Journal articles on the topic 'National water act (act 36 of 1998)'

Despite the transition to democracy in 1994, South Africa still had apartheid legislation on the statute books and the allocation of water was regulated by the 1956 Water Act. Accordingly, post-apartheid South Africa underwent a water sector reform process culminating in the new National Water Act (No. 36) of 1998. One component of the Act is the requirement for a classification system to determine different classes of water resources. The classification system provides a definition of the classes that are to be used and a seven-step procedure to be followed in order to recommend a class. The class outlines those attributes society requires of different water resources. The economic, social and ecological implications of choosing a class are established and communicated to all interested and affected parties during the classification process. This paper outlines the socioeconomic and political context in which the WRCS was developed and outlines the seven-step procedure.

South Africa introduced a visionary policy for water resource management in 1998. The South African National Water Act (Act 36 of 1998) contains several innovative mechanisms with the potential to transform water resource management within the country and abroad. The Reserve is one of these innovations, guaranteeing a basic water requirement for both human needs and ecosystem health. This article discusses the process of Reserve determination and implementation in South Africa and identifies challenges and opportunities for successful implementation. Based on the perceptions of 28 water managers, consultants, and researchers, the key issues and recommendations for improving implementation are presented. The major findings indicate that political support, the capacity of the implementing organization, supporting policies, strong linkages between policy actors and effective monitoring programs are key issues in the successful implementation of sustainable development policy mechanisms.

South Africa's water law dispensation has changed dramatically with the promulgation of the National Water Act 36 of 1998. The previous distinction between public and private water has been abolished and the Minister of Water Affairs and Forestry has been appointed to act as trustee of the nation's water resources. Through the working of section 4(4), exclusive rights of water use, which were in force before 1998, were replaced by water allowances, granted in the discretion of the relevant authority.The key issue, which is investigated in this article, is whether the state, through the provisions of the National Water Act, expropriated vested rights in property or whether such infringement merely constituted a deprivation.The new concept of property in terms of section 25 of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa and the distinction between deprivation and expropriation are examined. It is indicated that the concept of property in South African law has been extended to include not only ownership but also rights in property. Existing water use rights, which were available to certain individuals in terms of the 1956 Water Act, can be classified as property.Section 25(1) authorises the infringement of private property in certain defined instances. Despite the many academic works which define the difference between deprivation and expropriation as described in section 25(2), the Constitutional Court clarified this matter in First National Bank of SA Ltd t/a Wesbank v Commissioner for the South African Revenue Services 2002 7 BCLR 702 (CC). Expropriation is described as a sub-category of deprivation. Only when it has been established that the requirements of section 25(1) have been complied with, is the question of whether deprivation constitutes expropriation, asked.The requirements for deprivation, expropriation and inverse condemnation are discussed with reference to applicable case law.After the aim of the National Water Act was weighed up against the disadvantages which individuals suffer through the infringement of their vested rights, the conclusion was reached that the nation's need for sustainable water resources carries more weight than the individual's exclusive right of use of water. A constitutionally valid deprivation has thus occurred. Due to the fact that the state did not appropriate any rights in this process, the conclusion was reached that this provision does not amount to expropriation. It does however appear that the provisions of the National Water Act can give rise to inverse condemnation or constructive expropriation in specific circumstances.In addition, three other strategies of strengthening international environmental governance should be pursued: First, the various international environmental treatymaking and treaty-implementation processes should be better harmonised or, at least, co-ordinated; in this context, UNEP is called upon to continue and intensify its efforts to enhance the synergies and linkages between multilateral environmental agreements (MEAs) with comparable areas of focus, by prompting the respective MEA secretariats to enter into appropriate co-ordination arrangements and giving them full logistic support in this respect. Second, as many non-governmental organisations (NGOs) have considerable knowledge and expertise in environmental and developmental matters, States should consider intensifying the partnership with them. States should, however, be empowered to make a selective choice among the mass of NGOs operating at international level. They should accept as partners only those NGOs which meet certain qualitative requirements. Third, as local governments are key components of national sustainable development strategies if such plans are to succeed, the existing local Agenda 21 processes should be expanded and intensified. In particular, supporting the direct engagement of local and sub-national institutions from around the world in international activities and partnerships is an important component of good international environmental governance.

The waste discharge charge system (WDCS) is being developed by the Department of Water Affairs to promote waste reduction and water conservation. It forms part of the Pricing Strategy, which is being established under the National Water Act (Act 36 of 1998). The WDCS is based on the polluter-pays principle and aims to:promote the sustainable development and efficient use of water resourcespromote the internalisation of environmental costs by impactorscreate financial incentives for dischargers to reduce waste and use water resources in a more optimal way. The WDCS is premised on resource quality objectives (RQOs) as the measure of acceptable risk, and seeks to achieve RQOs at lowest total cost to the catchment. Where RQOs are exceeded or are threatened, impact on the resource is unacceptable and the WDCS may be deployed to achieve RQOs. The system will be applied at a catchment scale where the catchment is defined as those areas that have a significant impact on water quality, or are impacted by the specific water quality problem such as salinity, nutrients, heavy metals and organics. This paper aims to provide a summary of the WDCS Strategy.

South Africa is a party to the Convention on Wetlands of International Importance especially as Waterfowl Habitat of 1971 (also referred to as the Ramsar Convention). Article 3(1) of the Ramsar Convention makes provision for the wise use of wetlands, which is defined as the “maintenance of the ecological character, achieved through the implementation of ecosystem approaches, within the context of sustainable development”. The Conference of the Parties has agreed on inherent weaknesses that could lead to the hampering of wise use. These weaknesses include, but are not limited to, authorities working in isolation; and the lack of communication between public and private sectors or technical personnel (environmental impact assessment specialists). Within the enabling provisions of South Africa’s EIA regulations, reference is made to “water source”, “water resource”, “wetland” and “ecosystem”. All these terms are read to include a wetland. However, whereas the terms “water source”, “water resource” and “wetland” are defined in the National Water Act 36 of 1998 (NWA), an “ecosystem” is defined in the National Environmental Management: Biodiversity Act 10 of 2004 (NEMBA), and “water source” is defined in the Conservation of Agricultural Resources Act 43 of 1983 (CARA). Furthermore, the administration of the NWA is with the Department of Water and Sanitation, while NEMBA is with the Department of Environment, Forestry and Fisheries, and CARA is with the Department of Agriculture, Land Reform and Rural Development. This multiplicity, combined with the application of the various specific environmental management acts (SEMAs), complicates the manner in which an EIA application is considered. This is so in that the national environmental framework casts the net wide in identifying the competent authority, but also in its effect on wise use decision making on activities pertaining to wetlands. In light of the aforementioned, this article aims to address the shortfalls and make recommendations that promote wise use.

One of the gravest constraints which South Africa faces in its efforts to promote development and to lift much of its population out of poverty is the relative scarcity of its water. Significant changes were made to South Africa’s water law in the 1990s, especially with the promulgation of the National Water Act 36 of 1998. In terms of this Act a Water Tribunal was created which ought to have enhanced water security and to have provided a settled forum to adjudicate disputes and to assist in developing the jurisprudence of water law. Instead the Tribunal appears to have created almost as much confusion as clarity before it was dissolved in much uncertainty over whether it would continue in existence or not. A recent judgment in the Gauteng High Court (The Trustees of the Time Being of the Lucas Scheepers Trust, IT 633/96 and Others v MEC for the Department of Water Affairs, Gauteng and Others) has created uncertainty by departing from the precedent of a relatively recent judgment in the North Gauteng High Court (Escarpment Environment Protection Group and Wonderfontein Community Association v Department of Water Affairs and Xstrata Alloys (Pty) Ltd and The Water Tribunal). In the context of the uncertainty created by the falling into desuetude, at least between 2011 and 2016, of the Water Tribunal, and contradictory indications from National Government, litigants have been forced to seek other fora for remedies. On occasion, courts have been sympathetic and given sensitive judgments – on occasion they have not. Against this background of inconsistent jurisprudence, it is important that there be greater clarity of rights, duties and institutions, and that institutions become settled as soon as possible so that a consistent jurisprudence can begin to emerge in the water rights field. While the situation stabilizes, which it is hoped that it will soon begin to do, it is suggested that both courts and government act with circumspection in considering applications concerning water use rights; and be sensitive of the current uncertain circumstances when making decisions. The difficulties of ensuring water security and administrative fairness in South Africa demand nothing less.

Human life, as with all animal and plant life on the planet, is dependant upon fresh water. Water is not only needed to grow food, generate power and run industries, but it is also needed as a basic part of human life. Human dependency upon water is evident through history, which illustrates that human settlements have been closely linked to the availability and supply of fresh water. Access to the limited water resources in South Africa has been historically dominated by those with access to land and economic power, as a result of which the majority of South Africans have struggled to secure the right to water. Apartheid era legislation governing water did not discriminate directly on the grounds of race, but the racial imbalance in ownership of land resulted in the disproportionate denial to black people of the right to water. Beyond racial categorisations, the rural and poor urban populations were traditionally especially vulnerable in terms of the access to the right. The enactment of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa 1996, brought the South African legal system into a new era, by including a bill of fundamental human rights (Bill of Rights). The Bill of Rights makes provision for limited socio-economic rights. Besides making provision for these human rights, the Constitution also makes provision for the establishment of state institutions supporting constitutional democracy. The Constitution has been in operation since May 1996. At this stage, it is important to take stock and measure the success of the implementation of these socio-economic rights. This assessment is important in more ways than one, especially in the light of the fact that many lawyers argued strongly against 1/2the inclusion of the second and third generation of human rights in a Bill of Rights. The argument was that these rights are not enforceable in a court of law and that they would create unnecessary expectations of food, shelter, health, water and the like; and that a clear distinction should be made between first generation and other rights, as well as the relationship of these rights to one another. It should be noted that there are many lawyers and non-lawyers who maintained that in order to confront poverty, brought about by the legacy of apartheid, the socio-economic rights should be included in a Bill of Rights. The inclusion of section 27 of the 1996 Constitution has granted each South African the right to have access to sufficient food and water and has resulted in the rare opportunity for South Africa to reform its water laws completely. It has resulted in the enactment of the Water Services Act 108 of 1997 and the National Water Act 36 of 1998.In this paper the difference between first and second generation rights will be discussed. The justiciability of socio-economic rights also warrants an explanation before the constitutional implications related to water are briefly examined. Then the right to water in international and comparative law will be discussed, followed by a consideration of the South African approach to water and finally, a few concluding remarks will be made.

This edition of PER consists of one oratio, 13 articles and one book review dealing with a variety of themes.The first contribution is an oratio delivered by Lourens du Plessis at a colloquium hosted by the Faculty of Law, University of the Western Cape, on 2 October 2015 to celebrate his life and work, in which he aptly refers to himself as a "learned jackal for justice".The first of the 13 articles is by Lonias Ndlovu, who uses the 2013 Supreme Court of India case of Novartis AG v Union of India to argue for legislative reform by SADC members in the granting of patents for new versions of old medicines. Secondly, Lunga Siyo and John Mubangizi consider whether the existing constitutional and legislative mechanisms provide sufficient judicial independence to South African judges, which is fundamental to democracy.Leah Ndimurwimo and Melvin Mbao trace the root causes of Burundi's systemic armed violence and argue that despite several UN Security Council Resolutions and peace agreements aimed at national reconciliation and reconstruction, mass killings and other heinous crimes remain unaddressed. In the fourth place, Marelize Marais and Jan Pretorius present a detailed contextual analysis of the categorical prohibition of hate speech in terms of section 10(1) of the Promotion of Equality and Prevention of Unfair Discrimination Act 4 of 2000 (the Equality Act). Phillipa King and Christine Reddell discuss the pivotal role of the public in water use rights, especially in the context of theNational Water Act 36 of 1998 in the fifth article. The difficulties surrounding the tripartite scheme of statutory, constitutional and living law in a pluralistic system such as South Africa are the focus of the article by Rita Ozoemena. She uses the case of Mayelane v Ngwenyama 2013 4 SA 415 (CC) as an example to illustrate the difficulties experienced in trying to balance this scheme. Angela van der Berg critically discusses and describes from a legal perspective the potential and function of public-private partnerships (PPPs) between local government (municipalities) and the private sector in fulfilling the legally entrenched disaster management mandate of municipalities. André van der Walt and Sue-Mari Viljoen argue that there are sound theoretical and systemic reasons why it is necessary to keep in mind the differences between property, land rights and housing rights when analysing, interpreting and applying any of these rights in a specific constitutional text. The special procedural measures which must be considered in terms of the Consumer Protection Act 68 of 2008 in order to decide if a contract is procedurally fair are analysed by Philip Stoop in his article. Liz Lewis also scrutinises the judicial development of customary law in the case of Mayelane v Ngwenyama 2013 4 SA 415 (CC). She pleads for a judicial approach which take cognisance of the norms and values with reference to their particular context and audience instead of those embedded in international and western law. Water security, which is dealt with by Ed Couzens, remains a highly topical theme in a country such as South Africa. He explores ways to circumvent the effects of the Constitutional Court in Mazibuko v City of Johannesburg 2010 4 SA 1 (CC) with regard to the allocation of water to the poor. Izelle du Plessis discusses some of the existing opinions regarding the incorporation of double taxation agreements into the domestic law of South Africa. Last, but not least, Koos Malan deliberates on the rule of law and constitutional supremacy and comes to the conclusion that they are, from the perspective of the factual dimension of the law, more susceptible to the volatility of unpredictable changes and instability than the doctrine of the rule of law and constitutional supremacy purport them to be.In the last contribution to this edition, Robbie Robinson reviews the book "International Law and Child Soldiers" written by Gus Waschefort and published by Hart Publishing (Oxford) in 2015. He is of the opinion that the book is asine qua non for studies of children in international law.

This paper focuses on the experience of South Africa in introducing water legislation based on human rights principles (in particular the National Water Act of 1998) and reflects on some practical implications for the implementation of water management in a country with limited water and financial resources.

Although South Africa has adopted a very modern permit/license system to control access to water as a resource, the attainment of the lofty objectives (efficiency, equity and sustainability) of the National Water Act of 1998 depends on two critical factors: (1) the institutional efficiency of the water management system; and (2) the development of water markets and their efficient functioning. This study lists a number of concerns that the Act is not geared to resolve efficiently or in a timely manner. These concerns include the high administrative costs of implementation, poor incentives for long-term investments, bureaucratic inefficiency, practical problems in water pricing and adaptability to climate change threat. There is a need to re-think the ways and means with which to make water distribution more efficient in the country. One possible solution would be to develop water markets in the country.

Perceptions of increasing water scarcity have caused many countries to reform their water legislation. South Africa, in the vanguard of reform efforts, passed the National Water Act in 1998. The Act was lauded as a progressive piece of policy as it posited the redress of past injustices as one of its overarching aims. But there has been little progress in terms of redistribution of water use rights. This paper argues that bringing water under the ambit of the state, in combination with the particular political conjunctures in post-apartheid South Africa, opened up space for the emergence of narratives around water use rights that framed the continued use of existing users as pivotal for sustainability and that redistribution is associated with a high degree of risk. Although water allocation reform is essentially a deeply political issue, the increasing technocratisation and bureaucratisation of the reform process served to mask contested understandings through, for example, the use of innocuous-sounding terms such as “existing lawful use”. This, in combination with a highly under-resourced water management sector tasked with the responsibility of shouldering a heavy and complex system of licensing, resulted in reform efforts ending in a temporary impasse.

ABSTRACT This paper examines oil pollution response during disaster situations when the Stafford Act is invoked by the President and the National Response Framework provides funding under ESF-10. The interrelationship between the National Contingency Plan (NCP), created by various pollution statues (Clean Water Act/CWA, Comprehensive Environmental Response, Compensation, and Liability/CERCLA, Oil Pollution Act/OPA) and the National Response Framework (NRF), created to deal with declared disasters under the Stafford Act, is becoming more fractious as time passes and the financial scope of disasters grows. The paradigm that existed when Hurricane Katrina made landfall in 2005 was not in evidence when Hurricanes Isaac and Sandy made landfall in the fall of 2012. The NCP envisions oil and chemical spill response in the context of a single spill, ideally with a known responsible party (RP), who takes action to respond to the spill. That RP is liable for costs and damages resulting from the spill. Action commences when the spill occurs and the Federal On-Scene Coordinator (FOSC) determines that federal action is required. If the federal funds (Oil Spill Liability Trust Fund/OSLTF, CERCLA/SUPERFUND) are used, the federal government seeks cost recovery afterwards. The NRF envisions the federal government acting like a “no-fault insurance” regime, providing federal resources/funds to states when their capabilities are overwhelmed and their citizens require immediate succor. FEMA action commences when the State requests and the President approves aid. The states agree to a cost share – not to exceed 25% of Federal funding. There is no private party liability when actions are complete. The Homeland Security Act established the NRF, and operationally subsumes the NCP under it. However, the Homeland Security Act does not address what fund (Stafford or the pollution funds) will be used when a declared disaster occurs. Furthermore, the Stafford Act structure (State requests, Presidential approvals, Federal Emergency Management Agency Federal Coordinating Officer (FEMA FCO) appointment, area surveys, mission assignments) becomes sclerotic in a large incident when compared to the much more nimble NCP process (spill, FOSC decision, immediate funding). The effect for Coast Guard (CG) and Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) field responders is to lean forward with NCP processes to protect the public. FEMA, faced with dwindling resources, observes this tendency and declines to provide disaster funding when the other federal funds “can be used”. The paper proposes a new paradigm for the “Makris-Suiter” Agreement of 1998 between EPA and FEMA. The opinions stated in this paper are the author's alone, and do not reflect the official policies of the United States Coast Guard.

