Journal articles on the topic 'Mean-end chain theory'

Dynamical properties of branched polymer melts are determined by the polymer molecular weights and architectures containing junction points. Relaxation of entangled symmetric star polymers proceeds via arm-retraction and constraint release (CR). In this work, we investigate arm-retraction dynamics in the framework of a single-chain slip-spring model without CR effect where entanglements are treated as binary contacts, conveniently modeled as virtual “slip-links”, each involving two neighboring strands. The model systems are analogous to isolated star polymers confined in a permanent network or a melt of very long linear polymers. We find that the distributions of the effective primitive path lengths are Gaussian, from which the entanglement molecular weight N e , a key tube theory parameter, can be extracted. The procured N e value is in good agreement with that obtained from mapping the middle monomer mean-square displacements of entangled linear chains in slip-spring model to the tube model prediction. Furthermore, the mean first-passage (FP) times of destruction of original tube segments by the retracting arm end are collected in simulations and examined quantitatively using a theory recently developed in our group for describing FP problems of one-dimensional Rouse chains with improbable extensions. The asymptotic values of N e as obtained from the static (primitive path length) and dynamical (FP time) analysis are consistent with each other. Additionally, we manage to determine the tube survival function of star arms μ ( t ) , or equivalently arm end-to-end vector relaxation function ϕ ( t ) , through the mean FP time spectrum τ ( s ) of the tube segments after careful consideration of the inner-most entanglements, which shows reasonably good agreement with experimental data on dielectric relaxation.

In this paper we consider the problem of a polymer chain in random media with finite correlation. We show that the mean square end-to-end distance of a polymer chain can be obtained using the Feynman path integral developed by Feynman for treating the polaron problem and successfuly applied to the theory of heavily doped semiconductor. We show that for short-range correlation or the white Gaussian model we derive the results obtained by Edwards and Muthukumar using the replica method and for long-range correlation we obtain the result of Yohannes Shiferaw and Yadin Y. Goldschimidt. The main idea of this paper is to generalize the model proposed by Edwards and Muthukumar for short-range correlation to finite correlation. Instead of using a replica method, we employ the Feynman path integral by modeling the polymer Hamiltonian as a model of non-local quadratic trial Hamiltonian. This non-local trial Hamiltonian is essential as it will reflect the translation invariant of the original Hamiltonian. The calculation is proceeded by considering the differences between the polymer propagator and the trial propagator as the first cumulant approximation. The variational principle is used to find the optimal values of the variational parameters and the mean square end-to-end distance is obtained. Several asymptotic limits are considered and a comparison between this approaches and replica approach will be discussed.

Vietnam is a high-populated country with more than 65% of the population doing farming jobs. This is one of the reasons explaining why farmer cooperatives have become one significant economical component in the Vietnamese economy. Therefore, a comprehensive understanding of farmer cooperatives is really critical. However, the literature on farmer cooperatives in Vietnam is meager to understand the manner of its operations or promote this economical component. The system of farmer cooperatives in Vietnam has increasingly contributed to the GDP of Vietnam. In 2020, it contributed to GDP directly and indirectly at 4.8% and 30%, respectively. However, only 30% of farmer cooperatives are operating effectively; and there are many farmers who still do not want to participate in agricultural cooperatives. Hence, this study aims to explore farmers’ perceptions of agricultural cooperative characteristics preventing them from participating. The method employed to conduct this study is the mean-end chain approach and a total of 20 farmers and 02 representatives of cooperatives were interviewed by soft-laddering interview technique. The research findings show that there are 14 attributes (characteristics of a cooperative system), through 11 consequences, leading to 06 (farmers’) values. The findings can explain clearly the reasons preventing farmers from participating in agricultural cooperatives. Found (farmers’) values can help policymakers and management of cooperatives change/adjust manners to attract farmers and promote farmer cooperatives.

We show that active, self-propelled particles that are connected together to form a single chain that is anchored at one end can produce the graceful beating motions of flagella. Changing the boundary condition from a clamp to a pivot at the anchor leads to steadily rotating tight coils. Strong noise in the system disrupts the regularity of the oscillations. We use a combination of detailed numerical simulations, mean-field scaling analysis and first passage time theory to characterize the phase diagram as a function of the filament length, passive elasticity, propulsion force and noise. Our study suggests minimal experimental tests for the onset of oscillations in an active polar chain.

<em>Even if country of origin effects is one of the most studied topics in marketing literature and consumer behavior, but still attract the attention of researchers due to tremendous critics that need to be addressed. Based on some of those critics, this article presents the results of a qualitative study based on thirty laddering interviews conducted with Moroccan men belonging to the elite of generation Y. Our aim is to understand their attitudes towards hedonic product made in their local country-Morocco- vs foreign countries by integrating the means-end-chain theory which allow us to relate country of origin as a product attribute, consequence and personal value. The findings demonstrate that Moroccan elite consumers prefer foreign brands because they enhance their appearance, self-confidence and the need for uniqueness.</em>

One sector that continues to experience development is the telecommunications sector. Telecommunications can make it easier to obtain information and carry out various activities. The communication sector has a vital role in the continuity and smoothness of communication. The objective of this research is to establish the correlation between the perceived price, perceived trust, perceived value, satisfaction, and repeat purchase intention of an Internet telecommunication service among individuals belonging to Generation Y and Z. The researchers introduce perceived trust as a new and innovative aspect of their study. Mean-End Chain Theory is used in research as the leading theory. The method in this study uses a quantitative approach using purposive sampling techniques, which resulted in 155 samples. The analytical approach utilised in the present investigation was. Structural Equation Modelling (SEM), using the AMOS Graphics 24 programmed. The study's findings suggest that the perceived price has a notable adverse impact on satisfaction. The perceived price and perceived trust favourably and dramatically effect the perceived value. This research is helpful in that mobile provider managers should improve perceived trust and perceived price of services by contributing to an event and being active in online marketing.

We consider polymer brushes in poor solvent that are grafted onto planar substrates and onto the internal and external surfaces of a cylinder using molecular dynamics simulation, self-consistent field (SCF), and mean-field theory. We derive a unified expression for the mean field free energy for the three geometrical classes. While for low grafting densities, the effect of chain elasticity can be neglected in poor solvent conditions, it becomes relevant at higher grafting densities and, in particular, for concave geometries. Based on the analysis of the end monomer distribution, we introduce an analytical term that describes the elasticity as a function of grafting density. The accuracy of the model is validated with molecular dynamics simulations as well as SCF computations and shown to yield precise values for the layer thickness over a wide range of system parameters. We further apply this model to analyze the gating behavior of switchable brushes inside nanochannels.

Based on a class of chaotic system composed of hidden attractors, in which the equilibrium points are described by a circular function, complete synchronization between two identical systems, pattern formation and synchronization of network is investigated, respectively. A statistical factor of synchronization is defined and calculated by using the mean field theory, the dependence of synchronization on bifurcation parameters discussed in numerical way. By setting a chain network, which local kinetic is described by hidden attractors, synchronization approach is investigated. It is found that the synchronization and pattern formation are dependent on the coupling intensity and also the selection of coupling variables. In the end, open problems are proposed for readers’ extensive guidance and investigation.

The literature shows that there are studies on students’ choices when enrolling in an institution. The findings from these studies help High Educational Institutions (HEIs) to improve their enrollment. However, not much literature explains how students (as consumers) explain the values they can get from HEIs’ image attributes. The present study employs Mean-End Chain (MEC) theory to explore students’ values by identifying attributes of HEIs images attributes from their perceptions with the following objectives: (1) to explore attributes of the selected school’s image from students’ perspectives, (2) to explore the connections between these attributes and values of individual students through consequences from these attributes. The soft-laddering interview is the method to collect data, and participants are first-year students who have just enrolled in the selected school in the last national enrollment in 2020. The research findings show that there are 12 attributes, which drive to eight values through 23 consequences (13 functional consequences and 10 psychosocial consequences), making students enroll in the selected school. The result from HVM states that there are five significant A-C-V linkages to explain which attributes have the most influence on students’ choice, and how these attributes affect their perceived values. Finally, the study also proposes suggestions for institutions to promote their enrollment practices and increase the quality of their enrolments.

This research examine the mediating role of brand credibility between the relationship of hotel attributes and brand attachment that will to lead to post-consumption outcomes. We also examine how hotel attributes contributes to the brand attachment and post-consumption outcomes.Based on the mean-end chain theory, it explores the relationship among six constructs; hotel attributes, brand credibility, brand attachment and post-consumption outcomes (i.e., satisfaction, revisit intention and word-of-mouth). Partial Least Squares Structural Equation Modelling (PLS-SEM) approach was deployed to validate the research model. The result indicatesbrand credibility fully mediates the relationship between hotel attributes and brand attachment. Subsequently, brand credibility and brand attachment are found to be significantly linked with post-consumption outcomes. The result offers implications for hotelier and direction for future research.

Double-stranded DNA (dsDNA) is one of the most used model polymers in studying polymer dynamics. Some recent studies with the experimental data via fluorescence correlation spectroscopy (FCS) proposed that the end-monomer dynamics of dsDNA in dilute solution should be fallen into Rouse-type at intermediate times. This viewpoint is inconsistent with the classical polymer dynamics, therefore arousing controversy. To have a further looking clearly at what else meaning could be revealed from the original data of the FCS measurements, we made a re-calculation by two methods: one is based on Lodge and Wu's model (LWM) modified from the classical bead-spring model, in which parameters used in modeling are needed to be adjusted; and another is a mean field theory (MFT) for semiflexible chain with no parameter fitting needed. In LWM, we find not so weak hydrodynamic interactions (HI) which is not expected in Rouse theory, and the scaling of mean square displacement (MSD) is between Rouse-type and Zimm-type. MFT can reproduce experimental data well at larger time scales, whereas also gives rather different picture in intermediate regime — a dynamical scaling between Rouse-like and Zimm-like rather than Rouse-like scaling is found, indicating there may be sample problems or limitations in the setup for the experiment.

Consumer buying behavior has recently become a topic of discussion in both developing countries and under developing. Marketers, researchers, supply chain analyst, and policy maker everyone is paying special attention on this. Due to complex nature of human and decision making process many countries are still working to understand this phenomenon. Using Mean End Chain (MEC) theory, the goal of this study is to examine how hedonic and utilitarian values, as well as issues with e-service and product quality, affect customers' intentions to make more purchases when they buy online. Data were gathered from 209 universities students through online Google survey form. SPSS and smart PLS were used to analyze the collected data. The finding of this research demonstrated that hedonic value and utilitarian value both have a significant impact on repeat purchase intention. An e-service quality is contributing in different ways. Lastly the quality of a product is influencing the customer to repeat customer i.e. if the product is according to the demand of customer so they will rebuy the product. The findings of this paper will help marketers and supply chain experts in their fields specially the one who owns a retail store. This paper will guide them to develop and implement such practices that would force the customer to retained customer/ repeat customer.

Abstract Narrative is a complex and elusive category of cognition, culture, communication and language. An attempt has been made in this article with a large enough theoretical scope to consider the possibility of treating narrative as a radial category. To this end, the definition and characterisation of radiality is provided together with explanation of what it might mean to apply this term to the complex language-discourse unit of narrative. The prototype of this category involves features, functions, and ICMs. It has multiple representations with only family resemblance, involves more obvious exemplars and variable abstract knowledge structures. In particular, section one looks at the radiality question and what it might mean to think of the meaning of narrative in general. Section two focuses on centrality. Sections three to five deal with schematic representations of narrative and provide examples of extending the most subsuming schema of the Action Chain Model from cognitive linguistics and Labov’s Narrative Schema to various other types of conversational narrative, children’s dramatic plays, tactical narratives, story rounds, jokes, poems, current news articles on the Internet, images, and advertisements.

Chronic stress may accelerate cellular aging. Telomeres, protective “caps” at the end of chromosomes, modulate cellular aging and may be good biomarkers for the effects of chronic stress, including that associated with acculturation. The purpose of this analysis was to examine telomere length (TL) in acculturating Hispanic Mexican American women and to determine the associations among TL, acculturation, and psychological factors. As part of a larger cross-sectional study of 516 pregnant Hispanic Mexican American women, we analyzed DNA in blood samples ( N = 56) collected at 22–24 weeks gestation for TL as an exploratory measure using monochrome multiplex quantitative telomere polymerase chain reaction (PCR). We measured acculturation with the Acculturation Rating Scale for Mexican Americans, depression with the Beck Depression Inventory, discrimination with the Experiences of Discrimination Scale, and stress with the Perceived Stress Scale. TL was negatively moderately correlated with two variables of acculturation: Anglo orientation and greater acculturation-level scores. We combined these scores for a latent variable, acculturation, and we combined depression, stress, and discrimination scores in another latent variable, “negative affectivity.” Acculturation and negative affectivity were bidirectionally correlated. Acculturation significantly negatively predicted TL. Using structural equation modeling, we found the model had an excellent fit with the root mean square error of approximation estimate = .0001, comparative fit index = 1.0, Tucker–Lewis index = 1.0, and standardized root mean square residual = .05. The negative effects of acculturation on the health of Hispanic women have been previously demonstrated. Findings from this analysis suggest a link between acculturation and TL, which may indicate accelerated cellular aging associated with overall poor health outcomes.

Abstract. Tolerance design is an important part of the product development and manufacturing process. Studies show that using a reliable and efficient tolerance design method can effectively improve product quality and reduce manufacturing costs. Although numerous studies have been carried out in the area of tolerance analysis, combining the tolerance analysis with the concurrent engineering theory has been rarely studied so far. In order to resolve this shortcoming, a comprehensive tolerance design methodology based on concurrent engineering was proposed in the present study to shorten the product development cycle, improve product quality, and reduce manufacturing costs. To this end, experts from different engineering fields were employed to form a concurrent engineering team that works together. The tolerance design activities were divided into seven stages, including design requirements definition, dimension chain identification, initial geometric dimensioning and tolerancing, variation analysis, release technical specification, validation, and continuous improvement. Then the detailed work process of each stage is presented. Based on the Monte Carlo theory and 3D computer-aided tolerance software, a variation analysis framework was proposed. Finally, the gap between taillight and bodyside was considered a test case, and a specific operation method of tolerance design using this framework is expounded. In the studied cases, the calculated and measured mean value of the gap was 1.5 and 1.5368 mm, respectively, indicating the simulation error of 2.5 %. The obtained results show that the gap tolerance by the proposed method is consistent with the tolerance fluctuation in actual production.

Purpose: The purpose of this study was to analyse the influence of operations and processes on performance of manufacturing firms in Kenya.&#x0D; Methodology: In this study, descriptive and cross-sectional research designs were used. According to the directory, there are 461 large-sized registered members. In order to sample 160 large industrial companies from the entire population, this study used Cochran's formula. Data was gathered using a standardized questionnaire, and both qualitative and quantitative analysis were performed on it. Both a descriptive and an inferential data analysis were used in this investigation. Tables, graphs, and pie charts were used to present the analysed data.&#x0D; Results: The findings of the study revealed that the relationship between operations and processes and performance was significant at 5% level of significance. The model summary in the hypothesis testing revealed that the R2 for the model was 0.305. This is to imply that 30.5% of the variations in performance of manufacturing firms in Kenya are as a result of operations and processes. The p-value for the variable was 0.000 which is less than the standard P-value of 0.05. This is to mean that operations and processes had a significant influence on the performance of manufacturing firms in Kenya. To this end, we therefore, reject the null hypothesis that there is no significant relationship between operations and processes and performance of manufacturing firms in Kenya.&#x0D; Unique contribution to theory, practice and policy: While the existing Supply Chain Operations Reference (SCOR) Model used in this study was validated, the study recommends that the policy makers and management of manufacturing firms should come up with policies and legislations that cover the concept of supply chain operations and processes as an essential driver to the performance of the manufacturing sector in the country. The policy makers hold a major role in determining how key sectors such as the manufacturing sector are run. The regulators and the legislators formulate policies and guidelines that guide on how manufacturing firms should carry out their operations including supply chain processes. The study also recommended that manufacturing firms policy makers should develop a policy and regulatory framework to accelerate effective implementation supply chain processes and operations to enhance their performance.

Let CR denote the first-order theory of commutative rings with unity, formulated in the language L = 〈 +, •, 0, 1〉. Virtually everything that is known about existentially complete (e.c.) models of CR is contained in Cherlin's paper [2], where it is shown, in particular, that the e.c. models are not first-order axiomatizable. The purpose of this note is to show that, in analogy with the case of fields, there exists a unique prime e.c. model of CR in each characteristic n &gt; 2. As a consequence we settle Problem 8 in the list of open questions at the end of Hodges' book Building models by games ([5], p. 278).By a “prime” e.c. model of characteristic n ≥ 2 we mean one that embeds in every e.c. model of characteristic n. (The embedding is not always elementary, since [2] not all e.c. models of characteristic n are elementarily equivalent.) The prime model is characterized by the fact that it is the union of a chain of finite subrings each of which is an amalgamation base for CR. In §1 we describe the finite amalgamation bases for CR and show that every finite model embeds in a finite amalgamation base; in §2 we use this information to obtain prime e.c. models and answer Hodges' question.Our results on prime e.c. models were obtained some years ago, during the fall term of 1982, while the author was a visitor at Wesleyan University. The author wishes to take this opportunity to thank the mathematics department at Wesleyan for its hospitality during that visit, and subsequent ones.

This Thematic Issue seeks to explore critical perspectives of an international nature on social innovation (SI), social enterprise (SE) and/or social solidarity economy (SSE). The aim is to examine the grand narrative, explore the ontological assumptions of the field, challenge the normative and present alternatives that draw attention to political economy, critical theory and critical management studies.Critical perspectives emerged in social innovation (SI) literature as a concerted effort sometime in 2008. A few voices sounded from the edges of the field much earlier. Ash Amin, Professor of Geography at Durham University, inspected the new favourite of public policy way back in 2002, discarded it as a “a poor substitute for a welfare state” and never returned to the subject. There were heated debates that challenged the grand narrative of SI at the International Social Innovation Research Conferences (ISIRC) (once called the Social Enterprise Research Conference before becoming ISIRC with the involvement of the social innovation theme from Skoll Centre). The Voluntary Sector Studies Network (VSSN) conferences picked away at the promise of unlimited performance and achievement of the upstart SE in a mature voluntary and charity network (Aiken, 2002, 2006, 2007; Grenier, 2009; Pharaoh, Scott &amp; Fisher, 2004). Still, on the whole, the literature in the last twenty years has been overwhelmingly interested in promoting social enterprise (SE) and SI as (a) an inherently good thing, (b) a solution to all problems and (c) a politically neutral complement to neo-liberal economics globally.Through 2005-2008, a handful of academics were beginning to make concerted inroads from within the SE field that challenged the superpowers gifted to the SE/SI rhetoric. First through conference presentations, in particular in 2006, a 1-day seminar at Manchester Metropolitan University, ‘Critical Perspectives on Social Enterprise’, followed by a Special Issue in International Journal of Entrepreneurial Behaviour and Research (Bull, 2008). Later individual publications developed the critical themes in different directions (Seanor et al., 2013; Curtis, 2008; Curtis et al., 2010; Grant, 2008; Scott-Cato et al., 2008; Scott &amp; Hillier, 2010; Jones et al., 2008a, Betta et al., 2010; Bull &amp; Ridley-Duff, 2019; Ridley-Duff &amp; Bull, 2021), each skirting around the issue of critical theory and focussing on finding the ‘social’ in SE, but not addressing critical theory head-on.Then at the 2010 Skoll Centre Research Colloquium on Social Entrepreneurship at the Said Business School, Oxford, Pascal Dey of University Applied Science, Northwestern, Switzerland burst on to the scene, wowing the gathered crowd with the lucidity of his paper (Dey, 2010), on the symbolic violence in social entrepreneurship discourse. Critical theory had come of age, moving away from the functional critiques (SEs don’t do what they claim) and territorial debates (SEs are businesses in disguise or charities do this anyway) to a more theoretically informed investigation, deliberately working from and with critical theory. Steyaert and Dey (2010) followed this up, in the first edition of the Journal of Social Entrepreneurship, with a mature call to keep social enterprise research ‘dangerous’.Since then, critical perspectives on SI have widened and diversified with critical perspectives tracks in EMES International Research Network, ISIRC and other SI related conferences as well as an increasing number of PhD and early career researchers adopting a critical lens in studying SI’. Whilst ‘ordinary’ critical thinking might be described as an attitude of being disposed to consider in a thoughtful way the problems and subjects that come within the range of one's experiences (Glaser 1941). However, the critical perspectives we are seeking to develop in this Thematic Issue are best described by Horkheimer (1982), whereby we question the facts which our senses present to us as socially performed approaches to understanding in the social sciences. We should start with an understanding of a "social" experience itself as always fashioned by ideas that are in the researchers themselves. The project of a critical perspective is also “to liberate human beings from the circumstances that enslave them” (Horkheimer 1982, p244), not merely to describe the functions of those circumstances.Until the late nineteenth century, SI was understood to be subversive of the social order (Sargant, 1858), but in the French milieu was a ‘happy innovation’ of social progress (Comte 1841). What seems to have occurred in the research and publications in critical perspectives on social innovation over the last decade is as threefold engagement with epistemological issues, a drawing on theoretical insights from popular critical theory thinkers and challenges to normative methodological strategies in research. However, there seems to be a dearth of challenges to ontological assumptions (Hu 2018, Hu et al. 2019). By epistemological questions, we mean the question ‘what is the ‘social’ in social enterprise?’, considering (as the rest of this journal does) social is not just a modifier of innovation, but innovation and enterprise as a modifier of the social (Arthur et al., 2006, Bull &amp; Ridley-Duff, 2019). In terms of engagement with critical theorists and challenges to normative research, there is research, for example, on Bourdieu (Teasdale et al., 2012); Giddens (Nicholls &amp; Cho, 2006); Foucault (Curtis, 2007); Polanyi (Bull &amp; Ridley-Duff, 2019; Roy &amp; Grant, 2020; Thompson et al., 2020) and Ostrom (Ridley-Duff &amp; Bull, 2021; Peredo et al., 2020) that offers avenues for development. Likewise, a convergence on the notion of SI as social bricolage (Di Domenico et al., 2010) represents a post-modern turn rather than a critical turn that could offer new avenues of exploration. In methodological terms, more social constructivist/revisionist work is needed too, for example, Froggett and Chamberlayne (2004). There are other critical perspectives that have a few researchers labouring in small groups. In political economy, there are Marxist, green and communitarian perspectives (Yıldırım &amp; Tuncalp, 2016; Scott-Cato, 2008; Scott &amp; Hillier, 2010; Ridley-Duff, 2007). There is a small feminist literature exploring immaterial and affective labour (Jones et al., 2008b; Teasdale et al., 2011), and some in queer theory- exploring transgressions and deviance, such as Grenier (2010) and Dey and Teasdale (2013). There are even fewer working in the post-colonialist space, including Green Nyoni (2016) and Watkins (2017).This Thematic Issue seeks to revisit, review and revivify the emancipatory and critical project proposed by the founder of this journal, Benoît Godin. To this end, this Thematic Issue of NOvation invited submissions with a particular focus on the critical perspectives on social innovation, social enterprise and the social solidarity economy (SSE), to promote new and emerging perspectives.The five articles presented in this Thematic Issue explore critical perspectives on SI, SE &amp; SSE. The first paper by the Guest Editors themselves, Curtis, Bull and Nowak, outlines the rising tide of criticality in SI research. They present three waves of research in the field to date. The first wave of criticality in SI/SE research they present outlines critiques of the ‘social’ in social enterprise research, that sought to challenge the pro-business and celebrity-like status given to SE. The second wave highlights a post structuralist shift where research challenged the theoretical underpinnings of SI/SE research. The third wave they suggest constitutes a dangerous threat to the left’s political appreciation of this movement. Where wave two sought to open and welcome opinions that challenged the ontology and epistemological foundations of thought, the third wave has the potential for right-wing co-option. They therefore call for a more forensic conceptualisation on what is ‘good’, ‘ethical’ and ‘social’ about SI/SE, with this threat to the cultural hegemony, subverting and changing intellectual emancipation of the field. The second paper by Pel, Wittmayer, Avelino and Bauler picks up on critical issues by detailing the intrinsic and pervasive paradoxes of transformative SI (TSI) and offering researchers concrete strategies to account for them. The authors identify three core paradoxes of social innovation: system reproduction, temporality and reality construction. System reproduction is encountered where SI both challenges and reproduces the existing social order. The paradox of time draws attention to how the same SI can be considered new and old – varying across different points in time and contexts. Reality construction paradoxes occur as SI exists both as concrete activity and as a projection/interpretation, with researchers engaged in shaping and co-producing SI phenomena. Blending their extensive research experience and empirical examples from the literature the authors demonstrate how these paradoxes are integral to TSI phenomena and point to how methodological clarity is necessary to properly understand them. This leads to suggestions of clear research strategies that will support SI researchers in navigating each of these paradoxes.The third paper from Sardo, Callegari and Misganaw examines the ‘social’ in current social innovation and entrepreneurship studies and how it has been appropriated. Following their literature review of 18 leading innovation and entrepreneurship journals, they identify four categories: the disciplinary and integrationist approaches are where the social is integrated in existing dominant framework and discourse; the separationist approach is a critique of self-interest and provides ideas of altruism, lifestyle and democracy dimensions considering the context specific nature of the ‘social’; finally, the essentialist approach they discuss as arguments for the social nature of innovation and entrepreneurship to be integrated into the mainstream, bringing ecosystems and the socially constructed nature of innovation and entrepreneurship to the fore. They call for a more substantial integration of the social dimension in critical studies yet warn that tensions on extending into separationist and essentialist avenues cannot be reconciled with existing linear developments.The fourth paper from Curtis presents a critical realist and systems analysis approach, using Checkland’s soft systems methodology to empirical research. The paper uses evidence from a research study of community policing and the adoption of a specifically designed handbook to assist social innovators to implement locally identified solutions and practices (context mechanism outcome chains) that makes the case that SI is more than social bricolage and not a mysterious craft of innovation, but instead a systematic and replicable process.The final and fifth paper from Ergun and Begum explores the nexus between SI and the environment. Their paper challenges the narrative of United Nations Development Programmes through an eco-critical discourse analysis (ECDA) lens of fourteen UN publications. They suggest the dominance of an anthropocentric perspective, where neoliberalism resides is commonplace in these publications. They state it is not until we change to an ecocentric discourse that we will align at one with nature and redress the socio-economic problems of the world.We hope this Thematic Issue raises some interest and some thought-provoking conversations in the future. Many thanks to the reviewers, the authors and above all the editors of NOvation, for trusting us with this Thematic Issue! We hope scholars enjoy the edition as much as we have in bringing this together.

The objective of this paper is to make the case that the United States became an economic super-power in the nineteenth century on the backs of African-American slaves and Native Americans.It was in 1619, when Jamestown colonists bought 20-30 slaves from English pirates. The paper starts with ‘The 1619 Project’ whose objective is to place the consequences of slavery--and the contributions of black Americans--at the very center of the story we tell ourselves about who we are as a nation.Slavery was common in all thirteen colonies, and at-least twelve Presidents owned slaves. The enslaved people were not recognized as human beings, but as property: once a slave always a slave.The U.S. Constitution, adopted in 1788, never mentions slavery, yet slavery is at the very heart of the constitution. The U.S. government used the Declaration of Independence as a license to commit genocide on the Native Americans, and to seize their land.Racist ideas have persisted throughout American history, based on the myth that blacks are intellectually inferior compared to whites. However, in a 2012 article in the Scientific American, the authors reported that 85.5% of genetic variation is within the so-called races, not between them. So, the consensus among Western researchers today is that human races do not represent a scientific theory, but are sociocultural constructs.After end of the Civil War, the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution abolished slavery in America, and the 15th Amendment protected the voting rights of African Americans.However, in the Confederate South, Jim Crow laws legalized racial segregation between 1870-1968. In 1965, thanks to the Civil Rights movement, the Voting Rights Act was passed to overcome barriers created by Jim Crow laws to the legal rights of African Americans under the 15th Amendment.British and American innovations in cotton technology sparked the Industrial Revolution during the latter part of the eighteenth century. The British cotton manufacturing exploded in the 1780s. Eighty years later in 1860, Manchester, England stood at the center of a world-spanning empire—the empire of cotton. There were three pillars of the Industrial Revolution. One was the centuries-earlier conquest by Europeans of a colossal expanse of lands in the New World. It was the control of huge territories in America, that made monoculture farming of cotton possible. Second was that the Europeans drastically—and unilaterally--altered the global competitive landscape of cotton. They did it by using their military might, and the willingness to use it—often violently--to their advantage.The third—and the most important--was slavery: without which there would be no Industrial Revolution. America was tremendously suited for cotton production. The climate and soil of a large part of American South met the conditions under which the cotton plant thrived. More importantly, the plantation owners in America commanded unlimited supplies of the three crucial ingredients that went into the production of cotton: labor, land, and credit. And this was topped by their unbelievable political power.In 1793 Eli Whitney’s revolutionary cotton gin increased ginning productivity fifty times, and thus removed the bottleneck of removing seeds from cotton. Because of relying on monoculture farming, the problem the cotton planters were facing was soil exhaustion. So, they wanted the U.S. government to acquire more land. Surprisingly, in 1803 America was able to strike an unbelievable deal with the French--the Louisiana Purchase--which doubled the territory of the United States. In 1819 America acquired Florida from Spain, and in 1845 annexed Texas from Mexico.Between 1803 and 1838, under President Andrew Jackson, America fought a multi-front war against the Native Americans in the Deep South, and expropriated vast tracts of their land, that culminated in the ethnic cleansing of the Deep South.With an unlimited supply of land—and slave labor--even soil exhaustion did not slow down the cotton barons; they just moved further west and farther south. New cotton fields now sprang up in the sediment-rich lands along the banks of Mississippi. So swift was this move westward that, by the end of the 1830s, Mississippi was producing more cotton than any other southern state. By 1860, there were more millionaires per capita in Mississippi Valley than anywhere else in America.The New Orleans slave market was the largest in America--where 100,000 men, women, and children were packaged, priced, and sold.The entry of the United States in the cotton market quickly began to reshape the global cotton market. By 1802 America was the single-most supplier of cotton to Britain.For eighty years--from the 1780s to 1865--almost a million people were herded down the road from the upper South to the lower South and the West, to toil on cotton plantations. The thirty-odd men walked in coffles, the double line hurrying in lock-step. Each hauled twenty pounds of iron, chains that draped from neck-to-neck, and wrist-to-wrist, binding them all together. They walked for miles, days, and weeks, and many covered over 700 miles.The plantation owners devised a cruel system of controlling their slaves that the enslaved called “the pushing system.” This system constantly increased the number of acres each slave was expected to cultivate. In 1805 each “hand” could tend to five acres of a cotton field. Fifty years later that target had been doubled to ten acres.Overseers closely monitored enslaved workers. Each slave was assigned a daily quota of number of pounds of cotton to pick. If the worker failed to meet it, he received as many lashes on his back as the deficit. However, if he overshot his quota, the master might “reward” him by raising his quota the next day.One of the most brutal weapons the planters used against the slaves, was the whip: ten feet of plaited cowhide. When facing the specter of an overseer’s whip, slaves were so terrified that they could not speak in sentences. They danced, trembled, babbled, and lost control of their bodies.When seeking a loan, the planters used slaves as a collateral. With extraordinarily high returns from their businesses, the planters began to expand their loan portfolio: sometimes using the same slave worker as collateral for multiple mortgages. The American South produced too much cotton. However, consumer demand could not keep up with the excessive supply, that then led to a precipitous fall in prices, which, in turn, set off the Panic of 1837. And that touched off a major depression.The slaveholders were using advanced management and accounting practices long before the techniques that are still in use today.The manufacture of sugar from sugarcane began in Louisiana Territory in 1795. In sugar mills, children, alongside with adults, toiled like factory workers with assembly-like precision and discipline under the constant threat of boiling hot kettles, open furnaces, and grinding rollers. To attain the highest efficiency, sugar factories worked day and night where there is no distinction as to the days of the week. Fatigue might mean losing an arm to the grinding rollers, or being flayed for not being able to keep up. Resistance was often met with sadistic cruelty.The expansion of slavery in the first eight decades after American independence, drove the evolution and modernization of the United States. In the course of a single life time, the South grew from a narrow coastal strip of worn-out tobacco plantations, to a continental cotton empire. As a result, the United States became a modern, industrial, and capitalistic economy. This is the period in which America rose from being a minor European trading partner, to becoming the world’s leading economy. Finally, we hope that we have successfully been able to make the argument that America became an economic powerhouse in the nineteenth century not only on the backs of African-American slaves, but also on the genocide of Native Americans, and their stolen lands.

