. He enlisted two and a half months after the landing at Gallipoli on 12 July 1915 and left for overseas service on 23 November. Not quite the imposing six foot three figure of Kinnane’s biography, he was fractionally under five foot eleven (1.8 metres) and weighed thirteen stone (82.5 kilograms). Assigned to the Fifth Field Engineers on account of his experience as an electric tram fitter, he did not see frontline service at Gallipoli (NAA).Rather, according to the Company’s history, the Fifth Engineers were involved in a range of infrastructure and support work on the Western Front, including the digging and maintenance of trenches, laying duckboard, pontoons and tramlines, removing landmines, building huts, showers and latrines, repairing roads, laying drains; they built a cinema at Beaulencourt Piers for “Brigade Swimming Carnival” and baths at Malhove consisting of a large “galvanised iron building” with a “concrete floor” and “setting tanks capable of bathing 2,000 men per day” (AWM). It is likely that members of the company were also involved in burial details.Sapper Johnston was hospitalised twice during his service with influenza and saw out most of his war from October 1917 attached to the Army Cookery School (NAA). He returned to Australia on board the HMAT Kildonian Castle in May 1919 which, according to the Sydney Morning Herald, also carried the official war correspondent and creator of the Anzac legend C.E.W. Bean, national poet Banjo Paterson and “Warrant Officer C G Macartney, the famous Australian cricketer”. The Herald also listed the names of “Returned Officers” and “Decorated Men”, but not Pop Johnston who had occupied the lower decks with other returning men (“Soldiers Return”).Like many of the more than 270,000 returned soldiers, Pop Johnston apparently exhibited observable changes upon his repatriation to Australia: “he was partially deaf” which was attributed to the “constant barrage of explosions”, while “gas” was suspected to have “left him with a legacy of lung disorders”. Yet, if “anyone offered commiserations” on account of this war legacy, he was quick to “dismiss the subject with the comment that ‘there were plenty worse off’” (Kinnane 6). The assumption is that Pop’s silence is stoic; the product of unspeakable horror and perhaps a symptom of survivor guilt.An alternative interpretation, suggested by Alistair Thomson in Anzac Memories, is that the experiences of the vast majority of returned soldiers were expected to fit within the master narrative of the Anzac legend in order to be accepted and believed, and that there was no space available to speak truthfully about alternative war service. Under pressure of Anzac expectations a great many composed stories or remained selectively silent (14).Data gleaned from the official medical history suggest that as many as four out of every five returned servicemen experienced emotional or psychological disturbance related to their war service. However, the two branches of medicine represented by surgeons and physicians in the Repatriation Department—charged with attending to the welfare of returned servicemen—focused on the body rather than the mind and the emotions (Murphy and Nile).The repatriation records of returned Australian soldiers reveal that there were, indeed, plenty physically worse off than Pop Johnston on account of bodily disfigurement or because they had been somatically compromised. An estimated 30,000 returned servicemen died in the decade after the cessation of hostilities to 1928, bringing the actual number of war dead to around 100,000, while a 1927 official report tabled the medical conditions of a further 72,388 veterans: 28,305 were debilitated by gun and shrapnel wounds; 22,261 were rheumatic or had respiratory diseases; 4534 were afflicted with eye, ear, nose, or throat complaints; 9,186 had tuberculosis or heart disease; 3,204 were amputees while only; 2,970 were listed as suffering “war neurosis” (“Enlistment”).Long after the guns had fallen silent and the wounded survivors returned home, the physical effects of war continued to be apparent in homes and hospital wards around the country, while psychological and emotional trauma remained largely undiagnosed and consequently untreated. David Meredith’s attitude towards his able-bodied father is frequently dismissive and openly scathing: “dad, who had been gassed, but not seriously, near Vimy Ridge, went back to his old job at the tramway depot” (9). The narrator-son later considers:what I realise now, although I never did at the time, is that my father, too, was oppressed by intimidating factors of fear and change. By disillusion and ill-health too. As is so often the case with big, strong, athletic men, he was an extreme hypochondriac, and he had convinced himself that the severe bronchitis which plagued him could only be attributed to German gas he had swallowed at Vimy Ridge. He was too afraid to go to a doctor about it, so he lived with a constant fear that his lungs were decaying, and that he might die at any time, without warning. (42-3)During the writing of My Brother Jack, the author-son was in chronically poor health and had been recently diagnosed with the romantic malady and poet’s disease of tuberculosis (Lawler) which plagued him throughout his work on the novel. George Johnston believed (correctly as it turned out) that he was dying on account of the disease, though, he was also an alcoholic and smoker, and had been reluctant to consult a doctor. It is possible and indeed likely that he resentfully viewed his condition as being an extension of his father—vicariously expressed through the depiction of Pop Meredith who exhibits hysterical symptoms which his son finds insufferable. David Meredith remains embittered and unforgiving to the very end. Pop Meredith “lived to seventy-three having died, not of German gas, but of a heart attack” (46).Pop Meredith’s return from the war in 1919 terrifies his seven-year-old son “Davy”, who accompanies the family to the wharf to welcome home a hero. The young boy is unable to recall anything about the father he is about to meet ostensibly for the first time. Davy becomes overwhelmed by the crowds and frightened by the “interminable blaring of horns” of the troopships and the “ceaseless roar of shouting”. Dwarfed by the bodies of much larger men he becomestoo frightened to