This paper is a review of policies for disaster risk management in Nepal and discusses the strengths, gaps and constraints of the same. Institutional and Legislative Systems (ILS) approach has been adopted focusing on three aspects: i) legal and regulatory frameworks, ii) policies and programs, and iii) organizational/institutional set-up. This paper concludes that newly endorsed Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Act (2017) can be a milestone in disaster management of Nepal not only because it has replaced about 40 years old Natural Calamity (Relief) Act, 1982 but also for the first time, it saw disaster risk management as an process focusing on different stages of disaster management cycles, preparedness, response and rehabilitation and mitigation. The provision of well-structured functional institutional set-up from the centre to local level can have positive outcome in disaster management. However, it overlooks significant aspect, such as the declaration of disaster-prone zones limiting the right of provincial disaster management committee only for recommendation to the Government of Nepal. Most of policies, strategies and legislations focused on some specific disasters such as flood, landslide, earthquake and GLOF/avalanches at national level paying less emphasis to the local level. Even now, most of the policy interventions towards different cycles of disaster risk management have laid emphasis on preparedness and response rather than to rehabilitation and mitigation. The conflicting provisions in Acts such as Water Resource Act (1992) and Building Act (1998) with Local Government Operation Act (2017) have made overlapping of their roles and responsibilities. So, the policy formulation and institutional set-up needs to be complemented by the ability and competence to operationalize the intent of the relevant acts and policies at all levels of government.The Geographical Journal of NepalVol. 11: 1-24, 2018

This article unravels the notions of justice in statutory water law in Sub-Saharan Africa in general and South Africa in particular. These laws, which allocate and regulate water resources, are licence (or permit) systems. Three forms of injustices are identified for small-scale water users who typically encompass all poor water users: the reinforcement of the historical injustices by which colonial powers captured ownership of water resources and undermined customary water law; administrative discrimination as a result of governments' lack of capacity to license the large numbers of small-scale users; and discrimination of the smallest-scale users whose exemption from the obligation to apply for a licence relegates them to a second-class entitlement to water. Based on the texts and implementation experiences of the National Water Act (1998) and the pro-poor prioritisation rules in the National Water Resource Strategy-2 (2013), the authors propose the transformative legal tool of priority General Authorisations for black small-scale users to overcome these injustices. Via this tool all black small-scale users, including the poor, would obtain equal access to minimum quantities of water needed to progressively achieve constitutional rights to water, food, and non-discrimination, while the remaining water resources would be allocated to high-impact users through licences with strict and enforceable conditions.

The paper focuses on the evolution of water management regimes, water scarcity, and the transition to a new water legislation in South Africa that occurred with the passing of the 1998 National Water Act. It takes issue with the analysis offered by Turton & Meissner in their 2002 article ‘The hydrosocial contract and its manifestation in society: A South African case study’ (in Hydropolitics and The Developing World (2002), African Water Research Unit, Pretoria, pp. 37–60) who argue that the relations between resource users and the State may be conceived of as a ‘hydrosocial contract’, and that the nature of this relationship has changed from constituting a Hobbesian form of social contract where the State is all-powerful (the Leviathan), to a more Lockean form, where the emphasis is on individuals' willingness to cede some of their autonomy in order to be governed. The main argument against Turton & Meissner's analysis is that it ignores policy and legislative aspects, which, if included, would substantially alter their conclusion.

ABSTRACT In May 2013, per Congressional direction and to support a better understanding of pollution sources in the U. S. waters, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) provided the U. S. Coast Guard (USCG) a detailed report on the assessment of risks from potentially polluting shipwrecks. The report, Risk Assessment for Potentially Polluting Wrecks in U.S. Waters, was a result of the Remediation of Underwater Legacy Environmental Threats (RULET) project that evaluated 20,000 shipwrecks for their pollution potential as well as issues that could impact operations including whether or not those wrecks could be historically significant properties and/or gravesites. “Historic property” is defined by the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966 (NHPA), to be any prehistoric or historic district, site, building, structure, or object included in, or eligible for inclusion in, the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP.) The NHPA requires a Federal agency to “take into account” the effects of its undertakings, such as pollution removal from a submerged shipwreck, and afford the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (ACHP) a reasonable opportunity to comment. Federal agencies meet Section 106 responsibilities through a consultation process with the ACHP and other parties as set out in the ACHP's regulations implementing Section 106 of the NHPA (36 CFR Part 800), or through implementation of the nationwide 1997 Programmatic Agreement for emergency response under the National Oil and Hazardous Substances Pollution Contingency Plan. NOAA evaluated a number of the report's shipwrecks for eligibility under the NRHP criteria to determine if any could be considered historic properties. The majority of RULET sites are associated with World War II casualties in the Battle of the Atlantic. As of 2013, the average age of each wreck is 83 years old, as many were built or retrofitted for service during WWII, meeting one of the criteria, per the National Park Service's regulations at 36 CFR Part 60 for eligibility for nomination to the NRHP. Three potentially eligible shipwrecks were subsequently nominated and accepted to the NRHP. The information contained in the RULET risk assessments and the NRHP nominations, facilitates the efforts of USCG to work through the required consultation processes; more effectively balancing responsibilities to address potential environmental impacts and legal mandates to avoid or mitigate impacts to historic resources.

For resolving adverse impact in water sector (such as severe flooding, sedimentation of river channels, erosion of the riverbanks, scarcity of water during the dry season, saline intrusion and environmental degradation in particular in the Southwest, cyclones and tidal surges in coastal areas, heavy arsenic contamination of groundwater etc.) in Bangladesh, lot of studies and programs have been under taken by the Government of Bangladesh during the last fifty years. Current global climate change and upstream withdrawal of water have made the water related problems more critical. Under these circumstances, water resources management needs more comprehensive and integrated approaches. Early day’s water management in Bangladesh were mainly involved to Flood Control Drainage and Irrigation (FCDI) project which caused detrimental effects of other sectors. The issue of Integrated Water Resources Management (IWRM) has been increasingly highlighted after the 1990's. The Flood Action Plan (FAP, 1989-95), Bangladesh Water and Flood Management Strategy (BWFMS, 1995), The Ganges Water Treaty (1996), National Policy for Safe Water Supply and Sanitation (1998), National Water Policy (NWPo, 1999), Guidelines for Participatory Water Management (GPWM, 2000), National Water Management Plan (NWMP, 2004), National Water Resources Database (NWRD, 2001), Regional Technical Assistance (RETA, 2009), Bangladesh Water Act (DBWA, 2013)are the major examples of IWRM practice in Bangladesh.For the evaluation of Integrated Water Resources Management (IWRM) activities in Bangladesh, the three IWRM tools i.e. ‘Enabling Environment’, ‘Institutional Framework’ and ‘Management Instrument’ have been used as a methodology. Lots of Online Questionnaire has been done to the National Water Expertise for getting more information and strengthening the scope of work. Although lot of constraints are existing to develop IWRM plan in Bangladesh, yet the existing policy, plan, guideline, law, institution and information system provide a sound basis for the IWRM implementation in Bangladesh considering the principals of IWRM i.e. efficiency, equity, environmental sustainability. The study has shown that, the progress towards Integrated Water Resources Management (IWRM) in Bangladesh has been good. Much remains to be done. Nevertheless, advancing IWRM is a process of incremental steps and the Bangladesh water-related sector is clearly moving in the right direction towards the IWRM plan. Finally the study has drawn recommendations for effective implementation of IWRM activities in Bangladesh.

The Act 26 of 2007 on spatial planning stipulates that spatial planning at national, provincial and local level must be based on environmental carrying capacity and environmental carrying capability. Provincial governments generally finished its spatial planning in 2010 and the city and regency’s governments in 2011.This paper reviews the spatial planning of Central Java and Rembang Regency regarding the use of CAT (ground water basin) Watuputih, Rembang Zone. Both spatial planning determined that CAT Watuputih was allocated for conservation and for mining. The mixed use zoning stimulates conflict between private sector and government on one side and local people along with academician and NGOs on another side. The SEA (Strategic Environmental Assessment) studies initiated by central government found that CAT Watuputih has strong indication to be KBAK (natural landscape area of karst) need to be conserved while at the moment there have been 21 mining permit holders operating since 1998. The lesson learned from the review is that formulation of spatial planning must be conducted participatory by involving relevant stakeholder, objective and accountable.

The status and the performance of the Harbor Maintenance Trust Fund (HMTF) are evaluated. The harbor maintenance tax (HMT) and HMTF were established by Title XIV of the Water Resources Development Act of 1986. The HMT is applied as a 0.125% ad valorem fee on the value of commercial cargo loaded or unloaded on vessels using federally maintained harbor projects. The HMTF is authorized to be used to recover 100% of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers eligible operation and maintenance (O&M) expenditures for commercial navigation, along with 100% of the O&M cost of the St. Lawrence Seaway by the St. Lawrence Seaway Development Corporation, certain costs of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, and costs to administer the HMTF. The U.S. Supreme Court found that the HMT violated the export clause of the U.S. Constitution; as a result, the U.S. Customs Service halted HMT collections on U.S. exports in fiscal year 1998. However, the revenue stream from HMT collections on imports, domestic shipments, passengers, foreign trade zone cargo, and interest earnings should be sufficient to recover eligible expenditures for the foreseeable future.

This paper presents some results of rainfall forecast in the monsoon onset period in South Vietnam, with the use of ensemble Kalman filter to assimilate observation data into the initial field of the model. The study of rainfall forecasts are experimented at the time of Southern monsoon outbreaks for 3 years (2005, 2008 and 2009), corresponding to 18 cases. In each case, there are five trials, including satellite wind data assimilation, upper-air sounding data assimilation, mixed data (satellite wind+upper-air sounding data) assimilation and two controlled trials (one single predictive test and one multi-physical ensemble prediction), which is equivalent to 85 forecasts for one trial. Based on the statistical evaluation of 36 samples (18 meteorological stations and 18 trials), the results show that Kalman filter assimilates satellite wind data to forecast well rainfall at 48 hours and 72 hours ranges. With 24 hour forecasting period, upper-air sounding data assimilation and mixed data assimilation experiments predicted better rainfall than non-assimilation tests. The results of the assessment based on the phase prediction indicators also show that the ensemble Kalman filter assimilating satellite wind data and mixed data sets improve the rain forecasting capability of the model at 48 hours and 72 hour ranges, while the upper-air sounding data assimilation test produces satisfactory results at the 72 hour forecast range, and the multi-physical ensemble test predicted good rainfall at 24 hour and 48 hour forecasts. The results of this research initially lead to a new research approach, Kalman Filter Application that assimilates the existing observation data into input data of the model that can improve the quality of rainfall forecast in Southern Vietnam and overall country in general.References Bui Minh Tuan, Nguyen Minh Truong, 2013. 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In South African labour law, as is the position in other international jurisdictions, the contract of employment is founded on an employment relationship between employer and employee. This case note discusses the nature and scope of the implied term of trust and confidence in the relationship in relation to managerial employees, with particular emphasis on breach of fiduciary obligations as well as incompatibility (MacGregor “Racial Harassment in the Workplace: Context as Indicata SA Transport and Allied Workers Union obo Dlamini & Transnet Freight Rail” 2009 Industrial Law Journal 650). This obligation of mutual trust and confidence cuts both ways (Western Platinum Refinery Ltd v Hlebela (2015) 36 ILJ 2280) and means that the employer must not behave arbitrarily or unreasonably, or so as to destroy the necessary basis of mutual confidence (Malik v BCCI [1998] AC 20 35 and Woods v WM Car Services (Peterborough) Ltd 1981 IRLR 347).Since the dawn of democracy in 1994 and influenced by constitutional changes in government, South African labour law has been drastically transformed. The new government, led by the African National Congress, had to come up with a legislative framework to deal with racism. Although the Labour Relations Act 66 of 1995 (LRA) does not explicitly deal with the question of racism at work, the importance of forging harmonious employment relationships is covered in the misconduct and incapacity in Schedule 8 of the LRA (Code of Good Practice: Dismissal). To this day, racism at the workplace remains a scourge and for this reason this case note examines the Rustenburg Platinum Mine v SAEWA obo Bester 2018 (5) SA 78 (CC)) case as its focal point. The effect of racism requires that a balance be struck between an employer’s interest in managing its business as it sees fit and the employee’s interest in not being unfairly and improperly exploited.

Environmental injustice is part and parcel of the fundamentals of international and domestic environmental law. In South Africa, section 2(4)(c) of the National Environmental Management Act 107 of 1998 (NEMA) establishes environmental justice (EJ) as part of the environmental management principles to direct decision-making. This is particularly relevant because of the country’s legacy of continuing environmental injustices and inequalities, especially concerning natural-resource dependent services and benefits. The Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996 further establishes a developmental local government (DLG) of which the objects are to ensure a safe and healthy environment, sustainable delivery of services, promotion of social and economic development as well as public participation in decision-making. These objects are complemented by section 24 environmental right in the Bill of Rights. Municipal service delivery of water and sanitation, electricity, land matters and municipal health, should supplement, not compromise the state of local communities' environment and access should be equal. The absence of the latter may result in the form of environmental injustice as has been described by authors such as Bullard, McDonald and Schlosberg. In the event of service delivery-related environmental injustices, it is to be expected that communities must have remedial options available. One of which may be accessible to the judicial system. Therefore, this paper focuses on and explains the role that Municipal Courts specifically may play in fortifying the relationship between municipal service delivery and improved grass-root level environmental justice in South Africa. The underlying question is whether such courts can be agents of (environmental) change where local communities are exposed to environmental harm as a consequence of the failure of municipal services or the environmentally harmful actions of other community members or local industries.

New forest policies in South Africa seek to reconcile conservation and development objectives by devolving some responsibility for forest management from the state to local communities. Community participation in forest management aims to protect forest-based subsistence livelihoods by incorporating the interests of resource users, while simultaneously diffusing threats to biodiversity by managing resource use. To date, participatory forest management (PFM) has had mixed success in South Africa because the transfer of rights to users has not accompanied changes in policy. A questionnaire survey of 60 households (43%) revealed the attitudes of users toward current management and conservation options for iGxalingenwa forest. Users chose participatory forest management (52%) over community (25%) or state-dominated forest management (2%) structures. User choice was motivated by the desire to secure rights of access to, and ensure equitable benefit from, a dwindling resource base, rather than the conservation of these resources to sustain future yields. Users were unwilling to reduce resource use and compromise usufruct rights to achieve conservation goals, even to improve the availability of the resource stock. Current user needs compromise biodiversity conservation goals, and users regard state conservation practices as protectionist and obstructing their rights of access to resources. While the National Forests Act of 1998 seeks to conserve resources by limiting access to them and is based on principles of sustainable use, it is nevertheless perceived to offer few incentives to users to participate in forest management and conservation. Ideally, an institutional and legal framework that allocates user rights and managerial responsibilities to households is required, but clearly suitable alternatives to forest products are also vital for successful management. Greater trust between the provincial parks authority and users is needed, but is complicated by weak traditional leadership and poor community representation. Ultimately, users preferred PFM because, while recognizing that harvest rates are unsustainable, user dependence upon forest resources and weak traditional leadership means they can protect usufruct rights only by participation. Changes to any of these factors may create demands for a new management system. PFM allows the greatest flexibility for responding to changes in demands as well as the environment.

The legal principles concerning rights to water have been changed considerably by the provisions of the National Water Act 36 of 1998. The National Water Act aims to redistribute water rights to previously disadvantaged people and communities by the introduction and application of a public trust doctrine to South African natural resources law. It is proposed that these legislative measures will ensure that water as a natural resource will be used to the benefit of the nation as a whole. However, the practical application of the public trust doctrine needs to be analysed, especially with the view of determining the actual benefits to poor and deprived people.

In the human environment there is a tendency to refer to resources, such as land and water which do not specifically belong to any single individual, as the ‘commons’. Garret Hardin wrote his famous paper called: “The Tragedy of the Commons” in which he highlighted the problem inhabitants of the world face regarding the growing population and depletion of natural resources. He proposed that limits must be placed on the liberal use of natural resources, which usually involve some kind of legislation. South Africa, as a semi-arid country, needs to manage the water as a commons to ensure that all inhabitants of the country have access to safe drinking water as instructed by the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa Act No. 108 of 1996 and subsequently preserved in the National Water Act No 36 of 1998. The significance of Hardin’s theory to South Africa becomes evident in the necessity of the mentioned acts, which involve the establishment of Catchment Management Agencies (CMAs) and Water User Associations (WUAs). These institutions must ensure the involvement of all stakeholders and water users to manage the resource optimally. Establishing these institutions, however, proved to be difficult and their efficiency questioned, thus illustrating a “tragedy within the tragedy”. This article considers the case of the Lower Orange Catchment Management Agency and the Upington Islands Water User Association in the //Khara Hais local municipality, to illustrate the thus far failing efforts taken by this region to manage the water resource.

The radical reform of potable water services provisioning by means of promulgation of the Water Services Act 108 of 1997 and the National Water Act 36 of 1998 in South Africa (SA) started a process of addressing the imbalance which existed in how the national resource was distributed. Water is now recognised as a scarce resource that belongs to all the people of the country and consequently it should be managed in an integrated way for social and economic development including future growth (Fuggle and Rabie 2005:293; Riemann, Chimboza and Fubesi 2012:446). The provision of potable water by water services authorities (WSAs) is an important basic service that faces a number of challenges such as the use of out-dated infrastructure and a lack of skilled and knowledgeable people that place overt pressure on demand for service delivery. It is against this background that the researchers have undertaken to investigate how a municipality which is forced to obtain its potable water supply from nearby surface- and groundwater catchments, can manage it in a more effective, efficient, equal, economic and sustainable manner by means of improved planning procedures to enhance co-operative governance and intergovernmental relations.A qualitative research design was used to conduct the study, which included a literature review, semi-structured interviews, non-probability data sampling and scientific analyses of responses. Furthermore, a case-study approach was followed by the researchers, with Dr Kenneth Kaunda District Municipality (Dr KKDM) as the unit of analysis (the locus). The major research finding of the study included that a Water Sector Plan (WSP) was lacking and non-existent in the Dr Kenneth Kaunda District Municipality (Dr KKDM) and therefore water services delivery could not be coordinated effectively.

Mining and, especially, gold and uranium mining have played a major role in the economy, history, and demography of South Africa. The contribution of the mines to the economy of South Africa over the past century has been overvalued, while the social injustices and negative environmental impacts that accompanied mining have been underplayed or ignored by the mining houses and government. The environmental situation has worsened significantly over the past few years due to the abandonment and pending closure of most of these mines. A reluctance is perceived on the part of the mining companies, and even government, to take responsibility for the damage caused by pollution, ecological degradation, and impact on human health by mining. Instead, the current informal policy appears to take smaller companies to court on minor environmental injustices to, perhaps, impress the broader public, while one of the biggest environmental concerns is stylishly treated. The inability of government to address the damage by mines effectively is in conflict with the National Water Act, the National Environmental Management Act, the Mineral and Petroleum Resources Act, the National Nuclear Regulator Act, and the Constitution of South Africa. The authors propose a multidisciplinary approach to address water-related environmental injustices on the West Rand and Far West Rand. We also describe the application of the National Environmental Management Act of South Africa (Act No. 107 of 1998) in the Wonderfonteinspruit and Tweelopiespruit Catchments and the current water quality situation.