OBJECTIVES/SPECIFIC AIMS: To access obesity risk perceptions, knowledge and behaviors of Hispanic taxi cab drivers and develop a better understanding of the factors that influence health outcomes in this population. METHODS/STUDY POPULATION: Focus groups were conducted at NYC H+H/Lincoln, where subjects were screened and recruited from taxi bases with the help of the local Federation of Taxi Drivers. This was done by utilizing flyers, messages through taxi-base radios, and referrals from livery cab drivers. Approval from the local Institutional Review Board was obtained. The research investigators, developed a structured focus group procedural protocol of open-ended interview questions related to cardiovascular disease. Participants for the focus groups were older than 18 years old and working as livery cab drivers in NYC for at least 6 months. Three focus groups were held with informed consent obtained from each participant in their primary language before the start of each session. After completion of the focus group, participants received a gift voucher for attending the approximately 1-hour session. Focus groups were moderated by trained research staff members at Lincoln. Three main categories of questions were organized based on perception, knowledge, and behavior. Participants were questioned on topics about obesity, CVD and diabetes knowledge; knowledge about etiology, risk perception, possible prevention and interventions. Responses were recorded using audiotapes and transcribed verbatim. If participants did not elaborate on the initial question, a probing question was asked to clarify. The transcript was translated from Spanish by trained bilingual staff and analyzed using standard qualitative techniques with open code method. Four research investigators read the transcript separately and formulated concepts, which were then categorized and formulated into dominant themes. These themes were then compared and analyzed with a group consensus to ensure representative data. Once recurring themes emerged and the saturation point was reached, the study concluded, after enrolling 25 participants. The Health Believe Model (HBM) was employed to understand and explain the perceptions and behaviors of taxi drivers. HBM is one of the most widely recognized models and is used to understand, predict and modify health behavior. HBM helps to identify perception of risks of unhealthy behavior, barriers for having healthy behavior, actions taken by patients to stay healthy, self-efficacy and commitment to goals [12]. RESULTS/ANTICIPATED RESULTS: Of the 25 Hispanic livery cab drivers, 92% were male. The majority of taxi drivers that participated in the study were immigrants (96%), with a mean age of 53 years (ranged 21–69), and 92%, were spoke Spanish. In total, 52% participants identified themselves as Hispanic, 20% White, 4% Black, and 20% did not identify their race. Mean body mass index (BMI) was 31 (22.8–38.7) kg/m2. In all, 56% were obese and another 40% were overweight. From this sample, 50% had been diagnosed with hypertension and 27% were living with diabetes. In all, 64% had a high school education or higher. Answers provided by the taxi drivers to focus group questions were recorded, reviewed and divided into 8 dominant themes based on concepts that emerged from the focus groups discussions. (a) Focus group study findings: Themes recorded during the focus group discussions, include poor diet, sedentary lifestyle, comorbidities/risk factors, stress, health not being a priority, discipline, education, and intervention. Participants shared their opinions in regards to these themes with minimal differences, making an emphasis on the fact that the nature of their profession was the root cause. Of the themes, the top 3 dominant themes include poor diet, sedentary/lifestyle and comorbidities/risk factors. (1) Diet: The theme “Poor diet” evolved from 151 related concepts that were described by participants. All 25 participants perceived their diet as bad due to eating high-fat meals associated with the cultural food and restaurant chains with lower food prices and ease of car parking. Drivers also reported that they did not have enough time to eat healthy foods based on their long working hours. They say: “comemos muy tarde por que preferimos montar un pasajero” … stating that they preferred to pick up passengers and delay their meals. However, they consider poor diet as the most decisive factor in their increased risk for obesity, diabetes, and hypertension. (2) Life Style: The theme “Sedentary lifestyle” was derived from 147 similar concepts described by participants. They believe that physical inactivity is another leading risk factor for obesity, diabetes, and CVD. The demands of the profession force them to drive more than 10 hours per day. They understand the importance of daily exercise but they admit that at the end of the workday they are too tired to exercise or “stop working” to participate in exercise as this means less money. They also understand that family history of obesity in addition to poor diet increases their risk of obesity, diabetes, and cardiovascular risks. (3) Comorbidity: The theme “Comorbidities” developed from 143 concepts grouped together. Taxi-drivers perceived that obesity complications directly affects many vital organs, such as the kidneys, the heart, and vasculature. Participants perceive obesity as important risk factor for high blood sugar and cholesterol levels. Taxi drivers see an association between their health condition and their work as a taxi driver. However, taxi-drivers reported that they are more concerned about the economic well-being of their families than themselves. Taxi-drivers begin to intervene in their own health only when more serious health conditions related to obesity, diabetes, and hypertension developed. (4) Work Stress: The theme “Stress/other risk factors” was derived from 141 concepts. Taxi-drivers perceive their profession with lack of organization and high-stress levels as one of the leading risk factors contributing to obesity, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease. They also attribute a combination of stressful lifestyle, poor diet, lack of exercise, consumption of alcohol and cigarettes as determining factors in developing negative health outcomes. “One participant says; Tenemos el paquete completo” … we have the entire package. (5) Health as a priority: The theme “Health is not a priority” was derived from 120 concepts based on the cab drivers’ responses. Taxi drivers prioritize their work while their health takes a back seat. They work long shifts as they feel the pressures of financial responsibilities of their family. They admitted lack of intentions to change their behavior and they consider themselves as “hard headed.” Drivers changed their behavior only when serious health conditions develop that require professional medical attention. Taxi drivers explain that the lack of time as being a big factor in pursuing preventative care. (6) Personal Discipline: The theme “Discipline” evolved from 80 concepts derived from the driver’s transcripts. Taxi drivers are aware of their lack of organizational skills in general, especially when it comes to the balance between work and a healthy lifestyle. Taxi drivers recognize that not being disciplined results in the development of their obesity and chronic health conditions. Drivers admit that they do not have a fixed schedule, with no direct supervision, and cannot find the time to go to the doctor or change their behavior. (7) Health Education: The theme “Education” was derived from79 concepts noted from the focus group discussion. Taxi drivers know that their lack of health education is affecting them. With little understanding about the severity of the disease process it is difficult to take proactive measures. They are interested in the development of programs that will educate them about obesity, diabetes and CVD prevention. They want to attend programs that can educate them about prevention of obesity, diabetes, and CVD prevention with strong focus on healthy eating. They understand that this would increase their ability to change their unhealthy behavior. (8) Health interventions: The last major theme “Intervention” was derived out of 71 concepts. When asked about possible interventions that might help them towards healthy behaviors, taxi drivers think that the use of technology as a means of education is very effective. They understand the most direct route to reach them is by cellphone, email, and social media such as Facebook. They also feel that it would be good to use this type of communication to not only to inform them about health issues, but to also educate them directly. (b) Application of Health Behavior Model: We employed the HBM, one of the most utilized and easy to understand health models (18, 20–22) to explain the knowledge, perception, and health behaviors of our study participants. The HBM consist of 6 posits: (1) risk susceptibility, (2) risk severity, (3) benefits of action, and (4) barriers to action, (5) self-efficacy, and (6) cues to action [23]. According to the HBM, people’s beliefs about their risk and their perception of the benefits of taking action to avoid it, influence their readiness to take action [15, 21–22, 24]. Using the HBM, health behavior can be modified positively if the 6 posits are perceived by the person [23]. According to the results of our study, taxi drivers that participated in our study, do not perceive the severity of their risk. Participants admitted that they go to the doctor and start paying attention to their health condition only when they get seriously sick. Another posit of the HBM, understanding benefit of actions, is also not perceived by taxi drivers. Participants understand that they should be involved in physical activity, but do not pursue physical activity. They stated that they are too busy and tired to exercise daily without realizing the benefits of having a healthy life style. Findings from the focus groups also demonstrate that taxi drivers do not possess self-efficacy, as they are not confident that they are able to change their own health behavior. They openly admitted to having poor discipline, lack of organizational skills, and lack of time management skills. But, they expressed their wish to get information about time management, healthy snacks, places where they can get affordable and healthy food, learn more about different physical activities, and places where they can exercise. The sixth posit of the HBM model is the cues for action which should trigger the action to change behavior. Cues such as physical pain or illness in them or family members of cab drivers, trigger a visit to the physician’s office. Cab drivers were open to receiving educational material provided by physicians or health information provided on TV/cellphone about disease prevention. DISCUSSION/SIGNIFICANCE OF IMPACT: Obesity is steadily on the increase in the US population and has become a major public health concern [1–3]. Latinos are at the higher risk of heart diseases such as obesity, hypertension compared to other ethnical groups [3, 13]. There is a higher prevalence of obesity among particular occupational groups with cab drivers having one of the highest obesity prevalence among all professions [5, 7–9, 13]. Obesity risks therefore seem to affect NYC cab drivers who are of Latino background more than others. Surveys conducted in different countries in Asia, Europe, and Africa reported that taxi, truck, and bus show that drivers are at a higher risk of developing obesity, diabetes, and hypertension [5, 8–11]. This study is the first to evaluate the knowledge, perception, and behaviors of NYC Latino taxi cab drivers with respect to obesity. The study uncovers factors and barriers that contribute to their behavior, and identify possible ways that can modify their behavior and decrease their chances of developing obesity. The study results demonstrated that Latino immigrant taxi drivers perceive themselves at a high risk for obesity development. As the result of discussions with focus groups, the eight dominant themes were identified. Participants perceive their risk susceptibility and understand that working as a driver is a sedentary occupation with lack of physical activity significantly contributing to obesity development. Additionally, taxi drivers report that their unhealthy diet is a major factor that contributes to their weight gain. Taxi drivers perceive their poor diet as the result of the food they consume being high in fat content. Due to financial constraints and their cultural diet requirements, they feel limited to unhealthy food options. They acknowledge the risk that poor diet contributes to obesity, high cholesterol, obesity development. Participants also expressed that work stress is another important factor. Busy traffic, lack of organization, financial stress to support their families-push them to work prolonged hours. Participants also admitted that in their leisure time, they use alcohol, smoke cigarettes, and watch TV, instead of going to the gym, because they feel too tired to exercise. Taxi drivers perceive their barriers as a lack of education and knowledge about healthy food choices, places where they can buy healthy affordable snacks, information about physical activities, stress management skills, and organizational skills. Other perceived barriers that prevent them from leading healthy lifestyle include lack of discipline, lack of time for physical activity, economic uncertainty, financial responsibility and the perception that the wellbeing of their families is more important than themselves and their health. HBM is a widely used model that helps to identify perception of risks of unhealthy behavior, barriers to healthy behavior, actions taken by patients to stay healthy, self-efficacy, and commitment to goals. Based on the Glasgow theory, the core of health behavior models is the identification of the barriers and self-efficacy [25]. Our study is unique as it involves using the HBM to explain the basis of taxi cab drivers’ behavior. Results of our research study showed that our participants perceived barriers very well. However, lack of self-efficacy, lack of perceiving benefits of action, lack of cues to action, and lack of understanding the risk of disease severity explain why taxi drivers have greater risk for obesity among occupations, and are not ready to embrace health behavior modification. This qualitative study shows us where the window of opportunity for intervention lies, how we can intervene and modify the health behavior of the at-risk NYC Latino cab driver population. By Glasgow theory, self-efficacy is an important factor in behavior modification models [25]. If the barriers that are perceived by participants as too high, and self-efficacy is low, one can intervene by improving self-efficacy. Bandura has offered ways to increase patients’ self-efficacy by using three strategies: (a) setting small, incremental, and achievable goals; (b) using formalized behavioral contracting to establish goals and specify rewards; and (c) monitoring and reinforcement, including patient self-monitoring by keeping records [20]. We can also improve perception of the benefits of action by providing cues to action namely education during the office visits, by providing reading materials, and the use of modern technology (emails, interactive Web sites, apps, etc.). A study was conducted in South Asia, encouraging taxi drivers to exercise through the use of pedometers [7]. This study provides an example of ways to motivate taxi drivers, improve their self-efficacy, overcome barriers, and provide cues to action. As one of the theories that can explain and help in behavioral modification, the Health Belief model includes the impact of the environment and elements of social learning. Using this model, we were able to differentiate and identify the factors that influence their behavior that need to be addressed by health care workers and public health representatives to improve obesity related risks among inner city taxi cab drivers in NYC.

In recent years, dipping sauce products (also known as industrial fish sauce) have had a significant development with various brands, which has gradually taken the place of traditional fish sauce products in the market. The main purpose of this study is to identify the values that traditional fish sauce users receive, thereby helping traditional fish sauce businesses to focus on producing and communicating these important values to customers. To determine these values, the present study employs Mean-End Chain theory and soft-laddering interview technique with the following objectives: (i) identify the attributes of traditional fish sauce leading consumers' decisions of use; (ii) explore the link between these attributes and consumers' values through chains of the attribute (A) - consequence (C) - value (V) according to MEC theory. Research findings have shown 17 attributes of traditional fish sauce, 20 consequences (including 13 functional consequences and 07 psychosocial consequences), and 12 values, in which 4 important values including Mental comfort; Good health; Trust; and Loyalty. From the research's results, managerial implications are proposed to promote the production and consumption of traditional fish sauce.

The theory of stochastic processes and integral geometry is applied to polymer networks and suspensions. Averaged monomer density is calculated for adsorbed and depleted layers of single-chain polymers modelled as brownian paths near plane and spherical surfaces, and exact solutions are given for an adsorbed layer with a force field. Asymptotic expressions are deduced for the available space fraction for a small solute in such layers. A measure of the typical asymmetry of a single-chain polymer modelled as a brownian path is obtained by calculating the averaged integral of the mean curvature, surface area and volume of its convex hull. The averaged integral of the mean curvature and surface area also give the first two terms of an asymptotic expression for the depletion near a smooth, slightly curved surface and an upper bound on the averaged capacitance. These quantities are also calculated for model polymer aggregates, brownian rings and brownian paths with drift. From the latter, we deduce averages of powers of the end-to-end distance of a brownian path weighted by the integral of the mean curvature and surface area of its convex hull. The depletion due to a lamina with a smooth, slightly curved boundary in a solution of single-chain polymers is calculated, and the result is interpreted in terms of averaged geometrical properties of brownian paths.

In a value chain, products flow from primary producers to end users, often through intermediaries. The distribution of market power in each of the successive stages of the value chain is usually unequal and affects the financial compensation of participants. Unorganized primary producers in food or clothing chains tend to fall victim to heavy competition in consumer markets or to extreme efficiency requirements by retail chains. Increasingly, entrepreneurs running value chains are expected to take on responsibilities regarding the well-being of all participants, especially primary producers in developing countries. But what does acting responsibly mean for these entrepreneurs? Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906–1945) provided clear guidance on what the content of acting responsibly should be for Christians and non-Christians alike. However, is his concept of acting responsibly also relevant for leaders in value chains? Entrepreneurs are expected to adopt corporate social responsibility (CSR) requirements, which, among other things, imply that all participants in a value chain enjoy an appropriate livelihood. I explore whether entrepreneurs, if they take Bonhoeffer’s criteria for responsible action seriously, do justice to all stakeholders in their value chain.

The ability of biomolecules to exert forces on their surroundings or resist compression from the environment is essential in a variety of biologically relevant contexts. For filaments in the low-temperature limit and under a constant compressive force, Euler buckling theory predicts a sudden transition from a compressed to a bent state in these slender rods. In this paper, we use a mean-field theory to show that if a semiflexible chain is compressed at a finite temperature with a fixed end-to-end distance (permitting fluctuations in the compressive forces), it exhibits a continuous phase transition to a buckled state at a critical level of compression. We determine a quantitatively accurate prediction of the transverse position distribution function of the midpoint of the chain that indicates this transition. We find the mean compressive forces are non-monotonic as the extension of the filament varies, consistent with the observation that strongly buckled filaments are less able to bear an external load. We also find that for the fixed extension (isometric) ensemble, the buckling transition does not coincide with the local minimum of the mean force (in contrast to Euler buckling). We also show the theory is highly sensitive to fluctuations in length in two dimensions, and that the buckling transition can still be accurately recovered by accounting for those fluctuations. These predictions may be useful in understanding the behavior of filamentous biomolecules compressed by fluctuating forces, relevant in a variety of biological contexts.

Abstract This study explores the impact of social sustainability claims on consumer perception and behavior in the fast-fashion industry. Specifically, it examines how sustainability claims based on the fashion supply chain impact green purchase intentions through the serial mediation of green brand image, green satisfaction, and green brand equity. Based on the Mean-End-Chain (MEC) theory and the Value-Based-Norm (VBN) theory, our research investigates the 'H' brand, known for its social sustainability initiatives. These initiatives emphasize altruistic values, including cooperation with farmers for organic fiber cultivation, improved working conditions, fair wages, and workplace safety. We analyze data from 257 Chinese participants via a serial mediation model using the PROCESS macro in SPSS. The findings reveal a positive relationship between sustainability claims and purchase intentions through green brand image, green satisfaction, and green brand equity. These outcomes highlight the necessity for fashion industry marketers to strategically emphasize altruistic values in sustainability efforts to enhance green brand image, green satisfaction, and green brand equity and increase green purchase intentions. Keywords: Supply Chain Sustainability Claims, Fashion Industry, Value-Behavior relationship, Sustainability Marketing, Green Brand Image, Green Satisfaction, Green Brand Equity, Green Purchase Intention.

AbstractDespite quantum theory’s remarkable success at predicting the statistical results of experiments, many philosophers worry that it nonetheless lacks some crucial connection between theory and experiment. Such worries constitute the Quantum Measurement Problems. One can broadly identify two kinds of worries: (1) pragmatic: it is unclear how to model our measurement processes in order to extract experimental predictions, and (2) realist: we lack a satisfying metaphysical account of measurement processes. While both issues deserve attention, the pragmatic worries have worse consequences if left unanswered: If our pragmatic theory-to-experiment linkage is unsatisfactory, then quantum theory is at risk of losing both its evidential support and its physical salience. Avoiding these risks is at the core of what I will call the Pragmatic Measurement Problem. Fortunately, the pragmatic measurement problem is not too difficult to solve. For non-relativistic quantum theory, the story goes roughly as follows: One can model each of quantum theory’s key experimental successes on a case-by-case basis by using a measurement chain. In modeling this measurement chain, it is pragmatically necessary to switch from using a quantum model to a classical model at some point. That is, it is pragmatically necessary to invoke a Heisenberg cut at some point along the measurement chain. Past this case-by-case measurement framework, one can then strive for a wide-scoping measurement theory capable of modeling all (or nearly all) possible measurement processes. For non-relativistic quantum theory, this leads us to our usual projective measurement theory. As a bonus, proceeding this way also gives us an empirically meaningful characterization of the theory’s observables as (positive) self-adjoint operators. But how does this story have to change when we move into the context of quantum field theory (QFT)? It is well known that in QFT almost all localized projective measurements violate causality, allowing for faster-than-light signaling; These are Sorkin’s impossible measurements. Thus, the story of measurement in QFT cannot end as it did before with a projective measurement theory. But does this then mean that we need to radically rethink the way we model measurement processes in QFT? Are our current experimental practices somehow misguided? Fortunately not. I will argue that (once properly understood) our old approach to modeling quantum measurements is still applicable in QFT contexts. We ought to first use measurement chains to build up a case-by-case measurement framework for QFT. Modeling these measurement chains will require us to invoke what I will call a QFT-cut. That is, at some point along the measurement chain we must switch from using a QFT model to a non-QFT model. Past this case-by-case measurement framework, we can then strive for both a new wide-scoping measurement theory for QFT and an empirically meaningful characterization of its observables. It is at this point that significantly more theoretical work is needed. This paper ends by briefly reviewing the state of the art in the physics literature regarding the modeling of measurement processes involving quantum fields.

Internet banking (IB) is believed to bring a lot of banefits to customers and is provided by most of the banks in Vietnam, but the number of users is still limited. The purpose of this study is to investigate the reasons and consumption-decision structure why not many people in Vietnam is willing to use the service. The study is based on Mean Means-End Chain theory (MEC) and uses laddering interview to collect data. Data from a sample of 71 respondents are analysed by employing Association Pattern Technique (APT) and then are demonstrated on Hierarchical Value Map (HVM). The research findings show that there are 06 attributes, leading to 05 consequences, driving to Unsafety and Inconvenience as 02 crucial values which prevent customers from using IB. Some recommendations are proposed accordingly to improve IS usage.&#x0D; Keywords&#x0D; Internet banking, Means-end chain theory, soft/hard laddering interview&#x0D; References&#x0D; [1] Phương, M. (2017, December 01). 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Even though the demand for a nursing home is increasing, it is not easily-accepted in Vietnam because of cultural traditions which nomally link to morality, affection, relational cohesion, responsibility, relatives’ and friends’ opinions, etc. According to a study conducted by the Health Strategy and Policy Institute in 2012, Vietnamese people think that no one takes care of their parents better than children. That might be the reason why nursing home services have not developed well in Vietnam. This study aims to (1) explore attributes of nursing home preventing Vietnamese customers from using this service, and (2) explore the connections between these attributes and values of individuals through consequences from these attributes. The mean-end-chain theory with a soft-laddering interview is the method employed to conduct the study. Participants are persons who are responsible for making decisions related to nursing home matters, including elder people and ones having elder people in their families and being responsible to send their parents/grandparents to the nursing homes. The research findings show that there are 15 attributes of nursing home service, which drive to 4 values through 9 consequences, preventing Vietnamese customers from using this service. The result from the HVM states that there are three significant A-C-V linkages to explain what attributes and how they influence customers (perceived) values. The study also proposes some suggestions to promote nursing home service and encourage Vietnamese customers to accept this kind of service.

AbstractThe repair process of devices is an important part of the business of many original equipment manufacturers. The consumption of spare parts, during the repair process, is driven by the defects found during inspection of the devices, and these parts are a big part of the costs in the repair process. In previous work, we proposed a data‐driven method for Supply Chain Control Tower solutions to provide support for the automatic check of spare parts consumption in the repair process. In this article, we continue our investigation of a multi‐label classification problem and explore alternatives in the learning‐to‐rank approach, where we simulate the passage of time using more data while training and comparing hundreds of Machine Learning models to provide an automatic check in the consumption of spare parts. We investigate the effects of different train set sizes, retraining intervals, models and hyper‐parameter search using Bayesian Optimization. We define a custom metric, the Ratio of Marked Parts, measuring how many spare parts are marked for revision at the end of the repair process. The results show that we were able to improve the trained models and achieve a higher mean NDCG@20 score of 86% when ranking the expected parts. While focusing on the most recent data, we achieved a NDCG@20 score of 90% and obtained a Ratio of Marked Parts of just 4% of the consumed parts for use in alert generation.

Abstract Electric double layers (EDL) with counterions only, say electrons with the elementary charge −e, in thermal equilibrium at the inverse temperature β are considered. In particular, we study the effect of the surface charge modulation on the particle number density profile and the pressure. The mobile particles are constrained to the surface of a 2D cylinder and immersed in vacuum (no dielectric image charges). An EDL corresponds to the end-circle of the cylinder which carries a (fixed) position-dependent line charge density. The geometries of one single EDL and two EDLs at distance d are considered; the particle density profile is studied for both geometries, the effective interaction of two EDLs is given by the particle pressure on either of the line walls. For any coupling constant Γ ≡ βe2= 2 × integer, there exists a mapping of the 2D one-component Coulomb system onto the 1D interacting anticommuting-field theory defined on a chain of sites. Using specific transformation symmetries of anticommuting variables, the contact value theorem is generalized to the EDL with modulated line charge density. For the free-fermion coupling Γ = 2 it is shown that, under certain conditions, the matrix of interaction strengths between anticommuting variables diagonalizes itself which permits one to obtain exact formulas for the particle density profile as well as the pressure. The obtained results confirm the previous indications of weak-coupling and Monte Carlo observations that the surface charge inhomogeneity implies an enhancement of the counterion density at the contact with the charged line and a diminution of the pressure between two parallel lines in comparison with the uniformly charged ones (with the same mean charge densities).

The “theory of developmental origins of health and disease” posits that stress in critical developmental periods will program life-course health and may affect cardiovascular (CV) health. Mothers at risk for premature delivery receive synthetic glucocorticoids (sGC) to enhance fetal lung maturation and manage fetal respiratory distress, but sGC exposure is linked to long-term CV dysfunction in offspring. Four groups of male baboons were studied: sGC exposed in utero at middle age (sGC-MA, 13.8±0.2Y), older sGC exposed in utero (sGC-O, 17.1±0.4Y), middle age unexposed (CTR-MA, 13.5±0.6Y), and older, unexposed baboons (CTR-O, 17.4±0.4Y). Gated, breath-hold, cine cardiac magnetic resonance imaging was performed at 3 Tesla (Siemens TIM Trio) to assess left ventricular (LV) function and myocardial strain, analyzed using cvi42® software. Mitochondrial electron transport chain (ETC) complex activity was analyzed using LV tissue from sGC-O and CTR-O euthanized baboons. Protein quantification was used to measure mitochondrial function and RNA-seq assessed differential gene expression and gene ontology (GO) enrichment. Unpaired t-tests were used. Data are reported as mean ± SD. Stroke volume and ejection fraction were similar in the elderly groups (4 sGC-O, 8 CTR-O). However, higher end-systolic and end-diastolic sphericity indexes (SI) and shorter LV axis lengths indicated remodeling. Also, global longitudinal and radial strains were reduced (both p&lt;0.04) in sGC-O vs. CTR-O. Reduced LV cardiac output (p=0.005) was found in 5 sGC-MA animals vs 4 sGC-O animals, but not in 5 CTR-MA vs 8 CTR-O. In sGC-MA vs sGC-O, but not CTR-MA vs CTR-O, significant increases in SI (p=0.001), radial strain (p=0.02), and longitudinal (p=0.03) strain were found, but LV axis length (p=0.03) was reduced. LV mitochondrial analysis in 4 sGC-O vs 4 CTR-O myocardial samples revealed 33.5% less ETC activity (p=0.002) and 19.8% less complex I expression (p=0.048) in sGC. LV RNA-seq identified 63 upregulated and 20 downregulated genes in the sGC-O samples. GO pathway enrichment included changes in heart contraction, wounding responses, and leukocyte regulation pathways. These findings indicate that fetal sGC exposure developmentally programs offspring with LV remodeling and long-term cardiac and gene expression changes in male baboons, the closest available experimental nonhuman primate species to man. Future studies on females will probe sexual dimorphism in developmental programming.

AbstractDue to industrial development, designing and optimal operation of processes in chemical and petroleum processing plants require accurate estimation of the hydrogen solubility in various hydrocarbons. Equations of state (EOSs) are limited in accurately predicting hydrogen solubility, especially at high-pressure or/and high-temperature conditions, which may lead to energy waste and a potential safety hazard in plants. In this paper, five robust machine learning models including extreme gradient boosting (XGBoost), adaptive boosting support vector regression (AdaBoost-SVR), gradient boosting with categorical features support (CatBoost), light gradient boosting machine (LightGBM), and multi-layer perceptron (MLP) optimized by Levenberg–Marquardt (LM) algorithm were implemented for estimating the hydrogen solubility in hydrocarbons. To this end, a databank including 919 experimental data points of hydrogen solubility in 26 various hydrocarbons was gathered from 48 different systems in a broad range of operating temperatures (213–623 K) and pressures (0.1–25.5 MPa). The hydrocarbons are from six different families including alkane, alkene, cycloalkane, aromatic, polycyclic aromatic, and terpene. The carbon number of hydrocarbons is ranging from 4 to 46 corresponding to a molecular weight range of 58.12–647.2 g/mol. Molecular weight, critical pressure, and critical temperature of solvents along with pressure and temperature operating conditions were selected as input parameters to the models. The XGBoost model best fits all the experimental solubility data with a root mean square error (RMSE) of 0.0007 and an average absolute percent relative error (AAPRE) of 1.81%. Also, the proposed models for estimating the solubility of hydrogen in hydrocarbons were compared with five EOSs including Soave–Redlich–Kwong (SRK), Peng–Robinson (PR), Redlich–Kwong (RK), Zudkevitch–Joffe (ZJ), and perturbed-chain statistical associating fluid theory (PC-SAFT). The XGBoost model introduced in this study is a promising model that can be applied as an efficient estimator for hydrogen solubility in various hydrocarbons and is capable of being utilized in the chemical and petroleum industries.

A system that is a mixed economy has established in modern post-industrial countries and the participation of the state in it is very important. The active role of the state is especially evident in extreme situations, as evidenced by the experience of the most acute of the 21st century - the global financial crisis and the coronary crisis caused by the Covid-19 pandemic. Against the background of the implemented and ongoing changes in the economies of world and nation states in economic theory today we see the revival of the Keynesian doctrine. This doctrine withdrew the United States of America, as well as other countries, out of the worst crisis of the 20th century, out of the so-called „The Great Depression“ and it has been a major factor in the unprecedented economic success of these countries during four decades. A comparative analysis of the global financial and economic crises shows that the state not only plays a leading role in the process of rescuing economies from the crisis, but also its participation in post-crisis development, which implies the so-called Performing the function of «bridge management». Based on the experience of the coronary crisis, in order to ensure the stability and development of the Georgian economy, we consider it necessary: • Based on finding and using local resources, the state should implement economic policies aimed at accelerating the development of the real sector of the economy, diversifying the internal food market, reducing the negative foreign trade balance of agri-food products. This does not mean prioritizing import-substituting production, but focusing on the development of local production of products whose resources currently exist in our country; • The state must create strategic reserves of food, medical supplies and basic necessities, which are vital in a rapidly changing global environment full of uncertainty and risk; • Attitudes towards the tourism sector need to be changed substantially. After the end of the pandemic, the world will return to normal life and the number of tourists entering Georgia will increase again. However, given the lessons of the pandemic, we must bear in mind that it is necessary to: a) move to an intensive model of tourism; B) Organic inclusion of tourism in the local value chain; C) Pay more attention to the development of local tourism.

Abstract The theory of Type I migration has been widely used in many studies. Transiting multi-planet systems offer us the opportunity to examine the consistency between observation and theory, especially for those systems harbouring planets in Mean Motion Resonance (MMR). The displacement these resonant pairs show from exact commensurability provides us with information on their migration and eccentricity-damping histories. Here, we adopt a probabilistic approach, characterized by two distributions – appropriate for either the resonant or non-resonant planets – to fit the observed planet period ratio distribution. With the Markov chain Monte Carlo (MCMC) method, we find that ${\approx }15~{{\%}}$ of exoplanets are in first order (j + 1: j) MMRs, the ratio of eccentricity-to-semi-major axis damping is too high to allow overstable librations and that the results are by-and-large consistent with Type-I migration theory. In addition, our modeling finds that a small fraction of resonant pairs is captured into resonance during migration, implying late planet formation (gas-poor). Most of the resonant pairs park themselves at the migration barrier, indicating early planet formation (gas-rich). Furthermore, after improving the criterion on two-body resonant trapping, we obtain an upper limit of the disc surface density at the time the planets are locked in resonance.