look up at the hours-long progression of dark, hard faces under wide, turned-up hats seen against bayonets and barrels that are more blue than black ... the really strong image that is preserved now is of the stiff fold and buckle of coarse khaki trousers moving to the rhythm of knees and thighs and the tight spiral curves of puttees and the thick boots hammering, hollowly off the pier planking and thunderous on the asphalt roadway.Depicted as being small for his age, Davy is overwrought “with a huge and numbing terror” (10).In the years that follow, the younger Meredith desires emotional stability but remains denied because of the war’s legacy which manifests in the form of a violent patriarch who is convinced that his son has been rendered effeminate on account of the manly absence during vital stages of development. With the return of the father to the household, Davy grows to fear and ultimately despise a man who remains as alien to him as the formerly absent soldier had been during the war:exactly when, or why, Dad introduced his system of monthly punishments I no longer remember. We always had summary punishment, of course, for offences immediately detected—a cuffing around the ears or a sash with a stick of a strap—but Dad’s new system was to punish for the offences which had escaped his attention. So on the last day of every month Jack and I would be summoned in turn to the bathroom and the door would be locked and each of us would be questioned about the sins which we had committed and which he had not found out about. This interrogation was the merest formality; whether we admitted to crimes or desperately swore our innocence it was just the same; we were punished for the offences which, he said, he knew we must have committed and had to lie about. We then had to take our shirts and singlets off and bend over the enamelled bath-tub while he thrashed us with the razor-strop. In the blind rages of these days he seemed not to care about the strength he possessed nor the injuries he inflicted; more often than not it was the metal end of the strop that was used against our backs. (48)Ironically, the ritualised brutality appears to be a desperate effort by the old man to compensate for his own emasculation in war and unresolved trauma now that the war is ended. This plays out in complicated fashion in the development of David Meredith in Clean Straw for Nothing, Johnston’s sequel to My Brother Jack.The imputation is that Pop Meredith practices violence in an attempt to reassert his failed masculinity and reinstate his status as the head of the household. Older son Jack’s beatings cease when, as a more physically able young man, he is able to threaten the aggressor with violent retaliation. This action does not spare the younger weaker Davy who remains dominated. “My beating continued, more ferociously than ever, … . They ceased only because one day my father went too far; he lambasted me so savagely that I fell unconscious into the bath-tub, and the welts across my back made by the steel end of the razor-strop had to be treated by a doctor” (53).Pop Meredith is persistently reminded that he has no corporeal signifiers of war trauma (only a cough); he is surrounded by physically disabled former soldiers who are presumed to be worse off than he on account of somatic wounding. He becomes “morose, intolerant, bitter and violently bad-tempered”, expressing particular “displeasure and resentment” toward his wife, a trained nurse, who has assumed carer responsibilities for homing the injured men: “he had altogether lost patience with her role of Florence Nightingale to the halt and the lame” (40). Their marriage is loveless: “one can only suppose that he must have been darkly and profoundly disturbed by the years-long procession through our house of Mother’s ‘waifs and strays’—those shattered former comrades-in-arms who would have been a constant and sinister reminder of the price of glory” (43); a price he had failed to adequately pay with his uncompromised body intact.Looking back, a more mature David Meredith attempts to establish order, perspective and understanding to the “mess of memory and impressions” of his war-affected childhood in an effort to wrest control back over his postmemory violation: “Jack and I must have spent a good part of our boyhood in the fixed belief that grown-up men who were complete were pretty rare beings—complete, that is, in that they had their sight or hearing or all of their limbs” (8). While the father is physically complete, his brooding presence sets the tone for the oppressively “dark experience” within the family home where all rooms are “inhabited by the jetsam that the Somme and the Marne and the salient at Ypres and the Gallipoli beaches had thrown up” (18). It is not until Davy explores the contents of the “big deep drawer at the bottom of the cedar wardrobe” in his parents’ bedroom that he begins to “sense a form in the shadow” of the “faraway experience” that had been the war. The drawer contains his father’s service revolver and ammunition, battlefield souvenirs and French postcards but, “most important of all, the full set of the Illustrated War News” (19), with photographs of battlefield carnage. These are the equivalent of Hirsch’s photographs of the Holocaust that establish in Meredith an ontology that links him more realistically to the brutalising past and source of his ongoing traumatistion (Hirsch). From these, Davy begins to discern something of his father’s torment but also good fortune at having survived, and he makes curatorial interventions not by becoming a custodian of abjection like second generation Holocaust survivors but by disposing of the printed material, leaving behind artefacts of heroism: gun, the bullets, the medals and ribbons. The implication is that he has now become complicit in the very narrative that had oppressed him since his father’s return from war.No one apparently notices or at least comments on the removal of the journals, the images of which become linked in the young boys mind to an incident outside a “dilapidated narrow-fronted photographer’s studio which had been deserted and padlocked for as long as I could remember”. A number of sun-damaged photographs are still displayed in the window. Faded to a “ghostly, deathly pallor”, and speckled with fly droppings, years earlier, they had