Objectives: A core objective in South African National Parks (SANParks) is biodiversity conservation and the maintenance of functional ecosystems, which is compromised by alien species invasions. The 2016 Alien and Invasive Species Regulations of the National Environmental Management: Biodiversity Act (NEM:BA) requires landowners to develop management plans for alien and invasive species, as well as report on the status and efficacy of control. Method: To compile the species list, we started with the 2011 SANParks alien species list. Name changes were updated and SANParks ecologists and park managers contacted to verify the species lists and add new records. Species reported by external experts were added in the same manner. The management programme costs and species controlled per park per year were extracted from SANParks’ Working for Water programme database. Results: SANParks has listed 869 alien and extra-limital species, including 752 plants and 117 animals, increasing from 781 alien species in 2011. About R 590 million has been spent by the Working for Water/Biodiversity Social Programmes since 2000/2001. Of the species recorded, 263 are listed by NEM:BA, including 12 Category 1a species, 184 Category 1b species, 28 Category 2 species and 39 Category 3 species. Conclusion: While large clearing programmes have been maintained since at least 1998, improving prioritisation is necessary. We provide a short synopsis of (1) what alien species are present in SANParks, (2) the species and parks that management has focused on, (3) the implications of the NEM:BA Invasive Alien Species Regulations and (4) future developments in monitoring.

The implementation gap between science, policy and practice has led to loss of biodiversity and ecosystem services throughout Africa and is described in a case study from Limpopo Province, South Africa. In 2006, the South African National Biodiversity Institute first highlighted the Woodbush Granite Grassland (WGG) in the Greater Tzaneen Local Municipality as the only Critically Endangered ecosystem in Limpopo Province. Five years later (2011), the Critically Endangered listing was published in the Government Gazette No. 34809. After repeated and sustained efforts for many years from volunteers of a local environmental group – currently known as the Friends of the Haenertsburg Grassland (FroHG) – in 2015 the intent to formally protect 126 ha was published in the Government Gazette No. 2609. Unfortunately, the proposed protected area accounts for only 66% of the largest remaining fragment of WGG, which excludes an important colony of medicinal plants. Considering that only 6% of the original extent of WGG remains in an untransformed state the whole fragment should be conserved. Non-alignment of municipal spatial priorities, as in the Haenertsburg town plan from 1896, to provincial and national environmental priorities has resulted in numerous incidents that have degraded what little remains of the WGG ecosystem. Failure of the provincial authorities to act timeously to enforce environmental regulations resulted in the FroHG successfully involving national authorities to stop illegal land occupation while another incident involving an illegal fence was resolved 9 years after erection. A strengthened relationship with Lepelle Northern Water has resulted in better planning of activities in relation to an existing pipeline. This case study shows various avenues available to environmental volunteer groups in South Africa and suggests that long-term lobbying can yield positive results.Conservation implications: Formal conservation of WGG through the intended nature reserve proclamation represents application of environmental legislation (notably Listing Notice 3, National Environmental Management Act 107 of 1998: Environmental Impact Assessment Regulations, 2014), scientific recommendations and policy. Better cooperation between provincial administration and FroHG will benefit the protection and management of WGG.

On behalf of Oden Hughes, Pape-Dawson conducted an intensive archaeological survey of the proposed NWC Bulverde/1604 Sewer Extension Project in San Antonio, Bexar County, Texas. The project proposed to begin on the southwest side of Classen Road approximately 0.2 kilometers (km) (0.13 mile [mi]) east of its northern intersection with Bulverde Road. The proposed line would parallel Elm Waterhole Creek to the west and south approximately 0.8 km (0.5 mi). At this point, the line would cross Autry Pond Road in a southwestern direction eventually paralleling Bulverde Road to the intersection of Redland Road for a total length of approximately 0.4 km (0.25 mi). This project would entail the installation of 1.2 km (0.75 mi) of new sewer line within a 5-meter (m) (16-foot [ft])-wide permanent easement and an adjacent 8-m (25-ft)-wide temporary easement along whichever side was available. The Area of Potential Effects (APE) for the proposed project was defined as a 30 m (100 ft) buffer centered on the proposed SAWS centerline totaling 3.7 hectares (ha) (9.18 acres). The depth of vertical impacts was not yet been determined, but utility installations typically require 1.8 to 2.4 m (6 to 8 ft). Notably, the sewer alignment was changed after completion of this archaeological survey and installation will no longer take place in this APE. The survey for the new alignment was completed under Texas Antiquities Permit #8870. Although Oden Hughes would construct the new sewer line, San Antonio Water Systems (SAWS) would be the grantee of the easement after construction. For this reason, compliance with the Antiquities Code of Texas (ACT) was required. In addition, this project would require a Nationwide Permit from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (USACE). Thus, compliance with Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) (Title 36 Code of Federal Regulations Part 800.4 [36 CFR 800.4]) was required. In addition, the project was located within the San Antonio city limits, which necessitated compliance with the Historic Preservation and Urban Design Section of the City of San Antonio (COSA) Unified Development Code (UDC). Pape-Dawson conducted the intensive archaeological survey on September 20, 2017. The entirety of the APE was subject to visual inspection supplemented by judgmentally placed shovel tests in order to evaluate the potential for buried cultural resources. This work was conducted under Antiquities Permit No. 8161 with Virginia Moore, M.A.G. serving as Principal Investigator. A total of 16 shovel tests was excavated within the APE, all of which were negative for archaeological material. During this survey, one previously recorded site (41BX1786) was revisited within the limits of the APE. However, no cultural deposits associated with the site were encountered. Given the absence of artifacts observed during the current survey, Pape-Dawson recommends that 41BX1786 is ineligible within ROW for State Antiquities Landmark (SAL) and National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) designation. No archaeological resources were located or recorded during this survey. As no properties were identified that meet the criteria for listing in the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) according to 36 CFR 60.4, or for designation as a State Antiquities Landmark (SAL) according to 13 Texas Administrative Code 26.12 (13 TAC 26.12), Pape-Dawson recommends that no further archaeological work is necessary for the proposed undertaking as presently designed. However, if undiscovered cultural material is encountered iii during construction, it is recommended that all work in the vicinity should cease and the THC and COSA archaeologists be contacted to ensure compliance with the NHPA, ACT, and UDC. No artifacts were collected, but all project records and photographs will be curated at the Center for Archaeological Research (CAR) at the University of Texas at San Antonio.

In 2020, severely infected fruit of pecan, Carya illinoiensis, showing distinct anthracnose symptoms were observed from pecan orchards in Uiseong (36°21'31.5"N 128°27'15.9"E) and Miryang (35°22'54.9"N 128°48'06.5"E) in South Korea. Visible symptoms occurred on fruit of the tree between June and July, which included dark, depressed and covered with irregularly shaped lesions. As the disease progressed, the lesions expanded and merged over time, leading to abscission of the fruit, which resulted in severe yield loss of pecan fruit. Of pecan varieties including Caddo, Giles and Peruque that were cultivated in each pecan orchard, Caddo appeared to be most susceptible to the disease. Estimated losses were approximately 30% and 70% for the Uiseong and Miryang pecan orchard, respectively. For pathogen isolation, ten symptomatic fruits of pecan were randomly collected and brought to the laboratory. The fruits were surface disinfested for 30 s with 70% ethanol and 1% sodium hypochlorite. These were then rinsed with sterile distilled water twice, placed in a humid chamber, and incubated at 25 ± 1°C with a photoperiod of 12 h. Acervuli filled with salmon-colored conidial masses were produced abundantly on the fruit a day after the incubation. Conidia were single celled, hyaline, cylindrical having rounded ends, smooth walls, guttulate, 15.5 to 17.7 µm long, and 3.4 to 4.8 µm wide (n = 20). Monoconidial isolates were made on 2% malt extract agar and incubated at 25°Ϲ for two weeks in the dark condition. Of those that were successfully retained, two representative isolates from each orchard were deposited in the culture collection (CDH) of the National Institute of Forest Science, Korea (Accession No. CDH2020-17–18). To ensure the identity of the pathogen, molecular identification was made based on three gene regions, the internal transcribed spacer (ITS) region of rDNA, beta-tubulin (TUB2) gene and a partial sequence of the actin (ACT), which were amplified with ITS1F/ITS4, T1/Bt2b and ACT-512F/ACT-783R, respectively (Weir et al. 2012). These were then submitted to GenBank with accession numbers of MW380423–24 for ITS, MW387129–30 for TUB2 and MW387127–28 for ACT. A BLAST search in GenBank revealed that the sequences showed high similarity to those of Colletotrichum siamense, which were identical to MT434615 and MT274214 for ITS and ACT, respectively, and 99.7% to MK967337 for TUB2. Phylogenetic analysis based on the maximum likelihood method further showed that the isolates recovered in this study clustered with C. siamense, confirming its identity. Pathogenicity was confirmed by inoculating living pecan trees. Healthy fruits from five trees were surface cleaned with cotton soaked in sterile water and air-dried. To inoculate the pathogen, three to five fruit per tree were wounded with a sterilized needle, and an aliquot of 10 μl of spore suspension (1.0 × 105 conidia/ml) of C. siamense (CDH2020-18) was dropped on each wound. To keep moisture, each treated fruit was enveloped by a plastic bag where the cotton soaked in sterile water had been placed. Controls were treated with sterile distilled water drops. The symptoms with dark, depressed and irregularly shaped lesions developed from all inoculated treatments six weeks after the inoculations, which were identical to those observed in the field. However, no symptom was observed on the control. Colletotrichum siamense was successfully re-isolated, fulfilling Koch’s postulates. Taken together, it was confirmed that C. siamense is the causal agent of anthracnose on pecan. In Korea, C. siamense was reported causing anthracnose on apple, persimmon and plum (Farr and Rossman 2020). However, to our knowledge, this is the first report of anthracnose on pecan caused by C. siamense in Korea. To control the disease effectively, more attention should be paid to other regions of the country where the disease caused by the pathogen might occur.

On behalf of VRRSP Consultants, LLC, and Central Texas Regional Water Supply Corporation (CTRWSC), SWCA Environmental Consultants (SWCA), conducted further intensive cultural resources investigations of the Vista Ridge Regional Water Supply (Vista Ridge) Project in Burleson, Lee, Bastrop, Caldwell, Guadalupe, Comal, and Bexar Counties. The project will involve installation of a 140.2-mile-long, 60-inch-diameter water pipeline from Deanville, Burleson County, Texas, to north-central San Antonio, Bexar County, Texas. The area of potential effects (APE) will consist of the proposed centerline alignment and an 85-foot-wide corridor for temporary and permanent construction easements; however, SWCA surveyed a 100-foot-wide corridor to allow for minor shifts in the alignment. This addendum report details the findings of additional cultural resources investigations between 2016 and 2018, on the alignment. The Vista Ridge Project is subject to review under Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (54 USC 306108) and its implementing regulations (36 CFR 800), in anticipation of a Nationwide Permit 12 from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in accordance with Section 404 of the Clean Water Act. In addition, the work is subject to compliance with the Antiquities Code of Texas (ACT) under Permit No. 7295, as the Vista Ridge Project ultimately will be owned by a political subdivision of the State of Texas. Furthermore, all human burials in the state of Texas are protected by law, as per the Texas Health and Safety Code Section 711 General Provisions Relating to Cemeteries and the Texas Administrative Code Title 13, THC, Chapter 22 Cemeteries, Sections 22.1 through 22.6. If human burials are encountered in the Project Area and the remains are determined to be Native American, they will be handled in accordance with procedures established through coordination with the THC; work in the affected area would only resume per THC authorization. Between 2016 and 2018, SWCA investigated approximately 29.5 miles of the current 140.2-mile-long project corridor and the proposed 6.9-mile-long wellfield pipeline that was not previously surveyed during the prior 2015 investigations (Acuña et al. 2016). Investigations consisted of intensive pedestrian survey augmented with shovel testing and hand-excavated auger probes and/or mechanical backhoe trenching in select areas. In addition, SWCA investigated the 25.82-acre terminus site slated for the construction of an integration system (Atwood and Ward 2017). SWCA also surveyed additional mileage, which included rerouted areas that are no longer part of the currently proposed alignment. SWCA excavated 967 shovel tests, 96 auger probes, and 85 backhoe trenches during these additional investigations. SWCA documented or further investigated 28 cultural resources within the Vista Ridge Project during the 2016 to 2018 investigations. Of the 28 resources, seven were isolated finds that did not warrant formal site recording or require additional investigations. The remaining 21 cultural resources include 15 prehistoric sites, three historic sites, and three multi-component sites with both prehistoric and historic cultural materials. Of the 21 sites, two (i.e., 41BP960 and 41BP961) are currently UNDETERMINED regarding eligibility for the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) or as a State Antiquities Landmark (SAL), and one site (i.e., 41GU177) was determined to be ELIGIBLE for listing on the NRHP and for designation as a SAL. SWCA conducted testing and data recovery excavations at site 41GU177 and the results of testing investigations conducted under Permit No. 7295 are presented as an appendix to this report (Rodriguez et al. 2017); the data recovery investigations of site 41GU177 were completed under Permit No. 8231 and will be a separate report. Additionally, sites 41BP960 and 41BP961 have been avoided by design alignment changes and will not be impacted by the Vista Ridge Project. The remaining 18 cultural resources sites are considered NOT ELIGIBLE for nomination to the NRHP or for designation as SALs and no further cultural resources investigations or avoidance are recommended. In addition, SWCA documented two cemeteries (the Hill Cemetery and the Hoffman Cemetery) during the 2016 to 2018 investigations. Due to subsequent reroutes, the Hill Cemetery (located within the boundaries of site 41BP818) is now avoided and will not be impacted by the project. Mechanical scraping was conducted adjacent to the Hoffman Cemetery in compliance with the Texas Health and Safety Code; no evidence of interments was identified within the project area. In accordance with 36 CFR 800.4 and the ACT, SWCA has made a reasonable and good faith effort to identify cultural resources within the project area. Two sites (i.e., 41BP960 and 41BP961) are recommended as having UNDETERMINED eligibility for listing on the NRHP or for SAL designation and one site (41GU177) is recommended as ELIGIBLE. The remaining 18 are recommended as NOT ELIGIBLE for listing on the NRHP or for SAL designation. Site 41GU177 has been mitigated and the results will be presented in a stand-alone report (Nielsen et al. 2019). The two sites (41BP960 and 41BP961) of UNDETERMINED eligibility have been avoided by design alignment changes and will not be impacted by the project. No further work or avoidance strategy is recommended for the remaining 18 archaeological sites identified during the Vista Ridge Project.

Perilla (Perilla frutescens var. japonica), a member of the family Labiatae, is an annual herbaceous plant native to Asia. Its fresh leaves are directly consumed and its seeds are used for cooking oil. In July 2018, leaf spots symptoms were observed in an experimental field at Gangneung-Wonju National University, Gangneung, Gangwon province, Korea. Approximately 30% of the perilla plants growing in an area of about 0.1 ha were affected. Small, circular to oval, necrotic spots with yellow borders were scattered across upper leaves. Masses of white spores were observed on the leaf underside. Ten small pieces of tissue were removed from the lesion margins of the lesions, surface disinfected with NaOCl (1% v/v) for 30 s, and then rinsed three times with distilled water for 60 s. The tissue pieces were then placed on potato dextrose agar (PDA) and incubated at 25°C for 7 days. Five single spore isolates were obtained and cultured on PDA. The fungus was slow-growing and produced 30-50 mm diameter, whitish colonies on PDA when incubated at 25ºC for 15 days. Conidia (n= 50) ranged from 5.5 to 21.3 × 3.5 to 5.8 μm, were catenate, in simple or branched chains, ellipsoid-ovoid, fusiform, and old conidia sometimes had 1 to 3 conspicuous hila. Conidiophores (n= 10) were 21.3 to 125.8 × 1.3 to 3.6 μm in size, unbranched, straight or flexuous, and hyaline. The morphological characteristics of five isolates were similar. Morphological characteristics were consistent with those described for Ramularia coleosporii (Braun, 1998). Two representative isolates (PLS 001 & PLS003) were deposited in the Korean Agricultural Culture Collection (KACC48670 & KACC 48671). For molecular identification, a multi-locus sequence analysis was conducted. The internal transcribed spacer (ITS) regions of the rDNA, partial actin (ACT) gene and glyceraldehyde-3-phosphate dehydrogenase (GAPDH) gene were amplified using primer sets ITS1/4, ACT-512F/ACT-783R and gpd1/gpd2, respectively (Videira et al. 2016). Sequences obtained from each of the three loci for isolate PLS001 and PLS003 were deposited in GenBank with accession numbers MH974744, MW470869 (ITS); MW470867, MW470870 (ACT); and MW470868, MW470871 (GAPDH), respectively. Sequences for all three genes exhibited 100% identity with R. coleosporii, GenBank accession nos. GU214692 (ITS), KX287643 (ACT), and 288200 (GAPDH) for both isolates. A multi-locus phylogenetic tree, constructed by the neighbor-joining method with closely related reference sequences downloaded from the GenBank database and these two isolates demonstrated alignment with R. coleosporii. To confirm pathogenicity, 150 mL of a conidial suspension (2 × 105 spores per mL) was sprayed on five, 45 days old perilla plants. An additional five plants, to serve as controls, were sprayed with sterile water. All plants were placed in a humidity chamber (>90% relative humidity) at 25°C for 48 h after inoculation and then placed in a greenhouse at 22/28°C (night/day). After 15 days leaf spot symptoms, similar to the original symptoms, developed on the leaves of the inoculated plants, whereas the control plants remained symptomless. The pathogenicity test was repeated twice with similar results. A fungus was re-isolated from the leaf lesions on the inoculated plants which exhibited the same morphological characteristics as the original isolates, fulfilling Koch’s postulates. R. coleosporii has been reported as a hyperparasite on the rust fungus Coleosporium plumeriae in India & Thailand and also as a pathogen infecting leaves of Campanula rapunculoides in Armenia, Clematis gouriana in Taiwan, Ipomoea batatas in Puerto Rico, and Perilla frutescens var. acuta in China (Baiswar et al. 2015; Farr and Rossman 2021). To the best of our knowledge, this is the first report of R. coleosporii causing leaf spot on P. frutescens var. japonica in Korea. This disease poses a threat to production and management strategies to minimize leaf spot should be developed.