Mel King is an activist, politician, educator, and lifelong resident of the South End in Boston,Massachusetts. His passion is transformation: finding ways to support human development,learning for life, and social change for justice. For thirty years King has been a strong and active force in the development of the Black community in Boston. His role in community education and development is expansive. He has, among many other activities, worked for his community as an elected official; served as a state representative to the Massachusetts legislature for twelve years; and run as a candidate for mayor of Boston. King has always worked with young people in and out of schools, on the streets and in community centers; he was active in organizing youths and parents to desegregate Boston's public schools. King is a member of the Rainbow Coalition,a progressive organization that is politically active at the local and national levels and has, with the presidential candidacy of Jesse Jackson, become a strong voice within the Democratic Party. His books, A Chain of Change and Liberating Theory (written with Albert, Cagan Chomsky, Hahnel, Sargent, and Sklar), document his thinking and practice on community development,education, and social change. Mel King is currently Adjunct Professor and Director of the Community Fellows Program in the Department of Urban Studies and Planning at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The Editorial Board of the Review thought it would be exciting and informative to talk with Mel King about his rich experience and work in community-based education. We wanted to include in our Special Issue someone local, someone right near us; someone from our own community in the Boston area, because we felt that talking with a neighbor and finding out what's going on in our own area is an essential part of community-based education. We decided to interview Mel King instead of asking him to write an article, because we wanted the give-and-take of a conversation and because we could talk with him right down the street. Over the span of several months three members of the Review — Alexander Goniprow, Victoria Borden Muñoz,and Jacquelyn Ramos — interviewed Mel King at his MIT office. The interviews were audiotaped and transcribed, providing over one-hundred pages of text from about five hours of conversation. Transforming the conversation from audiotapes to a written piece was an educational process in itself. We quickly realized that how we talked and what we said, although clear during our conversations, needed much editing and additional explanations to read clearly. The task of editing such a rich narrative was not easy but we believe that what follows is true to the content and the form of our collaboration. The conversation begins with our asking questions and Mel King responding to them. At the end of our first meeting where King discussed his views on transformation, education, and community development he also asked us what we thought our role was in community-based education and in transformation. We agreed that each of us would think this over and return to the next meeting with a "moment of transformation" story; that is, a time when we were transformed by something we learned, when we learned something new about ourselves, our community, our work. We did this in keeping with the spirit of King's firm belief in the "valuing of all people and the value of all people." These stories compose the last part of the conversation. This represents what we mean by community-based education — namely, the valuing of everyone as equals and the personal as well as political importance of change. We thought a good place to start would be by talking about some of the principles of community-based education and what these are for you.

&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Figure 1 Recently I was walking down a street in The Mission district of San Francisco, which has a high proportion of the city’s Mexican population, when I was struck by a mural on the side of a shop. Vivid and colourful, the mural depicted a large Aztec face surrounded by lush jungle, aesthetically balanced by a carved stone face on the other end of the mural (Figure 1). It was not the beauty, size or colour of the artwork that most impressed me but the way it replicated art I had seen days before walking around Aztec ruins near Mexico City. The paintings I had seen at these pyramids were close to two thousand years old, and this mural, complete with ‘tags’, was created with spray-paint in (probably) the last few years. One was in the ‘traditional home’ of the Aztecs, Mexico, and the other in the Mexican neighbourhood of a neo-colonial American city. However, while one site was celebrating people long since dead, the other a vibrantly alive culture in the cityscape of San Francisco. The migrant, or the diasporic community, is central to many contemporary discussions on the effect of increased globalisation on human cultures and societies (Chambers ). This is not to suggest, however, that globalisation or its impact on human cultures is only a recent phenomenon. Such an assumption implies a sense of amnesia about the processes of migration and diaspora that both instigated, and developed from, processes such as colonisation. San Francisco’s Mexican community do not represent the colonised indigenous people of the United States (US), but they have been affected by a colonial history of their own and the neo-colonialism of the US through processes such as the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). This rendering, while obviously reductionist, indicates the complex nature of the position of Mexican migrants in San Francisco, and the multiple places, events, histories, countries, politics and policies that shape their journey. The picture of an Aztec face, situated within a largely Mexican neighbourhood, fiercely facing San Francisco presents a number of questions around ideas of culture, hybridity and thirdspace that are connected to theories of complexity. The concept of complexity provides a rich framework through which to engage with themes of culture and hybridity, explored through this symbolic painted presence in the urban landscape. Engagement with complexity theories can illustrate the already present, albeit unarticulated, engagement with complexity in concepts such as cultural hybridity, as well as opening up new ways in which to engage with such ideas. In this paper, I seek to illustrate how complexity can develop concepts in humanities, allowing for a greater exploration and sense of adventure of what is and can be. I will explore the idea of culture and its complexity, and how it can be enriched by complexity. It is an exploration of what can be produced and is emerging rather than the (continued) search for the ‘real’ or an uncovering of bedrock ‘truth’ in social science. As a number of commentators have argued, this idea continues to persist in social science research, despite the apparent changes wrought by poststructuralist thought (Crang, “There Is Nothing”; Crang, “New Orthodoxy”; Lorimer). This article seeks to contribute to current dialogues regarding how theories of complexity might enrich social science research using the concept of culture. The limitations of paper size and breadth of topic shape this article as gesturing towards the possibilities of engaging with the notion of complexity in social science, explored using the symbol of a mural and its location within the Mission District of San Francisco. There are a number of theoretical positions that fall under the notion of complexity; these include chaos theory, catastrophe theory, mathematical complexity and fractals (Manson). From the 1970s, there has been an increasing acceptance and application of complexity theories into social science and popular knowledge, in particular from the late 1990s (Nowotny; Thrift; Manson; Urry, Global Complexity). In my discussion of complexity I am drawing on the translations of these ideas into the domain of social science. I am looking at the disjuncture between cause and effect and the concept of emergence (Thrift; Urry, Global Complexity). These concepts, I argue, can be used to develop areas in the social science such as post-colonial theory that may, at first, seem unrelated. As complexity theory is, well, so complex and really an umbrella term or a "scientific amalgam", it is important to clarify how these theories will be interpreted here (Thrift). Emergence, according to Urry, is the way in which things self-organise over time (Urry, “The Complexities” 33). To expand on this, emergence can be described as the process of self-organisation of things (human and non-human) to create a new entity, an assemblage (Urry, Global Complexity). A central idea of emergence is that complexity is more than ‘complicated’, more than simply the coming together of multiple entities or aspects. The relationship between its parts constitute a new set of entities that make the whole more than the sum of its parts (Urry, Global Complexity; Thrift). It is also the process though which new hybrid entities emerge from this assemblage of previously separate entities. To return to the mural, an analysis of this painting (based on the hypothesis that it has been created by the diaspora from Mexico in San Francisco) would suggest it has emerged through an assemblage of processes of migration, issues of cultural heritage, ideas of authentic tradition, resistance, social inequity, difference and (possibly) a shopkeepers desire for a nice wall. All the known (and unknown) elements, human and non-human, that have (hypothetically) influenced this murals creation do not simply fit together in an equation that automatically results in ‘graffiti art’. Instead it has emerged due to a unique coming together of elements, an assemblage, in a particular time and geographical location. The disjuncture between cause and effect highlighted in a complexity perspective is illustrated here as it is possible to see the process of colonisation of Mexico and the United States has started a chain of events that have lead to the creation of this mural. However, there is no direct line of cause and effect that the act of colonisation would lead to the construction of such a mural. While we can begin to unpack this process in hindsight, the emergent processes that have lead to its creation ensure that such an endeavour will not easily or ever produce a simple equation for its occurrence. Cultural Complexity Social science in many ways relies on the notion that things are not easily analysed, not simply quantifiable or knowable (Dwyer and Limb). The actual language of complexity, however, has generally been missing from such discussions. This absence has limited the ability or, perhaps more accurately, the willingness to articulate logically and rationally what it means to gesture to an unknowingness, to processes of which outcomes cannot be fully predicted or explained (Lorimer; Crang, “There Is Nothing”). It is perhaps only now that it has been ‘validated’ through scientific knowledge such as physics, that we can embrace these ideas explicitly in social science. Using the notion of culture I will illustrate how complexity has been part of social science before it was articulated as such, what complexity theory offers in relation to the social world and how it might be engaged in relation to theory such cultural hybridity. The concept of culture in social science has expanded from the notion of fixed, homogenous ‘way of life’ in a specific geographic space, in early anthropological accounts, to a more complex processual view of culture (Ang, Not Speaking; Couldry). The work of Raymond Williams was seminal in the development of this idea of culture, which continues to be a central aspect of disciplines such as cultural geography and cultural studies (Anderson and Gale; Anderson et al.; Anderson; Ang, “Predicament”; Ang, Not Speaking). This work illustrates the complexities of culture as not only porous and shifting at its boundaries but also internally differentiated so that cultural coherence cannot be assumed (Anderson; Ang, “Predicament”). In terms of complexity theory, the entities that together form a ‘culture’ exist outside of the culture and can in turn work to destabilise and change the culture internally (DeLanda). While recognising that there have always been flows of people, trade and ideas around the world, it has been argued that the current epoch sees these flows at an unprecedented rate (Appadurai; Castells). The level of trans-national migration and movement of people, and the disruption of space and time created by processes of globalisation, further challenge conceptions of culture as fixed or homogenous (Couldry). This expansion of the notion of culture has dual connotations for my reading of the mural. The mural depicts a ‘traditional’ image of Mexican culture before it was affected by contemporary globalisation, but this is being depicted from the position of a diasporic subject in downtown San Francisco. In the painting of this mural it is possible to see the tension between idealisations of more traditional conceptions of a fixed, homogenous culture and the changes wrought on this culture by globalisation. The contrast of the painting’s subject and its location conveys the process of emergence of the (imagined) Mexican-American painter’s hybrid identity. Global Complexity These developments in cultural theory present a complex notion of culture, highlighting the influence of globalisation in creating this complexity. The interjection of complexity theory into social science more recently can enrich these readings of the complexity of cultural systems. It provides an overarching framework through which to organise and analyse concepts such as culture, but also can also connect this dynamic and processual ‘culture’ to a broader system of human and non-human entities. According to Urry, the global “comprises a set of emergent systems possessing properties and patterns that are often far from equilibrium. Complexity emphasises that there are diverse networked time-space paths, that there are often massive disproportionalities between cause and effects, and that unpredictable and yet irreversible patterns seem to characterise all social and physical systems.” (Urry, Global Complexity 8). A key notion of global complexity as discussed by Urry is that the ‘global’ is comprised and created through networks, drawing on the work of Appadurai and Castells. This coming together or connection of a multitude of varied human and non-human entities is seen to produce the emergence of things not connected to their cause, highlighting the disconnection between cause and effect. However, while it emphasises a disjuncture between cause and effect in terms of prediction, complexity theory has also been utilised to illustrate how things assemble together and from these things new things are made. Entities such as cultural hybridity can be seen as emerging from complex assemblages – time, place, people – from which unexpected, unpredictable entities emerge. The mural in San Francisco can be seen as one such entity. Thirdspace To complete gesture towards the use of complexity theory in research on culture, I would like to engage with the notion of thirdspace. This concept contributes to discussions of cultural complexity, as it seeks to describe the emergence of new hybrid forms created by the coming together of different cultural entities. The subject of the migrant, that I have sought to discuss in relation to the mural, is perhaps the epitome of the hybrid figure in the ‘in-between space’ as Ian Chambers has discussed. Chambers discusses the migrant as in-between home and the new country, and the processes of change that migrants undergo, taking on from the new but not letting go completely of the ‘old’, and so to become something different again. Homi Bhabha also discusses the idea of the hybrid, but presents the ‘in-between’ space as a product of the colonial encounter. Bhabha uses to the term ‘thirdspace’ to describe the hybridity that arises from the forced co-existence of groups with different histories, from different places, in a shared space. This creates a ‘thirdspace’ that is not of ‘One nor the Other but something else besides, in between” (Bhabha 219). It is this space of emergence that is simultaneously a space of unknowableness that is being presented by these theorists. The concept of thirdspace engenders an understanding of the complexity that social changes bring about as they facilitate or force the interaction of different groups. While complexity may mean that we do not know what the result is of such a coming together or intersection, the concept of a thirdspace allows us to see the intricacies of the complexity that is created illustrated by the case of the mural. A complexity framework also indicates to the assemblage of multiplicity of entities – human and non-human, material and immaterial – that these hybrid subjects have emerged from, enriching the possible field for social science enquiry. While the hybrid – human or non-human entity – is not simply a sum of its parts, or that which came together to produce it, it does provide pointers to follow in uncovering the intricacies of its make up. It is, however, also the unknowableness, the newness, produced that makes it more than a composite that injects both challenge and wonder into intellectual endeavor. Conclusion In attempting to draw common threads through these examples of cultural theory I wish to highlight how the notion of complexity supports theories such as hybridity that seek to outline rather than map certain social processes. The multiple and complex subjectivities and experiences that emerge from the colonial encounter, or process of migration do not lend themselves to easy counting or mapping. To dissect such experiences for greater understanding, to attempt to put it all together like a puzzle to find a true picture surely creates an incomplete picture. Beginning instead from a position of complexity does not deny the need to explore such processes but suggests different methods and different outcomes are sought. It gestures towards a different framework through which to understanding the world. The interjection of complexity theory into the social sciences offers a rich conceptual framework through which to re-look at and develop ideas already central to such research. As a mural on a wall in San Francisco connects to 2000 year old frescos on pyramids at the edge of Mexico City, so too does it speak to us of diaspora, hybridity, and the thirdspaces that arise post-colonially in a globalised world. The effect of these processes on ideas of culture, identity and place, the local and the global are all engaged and enhanced by complexity theories that present ideas of emergence. Urry argues that complexity breaks down any connection between cause and effect. It tells us of the unknowability of things, and so indicates that what we can map or frame within a research project or paper is always incomplete. It opens a space for wonder, for possibility, for change. It breaks down certainty and the idea that there is a process or reality that can be made known through social inquiry. Adopting this approach may seem like an abdication, suggesting a level of futility to research, a giving up or giving in. However, it can instead inspires us to look beyond what we assume is true or the obvious effect from a particular cause, to explore the complexity of the processes through which things come into being. It is this idea that I have attempted to gesture towards in considering the places, people, time and multiple other entities have assembled in the creation of a single piece of graffiti art. It is to say that the greatest value of complexity theory to social science research is perhaps not that it provides answers but that it gestures to (multiple) beginnings. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Jayde Cahir and my two anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments on earlier drafts of this article. I would also like to thank the Centre for Cultural Research, University of Western Sydney, for providing the funding to attend the American Association of Geographers Annual Conference in San Francisco. References Anderson, Kay. “Introduction.” Cultural Geographies. Eds. Kay Anderson and Fay Gale. 2nd ed. Australia: Addision Wesley Longman, 1999. 1-21. Anderson, Kay, et al. “A Rough Guide.” Handbook of Cultural Geography. Eds. Kay Anderson et al. London: Sage, 2003. 1-35. Anderson, Kay, and Fay Gale, eds. Inventing Places: Studies in Cultural Geography. Melbourne: Longman Cheshire, 1992. Ang, Ien. On Not Speaking Chinese: Living between Asia and the West. New York: Routledge, 2001. ———. “The Predicament of Diversity: Multiculturalism in Practice at the Art Museum.” ethnicities 5.3 (2005): 305-20. Appadurai, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalisation. Public Worlds, Volume 1. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. Bhabha, Homi. The Location of Culture. Routledge, 2004. Castells, Manuel. The Rise of the Network Society. 2nd ed. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. Chambers, Iain. Migrancy, Culture and Identity. London: Routledge, 1994. Couldry, Nick. Inside Culture: Re-Imagining the Method of Cultural Studies. London: Sage, 2000. Crang, Mike. “Qualitative Methods: The New Orthodoxy?” Progress in Human Geography 26.2 (2002): 647-55. ———. “Qualitative Methods: There Is Nothing outside the Text?” Progress in Human Geography 29.2 (2005): 225-33. DeLanda, Manuel. A New Philosophy of Society: Assemblage Theory and Social Complexity. London and New York: Continuum, 2006. Dwyer, Claire, and Melanie Limb. “Introduction: Doing Qualitative Research in Geography.” Qualitative Methodologies for Geographers: Issues and Debates. Eds. Claire Dwyer and Melanie Limb. London: Arnold, 2001. 1-22. Lorimer, Hayden. “Cultural Geography: The Busyness of Being ‘More-than-Representational’.” Progress in Human Geography 29.1 (2005): 83-94. Manson, Steven M. “Simplifying Complexity: A Review of Complexity Theory.” Geoforum 32 (2001): 405-14. Nowotny, Helga. “The Increase of Complexity and Its Reduction: Emergent Interfaces between the Natural Sciences, Humanities and Social Sciences.” Theory, Culture and Society 22.5 (2005): 15-31. Thrift, Nigel. “The Place of Complexity.” Theory, Culture and Society 16.3 (1999): 31-69. Urry, John. “The Complexities of the Global.” Theory, Culture and Society 22.5 (2005): 235-54. ———. Global Complexity. Oxford: Polity, 2003. Williams, Raymond. Culture. Glasgow: Fontanta Paperbacks, 1981. &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Citation reference for this article&#x0D; &#x0D; MLA Style&#x0D; James, Sarah. "Culture and Complexity: Graffiti on a San Francisco Streetscape." M/C Journal 10.3 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/07-james.php&gt;. APA Style&#x0D; James, S. (Jun. 2007) "Culture and Complexity: Graffiti on a San Francisco Streetscape," M/C Journal, 10(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; from &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/07-james.php&gt;. &#x0D;

Somebody (who could be me) is running. They (who are many) are in pursuit. Somebody is running up what seems to be a steep incline, a hill of sorts. There is no other pathway. Yet somebody sees (too late, as always) that the pathway drops off instantly, where the hillside has been cut away to form a deep quarry. Unable in that instant to stop, or perhaps having already decided that they must not be allowed to close in, somebody leaps into the unknown. The drop is very high but the fall takes only a matter of seconds. Somebody (who could be me) impacts with the ground and, in that single moment, feels ... difficult to put it into words ... flesh torn and bones shattered, the realisation as the skull ... no, unspeakable ... and something else besides, like departure, or the rending of a soul ... what else to call it? Death. Two Philosophies For Martin Heidegger, death is not something that can be "experienced" as such. Death is meaningful only insofar as it marks the "end" toward which life or being-here-and-now (Dasein) is directed. This end signifies in any given moment only insofar as each individual is able to comprehend the possibility of not being that "my death" presents. Thus, death is characterised by "mineness" (Jemeinigkeit) -- it may indeed be the very thing that allows us to apprehend ourselves in our individuality. For Emmanuel Levinas, by contrast, the only death that we can access meaningfully is the death of the Other. If we are aware of our own mortality, and this defines us, then it is because we are deeply aware of the Other's death. We apprehend ourselves initially insofar as we respond-to an Other, and the death of this Other produces a rupture in the chain of responding, such that Levinas characterises death as the "non-response" from which individuals gain their profound understanding of death and their relation to it. I have chosen to discuss these two philosophies of death because they are often taken at face value to be directly opposed to each other on the basis of whose death provides the key to self-definition: mine or the Other's. Yet I intend to discuss a dream (the account of which begins this paper) rather than to engage at length with one or another particular philosophy. For this reason, my account of the work of Heidegger and of Levinas is necessarily brief, and is far from comprehensive. I choose these philosophies of death not only because they will provide a useful framework for discussing this dream, but because I suggest the dream itself speaks directly to these philosophies, and it engages with the perceived opposition of these two philosophies to each other. One of the reasons that Levinas and Heidegger are often assumed to be directly opposed is that they both proceed (in different directions) from the same fundamental premise: it is impossible to experience death. This idea that death cannot be experienced -- it can only be represented -- is a common enough philosophical tenet. Yet what I am interested in here, on the basis of this dream, is the possibility that we might be able to remove this premise which opposes "experience" to "death", and still speculate on whose death after the manner of Heidegger and Levinas. In other words, I want to ask a question that I can only begin to answer here: is there some way of thinking of "my death" in terms of the Other's death, yet which is capable of being experienced as such? The Narrative Dreamscape The account with which I opened this paper is the record of a dream I had several years ago, written here as I imagine I might recollect it in analysis. As if to play the part of the analyst myself, I want to mention the way that the relations between terms contributes to the dream formation and the degree to which this formation seems to be narrative in its mode of representation. For example, the individual upon whom this dream centres itself -- somebody (who could be me) -- is being chased. The chase leads by chance, or so it seems, to the sheer drop into a quarry. Yet in the formation of a dream narrative, can anything that is thrown forward be the result of chance? Sure, I've seen quarries before. I've lived most of my life near Ipswich, and I've seen an episode or two of Doctor Who or Blakes 7 (the British love to shoot sf in old quarries). I suggest that the question of chance is not whether the quarry in the dream has any direct referent outside the dream. Instead, it is a question of the arbitrariness of this quarry. Of course, the chase must lead somewhere, and the fact that it leads to a quarry in this case is not incidental. Note that by virtue of the fact that the dream opens with a chase, there is from the outset a characterisation of the central individual as "quarry" (a word that is used to describe the object of a hunt). Thus, the dream formation takes the character of this individual (who could be me) and connects it inexorably to the destination that will be thrown forward -- the only possible line of escape that the narrative will present. The reader will notice that narrativity in the dream formation is not a state of cause and effect, or of actants and events (to use narratological terms), although the dream itself is narrative in form. A chase leads to a quarry, suggesting a progression of the events, and a possible causal connection, yet the "chase" already posits its own object: its "quarry". Narrativity thus emerges only as a mode of representation (a way of making "sense", as it were) of the relation between objects -- the quarry and the quarry -- that are present by virtue of an entirely different logic, which is contingent in the first instance upon a play on words. The Character of Death What has continued to puzzle me about this dream is why I did not simply awake prior to the fatal moment, as I have heard most people do when they dream about their death. The answer may be tied to this term "quarry" again, at least insofar as a synonymous term is an "open mine". In a sense, the open mine provides a perfect verbal counterpoint to the terms in which the chase was expressed -- "they" are "closing in" -- to which the opposite can be the "opening" of "mine." The instant in which the sheer drop opens out before the individual in this dream is the moment that the verbal play marks a shift toward accepting the subjective position as an individual. By this I mean that the dream narrative, which posited the individual only as the object ("quarry") of the mass position ("they") presents a cryptic choice: instead of being the object, project it out there, in front of you -- of course, if you accept this, then you will open out before you that which is "mine." Why is this choice fatal for the individual? The dream does not form in a vacuum. I had become acquainted with Heidegger at this stage of my life, and knew that the only thing that could be said to be truly "mine" was "my death". Yet, even then, I was suspicious of the character ascribed to this death by Heidegger. It seemed to me that death was not only a limit that we hold before ourselves as the inevitability of our own demise. In this dream, as I recollect, the subjective position was not entirely fixed, which is why I have recounted the subject of the dream as "somebody (who could be me)" -- in the narrative of the dream, the inevitability of "my death" only emerges after (and as a consequence of) the choice to accept the shifting of the subject and object positions. The Experience of Death So, how does this dream, its recollection, or my interpretation of it here, offer anything to the question of "my death"? After all, I have argued that the presentation of death in this case is the product of a particular dream formation: it is contingent; it is lexical; and it is possible that this dream directly responded to the theory of the "mineness" of death. Under these circumstances, it may seem that nothing about this death could be said to be truly mine except insofar as it responds to another, such is the social/cultural terrain upon which the dreams of individuals are mapped out. Yet I suggest that there is a gap in this reasoning, which may very well be a gap in the psychoanalytical theory of dream interpretation on which it is based. Interpretation can explain the conditions under which death is presented in the dream, yet it will stumble over the fact that (at least in recollection) much of the death itself in this dream cannot be put into words, except to call it simply "death". This is to suggest that what happens in the dream after the position of the individual has been negotiated and the character of inevitability has been ascribed to death is perhaps more fundamentally an experience of death, rather than a presentation of death to oneself. The recollection of the moment of death becomes awkward because there is much about the moment of this death that is primarily bodily or corporeal. Dasein at this moment, in this dreamscape, encompasses the moment of death, which is presented only in terms of what the individual "feels". As a result, the "Stimmung" (feeling or "attunement") which characterises experience for Heidegger and Levinas (despite their other differences) is given here to death, not simply as a part of a general definition of death, but as a factor in determining that which is specific to death here-and-now. Of course, I remain suspicious of characterising this death as "experience" in existential terms. What remains to be investigated is the extent to which we may call dreamscapes a legitimate sphere in which anything like experience can be said to inhere. In any case, I wonder what residues (to use the psychoanalytical term) might have conditioned the "feeling" of death within this dream. I suspect that the answer to this may be something to do with the mechanism by which we take an Other's death (this "non-response") into ourselves, which I have described elsewhere as a bodily and cognitive process, wherein representation and corporeality are both posited as the outside of what psychoanalysts call the unconscious. Yet this further investigation will have to be held over for another time. For now, I will conclude these observations with the thought that there remains a lot more that can be learned from our dreams -- about ourselves as individuals; about our relations with the Other, which constitute us as responsible social beings; and, not least of all, about "my death", in the degree to which it is something that can be lived by an individual who is at the same time a responsible social being. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Laurie Johnson. "Dreaming 'My Death'." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.8 (1999). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9912/death.php&gt;. Chicago style: Laurie Johnson, "Dreaming 'My Death'," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 8 (1999), &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9912/death.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: Laurie Johnson. (1999) Dreaming 'my death'. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(8). &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9912/death.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; I A sense of in-between shapes contemporary theoretical perspectives on identity through concepts such as fluidity, hybridity and diaspora. These concepts have traction when theorising global social and cultural orders characterised by ‘a delocalized transnation’. In this formation, Appadurai argues, ‘the formula of hyphenation (as in Italian-Americans, Asian-Americans, and African-Americans) is reaching the point of saturation, and the right-hand side of the hyphen can barely contain the unruliness of the left-hand side’ (803). Yet in the relatively monocultural space of Anglo-Celtic rural Australia, delocalised and hyphenated transnational identities tend to make their presence felt most strongly on television. Rather than fluidity, rigidity appears to be a more appropriate metaphor for reading the divisions in rural settler-Australian identity that function as ‘uneven, local attempts to make sense of the world’ (Gilroy 98). In Lismore on the north coast of NSW, for example, the relatively fixed notion of being “a local” maintains its power. Since returning to my home-town of Lismore in 1999 I have become particularly fascinated by the constant use of the word “local” in everyday conversation and in the local newspapers. When I share my fascination with students and colleagues, I am struck by the emotive engagement, both positive and negative, that the idea of being “a local” stimulates. That these students and colleagues have local knowledge of what it means to be “a local” is no doubt a factor in this emotion and engagement: being “a local” marks a divide in belonging and in the local social order. While there is ample literature regarding “the local” within the context of globalisation, “the local” in place-based and regional research, “local knowledges” in anthropology, or “the local” as metaphor for issues of subjectivity and self in feminism and postcolonial theory, literature on being “a local” is curiously sparse. A strong thread of scholarship comes from Hawai’i (for an example see Ohnuma). Conversely, in the Australian context I am aware of only one publication dealing specifically with the idea of being a local. In Ronnie’s Story, Richard Woolley analyses the performance of being a local at a pub in the Sydney suburb of Redfern. By telling first-person anecdotes about a long-term Redfern local, Ronnie, more recent arrivals position themselves in a local order of being local. Woolley’s analysis indicates the power and significance that the idea of being a local has in Australian society, even in places where populations are relatively fluid. Yet while performance may be one strategy for creating a local order, the key to a successful performance in Woolley’s analysis is a relation with an “authentic” local who has qualities not of fluidity, but of routine and rootedness. It is this latter sense of being local that has salience in Lismore. It functions as a benchmark for authenticity and acceptance. This sense of being “a local” deserves scrutiny because it carries the full weight of traditional settler belonging. In addition, being “a local” deserves careful unpacking because it is a category that excludes. Concealed within the idea is a racial and colonial discourse. An analysis of being local in Lismore reveals that not everyone can be a local and the conditions of acceptance are obscured. One criterion is, however, clear and discussable: if there is a question of one’s status as a local, conversation typically and quickly moves to duration of personal and ancestral residence. II “When I first came to Lismore twenty-five years ago, people told me it takes 25 years to become a local […]. My time’s up. I think I can safely say I’ve made it.” (Nora Vidler-Blanksby qtd. in Satherley) “All [the people I just mentioned were] born and bred in the area, plus John Chant, who has been here for 40 years, which makes him a local.” (Baxter) “[…W]hat I’ve come to understand is that you are never a local unless you are born here. […] I mean even after twenty-odd years people say [to me], well, you’re not a local.” (Irwin) Becoming local takes time: routine every day time spent on the ground. There is a notion here of connection between identity and a “patch of dirt”, of authenticity through autochthony, of a seed planted, of being a child of the soil, of coming from a place as distinct from a womb. Being local weaves identity and place together in this most intimate fashion. A local’s sense of identity emerges through time from a developing everyday personal relationship to place through a meld of history, community and geography (Miller 217). To come from outside Lismore, and move beyond being “just a blow-in” — an unannounced stranger blown off-course — the honorific must be earned through an infusion of soil into one’s blood. The period required for this metamorphosis is clearly open to question: 25 years, 40 years, forever. In a sense, locals were never not there. History begins with their arrival. III The stability of this reading of the local order rests on the concealment of an anxiety: an anxiety that settler autochthony is a fiction. Diffusion of settlers and dispersal of Aborigines was the reality of locals’ “settling”. Aborigines upset the signifying chain of local settler belonging at its source because a straightforward appeal to duration of residence is quickly undermined by 40,000 years of Indigenous tenure. This challenge to autochthony initiates a pre-emptive strategy of avoidance and concealment. The language of the settler “local”, articulated through history, community and geography of necessity excludes Aborigines. In de Certeau’s words “locals” define themselves within a ‘proper place’ — ‘a place appropriated as one’s own’ — ‘in a world bewitched by the invisible powers of the Other’ (1984: 36). An analysis of the use of the word “local” reveals how the idea of being “a local” stabilises local settler belonging through concealment. Local, in this usage, is an adjective doing the work of a noun. By becoming a substitute for the noun, the actual noun which “local” modifies is understood, elided, concealed. ‘So you’re “a local”, huh? A local what?’ we might ask. Turning to local newspapers reveals what the concealed noun is not. Within everyday settler discourse Aborigines cannot be noun-locals. To do so would pollute the proper place of “the local” with the Other. Instead, Aborigines are adjective-locals. In The Northern Star, Lismore’s daily paper, Digby Moran is described as a ‘local […] indigenous artist’ (Redmond). Bill Walker, the co-ordinator of the Bundjalung Nation Aboriginal Cultural Heritage Committee, is a ‘respected local identity’ (“Co-ordinator named”). These instances are illustrative of the repeated use of the term “local” as a regular adjective in reference to Aborigines. Local is a modifier of the nouns “artist” and “identity”, indeed a modifier that refers to an imagined boundary rather than to the land itself. Now and then there is a subversion of this order and someone will refer to an Aborigine as a ‘fair dinkum local’ (Opit). Nevertheless, a qualifier is required. Supporting evidence is needed for the Aboriginal claim to status as “a local” – a fair-dinkum local as opposed to a no-need-to-explain local. If there was a class of nouns to which “local” belonged, we would be justified in labelling them “dispossessives”. IV Being a local is a valued aspect of Australian culture and identity — an embodiment of care for community and place for the long term. In the contemporary moment, characterised in the media by accelerating cultural change and personal and national threat, the local represents tradition through apparently unchanging repetition that tourists, sea-changers and tree-changers seek as a refuge and solace. The locals might be said to offer a community of resistance and trust. The local stands within a clearing in a cluttered and threatening world. As I have attempted to argue, however, the local that is revealed in the light of the clearing contains concealment. As an adjective masquerading as a noun, “local” silences talk of the clearing of Aborigines and in the Aborigines’ place it silently installs the settler as original and autochthonous. As Heidegger writes, the ‘clearing in which beings stand is in itself at the same time concealment. […C]oncealment […] occurs within what is lighted. One being places itself in front of another being, the one helps to hide the other, the former obscures the latter, a few obstruct many, one denies all. […A] being […] presents itself as other than it is.’ (Heidegger 54) While there is much to value in being local, as an everyday contemporary practice of colonialism and exclusion it deserves careful attention and transformation. The transformation is clearly more than a task of defining and reinstating the noun that follows the adjective “local,” and instead requires an ontological earthquake of sorts for settler locals. How could the local order in Australia be otherwise than colonial? How might settler Australians be able to imagine the clearing they inhabit in a way that does not clear the land of Aborigines? Within these questions lies a possible ethics of location for settler Australians. References Appadurai, Arjun. “The Heart of Whiteness.” Callaloo 16 (1993): 796-807. Baxter, Reg. “Six Pack Not So Bad”. The Northern Star 17 Mar. 2004: 11. “Co-ordinator Named”. The Northern Star 18 Feb. 2004: 3. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984. Gilroy, Paul. Between Camps: Race, Identity and Nationalism at the End of the Colour Line. Harmondsworth: Allen Lane, 2000. Heidegger, Martin. Poetry, Language, Thought. Trans. Albert Hofstadter. New York: Harper &amp; Row, 1975. Irwin, Ros. Personal communication with author [transcript from tape]. 26 Aug. 2003. Miller, Linn. “Belonging to Country — A Philosophical Anthropology.” Voicing Dissent, New Talents 21C: Next Generation Australian Studies 76 (2003): 215-23, 257-8. Ohnuma, Keiko. “Local Haole – A Contradiction in Terms? The Dilemma of Being White, Born and Raised in Hawai’i.” Cultural Values 6 (2002): 273-85. Opit, G. “Stand Up for the Fair Dinkum Local.” Byron Shire Echo 18 Nov. 2003: 9. Redmond, Renee. “The Perfect Backdrop for Local Artist.” The Northern Star 11 Jul. 2003: 5. Satherley, Zoe “Look Who Wants to Be Mayor.” The Northern Star 30 Jan. 2004: 3. Woolley, Richard. “Ronnie’s Story: Narrative and Belonging to Place.” TASA 2003 Conference. The Australian Sociological Association. University of New England, Armidale. 4-6 December 2003. &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Citation reference for this article&#x0D; &#x0D; MLA Style&#x0D; Garbutt, Rob. "Local Order." M/C Journal 7.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0501/08-garbutt.php&gt;. APA Style&#x0D; Garbutt, R. (Jan. 2005) "Local Order," M/C Journal, 7(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; from &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0501/08-garbutt.php&gt;. &#x0D;