captured young men in uniforms before embarkation for the war. An “agate-eyed” boy from Davy’s school joins in the gazing, saying nothing for a long time until the silence is broken: “all them blokes there is dead, you know” (20).After the unnamed boy departs with a nonchalant “hoo-roo”, young Davy runs “all the way home, trying not to cry”. He cannot adequately explain the reason for his sudden reaction: “I never after that looked in the window of the photographer’s studio or the second hand shop”. From that day on Davy makes a “long detour” to ensure he never passes the shops again (20-1). Having witnessed images of pre-war undamaged young men in the prime of their youth, he has come face-to-face with the consequences of war which he is unable to reconcile in terms of the survival and return of his much older father.The photographs of the young men establishes a causal connection to the physically wrecked remnants that have shaped Davy’s childhood. These are the living remains that might otherwise have been the “corpses sprawled in mud or drowned in flooded shell craters” depicted in the Illustrated News. The photograph of the young men establishes Davy’s connection to the things “propped up our hallway”, of “Bert ‘sobbing’ in the backyard and Gabby Dixon’s face at the dark end of the room”, and only reluctantly the “bronchial cough of my father going off in the dawn light to the tramways depot” (18).That is to say, Davy has begun to piece together sense from senselessness, his father’s complicity and survival—and, by association, his own implicated life and psychological wounding. He has approached the source of his father’s abjection and also his own though he continues to be unable to accept and forgive. Like his father—though at the remove—he has been damaged by the legacies of the war and is also its victim.Ravaged by tuberculosis and alcoholism, George Johnston died in 1970. According to the artist Sidney Nolan he had for years resembled the ghastly photographs of survivors of the Holocaust (Marr 278). George’s forty five year old alcoholic wife Charmian Clift predeceased him by twelve months, having committed suicide in 1969. Four years later, in 1973, George and Charmian’s twenty four year old daughter Shane also took her own life. Their son Martin drank himself to death and died of organ failure at the age of forty three in 1990. They are all “dead, you know”.ReferencesAWM. Fifth Field Company, Australian Engineers. Diaries, AWM4 Sub-class 14/24.“Enlistment Report”. Reveille, 29 Sep. 1928.Hirsch, Marianne. “The Generation of Postmemory.” Poetics Today 29.1 (Spring 2008): 103-128. <https://read.dukeupress.edu/poetics-today/article/29/1/103/20954/The-Generation-of-Postmemory>.Johnston, George. Clean Straw for Nothing. London: Collins, 1969.———. My Brother Jack. London: Collins, 1964.Kinnane, Garry. George Johnston: A Biography. Melbourne: Nelson, 1986.Lawler, Clark. Consumption and Literature: the Making of the Romantic Disease. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.Marr, David, ed. Patrick White Letters. Sydney: Random House, 1994.Murphy, Ffion, and Richard Nile. “Gallipoli’s Troubled Hearts: Fear, Nerves and Repatriation.” Studies in Western Australian History 32 (2018): 25-38.NAA. John George Johnston War Service Records. <https://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=1830166>.“Soldiers Return by the Kildonan Castle.” Sydney Morning Herald, 10 May 1919: 18.Thomson, Alistair. Anzac Memories: Living with the Legend. Clayton: Monash UP, 2013.

In January of 1908 H. Addington Bruce, a writer for the North American Review, observed that "On every street, at every corner, we meet the neurasthenics" (qtd. in Lears, 50). "Discovered" by the neurologist George M. Beard in 1880, neurasthenia was a nervous disorder characterized by a "lack of nerve force" and comprised of a host of neuroses clustered around an overall paralysis of the will. Historian Barbara Will notes that there were "thousands of men and women at the turn of the century who claimed to be ‘neurasthenics,’" among them Theodore Roosevelt, Edith Wharton, William and Henry James, and Beard himself. These neurasthenics had free roam over the American psychiatric landscape from the date of Beard’s diagnosis until the 1920s, when more accurate diagnostic tools began to subdivide the nearly uninterpretably wide variety of symptoms falling under the rubric of "neurasthenic." By then, however, nearly every educated American had suffered from (or known someone who had) the debilitating "disease"--including Willa Cather, who in The Professor’s House would challenge her readers to acknowledge and engage with the cultural phenomenon of neurasthenia. Cultural historian T.J. Jackson Lears, long a student of neurasthenia, defines it as an "immobilizing, self-punishing depression" stemming from "endless self-analysis" and "morbid introspection" (47, 49). What is especially interesting about the disease, for Lears and other scholars, is that it is a culture-bound syndrome, predicated not upon individual experience, but upon the cultural and economic forces at play during the late nineteenth century. Barbara Will writes that neurasthenia was "double-edged": "a debilitating disease and [...] the very condition of the modern American subject" (88). Interestingly, George Beard attributed neurasthenia to the changes wracking his culture: Neurasthenia is the direct result of the five great changes of modernity: steam power, the periodical press, the telegraph, the sciences, and the mental activity of women. (qtd. in Will, 94) For Beard, neurasthenia was a peculiarly modern disease, the result of industrialization and of the ever-quickening pace of commercial and intellectual life. Jackson Lears takes Beard’s attribution a step further, explaining that "as larger frameworks of meaning weakened, introspection focused on the self alone and became ‘morbid’" (49). These frameworks of meaning--religious, political, psychosexual--were under steady assault in Beard’s time from commodifying and secularizing movements in America. Self-scrutiny, formerly yoked to Protestant salvation (and guilt), became more insular and isolating, resulting in the ultimate modern malady, neurasthenia. While Willa Cather may have inherited Beard’s and her culture’s assumptions of illness, it ultimately appears that Cather’s