On behalf of VRRSP Consultants, LLC and Central Texas Regional Water Supply Corporation (CTRWSC), SWCA Environmental Consultants (SWCA) conducted cultural resources investigations of the Vista Ridge Regional Water Supply (Vista Ridge) Project in Burleson, Lee, Bastrop, Caldwell, Guadalupe, Comal, and Bexar Counties. The work will involve installation of a 139.45-mile-long, 60-inch-diameter water pipeline from northcentral San Antonio, Bexar County, Texas, to Deanville, Burleson County, Texas. The report details the findings of investigations from June 2015 to December 2015, on the alignment dated December 8, 2015 (December 8th). The Vista Ridge Project is subject to review under Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (54 USC 306108) and its implementing regulations (36 CFR 800), in anticipation of a Nationwide Permit 12 from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in accordance with Section 404 of the Clean Water Act. In addition, the work is subject to compliance with the Antiquities Code of Texas under Permit Number 7295, as the Vista Ridge Project will be ultimately owned by a political subdivision of the State of Texas. The cultural resources investigations included a background review and intensive field survey. The background review identified previous investigations, recorded archaeological sites, National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) properties, cemeteries, standing structures, and other known cultural resources within a 0.50-mile radius of the project area. The field investigations conducted from June 2015 through December 2015 assessed all accessible portions of the proposed December 8th alignment as of December 25, 2015. Approximately 101.8 miles of the 139.45-mile alignment has been surveyed. Approximately 24.42 miles were not surveyed based on the results of the background review and extensive disturbances as confirmed by vehicular survey. The remaining 13.23 miles that require survey were either unavailable due to landowner restrictions or part of a newly adopted reroute. SWCA also surveyed additional mileage, which includes rerouted areas that are no longer part of the December 8th alignment. The inventory identified 59 cultural resources, including 52 archaeological sites and seven isolated finds. In addition to newly recorded resources, two previously recorded archaeological sites were revisited, and two cemeteries were documented. Of the 52 newly recorded archaeological sites, seven are recommended for further work or avoidance. Of the two revisited archeological sites, one is recommended for further work or avoidance within the project area. Avoidance is recommended for both documented cemeteries. The resources with undetermined eligibility require additional testing or other avenues of research before SWCA can make a firm recommendation about their eligibility for nomination to the NRHP and designation as State Antiquities Landmarks (SALs). As part of a management strategy, the resources with undetermined eligibility may also be avoided by reroute or boring beneath. The remaining 45 cultural resources are recommended not eligible for inclusion to the NRHP or for designation as SALs and no further cultural resources investigations or avoidance strategies are recommended.

BOB Hydrographics, LLC conducted a marine geophysical survey and archaeological assessment of a proposed construction access channel in Galveston County, on behalf of HDR Engineering, Inc. A proposed 25-acre bay access channel would cross portions of State Mineral Lease Tracts, West Bay 59, 65 and 66 in West Galveston Bay. The channel would provide construction access to build a breakwater for the Galveston Island State Park Marsh Protection and Restoration Project, sponsored by the General Land Office. An archaeological survey was requested by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Galveston District, based on their review of Permit Application SWG-1998-02298. Consultation between the Texas Historical Commission and the Galveston District concluded that archaeological survey only would be required for the channel providing access from the bay to the island and not for areas adjacent and including the proposed breakwaters. The area of potential effect encompasses 70 acres, including a 50-meter buffer mandated by the Texas Historical Commission around the proposed channel. A review of cultural background determined that 1 marine archaeological investigation and, at least, 1 wreck have been reported within 3 miles of the survey area. BOB completed a marine geophysical survey on May 9, 2019 under Texas Antiquities Permit 8906. A total of 140 acres was surveyed to provide options for adjusting the route if necessary. Water depth at the time of the survey ranged from 4 to 9 feet. BOB assessed all geophysical data to locate archaeological sites potentially affected by construction of the access channel. No artifacts were collected during the survey. No significant geophysical targets were discovered that might be potentially eligible for the State Antiquities Landmark or for the National Register of Historic Places. BOB recommends cultural resource clearance for all areas surveyed, provided that a THC-mandated 50-meter buffer is honored around the perimeter of the survey area. This study was completed in compliance with Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (Public Law 89-665; 16 U.S.C. 470) and the Antiquities Code of Texas (Texas Natural Resource Code, Title 9, Chapter 191). The minimum reporting and survey requirements for marine archaeological studies conducted under a Texas Antiquities Permit are mandated by The Texas Administrative Code, Title 13, Part 2, Chapters 26 and 28, respectively. Project records are curated at the Center for Archaeological Studies at Texas State University in San Marcos.

On behalf of Central Texas Regional Water Supply Corporation (CTRWSC) and VRRSP Consultants, LLC, SWCA Environmental Consultants (SWCA) conducted archaeological data recovery excavations at multicomponent site 41GU177 (the Snakeskin Bluff Site) within the proposed alignment of the Vista Ridge Regional Water Supply Project (Vista Ridge) in Guadalupe County, Texas. Investigations were conducted in compliance with Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) (54 United States Code [USC] 306108) and its implementing regulations (36 Code of Federal Regulations [CFR] 800), in anticipation of a Nationwide Permit 12 from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) in accordance with Section 404 of the Clean Water Act. In addition, the work is subject to compliance with the Antiquities Code of Texas (ACT), as the Vista Ridge Project will be ultimately owned by CTRWSC, a political subdivision of the State of Texas. The Vista Ridge project will involve construction of an approximately 140-mile-long, 60-inch-diameter water pipeline from north-central San Antonio, Bexar County, to Deanville, Burleson County, Texas. The of area of potential effects (APE) for the Phase I survey efforts included the proposed centerline alignment and a 100-foot-wide corridor (50 feet on either side of centerline), as well as temporary and permanent construction easements, and aboveground facilities, such as pump stations and the northern and southern termini sites. Between June 2015 and March 2018 the cultural resources inventory identified 78 cultural resources (i.e., 64 archaeological sites and 14 isolated finds). Included in that inventory was site 41GU177, originally discovered on August 31, 2015 on the west bank of the Guadalupe River. Site 41GU177 is a stratified prehistoric site on the western high bank of the Guadalupe River southeast of New Braunfels, Texas near the community of McQueeney. The site contains components deposited intermittently from approximately the Late Archaic to Transitional Archaic periods through Late Prehistoric times. The primary components investigated in the excavations span the final Late Archaic period and into the Austin phase of the Late Prehistoric, a timeframe from approximately 2,600 to 900 years ago. The field investigations, conducted between October 2016 and December 2017, included intensive shovel testing, geomorphological study with mechanical excavations, and subsequent hand excavations. This report presents the results of the data recovery investigations conducted from November–December 2017. The survey results and testing results have been previously reported on (Acuña et al. 2016; Rodriguez et al. 2017); the testing results are also presented in Appendix A. SWCA’s work at 41GU177 was conducted under the ACT. The state regulations mandate the evaluation of the site’s eligibility for designation as a State Antiquities Landmark (SAL) or for listing on the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP). The survey and testing investigations were conducted under ACT Permit No. 7295, and the subsequent data recovery was completed under Permit No. 8231. Brandon S.Young served as initial Principal Investigator (PI) on both permits and Christina Nielsen took over asPI on the permits for the final reporting stages of the project. Overall, 34.1 m3 of sediment was excavated from the site during the data recovery through both traditional and feature-focused unit excavations. During these excavations, approximately 22 m2 of Late Prehistoric components were exposed, consisting of rock-lined hearths and 6,496 artifacts. The Late Prehistoric artifacts included Edwards points, Perdiz points, a Fresno point, ceramics, bifaces, an end scraper, a shell bead, various informal lithic tools, ground stone, choppers, debitage, and faunal remains. The Late Prehistoric component was approximately 40–80 cm thick. No cultural features were identified within the underlying Archaic components of the site; however, 3,421 artifacts were recovered including a Zephyr point, bifaces, ground stone, various informal lithic tools, choppers, debitage, and faunal remains. The Transitional Archaic component was approximately 35–60 cm thick; however, the underlying Archaic (and possible older) components were not defined. The excavations were limited to the right-of-way, and consequently the exposure afforded only a partial glimpse of the overall site. Based on the assemblage, the site is interpreted as a logistical base camp as indicated by both formal and informal tool forms and site furniture. Small groups exploited the abundance of lithic raw material and riparian zone resources, making forays into the landscape to hunt and forage. A total of four radiocarbon dates from the Late Prehistoric components reveal several short-term encampments over the course of several centuries from approximately 600 to 1200 B.P. (A.D. 750 to 1350). The Toyah Phase component has some noted disturbances (especially towards the ground surface), but good integrity from where the radiocarbon sample was collected. The Austin Phase component is vertically and horizontally discrete, contains a substantial amount of archaeological materials, and the site structure and radiocarbon dates suggests multiple, discrete occupations. The data recovery investigations at the Snakeskin Bluff site sought to address environmental, technological, chronological, and adaptive changes during the transition from Archaic to Late Prehistoric. As mentioned, the overall artifact and feature recovery at the site was low and disturbances and mixing of components was noted, especially within the upper deposits of the site. Disturbances within the Late Prehistoric Toyah Phase were most prevalent in the eastern portions of the site. The Late Prehistoric Austin Phase component contained intact, well-preserved archaeological deposits containing preserved flora and faunal material, cooking features, and diagnostic implements. The Transitional Archaic (and older) occupations were difficult to characterize, due to limited quantities of temporal diagnostic artifacts, lack of cultural features, and low artifact recovery. Despite these limitations, the data recovered from the cultural components show diachronic shifts between the technological and foraging strategies of the Archaic and Late Prehistoric. In concurrence with the 2016–2017 testing recommendations, the Snakeskin Bluff site is considered eligible for designation as an SAL and for the NRHP. Although not all cultural components of the site were stratigraphically discrete, the Late Prehistoric Austin Phase component revealed intact, well-preserved archaeological deposits that significantly contributed to our understanding of Late Prehistoric patterns. Given the sensitive nature of the cultural deposits at 41GU177, the main concern following the completion of data recovery excavations was the prevention of significant surface and subsurface impacts to the site during clearing and pipeline construction. As such, SWCA developed a site monitoring protocol; methods and results of the monitoring efforts are provided in Appendix H. Contributing components beyond the impact area will not be affected and will be preserved by avoidance; however, it is important to note that these investigations mitigated the project-specific effects, not the entire site. Any future project that could impact the site’s deeper deposits, or those beyond the current right-of-way, warrant further consideration to assess the possibilities for additional contributing components. With these considerations, no further work is recommended.

Horizon Environmental Services, Inc. (Horizon) was selected by LJA Engineering, Inc. (LJA), on behalf of the City of Conroe, to conduct a cultural resources inventory and assessment for the proposed Stewarts Creek Wastewater System Improvements Project in Conroe, Montgomery County, Texas. The proposed undertaking would consist of rehabilitating and replacing approximately 2.1 kilometers (1.3 miles) of existing gravity sewer pipeline that runs along the western terraces of Stewarts Creek in the southeastern portion of Conroe. The segment of the existing sewer line proposed for rehabilitation and replacement runs along the western terraces of Stewarts Creek extending from Avenue M southward to an existing transmission line right-of-way (ROW) located southeast of the intersection of Foster Drive and Ed Kharbat Drive. For purposes of the cultural resources survey, the project area was considered to consist of a linear project corridor measuring 2.1 kilometers (1.3 miles) in length by 39.6 meters (130.0 feet) in width, covering a total area of 8.3 hectares (20.4 acres). The proposed undertaking would be sponsored by the City of Conroe, which represents a political subdivision of the state of Texas. As such, the project falls under the jurisdiction of the Antiquities Code of Texas. In addition, the project may require the use of Nationwide Permits (NWP) issued by the US Army Corps of Engineers (USACE), Galveston District, for construction within or adjacent to any water features that meet the criteria for designation as “waters of the US” under Section 404 of the Clean Water Act and/or Section 10 of the Rivers and Harbors Act. As NWPs are federal permits, those portions of the overall project area located within the federal permit area would fall under the jurisdiction of Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) of 1966, as amended. As the proposed project represents a publicly sponsored undertaking, the project sponsor is required to provide the applicable federal agencies and the Texas Historical Commission (THC), which serves as the State Historic Preservation Office (SHPO) for the state of Texas, with an opportunity to review and comment on the project’s potential to adversely affect historic properties listed on or considered eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) and/or for designation as State Antiquities Landmarks (SAL). On April 1 to 2, 2020, Horizon archeologists Colene Knaub and Elizabeth Sefton, under the overall direction of Jeffrey D. Owens, Principal Investigator, performed an intensive cultural resources survey of the project area to locate any cultural resources that potentially would be impacted by the proposed undertaking. The survey was performed under Texas Antiquities Permit No. 9336. Horizon’s archeologists traversed the archeological survey area on foot and thoroughly inspected the modern ground surface for aboriginal and historic-age cultural resources. The survey area consisted of an existing gravity sewer ROW running along the western terraces of Stewarts Creek. Most of the sewer line ROW consisted of broad, cleared areas characterized by short, manicured grasses, though some segments of the ROW appear not to have been regularly maintained and had become heavily overgrown with tall grasses, weeds, and wildflowers. Large concrete manholes providing access to the existing sewer line are spaced at regular intervals along this utility corridor. The ROW crosses Silverdale Drive, Foster Drive, and an electrical transmission line, and four large stock ponds are present adjacent to the ROW that involved extensive earth-moving activities within the project corridor. Prior disturbances within the existing sewer line corridor associated with construction and maintenance of the existing sewer line, stock ponds, intersecting roadways, and the transmission line have been extensive. Overall, ground surface visibility was generally poor (<30%) due to dense vegetative ground cover. In addition to pedestrian walkover, the Texas State Minimum Archeological Survey Standards (TSMASS) require a minimum of 10 shovel tests per 1.0 kilometer (16 shovel tests per 1.0 mile) for linear projects per 30.5-meter (100.0-foot) width of ROW, or fraction thereof. As such, a minimum of 42 shovel tests would be required within the 2.1-kilometer- (1.3-mile-) long by 39.6-meter- (130.0-foot-) wide project area. Horizon excavated 44 shovel tests during the survey, thereby exceeding the TSMASS requirements for a project area of this size. Shovel tests were staggered along either side of the existing sewer line as evidenced by the locations of manholes in an effort to test sediments that potentially had been less disturbed by the original construction of the sewer line. Shovel testing typically revealed mixed brown to yellowish-brown sandy loam and sandy sediments with rare hematitic sandstone and oyster shell fragment inclusions. Mottling and mixing was observed in virtually every shovel test, suggesting that sediments within the survey corridor had been disturbed during the original construction of the sewer line. Given the extent of disturbance observed within the shovel tests excavated during the survey, it is Horizon’s opinion that sediments within the proposed disturbance zone associated with rehabilitation and replacement of the existing sewer line have been disturbed to the depth of the existing pipeline and have minimal potential to contain any intact archeological deposits. Furthermore, a prior survey was conducted for the City of Conroe in 2001 that included mechanical deep testing, though this survey did not result in the documentation of any cultural resources along this segment of Stewarts Creek. As such, it is Horizon’s opinion that the shovel testing was capable of evaluating the potential of the project area to contain prehistoric and historic-age cultural resources with the potential to meet the criteria of significance for inclusion in the NRHP and for designation as SALs. No cultural resources, prehistoric or historic-age, were observed on the modern ground surface or within any of the shovel tests excavated within the project area. As no cultural resources were observed during the survey, no cultural resources were collected. Following completion of the project, all project records will be prepared for permanent curation at the Texas Archeological Research Laboratory (TARL). Based on the results of the survey-level investigations documented in this report, no potentially significant cultural resources would be affected by the proposed undertaking. In accordance with 36 CFR 800.4, Horizon has made a reasonable and good-faith effort to identify historic properties within the project area. No cultural resources were identified within the project area that meet the criteria for designation as SALs according to 13 TAC 26 or for inclusion in the NRHP under 36 CFR 60.4. Horizon recommends a finding of “no historic properties affected,” and no further archeological work is recommended in connection with the proposed undertaking. However, human burials, both prehistoric and historic, are protected under the Texas Health and Safety Code. In the event that any human remains or burial objects are inadvertently discovered at any point during construction, use, or ongoing maintenance in the project area, even in previously surveyed areas, all work should cease immediately in the vicinity of the inadvertent discovery, and the THC should be notified immediately.