&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; This issue of M/C Journal asks what’s your vote worth? And what does citizenship mean now? These questions are pressing, not only for the authors and editors of this special issue, but for anyone who contends with the challenges and opportunities presented by the relationship of the individual to the modern state, the difficulty and necessity of effecting change in our polities, and the needs of individuals and communities within frameworks of unequally representative democracies. And we think that’s pretty well all of us. Talk of voting and citizenship also raise further questions about the relationship of macro-level power politics to the mundane sphere of our everyday lives. Voting is a decision that is decidedly personal, requiring the seclusion of the ballot-box, and in Australia at least, a personal inscription of one’s choice on the ballot paper. It’s an important externalisation of our private thoughts and concerns, and it links us, through our nominated representative, to the machinery of State. Citizenship is a matter of rights and duties, and describes all that we are able or expected to do in our relationship with the State and in our membership of communities, however these defined. Our level of activity as citizens is an expression of our affective relationship with State and community – the political volunteerism of small donations and envelope-stuffing, the assertions of protest, membership in unions, parties or community groups are all ways in which our mundane lives link up with tectonic shifts in national, even global governance. Ever since the debacle of the 2000 US presidential election, there has been intensified debate about the effects of apathy, spin and outright corruption on electoral politics. And since the events of the following September, citizens’ rights have been diminished and duties put on something of a war footing in Western democracies, as States militarise in the face of ‘terror’. (“Be alert, not alarmed”). Branches of cultural theory and political science have redoubled their critique of liberal democracy, and the communicative frameworks that are supposed to sustain it, with some scholars presenting voting as a false choice, political communication as lies, and discourses of citizenship as a disciplinary straightjacket. But recent events have made the editors, at least, a little more optimistic. During the time in which we were taking submissions for this special, double issue of M/C Journal, the citizens of Australia voted to change their Federal Government. After 11 years the John Howard-led Liberal Government came to an end on 23 November, swept aside in an election that cost the former PM his own seat. Within a few weeks the new Labor Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd had, on behalf of the nation, ratified the Kyoto protocol on climate change, apologised to the indigenous ‘stolen generation’ who had been taken from their parents as part of a tragically misconceived project of assimilation, and was preparing to pull Australian combat troops out of Iraq. Australia’s long-delayed Kyoto decision was being tipped at the time of writing as an additional pressure the next US president could not possibly ignore. If the Americans sign up, pressure might in turn build on other big emitters like China to find new solutions to their energy needs. Pulling out of Iraq also left the US looking more isolated still in that seemingly interminable occupation. And the apology, though not enough on its own to overcome the terrible disadvantage of Aboriginal people, made front pages around the world, and will no doubt encourage indigenous peoples in their separate, but related struggles. After so many years of divisive intransigence on these and many other issues, after a decade in which the outgoing Government made the country a linchpin of an aggressive, US-led geopolitics of conflict, change was brought about by a succession of little things. Things like the effect on individuals’ relationships and happiness of a new, unfavourable balance in their workplace. Things like a person’s decision to renounce long-standing fears and reassurances. Things like the choices made by people holding stubby pencils in cardboard ballot boxes. These things cascaded, multiplied, and added up to some things that may become bigger than they already are. It was hard to spot these changes in the mundanity of Australia’s electoral rituals – the queue outside the local primary school, the eye-searing welter of bunting and how-to-vote cards, the floppy-hatted volunteers, and the customary fund-raising sausage-sizzle by the exit door. But they were there; they took place; and they matter. The Prime Minister before Howard, Paul Keating, had famously warned the voters off his successor during his losing campaign in 1996 by saying, at the last gasp, that ‘If you change the Prime Minister, you change the country’. For Keating, the choice embodied in a vote had consequences not just for the future of the Nation, but for its character, its being. Keating, famously, was to his bones a creature of electoral politics – he would say this, one might think, and there are many objections to be made to the claim that anything can change the country, any country, so quickly or decisively. Critical voices will say that liberal democracy really only grafts an illusion of choice onto what’s really a late-capitalist consensus – the apparent changes brought about by elections, and even the very idea of popular or national sovereignties are precisely ideological. Others will argue that democratic elections don’t qualify as a choice because there is evidence that the voters are irrational, making decisions on the basis of slender, or incorrect information, and as a result they often choose leaders that do not serve their interests. Others – like Judith Brett in her latest Quarterly Essay, “Exit Right” – argue that any talk of election results signifying a change in ‘national mood’ belies the fact that changes of government usually reflect quite small overall changes in the vote. In 2007, for example, over 46% of the Australian electorate voted for another Howard term, and only a little over 5% of us changed our minds. There is something to all of these arguments, but not enough to diminish the acts of engaged, mundane citizenship that underpinned Australia’s recent transformation. The Australian Council of Trade Unions’ ‘Your Rights at Work’ campaign, which started in 2006, was a grassroots effort to build awareness about the import of the Howard Government’s neoliberal industrial relations reform. As well as bringing down the Government, this may have given Australia’s labour movement a new, independent lease of life. Organisations like GetUp also mobilised progressive grassroots activism in key electorates. Former ABC journalist Maxine McKew, the high profile Labor challenger in Howard’s seat of Bennelong, was assisted by an army of volunteer workers. They letterboxed, doorknocked and answered phones for weeks and were rewarded with the unseating of the Prime Minister. Perhaps what Keating should have said is, ‘by the time you change the Prime Minister, the country already has’. By the time the community at large starts flexing its muscles of citizenship, the big decisions have already been collectively made. In the media sphere too, there was heartening evidence of new forms of engagement. In the old media camp, Murdoch’s The Australian tried to fight a rear-guard campaign to maintain the mainstream media as the sole legitimate forum for public discussion. But its commentaries and editorials looked more than ever anachronistic, as Australia’s increasingly mature blogosphere carried debate and alternative forms of reporting on the election right throughout the year leading up to the long campaign. Politicians too made efforts to engage with participatory culture, with smart uses of Facebook, MySpace and blogs by some leading figures — and a much-derided intervention on YouTube by John Howard, whose video clip misguidedly beginning with the words ‘Good morning’ served as an emblem for a government whose moment had passed. There is evidence this year that America is changing, too, and even though the current rise of Barack Obama as a presidential contender may not result in victory, or even in his nomination, his early successes give more grounds for hope in citizenship. Although the enthusiastic reception for the speeches of this great political orator are described by cynics as ‘creepy’ or ‘cultish’, there are other ways of reading it. We could say that this is evidence of a euphoric affective reinvestment in the possibility of citizenship, and of voting as an agent for change — ‘Yes we can’ is his signature line. The enthusiasm for Obama could also simply be the relief of being able to throw off the defensive versions of citizenship that have prevailed in recent years. It could be that the greatest ‘hope’ Obama is offering is of democratic (and Democratic) renewal, a return to electoral politics, and citizenship, being conducted as if they mean something. The mechanics of Obama’s campaign suggest, too, that ordinary acts of citizenship can make a difference when it comes to institutions of great power, such as the US Presidency. Like Howard Dean before him, Obama’s campaign resourcing is powered by myriad, online gifts from small donors – ordinary men and women have ensured that Obama has more money than the Democrat-establishment Clinton campaign. If nothing else, this suggests that the ‘supply-chain’ of politics is reorienting itself to citizen engagement. Not all of the papers in this issue of M/C Journal are as optimistic as this introduction. Some of them talk about citizenship as a means of exclusion – as a way of defining ‘in’ and ‘out’ groups, as a locus of paranoia. Some see citizenship as heterogenous, and that unequal access to its benefits is a deficit in our democracy. The limits to citizenship, and to the forms of choice that liberal democracy allows need to be acknowledged. But we also need to see these mundane acts of participation as a locus of possibility, and a fulcrum for change. Everyday acts of democracy may not change the country, but they can change the framework in which our conversations about it take place. Indeed, democracy is both more popular and less popular than ever. In our feature article, Brian McNair explores the ‘democratic paradox’ that, on the one hand, democracy spread to 120 countries in the twentieth century while, on the other hand, voter participation in the more established democracies is falling. While rightly cautioning against drawing too neat an equivalence between X Factor and a general election, McNair considers the popularity of voting in participatory TV shows, noting that people will indeed vote when they are motivated enough. He asks whether the evident popularity of voting for play purposes can be harnessed into active citizenship. Melissa Bellanta questions the use of rhetoric of ‘democracy’ in relation to participatory media forms, such as voting in reality TV competitions or in online polls. Bellanta shows how audience interaction was central to late-nineteenth century popular theatre and draws provocative parallels between the ‘voting’ practices of Victorian theatre audiences and contemporary viewer-voting. She argues that the attendant rhetoric of ‘democracy’ in such interactions can divert our attention from the real characteristics of such behaviour. Digital artist xtine explores a ‘crisis of democracy’ created by tensions between participation and control. She draws upon, on the one hand, Guattari’s analysis of strategies for social change and, on the other, polemical discussions of culture jamming by Naomi Klein, and by Adbusters’ founder Kalle Lasn. Her paper introduces a number of Web projects which aim to enable new forms of local consumption and interaction. Kimberley Mullins surveys the shifting relationships between concepts of ‘public’ and ‘audience’. She discuses how these different perspectives blur and intertwine in contemporary political communication, with voters sometimes invoked as citizens and sometimes presented with entertainment spectacles in political discourse. Mark Hayward looks at the development of global television in Italy, specifically the public broadcaster RAI International, in light of the changing nature of political institutions. He links changes in the nature of the State broadcaster, RAI, with changes in national institutions made under the Berlusconi government. Hayward sees these changes as linked to a narrowing conception of citizenship used as a tool for increasingly ethno-centric forms of exclusion. Panizza Allmark considers one response to the 7 July 2005 bombings in London – the “We’re not afraid” Website, where Londoners posted images of life going on “as normal” in the face of the Tube attacks. As Allmark puts it, these photographs “promote the pleasures of western cultural values as a defense against the anxiety of terror.” Paradoxically, these “domestic snapshots” work to “arouse the collective memory of terrorism and violence”, only ambiguously resolving the impact of the 7 July events. This piece adds to the small but important literature on the relationship between photography, blogging and everyday life. James Arvanitakis’s piece, “The Heterogenous Citizen: How Many of Us Care about Don Bradman’s Average” opens out from a consideration of Australia’s Citizenship Test, introduced by the former government, into a typology of citizenship that allows for different versions of citizenship, and understandings of it “as a fluid and heterogenous phenomenon that can be in surplus, deficit, progressive and reactionary”. His typology seeks to open up new spaces for understanding citizenship as a practice, and as a relation to others, communities and the State. Anne Aly and Lelia Green’s piece, “Moderate Islam: Defining the Good Citizen”, thinks through the dilemmas Australian Muslims face in engaging with the broader community, and the heavy mediation of the state in defining the “good”, moderate Muslim identity in the age of terror. Their research is a result of a major project investigating Australian Muslim identity and citizenship, and finds that they are dealt with in media and political discourse through the lens of the “clash” between East and West embodied on the “war on terror”. For them, “religion has become the sole and only characteristic by which Muslims are recognised, denying them political citizenship and access to the public spaces of citizenship.” Alex Burns offers a critical assessment of claims made, and theories advanced about citizen media. He is skeptical about the definitions of citizenship and journalism that underpin optimistic new media theory. He notes the need for future research the reevaluates citizen journalism, and suggests an approach that builds on rich descriptions of journalistic experience, and “practice-based” approaches. Derek Barry’s “Wilde’s Evenings” offers a brief overview of the relationships between citizen journalism, the mainstream media and citizenship, through the lens of recent developments in Australia, and the 2007 Federal election, mentioned earlier in this introduction. As a practitioner and observer, Derek’s focus is on the status of citizen journalism as political activism, and whether the aim of citizen journalism, going forward, should be “payment or empowerment”. Finally, our cover image, by Drew, author of the successful Webcomic toothpastefordinner.com, offers a more sardonic take on the processes of voting and citizenship than we have in our introduction. The Web has not only provided a space for bloggers and citizen journalists, but also for a plethora of brilliant independent comic artists, who not only offer economical, mordant political commentary, but in some ways point the way towards sustainable practices in online independent media. Toothpastefordinner.com is not exclusively focused on political content, but it is flourishing on the basis of giving core content away, and subsisting largely on self-generated merchandise. This is one area for future research in online citizen media to explore. The tension between optimistic and pessimistic assessments of voting, citizenship, and the other apparatuses of liberal democracy will not be going anywhere soon, and nor will the need to “change the country” once in awhile. Meanwhile, the authors and editors of this special edition of M/C Journal hope to have explored these issues in a way that has provoked some further thought and debate among you, as voters, citizens and readers. References Brett, Judith. “Exit Right.” Quarterly Essay 28 (2008). &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Citation reference for this article&#x0D; &#x0D; MLA Style&#x0D; Meikle, Graham, Jason A. Wilson, and Barry Saunders. "Vote / Citizen." M/C Journal 10.6/11.1 (2008). echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0804/00-editorial.php&gt;. APA Style&#x0D; Meikle, G., J. Wilson, and B. Saunders. (Apr. 2008) "Vote / Citizen," M/C Journal, 10(6)/11(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; from &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0804/00-editorial.php&gt;. &#x0D;

This issue of M/C Journal asks what’s your vote worth? And what does citizenship mean now? These questions are pressing, not only for the authors and editors of this special issue, but for anyone who contends with the challenges and opportunities presented by the relationship of the individual to the modern state, the difficulty and necessity of effecting change in our polities, and the needs of individuals and communities within frameworks of unequally representative democracies. And we think that’s pretty well all of us. Talk of voting and citizenship also raise further questions about the relationship of macro-level power politics to the mundane sphere of our everyday lives. Voting is a decision that is decidedly personal, requiring the seclusion of the ballot-box, and in Australia at least, a personal inscription of one’s choice on the ballot paper. It’s an important externalisation of our private thoughts and concerns, and it links us, through our nominated representative, to the machinery of State. Citizenship is a matter of rights and duties, and describes all that we are able or expected to do in our relationship with the State and in our membership of communities, however these defined. Our level of activity as citizens is an expression of our affective relationship with State and community – the political volunteerism of small donations and envelope-stuffing, the assertions of protest, membership in unions, parties or community groups are all ways in which our mundane lives link up with tectonic shifts in national, even global governance. Ever since the debacle of the 2000 US presidential election, there has been intensified debate about the effects of apathy, spin and outright corruption on electoral politics. And since the events of the following September, citizens’ rights have been diminished and duties put on something of a war footing in Western democracies, as States militarise in the face of ‘terror’. (“Be alert, not alarmed”). Branches of cultural theory and political science have redoubled their critique of liberal democracy, and the communicative frameworks that are supposed to sustain it, with some scholars presenting voting as a false choice, political communication as lies, and discourses of citizenship as a disciplinary straightjacket. But recent events have made the editors, at least, a little more optimistic. During the time in which we were taking submissions for this special, double issue of M/C Journal, the citizens of Australia voted to change their Federal Government. After 11 years the John Howard-led Liberal Government came to an end on 23 November, swept aside in an election that cost the former PM his own seat. Within a few weeks the new Labor Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd had, on behalf of the nation, ratified the Kyoto protocol on climate change, apologised to the indigenous ‘stolen generation’ who had been taken from their parents as part of a tragically misconceived project of assimilation, and was preparing to pull Australian combat troops out of Iraq. Australia’s long-delayed Kyoto decision was being tipped at the time of writing as an additional pressure the next US president could not possibly ignore. If the Americans sign up, pressure might in turn build on other big emitters like China to find new solutions to their energy needs. Pulling out of Iraq also left the US looking more isolated still in that seemingly interminable occupation. And the apology, though not enough on its own to overcome the terrible disadvantage of Aboriginal people, made front pages around the world, and will no doubt encourage indigenous peoples in their separate, but related struggles. After so many years of divisive intransigence on these and many other issues, after a decade in which the outgoing Government made the country a linchpin of an aggressive, US-led geopolitics of conflict, change was brought about by a succession of little things. Things like the effect on individuals’ relationships and happiness of a new, unfavourable balance in their workplace. Things like a person’s decision to renounce long-standing fears and reassurances. Things like the choices made by people holding stubby pencils in cardboard ballot boxes. These things cascaded, multiplied, and added up to some things that may become bigger than they already are. It was hard to spot these changes in the mundanity of Australia’s electoral rituals – the queue outside the local primary school, the eye-searing welter of bunting and how-to-vote cards, the floppy-hatted volunteers, and the customary fund-raising sausage-sizzle by the exit door. But they were there; they took place; and they matter. The Prime Minister before Howard, Paul Keating, had famously warned the voters off his successor during his losing campaign in 1996 by saying, at the last gasp, that ‘If you change the Prime Minister, you change the country’. For Keating, the choice embodied in a vote had consequences not just for the future of the Nation, but for its character, its being. Keating, famously, was to his bones a creature of electoral politics – he would say this, one might think, and there are many objections to be made to the claim that anything can change the country, any country, so quickly or decisively. Critical voices will say that liberal democracy really only grafts an illusion of choice onto what’s really a late-capitalist consensus – the apparent changes brought about by elections, and even the very idea of popular or national sovereignties are precisely ideological. Others will argue that democratic elections don’t qualify as a choice because there is evidence that the voters are irrational, making decisions on the basis of slender, or incorrect information, and as a result they often choose leaders that do not serve their interests. Others – like Judith Brett in her latest Quarterly Essay, “Exit Right” – argue that any talk of election results signifying a change in ‘national mood’ belies the fact that changes of government usually reflect quite small overall changes in the vote. In 2007, for example, over 46% of the Australian electorate voted for another Howard term, and only a little over 5% of us changed our minds. There is something to all of these arguments, but not enough to diminish the acts of engaged, mundane citizenship that underpinned Australia’s recent transformation. The Australian Council of Trade Unions’ ‘Your Rights at Work’ campaign, which started in 2006, was a grassroots effort to build awareness about the import of the Howard Government’s neoliberal industrial relations reform. As well as bringing down the Government, this may have given Australia’s labour movement a new, independent lease of life. Organisations like GetUp also mobilised progressive grassroots activism in key electorates. Former ABC journalist Maxine McKew, the high profile Labor challenger in Howard’s seat of Bennelong, was assisted by an army of volunteer workers. They letterboxed, doorknocked and answered phones for weeks and were rewarded with the unseating of the Prime Minister. Perhaps what Keating should have said is, ‘by the time you change the Prime Minister, the country already has’. By the time the community at large starts flexing its muscles of citizenship, the big decisions have already been collectively made. In the media sphere too, there was heartening evidence of new forms of engagement. In the old media camp, Murdoch’s The Australian tried to fight a rear-guard campaign to maintain the mainstream media as the sole legitimate forum for public discussion. But its commentaries and editorials looked more than ever anachronistic, as Australia’s increasingly mature blogosphere carried debate and alternative forms of reporting on the election right throughout the year leading up to the long campaign. Politicians too made efforts to engage with participatory culture, with smart uses of Facebook, MySpace and blogs by some leading figures — and a much-derided intervention on YouTube by John Howard, whose video clip misguidedly beginning with the words ‘Good morning’ served as an emblem for a government whose moment had passed. There is evidence this year that America is changing, too, and even though the current rise of Barack Obama as a presidential contender may not result in victory, or even in his nomination, his early successes give more grounds for hope in citizenship. Although the enthusiastic reception for the speeches of this great political orator are described by cynics as ‘creepy’ or ‘cultish’, there are other ways of reading it. We could say that this is evidence of a euphoric affective reinvestment in the possibility of citizenship, and of voting as an agent for change — ‘Yes we can’ is his signature line. The enthusiasm for Obama could also simply be the relief of being able to throw off the defensive versions of citizenship that have prevailed in recent years. It could be that the greatest ‘hope’ Obama is offering is of democratic (and Democratic) renewal, a return to electoral politics, and citizenship, being conducted as if they mean something. The mechanics of Obama’s campaign suggest, too, that ordinary acts of citizenship can make a difference when it comes to institutions of great power, such as the US Presidency. Like Howard Dean before him, Obama’s campaign resourcing is powered by myriad, online gifts from small donors – ordinary men and women have ensured that Obama has more money than the Democrat-establishment Clinton campaign. If nothing else, this suggests that the ‘supply-chain’ of politics is reorienting itself to citizen engagement. Not all of the papers in this issue of M/C Journal are as optimistic as this introduction. Some of them talk about citizenship as a means of exclusion – as a way of defining ‘in’ and ‘out’ groups, as a locus of paranoia. Some see citizenship as heterogenous, and that unequal access to its benefits is a deficit in our democracy. The limits to citizenship, and to the forms of choice that liberal democracy allows need to be acknowledged. But we also need to see these mundane acts of participation as a locus of possibility, and a fulcrum for change. Everyday acts of democracy may not change the country, but they can change the framework in which our conversations about it take place. Indeed, democracy is both more popular and less popular than ever. In our feature article, Brian McNair explores the ‘democratic paradox’ that, on the one hand, democracy spread to 120 countries in the twentieth century while, on the other hand, voter participation in the more established democracies is falling. While rightly cautioning against drawing too neat an equivalence between X Factor and a general election, McNair considers the popularity of voting in participatory TV shows, noting that people will indeed vote when they are motivated enough. He asks whether the evident popularity of voting for play purposes can be harnessed into active citizenship. Melissa Bellanta questions the use of rhetoric of ‘democracy’ in relation to participatory media forms, such as voting in reality TV competitions or in online polls. Bellanta shows how audience interaction was central to late-nineteenth century popular theatre and draws provocative parallels between the ‘voting’ practices of Victorian theatre audiences and contemporary viewer-voting. She argues that the attendant rhetoric of ‘democracy’ in such interactions can divert our attention from the real characteristics of such behaviour. Digital artist xtine explores a ‘crisis of democracy’ created by tensions between participation and control. She draws upon, on the one hand, Guattari’s analysis of strategies for social change and, on the other, polemical discussions of culture jamming by Naomi Klein, and by Adbusters’ founder Kalle Lasn. Her paper introduces a number of Web projects which aim to enable new forms of local consumption and interaction. Kimberley Mullins surveys the shifting relationships between concepts of ‘public’ and ‘audience’. She discuses how these different perspectives blur and intertwine in contemporary political communication, with voters sometimes invoked as citizens and sometimes presented with entertainment spectacles in political discourse. Mark Hayward looks at the development of global television in Italy, specifically the public broadcaster RAI International, in light of the changing nature of political institutions. He links changes in the nature of the State broadcaster, RAI, with changes in national institutions made under the Berlusconi government. Hayward sees these changes as linked to a narrowing conception of citizenship used as a tool for increasingly ethno-centric forms of exclusion. Panizza Allmark considers one response to the 7 July 2005 bombings in London – the “We’re not afraid” Website, where Londoners posted images of life going on “as normal” in the face of the Tube attacks. As Allmark puts it, these photographs “promote the pleasures of western cultural values as a defense against the anxiety of terror.” Paradoxically, these “domestic snapshots” work to “arouse the collective memory of terrorism and violence”, only ambiguously resolving the impact of the 7 July events. This piece adds to the small but important literature on the relationship between photography, blogging and everyday life. James Arvanitakis’s piece, “The Heterogenous Citizen: How Many of Us Care about Don Bradman’s Average” opens out from a consideration of Australia’s Citizenship Test, introduced by the former government, into a typology of citizenship that allows for different versions of citizenship, and understandings of it “as a fluid and heterogenous phenomenon that can be in surplus, deficit, progressive and reactionary”. His typology seeks to open up new spaces for understanding citizenship as a practice, and as a relation to others, communities and the State. Anne Aly and Lelia Green’s piece, “Moderate Islam: Defining the Good Citizen”, thinks through the dilemmas Australian Muslims face in engaging with the broader community, and the heavy mediation of the state in defining the “good”, moderate Muslim identity in the age of terror. Their research is a result of a major project investigating Australian Muslim identity and citizenship, and finds that they are dealt with in media and political discourse through the lens of the “clash” between East and West embodied on the “war on terror”. For them, “religion has become the sole and only characteristic by which Muslims are recognised, denying them political citizenship and access to the public spaces of citizenship.” Alex Burns offers a critical assessment of claims made, and theories advanced about citizen media. He is skeptical about the definitions of citizenship and journalism that underpin optimistic new media theory. He notes the need for future research the reevaluates citizen journalism, and suggests an approach that builds on rich descriptions of journalistic experience, and “practice-based” approaches. Derek Barry’s “Wilde’s Evenings” offers a brief overview of the relationships between citizen journalism, the mainstream media and citizenship, through the lens of recent developments in Australia, and the 2007 Federal election, mentioned earlier in this introduction. As a practitioner and observer, Derek’s focus is on the status of citizen journalism as political activism, and whether the aim of citizen journalism, going forward, should be “payment or empowerment”. Finally, our cover image, by Drew, author of the successful Webcomic toothpastefordinner.com, offers a more sardonic take on the processes of voting and citizenship than we have in our introduction. The Web has not only provided a space for bloggers and citizen journalists, but also for a plethora of brilliant independent comic artists, who not only offer economical, mordant political commentary, but in some ways point the way towards sustainable practices in online independent media. Toothpastefordinner.com is not exclusively focused on political content, but it is flourishing on the basis of giving core content away, and subsisting largely on self-generated merchandise. This is one area for future research in online citizen media to explore.The tension between optimistic and pessimistic assessments of voting, citizenship, and the other apparatuses of liberal democracy will not be going anywhere soon, and nor will the need to “change the country” once in awhile. Meanwhile, the authors and editors of this special edition of M/C Journal hope to have explored these issues in a way that has provoked some further thought and debate among you, as voters, citizens and readers. ReferencesBrett, Judith. “Exit Right.” Quarterly Essay 28 (2008).