depiction of neurasthenia is a highly vexed one, both sympathetic and troubled, reflecting a deep knowledge of the condition and an ongoing struggle with the rationalization of scientific psychology. As an intellectual, she was uniquely positioned to both suffer from the forces shaping the new disease and to study them with a critical eye. Godfrey St. Peter, the anxious protagonist of The Professor’s House, becomes then a character that readers of Cather’s day would recognize as a neurasthenic: a "brain-worker," hard-charging and introspective, and lacking in what Beard would call "nerve force," the psychological stoutness needed to withstand modernity’s assault on the self. Moreover, St. Peter is not a lone sufferer, but is instead emblematic of a culture-wide affliction--part of a larger polity constantly driven to newer heights of production, consumption, and subsequent affliction. Jackson Lears theorizes that "neurasthenia was a product of overcivilization" (51), of consumer culture and endemic commodification. Beard himself characterized neurasthenia as an "American disease," a malady integral to the rationalizing, industrializing American economy (31). Cather reinforces the neurasthenic’s exhaustion and inadequacy as St. Peter comes across his wife flirting with Louis Marsellus, prompting the professor to wonder, "Beaux-fils, apparently, were meant by Providence to take the husband’s place when husbands had ceased to be lovers" (160). Not only does this point to the sexual inadequacy and listlessness characteristic of neurasthenia, but the diction here reinforces the modus operandi of the commodity culture--when an old model is used up, it is simply replaced by a newer, better model. Interestingly, Cather’s language itself often mirrors Beard’s. St. Peter at one point exclaims to Lillian, in a beatific reverie: "I was thinking [...] about Euripides; how, when he was an old man, he went and lived in a cave by the sea, and it was thought queer, at the time. It seems that houses had become insupportable to him" (156). The Professor’s "symptom of hopelessness," Beard might explain, "appears to be similar to that of morbid fear--an instinctive consciousness of inadequacy for the task before us. We are hopeless because our nerve force is so reduced that the mere holding on to life seems to be a burden too heavy for us" (49). Both Beard and Cather, then, zero in on the crushing weight of modern life for the neurasthenic. The Professor here aches for rest and isolation--he, in Beard’s language, "fears society," prompting Lillian to fear that he is "’becoming lonely and inhuman’" (162). This neurasthenic craving for isolation becomes much more profound in Book III of the novel, when St. Peter is almost completely estranged from his family. Although he feels he loves them, he "could not live with his family again" upon their return from Europe (274). "Falling out, for him, seemed to mean falling out of all domestic and social relations, out of his place in the human family, indeed" (275). St. Peter’s estrangement is not only with his family (an estrangement perhaps rationalized by the grasping or otherwise distasteful St. Peter clan), but with the human family. It is a solipsistic retreat from contact and effort, the neurasthenic’s revulsion for work of any kind. Neurasthenia, if left untreated, can become deadly. Beard explains: "A certain amount of nerve strength is necessary to supply the courage requisite for simple existence. Abstaining from dying demands a degree of force" (49). Compare this to the scene near the end of the narrative in which St. Peter, sleeping on the couch, nearly dies: When St. Peter at last awoke, the room was pitch-black and full of gas. He was cold and numb, felt sick and rather dazed. The long-anticipated coincidence had happened, he realized. The storm had blown the stove out and the window shut. The thing to do was to get up and open the window. But suppose he did not get up--? How far was a man required to exert himself against accident? [...] He hadn’t lifted his hand against himself--was he required to lift it for himself? (276) This classic scene, variously read as a suicide attempt or as an accident, can be understood as the neurasthenic’s complete collapse. The Professor’s decision is made solely in terms of effort; this is not a moral or philosophical decision, but one of physiological capacity. He is unwilling to "exert" the energy necessary to save himself, unwilling to "lift his hand" either for or against himself. Here is the prototypical neurasthenic fatigue--almost suicidal, but ultimately too passive and weak to even take that course of action. Accidental gassing is a supremely logical death for the neurasthenic. This appropriateness is reinforced by the Professor at the end of the narrative, when he remembers his near death: Yet when he was confronted by accidental extinction, he had felt no will to resist, but had let chance take its way, as it had done with him so often. He did not remember springing up from the couch, though he did remember a crisis, a moment of acute, agonized strangulation. (282) Again, the Professor is a passive figure, couch-ridden, subject to the whims of chance and his own lack of nerve. He is saved by Augusta, though, and does somehow manage to carry on with his life, if in a diminished way. We cannot accredit his survival to clinical treatment of neurasthenia, but perhaps his vicarious experience on the mesa with Tom Outland can account for his fortitude. Treatment of neurasthenia, according to Tom Lutz, "aimed at a reconstitution of the subject in terms of gender roles" (32). S. Weir Mitchell, a leading psychiatrist of the day, treated many notable neurasthenics. Female patients, in line with turn-of-the-century models of female decorum, were prescribed bed rest for up to several months, and were prohibited from all activity and visitors. (Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s "The Yellow Wallpaper" has long been considered a critique of Mitchell’s "rest cure" for women. Interestingly, St. Peter’s old study has yellow wall paper.) Treatments for men, again consistent with contemporary gender roles, emphasized vigorous exercise, often in natural settings: Theodore Roosevelt, Thomas Eakins, Frederic Remington, and Owen Wister were all sent to the Dakotas for rough-riding exercise cures [...] Henry James was sent to hike in the Alps, and William James continued to prescribe vigorous mountain hikes for himself[.] (32) Depleted of "nerve force," male neurasthenics were admonished to replenish their reserves in rugged, survivalist outdoor settings. Beard documents the treatment of one "Mr. O," whom, worn out by "labor necessitated by scholarly pursuits," is afflicted by a settled melancholia, associated with a morbid and utterly baseless fear of financial ruin...he was as easily exhausted physically as mentally. He possessed no reserve force, and gave out utterly whenever he attempted to overstep the bounds of the most ordinary effort. [As part of his treatment] He journeyed to the West, visited the Yellowstone region, and at San Francisco took steamer for China [...] and returned a well man, nor has he since relapsed into his former condition. (139-41) Beard’s characterization of "Mr. O" is fascinating in several ways. First, he is the prototypical neurasthenic--worn out, depressed, full of "baseless" fears. More interestingly, for the purposes of this study, part of the patient’s cure is effected in the "Yellowstone region," which would ultimately be made a national park by neurasthenic outdoors man Theodore Roosevelt. This natural space, hewn from the wilds of the American frontier, is a prototypical refuge for nervous "brain-workers" in need of rejuvenation. This approach to treatment is especially intriguing given the setting of Book II of The Professor's House: an isolated Mesa in the Southwest. While St. Peter himself doesn’t undertake an exercise cure, "Tom Outland’s Story" does mimic the form and rhetoric of treatment for male neurasthenics, possibly accounting for the odd narrative structure of the novel. Cather, then, not only acknowledges the cultural phenomenon of neurasthenia, but incorporates it in the structure of the text. Outland’s experience on the mesa (mediated, we must remember, by the neurasthenic St. Peter, who relates the tale) is consistent with what Jackson Lears has termed the "cult of strenuousity" prevalent in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. According to Lears neurasthenics often sought refuge in "a vitalistic cult of energy and process; and a parallel recovery of the primal, irrational sources in the human psyche, forces which had been obscured by the evasive banality of modern culture" (57). Outland, discovering the mesa valley for the first time, explains that the air there "made my mouth and nostrils smart like charged water, seemed to go to my head a little and produce a kind of exaltation" (200). Like Roosevelt and other devotees of the exercise cure, Outland (and St. Peter, via the mediation) is re-"charged" by the primal essence of the mesa. The Professor later laments, "his great drawback was [...] the fact that he had not spent his youth in the great dazzling South-west country which was the scene of his explorers’ adventures" (258). Interestingly, Outland’s rejuvenation on the mesa is cast by Cather in hyperbolically masculine terms. The notoriously phallic central tower of the cliff city, for instance, may serve as a metaphor for recovered sexual potency: It was beautifully proportioned, that tower, swelling out to a larger girth a little above the base, then growing slender again. There was something symmetrical and powerful about the swell of the masonry. The tower was the fine thing that held all the jumble of houses together and made them mean something. It was red in color, even on that grey day. (201) Neurasthenics embraced "premodern symbols as alternatives to the vagueness of liberal Protestantism or the sterility of nineteenth-century positivism" (Lears xiii). The tower stands in striking contrast to St. Peter’s sexless marriage with Lillian, potentially reviving the Professor’s sagging neurasthenic libido. The tower also serves, in Outland’s mind, to forge meaning out of the seemingly random cluster of houses: "The notion struck me like a rifle ball that this mesa had once been like a bee-hive; it was full of little cluff-hung villages, it had been the home of a powerful tribe" (202). Outland’s discovery, cast in martial terms ("rifle ball"), reinscribes the imperialistic tendencies of the exercise cure and of Tom’s archeological endeavor itself. Tom Lutz notes that the exercise cure, steeped in Rooseveltian rhetoric, exemplified "a polemic for cultural change, a retraining, presented as a ‘return’ to heroic, natural, and manly values...The paternalism of Roosevelt’s appeal made sense against the same understanding of role which informed the cures for neurasthenia" (36). Outland seems to unconsciously concur, reflecting that "Wherever humanity has made that hardest of all starts and lifted itself out of mere brutality, is a sacred spot" (220-1). While Outland does have genuine admiration for the tribe, his language is almost always couched in terms of martial struggle, of striving against implacable odds. On a related note, George Kennan, writing in a 1908 McClure’s Magazine edited by Cather, proposed that rising suicide rates among the educated by cured by a "cultivation of what may be called the heroic spirit" (228). Cather was surely aware of this masculinizing, imperializing response to neurasthenic ennui--her poem, "Prairie Dawn," appears at the end of Kennan’s article! Outland’s excavation of Cliff City and its remains subsequently becomes an imperializing gesture, in spite of his respect for the culture. What does this mean, though, for a neurasthenic reading of The Professor’s House? In part, it acknowledges Cather’s response to and incorporation of a cultural phenomenon into the text in question. Additionally, it serves to clarify Cather’s critique of masculinist American culture and of the gendered treatment of neurasthenia. This critique is exemplified by Cather’s depiction of "Mother Eve": "Her mouth was open as if she were screaming, and her face, through all those years, had kept a look of terrible agony" (214-15). Not only does this harrowing image undermine Outland’s romantic depiction of the tribe, but it points to the moral bankruptcy of the cult of strenuousity. It is easy, Cather seems to argue, for Roosevelt and his ilk to "rough it" in the wilderness to regain their vigor, but the "real-life" wilderness experience is a far harsher and more dangerous prospect. Cather