Horizon Environmental Services, Inc. (Horizon) was selected by LJA Engineering, Inc. (LJA), on behalf of Montgomery County Municipal Utility District (MUD) No. 157, to conduct a cultural resources inventory and assessment for the proposed West Fork of the San Jacinto River South Drainage Channel Phase 3 Project. The proposed undertaking would consist of constructing a new outfall structure within an approximately 1.5-hectare (3.6-acre) area on the eastern bank of the West Fork of the San Jacinto River near Moorhead Road. The project area is located on a broad coastal flat that has been historically mined for borrow materials, and numerous artificial lakes that represent infilled borrow pits characterize the surrounding area. The project area is bounded on the southeast by the channel of the West Fork of the San Jacinto River and on the northeast by a large pond that represents an infilled borrow pit. A prominent earthen levee parallels the river channel, and a massive erosional gully runs through the southern portion of the project area. The Liberty Materials, Inc. Moorehead Wet Plant is located approximately 0.8 kilometer (0.5 mile) east of the project area. For purposes of the cultural resources survey, the project area is considered to consist of the entire 1.5-hectare (3.6-acre) outfall construction area. The proposed undertaking would be sponsored by Montgomery County Municipal Utility District (MUD) No. 157, which represents a political subdivision of the state of Texas. As such, the project falls under the jurisdiction of the Antiquities Code of Texas. In addition, the project may require the use of Nationwide Permits (NWP) issued by the US Army Corps of Engineers (USACE), Galveston District, for construction within or adjacent to any water features that meet the criteria for designation as “waters of the US” under Section 404 of the Clean Water Act and/or Section 10 of the Rivers and Harbors Act. As NWPs are federal permits, those portions of the overall project area located within the federal permit area would fall under the jurisdiction of Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) of 1966, as amended. As the proposed project represents a publicly sponsored undertaking, the project sponsor is required to provide the applicable federal agencies and the Texas Historical Commission (THC), which serves as the State Historic Preservation Office (SHPO) for the state of Texas, with an opportunity to review and comment on the project’s potential to adversely affect historic properties listed on or considered eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) and/or for designation as State Antiquities Landmarks (SAL). On March 28, 2020, Horizon archeologists Jesse Dalton and Jared Wiersema under the overall direction of Jeffrey D. Owens, Principal Investigator, performed an intensive cultural resources survey of the project area to locate any cultural resources that potentially would be impacted by the proposed undertaking. The survey was performed under Texas Antiquities Permit No. 9315. Horizon’s archeologists traversed the archeological survey area on foot and thoroughly inspected the modern ground surface for aboriginal and historic-age cultural resources. The survey area consisted of a flat, heavily modified landform situated between the West Fork of the San Jacinto River channel to the southwest and an artificial lake that represents an infilled borrow pit to the northeast. Historical aerial photographs suggest that past borrow material mining activities have extensively impacted the landform. An earthen levee runs along the edge of the landform parallel to the river channel, and a massive erosional gully passes through the southern portion of the project area. Vegetation within the project area consists primarily of short grasses, and artificial pea gravel deposits cover large portions of the modern ground surface. Overall, ground surface visibility was poor to fair (20 to 40%), though the landform that characterizes the project area appears to have been heavily disturbed and may be almost entirely man-made. In addition to pedestrian walkover, the Texas State Minimum Archeological Survey Standards (TSMASS) require a minimum of two shovel tests per 0.4 hectare (1.0 acres) for tracts between 1.2 and 4.0 hectares (3.0 and 10.0 acres) in size. As such, a minimum of seven shovel tests would be required within the 1.5-hectare (3.6-acre) project area. However, given the physiographic setting of the project area on the floodplain of the West Fork of the San Jacinto River, the extent of prior disturbances associated with historical borrow material mining, and the geomorphological potential for deeply buried Holocene-age sediments, Horizon determined that shovel testing would not likely be a productive survey technique. As such, mechanical trenching was utilized instead. Horizon excavated seven trackhoe trenches within the floodplain of the West Fork of the San Jacinto River in the northern portion of the project area. Trenches ranged from 5.0 to 7.0 meters (16.4 to 23.0 feet) in length and from to 1.5 to 5.5 meters (4.9 to 18.0 feet) in depth. Most trenches were terminated at depths of approximately 2.0 meters (6.6 feet) below surface, though two trenches were excavated to depths of 3.0 to 5.5 meters (9.8 to 18.0 feet) below surface where possible to investigate the potential for more deeply buried natural soil horizons and/or archeological deposits. Sediments observed in all trenches consisted of lenses of artificial fill materials resulting from borrow material mining activities over the years. These sediments tended to be poorly structured and unconsolidated, resulting in frequent collapses of trench walls. The water table was encountered in one trench at a depth of 1.8 meters below surface. While it is possible that some of the more deeply buried clay layers are of natural origin, the vast majority of the sediments observed were clearly artificial fill deposits. No cultural resources, prehistoric or historic-age, were observed on the modern ground surface or within any of the shovel tests excavated within the project area. As no cultural resources were observed during the survey, no cultural resources were collected. Following completion of the project, all project records will be prepared for permanent curation at the Texas Archeological Research Laboratory (TARL). Based on the results of the survey-level investigations documented in this report, no potentially significant cultural resources would be affected by the proposed undertaking. In accordance with 36 CFR 800.4, Horizon has made a reasonable and good-faith effort to identify historic properties within the project area. No cultural resources were identified within the project area that meet the criteria for designation as SALs according to 13 TAC 26 or for inclusion in the NRHP under 36 CFR 60.4. Horizon recommends a finding of “no historic properties affected,” and no further archeological work is recommended in connection with the proposed undertaking. However, human burials, both prehistoric and historic, are protected under the Texas Health and Safety Code. In the event that any human remains or burial objects are inadvertently discovered at any point during construction, use, or ongoing maintenance in the project area, even in previously surveyed areas, all work should cease immediately in the vicinity of the inadvertent discovery, and the Texas Historical Commission (THC) should be notified immediately.

Wife (1975) is a novel ostensibly about immigration, but it is also about gender, ethnicity, and power. Bharati Mukherjee's well-known essay, "An Invisible Woman" (1981), describes her experience in Canada as one that created "double vision" because her self-perception was put so utterly at odds with her social standing (39). She experienced intense and horrifying racism in Canada, particularly in Toronto, and claims that the setting of Wife, her third novel, is "in the mind of the heroine...always Toronto" (39). Mukherjee concludes the article by saying that she eventually left Toronto, and Canada, because she was unable to keep her "twin halves" together (40). In thinking about "mixing," Mukherjee’s work provides entry points into "mixed" or interlocking structures of domination; the diasporic female subject in Mukherjee’s Wife struggles to translate this powerful "mix" in her attempt to move across and within national borders, feminisms, and cultural difference. "An Invisible Woman", in many ways, illuminates the issues that are at stake in Mukherjee's Wife. The protagonist Dimple Dagsputa, like Mukherjee, experiences identity crisis through the cultural forces that powerfully shape her self-perception and deny her access to control of her own life. I want to argue that Wife is also about Dimple's ability to grasp at power through the connections that she establishes between her mind and body, despite the social forces that attempt to divide her. Through a discussion of Dimple's negotiations with Western feminisms and the methods by which she attempts to reclaim her commodified body, I will rethink Dimple's violent response as an act of agency and resistance. Diasporic Feminisms: Locating the Subject(s): Mukherjee locates Wife in two very different geographic settings: the dusty suburbs of Calcutta and the metropolis of New York City. Dimple’s experience as a diasporic subject, one who must relocate and find a new social/cultural space, is highly problematic. Mukherjee uses this diasporic position to bring Dimple’s ongoing identity formation into relief. As she crosses into the space of New York City, Dimple must negotiate the web created by gender, class, and race in her Bengali culture with an increasingly multiple grid of inseparable subject positions. Avtar Brah points out that diaspora is useful as a "conceptual grid" where "multiple subject positions are juxtaposed, contested, proclaimed or disavowed" (208). Brah points to experience as the site of subject formation; a discursive space where different subject positions are inscribed, repeated, or contested. For Brah, and for Mukherjee, it is essential to ask what the "fields of signification and representation" are that contribute to the formation of differing subjects (116). Dimple’s commodification and her submission to naming in the Bengali context are challenged when she encounters Western feminisms. Yet Mukherjee suggests that these feminisms do little to "liberate" Dimple, and in fact serve as another aspect of her oppression. Wife is concerned with the processes which lead up to Dimple’s final act of murder; the interlocking subject positions which she negotiates with in an attempt to control her own life. Dimple believes that the freedom offered by immigration will give her a new identity: "She did not want to carry any relics from her old life; given another chance she could be a more exciting person, take evening classes perhaps, become a librarian" (42). She is extremely optimistic about the opportunities of her new life, but Mukherjee does not valourize the New World over the Old. In fact, she continually demonstrates the limited spaces that are offered on both sides of the globe. In New York, Dimple faces the unresolved dilemma between her desire to be a traditional Indian wife and the lure of Western feminism. Her inability to find a liveable place within the crossings of these positions contributes to her ultimate act of violence. At her first party in Manhattan, Dimple encounters the diaspora of Indian and Pakistani immigrants who provide varying examples of the ways in which being "Indian" is in conversation with being "American." She hears about Ina Mullick, the Bengali wife whose careless husband has allowed her to become "more American than the Americans" (68). Dimple quickly learns that Amit is sharply disapproving of women who go to college, wear pants, and smoke cigarettes: "with so many Indians around and a television and a child, a woman shouldn’t have time to get any crazy ideas" (69). The options of education and employment are removed from Dimple’s grasp as soon as she begins to consider them, leaving her wondering what her new role in this place will be. Mukherjee inserts Ina Mullick into Dimple’s life as a challenge to the restrictions of traditional wifehood: "Well Dimple...what do you do all day? You must be bored out of your skull" (76). Ina has adopted what Jyoti calls "women’s lib stuff" and Dimple is warned of her "dangerous" influence (76). Ina engagement with Western feminisms is a form of resistance to the confines of traditional Bengali wifehood. Mukherjee, however, uses Ina’s character to demonstrate the misfit between Western and Third World feminisms. Although the oppressions experienced in both geographies appear to be similar, Mukherjee points out that neither Ina nor Dimple can find expression through a feminism that forces them to abandon their Indianess. Western feminist discourse has been much maligned for its Eurocentric construction of a monolithic Third World subject that ignores cultural complexity. Chandra Talpade Mohanty’s "Under Western Eyes" (1988) is the classic example of the interrogation of this construction. Mohanty argues that "ethnocentric universality" obliterates the differences within the varied category of female (197), and that "Western feminist writings on women in the third world subscribe to a variety of methodologies to demonstrate the universal cross-cultural operation of male dominance and female exploitation" (208-209). Mukherjee addresses these problems through Ina’s struggle; Western feminisms and their apparent "liberation" fail to provide Ina with a satisfying sense of self. Ina remains oppressed because these forms of feminism cannot adequately deal with the web of cultural and social crossings that constitute her position as simultaneously "Indian" and "American." The patriarchy that Ina and Dimple experience is not simply that of the industrialized first world; they must also grapple with the ways in which they have been named by their own specific cultural context. Mohanty argues that there is no homogenous group called "women," and Mukherjee seems to agree by demonstrating that women's subject positions are varied and multi-layered. Ina’s apparently comfortable assimilation is soon upset by desperate confessions of her unease and depression. She contrasts her "before" and "after" self in caricatures of a woman in a sari and a woman in a bikini. These drawings represent, "the great moral and physical change, and all that" (95). Mukherjee suggests, however, that the change has been less than satisfactory for Ina, "‘I think it is better to stay a Before, if you can’...’Our trouble here is that we imitate badly, and we preserve things even worse’" (95). Ina’s confession alludes to her belief that she is copying, rather than actually living, a life which might be empowering. She has been forced to give up the "before" because it clashes with the ideal that she has constructed of the liberated Western woman. In accepting the oppositions between East and West, Ina pre-empts the possibility of being both. Though Dimple is fascinated by the options that Ina represents, and begins to question her own happiness, she becomes increasingly uncomfortable with the absolutes that Ina insists upon. Ina’s feminist friends frighten Dimple because of their inability to understand her; they come to represent a part of the American landscape that Dimple has come to fear through her mediated experience of American culture through the television and lifestyle magazines. Leni Anspach’s naked gums, "horribly pink and shiny, like secret lips, only more lecherous and lethal, set themselves up as enemies of decent, parsimonious living" (152). Leni’s discourse threatens to obliterate any knowledge that Dimple has of herself and her only resistance to this is an ironic reversal of her subservient role: "After Leni removed her cup Dimple kept on pouring, over the rim of Leni’s cup, over the tray and the floating dentures till the pregnant-bellied tea pot was emptied" (152). Dimple’s response to the lack of accommodation that Western feminism presents is tied to her feeling that Ina and Leni live with unforgiving extremes: "that was the trouble with people like Leni and Ina who believed in frankness, happiness and freedom; they lacked tolerance, and they abhorred discussions about the weather" (161). Like Amit, Ina offers a space through her example where Dimple cannot easily learn to negotiate her options. The dynamic between these women is ultimately explosive. Ina cannot accept Dimple’s choices and Dimple is forced to simplify herself in a defence that protects her from predatory Western feminisms: I can’t keep up with you people. I haven’t read the same kinds of books or anything. You know what I mean Ina, don’t you? I just like to cook and watch TV and embroider’...’Bravo!’ cried Ina Mullick from the sofa where she was sitting cross legged. ‘And what else does our little housewife do? ‘You’re making fun of me,’ Dimple screamed. ‘Who do you think you are?’ (169-170. Dimple lacks the ability to articulate her oppression; Ina Mullick can articulate it but cannot move outside of it. Both women feel anger, depression, and helplessness, but they fail to connect and help one another. Mukherjee demonstrates that women from the Third World, specifically those who come into contact with the diaspora, are not homogenous subjects; her various representations of negotiation with processes of identity constitution show how different knowledges of self are internalized and acted out. Irene Gedalof’s recent work on bringing Indian and Western feminisms into conversation proceeds from the Foucauldian notion that these multiple discursive systems must prevail over the study of woman or women within a single (and limiting) symbolic order (26). The postcolonial condition of diaspora, Gedalof and other critics have pointed out, is an interesting position from which to begin talking about these complex processes of identity making since it breaks down the oppositions of South and North, East and West. In crossing the South/North and East/West divide, Dimple does not abandon her Indian subject position, but rather attempts to keep it intact as other social forces are presented. The opposition between Ina and Dimple, however, is dissolved by the flux that the symbol "woman" experiences. This process emphasizes differences within and between their experiences in a non-hierarchical way. Rethinking the Mind/Body Dichotomy: Dimple’s Response This section will attempt to show how Dimple’s response to her options is far more complex than the mind/body dichotomy that it appears to be upon superficial examination. Dimple’s body does not murder in an act of senseless violence that is divorced from her mental perception of the world. I want to rethink interpretations like the one offered by Emmanuel S. Nelson: "Wife describes a weak-minded Bengali woman [whose]...sensibilities become so confounded by her changing cultural roles, the insidious television factitiousness, and the tensions of feminism that, ironically, she goes mad and kill her husband" (54-55). Although her sense of reality and fantasy become blurred, Dimple acts in accordance with the few choices that remain open to her. In slowly guiding us toward Dimple’s horrifying act of violence, Mukherjee attempts to examine the social and cultural networks which condition her response. The absolutes of Western feminisms offer little space for resistance. Dimple, however, is not a victim of her circumstances. She reclaims her body as a site of inscription and commodification through methods of resistance which are inaccessible to Amit or her larger social contexts: abortion, vomiting, fantasies of mutilating her physical self, and, ultimately, through using her body as a tool, rather than an object, of violence. These actions are responses to her own lack of power over self representation; Dimple creates a private world in which she can resist the ways her body has been encoded and the ways in which she has been constructed as a divided object. In her work on the body in feminist discourse, Elizabeth Grosz argues that postructuralist feminists such as Luce Irigaray, Helene Cixous, and Judith Butler conceptualize female bodies as: "crucial to understanding women’s psychical and social existence, but the body is no longer understood as an ahistorical, biologically given, acultural object. They are concerned with the lived body, the body insofar as it is represented and used in specific ways in particular cultures" (Grosz 18). In emphasizing difference within the sexes, these postructuralist thinkers reject the Cartesian dualism of mind and body and do much for Chandra Talpade Mohanty’s project of considering the ways in which "woman" is a heterogenously constructed and shifting category. Mukherjee presents Dimple’s body as a "social body": a "social and discursive object, a body bound up in the order of desire, signification and power" (Grosz 18-19). Dimple cannot control, for example, Amit’s desire to impregnate her, to impose a schema of patriarchal reproduction on her body. Yet, as I will demonstrate, Dimple resists in ways that she cannot articulate but she is strongly aware that controlling the mappings of her body gives her some kind of power. This novel demonstrates how the dualisms of patriarchal discourse operate, but I want to read Dimple’s response as a reclaiming of the uncontrollable body; her power is exercised through what Deleuze and Guattari would call the "rhizomatic" connections between her body and mind. Their book, A Thousand Plateaus (1980), provides a miscellany of theory which, "flattens out the relations between the social and the psychical," and privileges neither (Grosz 180). Deleuze and Guattari favour maps and rhizomes as conceptual models, so that all things are open, connectable, and subject to constant modification (12). I want to think of Dimple as an assemblage, a rhizomatic structure that increases in the dimensions of a multiplicity that changes as it expands its connections (8). She is able to resist precisely because her body and mind are inseparable and fluid entities. Her violence toward Amit is a bodily act but it cannot be read in isolation; Mukherjee insists that we also understand the mental processes that preface this act. Dimple’s vomit is one of the most powerful tropes in the novel. It is a rejection and a resistance; it is a means of control while paradoxically suggesting a lack of control. Julia Kristeva is concerned with bodily fluids (blood, vomit, saliva, tears, seminal fluid) as "abjections" which necessarily, "partake of both polarized terms [subject/object, inside/outside] but cannot be clearly identified with either" (Grosz 192). Vomiting, then, is the first act that Dimple uses as a means of connecting the mind and body that she has been taught to know only separately. Vomiting is an abjection that signifies Dimple's rhizomatic fluidity; it is the open and changeable path that denies the split between her mind and her body that her social experiences attempt to enforce. Mukherjee devotes large sections of the narrative to this act, bringing the reader into a private space where one is forced to see, smell, and taste Dimple’s defiance. She initially discovers her ability to control her vomit when she is pregnant. At first it is an involuntary act, but she soon takes charge of her body’s rejections: The vomit fascinated her. It was hers; she was locked in the bathroom expelling brownish liquid from her body...In her arrogance, she thrust her fingers deep inside her mouth, once jabbing a squishy organ she supposed was her tonsil, and drew her finger in and out in smooth hard strokes until she collapsed with vomiting (31) Dimple’s vomiting does contain an element of pathos which is somewhat problematic; one might read her only as a victim because her pathetic grasp at power is reduced to the pride she feels in her bodily expulsions. Mukherjee’s text, however, begs the reader to read Dimple carefully. Dimple acts through her body, often with horrible consequences, but she is resisting in the only way that she is able. In New York, as Dimple encounters an increasingly complicated sociocultural matrix, she fights to find a space between her role as a loyal Indian wife and the apparent temptations of the United States. Ina Mullick’s Western feminism asks her to abandon her Bengali self, and Amit asks her to retain it. In the face of these absolutes, Dimple continues to attempt her resistance through her body, but it is often weak and ineffectual: "But instead of the great gush Dimple had hoped for, only a thin trickle was expelled. It gravitated toward the drain, a small slimy pool full of bubbles. She was ashamed of it; it seemed more impersonal than a cooking stain" (150). Mukherjee asks us to read Dimple through her abjections--through both mind and body (not entirely distinct entities for Mukherjee)--in order to understand the murder. We must gauge Dimple's actions through the open and connectable relationships of body and mind. Her inability to vomit "pleasurably" signifies a growing inability to locate a space that is tolerable. Vomiting becomes a way for Dimple to tie her multiple subject positions together: "Vomiting could be pleasurable; thinking of all the bathrooms she had vomited in she felt nostalgic, almost middle-aged" (149). This moment at the kitchen sink occurs when Leni and Ina have fractured her sense of a stable Indian identity. In an interview, Mukherjee admits that Dimple’s movement to the United States means that she begins to ask questions about her oppression; she begins to ask herself questions about her own happiness (Hancock 44). These questions, coupled with Leni and Ina’s challenging presence, leads to Dimple to desire a reconnection and a sense of control. Undoubtedly, Dimple’s act of murder is misguided, but Mukherjee sensitively demonstrates that Dimple has very little choice left. Dimple does not simply break down into a body and mind that are unaware of their connections, rather she begins to operate on several levels of consciousness. Shen Mei Ma interprets Dimple’s condition as schizophrenic, and explores this as a prominent trope in Asian diaspora literatures. She uses R.D. Laing’s classic explanation of schizophrenia as a working definition: The term schizoid refers to an individual the totality of whose experience is split in two main ways: in the first place, there is a rent in his relation with his world, and, in the second, there is a disruption of his relation with himself...Moreover, he does not experience himself as a complete person but rather as ‘split’ in various ways, perhaps a mind more or less tenuously linked to a body, as two or more selves, and so on (Ma 43) Ma analyses this condition (which can be seen, like gender and race, as a socially constructed state of being), as a "defense mechanism" against an unbearable world; the separation in space and memory that the diasporic subject experiences results in a schizophrenic, or divisive, tendency. I agree with Ma's use of Laing's definition of schizophrenia in the sense that this understanding is certainly more useful than Emmanuel Nelson's insistence on Dimple's "madness." Reading Dimple's response with an interest in Deleuze and Guattari's conceptual rhizomes, however, leads me to resist using a definition that is linked to mental illness. This may be a prominent trope in Asian diaspora literature, but it is also necessary, and perhaps more useful, to recognize that Dimple's act of violence and her debatable "madness" are ultimately less important than reading her negotiation as a means of survival and her response as an act of resistance. Many critics interpret the final act of murder as "an ironic twist of Sati, the traditional self-immolation of an Indian wife on the funeral pyre of her husband" (Ma 58). This suggestion draws up Dimple’s teenage desire to be like Sita, "the ideal wife of Hindu legends" who walks through fire for her husband (6). The violence perpetrated against women who naturalize Sita’s tradition is wrenched into an act in which Dimple is able to exercise some control over her fate. The act of murder is woven with the alternate text of industrial/commercial culture in a way that demonstrates Dimple’s desperate negotiation with the options available to her: The knife stabbed the magical circle once, twice, seven times, each time a little harder, until the milk in the bowl of cereal was a pretty pink and the flakes were mushy and would have embarrassed any advertiser, and then she saw the head fall off - but of course it was her imagination because she was not sure anymore what she had seen on TV and what she had seen in the private screen of three A.M. (212-213) The tragedy of this conclusion surely lies in the events that are left unsaid: what is Dimple’s fate and how will society deal with her violent choice? Ma’s article on schizophrenia points to the most likely outcome--Dimple will be declared insane and "treated" for her illness. Yet my reading of this act has attempted to access a careful understanding of how Dimple is constructed and how this can contribute to rethinking her violent response. Dimple's mind is not an insane one; her body is not an uncontrollable, hysterical one. Murder is a choice for Dimple--albeit a choice that is exercised in a limited and oppressive space. "Mixing" is an urgent topic; as globalization and capitalist homogenization make the theorization of diaspora increasingly necessary, it is essential to consider how gendered and raced subject positions are constituted and how they are reproduced within and across geographies. This novel is important because it forces the reader to ask the difficult questions about "mixing" that precede Dimple’s act of spousal violence. I have attempted to address these questions in my discussion of Dimple’s negotiations and her resistance. Much has been written about this novel in terms of Dimple’s "split," but very few critics have tried to examine Dimple’s character in ways that penetrate our limited third person access to her. Mukherjee’s own writing in "An Invisible Woman" suggests the urgency of rethinking characters like Dimple and the particular complexities of immigration for non-English speaking housewives. Mukherjee’s relative position of privilege has given her access to far more choices than Dimple has, but notably, she avoids turning Dimple’s often suicidal violence inward. Instead, Mukherjee shows how the inward is inescapable from the outward: in murdering Amit, the violence Dimple perpetrates is, after all, a rearticulation of the violence from which her limited subject position cannot completely escape. Footnote: In thinking about Dimple's response, it is important to note that, of course, her actions and her words are always conditioned by the position that she has naturalized. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak's "Can the Subaltern Speak?"(1988) argues that the subaltern subject cannot "speak" because no act of resistance occurs that can be separated from the dominant discourse that provides the language and the conceptual categories with which the subaltern voice speaks (Ashcroft et al 1998 217-218).The violence of Dimple's response must be seen as an ironic subversion of a television world that enforces patriarchal norms. References Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin. Key Concepts in Postcolonial Studies. London: Routledge, 1998. Brah, Avtar.Cartographies of Diaspora - Contesting Identities. London: Routledge, 1996. Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus - Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1980. Gedalof, Irene. Against Purity - Rethinking Idenity With Indian and Western Feminisms. London: Routledge, 1999. Grosz, Elizabeth. Volatile Bodies - Toward a Corporeal Feminism. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1994. Ma, Sheng-mei. Immigrant Subjectivities in Asian American and Asian Diaspora Literatures. Albany: State U of NY P, 1998. Mohanty, Chandra Talpade. "Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses." Colonial Discourse and Postcolonial Theory: A Reader. Laura Chrisman and Patrick Williams, eds. NY: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993: 196-220. Mukherjee, Bharati. Wife. Toronto: Penguin, 1975. -- "An Invisible Woman." Saturday Night 1981, 96: 36-40. Nelson, Emmanual S. Writers of the Indian Diaspora - A Bio-Bibliographical Critical Sourcebook.Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1993. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. "Can the Subaltern Speak?" Colonial Discourse and Postcolonial Theory: A Reader. Laura Chrisman and Patrick Williams, eds. NY: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993: 196-220.