Introduction: Conceptualizing DisabilityThe two most prominent models for understanding disability are the medical model and the social model (“Disability”). The medical model locates disability in the person and emphasises the possibility of a cure, reinforcing the idea that disability is the fault of the disabled person, their body, their genes, and/or their upbringing. The social model, formulated as a response to the medical model, presents disability as a failure of the surrounding environment to accommodate differently abled bodies and minds. Closely linked to identity politics, the social model argues that disability is not a defect to be fixed but a source of human experience and identity, and that to disregard the needs of people with disability is to discriminate against them by being “ableist.”Both models have limitations. On the one hand, simply being a person with disability or having any other minority identity/-ies does not by itself lead to exclusion and discrimination (Nocella 18); an element of social valuation must be present that goes beyond a mere numbers game. On the other hand, merely focusing on the social aspect neglects “the realities of sickness, suffering, and pain” that many people with disability experience (Mollow 196) and that cannot be substantially alleviated by any degree of social change. The body is irreducible to discourse and representation (Siebers 749). Disability exists only at the confluence of differently abled minds and bodies and unaccommodating social and physical environs. How a body “fits” (my word) its environment is the focus of the “ecosomatic paradigm” (Cella 574-75); one example is how the drastically different environment of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (2006) reorients the coordinates of ability and impairment (Cella 582–84). I want to examine a novel that, conversely, features a change not in environment but in body.Alien LegsTim Farnsworth, the protagonist of Joshua Ferris’s second novel, The Unnamed (2010), is a high-powered New York lawyer who develops a condition that causes him to walk spontaneously without control over direction or duration. Tim suffers four periods of “walking,” during which his body could without warning stand up and walk at any time up to the point of exhaustion; each period grows increasingly longer with more frequent walks, until the fourth one ends in Tim’s death. As his wife, Jane, understands it, these forced excursions are “a hijacking of some obscure order of the body, the frightened soul inside the runaway train of mindless matter” (24). The direction is not random, for his legs follow roads and traffic lights. When Tim is exhausted, his legs abruptly stop, ceding control back to his conscious will, whence Tim usually calls Jane and then sleeps like a baby wherever he stops. She picks him up at all hours of the day and night.Contemporary critics note shades of Beckett in both the premise and title of the novel (“Young”; Adams), connections confirmed by Ferris (“Involuntary”); Ron Charles mentions the Poe story “The Man of the Crowd” (1845), but it seems only the compulsion to walk is similar. Ferris says he “was interested in writing about disease” (“Involuntary”), and disability is at the core of the novel; Tim more than once thinks bitterly to himself that the smug person without disability in front of him will one day fall ill and die, alluding to the universality of disability. His condition is detrimental to his work and life, and Stuart Murray explores how this reveals the ableist assumptions behind the idea of “productivity” in a post-industrial economy. In one humorous episode, Tim arrives unexpectedly (but volitionally) at a courtroom and has just finished requesting permission to join the proceedings when his legs take him out of the courtroom again; he barely has time to shout over his shoulder, “on second thought, Your Honor” (Ferris Unnamed 103). However, Murray does not discuss what is unique about Tim’s disability: it revolves around walking, the paradigmatic act of ability in popular culture, as connoted in the phrase “to stand up and walk.” This makes it difficult to understand Tim’s predicament solely in terms of either the medical or social model. He is able-bodied—in fact, we might say he is “over-able”—leading one doctor to label his condition “benign idiopathic perambulation” (41; my emphasis); yet the lack of agency in his walking precludes it from becoming a “pedestrian speech act” (de Certeau 98), walking that imbues space with semiotic value. It is difficult to imagine what changes society could make to neutralize Tim’s disability.The novel explores both avenues. At first, Tim adheres to the medical model protocol of seeking a diagnosis to facilitate treatment. He goes to every and any (pseudo)expert in search of “the One Guy” who can diagnose and, possibly, cure him (53), but none can; a paper in The New England Journal of Medicine documents psychiatrists and neurologists, finding nothing, kicking the can between them, “from the mind to body back to the mind” (101). Tim is driven to seek a diagnosis because, under the medical model, a diagnosis facilitates understanding, by others and by oneself. As the Farnsworths experience many times, it is surpassingly difficult to explain to others that one has a disease with no diagnosis or even name. Without a name, the disease may as well not exist, and even their daughter, Becka, doubts Tim at first. Only Jane is able to empathize with him based on her own experience of menopause, incomprehensible to men, gesturing towards the influence of sex on medical hermeneutics (Mollow 188–92). As the last hope of a diagnosis comes up empty, Tim shifts his mentality, attempting to understand his condition through an idiosyncratic idiom: experiencing “brain fog”, feeling “mentally unsticky”, and having “jangly” nerves, “hyperslogged” muscles, a “floaty” left side, and “bunched up” breathing—these, to him, are “the most precise descriptions” of his physical and mental state (126). “Name” something, “revealing nature’s mystery”, and one can “triumph over it”, he thinks at one point (212). But he is never able to eschew the drive toward understanding via naming, and his “deep metaphysical ache” (Burn 45) takes the form of a lament at misfortune, a genre traceable to the Book of Job.Short of crafting a life for Tim in which his family, friends, and work are meaningfully present yet detached enough in scheduling and physical space to accommodate his needs, the social model is insufficient to make sense of, let alone neutralize, his disability. Nonetheless, there are certain aspects of his experience that can be improved with social adjustments. Tim often ends his walks by sleeping wherever he stops, and he would benefit from sensitivity training for police officers and other authority figures; out of all the authority figures who he encounters, only one shows consideration for his safety, comfort, and mental well-being prior to addressing the illegality of his behaviour. And making the general public more aware of “modes of not knowing, unknowing, and failing to know”, in the words of Jack Halberstam (qtd. in McRuer and Johnson 152), would alleviate the plight not just of Tim but of all sufferers of undiagnosed diseases and people with (rare forms of) disability.After Tim leaves home and starts walking cross-country, he has to learn to deal with his disability without any support system. The solution he hits upon illustrates the ecosomatic paradigm: he buys camping gear and treats his walking as an endless hike. Neither “curing” his body nor asking accommodation of society, Tim’s tools mediate a fit between body and environs, and it more or less works. For Tim the involuntary nomad, “everywhere was a wilderness” (Ferris Unnamed 247).The Otherness of the BodyProblems arise when Tim tries to fight his legs. After despairing of a diagnosis, he internalises the struggle against the “somatic noncompliance” of his body (Mollow 197) and refers to it as “the other” (207). One through-line of the novel is a (failed) attempt to overcome cartesian duality (Reiffenrath). Tim divides his experiences along cartesian lines and actively tries to enhance while short-circuiting the body. He recites case law and tries to take up birdwatching to maintain his mind, but his body constantly stymies him, drawing his attention to its own needs. He keeps himself ill-clothed and -fed and spurns needed medical attention, only to find—on the brink of death—that his body has brought him to a hospital, and that he stops walking until he is cured and discharged. Tim’s early impression that his body has “a mind of its own” (44), a situation comparable to the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886; Ludwigs 123–24), is borne out when it starts to silently speak to him, monosyllabically at first (“Food!” (207)), then progressing to simple sentences (“Leg is hurting” (213)) and sarcasm (“Deficiency of copper causes anemia, just so you know” (216)) before arriving at full-blown taunting:The other was the interrogator and he the muttering subject […].Q: Are you aware that you can be made to forget words, if certain neurons are suppressed from firing?A: Certain what?Q: And that by suppressing the firing of others, you can be made to forget what words mean entirely? Like the word Jane, for instance.A: Which?Q: And do you know that if I do this—[inaudible]A: Oof!Q: —you will flatline? And if I do this—[inaudible]A: Aaa, aaa…Q: —you will cease flatlining? (223–24; emphases and interpolations in original except for bracketed ellipsis)His Jobean lament turns literal, with his mind on God’s side and his body, “the other”, on the Devil’s in a battle for his eternal soul (Burn 46). Ironically, this “God talk” (Ferris Unnamed 248) finally gets Tim diagnosed with schizophrenia, and he receives medication that silences his body, if not stilling his legs. But when he is not medicated, his body can dominate his mind with multiple-page monologues.Not long after Tim’s mind and body reach a truce thanks to the camping gear and medication, Tim receives word on the west coast that Jane, in New York, has terminal cancer; he resolves to fight his end-of-walk “narcoleptic episodes” (12) to return to her—on foot. His body is not pleased, and it slowly falls apart as Tim fights it eastward cross-country. By the time he is hospitalized “ten miles as the crow flies from his final destination”, his ailments include “conjunctivitis”, “leg cramps”, “myositis”, “kidney failure”, “chafing and blisters”, “shingles”, “back pain”, “bug bites, ticks, fleas and lice”, “sun blisters”, “heatstroke and dehydration”, “rhabdomyolysis”, “excess [blood] potassium”, “splintering [leg] bones”, “burning tongue”, “[ballooning] heels”, “osteal complications”, “acute respiratory distress syndrome”, “excess fluid [in] his peritoneal cavity”, “brain swelling”, and a coma (278–80)—not including the fingers and toes lost to frostbite during an earlier period of walking. Nevertheless, he recovers and reunites with Jane, maintaining a holding pattern by returning to Jane’s hospital bedside after each walk.Jane recovers; the urgency having dissipated, Tim goes back on the road, confident that “he had proven long ago that there was no circumstance under which he could not walk if he put his mind to it” (303). A victory for mind over body? Not quite. The ending, Tim’s death scene, planned by Ferris from the beginning (Ferris “Tracking”), manages to grant victory to both mind and body without uniting them: his mind keeps working after physical death, but its last thought is of a “delicious […] cup of water” (310). Mind and body are two, but indivisible.Cartesian duality has relevance for other significant characters. The chain-smoking Detective Roy, assigned the case Tim is defending, later appears with oxygen tank in tow due to emphysema, yet he cannot quit smoking. What might have been a mere shortcut for characterization here carries physical consequences: the oxygen tank limits Roy’s movement and, one supposes, his investigative ability. After Jane recovers, Tim visits Frank Novovian, the security guard at his old law firm, and finds he has “gone fat [...] His retiring slouch behind the security post said there was no going back”; recognising Tim, Frank “lifted an inch off [his] chair, righting his jellied form, which immediately settled back into place” (297; my emphases). Frank’s physical state reflects the state of his career: settled. The mind-body antagonism is even more stark among Tim’s lawyer colleagues. Lev Wittig cannot become sexually aroused unless there is a “rare and extremely venomous snak[e]” in the room with no lights (145)—in direct contrast to his being a corporate tax specialist and the “dullest person you will ever meet” (141). And Mike Kronish famously once billed a twenty-seven-hour workday by crossing multiple time zones, but his apparent victory of mind over matter is undercut by his other notable achievement, being such a workaholic that his grown kids call him “Uncle Daddy” (148).Jane offers a more vexed case. While serving as Tim’s primary caretaker, she dreads the prospect of sacrificing the rest of her life for him. The pressures of the consciously maintaining her wedding vows directly affects her body. Besides succumbing to and recovering from alcoholism, she is twice tempted by the sexuality of other men; the second time, Tim calls her at the moment of truth to tell her the walking has returned, but instead of offering to pick him up, she says to him, “Come home” (195). As she later admits, asking him to do the impossible is a form of abandonment, and though causality is merely implied, Tim decides a day later not to return. Cartesian duality is similarly blurred in Jane’s fight against cancer. Prior to developing cancer, it is the pretence for Tim’s frequent office absences; she develops cancer; she fights it into remission not by relying on the clinical trial she undergoes, but because Tim’s impossible return inspires her; its remission removes the sense of urgency keeping Tim around, and he leaves; and he later learns that she dies from its recurrence. In multiple senses, Jane’s physical challenges are inextricable from her marriage commitment. Tim’s peripatetic condition affects both of them in homologous ways, gesturing towards the importance of disability studies for understanding the experience both of people with disability and of their caretakers.Becka copes with cartesian duality in the form of her obesity, and the way she does so sets an example for Tim. She gains weight during adolescence, around the time Tim starts walking uncontrollably, and despite her efforts she never loses weight. At first moody and depressed, she later channels her emotions into music, eventually going on tour. After one of her concerts, she tells Tim she has accepted her body, calling it “my one go-around,” freeing her from having to “hate yourself till the bitter end” (262) to instead enjoy her life and music. The idea of acceptance stays with Tim; whereas in previous episodes of walking he ignored the outside world—another example of reconceptualizing walking in the mode of disability—he pays attention to his surroundings on his journey back to New York, which is filled with descriptions of various geographical, meteorological, biological, and sociological phenomena, all while his body slowly breaks down. By the time he leaves home forever, he has acquired the habit of constant observation and the ability to enjoy things moment by moment. “Beauty, surprisingly, was everywhere” (279), he thinks. Invoking the figure of the flâneur, which Ferris had in mind when writing the novel (Ferris “Involuntary”), Peter Ferry argues that “becoming a 21st century incarnation of the flâneur gives Tim a greater sense of selfhood, a belief in the significance of his own existence within the increasingly chaotic and disorientating urban environment” (59). I concur, with two caveats: the chaotic and disorienting environment is not merely urban; and, contrary to Ferry’s claim that this regained selfhood is in contrast to “disintegrating” “conventional understandings of masculinity” (57), it instead incorporates Tim’s new identity as a person with disability.Conclusion: The Experience of DisabilityMore than specific insights into living with disability, the most important contribution of The Unnamed to disability studies is its exploration of the pure experience of disability. Ferris says, “I wanted to strip down this character to the very barest essentials and see what happens when sickness can’t go away and it can’t be answered by all [sic] of the medical technology that the country has at its disposal” (“Tracking”); by making Tim a wealthy lawyer with a caring family—removing common complicating socioeconomic factors of disability—and giving him an unprecedented impairment—removing all medical support and social services—Ferris depicts disability per se, illuminating the importance of disability studies for all people with(out) disability. After undergoing variegated experiences of pure disability, Tim “maintained a sound mind until the end. He was vigilant about periodic checkups and disciplined with his medication. He took care of himself as best he could, eating well however possible, sleeping when his body required it, […] and he persevered in this manner of living until his death” (Ferris Unnamed 306). This is an ideal relation to maintain between mind, body, and environment, irrespective of (dis)ability.ReferencesAdams, Tim. “The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris.” Fiction. Observer, 21 Feb. 2010: n. pag. 19 Sep. 2018 &lt;https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/feb/21/the-unnamed-joshua-ferris&gt;.Burn, Stephen J. “Mapping the Syndrome Novel.” Diseases and Disorders in Contemporary Fiction: The Syndrome Syndrome. Eds. T.J. Lustig and James Peacock. New York: Routledge, 2013. 35-52.Cella, Matthew J.C. “The Ecosomatic Paradigm in Literature: Merging Disability Studies and Ecocriticism.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 20.3 (2013): 574–96.De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. 1980. Trans. Steven Rendall. Berkeley: U of California P, 1984.Charles, Ron. “Book World Review of Joshua Ferris’s ‘The Unnamed.’” Books. Washington Post 20 Jan. 2010: n. pag. 19 Sep. 2018 &lt;http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/01/19/AR2010011903945.html&gt;.“Disability.” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia 17 Sep. 2018. 19 Sep. 2018 &lt;https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disability&gt;.Ferris, Joshua. “Involuntary Walking; the Joshua Ferris Interview.” ReadRollShow. Created by David Weich. Sheepscot Creative, 2010. Vimeo, 9 Mar. 2010. 18 Sep. 2018 &lt;https://www.vimeo.com/10026925&gt;. [My transcript.]———. “Tracking a Man’s Life, in Endless Footsteps.” Interview by Melissa Block. All Things Considered, NPR, 15 Feb. 2010. 18 Sep. 2018 &lt;https://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=123650332&gt;.———. The Unnamed: A Novel. New York: Little, Brown, 2010.Ferry, Peter. “Reading Manhattan, Reading Masculinity: Reintroducing the Flâneur with E.B. White’s Here Is New York and Joshua Ferris’ The Unnamed.” Culture, Society &amp; Masculinities 3.1 (2011): 49–61.Ludwigs, Marina. “Walking as a Metaphor for Narrativity.” Studia Neophilologica 87.1 (Suppl. 1) (2015): 116–28.McCarthy, Cormac. The Road. New York: Vintage, 2006.McRuer, Robert, and Merri Lisa Johnson. “Proliferating Cripistemologies: A Virtual Roundtable.” Journal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies 8.2 (2014): 149–69.Mollow, Anna. “Criphystemologies: What Disability Theory Needs to Know about Hysteria.” Journal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies 8.2 (2014): 185–201.Murray, Stuart. “Reading Disability in a Time of Posthuman Work: Speed and Embodiment in Joshua Ferris’ The Unnamed and Michael Faber’s Under the Skin.” Disability Studies Quarterly 37.4 (2017). 20 May 2018 &lt;http://dsq–sds.org/article/view/6104/4823/&gt;.Nocella, Anthony J., II. “Defining Eco–Ability: Social Justice and the Intersectionality of Disability, Nonhuman Animals, and Ecology.” Earth, Animal, and Disability Liberation: The Rise of the Eco–Ability Movement. Eds. Anthony J. Nocella II, Judy K.C. Bentley, and Janet M. Duncan. New York: Peter Lang, 2012. 3–21.Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Man of the Crowd.” 1845. PoeStories.com. 18 Sep. 2018 &lt;https://poestories.com/read/manofthecrowd&gt;.Reiffenrath, Tanja. “Mind over Matter? Joshua Ferris’s The Unnamed as Counternarrative.” [sic] – a journal of literature, culture and literary translation 5.1 (2014). 20 May 2018 &lt;https://www.sic–journal.org/ArticleView.aspx?aid=305/&gt;.Siebers, Tobin. “Disability in Theory: From Social Constructionism to the New Realism of the Body.” American Literary History 13.4 (2001): 737–54.“The Young and the Restless.” Review of The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris. Books and Arts. Economist, 28 Jan. 2010: n. pag. 19 Sep. 2018 &lt;https://www.economist.com/books-and-arts/2010/01/28/the-young-and-the-restless&gt;.

Right from the start of HBO’s surreal new sketch comedy Fantasmas (2024), we are confronted by the “ghosts” of the show’s title. The work of Salvadorean-American comedian, actor, and writer Julio Torres, Fantasmas constructs a highly artificial set of digital hauntings that, this article argues, speaks to and through a Latin experience that conjures unresolved tensions of displacement and exile, as well as raising probing questions about human agency and identity in an era of globalised neoliberalism. Torres has also given his own explanation for the use of the term in his show: all the people in the show are a little limited, and that’s where the idea of them being ghostly comes from, them being fantasmas [the Spanish word for ghosts]. I don’t lean into that title for its spookiness, I lean into it for the idea of being lonely and having things that people can and cannot do. I’ve always loved the rules around the mythology of ghosts: You can’t talk to that person; you can’t leave this house. That’s exciting to me, feeling a little invisible. (O’Falt 2024) Yet here, we find that objects and concepts can be ghosts as well, not only people, and ideas of artificiality are used deliberately in the show’s storytelling to emphasise a site of haunting. The constructed artifice of life is presented through different ghostly technologies in Fantasmas. There is Julio’s “very important talent agent” Vanesja, who is really a performance artist in the role for so long that now she finds herself doing “regular agent stuff”. There is Julio’s TikTok influencer friend Skyler, who becomes possessed by a demonic Algorithm (another type of artifice) and loses all humanness in his desire to remain relevant on social media. There is the New York City set itself, constructed on an open sound studio, its Brechtian forms emphasising transitory moments and temporariness. Meanwhile, Julio’s personal assistant robot Bibo is more human than some of the show’s main personalities, chastising Julio for “gaslighting”. The human and non-human characters of the show take on synthetic personas whilst refusing the divide of the self and other, rendering the characters as “ghosts” (which we explore in detail later). Julio, as the protagonist of the show, is the one character who strains to keep his identity—he actively tries to avoid getting a “proof of existence” card throughout the series—even as he finds his persona is highly coveted and at all points at risk of being commodified. In the opening scene of the show’s comedic odyssey through New York, Julio finds himself the creative lead in a consultation with Crayola, in which he presents the necessity of a new clear colour crayon that signifies “the in-between”. “But clear isn’t a colour!”, the Crayola execs rebuke. “If it isn’t a colour, then what do you call this?” Julio asks, gesturing to the air between the management side of the table and the consultant. “What do you call what?” they question. “The space between us. The emotional space, I mean”, Julio responds. When the Crayola team suggest that it can’t be done (“Why are you doing this? Why do you need this?”), Julio reminds them of the glass of water in front of them: it’s already done. Some things aren’t one of the normal colours or play by the rules of the rainbow. Think about air or smells or … or memory. Shouldn’t they be allowed to be colours? … To colour something clear is to re-imagine colouring as we know it. While not entirely convinced, as the Crayola executives usher Julio from the meeting, they ask what they might call this clear Crayola. “Oh, um, call it ‘Fantasmas’.” / “Fantasmas?” / “It means ‘ghosts’”. Julio leaves conceding the final plural “s” to the executive: ghost—not ghosts. Yet, from there the opening title FANTASMA appears, with a defiant “S” appearing shortly afterwards, which signals the plurality of the ghosts that will continue to haunt Torres for the remainder of the season, in this dream-like show that in the words of one reviewer “presents itself as a narrative series, but really, it is more of a sketch show, with a series of mini film-like interludes bound together by the loosest of threads” (Nicholson). As the surreal Crayola pitch makes clear, what takes place is also a blurring of the concept of “ghosts” between human subjects and objects, which speaks to the reification of human subjectivity under capitalism, but also of the magical potential of boundary-dissolving as new identities are produced or created. This Spanish word for “ghosts” evokes the word “fantasy” in English—and in the show, the idea of procrastinatory dreams and reverie as a way of escaping anxious reality remains a constant theme. The show innovates on the formal conventions of sketch comedy in interesting temporal ways to further this concept, with the move to a new sketch as Julio has a change of thought or wants to focus on a particular idea. And, to continue this fluidity of subjective viewpoint, Julio’s ideas and fantasies mix with the reflections of other characters—and so a sketch about why Julio thinks the letter Q is too early in the alphabet is followed quickly by a schoolteacher’s musings on graffiti of a backward-facing penis in the school’s toilets. The Crayola headquarters parodies the classic Sesame Street (1981) television segment “how crayons are made”, which shows a young girl using a crayon to conjure up the means of production in a folksy, small-scale Crayola factory (and against the grain, Crayola crayons are still produced in American factories, unlike many industries that have relocated to the global south). An ambivalence is constructed around this idea of collaboration with major industry, which seems to link to Julio’s concern in the series that he is selling out his uniquely creative vision to corporate America. The series leaves this concern as a permanent question, but the play with ideas about the culture industry—and Julio’s role as a kind of imagineer “thinking outside the box” for these high-level corporate executives—leads to a parody of American “dream factories”, which can certainly be extended to Hollywood and television networks such as HBO, with their search for distinctiveness. While the show is darkly humorous—Vinson Cunningham for The New Yorker suggests, the show “is strange and sorrowful, but it’s also deeply funny in a way that series with overt political messages rarely manage to be”—an eeriness is also produced as an affect by the show. As Mark Fisher notes in an analysis of eerie texts, capital contains a ghostliness and “is at every level an eerie entity: conjured out of nothing, capital nevertheless exerts more influence than any allegedly substantial entity” (5) and that ideas of the eerie are tied up with bigger questions about agency: ‘we’ ‘ourselves’ are caught up in the rhythms, pulsions and patternings of non-human forces. There is no inside except as a folding of the outside; the mirror cracks, I am an other, and I always was. (5) Fantasmas plays out these concerns using the figure of Julio as a guide through such disturbances: while Torres has the agency to name the crayon, he is still unable to escape the “non-human forces” of the system, which for him requires proof of identity (a clear metaphor for the legitimate immigration allowed by a US Visa, a recurring idea in Torres’s work, and a central focus of the A24 film Problemista, 2024). Julio’s recurring nightmare of being trapped in a collapsing room—where he is dressed like a cross between harlequin Pierrot and David Bowie in the Ashes to Ashes video—is just one of the many European avant-garde references that evokes twentieth-century aesthetics. This places the show within a high-brow comedic tradition characterised as “satirical, ironic, less exuberant and more avant-garde” and which “prioritises a cerebral and distanced perspective on beauty over the search for direct enjoyment and immediate entertainment” (Claessens and Dhoest 53). This highbrow modality and focus on Torres as an auteur showrunner and artist also fulfills the content requirements of HBO, known for its “prestige” comedy shows with the same cultural status given to indie cinema (Newman). In this highbrow mode, Adi Walker has argued that Torres’s humour is cerebrally produced “in the space ‘behind the joke’”, and actually is aimed at providing commentary on “the US itself and its structural conditions” (145). The space behind the joke can be potent. For Torres, who grew up in the final years of the Salvadorean Civil War, born to a Venezuelan mother and who spent formative time in Brazil, the “fantasmas” of the title have a peculiarly Latin quality that speaks more broadly to a “zone of experience” that would appear as the fictionalised country of Los Espookys (2019-2022), Torres’s first Spanish-language comedy series, also made for HBO. And, as has been argued before, the Latin experiences of the late twentieth century—Chile, Columbia, El Salvador, Argentina, Paraguay, Guatemala—, if not interchangeable with one another, speak of a shared “colonial aphasia” and “colonial agnosia” that Adriana Zavala has argued generated a condition that is “simultaneously known and unknown, resisting a method of apprehension and instead ruminating on the interstices between knowledge and ignorance, reflecting on the relationship between production, loss, and disassociation” (Zavala 8). These Latin exiles serve as a defence against uncomplicated “exileness” by continually substituting sites of memory—in Los Espookys, real-life production filming decisions meant that Columbia stood in for El Salvador’s site of exile, Chile stood in for Columbia, etc. (Marez). Similarly, in Fantasmas, the continued shifts of temporality and landscape and mix of Latin and Latinx cast speak to the complexities of that shared and unshareable experience of exile, substitutions, and conjuring. As mentioned, Torres also talks about the “exciting” aspect of being a ghost—of being able to hide and to be invisible—and perhaps a connection from this statement can be drawn to the large “undocumented” population of Hispanic-origin immigrants residing in the United States (Ruggles et al. suggest that 7.4 million people are currently undocumented in America). The multiplicity of Latin lives currently invisible to the government in the US arguably also constitute the imaginary “fantasmas” of the show, enlivening the politics of this Brechtian take on Manhattan. As Adi Walker has suggested about the comedian’s earlier work, “Torres plays a crucial role in using comedy to reorient the collectively engaged attention economy to underappreciated, rendered invisible labour that persists in the background” (148), and this is certainly also true of Fantasmas, for highlighting small details in immigrant labour in the United States. The study of ghosts—as a critical and historical term—dwells on what French-Algerian thinker Jacques Derrida has termed a “hauntology”. Working from and beyond Sigmund Freud’s work on mourning—taking typically Derridean detours through Martin Heidegger and South African politics of apartheid—hauntology is “the persistence of a present past or the return of the dead which the worldwide work of mourning cannot get rid of” (Derrida 101). Hauntology, as articulated within critical and cultural theory, has a focus on discursively unpicking seen absences and unseen presences. Or, perhaps more plainly, the unresolved question of presentness. It is then a position that insists that the “other side of life is not always death” and that there remain absences that present themselves to us in search of or demanding justice. For Derrida, his study in hauntology begins in the immediate post-Apartheid moment of South Africa in which “disappeared” peoples return to demand justice in the present. A spectral residue or ghostly presence of those who have disappeared, but nor are they—legally in many cases—fully dead. For Derrida then, the ghost’s failure to rest is characteristic of a deconstruction that “suggests that what we have is not sufficient and warns that we are not fully in control, that we have not taken everything to account. It speaks to a hesitation” (Zacharias 104). Within Fantasmas—and perhaps in the context of this examination of Latin American experience more broadly—these hesitations of voice (“um, err, … “), the show’s artificial landscapes (incomplete sound sets and scaffolded sets), and the existential journeys of the show’s main characters speak to the endless deferral of rest. Those that are absent but never fully dead, speak to many shared experiences of absent voices in the Latin experience. And, as considered by a broad range of scholars, the Latin experience is one haunted by multiple absences: thousands of los desaparecidos (disappeared youth), mass student disappearances, and countless political exiles. And if the critical high point of hauntology occurred at the end of the long twentieth century, within the Latin/a/x context, the diasporic and exiled communities of a broad range of peoples have sustained such resonances, continuing with work in visual art (Doris Salcedo, Cecilia Vicuna), music (Jorge Martin), and television comedy (Julio Torres, Fred Armisen). These spectral subjects speak to a different condition to that of other ghosts and instead speak to sets of political exiles and the returning of the disappeared. The ghosts of Fantasmas evoke the conjuring of the unresolvable tensions of exile that speak to a geo-political trauma of displaced peoples, juntas, mass gravesites, and murders that—entangled with colonial histories of traumas against its indigenous peoples and languages—continued well into the twenty-first century and, even post-Castro, mark out a shared and unshared experience of diaspora and unreturnings. In the show, the constructed and Brechtian Manhattan as a location of confluence for multiple Latin/a/x stories, and the show’s many otherworldly parodies of lost television—such as MELF, an alternative version of 1980s sitcom ALF—become potent sites for these unresolvable questions of exile and loss. For Juliff and Tierney, responding to the psychoanalytic signalling of Latin absence calls on the work of Torok that hauntings take place within a language of presentness rather than mourning: “the ghost refuses to occupy a position within the established binaries through which we are accustomed to constructing our identities and interpreting experience … . It is neither dead nor alive, past nor present. The ghost is always a revenant because it begins by coming back” (Juliff and Tierney 37). It signals, therefore, a perpetual process that has neither beginning nor end: “it has no point of departure and no moment of arrival. It is irreducible and undecidable” (Juliff and Tierney 37). For Hentyle Yapp—a leading voice in queer transnational studies of race and culture—the dizzying array of temporal shifts in cultural production marks “the dissipation of sense [that] pushes us to develop a minoritarian ethic around expiration and return, difference and repetition” (Yapp 7). The continuing failure of the ghost to rest upon a known time and place is one that speaks to the necessity of Torres to return (a large proportion of Julio’s exposition takes place in a ride-share travelling back to an apartment that he never seems to arrive back to), expiration (of dates relating to medical insurance cards), and endless returns. As Rossi has argued, Torres’s combination of “distinctly queer aesthetics and immigrant ethos” is deeply subversive for American television, especially “when political rhetoric and invisibility in Hollywood has led to the racialization of Central American migrants as dangerous gang members and unworthy of the U.S.’s sympathy” (368). Derrida’s ghost, and its haunting presence in absence, suggests that just as the meaning we seek to convey through language constantly escapes along an endless chain of signifiers, so collective and individual histories, and the art practices embedded in them, are less sealed off than we might imagine. The return of the ghost complicates, in other words, the opposition of presence versus absence, visibility versus invisibility, memory versus forgetting, the taken-for-granted linearity of the connections between past, present, and future, as well as the way in which art addresses us. Derrida’s ghost, unlike French psychanalyst Maria Torok’s “transgenerational phantom”, does not return to reveal a secret. However, by unfixing meaning, it re-opens the door to history’s unfinished business, making visible some of the costs of modernity in its various guises. From the first episode, Julio is faced with an uncertainty of status. Asked to provide proof of his existence—the document of proof required is never stated, so remains existential—he cannot provide anything other than a childhood exemption from sport provided by his absent mother. Across the series, Julio tries to locate workarounds, loopholes, and alternatives for the proof of existence (usually in the form of half-heartedly selling out to large corporations). He remains surreally unable to obtain proof that he does indeed exist, and instead can only hope for documents that prove another existence. Fantasmas’ Julio is no refugee, but he remains, as many in the Latin zone of experience, burdened by the necessity of proof of identity that exile demands. That proof, like the spectre, has an expiration date. Fantasmas speaks of a haunting of the Latin experience, one that is marked out by dislocations, exiles, and undeterminable landscapes. There is a deliberate hesitation to name places and to set out the interior scenes in any realistic manner, with most scenes taking place on a series of highly artificial sound studio sets, representing a mythic Manhattan. The show’s lead character, who is on an odyssey to locate a lost earring, moves across sets and scenes that appear unparticular and dislocated. The “real” earring of the quest, a synecdoche of identity perhaps, remains unfound, just as Julio never quite resolves his identity or his location, caught endlessly moving through an urban landscape that is neither one place or another. References Claessens, Nathalie, and Alexander Dhoest. “Comedy Taste: Highbrow/Lowbrow Comedy and Cultural Capital.” Participations: Journal of Audience &amp; Reception Studies 7.1 (2010): 49-72. Cunningham, Vinson. “Julio Torres’s ‘Fantasmas’ Finds Truth in Fantasy.” The New Yorker, 9 July 2024. &lt;https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/07/29/fantasmas-tv-review-hbo&gt;. Derrida, Jacques. Specters of Marx: The State of Debt, the Work of Mourning and the New International. Trans. Peggy Kamuf. Routledge, 2006. Fantasmas. HBO, 2023. Fisher, Mark. The Weird and the Eerie. Repeater Books, 2016. Juliff, Toby, and Patricia Tierney. “‘They Are Always There’: Mendieta, Vicuna and the Coming Again of Ghosts.” Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture 4 (2001): 35-48. Marez, Curtis. “Precarious Locations: Streaming TV and Global Inequalities.” American Studies 60.1 (2021): 9-31. &lt;https://muse.jhu.edu/article/791038/pdf&gt;. Nicholson, Rebecca. “Fantasmas Review – This Wildly Creative Comedy Is a Beacon of Hope for TV’s Future.” The Guardian, 1 Aug. 2024. &lt;https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/article/2024/aug/01/fantasmas-review-this-wildly-creative-comedy-is-a-beacon-of-hope-for-tvs-future&gt;. Newman, Michael. “Prestige TV, Comedy, and the Indie Aesthetic.” Indie TV: Industry, Aesthetics and Medium Specificity, eds. James Lyons and Yannis Tzioumakis. Routledge, 2023. 1-17. O’Falt, Chris. “‘Fantasmas’ Wants You to See Its Scaffolding.” IndieWire, 12 July 2024. &lt;https://www.indiewire.com/features/craft/fantasmas-set-design-julio-torres-nyc-1235024005/&gt;. Rossi, Nathan. “Julio Torres and the Queer Potentialities of U.S. Central American Representation.” Critical Studies in Media Communication 39.5 (2022): 367-379. Ruggles, Steven, Sarah Flood, Sophia Foster, Ronald Goeken, Jose Pacas, Megan Schouweiler, and Matthew Sobek. IPUMS USA: Version 11.0. Dataset. Minneapolis, 2021. &lt;https://doi.org/10.18128/D010.V11.0&gt;. Torok, Maria. “Story of Fear: The Symptoms of Phobia—The Return of the Repressed or the Return of the Phantom.” The Shell and the Kernel: Renewals of Psychoanalysis, ed. and trans. Nicholas T. Rand. U of Chicago P, 1975. 177–86. Torres, Julio, dir. Problemista. A24, 2023. Walker, Adi. “Shaping Life, Shaping Work: Julio Torres’ Queer Comic Labor.” Theater Topics 34.2 (2024): 143-149. Yapp, Hentyle. “Feeling Down(town Julie Brown): The Sense of Up and Expiring Relationality.” Journal of Visual Culture 17.1 (2018): 3-21. Zacharias, Robert. “‘And Yet’: Derrida on Benjamin’s Divine Violence.” Mosaic: A Journal for the Interdisciplinary Study of Literature 40.2 (2007): 103-116. Zavala, Adriana. “Blackness Distilled, Sugar and Rum: María Magdalena Campos-Pons’s Alchemy of the Soul, Elixir for the Spirits.” Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture 1.2 (2019): 8-32.