ultimately does not romanticize the mesa--she problematizes it as a site for neurasthenic recovery. More importantly, this vexed reading of the treatment suggests a vexed reading of neurasthenia and of "American Nervousness" itself. Ultimately, in spite of his best efforts to recover the intense experience of his past and of Tom Outland’s, St. Peter fails. As Mathias Schubnell explains, Cather’s "central character is trapped between a modern urban civilization to which he belongs against his will, and a pastoral, earth-bound world he yearns for but cannot regain" (97). This paradox is exemplified by the Professor’s early lament to Lillian, "’it’s been a mistake, our having a family and writing histories and getting middle-aged. We should have been picturesquely shipwrecked together when we were young’" (94). The reader, of course, recognizes the absurdity of this image--an absurdity strongly reinforced by the image of the deceased "Mother Eve" figure. These overcivilized men, Cather suggests, have no conception of what intense experience might be. That experience has been replaced, the Professor explains, by rationalizing, industrializing forces in American culture: Science hasn’t given us any new amazements, except of the superficial kind we get from witnessing dexterity and sleight-of-hand. It hasn’t given us any richer pleasures...nor any new sins--not one! Indeed, it has taken our old ones away. It’s the laboratory, not the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world. You’ll agree there is not much thrill about a physiological sin...I don’t think you help people by making their conduct of no importance--you impoverish them. (68) St. Peter, the neurasthenic humanist, gets here at the heart of his (and America’s) sickness--it has replaced the numinous and the sacred with the banal and the profane. The disorder he suffers from, once termed a sin, has become "physiological," as has his soul. It is worthwhile to contrast the Professor’s lament with Beard’s supremely rational boast: "It would seem, indeed, that diseases which are here described represent a certain amount of force in the body which, if our knowledge of physiological chemistry were more precise, might be measured in units" (115). The banal, utterly practical measuring of depression, of melancholia, of humanity’s every whim and caprice, Cather suggests, has dulled the luster of human existence. The Professor’s tub, then, becomes an emblem of the relentless stripping away of all that is meaningful and real in Cather’s culture: "Many a night, after blowing out his study lamp, he had leaped into that tub, clad in his pyjamas, to give it another coat of some one of the many paints that were advertised to behave like porcelain, but didn’t" (12). Porcelain here becomes the religion or art which once sustained the race, replaced by the false claims of science. The Professor, though, seems too world-weary, too embittered to actually turn to religious faith. Perhaps God is dead in his world, eliminated by the Faustian quest for scientific knowledge. "His career, his wife, his family, were not his life at all, but a chain of events which had happened to him" (264). Godfrey St. Peter, like the rest of the neurasthenics, is doomed to an incurable sickness, victim of a spiritual epidemic which, Cather suggests, will not soon run its course. References Beard, George M. A Practical Treatise on Nervous Exhaustion (Neurasthenia). A. D. Rockwell, ed. New York: E.B. Treat & Company, 1905. Cather, Willa. The Professor’s House. London: Virago, 1981. Fisher-Wirth, Ann. "Dispossession and Redemption in the Novels of Willa Cather." Cather Studies 1 (1990): 36-54. Harvey, Sally Peltier. Predefining the American Dream: The Novels of Willa Cather. Toronto: Associated UP, 1995. Hilgart, John. "Death Comes for the Aesthete: Commodity Culture and the Artifact in Cather’s The Professor’s House." Studies in the Novel 30:3 (Fall 1998): 377-404. Kennan, George. McClure’s Magazine 30:2 (June 1908): 218-228. Lears, T.J. Jackson. No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation American Culture. New York: Pantheon Books, 1981. Lutz, Tom. American Nervousness, 1903: An Anecdotal History. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1991. Schubnell, Matthias. "The Decline of America: Willa Cather’s Spenglerian Vision in The Professor’s House." Cather Studies 2 (1993): 92-117. Stouck, David. "Willa Cather and The Professor’s House: ‘Letting Go with the Heart." Western American Literature 7 (1972): 13-24. Will, Barbara. "Nervous Systems, 1880-1915." American Bodies: Cultural Histories of the Physique. Tim Armstrong, ed. New York: NYUP, 1996. 86-100. Links The Willa Cather Electronic Archive The Mower's Tree (Cather Colloquium Newsletter) George Beard information

In a recent "Arts & Leisure" feature in a national Canadian newspaper, The Globe and Mail (5 June 1999), music critic Robert Everett-Green muses on the invention by the pop music industry of Andrea Bocelli as an opera singer: "call him an airborne virus or a gift from God ... . He is the voice you are most likely to hear while waiting for a double latte." The pop sentimentality industry fast-tracked Bocelli (a pop singer who "sounds" operatic) and created a global entertainment product. In a masterful stroke of high pop spectacle, the holy trinity of musical melodrama joined together -- Bocelli and Céline Dion gush out David Foster's "The Prayer", the theme for the movie Quest for Camelot -- to create an exquisite pop moment. The massive reach of the mainstream; the resonant power of vocal turgidity and excess; the pop diva who never met a song she couldn't oversing -- this is the pop often neglected in critical forays into the nature of the popular that search for the active and the participatory dimensions of popular culture. Yet pop both plunders and perpetuates popular culture; it contains and dramatises the social possibilities of popular culture, and at the same time, spreads out like a great theme park of trivia. Let's pick through the trash. If nothing else, the contemplation of the "question" of pop is an enterprise which often begins with the issue of redemption for popular culture. Even the cultural populist wrestles with the anxiety that much of what we understand as "pop" in culture constitutes the detritus, the ephemera, a repository of the