A same-but-different dichotomy has recently been encapsulated within the US Food and Drug Administration’s ill-defined concept of “substantial equivalence” (USFDA, FDA). By invoking this concept the genetically modified organism (GMO) industry has escaped the rigors of safety testing that might otherwise apply. The curious concept of “substantial equivalence” grants a presumption of safety to GMO food. This presumption has yet to be earned, and has been used to constrain labelling of both GMO and non-GMO food. It is an idea that well serves corporatism. It enables the claim of difference to secure patent protection, while upholding the contrary claim of sameness to avoid labelling and safety scrutiny. It offers the best of both worlds for corporate food entrepreneurs, and delivers the worst of both worlds to consumers. The term “substantial equivalence” has established its currency within the GMO discourse. As the opportunities for patenting food technologies expand, the GMO recruitment of this concept will likely be a dress rehearsal for the developing debates on the labelling and testing of other techno-foods – including nano-foods and clone-foods. “Substantial Equivalence” “Are the Seven Commandments the same as they used to be, Benjamin?” asks Clover in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. By way of response, Benjamin “read out to her what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now except a single Commandment. It ran: ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS”. After this reductionist revelation, further novel and curious events at Manor Farm, “did not seem strange” (Orwell, ch. X). Equality is a concept at the very core of mathematics, but beyond the domain of logic, equality becomes a hotly contested notion – and the domain of food is no exception. A novel food has a regulatory advantage if it can claim to be the same as an established food – a food that has proven its worth over centuries, perhaps even millennia – and thus does not trigger new, perhaps costly and onerous, testing, compliance, and even new and burdensome regulations. On the other hand, such a novel food has an intellectual property (IP) advantage only in terms of its difference. And thus there is an entrenched dissonance for newly technologised foods, between claiming sameness, and claiming difference. The same/different dilemma is erased, so some would have it, by appeal to the curious new dualist doctrine of “substantial equivalence” whereby sameness and difference are claimed simultaneously, thereby creating a win/win for corporatism, and a loss/loss for consumerism. This ground has been pioneered, and to some extent conquered, by the GMO industry. The conquest has ramifications for other cryptic food technologies, that is technologies that are invisible to the consumer and that are not evident to the consumer other than via labelling. Cryptic technologies pertaining to food include GMOs, pesticides, hormone treatments, irradiation and, most recently, manufactured nano-particles introduced into the food production and delivery stream. Genetic modification of plants was reported as early as 1984 by Horsch et al. The case of Diamond v. Chakrabarty resulted in a US Supreme Court decision that upheld the prior decision of the US Court of Customs and Patent Appeal that “the fact that micro-organisms are alive is without legal significance for purposes of the patent law”, and ruled that the “respondent’s micro-organism plainly qualifies as patentable subject matter”. This was a majority decision of nine judges, with four judges dissenting (Burger). It was this Chakrabarty judgement that has seriously opened the Pandora’s box of GMOs because patenting rights makes GMOs an attractive corporate proposition by offering potentially unique monopoly rights over food. The rear guard action against GMOs has most often focussed on health repercussions (Smith, Genetic), food security issues, and also the potential for corporate malfeasance to hide behind a cloak of secrecy citing commercial confidentiality (Smith, Seeds). Others have tilted at the foundational plank on which the economics of the GMO industry sits: “I suggest that the main concern is that we do not want a single molecule of anything we eat to contribute to, or be patented and owned by, a reckless, ruthless chemical organisation” (Grist 22). The GMO industry exhibits bipolar behaviour, invoking the concept of “substantial difference” to claim patent rights by way of “novelty”, and then claiming “substantial equivalence” when dealing with other regulatory authorities including food, drug and pesticide agencies; a case of “having their cake and eating it too” (Engdahl 8). This is a clever slight-of-rhetoric, laying claim to the best of both worlds for corporations, and the worst of both worlds for consumers. Corporations achieve patent protection and no concomitant specific regulatory oversight; while consumers pay the cost of patent monopolization, and are not necessarily apprised, by way of labelling or otherwise, that they are purchasing and eating GMOs, and thereby financing the GMO industry. The lemma of “substantial equivalence” does not bear close scrutiny. It is a fuzzy concept that lacks a tight testable definition. It is exactly this fuzziness that allows lots of wriggle room to keep GMOs out of rigorous testing regimes. Millstone et al. argue that “substantial equivalence is a pseudo-scientific concept because it is a commercial and political judgement masquerading as if it is scientific. It is moreover, inherently anti-scientific because it was created primarily to provide an excuse for not requiring biochemical or toxicological tests. It therefore serves to discourage and inhibit informative scientific research” (526). “Substantial equivalence” grants GMOs the benefit of the doubt regarding safety, and thereby leaves unexamined the ramifications for human consumer health, for farm labourer and food-processor health, for the welfare of farm animals fed a diet of GMO grain, and for the well-being of the ecosystem, both in general and in its particularities. “Substantial equivalence” was introduced into the food discourse by an Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) report: “safety evaluation of foods derived by modern biotechnology: concepts and principles”. It is from this document that the ongoing mantra of assumed safety of GMOs derives: “modern biotechnology … does not inherently lead to foods that are less safe … . Therefore evaluation of foods and food components obtained from organisms developed by the application of the newer techniques does not necessitate a fundamental change in established principles, nor does it require a different standard of safety” (OECD, “Safety” 10). This was at the time, and remains, an act of faith, a pro-corporatist and a post-cautionary approach. The OECD motto reveals where their priorities lean: “for a better world economy” (OECD, “Better”). The term “substantial equivalence” was preceded by the 1992 USFDA concept of “substantial similarity” (Levidow, Murphy and Carr) and was adopted from a prior usage by the US Food and Drug Agency (USFDA) where it was used pertaining to medical devices (Miller). Even GMO proponents accept that “Substantial equivalence is not intended to be a scientific formulation; it is a conceptual tool for food producers and government regulators” (Miller 1043). And there’s the rub – there is no scientific definition of “substantial equivalence”, no scientific test of proof of concept, and nor is there likely to be, since this is a ‘spinmeister’ term. And yet this is the cornerstone on which rests the presumption of safety of GMOs. Absence of evidence is taken to be evidence of absence. History suggests that this is a fraught presumption. By way of contrast, the patenting of GMOs depends on the antithesis of assumed ‘sameness’. Patenting rests on proven, scrutinised, challengeable and robust tests of difference and novelty. Lightfoot et al. report that transgenic plants exhibit “unexpected changes [that] challenge the usual assumptions of GMO equivalence and suggest genomic, proteomic and metanomic characterization of transgenics is advisable” (1). GMO Milk and Contested Labelling Pesticide company Monsanto markets the genetically engineered hormone rBST (recombinant Bovine Somatotropin; also known as: rbST; rBGH, recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone; and the brand name Prosilac) to dairy farmers who inject it into their cows to increase milk production. This product is not approved for use in many jurisdictions, including Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Japan. Even Monsanto accepts that rBST leads to mastitis (inflammation and pus in the udder) and other “cow health problems”, however, it maintains that “these problems did not occur at rates that would prohibit the use of Prosilac” (Monsanto). A European Union study identified an extensive list of health concerns of rBST use (European Commission). The US Dairy Export Council however entertain no doubt. In their background document they ask “is milk from cows treated with rBST safe?” and answer “Absolutely” (USDEC). Meanwhile, Monsanto’s website raises and answers the question: “Is the milk from cows treated with rbST any different from milk from untreated cows? No” (Monsanto). Injecting cows with genetically modified hormones to boost their milk production remains a contested practice, banned in many countries. It is the claimed equivalence that has kept consumers of US dairy products in the dark, shielded rBST dairy farmers from having to declare that their milk production is GMO-enhanced, and has inhibited non-GMO producers from declaring their milk as non-GMO, non rBST, or not hormone enhanced. This is a battle that has simmered, and sometimes raged, for a decade in the US. Finally there is a modest victory for consumers: the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture (PDA) requires all labels used on milk products to be approved in advance by the department. The standard issued in October 2007 (PDA, “Standards”) signalled to producers that any milk labels claiming rBST-free status would be rejected. This advice was rescinded in January 2008 with new, specific, department-approved textual constructions allowed, and ensuring that any “no rBST” style claim was paired with a PDA-prescribed disclaimer (PDA, “Revised Standards”). However, parsimonious labelling is prohibited: No labeling may contain references such as ‘No Hormones’, ‘Hormone Free’, ‘Free of Hormones’, ‘No BST’, ‘Free of BST’, ‘BST Free’,’No added BST’, or any statement which indicates, implies or could be construed to mean that no natural bovine somatotropin (BST) or synthetic bovine somatotropin (rBST) are contained in or added to the product. (PDA, “Revised Standards” 3) Difference claims are prohibited: In no instance shall any label state or imply that milk from cows not treated with recombinant bovine somatotropin (rBST, rbST, RBST or rbst) differs in composition from milk or products made with milk from treated cows, or that rBST is not contained in or added to the product. If a product is represented as, or intended to be represented to consumers as, containing or produced from milk from cows not treated with rBST any labeling information must convey only a difference in farming practices or dairy herd management methods. (PDA, “Revised Standards” 3) The PDA-approved labelling text for non-GMO dairy farmers is specified as follows: ‘From cows not treated with rBST. No significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rBST-treated and non-rBST-treated cows’ or a substantial equivalent. Hereinafter, the first sentence shall be referred to as the ‘Claim’, and the second sentence shall be referred to as the ‘Disclaimer’. (PDA, “Revised Standards” 4) It is onto the non-GMO dairy farmer alone, that the costs of compliance fall. These costs include label preparation and approval, proving non-usage of GMOs, and of creating and maintaining an audit trail. In nearby Ohio a similar consumer versus corporatist pantomime is playing out. This time with the Ohio Department of Agriculture (ODA) calling the shots, and again serving the GMO industry. The ODA prescribed text allowed to non-GMO dairy farmers is “from cows not supplemented with rbST” and this is to be conjoined with the mandatory disclaimer “no significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rbST-supplemented and non-rbST supplemented cows” (Curet). These are “emergency rules”: they apply for 90 days, and are proposed as permanent. Once again, the onus is on the non-GMO dairy farmers to document and prove their claims. GMO dairy farmers face no such governmental requirements, including no disclosure requirement, and thus an asymmetric regulatory impost is placed on the non-GMO farmer which opens up new opportunities for administrative demands and technocratic harassment. Levidow et al. argue, somewhat Eurocentrically, that from its 1990s adoption “as the basis for a harmonized science-based approach to risk assessment” (26) the concept of “substantial equivalence” has “been recast in at least three ways” (58). It is true that the GMO debate has evolved differently in the US and Europe, and with other jurisdictions usually adopting intermediate positions, yet the concept persists. Levidow et al. nominate their three recastings as: firstly an “implicit redefinition” by the appending of “extra phrases in official documents”; secondly, “it has been reinterpreted, as risk assessment processes have … required more evidence of safety than before, especially in Europe”; and thirdly, “it has been demoted in the European Union regulatory procedures so that it can no longer be used to justify the claim that a risk assessment is unnecessary” (58). Romeis et al. have proposed a decision tree approach to GMO risks based on cascading tiers of risk assessment. However what remains is that the defects of the concept of “substantial equivalence” persist. Schauzu identified that: such decisions are a matter of “opinion”; that there is “no clear definition of the term ‘substantial’”; that because genetic modification “is aimed at introducing new traits into organisms, the result will always be a different combination of genes and proteins”; and that “there is no general checklist that could be followed by those who are responsible for allowing a product to be placed on the market” (2). Benchmark for Further Food Novelties? The discourse, contestation, and debate about “substantial equivalence” have largely focussed on the introduction of GMOs into food production processes. GM can best be regarded as the test case, and proof of concept, for establishing “substantial equivalence” as a benchmark for evaluating new and forthcoming food technologies. This is of concern, because the concept of “substantial equivalence” is scientific hokum, and yet its persistence, even entrenchment, within regulatory agencies may be a harbinger of forthcoming same-but-different debates for nanotechnology and other future bioengineering. The appeal of “substantial equivalence” has been a brake on the creation of GMO-specific regulations and on rigorous GMO testing. The food nanotechnology industry can be expected to look to the precedent of the GMO debate to head off specific nano-regulations and nano-testing. As cloning becomes economically viable, then this may be another wave of food innovation that muddies the regulatory waters with the confused – and ultimately self-contradictory – concept of “substantial equivalence”. Nanotechnology engineers particles in the size range 1 to 100 nanometres – a nanometre is one billionth of a metre. This is interesting for manufacturers because at this size chemicals behave differently, or as the Australian Office of Nanotechnology expresses it, “new functionalities are obtained” (AON). Globally, government expenditure on nanotechnology research reached US$4.6 billion in 2006 (Roco 3.12). While there are now many patents (ETC Group; Roco), regulation specific to nanoparticles is lacking (Bowman and Hodge; Miller and Senjen). The USFDA advises that nano-manufacturers “must show a reasonable assurance of safety … or substantial equivalence” (FDA). A recent inventory of nano-products already on the market identified 580 products. Of these 11.4% were categorised as “Food and Beverage” (WWICS). This is at a time when public confidence in regulatory bodies is declining (HRA). In an Australian consumer survey on nanotechnology, 65% of respondents indicated they were concerned about “unknown and long term side effects”, and 71% agreed that it is important “to know if products are made with nanotechnology” (MARS 22). Cloned animals are currently more expensive to produce than traditional animal progeny. In the course of 678 pages, the USFDA Animal Cloning: A Draft Risk Assessment has not a single mention of “substantial equivalence”. However the Federation of Animal Science Societies (FASS) in its single page “Statement in Support of USFDA’s Risk Assessment Conclusion That Food from Cloned Animals Is Safe for Human Consumption” states that “FASS endorses the use of this comparative evaluation process as the foundation of establishing substantial equivalence of any food being evaluated. It must be emphasized that it is the food product itself that should be the focus of the evaluation rather than the technology used to generate cloned animals” (FASS 1). Contrary to the FASS derogation of the importance of process in food production, for consumers both the process and provenance of production is an important and integral aspect of a food product’s value and identity. Some consumers will legitimately insist that their Kalamata olives are from Greece, or their balsamic vinegar is from Modena. It was the British public’s growing awareness that their sugar was being produced by slave labour that enabled the boycotting of the product, and ultimately the outlawing of slavery (Hochschild). When consumers boycott Nestle, because of past or present marketing practices, or boycott produce of USA because of, for example, US foreign policy or animal welfare concerns, they are distinguishing the food based on the narrative of the food, the production process and/or production context which are a part of the identity of the food. Consumers attribute value to food based on production process and provenance information (Paull). Products produced by slave labour, by child labour, by political prisoners, by means of torture, theft, immoral, unethical or unsustainable practices are different from their alternatives. The process of production is a part of the identity of a product and consumers are increasingly interested in food narrative. It requires vigilance to ensure that these narratives are delivered with the product to the consumer, and are neither lost nor suppressed. Throughout the GM debate, the organic sector has successfully skirted the “substantial equivalence” debate by excluding GMOs from the certified organic food production process. This GMO-exclusion from the organic food stream is the one reprieve available to consumers worldwide who are keen to avoid GMOs in their diet. The organic industry carries the expectation of providing food produced without artificial pesticides and fertilizers, and by extension, without GMOs. Most recently, the Soil Association, the leading organic certifier in the UK, claims to be the first organisation in the world to exclude manufactured nonoparticles from their products (Soil Association). There has been the call that engineered nanoparticles be excluded from organic standards worldwide, given that there is no mandatory safety testing and no compulsory labelling in place (Paull and Lyons). The twisted rhetoric of oxymorons does not make the ideal foundation for policy. Setting food policy on the shifting sands of “substantial equivalence” seems foolhardy when we consider the potentially profound ramifications of globally mass marketing a dysfunctional food. If there is a 2×2 matrix of terms – “substantial equivalence”, substantial difference, insubstantial equivalence, insubstantial difference – while only one corner of this matrix is engaged for food policy, and while the elements remain matters of opinion rather than being testable by science, or by some other regime, then the public is the dupe, and potentially the victim. “Substantial equivalence” has served the GMO corporates well and the public poorly, and this asymmetry is slated to escalate if nano-food and clone-food are also folded into the “substantial equivalence” paradigm. Only in Orwellian Newspeak is war peace, or is same different. It is time to jettison the pseudo-scientific doctrine of “substantial equivalence”, as a convenient oxymoron, and embrace full disclosure of provenance, process and difference, so that consumers are not collateral in a continuing asymmetric knowledge war. References Australian Office of Nanotechnology (AON). Department of Industry, Tourism and Resources (DITR) 6 Aug. 2007. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.innovation.gov.au/Section/Innovation/Pages/ AustralianOfficeofNanotechnology.aspx >.Bowman, Diana, and Graeme Hodge. “A Small Matter of Regulation: An International Review of Nanotechnology Regulation.” Columbia Science and Technology Law Review 8 (2007): 1-32.Burger, Warren. “Sidney A. Diamond, Commissioner of Patents and Trademarks v. Ananda M. Chakrabarty, et al.” Supreme Court of the United States, decided 16 June 1980. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://caselaw.lp.findlaw.com/cgi-bin/getcase.pl?court=US&vol=447&invol=303 >.Curet, Monique. “New Rules Allow Dairy-Product Labels to Include Hormone Info.” The Columbus Dispatch 7 Feb. 2008. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.dispatch.com/live/content/business/stories/2008/02/07/dairy.html >.Engdahl, F. William. Seeds of Destruction. Montréal: Global Research, 2007.ETC Group. Down on the Farm: The Impact of Nano-Scale Technologies on Food and Agriculture. Ottawa: Action Group on Erosion, Technology and Conservation, November, 2004. European Commission. Report on Public Health Aspects of the Use of Bovine Somatotropin. Brussels: European Commission, 15-16 March 1999.Federation of Animal Science Societies (FASS). Statement in Support of FDA’s Risk Assessment Conclusion That Cloned Animals Are Safe for Human Consumption. 2007. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.fass.org/page.asp?pageID=191 >.Grist, Stuart. “True Threats to Reason.” New Scientist 197.2643 (16 Feb. 2008): 22-23.Hochschild, Adam. Bury the Chains: The British Struggle to Abolish Slavery. London: Pan Books, 2006.Horsch, Robert, Robert Fraley, Stephen Rogers, Patricia Sanders, Alan Lloyd, and Nancy Hoffman. “Inheritance of Functional Foreign Genes in Plants.” Science 223 (1984): 496-498.HRA. Awareness of and Attitudes toward Nanotechnology and Federal Regulatory Agencies: A Report of Findings. Washington: Peter D. Hart Research Associates, 25 Sep. 2007.Levidow, Les, Joseph Murphy, and Susan Carr. “Recasting ‘Substantial Equivalence’: Transatlantic Governance of GM Food.” Science, Technology, and Human Values 32.1 (Jan. 2007): 26-64.Lightfoot, David, Rajsree Mungur, Rafiqa Ameziane, Anthony Glass, and Karen Berhard. “Transgenic Manipulation of C and N Metabolism: Stretching the GMO Equivalence.” American Society of Plant Biologists Conference: Plant Biology, 2000.MARS. “Final Report: Australian Community Attitudes Held about Nanotechnology – Trends 2005-2007.” Report prepared for Department of Industry, Tourism and Resources (DITR). Miranda, NSW: Market Attitude Research Services, 12 June 2007.Miller, Georgia, and Rye Senjen. “Out of the Laboratory and on to Our Plates: Nanotechnology in Food and Agriculture.” Friends of the Earth, 2008. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://nano.foe.org.au/node/220 >.Miller, Henry. “Substantial Equivalence: Its Uses and Abuses.” Nature Biotechnology 17 (7 Nov. 1999): 1042-1043.Millstone, Erik, Eric Brunner, and Sue Mayer. “Beyond ‘Substantial Equivalence’.” Nature 401 (7 Oct. 1999): 525-526.Monsanto. “Posilac, Bovine Somatotropin by Monsanto: Questions and Answers about bST from the United States Food and Drug Administration.” 2007. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.monsantodairy.com/faqs/fda_safety.html >.Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). “For a Better World Economy.” Paris: OECD, 2008. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.oecd.org/ >.———. “Safety Evaluation of Foods Derived by Modern Biotechnology: Concepts and Principles.” Paris: OECD, 1993.Orwell, George. Animal Farm. Adelaide: ebooks@Adelaide, 2004 (1945). 30 Apr. 2008 < http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/o/orwell/george >.Paull, John. “Provenance, Purity and Price Premiums: Consumer Valuations of Organic and Place-of-Origin Food Labelling.” Research Masters thesis, University of Tasmania, Hobart, 2006. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://eprints.utas.edu.au/690/ >.Paull, John, and Kristen Lyons. “Nanotechnology: The Next Challenge for Organics.” Journal of Organic Systems (in press).Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture (PDA). “Revised Standards and Procedure for Approval of Proposed Labeling of Fluid Milk.” Milk Labeling Standards (2.0.1.17.08). Bureau of Food Safety and Laboratory Services, Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture, 17 Jan. 2008. ———. “Standards and Procedure for Approval of Proposed Labeling of Fluid Milk, Milk Products and Manufactured Dairy Products.” Milk Labeling Standards (2.0.1.17.08). Bureau of Food Safety and Laboratory Services, Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture, 22 Oct. 2007.Roco, Mihail. “National Nanotechnology Initiative – Past, Present, Future.” In William Goddard, Donald Brenner, Sergy Lyshevski and Gerald Iafrate, eds. Handbook of Nanoscience, Engineering and Technology. 2nd ed. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press, 2007.Romeis, Jorg, Detlef Bartsch, Franz Bigler, Marco Candolfi, Marco Gielkins, et al. “Assessment of Risk of Insect-Resistant Transgenic Crops to Nontarget Arthropods.” Nature Biotechnology 26.2 (Feb. 2008): 203-208.Schauzu, Marianna. “The Concept of Substantial Equivalence in Safety Assessment of Food Derived from Genetically Modified Organisms.” AgBiotechNet 2 (Apr. 2000): 1-4.Soil Association. “Soil Association First Organisation in the World to Ban Nanoparticles – Potentially Toxic Beauty Products That Get Right under Your Skin.” London: Soil Association, 17 Jan. 2008. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.soilassociation.org/web/sa/saweb.nsf/848d689047 cb466780256a6b00298980/42308d944a3088a6802573d100351790!OpenDocument >.Smith, Jeffrey. Genetic Roulette: The Documented Health Risks of Genetically Engineered Foods. Fairfield, Iowa: Yes! Books, 2007.———. Seeds of Deception. Melbourne: Scribe, 2004.U.S. Dairy Export Council (USDEC). Bovine Somatotropin (BST) Backgrounder. Arlington, VA: U.S. Dairy Export Council, 2006.U.S. Food and Drug Administration (USFDA). Animal Cloning: A Draft Risk Assessment. Rockville, MD: Center for Veterinary Medicine, U.S. Food and Drug Administration, 28 Dec. 2006.———. FDA and Nanotechnology Products. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, U.S. Food and Drug Administration, 2008. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.fda.gov/nanotechnology/faqs.html >.Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars (WWICS). “A Nanotechnology Consumer Products Inventory.” Data set as at Sep. 2007. Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Project on Emerging Technologies, Sep. 2007. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.nanotechproject.org/inventories/consumer >.