Metaphors of 'game' and 'play' are increasingly popular in academic writing, partly because games themselves are becoming increasingly important to media experience, and partly because something in the 'game' idea seems to describe the post-modern experience. However, the metaphor sometimes forgets what games can be like in practice. What I want to do, then, is go a round or two with the term, to question what the metaphor invokes. Round I: 'Game'? Games are played on a dedicated field -- a board, a screen, a playing-ground -- which is marked off so that in some sense it becomes a separate 'space', Huizinga's "magic circle". Play begins, and then, Huizinga argues, it is over, its effects lost (13). Players choose to play, agreeing to arbitrary rules controlling the game 'world'; goals and penalties are agreed in advance. Thus the gameworld provides an oasis of order in a chaotic, unruly world (Huizinga again); despite (sometimes) volumes of rules, games themselves are less complex and more clearly defined than "the casual and confused reign of everyday existence" (Berger, qtd. in Holquist 122). The sanctity of the game-space offers something more than mere order. The construction of order through arbitrary rules temporarily dissolves the significance of the outside world. Players concentrate wholly on the game -- on the dice or the puck or the pawn; good gameplay (to use Banks's expression) makes you forget yourself and the passage of time, not operating consciously but going with the flow. Play, writes Csikszentmihalyi, "is going. It is what happens after all the decisions are made -- when 'let's go' is the last thing one remembers" (45). It is a difficult state to attain but it seems valuable, from academia's overly rationalistic perspective, to get out of our heads and let some other sense drive for a while. Games engage different senses. Players use skills not ordinarily valued, striving for self-fulfilling perfection. Mundane time is linear, but games are full of diversionary, goal-deferring loops -- "the movement which is play has no goal which brings it to an end; rather it renews itself in constant repetition" (Gadamer 93). Gameplay is unpredictable; it shuttles back and forth, unsettled, dynamic, open to chance. You cannot surely predict the outcome. And then you play again. We like, too, the superficiality of games. They are useless, wilfully inefficient, pursued solely for the pleasures they provide. Games can be seen as representative -- of power struggles, of unspeakable impulses -- but the action is distanced from the self. Imbued in an (in)animate piece or a disguised self, games license performance, freedom from the mundane self. Most importantly, game goals aren't 'really' important; we don't 'really' care; "no chains of causes and effects, means and ends, are supposed to connect the isolated area of play with the real world or ordinary life (Riezler 511). Thus, reasons the theorist, the gameworld is a privileged space. Having freely chosen to play and consented to pre-determined constraints, players slip the controlling lead of the superego in pursuit of mastery. Difficult impulses are exorcised -- cathartically, if you like -- in the safety of the gamespace, the temporary "otherwhere" of experience where nothing really matters; no lives are actually sacrificed; no deaths are permanent; no loss is irreversible. Games are interactive, simultaneously controlled and risky. If one excels, one is celebrated; if one loses -- ah well, it was only a game. Afterwards it ceases to matter: handshakes all round and down to the pub. Or so the theorists tell us. Round II: The Magic Circle My brother and his friends liked to play Skirmish. But afterwards, they were stiff and sore, with bruises lasting for months or longer. Players are regularly injured, permanently maimed, or even killed while playing those games we call 'sport'. True, you might forget yourself while playing, but what about afterwards? The embodiedness of players -- the constancy of muscle memory, bruises and scars -- imprints lasting effects on minds and flesh, inextricably binding the game world to the mundane. Besides physical injuries, however, are the continuity of memory and the excess of feelings (affect). Games, after all, are played by people, "who only indirectly and ambiguously share in the perfect order of their games" (Holquist 115), stuck as we are with irrational feelings. Losers feel sore, disgruntled; someone else has proven cleverer or faster or trickier; they never quite got in the flow; it wasn't fun. So when Stephenson writes, "play is enjoyed, no matter who wins" (46) -- well, no. People sulk, they cry, they become vengeful: people don't like losing -- witness the origins of football hooliganism. Perhaps the cost of being rationally detached from the outcome of a game, of leaving the mundane, ratiocinatic world behind, is an irrational, affective investment that sometimes matters when it shouldn't. To describe games as discrete, then, assumes that people are disembodied, completely rational and extremely forgetful: these are the only terms under which gameplay can be "detached". Huizinga and Caillois posit such players when they describe games as 'separate', 'unproductive', 'unreal'. They let the metaphor take over, mistaking form for practice. Somewhat extremely, Gadamer argues, "the real subject of the game ... is not the player, but instead the game itself" (95). No game, however, exists prior to or without players, and no players are free from the 'irrational' of their bodies and senses. Round III: Representation John Banks's "Controlling Gameplay" reminds us of the 'other senses' invoked in play. Games, he argued, are never simply representational. Gameplay is a forward momentum, engrossing and unselfconscious. He was right, but I want to recall, momentarily, the representativeness of games. It is, after all, partly their commitment to symbols that makes people willing to (be) hurt in a game, even to risk their lives. Besides the irrational commitment to the symbol engendered by the affective gameworld, is the representational content. The violence debate hinges around the detachment of the gameworld: theorists argue that in gamespace, it's 'not real; we're 'just playing'; "things within this area mean what we order them to mean. They are cut off from their meanings in the so-called real world or ordinary life" (Riezler 511). The game frame theoretically negates commitment to content and underlying meanings (see Bologh). Fink reminds us, though, that content always draws on the world of experience: it "is always partly, but never wholly, the creation of fantasy. It always has to do with real objects [or ideas], which fantasy transforms into play objects" (qtd. in Anchor 92). Hodge and Tripp argue that, although play modality undermines or inverts meanings, symbols retain their mundane meaning: "the surface content of the image coexists as part of the content. An image of violence is still an image of violence, and viewers who enjoy it are still endorsing those impulses in themselves" (117). Games invoke the imaginary, the symbolic and the sensual in ways beyond ordinary 'consciousness', but that never makes it insignificant. Memory and affect again. Structural anthropology provides ample evidence that games represent society (see, for example, Cheska). Clifford Geertz showed how games structurally reflect (often backwards) the values of a society. The game, he argued, reminds players of the overlap between their own and their society's values (27). Thus games function as social ritual (see Bakhtin, Caillois or Huizinga). But ritual, Handelman shows, is "how society should be" (189) -- in which case he is arguing that society should be ordered, rigidly rule-bound, oriented towards arbitrary goals and values, competitive, and simplistically representational. People -- and indeed, existence -- are complex, messy, defiant and irrational. "Not recognising the bounds between stylised game and causal reality is to do violence to the complexity of existence" (Holquist 121). Round IV: Structure Another remove from content, is structure. In Western society games are agonistic. Huizinga explicitly argued that their value lay in striving for glory over one's fellows, in proving oneself superior: that is what winning is. Although theorists now value the process more than the goals, gameplay nevertheless consists in trying to beat your opponent. Games are about conquest. Even those games featuring teamwork only require cooperation to vanquish opponents -- to inflict on them the humiliation, disappointment and (however infinitesimally) diminished social status that inevitably accompany losing. Moreover, there are hierarchies within teams. A good point guard is never as well paid as a good forward; the Dungeon Master or GM determines the 'fate' of the other players. Just as players and teams are hierarchised, so are leagues, reflecting Western society's valorisation of hierarchy. Many must be conquered for the individual to triumph. While players may freely accede to rules, they don't decide them -- they are governed conservatively. Rules may evolve organically but become reified, regulated top-down, detailed knowledge itself becoming a source of hierarchical authority. Game rules are not folk-knowledge; they are dictated, published, refereed: another source of contest. Time The game metaphor has its uses. Certainly what happens when one disappears or is lost in gameplay is worth serious attention. But to pretend that games are microcosmic, free, without affect, effect or meaning, and that they end with the final bell, is to forget the player, who lives on in the society reflected by the game. References Anchor, Robert. "History and Play: Johan Huizinga and his Critics." History and Theory 17 (1966): 63-93. Banks, John. "Controlling Gameplay." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1.5 (1998). 15 Oct. 2000 &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/9812/game.php&gt;. Bologh, Roslyn Wallach. "On Fooling Around: A Phenomenological Analysis of Playfulness." The Annals of Phenomenological Sociology 1 (1976): 1113-25. Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, and Stith Bennett. "An Exploratory Model of Play." American Anthropologist. 44 (1974): 45-58. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. "The Ontology of the Work of Art and Its Hermeneutical Significance. Play as the Clue to Ontological Explanation." Truth and Method. (1960). Trans. and ed. Garrett Barden and John Cumming. London: Sheed and Ward, 1975. 91-119. Geertz, Clifford. "Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight." Daedalus 101.1 (1972): 1-37. Handelman, Don. "Play and Ritual: Complementary Frames of Meta-Communication." It's a Funny Thing, Humor. Ed. Anthony J Chapman and Hugh Foot. Oxford: Pergamon, 1976. 185-92. Holquist, Michael. "How to Play Utopia: Some Brief Notes on the Distinctiveness of Utopian Fiction." Game, Play, Literature. Ed. Jacques Ehrmann. Boston: Beacon, 1968. 106-23. Hodge, Robert, and David Tripp. Children and Television: A Semiotic Approach. Cambridge: Polity, 1986. Huizinga, Johan. Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture. Trans. anonymous. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1949 [1944]. Riezler, Kurt. "Play and Seriousness." The Journal of Philosophy. 38 (1941): 507-17. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Rebecca Farley. "Game." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.5 (2000). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/0010/game.php&gt;. Chicago style: Rebecca Farley, "Game," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 5 (2000), &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/0010/game.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: Rebecca Farley. (2000) Game. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(5). &lt;http://www.api-network.com/mc/0010/game.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

A slash manip is a photo remix that montages visual signs from popular media with those from gay pornography, creating a new cultural artefact. Slash (see Russ) is a fannish practice that homoeroticises the bonds between male media characters and personalities—female pairings are categorised separately as ‘femslash’. Slash has been defined almost exclusively as a female practice. While fandom is indeed “women-centred” (Bury 2), such definitions have a tendency to exclude male contributions. Remix has been well acknowledged in discussions on slash, most notably video remix in relation to slash vids (Kreisinger). Non-written slash forms such as slash vids (see Russo) and slash fanart (see Dennis) have received increased attention in recent years. This article continues the tradition of moving beyond fiction by considering the non-written form of slash manips, yet to receive sustained scholarly attention. Speaking as a practitioner—my slash manips can be found here—I perform textual analysis from an aca–fan (academic and fan) position of two Merlin slash manips by male Tumblr artist wandsinhand. My textual analysis is influenced by Barthes’s use of image semiotics, which he applies to the advertising image. Barthes notes that “all images are polysemous”, that underlying their signifiers they imply “a ‘floating chain’ of signifieds, the reader able to choose some and ignore others” (274). That said, the advertising image, he argues, constructs an “undoubtedly intentional […] signification”, making it ideally suited for analysis (270). By supplementing my analysis with excerpts from two interviews I conducted with wandsinhand in February and April 2013 (quoted here with permission), I support my readings with respect to the artist’s stated ‘intentional reading’. I then contextualise these readings with respect to canon (Merlin) representations and gay pornography—via the chosen sexual acts/positions, bukkake and doggystyle, of the pornographic base models, as selected by the artist. This approach allows me to examine the photo remix qualities of slash manips with respect to the artist’s intentions as well as how artistic choices of inclusion function to anchor meaning in the works. I describe these choices as the ‘semiotic significance of selection’. Together the readings and interviews in this article help illustrate the value of this form and the new avenues it opens for slash scholars, such as consideration of photo remix and male production, and the importance of gay pornography to slash. My interviews also reveal, via the artist’s own assessment of the ‘value’ of his practice, a tendency to devalue or overlook the significance of this particular slash form, affirming a real need for further critical engagement with this under-examined practice. Slash Photo Remix: Famous Faces, Porny Bodies Lessig defines remix culture as based on an activity of “rip, mix and burn” (12–5); while Navas describes it as a “practice of cut/copy and paste” (159)—the latter being more applicable to photo remix. Whereas Lessig is concerned primarily with issues of copyright, Navas is interested in remix’s role in aesthetics and the political economy. Within fan studies, slash vids—a form of video remix—has been a topic of considerable academic interest in recent years. Slash manips—a form of photo or image remix—however, has not attracted the same degree of interest. Stasi’s description of slash as “a non-hierarchical, rich layering of genres” points to the usefulness of slash manips as an embodiment of the process of slash; whereby artists combine, blend and mutate graphic layers from popular media with those from gay pornography. Aesthetics and the slash manip process are central concerns of this article’s consideration of slash photo remix. Slash manips, or slash photo montage, use image manipulation software (Adobe Photoshop being the community standard, see wandsinhand’s tutorial) to layer the heads of male fictional characters from stills or promotional images with scenes—static or moving—from gay pornography. Once an artist has selected pornographic ‘base models’ anatomically suited to canon characters, these models are often then repositioned into the canon universe, which in the case of Merlin means a medieval setting. (Works not repositioned and without added details from canon are generally categorised as ‘male celebrity fakes’ rather than ‘slash manips’.) Stedman contends that while many fan studies scholars are interested in remix, “studies commonly focus on examples of remixed objects rather than the compositional strategies used by remix composers themselves” (107). He advocates moving beyond an exclusive consideration of “text-centred approaches” to also consider “practice-” and “composer-centred” approaches. Such approaches offer insight into “the detailed choices composers actually make when composing” (107). He refers to recognition of the skills required by a remix composer as “remix literacy” (108). This article’s consideration of the various choices and skills that go into the composition of slash manips—what I term the ‘semiotic significance of selection’—is explored with respect to wandsinhand’s practice, coupling my reading—informed by my experience as a practitioner—with the interpretations of the artist himself. Jenkins defines slash as “reaction against” constructions of male sexuality in both popular media and pornography (189). By their very nature, slash manips also make clear the oft-overlooked connections between slash and gay pornography, and in turn the contributions of gay male participants, who are well represented by the form. This contrasts with a tendency within scholarship to compare slash with heterosexual female forms, such as the romance genre (Salmon and Symons). Gay pornography plays a visible role in slash manips—and slash vids, which often remix scenes from popular media with gay cinema and pornography. Slash as Romance, Slash as Pornography Early scholarship on slash (see Russ; Lamb and Veith) defines it as a form of erotica or pornography, by and for women; a reductive definition that fails to take into account men’s contribution, yet one that many researchers continue to adopt today. As stated above, there has also been a tendency within scholarship to align the practice with heterosexual female forms such as the romance genre. Such a tendency is by and large due to theorisation of slash as heterosexual female fantasy—and concerned primarily with romance and intimacy rather than sex (see Woledge). Weinstein describes slash as more a “fascination with” than a “representation of” homosexual relationships (615); while MacDonald makes the point that homosexuality is not a major political motivator for slash (28–9). There is no refuting that slash—along with most fannish practice—is female dominated, ethnographic work and fandom surveys reveal that is the case. However there is great need for research into male production of slash, particularly how such practices might challenge reigning definitions and assumptions of the practice. In similar Japanese practices, for example, gay male opposition to girls’ comics (shōjo) depicting love between ‘pretty boys’ (bishōunen) has been well documented (see Hori)—Men’s Love (or bara) is a subgenre of Boys’ Love (or shōnen’ai) predominately created by gay men seeking a greater connection with the lived reality of gay life (Lunsing). Dennis finds male slash fanart producers more committed to muscular representations and depiction of graphic male/male sex when compared with female-identifying artists (14, 16). He also observes that male fanart artists have a tendency of “valuing same-sex desire without a heterosexual default and placing it within the context of realistic gay relationships” (11). I have observed similar differences between male and female-identifying slash manip artists. Female-identifying Nicci Mac, for example, will often add trousers to her donor bodies, recoding them for a more romantic context. By contrast, male-identifying mythagowood is known for digitally enlarging the penises and rectums of his base models, exaggerating his work’s connection to the pornographic and the macabre. Consider, for example, mythagowood’s rationale for digitally enlarging and importing ‘lips’ for Sam’s (Supernatural) rectum in his work Ass-milk: 2012, which marks the third anniversary of the original: Originally I wasn’t going to give Sammy’s cunt any treatment (before I determined the theme) but when assmilk became the theme I had to go find a good set of lips to slap on him and I figured, it’s been three years, his hole is going to be MUCH bigger. (personal correspondence, used with permission) While mythagowood himself cautions against gendered romance/pornography slash arguments—“I find it annoying that people attribute certain specific aspects of my work to something ‘only a man’ would make.” (ibid.)—gay pornography occupies an important place in the lives of gay men as a means for entertainment, community engagement and identity-construction (see McKee). As one of the only cultural representations available to gay men, Fejes argues that gay pornography plays a crucial role in defining gay male desire and identity. This is confirmed by an Internet survey conducted by Duggan and McCreary that finds 98% of gay participants reporting exposure to pornographic material in the 30-day period prior to the survey. Further, the underground nature of gay pornographic film (see Dyer) aligns it with slash as a subcultural practice. I now analyse two Merlin slash manips with respect to the sexual positions of the pornographic base models, illustrating how gay pornography genres and ideologies referenced through these works enforce their intended meaning, as defined by the artist. A sexual act such as bukkake, as wandsinhand astutely notes, acts as a universal sign and “automatically generates a narrative for the image without anything really needing to be detailed”. Barthes argues that such a “relation between thing signified and image signifying in analogical representation” is unlike language, which has a much more ‘arbitrary’ relationship between signifier and signified (272). Bukkake and the Assertion of Masculine Power in Merlin Merlin (2008–12) is a BBC reimagining of the Arthurian legend that focuses on the coming-of-age of Arthur and his close bond with his manservant Merlin, who keeps his magical identity secret until Arthur’s final stand in the iconic Battle of Camlann. The homosexual potential of Merlin and Arthur’s story—and of magic as a metaphor for homosexuality—is something slash fans were quick to recognise. During question time at the first Merlin cast appearance at the London MCM Expo in October 2008—just one month after the show’s pilot first aired—a fan asked Morgan and James, who portray Merlin and Arthur, is Merlin “meant to be a love story between Arthur and Merlin?” James nods in jest. Wandsinhand, who is most active in the Teen Wolf (2011–present) fandom, has produced two Merlin slash manips to date, a 2013 Merlin/Arthur and a 2012 Arthur/Percival, both untitled. The Merlin/Arthur manip (see Figure 1) depicts Merlin bound and on his knees, Arthur ejaculating across his face and on his chest. Merlin is naked while Arthur is partially clothed in chainmail and armour. They are both bruised and dirty, Arthur’s injuries suggesting battle given his overall appearance, while Merlin’s suggesting abuse, given his subordinate position. The setting appears to be the royal stables, where we know Merlin spends much of his time mucking out Arthur’s horses. I am left to wonder if perhaps Merlin did not carry out this duty to Arthur’s satisfaction, and is now being punished for it; or if Arthur has returned from battle in need of sexual gratification and the endorsement of power that comes from debasing his manservant. Figure 1: wandsinhand, Untitled (Merlin/Arthur), 2013, photo montage. Courtesy the artist. Both readings are supported by Arthur’s ‘spent’ expression of disinterest or mild curiosity, while Merlin’s face emotes pain: crying and squinting through the semen obscuring his vision. The artist confirms this reading in our interview: “Arthur is using his pet Merlin to relieve some stress; Merlin of course not being too pleased about the aftermath, but obedient all the same.” The noun ‘pet’ evokes the sexual connotations of Merlin’s role as Arthur’s personal manservant, while also demoting Merlin even further than usual. He is, in Arthur’s eyes, less than human, a sexual plaything to use and abuse at will. The artist’s statement also confirms that Arthur is acting against Merlin’s will. Violence is certainly represented here, the base models having been ‘marked up’ to depict sexualisation of an already physically and emotionally abusive relationship, their relative positioning and the importation of semen heightening the humiliation. Wandsinhand’s work engages characters in sadomasochistic play, with semen and urine frequently employed to degrade and arouse—“peen wolf”, a reference to watersports, is used within his Teen Wolf practice. The two wandsinhand works analysed in this present article come without words, thus lacking a “linguistic message” (Barthes 273–6). However even so, the artist’s statement and Arthur’s stance over “his pet Merlin” mean we are still able to “skim off” (270) the meanings the image contains. The base models, for example, invite comparison with the ‘gay bukkake’ genre of gay pornography—admittedly with a single dominant male rather than a group. Gay bukkake has become a popular niche in North American gay pornography—it originated in Japan as a male–female act in the 1980s. It describes a ritualistic sexual act where a group of dominant men—often identifying as heterosexual—fuck and debase a homosexual, submissive male, commonly bareback (Durkin et al. 600). The aggression on display in this act—much like the homosocial insistency of men who partake in a ‘circle jerk’ (Mosher 318)—enables the participating men to affirm their masculinity and dominance by degrading the gay male, who is there to service (often on his knees) and receive—in any orifice of the group’s choosing—the men’s semen, and often urine as well. The equivalencies I have made here are based on the ‘performance’ of the bukkake fantasy in gay niche hazing and gay-for-pay pornography genres. These genres are fuelled by antigay sentiment, aggression and debasement of effeminate males (see Kendall). I wish here to resist the temptation of labelling the acts described above as deviant. As is a common problem with anti-pornography arguments, to attempt to fix a practice such as bukkake as deviant and abject—by, for example, equating it to rape (Franklin 24)—is to negate a much more complex consideration of distinctions and ambiguities between force and consent; lived and fantasy; where pleasure is, where it is performed and where it is taken. I extend this desire not to label the manip in question, which by exploiting the masculine posturing of Arthur effectively sexualises canon debasement. This began with the pilot when Arthur says: “Tell me Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?” Of the imported imagery—semen, bruising, perspiration—the key signifier is Arthur’s armour which, while torn in places, still ensures the encoding of particular signifieds: masculinity, strength and power. Doggystyle and the Subversion of Arthur’s ‘Armoured Self’ Since the romanticism and chivalric tradition of the knight in shining armour (see Huizinga) men as armoured selves have become a stoic symbol of masculine power and the benchmark for aspirational masculinity. For the medieval knight, armour reflects in its shiny surface the mettle of the man enclosed, imparting a state of ‘bodilessness’ by containing any softness beneath its shielded exterior (Burns 140). Wandsinhand’s Arthur/Percival manip (see Figure 2) subverts Arthur and the symbolism of armour with the help of arguably the only man who can: Arthur’s largest knight Percival. While a minor character among the knights, Percival’s physical presence in the series looms large, and has endeared him to slash manip artists, particularly those with only a casual interest in the series, such as wandsinhand: Why Arthur and Percival were specifically chosen had really little to do with the show’s plot, and in point of fact, I don’t really follow Merlin that closely nor am I an avid fan. […] Choosing Arthur/Percival really was just a matter of taste rather than being contextually based on their characterisations in the television show. Figure 2: wandsinhand, Untitled (Arthur/Percival), 2012, photo montage. Courtesy the artist. Concerning motivation, the artist explains: “Sometimes one’s penis decides to pick the tv show Merlin, and specifically Arthur and Percival.” The popularity of Percival among manip artists illustrates the power of physicality as a visual sign, and the valorisation of size and muscle within the gay community (see Sánchez et al.). Having his armour modified to display his muscles, the implication is that Percival does not need armour, for his body is already hard, impenetrable. He is already suited up, simultaneously man and armoured. Wandsinhand uses the physicality of this character to strip Arthur of his symbolic, masculine power. The work depicts Arthur with a dishevelled expression, his armoured chest pressed against the ground, his chainmail hitched up at the back to expose his arse, Percival threading his unsheathed cock inside him, staring expressionless at the ‘viewer’. The artist explains he “was trying to show a shift of power”: I was also hinting at some sign of struggle, which is somewhat evident on Arthur’s face too. […] I think the expressions work in concert to suggest […] a power reversal that leaves Arthur on the bottom, a position he’s not entirely comfortable accepting. There is pleasure to be had in seeing the “cocky” Arthur forcefully penetrated, “cut down to size by a bigger man” (wandsinhand). The two assume the ‘doggystyle’ position, an impersonal sexual position, without eye contact and where the penetrator sets the rhythm and intensity of each thrust. Scholars have argued that the position is degrading to the passive party, who is dehumanised by the act, a ‘dog’ (Dworkin 27); and rapper Snoop ‘Doggy’ Dogg exploits the misogynistic connotations of the position on his record Doggystyle (see Armstrong). Wandsinhand is clear in his intent to depict forceful domination of Arthur. Struggle is signified through the addition of perspiration, a trademark device used by this artist to symbolise struggle. Domination in a sexual act involves the erasure of the wishes of the dominated partner (see Cowan and Dunn). To attune oneself to the pleasures of a sexual partner is to regard them as a subject. To ignore such pleasures is to degrade the other person. The artist’s choice of pairing embraces the physicality of the male/male bond and illustrates a tendency among manip producers to privilege conventional masculine identifiers—such as size and muscle—above symbolic, nonphysical identifiers, such as status and rank. It is worth noting that muscle is more readily available in the pornographic source material used in slash manips—muscularity being a recurrent component of gay pornography (see Duggan and McCreary). In my interview with manip artist simontheduck, he describes the difficulty he had sourcing a base image “that complimented the physicality of the [Merlin] characters. […] The actor that plays Merlin is fairly thin while Arthur is pretty built, it was difficult to find one. I even had to edit Merlin’s body down further in the end.” (personal correspondence, used with permission) As wandsinhand explains, “you’re basically limited by what’s available on the internet, and even then, only what you’re prepared to sift through or screencap yourself”. Wandsinhand’s Arthur/Percival pairing selection works in tandem with other artistic decisions and inclusions—sexual position, setting, expressions, effects (perspiration, lighting)—to ensure the intended reading of the work. Antithetical size and rank positions play out in the penetration/submission act of wandsinhand’s work, in which only the stronger of the two may come out ‘on top’. Percival subverts the symbolic power structures of prince/knight, asserting his physical, sexual dominance over the physically inferior Arthur. That such a construction of Percival is incongruent with the polite, impeded-by-my-size-and-muscle-density Percival of the series speaks to the circumstances of manip production, much of which is on a taste basis, as previously noted. There are of course exceptions to this, the Teen Wolf ‘Sterek’ (Stiles/Derek) pairing being wandsinhand’s, but even in this case, size tends to couple with penetration. Slash manips often privilege physicality of the characters in question—as well as the base models selected—above any particular canon-supported slash reading. (Of course, the ‘queering’ nature of slash practice means at times there is also a desire to see such identifiers subverted, however in this example, raw masculine power prevails.) This final point is in no way representative—my practice, for example, combines manips with ficlets to offer a clearer connection with canon, while LJ’s zdae69 integrates manips, fiction and comics. However, common across slash manip artists driven by taste—and requests—rather than connection with canon—the best known being LJ’s tw-31988, demon48180 and Tumblr’s lwoodsmalestarsfakes, all of whom work across many fandoms—is interest in the ‘aesthetics of canon’, the blue hues of Teen Wolf or the fluorescent greens of Arrow (2012–present), displayed in glossy magazine format using services such as ISSUU. In short, ‘the look’ of the work often takes precedent over canonical implications of any artistic decisions. “Nothing Too Serious”: Slash Manips as Objects Worth Studying It had long been believed that the popular was the transient, that of entertainment rather than enlightenment; that which is manufactured, “an appendage of the machinery”, consumed by the duped masses and a product not of culture but of a ‘culture industry’ (Adorno and Rabinbach 12). Scholars such as Radway, Ang pioneered a shift in scholarly practice, advancing the cultural studies project by challenging elitism and finding meaning in traditionally devalued cultural texts and practices. The most surprising outcome of my interviews with wandsinhand was hearing how he conceived of his practice, and the study of slash: If I knew I could get a PhD by writing a dissertation on Slash, I would probably drop out of my physics papers! […] I don’t really think too highly of faking/manip-making. I mean, it’s not like it’s high art, is it? … or is it? I guess if Duchamp’s toilet can be a masterpiece, then so can anything. But I mainly just do it to pass the time, materialise fantasies, and disperse my fantasies unto others. Nothing too serious. Wandsinhand erects various binaries—academic/fan, important/trivial, science/arts, high art/low art, profession/hobby, reality/fantasy, serious/frivolous—as justification to devalue his own artistic practice. Yet embracing the amateur, personal nature of his practice frees him to “materialise fantasies” that would perhaps not be possible without self-imposed, underground production. This is certainly supported by his body of work, which plays with taboos of the unseen, of bodily fluids and sadomasochism. My intention with this article is not to contravene views such as wandsinhand’s. Rather, it is to promote slash manips as a form of remix culture that encourages new perspectives on how slash has been defined, its connection with male producers and its symbiotic relationship with gay pornography. I have examined the ‘semiotic significance of selection’ that creates meaning in two contrary slash manips; how these works actualise and resist canon dominance, as it relates to the physical and the symbolic. This examination also offers insight into this form’s connection to and negotiation with certain ideologies of gay pornography, such as the valorisation of size and muscle. References Adorno, Theodor W., and Anson G. Rabinbach. “Culture Industry Reconsidered.” New German Critique 6 (1975): 12–19. Ang, Ien. 1985. Watching Dallas. London: Methuen, 1985. Armstrong, Edward G. “Gangsta Misogyny: A Content Analysis of the Portrayals of Violence against Women in Rap Music, 1987–93.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture 8.2 (2001): 96–126. Barthes, Roland. “Rhetoric of the Image.” Image, Music, Text. London: HarperCollins, 1977. 269–85. Burns, E. Jane. Courtly Love Undressed: Reading through Clothes in Medieval French Culture. Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 2002. Bury, Rhiannon. Cyberspaces of Their Own: Female Fandoms Online. New York: Peter Lang, 2005. Cowan, Gloria, and Kerri F. Dunn. “What Themes in Pornography Lead to Perceptions of the Degradation of Women?” The Journal of Sex Research 31.1 (1994): 11–21. Dennis, Jeffery P. “Drawing Desire: Male Youth and Homoerotic Fan Art.” Journal of LGBT Youth 7.1 (2010): 6–28. Duggan, Scott J., and Donald R. McCreary. “Body Image, Eating Disorders, and the Drive for Muscularity in Gay and Heterosexual Men: The Influence of Media Images.” Journal of Homosexuality 47.3/4 (2004): 45–58. Durkin, Keith, Craig J. Forsyth, and James F. Quinn. “Pathological Internet Communities: A New Direction for Sexual Deviance Research in a Post Modern Era.” Sociological Spectrum 26.6 (2006): 595–606. Dworkin, Andrea. “Against the Male Flood: Censorship, Pornography, and Equality.” Letters from a War Zone. London: Martin Secker and Warburg, 1997. 19–38. Fejes, Fred. “Bent Passions: Heterosexual Masculinity, Pornography, and Gay Male Identity.” Sexuality &amp; Culture 6.3 (2002): 95–113. Franklin, Karen. “Enacting Masculinity: Antigay Violence and Group Rape as Participatory Theater.” Sexuality Research &amp; Social Policy 1.2 (2004): 25–40. Hori, Akiko. “On the Response (or Lack Thereof) of Japanese Fans to Criticism That Yaoi Is Antigay Discrimination.” Transformative Works and Cultures 12 (2013). doi:10.3983/twc.2013.0463. Huizinga, Johan. The Waning of the Middle Ages: A Study of Forms of Life, Thought, and Art in France and the Netherlands in the Dawn of the Renaissance. Trans. F. Hopman. London: Edward Arnold &amp; Co, 1924. Jenkins, Henry. Textual Poachers: Television Fans &amp; Participatory Culture. London: Routledge, 1992. Kendall, Christopher N. “‘Real Dominant, Real Fun!’: Gay Male Pornography and the Pursuit of Masculinity.” Saskatchewan Law Review 57 (1993): 21–57. Kreisinger, Elisa. “Queer Video Remix and LGBTQ Online Communities.” Transformative Works and Cultures 9 (2012). doi:10.3983/twc.2012.0395. Lamb, Patricia F., and Diane L. Veith. “Romantic Myth, Transcendence, and Star Trek Zines.” Erotic Universe: Sexuality and Fantastic Literature. Ed. D Palumbo. New York: Greenwood, 1986. 235–57. Lessig, Lawrence. The Future of Ideas. New York: Vintage, 2001. Lunsing, Wim. “Yaoi Ronsō: Discussing Depictions of Male Homosexuality in Japanese Girls’ Comics, Gay Comics and Gay Pornography.” Intersections: Gender, History and Culture in the Asian Context 12 (2006). ‹http://intersections.anu.edu.au/issue12/lunsing.html›. MacDonald, Marianne. “Harry Potter and the Fan Fiction Phenom.” The Gay &amp; Lesbian Review 13.1 (2006): 28–30. McKee, Alan. “Australian Gay Porn Videos: The National Identity of Despised Cultural Objects.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 2.2 (1999): 178–98. Morrison, Todd G., Melanie A. Morrison, and Becky A. Bradley. “Correlates of Gay Men’s Self-Reported Exposure to Pornography.” International Journal of Sexual Health 19.2 (2007): 33–43. Mosher, Donald L. “Negative Attitudes Toward Masturbation in Sex Therapy.” Journal of Sex &amp; Marital Therapy 5.4 (1979): 315–33. Navas, Eduardo. “Regressive and Reflexive Mashups in Sampling Culture.” Mashup Cultures. Ed. Stefan Sonvilla-Weiss. New York: Springer, 2010. 157–77. Radway, Janice. Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy, and Popular Literature. Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1984. Russ, Joanna. “Pornography by Women for Women, with Love.” Magic Mommas, Trembling Sisters, Puritans, and Perverts: Feminist Essays. Trumansburg: Crossing Press, 1985. 79–99. Russo, Julie Levin. “User-Penetrated Content: Fan Video in the Age of Convergence.” Cinema Journal 48.4 (2009): 125–30. Salmon, Catherine, and Donald Symons. Warrior Lovers: Erotic Fiction, Evolution and Human Sexuality. London: Weidenfeld &amp; Nicolson, 2001. Sánchez, Francisco J., Stefanie T. Greenberg, William Ming Liu, and Eric Vilain. “Reported Effects of Masculine Ideals on Gay Men.” Psychology of Men &amp; Masculinity 10.1 (2009): 73–87. Stasi, Mafalda. “The Toy Soldiers from Leeds: The Slash Palimpsest.” Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet. Ed. Karen Hellekson, and Kristina Busse. Jefferson: McFarland, 2006. 115–33. Stedman, Kyle D. “Remix Literacy and Fan Compositions.” Computers and Composition 29.2 (2012): 107–23. Weinstein, Matthew. “Slash Writers and Guinea Pigs as Models for Scientific Multiliteracy.” Educational Philosophy and Theory 38.5 (2006): 607–23. Woledge, Elizabeth. “Intimatopia: Genre Intersections between Slash and the Mainstream.” Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet. Ed. Karen Hellekson, and Kristina Busse. Jefferson: McFarland, 2006. 97–114.