trivialities of society in all of its contemporary moments. The best critical insights into the nature and substance of popular culture (studies in cultural geography and perspectives on history and collective memory, for examples), recognise that what they are considering, describing, and analysing in the spaces and experiences of the popular is at the very least deeply and irrevocably contradictory. The cool, renegade, and enormously creative cultural excursions and general messing about of turntablism and drum'n'bass, for examples, are democratic, active, even "heroic" by some critical discourses, where, say, the maudlin "pop diva" is forgettable at best, and unworthy of an analytical encounter at worst. There is a haziness to the concept of "pop", and more broadly, "popular", and the definitional defiance among the numerous and varied theorists of this energetic practice and/or genre of cultural form and production produces a rather decentred, if not indeterminate object of study. Bill Readings's critique of Cultural Studies offers the relevance of analogy here. Readings notes the "second moment" in the progress of Cultural Studies (around 1990), and the publication of a number of works at the time "that seem to mark the acquisition of professional disciplinarity of Cultural Studies". His excavation of these works reveals a characteristic theoretical element or two -- the suspicion of "the exclusionary force of certain boundaries: female/male, north/south, center/margin, high culture/low culture, western/other, heterosexual/homosexual" (97) -- and some of the authoritative antecedents of these theories against exclusion (Williams, Foucault, Gramsci, Hall, and others). Yet he notes that the striking characteristic of Cultural Studies is the thinness or even absence of theoretical definition or specificity -- "how little it needs to determine its object. Which does not mean that a lot of theorising doesn't go on in its name, only that such efforts are not undertaken in a way that secures the relation of an observer to a determinate set of phenomena or an autonomous object" (97). There is then, a frustration in providing an account of what it means to "do" Cultural Studies, or, more glaringly, what exactly the promised political interventions of Cultural Studies are in the context of hazy objects, floating themes, and sketchy "projects", all of which are products of the declared refusal by Cultural Studies to submit to definitional constraints. Pop suffers from a similar indeterminacy in its object of study, but interestingly because its tends to be over-defined rather than under-defined. Figuring out the object of study in pop is not unlike attempting to parse the object(s) of study in Cultural Studies -- a frustration ultimately, but for very different reasons. Pop is a universe of "anything and everything", and incomprehensible not because it is conceptually challenging (like a universe), but because its geography stretches across so much cultural space. In critiques, pop takes on the torque of the critic, a necessary strategy to somehow delimit its space, and make it graspable, if not meaningful. Encounters with pop (as in "pop art" and "PoMo pop") mine for signs of life among the trash, and have come up with a heartbeat or two on occasion. This geography of trash is in need of some attention. For conceptual guidance in this task, or at least for some respite from the arguments about the "projects" and "interventions" of pop and popular culture, I turn to Don DeLillo's seminal critique of media, consumerism, and the bizarre dislocations and bewildering drift of contemporary social life in his 1985 novel, White Noise (a book that should be required reading for undergraduate courses in media and communication). Murray Jay Suskind, an ex-sports writer and émigré from New York City has come to University-on-the-Hill in Blacksmith, somewhere in middle America, and has assumed his position as visiting lecturer in the Department of American Environments. He becomes a kind of participant-observer and quasi-family member in the household of Jack Gladney, the narrator of the novel and Chairman of the Department of Hitler Studies at the university -- a field he invented in 1968. Murray expresses his desire to establish an "Elvis Presley power base in the department of American Environments", to "do for Elvis" what Jack has "done for Hitler". Murray is engaged in a debate with his students on the true substance and significance of television, and the media-saturated Gladney household serves as a laboratory. Murray argues that the medium is a "primal force in the American home ... a myth being born right there in our living room". Murray elaborates in a conversation with Jack: You have to learn to look. You have to open yourself to the data. TV offers incredible amounts of psychic data. It opens up ancient memories of world birth, its welcomes us into the grid, the network of little buzzing dots that make up the picture pattern. There is light, there is sound. I ask my students, "What more do you want? Look at the wealth of data concealed in the grid, in the bright packaging, the jingles, the slice-of-life commercials, the products hurtling out of the darkness, the coded messages and endless repetitions, like chants, like mantras. 'Coke is it, Coke is it, Coke is it.' The medium practically overflows with sacred formulas if we can remember how to respond innocently and get past our irritation, weariness and disgust. (51) His students disagree -- television for them is "worse than junk mail", it is "the death throes of human consciousness". Murray, however, finds vindication in the Gladney home where the children live lives of total consumer/television immersion to the extent that they eat, think, speak, and dream according to all things televisual and all things commercial. Jack and his wife Babette are fearful of TV, its "narcotic undertow and eerie diseased brain-sucking power", and Babette has developed a strategy to "de-glamorise" television for the good of the family by instituting a family ritual of watching television en masse every Friday night. Mostly numbed or bored, the family occasionally engages in the strangely pleasurable and thoroughly grotesque activity of watching catastrophes: "we were otherwise silent, watching houses slide into the ocean, whole villages crackle