The Big Pineapple, Big Banana, the Big Potato , Australia positively groans under the weight of big things littered along the highway like jokes awaiting their punch-lines. These commercial road-side enterprises are a constant source of bemusement among Australians and this paper seeks to explore the attraction of the gargantuan and why Australians consider big things to be so funny. Discovering that big things not only give form to national icons but also celebrate the nation's tendency to larrikinism and the associated sardonic, ironic and anti-establishment humour, we are left to consider the role big things may play in the Australian national psyche and how their function as low art turns their collectivity into some strange, impulsive attempt at establishing a system of totems that comes to terms with this big land and its contested ownership. Historically big things like the Colossus of Rhodes, the Pyramids or the Great Wall of China have been physical manifestations of empire and dominion. No laughing matter. But in the United States from the 1920s, particularly in Southern California, we begin to see a profusion of "roadside vernacular architecture" including a big coffee percolator, a big pig, a big corn ear, a big teapot, a big Spanish dancer, a big duck, a big fish and many big hot dogs and big chilli bowls (Heimann and Georges). "Imaginana" is another way to conceptualise these strange forms of cultural production that replicate familiar, safe everyday items (Amdur 12). Early big things, particularly in the United States, had a clearly pragmatic function: to lure car-bound consumers off the highways and into local commercial enterprises with simple, one-to-one signification bringing function to form and high art to low purposes (Gebhard 14). The aim of these big things was to shock, startle and amuse the passing motorist and they took on a humourous edge due to the incongruity of scale and the surreal surprise of reality warping out of all proportion. While big things have a commercial purpose they achieve that purpose because they can be read playfully, always reminding us of the paradox they entail: they act dualistically as both the media and the message, both the referent and the real (Barcan 38). Reading big things as jokes in Freudian terms, we see how they may be eruptions of the unconscious into the mundane (Krahn 158). The first big thing in Australia was the Big Banana, built in Coffs Harbour by an American entomologist, John Landi (Negus). From that time on Australia has had a quirky relationship with big things. The banana is innately funny. The bent phallus, the unique shape, the skin as the standard slapstick cue to pratfall; everything about the banana is an invitation to laugh. Soon the banana was emulated by other funny produce such as the pineapple, the prawn and the lobster and within a decade monstrous agricultural products proliferated beside Australian highways regardless of their innate humour. They were joined by a variety of iconic figures, usually with an obvious connection such as the Big Penguin at the town of Penguin. Big things reinforce notions of national and regional identity: on the national level Australia is portrayed as a land of plenty, a fact emphasized by the sheer vastness of these creations; regionally, these totems function as identity markers and place makers (Barcan 31). Many big things were constructed by migrants and thus can be interpreted as optimistic acts of home making in the vast emptiness of the continent (Barcan 36). There is concern that big things obscure, or even obliterate, the history of regions and the whole continent: the incarcerations, land-grabbing, labour conflicts, corruption and failure. Instead it could be argued that big thing function to both signpost white history and subvert it at the same time: the Big Ned Kelly calling for revolution, the big goldminer looking ever expectant and ever disappointed, the Big Captain Cook in Cairns giving what appears to be a Nazi salute, all point to a larrikin refusal to take the brief and minor white history too seriously. The Australian larrikin sense of humour is mischievous, depreciatory and anti-authoritarian. This sense of humour arises from certain characteristics of the Australian "legend" identified by Ward such as scepticism, egalitarianism and derision towards affectation that are evident in larrikins' confrontations with authority, elaborate practical jokes on each other and the community at large and a "propensity for vulgarising the arts" (Reekie 97). This larrikinism is evident in the way dangerous nuisances (the big crocodile, the big red back spider) and mundane objects (the big jam tin, the big stubby holder, the big mower) are given the same treatment as national icons. There is also the variability of effort and attention to detail, where Aussie "ingenuity" and bush carpentry have been used to turn a good idea into reality in the shortest possible time to produce a very impressionist big koala or just the blob of concrete that is the big strawberry. Ignatius Jones explains: "get your local surfboard maker to cast you a giant prawn in fibreglass and you end up with the cicada that ate Yamba" (Negus). The early documentation of Australian big things was also carried out in a larrikin spirit (Amdur) including the claim that big things are part of an alien conspiracy to make us feel small (Stockwell). Every big thing requires a visionary, a postmodern artist with the passion and the obsession to realise their vision. It is a form of low art, a form of trash culture. But to many who do not frequent galleries and museums, low art is their available form of art and thus becomes their actual art. City planners and the upper middle class tend to denigrate these structures so at odds with their images of beautiful cities, so blatantly bastions of commercialism and so big that they run the risk of obscuring and obliterating real art (Gerbhard 25). Big things are criticised as ugly, kitsch, tacky and giving a wrong impression of a town. There are further concerns that big things allow the tourist to learn without knowing by presenting only one side of the story (Cross 51) and that they make observers minuscule in their presence, dominating the landscape and the attention of tourists (Krahn 165). But looking beyond the aesthetics of the individual instance it becomes apparent that big things also function as a network (Barcan 32), inviting the tourist along the highway of "the arrested fairground (in the) oxymoron of movement" (Krahn 157), offering the hyperreal adventure of collecting the experience, and small mementos, of more big things (Eco 1986). Big things are carnival, inverting social rules, promising some weird utopia (Krahn 171). As a collectivity, the larger psycho-political and metaphysical roles of big things become apparent. For Australia, the crucial question big things raise is the nature of our relationship with the land. Most of white Australia, huddled in cities on the seaboard, has a fear of the empty space at the heart of the continent. Big things are an attempt to assert that the settlers can match the dimensions of the land as, community by community, we write ourselves upon the land. The problem that big things highlight rather than obscure, the problem that can never be sublimated, that constantly erupts from the collective unconscious is that the ownership of the land remains contested, sometimes in the courts, sometimes in the streets, but most importantly in the hearts and dreams of the whole Australian people. All this land once had its own indigenous stories and big things may be seen as a pathetic attempt to replace, re-define and retell those stories by the interlopers now living on the land. "...Big things work allegorically, effacing, most notably, Aboriginal definitions of regional, tribal, spiritual, linguistic or other space" (Barcan 37). There is a sense in which big things are white trash barely obscuring black deaths (Nyoongah 12-14). But like a student's job-work over an old master's self portrait, big things invite us to peek through to the real totems of this land, totems enshrined in the creation myths of the indigenous dreaming. This is big things' contribution to the reconciliation process, to remind us of the fragile hold of white Australia on the land and to demand respect for the stories big things seek to displace. And that is the real big thing for white Australia in the reconciliation process, to accept these stories as our own so the land owns us. This is a much bigger leap than just saying sorry but in some strange way it has already commenced in the massive, mega-fauna that even now are rising from the land like the harbingers of a new dreamtime. A number of authors complain that, intentionally or otherwise, big things exclude indigenous flora and fauna and suggest that this points to a denial of history (Amdur 13, Barcan 36). But in recent years there has been a flood of big indigenous icons, many owned by indigenous corporations: big koalas, big kangaroos, big crocodiles, big bunyips and big barramundi. There is still the potential for indigenous artists to turn the joke around by creating big ancestral beings including rainbow serpents and the like. As Krahn (163) says: "I fear there must have been a Big Aboriginal Elder somewhere, gazing wistfully from the edge of town. But why a chicken?" Works Cited Amdur, Mark. It Really Is A Big Country . Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1981. Barcan, Ruth. "Big Things: Consumer Totemism and Serial Monumentality." Linq 23.2 (1996): 31-39. Cane Toad Collective. "Big Things." Cane Toad Times 1 1983: 18-23. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyperreality. San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1986. Gebhard, David. "Introduction." California Crazy: Roadside Vernacular Architecture . Eds. Jim Heimann and Rip Georges. San Francisco: Chronicle, 1985. 11-25. Heimann, Jim and Rip Georges. California Crazy: Roadside Vernacular Architecture . San Francisco: Chronicle, 1985. Krahn, Uli "The Arrested Fairground, or, Big Things as Oxymoron of Movement." Antithesis 13 (2002): 157-176. Negus, George, "Big Things", New Dimensions (In Time) . 21 July 2003. 26 September 2003 < http://www.abc.net.au/dimensions/dimensions_in_time/Transcripts/2003_default.htm >. Nyoongah, Janine Little. "'Unsinkable' Big Things: Spectacle, Race, and Class through Elvis, Titanic, O.J. and Sumo." Overland 148 (1997): 12-15. Reekie, Gail. "Nineteenth-Century Urbanization." Australian Studies: A Survey. Ed. James Walter. Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989. Stockwell, Stephen. "Cairns Collossi." Cane Toad Times 2 1984: 21. Ward, Russel. The Australian Legend . Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989. Links http://members.ozemail.com.au/~arundell/bigthing.htm http://www.alphalink.com.au/~richardb/page4.htm http://www.general.uwa.edu.au/u/rpinna/big/big_things_intro.html http://www.bigthings.com.au/ http://www.alphalink.com.au/~richardb/page4.htm Citation reference for this article MLA Style Stockwell, Stephen & Carlisle, Bethany. "Big Things" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0311/6-stockwell-carlisle-big-things.php>. APA Style Stockwell, S. & Carlisle, B. (2003, Nov 10). Big Things. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0311/6-stockwell-carlisle-big-things.php>