Introduction When a text is said to be re-appropriated, it is at times unclear to what extent this appropriation is secondary, repeated, new; certainly, the difference between a reiteration and an iteration has more to do with emphasis than any (re)duplication. And at a moment in the development of crime fiction in France when the retranslation of now apparently dated French translations of the works of classic American hardboiled novels (especially those of authors like Dashiell Hammett, whose novels were published in Marcel Duhamel’s Série Noire at Gallimard in the decades following the end of the Second World War) is being undertaken with the ostensible aim of taking the French reader back (closer) to the American original, one may well ask where the emphasis now lies. In what ways, for example, is this new form of re-production, of re-imagining the text, more intimately bound to the original, and thus in itself less ‘original’ than its translated predecessors? Or again, is this more reactionary ‘re-’ in fact really that different from those more radical uses that cleaved the translation from its original text in those early, foundational years of twentieth-century French crime fiction? (Re-)Reading: Critical Theory and Originality My juxtaposition of the terms ‘reactionary’ and ‘radical’, and the attempted play on the auto-antonymy of the verb ‘to cleave’, are designed to prompt a re(-)read of the analysis that so famously took the text away from the author in the late-1960s through to the 1990s, which is to say the critical theory of poststructuralism and deconstruction. Roland Barthes’s work (especially 69–77) appropriated the familiar terms of literary analysis and reversed them, making of them perhaps a re-appropriation in the sense of taking them into new territory: the text, formerly a paper-based platform for the written word, was now a virtual interface between the word and its reader, the new locus of the production of meaning; the work, on the other hand, which had previously pertained to the collective creative imaginings of the author, was now synonymous with the physical writing passed on by the author to the reader. And by ‘passed on’ was meant ‘passed over’, achevé (perfected, terminated, put to death)—completed, then, but only insofar as its finite sequence of words was set; for its meaning was henceforth dependent on its end user. The new textual life that surged from the ‘death of the author’ was therefore always already an afterlife, a ‘living on’, to use Jacques Derrida’s term (Bloom et al. 75–176). It is in this context that the re-reading encouraged by Barthes has always appeared to mark a rupture a teasing of ‘reading’ away from the original series of words and the ‘Meaning’ as intended by the author, if any coherence of intention is possible across the finite sequence of words that constitute the written work. The reader must learn to re-read, Barthes implored, or otherwise be condemned to read the same text everywhere. In this sense, the ‘re-’ prefix marks an active engagement with the text, a reflexivity of the act of reading as an act of transformation. The reader whose consumption of the text is passive, merely digestive, will not transform the words (into meaning); and crucially, that reader will not herself be transformed. For this is the power of reflexive reading—when one reads text as text (and not ‘losing oneself’ in the story) one reconstitutes oneself (or, perhaps, loses control of oneself more fully, more productively); not to do so, is to take an unchanged constant (oneself) into every textual encounter and thus to produce sameness in ostensible difference. One who rereads a text and discovers the same story twice will therefore reread even when reading a text for the first time. The hyphen of the re-read, on the other hand, distances the reader from the text; but it also, of course, conjoins. It marks the virtual space where reading occurs, between the physical text and the reading subject; and at the same time, it links all texts in an intertextual arena, such that the reading experience of any one text is informed by the reading of all texts (whether they be works read by an individual reader or works as yet unencountered). Such a theory of reading appears to shift originality so far from the author’s work as almost to render the term obsolete. But the thing about reflexivity is that it depends on the text itself, to which it always returns. As Barbara Johnson has noted, the critical difference marked by Barthes’s understandings of the text, and his calls to re-read it, is not what differentiates it from other texts—the universality of the intertext and the reading space underlines this; instead, it is what differentiates the text from itself (“Critical Difference” 175). And while Barthes’s work packages this differentiation as a rupture, a wrenching of ownership away from the author to a new owner, the work and text appear less violently opposed in the works of the Yale School deconstructionists. In such works as J. Hillis Miller’s “The Critic as Host” (1977), the hyphenation of the re-read is less marked, with re-reading, as a divergence from the text as something self-founding, self-coinciding, emerging as something inherent in the original text. The cleaving of one from and back into the other takes on, in Miller’s essay, the guise of parasitism: the host, a term that etymologically refers to the owner who invites and the guest who is invited, offers a figure for critical reading that reveals the potential for creative readings of ‘meaning’ (what Miller calls the nihilistic text) inside the transparent ‘Meaning’ of the text, by which we recognise one nonetheless autonomous text from another (the metaphysical text). Framed in such terms, reading is a reaction to text, but also an action of text. I should argue then that any engagement with the original is re-actionary—my caveat being that this hyphenation is a marker of auto-antonymy, a link between the text and otherness. Translation and Originality Questions of a translator’s status and the originality of the translated text remain vexed. For scholars of translation studies like Brian Nelson, the product of literary translation can legitimately be said to have been authored by its translator, its status as literary text being equal to that of the original (3; see also Wilson and Gerber). Such questions are no more or less vexed today, however, than they were in the days when criticism was grappling with translation through the lens of deconstruction. To refer again to the remarkable work of Johnson, Derrida’s theorisation of textual ‘living on’—the way in which text, at its inception, primes itself for re-imagining, by dint of the fundamental différance of the chains of signification that are its DNA—bears all the trappings of self-translation. Johnson uses the term ‘self-différance’ (“Taking Fidelity” 146–47) in this respect and notes how Derrida took on board, and discussed with him, the difficulties that he was causing for his translator even as he was writing the ‘original’ text of his essay. If translation, in this framework, is rendered impossible because of the original’s failure to coincide with itself in a transparently meaningful way, then its practice “releases within each text the subversive forces of its own foreignness” (Johnson, “Taking Fidelity” 148), thereby highlighting the debt owed by Derrida’s notion of textual ‘living on’—in (re-)reading—to Walter Benjamin’s understanding of translation as a mode, its translatability, the way in which it primes itself for translation virtually, irrespective of whether or not it is actually translated (70). In this way, translation is a privileged site of textual auto-differentiation, and translated text can, accordingly, be considered every bit as ‘original’ as its source text—simply more reflexive, more aware of its role as a conduit between the words on the page and the re-imagining that they undergo, by which they come to mean, when they are re-activated by the reader. Emily Apter—albeit in a context that has more specifically to do with the possibilities of comparative literature and the real-world challenges of language in war zones—describes the auto-differentiating nature of translation as “a means of repositioning the subject in the world and in history; a means of rendering self-knowledge foreign to itself; a way of denaturalizing citizens, taking them out of the comfort zone of national space, daily ritual, and pre-given domestic arrangements” (6). In this way, translation is “a significant medium of subject re-formation and political change” (Apter 6). Thus, translation lends itself to crime fiction; for both function as highly reflexive sites of transformation: both provide a reader with a heightened sense of the transformation that she is enacting on the text and that she herself embodies as a reading subject, a subject changed by reading. Crime Fiction, Auto-Differention and Translation As has been noted elsewhere (Rolls), Fredric Jameson made an enigmatic reference to crime fiction’s perceived role as the new Realism as part of his plenary lecture at “Telling Truths: Crime Fiction and National Allegory”, a conference held at the University of Wollongong on 6–8 December 2012. He suggested, notably, that one might imagine an author of Scandi-Noir writing in tandem with her translator. While obvious questions of the massive international marketing machine deployed around this contemporary phenomenon come to mind, and I suspect that this is how Jameson’s comment was generally understood, it is tempting to consider this Scandinavian writing scenario in terms of Derrida’s proleptic considerations of his own translator. In this way, crime fiction’s most telling role, as one of the most widely read contemporary literary forms, is its translatability; its haunting descriptions of place (readers, we tend, perhaps precipitously, to assume, love crime fiction for its national, regional or local situatedness) are thus tensely primed for re-location, for Apter’s ‘subject re-formation’. The idea of ‘the new Realism’ of crime, and especially detective, fiction is predicated on the tightly (self-)policed rules according to which crime fiction operates. The reader appears to enter into an investigation alongside the detective, co-authoring the crime text in real (reading) time, only for authorial power to be asserted in the unveiling scene of the denouement. What masquerades as the ultimately writerly text, in Barthes’s terms, turns out to be the ultimate in transparently meaningful literature when the solution is set in stone by the detective. As such, the crime novel is far more dependent on descriptions of the minutiae of everyday life (in a given place in time) than other forms of fiction, as these provide the clues on which its intricate plot hinges. According to this understanding, crime fiction records history and transcribes national allegories. This is not only a convincing way of understanding crime fiction, but it is also an extremely powerful way of harnessing it for the purposes of cultural history. Claire Gorrara, for example, uses the development of French crime fiction plots over the course of the second half of the twentieth century to map France’s coming to terms with the legacy of the Second World War. This is the national allegory written in real time, as the nation heals and moves on, and this is crime fiction as a reaction to national allegory. My contention here, on the other hand, is that crime fiction, like translation, has at its core an inherent, and reflexive, tendency towards otherness. Indeed, this is because crime fiction, whose origins in transnational (and especially Franco-American) literary exchange have been amply mapped but not, I should argue, extrapolated to their fullest extent, is forged in translation. It is widely considered that when Edgar Allan Poe produced his seminal text “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841) he created modern crime fiction. And yet, this was made possible because the text was translated into French by Charles Baudelaire and met with great success in France, far more so indeed than in its original place of authorship. Its original setting, however, was not America but Paris; its translatability as French text preceded, even summoned, its actualisation in the form of Baudelaire’s translation. Furthermore, the birth of the great armchair detective, the exponent of pure, objective deduction, in the form of C. Auguste Dupin, is itself turned on its head, a priori, because Dupin, in this first Parisian short story, always already off-sets objectivity with subjectivity, ratiocination with a tactile apprehension of the scene of the crime. He even goes as far as to accuse the Parisian Prefect of Police of one-dimensional objectivity. (Dupin undoes himself, debunking the myth of his own characterisation, even as he takes to the stage.) In this way, Poe founded his crime fiction on a fundamental tension; and this tension called out to its translator so powerfully that Baudelaire claimed to be translating his own thoughts, as expressed by Poe, even before he had had a chance to think them (see Rolls and Sitbon). Thus, Poe was Parisian avant la lettre, his crime fiction a model for Baudelaire’s own prose poetry, the new voice of critical modernity in the mid-nineteenth century. If Baudelaire went on to write Paris in the form of Paris Spleen (1869), his famous collection of “little prose poems”, both as it is represented (timelessly, poetically) and as it presents itself (in real time, prosaically) at the same time, it was not only because he was spontaneously creating a new national allegory for France based on its cleaving of itself in the wake of Georges-Eugène Haussmann’s massive programme of urbanisation in Paris in the 1800s; it was also because he was translating Poe’s fictionalisation of Paris in his new crime fiction. Crime fiction was born therefore not only simultaneously in France and America but also in the translation zone between the two, in the self-différance of translation. In this way, while a strong claim can be made that modern French crime fiction is predicated on, and reacts to, the auto-differentiation (of critical modernity, of Paris versus Paris) articulated in Baudelaire’s prose poems and therefore tells the national allegory, it is also the case, and it is this aspect that is all too often overlooked, that crime fiction’s birth in Franco-American translation founded the new French national allegory. Re-imagining America in (French) Crime Fiction Pierre Bayard has done more than any other critic in recent years to debunk the authorial power of the detective in crime fiction, beginning with his re-imagining of the solution to Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and continuing with that of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles (1998 and 2008, respectively). And yet, even as he has engaged with poststructuralist re-readings of these texts, he has put in place his own solutions, elevating them away from his own initial premise of writerly engagement towards a new metaphysics of “Meaning”, be it ironically or because he has fallen prey himself to the seduction of detectival truth. This reactionary turn, or sting-lessness in the tail, reaches new heights (of irony) in the essay in which he imagines the consequences of liberating novels from their traditional owners and coupling them with new authors (Bayard, Et si les œuvres changeaient d’auteur?). Throughout this essay Bayard systematically prefers the terms “work” and “author” to “text” and “reader”, liberating the text not only from the shackles of traditional notions of authorship but also from the terminological reshuffling of his and others’ critical theory, while at the same time clinging to the necessity for textual meaning to stem from authorship and repackaging what is, in all but terminology, Barthes et al.’s critical theory. Caught up in the bluff and double-bluff of Bayard’s authorial redeployments is a chapter on what is generally considered the greatest work of parody of twentieth-century French crime fiction—Boris Vian’s pseudo-translation of black American author Vernon Sullivan’s novel J’irai cracher sur vos tombes (1946, I Shall Spit on Your Graves). The novel was a best seller in France in 1946, outstripping by far the novels of the Série Noire, whose fame and marketability were predicated on their status as “Translations from the American” and of which it appeared a brazen parody. Bayard’s decision to give credibility to Sullivan as author is at once perverse, because it is clear that he did not exist, and reactionary, because it marks a return to Vian’s original conceit. And yet, it passes for innovative, not (or at least not only) because of Bayard’s brilliance but because of the literary qualities of the original text, which, Bayard argues, must have been written in “American” in order to produce such a powerful description of American society at the time. Bayard’s analysis overlooks (or highlights, if we couch his entire project in a hermeneutics of inversion, based on the deliberate, and ironic, re-reversal of the terms “work” and “text”) two key elements of post-war French crime fiction: the novels of the Série Noire that preceded J’irai cracher sur vos tombes in late 1945 and early 1946 were all written by authors posing as Americans (Peter Cheyney and James Hadley Chase were in fact English) and the translations were deliberately unfaithful both to the original text, which was drastically domesticated, and to any realistic depiction of America. While Anglo-Saxon French Studies has tended to overlook the latter aspect, Frank Lhomeau has highlighted the fact that the America that held sway in the French imaginary (from Liberation through to the 1960s and beyond) was a myth rather than a reality. To take this reasoning one logical, reflexive step further, or in fact less far, the object of Vian’s (highly reflexive) novel, which may better be considered a satire than a parody, can be considered not to be race relations in the United States but the French crime fiction scene in 1946, of which its pseudo-translation (which is to say, a novel not written by an American and not translated) is metonymic (see Vuaille-Barcan, Sitbon and Rolls). (For Isabelle Collombat, “pseudo-translation functions as a mise en abyme of a particular genre” [146, my translation]; this reinforces the idea of a conjunction of translation and crime fiction under the sign of reflexivity.) Re-imagined beneath this wave of colourful translations of would-be American crime novels is a new national allegory for a France emerging from the ruins of German occupation and Allied liberation. The re-imagining of France in the years immediately following the Second World War is therefore not mapped, or imagined again, by crime fiction; rather, the combination of translation and American crime fiction provide the perfect storm for re-creating a national sense of self through the filter of the Other. For what goes for the translator, goes equally for the reader. Conclusion As Johnson notes, “through the foreign language we renew our love-hate intimacy with our mother tongue”; and as such, “in the process of translation from one language to another, the scene of linguistic castration […] is played on center stage, evoking fear and pity and the illusion that all would perhaps have been well if we could simply have stayed at home” (144). This, of course, is just what had happened one hundred years earlier when Baudelaire created a new prose poetics for a new Paris. In order to re-present (both present and represent) Paris, he focused so close on it as to erase it from objective view. And in the same instance of supreme literary creativity, he masked the origins of his own translation praxis: his Paris was also Poe’s, which is to say, an American vision of Paris translated into French by an author who considered his American alter ego to have had his own thoughts in an act of what Bayard would consider anticipatory plagiarism. In this light, his decision to entitle one of the prose poems “Any where out of the world”—in English in the original—can be considered a Derridean reflection on the translation inherent in any original act of literary re-imagination. Paris, crime fiction and translation can thus all be considered privileged sites of re-imagination, which is to say, embodiments of self-différance and “original” acts of re-reading. References Apter, Emily. The Translation Zone: A New Comparative Literature. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2006. Barthes, Roland. Le Bruissement de la langue. Paris: Seuil, 1971. Baudelaire, Charles. Le Spleen de Paris. Trans. Louise Varèse. New York: New Directions, 1970 [1869]. Bayard, Pierre. Qui a tué Roger Ackroyd? Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1998. ———. L’Affaire du chien des Baskerville. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 2008. ———. Et si les œuvres changeaient d’auteur? Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 2010. Benjamin, Walter. “The Task of the Translator.” Illuminations. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Harcourt, Brace &amp; World, Inc., 1968. 69–82. Bloom, Harold, et al. Deconstruction and Criticism. New York: The Seabury Press, 1979. Collombat, Isabelle. “Pseudo-traduction: la mise en scène de l’altérité.” Le Langage et l’Homme 38.1 (2003): 145–56. Gorrara, Claire. French Crime Fiction and the Second World War: Past Crimes, Present Memories. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2012. Johnson, Barbara. “Taking Fidelity Philosophically.” Difference in Translation. Ed. Joseph F. Graham. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1985. 142–48. ———. “The Critical Difference.” Critical Essays on Roland Barthes. Ed. Diana Knight. New York: G.K. Hall, 2000. 174–82. Lhomeau, Frank. “Le roman ‘noir’ à l’américaine.” Temps noir 4 (2000): 5–33. Miller, J. Hillis. “The Critic as Host.” Critical Inquiry 3.3 (1977): 439–47. Nelson, Brian. “Preface: Translation Lost and Found.” Australian Journal of French Studies 47.1 (2010): 3–7. Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Vintage Books, [1841]1975. 141–68. Rolls, Alistair. “Editor’s Letter: The Undecidable Lightness of Writing Crime.” The Australasian Journal of Popular Culture 3.1 (2014): 3–8. Rolls, Alistair, and Clara Sitbon. “‘Traduit de l’américain’ from Poe to the Série Noire: Baudelaire’s Greatest Hoax?” Modern and Contemporary France 21.1 (2013): 37–53. Vuaille-Barcan, Marie-Laure, Clara Sitbon, and Alistair Rolls. “Jeux textuels et paratextuels dans J’irai cracher sur vos tombes: au-delà du canular.” Romance Studies 32.1 (2014): 16–26. Wilson, Rita, and Leah Gerber, eds. Creative Constraints: Translation and Authorship. Melbourne: Monash UP, 2012.

Do we eat what we are, or are we what we eat? Do we eat or are we eaten? In less cryptic terms, in eating, do we confirm our identities, or are our identities reforged, and refracted by what and how we eat? In posing these questions, I want to shift the terms of current debates about identity. I want to signal that the study of identity may take on new insights when we look at how we are or want to be in terms of what, how, and with whom we eat. If the analysis of identity has by and large been conducted through the optic of sex, it may well be that in western societies we are witnessing a shift away from sex as the sovereign signifier, or to put it more finely, the question of what we are is a constantly morphing one that mixes up bodies, appetites, classes, genders and ethnicities. It must be said that the question of identity and subjectivity has been so well trodden in the last several decades that the possibility of any virgin territory is slim. Bombarded by critiques of identity politics, any cultural critic still interested in why and how individuals fabricate themselves must either cringe before accusations of sociological do-gooding (and defend the importance of the categories of race, class, sex, gender and so forth), or face the endless clichés that seemingly support the investigation of identity. The momentum of my investigation is carried by a weak wager, by which I mean that the areas and examples I study cannot be overdetermined by a sole axis of investigation. My point of departure is basic: what if we were to think identities in another dimension, through the optic of eating and its associated qualities: hunger, greed, shame, disgust, pleasure, etc? While the connections suggested by eating are diverse and illuminating, interrogating identity through this angle brings its own load of assumptions and preconceptions. One of the more onerous aspects of 'writing about food' is the weight of previous studies. The field of food is a well traversed one, staked out by influential authors concerned with proper anthropological, historical and sociological questions. They are by and large attracted to food for its role in securing social categories and classifications. They have left a legacy of truisms, such as Lévi-Strauss's oft-stated maxim that food is good to think with1, or Brillat-Savarin's aphorism, 'tell me what you eat: I will tell you what you are' (13). In turn, scientific idioms meet up with the buzzing clichés that hover about food. These can be primarily grouped around the notion that food is fundamental, that we all eat, and so on. Indeed, buffeted by the winds of postmodernism that have permeated public debates, it seems that there is a popular acceptance of the fact that identities are henceforth difficult, fragmented, temporary, unhinged by massive changes to modes of employment and the economy, re-formations of family, and the changes in the gender and sexual order. Living with and through these changes on a daily basis, it is no wonder that food and eating has been popularly reclaimed as a 'fundamental' issue, as the last bastion of authenticity in our lives. To put it another way, and in the terms that guide me, eating is seen as immediate -- it is something we all have to do; and it is a powerful mode of mediation, of joining us with others. What, how, and where we eat has emerged as a site of considerable social concern: from the fact that most do not eat en famille, that we increasingly eat out and through drive-in fast food outlets (in the US, 50% of the food budget is spent on eating outside the home), to the worries about genetically altered food and horror food -- mad cows, sick chickens, square tomatoes. Eating performs different connections and disconnections. Increasingly the attention to what we eat is seen as immediately connecting us, our bodies, to large social questions. At a broad level, this can be as diffuse as the winds that some argue spread genetically modified seed stock from one region to another. Or it can be as individually focussed as the knowledge that others are starving as we eat. This connection has long haunted children told 'to eat up everything on your plate because little children are starving in Africa', and in more evolved terms has served as a staple of forms of vegetarianism and other ethical forms of eating. From the pictures of starving children staring from magazine pages, the spectre of hunger is now broadcast by the Internet, exemplified in the Hunger Site where 'users are met by a map of the world and every 3.6 seconds, a country flashes black signifying a death due to hunger'. Here eating is the subject of a double articulation: the recognition of hunger is presumed to be a fundamental capacity of individuals, and our feelings are then galvanised into painless action: each time a user clicks on the 'hunger' button one of the sponsors donates a cup and a half of food. As the site explains, 'our sponsors pay for the donations as a form of advertising and public relations'. Here, the logic is that hunger is visceral, that it is a basic human feeling, which is to say that it is understood as immediate, and that it connects us in a basic way to other humans. That advertising companies know that it can also be a profitable form of meditation, transforming 'humans' into consumers is but one example of how eating connects us in complex ways to other people, to products, to new formulations of identity, and in this case altruism (the site has been called 'the altruistic mouse')2. Eating continually interweaves individual needs, desires and aspirations within global economies of identities. Of course the interlocking of the global and the local has been the subject of much debate over the last decade. For instance, in his recent book on globalisation, John Tomlinson uses 'global food and local identity' as a site through which to problematise these terms. It is clear that changes in food processing and transportation technologies have altered our sense of connection to the near and the far away, allowing us to routinely find in our supermarkets and eat products that previously would have been the food stuff of the élite. These institutional and technological changes rework the connections individuals have to their local, to the regions and nations in which they live. As Tomlinson argues, 'globalisation, from its early impact, does clearly undermine a close material relationship between the provenance of food and locality' (123). As he further states, the effects have been good (availability and variety), and bad (disrupting 'the subtle connection between climate, season, locality and cultural practice'). In terms of what we can now eat, Tomlinson points out that 'the very cultural stereotypes that identify food with, say, national culture become weakened' (124). Defusing the whiff of moralism that accompanies so much writing about food, Tomlinson argues that these changes to how we eat are not 'typically experienced as simply cultural loss or estrangement but as a complex and ambiguous blend: of familiarity and difference, expansion of cultural horizons and increased perceptions of vulnerability, access to the "world out there" accompanied by penetration of our own private worlds, new opportunities and new risks' (128). For the sake of my own argument his attention to the increased sense of vulnerability is particularly important. To put it more strongly, I'd argue that eating is of interest for the ways in which it can be a mundane exposition of the visceral nature of our connectedness, or distance from each other, from ourselves, and our social environment: it throws into relief the heartfelt, the painful, playful or pleasurable articulations of identity. To put it more clearly, I want to use eating and its associations in order to think about how the most ordinary of activities can be used to help us reflect on how we are connected to others, and to large and small social issues. This is again to attend to the immediacy of eating, and the ways in which that immediacy is communicated, mediated and can be put to use in thinking about culture. The adjective 'visceral' comes to mind: 'of the viscera', the inner organs. Could something as ordinary as eating contain the seeds of an extraordinary reflection, a visceral reaction to who and what we are becoming? In mining eating and its qualities might we glimpse gut reactions to the histories and present of the cultures within which we live? As Emily Jenkins writes in her account of 'adventures in physical culture', what if we were to go 'into things tongue first. To see how they taste' (5). In this sense, I want to plunder the visceral, gut levels revealed by that most boring and fascinating of topics: food and eating. In turn, I want to think about what bodies are and do when they eat. To take up the terms with which I started, eating both confirms what and who we are, to ourselves and to others, and can reveal new ways of thinking about those relations. To take the most basic of facts: food goes in, and then broken down it comes out of the body, and every time this happens our bodies are affected. While in the usual course of things we may not dwell upon this process, that basic ingestion allows us to think of our bodies as complex assemblages connected to a wide range of other assemblages. In eating, the diverse nature of where and how different parts of ourselves attach to different aspects of the social becomes clear, just as it scrambles preconceptions about alimentary identities. Of course, we eat according to social rules, in fact we ingest them. 'Feed the man meat', the ads proclaim following the line of masculinity inwards; while others draw a line outwards from biology and femininity into 'Eat lean beef'. The body that eats has been theorised in ways that seek to draw out the sociological equations about who we are in terms of class and gender. But rather than taking the body as known, as already and always ordered in advance by what and how it eats, we can turn such hypotheses on their head. In the act of ingestion, strict divisions get blurred. The most basic fact of eating reveals some of the strangeness of the body's workings. Consequently it becomes harder to capture the body within categories, to order stable identities. This then forcefully reminds us that we still do not know what a body is capable of, to take up a refrain that has a long heritage (from Spinoza to Deleuze to feminist investigations of the body). As Moira Gatens and Genevieve Lloyd argue in terms of this idea, 'each body exists in relations of interdependence with other bodies and these relations form a "world" in which individuals of all kinds exchange their constitutive parts -- leading to the enrichment of some and the demise of others (e.g. eating involves the destruction of one body at the same time as it involves the enhancement of the other)' (101). I am particularly interested in how individuals replay equations between eating and identity. But that phrase sounds impossibly abstracted from the minute instances I have in mind. From the lofty heights, I follow the injunction to 'look down, look way down', to lead, as it were, with the stomach. In this vein, I begin to note petty details, like the fact of recently discovering breakfast. From a diet of coffee (now with a milk called 'Life') and cigarettes, I dutifully munch on fortified cereal that provides large amounts of folate should I be pregnant (and as I eat it I wonder am I, should I be?3). Spurred on by articles sprinkled with dire warnings about what happens to women in Western societies, I search out soy, linseed and other ingredients that will help me mimic the high phytoestrogen diet of Japanese women. Eating cereal, I am told, will stave off depression, especially with the addition of bananas. Washed down with yoghurt 'enhanced' with acidophilius and bifidus to give me 'friendly' bacteria that will fight against nasty heliobacter pylori, I am assured that I will even lose weight by eating breakfast. It's all a bit much first thing in the morning when the promise of a long life seems like a threat. The myriad of printed promises of the intricate world of alimentary programming serve as an interesting counterpoint to the straightforward statements on cigarette packages. 'Smoking kills' versus the weak promises that eating so much of such and such a cereal 'is a good source of soy phytoestrogenes (isolfavones) that are believed to be very beneficial'. Apart from the unpronounceable ingredients (do you really want to eat something that you can't say?), the terms of the contract between me and the cereal makers is thin: that such and such is 'believed to be beneficial'? While what in fact they may benefit is nebulous, it gets scarier when they specify that 'a diet rich in folate may reduce the risk of birth defects such as spina bifida'. The conditional tense wavers as I ponder the way spina bifida is produced as a real possibility. There is of course a long history to the web of nutritional messages that now surrounds us. In her potted teleology of food messages, Sue Thompson, a consultant dietitian, writes that in the 1960s, the slogan was 'you are what you eat'. Then in the 1970s and 1980s, the idea was that food was bad for you. In her words, 'it became a time of "Don't eat" and "bad foods". Now, happily, 'we are moving into a time of appreciating the health benefits of food' (Promotional release by the Dairy Farmers, 1997). As the new battle ground for extended enhanced life, eating takes on fortified meaning. Awed by the enthusiasm, I am also somewhat shocked by the intimacy of detail. I can handle descriptions of sex, but the idea of discussing the ways in which you 'are reducing the bacterial toxins produced from small bowel overgrowth' (Thompson), is just too much. Gut level intimacy indeed. However, eating is intimate. But strangely enough except for the effusive health gurus, and the gossip about the eating habits of celebrities, normally in terms of not-eating, we tend not to publicly air the fact that we all operate as 'mouth machines' (to take Noëlle Châtelet's term). To be blunt about it, 'to eat, is to connect ... the mouth and the anus' (Châtelet 34). We would, with good reason, rather not think about this; it is an area of conversation reserved for our intimates. For instance, in relationships the moment of broaching the subject of one's gut may mark the beginning of the end. So let us stay for the moment at the level of the mouth machine, and the ways it brings together the physical fact of what goes in, and the symbolic production of what comes out: meanings, statements, ideas. To sanitise it further, I want to think of the mouth machine as a metonym4 for the operations of a term that has been central to cultural studies: 'articulation'. Stuart Hall's now classic definition states that 'articulation refers to the complex set of historical practices by which we struggle to produce identity or structural unity out of, on top of, complexity, difference, contradiction' (qtd. in Grossberg, "History" 64). While the term has tended to be used rather indiscriminately -- theorists wildly 'articulate' this or that -- its precise terms are useful. Basically it refers to how individuals relate themselves to their social contexts and histories. While we are all in some sense the repositories of past practices, through our actions we 'articulate', bridge and connect ourselves to practices and contexts in ways that are new to us. In other terms, we continually shuttle between practices and meanings that are already constituted and 'the real conditions' in which we find ourselves. As Lawrence Grossberg argues, this offers 'a nonessentialist theory of agency ... a fragmented, decentered human agent, an agent who is both "subject-ed" by power and capable of acting against power' ("History" 65). Elsewhere Grossberg elaborates on the term, arguing that 'articulation is the production of identity on top of difference, of unities out of fragments, of structures across practices' (We Gotta Get Out 54). We are then 'articulated' subjects, the product of being integrated into past practices and structures, but we are also always 'articulating' subjects: through our enactment of practices we reforge new meanings, new identities for ourselves. This then reveals a view of the subject as a fluctuating entity, neither totally voluntaristic, nor overdetermined. In more down to earth terms, just because we are informed by practices not of our own making, 'that doesn't mean we swallow our lessons without protest' (Jenkins 5). The mouth machine takes in but it also spits out. In these actions the individual is constantly connecting, disconnecting and reconnecting. Grossberg joins the theory of articulation to Deleuze and Guattari's notion of rhizomes. In real and theoretical terms, a rhizome is a wonderful entity: it is a type of plant, such as a potato plant or an orchid, that instead of having tap roots spreads its shoots outwards, where new roots can sprout off old. Used as a figure to map out social relations, the rhizome allows us to think about other types of connection. Beyond the arboreal, tap root logic of, say, the family tree which ties me in lineage to my forefathers, the rhizome allows me to spread laterally and horizontally: as Deleuze puts it, the rhizome is antigenealogical, 'it always has multiple entryways' compelling us to think of how we are connected diversely, to obvious and sometimes not so obvious entities (35). For Grossberg the appeal of joining a theory of articulation with one inspired by rhizomes is that it combines the 'vertical complexity' of culture and context, with the 'wild realism' of the horizontal possibilities that connect us outward. To use another metaphor dear to Deleuze and Guattari, this is to think about the spread of rhizomatic roots, the 'lines of flight' that break open seemingly closed structures, including those we call ourselves: 'lines of flight disarticulate, open up the assemblage to its exterior, cutting across and dismantling unity, identity, centers and hierarchies' (qtd. in Grossberg, We Gotta Get Out 58). In this way, bodies can be seen as assemblages: bits of past and present practice, openings, attachments to parts of the social, closings and aversion to other parts. The tongue as it ventures out to taste something new may bring back fond memories, or it may cause us to recoil in disgust. As Jenkins writes, this produces a fascinating 'contradiction -- how the body is both a prison and a vehicle for adventure' (4). It highlights the fact that the 'body is not the same from day to day. Not even from minute to minute ... . Sometimes it seems like home, sometimes more like a cheap motel near Pittsburgh' (7). As we ingest we mutate, we expand and contract, we change, sometimes subtly, sometimes violently. The openings and closings of our bodies constantly rearranges our dealings with others, as Jenkins writes, the body's 'distortions, anxieties, ecstasies and discomforts all influence a person's interaction with the people who service it'. In more theoretical terms, this produces the body as 'an articulated plane whose organisation defines its own relations of power and sites of struggle', which 'points to the existence of another politics, a politics of feeling' (Grossberg, "History" 72). These theoretical considerations illuminate the interest and the complexity of bodies that eat. The mouth machine registers experiences, and then articulates them -- utters them. In eating, we may munch into whole chains of previously established connotations, just as we may disrupt them. For instance, an email arrives, leaving traces of its rhizomatic passage zapping from one part of the world to another, and then to me. Unsolicited, it sets out a statement from a Dr. Johannes Van Vugt in San Francisco who on October 11, 1999, National Coming Out Day in the US, began an ongoing 'Fast for Equal Rights for persons who are gay, lesbian and other sexual orientation minorities'. Yoking his fast with the teachings of Ghandi and Martin Luther King, Dr. Van Vugt says he is fasting to 'call on you to choose love, not fear, and to do something about it'. The statement also reveals that he previously fasted 'to raise awareness and funds for African famine relief for which he received a Congressional commendation'. While personally I don't give much for his chances of getting a second commendation, this is an example of how the mouth machine closed still operates to articulate identities and politics to wildly diverging sites. While there is something of an arboreal logic to fasting for awareness of famine, the connection between not eating and anti-homophobic politics is decidedly rhizomatic. Whether or not it succeeds in its aim, and one of the tenets of a rhizomatic logic is that the points of connection cannot be guaranteed in advance, it does join the mouth with sex with the mouth with homophobic statements that it utters. There is then a sort of 'wild realism' at work here that endeavours to set up new assemblages of bodies, mouths and politics. From fasting to writing, what of the body that writes of the body that eats? In Grossberg's argument, the move to a rhizomatic field of analysis promises to return cultural theory to a consideration of 'the real'. He argues that such a theory must be 'concerned with particular configurations of practices, how they produce effects and how such effects are organized and deployed' (We Gotta Get Out 45). However, it is crucial to remember that these practices do not exist in a pure state in culture, divorced from their representations or those of the body that analyses them. The type of 'wild realism' that Grossberg calls for, as in Deleuze's 'new empiricism' is both a way of seeing the world, and offers it anew, illuminates otherly its structures and individuals' interaction with them. Following the line of the rhizome means that we must 'forcibly work both on semiotic flows, material flows, and social flows', Guattari goes on to argue that 'there is no tripartition between a field of reality, the world, a field of representation, the book, and a field of subjectivity, the author. But an arrangement places in connection certain multiplicities taken from each of these orders' (qtd. in Grossberg, We Gotta Get Out 48). In terms of the possibilities offered by eating, these theoretical and conceptual arguments direct us to other ways of thinking about identity as both digestion and as indigestible. Bodies eat into culture. The mouth machine is central to the articulation of different orders, but so too is the tongue that sticks out, that draws in food, objects and people. Analysed along multiple alimentary lines of flight, in eating we constantly take in, chew up and spit out identities. Footnotes 1. As Barbara Santich has recently pointed out, Lévi-Strauss's point was made in relation to taboos on eating totem animals in traditional societies and wasn't a general comment on the connection between eating and thinking (4). 2. The sponsors of the Hunger Site include 0-0.com, a search engine, Proflowers.com, and an assortment of other examples of this new form of altruism (such as GreaterGood.com which advertises itself as a 'shop to benefit your favorite cause'), and 'World-Wide Recipes', which features a 'virtual restaurant'. 3. The pregnant body is of course one of the most policed entities in our culture, and pregnant friends report on the anxieties that are produced about what will go into the future child's body. 4. While Châtelet writes that thinking about the eating body 'throws her into full metaphor ... joining, for example the nutritional mouth and the lover's mouth' (8), I have tried to avoid the tug of metaphor. Of course, the seduction of metaphor is great, and there are copious examples of the metaphorisation of eating in regards to consumption, ingestion, reading and writing. However, as I've argued elsewhere (Probyn, Outside Belongings), I prefer to focus on the 'work' (or as Le Doeuff would say, 'le faire des images') that Deleuze and Guattari's terms accomplish as ways of modelling the social. This is a particularly crucial (if here underdeveloped) point in terms of my present project, where I seek to analyse the ways in which eating may reproduce an awareness of the visceral nature of social relations. That said, and as my valued colleague Melissa Hardie has often pointed out, my text is littered with metaphor. References Brillat-Savarin, Jean-Anthelme. The Physiology of Taste. Trans. Anne Drayton. Penguin, 1974. Châtelet, Noëlle. Le Corps a Corps Culinaire. Paris: Seuil, 1977. Deleuze, Gilles. "Rhizome versus Trees." The Deleuze Reader. Ed. Constantin V. Boundas. New York: Columbia UP, 1993. Foucault, Michel. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. New York: Vintage, 1973. Gatens, Moira, and Genevieve Lloyd. Collective Imaginings: Spinoza, Past and Present. New York and London: Routledge, 1999. Grossberg, Lawrence. "History, Politics and Postmodernism: Stuart Hall and Cultural Studies." Journal of Communication Inquiry 10.2 (1986): 61-77. ---. We Gotta Get Out of This Place: Popular Conservatism and Postmodern Culture. New York and London: Routledge,1992. Le Doeuff, Michèle. L'Étude et le Rouet. Paris: Seuil, 1989. Jenkins, Emily. Tongue First: Adventures in Physical Culture. London: Virago, 1999. Probyn, Elspeth. Outside Belongings. New York and London: Routledge, 1996. ---. Sexing the Self. Gendered Positions in Cultural Studies. New York and London: Routledge, 1993. Santich, Barbara. "Research Notes." The Centre for the History of Food and Drink Newsletter. The University of Adelaide, September 1999. Thompson, Sue. Promotional pamphlet for the Dairy Farmers' Association. 1997. Tomlinson, John. Globalization and Culture. Oxford: Polity Press, 1999. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Elspeth Probyn. "The Indigestion of Identities." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.7 (1999). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/indigestion.php&gt;. Chicago style: Elspeth Probyn, "The Indigestion of Identities," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 7 (1999), &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/indigestion.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: Elspeth Probyn. (1999) The indigestion of identities. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(7). &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/indigestion.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