and ignite in a mass of advance lava". The family found itself wishing for more with each disaster on the screen, something more sensational, "something bigger, grander, more sweeping" (64). The popular life as depicted by DeLillo is gripping in its familiarity. It is a life that unfolds around and within the television screen; a life that unfolds beside chemical dump sites and industrial waste zones, where toxic fallout produces glorious sunsets as well as fruit that is bright and burnished and always appears to be in season; a life that unfolds in supermarkets and malls where shopping is automatic, somnambulant, and strangely comforting; a life grounded in, structured by, and rationalised within consumerism, media, and omnipresent technological forces that produce everything from dark and insidious pharmaceuticals to an airborne toxic cloud; a life in which families are fragmented and destroyed by the very institutions and pastimes (Disney World and shopping) that declare and promote the support of families and their "values". There is a refrain that emerges like some unconscious ritual chant in the novel, a refrain that has no context or exposition, and that moves through and around the dialogue and the text like a persistent advertising jingle that refuses to quit one's head: Dacron, Orlon, Lycra, Spandex Mastercard, Visa, American Express Leaded, Unleaded, Superunleaded And when children dream, they dream in the consumer-unconscious. Jack hears his child mumbling something in her sleep, and leans closer to hear. She says, "Toyota Celica". The utterance transports Jack, an utterance that was "beautiful and mysterious, gold-shot with looming wonder. It was like the name of an ancient power in the sky, tablet-carved in cuneiform" (155). The brand name has come to have sacred resonance, supreme, transcendent, the stuff of dreams. This is a fiction about suffocating distractedly under the sheer weighty banality of popular trash. It offers a portrait of all of us deep in the commercial media swamp, flailing about in the flotsam and jetsam of all things commercial and popular. DeLillo's narrative moves towards its dark conclusion as the malevolent force of the toxic cloud brings the certainty of death in uncertain ways. The apocalyptic moment is evidenced by the sudden rearrangement of goods on the supermarket shelves. "Older shoppers" panic: "they walk in a fragmented trance, stop and go, clusters of well-dressed figures frozen in the aisles, trying to figure out the pattern, discern the underlying logic, trying to remember where they'd seen the Cream of Wheat" (325). DeLillo's version of life as we know offers some compelling signposts. Mainstream trash -- much of pop, if you will -- is toxic at many turns, and if not a great cloud, then infinitely more than a mere inflection. We desire that which we despise, and herein is the power of pop as a concept, a way of offering a critical trajectory. In a reflection on Pop Art, Roy Lichtenstein once remarked that "What characterises Pop is mainly its use of what is despised" (qtd. in Barthes 22). The pop impulse in art has always suggested a useful ambivalence for addressing the contradictions of life in the maelstrom -- the artist as interventionist/renegade and as commercial hack/celebrity; artful plundering and artless reproduction; the simultaneity of the provocation and the tedium of art in the pop mode; the knowable faux finish of the commercial good look of things and falseness as the raw material of cultural production; bad taste and cool cultural assaults. Pop in art has been accused of constituting a kind of slick cultural finish over cheap particle board. Still, there is a modicum of subversive power in the reversal of values in Pop Art (and in its precursors and its legacies) -- the common, the vulgar, the garish, the boring, the mass produced, the consumable, the pure commodity, all reworked to reveal their common, vulgar, garish, boring, massified, consumable, commodity nature. There have been impressive pop stylistic aggressions carried out against the constipation of high tastes, immutable standards, seriousness, and the ideologies of artistic and cultural legitimacy. Yet at times pop has been blunted by its very self-conscious edge as it engaged in self-congratulations for its irony, pith, and hipness. For some critics, pop in art suffers the malady of most style statements in the postmodern plague -- statements with no convictions since such statements are served up in quotation marks; and a life in quotation marks is no life at all. Pop declares that it is the progeny of commercial technique, marketplaces, advertising, and the commodity environments of junk; and if it didn't exactly spring from the mall, it has come to reside there now between the fountain and the food fair. At its worst, pop appears to be a vaporescent activity, but this perspective neglects some fine and very active pop moments. Pop excursions are important because they can open up creative and critical responses to popular culture. There is pop practice that rises well above empty irony and the business of oversinging (as in some current and brilliant cut-ups and constructed sounds in performance that not only have emotional substance, but are also danceable). Sometimes, out of the trash heap of pop, there are spaces in which popular culture is regenerated. And it is only in this relationship to popular culture that pop matters. References Barthes, Roland. "That Old Thing Called Art." Post-Pop Art. Ed. Paul Taylor. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1989. DeLillo, Don. White Noise. New York: Viking, 1985. Readings, Bill. The University in Ruins Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1996. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Martin Laba. "Picking through the Trash." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.4 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/trash.php>. Chicago style: Martin Laba, "Picking through the Trash," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 4 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/trash.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Martin Laba. (1999) Picking through the trash. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(4). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/trash.php> ([your date of access]).