Why do politicians wear what they wear? Social conventions and parliamentary rules largely shape how politicians dress. Clothing is about power, especially if we think about clothing as uniforms. Uniforms of judges and police are easily recognised as symbols of power. Similarly, the business suit of a politician is recognised as a form of authority. But what if you are a female politician: what do you wear to work or in public? Why do we expect politicians to wear suits and ties? While we do expect a certain level of behaviour of our political leaders, why does the professionalised suit and tie signal this? And what happens if a politician challenges this convention? Female politicians, and largely any women in a position of power in the public sphere, are judged when they don’t conform to the social conventions of appropriate dress. Arguably, male politicians are largely not examined for their suit preferences (unless you are Paul Keating wearing Zenga suits or Anthony Albanese during an election make-over), so why are female politicians’ clothes so scrutinised and framed as reflective of their abilities or character? This article interrogates the political uniform and its gendered contestations. It does so via the ways female politicians are challenging gender norms and power relations in how they dress in public, political, and parliamentary contexts. It considers how rules and conventions around political clothing are political in themselves, through a discussion on how female politicians and political figures choose to adhere to or break these rules. Rules about what dress is worn by parliamentarians are often archaic, often drawn from rules set by parliaments largely made up of men. But even with more women sitting in parliaments, dress rules still reflect a very masculine idea of what is appropriate. Dress standards in the Australian federal parliament are described as a “matter for individual judgement”, however the Speaker of the House of Representatives can make rulings on members’ attire. In 1983, the Speaker ruled dress was to be neat, clean, and decent. In 1999, the Speaker considered dress to be “formal” and “similar to that generally accepted in business and professional circles”. This was articulated by the Speaker to be “good trousers, a jacket, collar and tie for men and a similar standard of formality for women”. In 2005, the Speaker reinforced this ruling that dress should be “formal” in keeping with business and professional standards, adding there was no “dignity of the House for Members to arrive in casual or sportswear” (“Dress”). Clothes with “printed slogans” are not considered acceptable and result in a warning from the Speaker for Australian MPs to “dress more appropriately”. Previous dress rulings also include that members should not remove their jackets in parliament, “tailored safari suits without a tie were acceptable, members could wear hats in parliament but had to remove them while entering or leaving the chamber and while speaking”. The safari suit rule likely refers to the former Foreign Affairs Minister Gareth Evans’s wearing of the garment during the 1980s and 1990s. The Speaker can also rule on what a member of the federal parliament can’t do. While in parliament, members can’t smoke, can’t read a newspaper, can’t distribute apples, may not climb over seats, and can’t hit or kick their desks. Members of parliament can however use their mobile phones for text messaging, and laptops can be used for emails (“Dress”). These examples suggest an almost old-fashioned type of school rules juxtaposed with modern sensibilities, positing the ad-hoc nature of parliamentary rules, with dress rules further evidence of this. While a business suit is considered the orthodoxy of the political uniform for male politicians, this largely governs rules about what female politicians wear. The business suit, the quasi-political uniform for male MPs, is implicit and has social consensus. The suit, which covers the body, is comprised of trousers to the ankle, well cut in muted colours of blue, grey, brown, and black, with contrasting shirts, often white or light colours, ties that may have a splash of colour, often demonstrating allegiances or political persuasions, mostly red or blue, as in the case of Labor and Liberal or Republicans and Democrats. The conventions of the suit are largely proscribed onto women, who wear a female version of the male suit, with some leeway in colour and pattern. Dress for female MPs should be modest, as with the suit, covering much of the body, and especially have a modest neckline and be at least knee length. In the American Congress, the dress code requires “men to wear suit jackets and ties ... and women are not supposed to wear sleeveless tops or dresses without a sweater or jacket” (Zengerle). In 2017, this prompted US Congresswomen to wear sleeveless dresses as a “right to bare arms” (Deutch and Karl). In these two Australian and American examples of a masculine parliamentary wear it is reasonable to suppose a seeming universality about politicians’ dress codes. But who decides what is the correct mode of political uniform? Sartorial rules about what are acceptable clothing choices are usually made by the dominant group, and this is the case when it comes to what politicians wear. Some rules about what is worn in parliament are archaic to our minds today, such as the British parliament law from 1313 which outlaws the wearing of armour and weaponry inside the chamber. More modern rulings from the UK include the banning of hats in the House of Commons (although not the Lords), and women being permitted handbags, but not men (Simm). This last rule reveals how clothing and its performance is gendered, as does the Australian parliament rule that a “Member may keep his hands in his pockets while speaking” (“Dress”), which assumes the speaker is likely a man wearing trousers. Political Dress as Uniform While political dress may be considered as a dress ‘code’ it can also be understood as a uniform because the dress reflects their job as public, political representatives. When dress code is considered as a uniform, homogenisation of dress occurs. Uniformity, somewhat ironically, can emphasise transgressions, as Jennifer Craik explains: “cultural transgression is a means of simultaneously undermining and reinforcing rules of uniforms since an effective transgressive performance relies on shared understandings of normative meanings, designated codes of conduct and connotations” (Craik 210). Codified work wear usually comes under the umbrella of uniforms. Official uniforms are the most obvious type of uniforms, clearly denoting the organisation of the wearer. Military, police, nurses, firefighters, and post-office workers often have recognisable uniforms. These uniforms are often accompanied by a set of rules that govern the “proper” wearing of these items. Uniforms rules do not just govern how the clothing is worn, they also govern the conduct of the person wearing the uniform. For example, a police officer in uniform, whether or not on duty, is expected to maintain certain codes of behaviour as well as dress standards. Yet dress, as Craik notes, can also be transgressive, allowing the wearer to challenge the underpinning conventions of the dress codes. Both Australian Senator Sarah Hanson-Young and US Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, to name just two, leveraged social understandings of uniforms when they used their clothing to communicate political messages. Fashion as political communication or as ‘fashion politics’ is not a new phenomenon (Oh 374). Jennifer Craik argues that there are two other types of uniform; the unofficial and the quasi-uniform (17). Unofficial uniforms are generally adopted in lieu of official uniforms. They generally arise organically from group members and function in similar ways to official uniforms, and they tend to be identical in appearance, even if hierarchical. Examples of these include the yellow hi-vis jackets worn by the French Gilets Jaunes during the 2018 protests against rising costs of living and economic injustice (Coghlan). Quasi-uniforms work slightly differently. They exist where official and unofficial rules govern the wearing of clothes that are beyond the normal social rules of clothing. For example, the business suit is generally considered appropriate attire for those working in a conservative corporate environment: some workplaces restrict skirt, trouser, and jacket colours to navy, grey, or black, accompanied by a white shirt or blouse. In this way we can consider parliamentary dress to be a form of “quasi-uniform”, governed by both official and unofficial workplaces rules, but discretionary as to what the person chooses to wear in order to abide by these rules, which as described above are policed by the parliamentary Speaker. In the Australian House of Representatives, official rules are laid down in the policy “Dress and Conduct in the Chamber” which allows that “the standard of dress in the Chamber is a matter for the individual judgement of each Member, [but] the ultimate discretion rests with the Speaker” (“Dress”). Clothing rules within parliamentary chambers may establish order but also may seem counter-intuitive to the notions of democracy and free speech. However, when they are subverted, these rules can make clothing statements seem even more stark. Jennifer Craik argues that “wearing a uniform properly ... is more important that the items of clothing and decoration themselves” (4) and it is this very notion that makes transgressive use of the uniform so powerful. As noted by Coghlan, what we wear is a powerful tool of political struggle. French revolutionaries rejected the quasi-uniforms of the French nobility and their “gold-braided coat, white silk stockings, lace stock, plumed hat and sword” (Fairchilds 423), and replaced it with the wearing of the tricolour cockade, a badge of red, blue, and white ribbons which signalled wearers as revolutionaries. Uniforms in this sense can be understood to reinforce social hierarchies and demonstrate forms of power and control. Coghlan also reminds us that the quasi-uniform of women’s bloomers in the 1850s, often referred to as “reform dress”, challenged gender norms and demonstrated women’s agency. The wearing of pants by women came to “symbolize the movement for women’s rights” (Ladd Nelson 24). The wearing of quasi-political uniforms by those seeking social change has a long history, from the historical examples already noted to the Khadi Movement led by Gandhi’s “own sartorial choices of transformation from that of an Englishman to that of one representing India” (Jain), to the wearing of sharecropper overalls by African American civil rights activists to Washington to hear Martin Luther King in 1963, to the Aboriginal Long March to Freedom in 1988, the Tibetan Freedom Movement in 2008, and the 2017 Washington Pink Pussy Hat March, just to name a few (Coghlan). Here shared dress uniforms signal political allegiance, operating not that differently from the shared meanings of the old-school tie or tie in the colour of political membership. Political Fashion Clothing has been used by queens, female diplomats, and first ladies as signs of power. For members of early royal households, “rank, wealth, magnificence, and personal virtue was embodied in dress, and, as such, dress was inherently political, richly materialising the qualities associated with the wearer” (Griffey 15). Queen Elizabeth I (1558-1603), in order to subvert views that she was unfit to rule because of her sex, presented herself as a virgin to prove she was “morally worthy of holding the traditionally masculine office of monarch” (Howey 2009). To do this she dressed in ways projecting her virtue, meaning her thousands of gowns not only asserted her wealth, they asserted her power as each gown featured images and symbols visually reinforcing her standing as the Virgin Queen (Otnes and Maclaren 40). Not just images and symbols, but colour is an important part of political uniforms. Just as Queen Elizabeth I’s choice of white was an important communication tool to claim her right to rule, Queen Victoria used colour to indicate status and emotion, exclusively wearing black mourning clothes for the 41 years of her widowhood and thus “creating a solemn and pious image of the Queen” (Agnew). Dress as a sign of wealth is one aspect of these sartorial choices, the other is dress as a sign of power. Today, argues Mansel, royal dress is as much political as it is performative, embedded with a “transforming power” (Mansel xiiv). With the “right dress”, be it court dress, national dress, military or civil uniform, royals can encourage loyalty, satisfy vanity, impress the outside world, and help local industries (Mansel xiv). For Queen Elizabeth II, her uniform rendered her visible as The Queen; a brand rather than the person. Her clothes were not just “style choices”; they were “steeped with meaning and influence” that denoted her role as ambassador and figurehead (Atkinson). Her wardrobe of public uniforms was her “communication”, saying she was “prepared, reliable and traditional” (Atkinson). Queen Elizabeth’s other public uniform was that of the “tweed-skirted persona whose image served as cultural shorthand for conservative and correct manner and mode” (Otnes and Maclaren 19). For her royal tours, the foreign dress of Queen Elizabeth was carefully planned with a key “understanding of the political semantics of fashion … with garments and accessories … pay[ing] homage to the key symbols of the host countries” (Otnes and Maclaren 49). Madeline Albright, former US Secretary of State, engaged in sartorial diplomacy not with fashion but with jewellery, specifically pins (Albright). She is quoted as saying on good days, when I wanted to project prosperity and happiness, I'd put on suns, ladybugs, flowers, and hot-air balloons that signified high hopes. On bad days, I'd reach for spiders and carnivorous animals. If the progress was slower than I liked during a meeting in the Middle East, I'd wear a snail pin. And when I was dealing with crabby people, I put on a crab. Other ambassadors started to notice, and whenever they asked me what I was up to on any given day, I would tell them, “Read my pins”. (Burack) Two American first ladies, Hillary Rodham Clinton and Michelle Obama, demonstrate how their fashion acted as a political uniform to challenge the ideal notions of American womanhood that for generations were embedded in the first lady (Rall et al.). While modern first ladies are now more political in their championing of causes and play an important role in presidential election, there are lingering expectations that the first lady be the mother of the nation (Caroli). First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton’s eclectic style challenged the more conservative tone set by prior Republican first ladies, notably Barbara Bush. Rodham Clinton is a feminist and lawyer more interested in policy that the domesticity of White House functions and décor. Her fashion reflects her “independence, individuality and agency”, providing a powerful message to American women (Rall et al. 274). This was not that much of a shift from her appearance as the wife of a Southern Governor who wouldn’t wear makeup and kept her maiden name (Anderson and Sheeler 26). More recently, as Democratic Presidential nominee, Rodham Clinton again used fashion to tell voters that a woman could wear a suit and become president. Rodham Clinton’s political fashion acted to contest the gender stereotypes about who could sit in the White House (Oh 374). Again, the pantsuit was not new for Rodham Clinton; “when I ran for Senate in 2000 and President in 2008, I basically had a uniform: a simple pantsuit, often black” (Mejia). Rodham Clinton says the “benefit to having a uniform is finding an easy way to fit in … to do what male politicians do and wear more or less the same thing every day”. As a woman running for president in 2016, the pantsuit acted as a “visual cue” that she was “different from the men but also familiar” (Mejia). Similarly, First Lady Michelle Obama adopted a political uniform to situate her role in American society. Gender but also race and class played a role in shaping her performance (Guerrero). As the first black First Lady, in the context of post-9/11 America which pushed a “Buy American” retail campaign, and perhaps in response to the novelty of a black First Lady, Obama expressed her political fashion by returning the First Lady narrative back to the confines of family and domesticity (Dillaway and Paré). To do this, she “presented a middle-class casualness by wearing mass retail items from popular chain stores and the use of emerging American designers for her formal political appearances” (Rall et al. 274). Although the number of women elected into politics has been increasing, gender stereotypes remain, and female representation in politics still remains low in most countries (Oh 376). Hyland argues that female politicians are subject to more intense scrutiny over their appearance … they are held to higher standards for their professional dress and expected to embody a number of paradoxes — powerful yet demure, covered-up but not too prim. They’re also expected to keep up with trends in a way that their male counterparts are not. Sexism can too easily encroach upon critiques of what they wear. How female politicians dress is often more reported than their political or parliamentary contributions. This was the case for Australia’s first female Prime Minister Julia Gillard. Jansens’s 2019 research well demonstrates the media preoccupation with political women’s fashion in a number of ways, be it the colours they choose to wear, how their clothing reveals their bodies, and judgements about the professionalism of their sartorial choices and the number of times certain items of clothing are worn. Jansens provides a number of informative examples noting the media’s obsession with Gillard’s choices of jackets that were re-worn and tops that showed her cleavage. One Australian Financial Review columnist reported, I don’t think it’s appropriate for a Prime Minister to be showing her cleavage in Parliament. It’s not something I want to see. It is inappropriate to be in Parliament, it is disrespectful to yourself and to the Australian community and to the parliament to present yourself in a manner that is unprofessional. (Jansens) The media preoccupation with female politicians’ clothing is noted elsewhere. In the 2012 Korean presidential election, Geun-hye Park became the first female president of Korea, yet media reports focussed largely on Park’s fashion: a 2013 newspaper published a four-page analysis titled “Park Geun-hye Fashion Project”. Another media outlet published a review of the 409 formal function outfits worn by Park (Oh 378). The larger focus, however, remains on Park’s choice to wear a suit, referred to as her “combat uniform” (Cho), for her daily parliamentary and political duties. This led Oh to argue that Korean female politicians, including Park, wear a “male suit as a means for benefit and survival”; however, with such media scrutiny “female politicians are left under constant surveillance” (382). As Jansens argues, clothing can act as a “communicative barrier between the body and society”, and a narrative that focusses on how clothes fit and look “illustrates women’s bodies as exceptional to the uniform of the political sphere, which is a masculine aesthetic” (212). Drawing on Entwistle, Jansens maintains that the the uniform “serves the purpose in policing the boundaries of sexual difference”, with “uniforms of gender, such as the suit, enabl[ing] the repetitious production of gender”. In this context, female politicians are in a double bind. Gillard, for example, in changing her aesthetic illustrates the “false dichotomy, or the ‘double bind’ of women’s competency and femininity that women can be presented with regarding their agency to conform, or their agency to deviate from the masculine aesthetic norm” (Jansens 212). This was likely also the experience of Jeannette Rankin, with media reports focusing on Rankin’s “looks and “personal habits,” and headlines such “Congresswoman Rankin Real Girl; Likes Nice Gowns and Tidy Hair” (“Masquerading”). In this article, however, the focus is not on the media preoccupation with female politicians’ political fashion; rather, it is on how female politicians, rather than conforming to masculine aesthetic norms of wearing suit-like attire, are increasingly contesting the political uniform and in doing so are challenging social and political boundaries As Yangzom puts it, how the “embodiment of dress itself alters political space and civic discourse is imperative to understanding how resistance is performed in creating social change” (623). This is a necessary socio-political activity because the “way the media talks about women affects the way women are perceived in society. If women’s appearances are consistently highlighted in the media, inequality of opportunity will follow from this inequality of treatment” (Jansens 215). Contesting the Political Uniform Breaking fashion norms, or as Entwistle argues, “bodies which flout the conventions of their culture and go without the appropriate clothes are subversive of the most basic social codes and risk exclusion, scorn and ridicule” (7), hence the price may be high to pay for a public figure. American Vice-President Kamala Harris’s penchant for comfy sneakers earned her the nickname “the Converse candidate”. Her choice to wear sneakers rather than a more conventional low-heel shoe didn’t necessarily bring about a backlash; rather, it framed her youthful image (possibly to contrast against Trump and Biden) and posited a “hit the ground running” approach (Hyland). Or, as Devaney puts it, “laced up and ready to win … [Harris] knew her classic American trainers signalled a can-do attitude and a sense of purpose”. Increasingly, political women, rather than being the subject of social judgments about their clothing, are actively using their dressed bodies to challenge and contest a range of political discourses. What a woman wears is a “language through which she can send any number of pointed messages” (Weiss). In 2021, US Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez wore a ‘Tax the rich’ dress to the Met Gala. The dress was designed by social activist designers Brother Vellies and loaned to Ocasio-Cortez to attend the $30,000 ticket event. For Ocasio-Cortez, who has an Instagram following of more than eight million people, the dress is “about having a real conversation about fairness and equity in our system, and I think this conversation is particularly relevant as we debate the budget” (“Alexandria”). For Badham, “in the blood-spattered garments of fighting class war” the “backlash to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s … dress was instant and glorious”. At the same event, Congresswomen Carolyn Maloney wore an ‘Equal Rights for Women’ suffragette-themed floor length dress in the suffragette colours of purple, white, and gold. Maloney posted that she has “long used fashion as a force 4 change” (Chamlee). US Senator Kyrsten Sinema is known for her “eccentric hipster” look when sitting in the chamber, complete with “colourful wigs, funky glasses, gold knee-high boots, and a ring that reads ‘Fuck off”’ (Hyland). Simena has been called a “Prada Socialist” and a “fashion revolutionary” (Cauterucci). Similarly, UK politician Harriet Harmen received backlash for wearing a t-shirt which read “This is what a feminist looks like” when meeting PM David Cameron (Pilote and Montreuil). While these may be exceptions rather than the rule, the agency demonstrated by these politicians speaks to the patriarchal nature of masculine political environments and the conventions and rules that maintain gendered institutions, such as parliaments. When US Vice-President Kamala Harris was sworn in, she was “not only … the first woman, Black woman, and South Asian-American woman elected to the position, but also … the first to take the oath of office wearing something other than a suit and tie”, instead wearing a feminised suit consisting of a purple dress and coat designed by African-American designer Christopher John Rogers (Naer). Harris is often photographed wearing Converse sneakers, as already noted, and Timberland work boots, which for Naer is “quietly rebellious” because with them “Harris subverts expectations that women in politics should appear in certain clothing (sleek heels, for instance) in order to compete with men — who are, most often, in flats”. For Elan, the Vice-President’s sneakers may be a “small sartorial detail, but it is linked to the larger cultural moment in which we live. Sneakers are a form of footwear finding their way into many women’s closets as part of a larger challenge to outmoded concepts of femininity” as well as a nod to her multiracial heritage where the “progenitors of sneaker culture were predominantly kids of colour”. Her dress style can act to disrupt more than just gender meanings; it can be extended to examine class and race. In 2022, referencing the Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez 2021 Met dress, Claudia Perkins, the wife of Australian Greens leader Adam Bandt, wore a “white, full-length dress covered in red and black text” that read “coal kills” and “gas kills”, with slick, long black gloves. Bandt wore a “simple tux with a matching pocket square of the same statement fabric” to the federal parliament Midwinter Ball. Joining Perkins was Greens Senator Sarah Hanson-Young, wearing an “hourglass white dress with a statement on the back in black letters” that read: “end gas and coal”. The trim on the bottom was also covered in the same text. Hanson-Young posted on social media that the “dress is made from a 50-year-old damask table cloth, and the lettering is made from a fast fashion handbag that had fallen apart” (Bliszczyk). Federal MP Nicolle Flint posted a video on Twitter asking a political commentator what a woman in politics should wear. One commentator had taken aim at Flint’s sartorial choices which he described “pearl earrings and a pearly smile” and a “vast wardrobe of blazers, coats and tight, black, ankle-freezing trousers and stiletto heels”. Ending the video, Flint removes her black coat to reveal a “grey bin bag cinched with a black belt” (Norman). In 2018, Québec politician Catherine Dorian was criticised for wearing casual clothes, including Dr Marten boots, in parliament, and again in 2019 when Dorian wore an orange hoodie in the parliamentary chamber. The claim was that Dorian “did not respect decorum” (Pilote and Montreuil). Dorian’s response was “it’s supposed to be the people’s house, so why can’t we look like normal people” (Parrillo). Yet the Québec parliament only has dress rules for men — jacket, shirt and ties — and has no specifics for female attire, meaning a female politician can wear Dr Martens or a hoodie, or meaning that the orthodoxy is that only men will sit in the chamber. The issue of the hoodie, somewhat like Kamala Harris’s wearing of sneakers, is also a class and age issue. For Jo Turney, the hoodie is a “symbol of social disobedience” (23). The garment is mass-produced, ordinary, and democratic, as it can be worn by anyone. It is also a sign of “criminality, anti-social behaviour and out of control youth”. If the media are going to focus on what female politicians are wearing rather than their political actions, it is unsurprising some will use that platform to make social and political comments on issues relating to gender, but also to age, class, and policies. While this may maintain a focus on their sartorial choices, it does remind us of the double bind female politicians are in. With parliamentary rules and social conventions enamoured with the idea of a ‘suit and tie’ being the appropriate uniform for political figures, instances when this ‘rule’ is transgressed will risk public ridicule and social backlash. However, in instances were political women have chosen to wear garments that are not the conventional political uniform of the suit and tie, i.e. a dress or t-shirt with a political slogan, or a hoodie or sneakers reflecting youth, class, or race, they are challenging the customs of what a politician should look like. Politicians today are both men and women, different ages, abilities, sexualities, ethnicities, religions, and demographics. To narrowly suppose what a politician is by what they wear narrows public thinking about a person’s contribution or potential contribution to public life. 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