Introduction In 2017, 250 Indigenous delegates from across the country convened at the National Constitution Convention at Uluru to discuss a strategy towards the implementation of constitutional reform and recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples (Referendum Council). Informed by community consultations arising out of 12 regional dialogues conducted by the government appointed Referendum Council, the resulting Uluru Statement from the Heart was unlike any constitutional reform previously proposed (Appleby & Synot). Within the Statement, the delegation outlined that to build a more equitable and reconciled nation, an enshrined Voice to Parliament was needed. Such a voice would embed Indigenous participation in parliamentary dialogues and debates while facilitating further discussion pertaining to truth telling and negotiating a Treaty between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples. The reforms proposed are based on the collective input of Indigenous communities that were expressed in good faith during the consultation process. Arising out of a government appointed and funded initiative that directly sought Indigenous perspectives on constitutional reform, the trust and good faith invested by Indigenous people was quickly shut down when the Prime Minster, Malcolm Turnbull, rejected the reforms without parliamentary debate or taking them to the people via a referendum (Wahlquist Indigenous Voice Proposal; Appleby and McKinnon). In this article, we argue that through its dismissal the government treated the Uluru Statement from the Heart as a passing phase or mere “thought bubble” that was envisioned to disappear as quickly as it emerged. The Uluru Statement is a gift to the nation. One that genuinely offers new ways of envisioning and enacting reconciliation through equitable relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous populations. Indigenous voices lie at the heart of reconciliation but require constitutional enshrinement to ensure that Indigenous peoples and cultures are represented across all levels of government. Filter Bubbles of Distortion Constitutional change is often spoken of by politicians, its critics, and within the media as something unachievable. For example, in 2017, before even reading the accompanying report, MP Barnaby Joyce (in Fergus) publicly denounced the Uluru Statement as “unwinnable” and not “saleable”. He stated that “if you overreach in politics and ask for something that will not be supported by the Australian people such as another chamber in politics or something that sort of sits above or beside the Senate, that idea just won't fly”. Criticisms such as these are laced with paternalistic rhetoric that suggests its potential defeat at a referendum would be counterproductive and “self-defeating”, meaning that the proposed changes should be rejected for a more digestible version, ultimately saving the movement from itself. While efforts to communicate the necessity of the proposed reforms continues, presumptions that it does not have public support is simply unfounded. The Centre for Governance and Public Policy shows that 71 per cent of the public support constitutional recognition of Indigenous Australians. Furthermore, an online survey conducted by Cox Inall Ridgeway found that the majority of those surveyed supported constitutional reform to curb racism; remove section 25 and references to race; establish an Indigenous Voice to Parliament; and formally recognise Indigenous peoples through a statement of acknowledgment (Referendum Council). In fact, public support for constitutional reform is growing, with Reconciliation Australia’s reconciliation barometer survey showing an increase from 77 per cent in 2018 to 88 per cent in 2020 (Reconciliation Australia). Media – whether news, social, databases, or search engines – undoubtedly shape the lens through which people come to encounter and understand the world. The information a person receives can be the result of what Eli Pariser has described as “filter bubbles”, in which digital algorithms determine what perspectives, outlooks, and sources of information are considered important, and those that are readily accessible. Misinformation towards constitutional reform, such as that commonly circulated within mainstream and social media and propelled by high profile voices, further creates what neuroscientist Don Vaughn calls “reinforcement bubbles” (Rose Gould). This propagates particular views and stunts informed debate. Despite public support, the reforms proposed in the Uluru Statement continue to be distorted within public and political discourses, with the media used as a means to spread misinformation that equates an Indigenous Voice to Parliament to the establishment of a new “third chamber” (Wahlquist ‘Barnaby’; Karp). In a 2018 interview, PM Scott Morrison suggested that advocates and commentators in favour of constitutional reform were engaging in spin by claiming that a Voice did not function as a third chamber (Prime Minister of Australia). Morrison claimed, “people can dress it up any way they like but I think two chambers is enough”. After a decade of consultative work, eight government reports and inquiries, and countless publications and commentaries, the Uluru Statement continues to be played down as if it were a mere thought bubble, a convoluted work in progress that is in need of refinement. In the same interview, Morrison went on to say that the proposal as it stands now is “unworkable”. Throughout the ongoing movement towards constitutional reform, extensive effort has been invested into ensuring that the reforms proposed are achievable and practical. The Uluru Statement from the Heart represents the culmination of decades of work and proposes clear, concise, and relatively minimal constitutional changes that would translate to potentially significant outcomes for Indigenous Australians (Fredericks & Bradfield). International examples demonstrate how such reforms can translate into parliamentary and governing structures. The Treaty of Waitangi (Palmer) for example seeks to inform Māori and Pākehā (non-Maori) relationships in New Zealand/Aotearoa, whilst designated “Māori Seats” ensure Indigenous representation in parliament (Webster & Cheyne). More recently, 17 of 155 seats were reserved for Indigenous delegates as Chile re-writes its own constitution (Bartlett; Reuters). Indigenous communities and its leaders are more than aware of the necessity of working within the realms of possibility and the need to exhibit caution when presenting such reforms to the public. An expert panel on constitutional reform (Dodson 73), before the conception of the Uluru Statement, acknowledged this, stating “any proposal relating to constitutional recognition of the sovereign status of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples would be highly contested by many Australians, and likely to jeopardise broad public support for the Panel’s recommendations”. As outlined in the Joint Select Committee’s final report on Constitutional Recognition relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples (Referendum Council), the Voice to parliament would have no veto powers over parliamentary votes or decisions. It operates as a non-binding advisory body that remains external to parliamentary processes. Peak organisations such as the Law Council of Australia (Dolar) reiterate the fact that the proposed reforms are for a voice to Parliament rather than a voice in Parliament. Although not binding, the Voice should not be dismissed as symbolic or something that may be easily circumvented. Its effectiveness lies in its ability to place parliament in a position where they are forced to confront and address Indigenous questions, concerns, opinions, and suggestions within debates before decisions are made. Bursting the ‘Self-Referential Bubble’ Indigenous affairs continue to be one of the few areas where a rhetoric of bipartisan agreement is continuously referenced by both major parties. Disagreement, debate, and conflict is often avoided as governments seek to portray an image of unity, and in doing so, circumvent accusations of turning Indigenous peoples into the subjects of political point scoring. Within parliamentary debates, there is an understandable reservation and discomfort associated with discussions about what is often seen as an Indigenous “other” (Moreton-Robinson) and the policies that a predominantly white government enact over their lives. Yet, it is through rigorous, open, and informed debate that policies may be developed, challenged, and reformed. Although bipartisanship can portray an image of a united front in addressing a so-called “Indigenous problem”, it also stunts the conception of effective and culturally responsive policy. In other words, it often overlooks Indigenous voices. Whilst education and cultural competency plays a significant role within the reconciliation process, the most pressing obstacle is not necessarily non-Indigenous people’s inability to fully comprehend Indigenous lives and socio-cultural understandings. Even within an ideal world where non-Indigenous peoples attain a thorough understanding of Indigenous cultures, they will never truly comprehend what it means to be Indigenous (Fanon; de Sousa Santos). For non-Indigenous peoples, accepting one’s own limitations in fully comprehending Indigenous ontologies – and avoiding filling such gaps with one’s own interpretations and preconceptions – is a necessary component of decolonisation and the movement towards reconciliation (Grosfoguel; Mignolo). As parliament continues to be dominated by non-Indigenous representatives, structural changes are necessary to ensure that Indigenous voices are adequality represented. The structural reforms not only empower Indigenous voices through their inclusion within the parliamentary process but alleviates some of the pressures that arise out of non-Indigenous people having to make decisions in attempts to solve so-called Indigenous “problems”. Government response to constitutional reform, however, is ridden with symbolic piecemeal offerings that equate recognition to a form of acknowledgment without the structural changes necessary to protect and enshrine Indigenous Voices and parliamentary participation. Davis and her colleagues (Davis et al. “The Uluru Statement”) note how the Referendum Council’s recommendations were rejected by the then minister of Indigenous affairs Nigel Scullion on account that it privileged Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voices. They note that, until the Referendum Council's report, the nation had no real assessment of what communities wanted. Yet by all accounts, the government had spent too much time talking to elites who have regular access to them and purport to speak on the mob's behalf. If he [Scullion] got the sense constitutional symbolism and minimalism was going to fly, then it says a lot about the self-referential bubble in which the Canberra elites live. The Uluru Statement from the Heart stands as testament to Indigenous people’s refusal to be the passive recipients of the decisions of the non-Indigenous political elite. As suggested, “symbolism and minimalism was not going to fly”. Ken Wyatt, Scullion’s replacement, reiterated the importance of co-design, the limitations of government bureaucracy, and the necessity of moving beyond the “Canberra bubble”. Wyatt stated that the Voice is saying clearly that government and the bureaucracy does not know best. It can not be a Canberra-designed approach in the bubble of Canberra. We have to co-design with Aboriginal communities in the same way that we do with state and territory governments and the corporate sector. The Voice would be the mechanism through which Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander interests and perspectives may be strategically placed within parliamentary dialogues. Despite accusations of it operating as a “third chamber”, Indigenous representatives have no interest in functioning in a similar manner to a political party. The language associated with our current parliamentary system demonstrates the constrictive nature of political debate. Ministers are expected to “toe the party line”, “crossing the floor” is presented as an act of defiance, and members must be granted permission to enter a “conscience vote”. An Indigenous Voice to Parliament would be an advisory body that works alongside, but remains external to political ideologies. Their priority is to seek and implement the best outcome for their communities. Negotiations would be fluid, with no floor to cross, whilst a conscience vote would be reflected in every perspective gifted to the parliament. In the 2020 Australia and the World Annual Lecture, Pat Turner described the Voice’s co-design process as convoluted and a continuing example of the government’s neglect to hear and respond to Indigenous peoples’ interests. In the address, Turner points to the Coalition of the Peaks as an exemplar of how co-design negotiations may be facilitated by and through organisations entirely formed and run by Indigenous peoples. The Coalition of the Peaks comprises of fifty Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community-controlled peak organisations and was established to address concerns relating to closing the gap targets. As Indigenous peak organisations are accountable to their membership and reliant on government funding, some have questioned whether they are appropriate representative bodies; cautioning that they could potentially compromise the Voice as a community-centric body free from political interference. While there is some debate over which Indigenous representatives should facilitate the co-design of a treaty and Makarrata (truth-telling), there remains a unanimous call for a constitutionally enshrined Voice to Parliament that may lead negotiations and secure its place within decision-making processes. Makarrata, Garma, and the Bubbling of New Possibilities An Indigenous Voice to Parliament can be seen as the bubbling spring that provides the source for greater growth and further reform. The Uluru Statement from the Heart calls for a three-staged approach comprising of establishing an Indigenous Voice, followed by Treaty, and then Truth-Telling. This sequence has been criticised by some who prioritise Truth and Treaty as the foundation for reform and reconciliation. Their argument is based on the notion that Indigenous Sovereignty must first be acknowledged in Parliament through an agreement-making process and signing of a Treaty. While the Uluru Statement has never lost sight of treaty, the agreement-making process must begin with the acknowledgment of Indigenous people’s inherent right to participate in the conversation. This very basic and foundational right is yet to be acknowledged within Australia’s constitution. The Uluru Statement sets the Voice as its first priority as the Voice establishes the structural foundation on which the conversation pertaining to treaty may take place. It is through the Voice that a Makarrata Commission can be formed and Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples may “come together after a struggle” – the translation of the word’s Yolngu origins (Gaykamangu; Pearson). Only then may we engage in truth telling and forge new paths towards agreement-making and treaty. This however raises the question as to how a Voice to Parliament may look and what outcomes it aims to achieve. As discussed in the previous section, it is a question that is often distorted by disinformation and conjecture within public, political, and news-media discourses. In order to unpack what a Voice to Parliament may entail, we turn to another Yolngu word, Garma. Garma refers to an epistemic and ontological positioning in which knowledge is attained from a point where differences converge and new insights arise. For Yolngu people, Garma is the place where salt and fresh water intersect within the sea. Fresh and Salt water are the embodiments of two Yolngu clans, the Dhuwa and Yirritja, with Garma referring to the point where the knowledge and laws of each clan come into contact, seeking harmonious balance. When the ebb and flow of the tides are in balance, it causes the water to foam and bubble taking on new form and representing innovative ideas and possibilities. Yolngu embrace this phenomenon as an epistemology that teaches responsibility and obligations towards the care of Country. It acknowledges the autonomy of others and finds a space where all may mutually benefit. When the properties of either water type, or the knowledge belonging a single clan dominates, ecological, social, political, and cosmological balance is overthrown. Raymattja Marika-Munungguritj (5) describes Garma as a dynamic interaction of knowledge traditions. Fresh water from the land, bubbling up in fresh water springs to make waterholes, and salt water from the sea are interacting with each other with the energy of the tide and the energy of the bubbling spring. When the tide is high the water rises to its full. When the tide goes out the water reduces its capacity. In the same way Milngurr ebbs and flows. In this way the Dhuwa and Yirritja sides of Yolngu life work together. And in this way Balanda and Yolngu traditions can work together. There must be balance, if not either one will be stronger and will harm the other. The Ganma Theory is Yirritja, the Milngurr Theory is Dhuwa. Like the current push for constitutional change and its rejection of symbolic reforms, Indigenous peoples have demanded real-action and “not just talk” (Synott “The Uluru statement”). In doing so, they implored that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples be involved in all decision-making processes, for they are most knowledgeable of their community’s needs and the most effective methods of service delivery and policy. Indigenous peoples have repeatedly expressed this mandate, which is also legislated under international law through the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Coming together after a struggle does not mean that conflict and disagreement between and amongst Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities will cease. In fact, in alignment with political theories such as agonism and pluralism, coming together within a democratic system necessitates a constructive and responsive embrace of different, competing, and in some cases incommensurable views. A Voice to Parliament will operate in a manner where Indigenous perspectives and truths, as well as disagreements, may be included within negotiations and debates (Larkin & Galloway). Governments and non-Indigenous representatives will no longer speak for or on behalf of Indigenous peoples, for an Indigenous body will enact its own autonomous voice. Indigenous input therefore will not be reduced to reactionary responses and calls for reforms after the damage of mismanagement and policy failure has been caused. Indigenous voices will be permanently documented within parliamentary records and governments forced to respond to the agendas that Indigenous peoples set. Collectively, this amounts to greater participation within the democratic process and facilitates a space where “salt water” and the “bubbling springs” of fresh water may meet, mitigating the risk of harm, and bringing forth new possibilities. Conclusion When salt and fresh water combine during Garma, it begins to take on new form, eventually materialising as foam. Appearing as a singular solid object from afar, foam is but a cluster of interlocking bubbles that gain increased stability and equilibrium through sticking together. When a bubble stands alone, or a person remains within a figurative bubble that is isolated from its surroundings and other ways of knowing, doing, and being, its vulnerabilities and insecurities are exposed. Similarly, when one bubble bursts the collective cluster becomes weaker and unstable. The Uluru Statement from the Heart is a vision conceived and presented by Indigenous peoples in good faith. It offers a path forward for not only Indigenous peoples and their future generations but the entire nation (Synott “Constitutional Reform”). It is a gift and an invitation “to walk with us in a movement of the Australian people for a better future”. Through calling for the establishment of an Indigenous Voice to Parliament, a Makarrata Commission, and seeking Truth, Indigenous advocates for constitutional reform are looking to secure their own foothold and self-determination. The Uluru Statement from the Heart is more than a “thought bubble”, for it is the culmination of Indigenous people’s diverse lived experiences, outlooks, perspectives, and priorities. When the delegates met at Uluru in 2017, the thoughts, experiences, memories, and hopes of Indigenous peoples converged in a manner that created a unified front and collectively called for Voice, Treaty, and Truth. 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Closer examination of contemporary art forms including music videos in addition to the Gothic’s literature legacy is essential, “as it is virtually impossible to ignore the relationship the Gothic holds to popular culture” (Piatti-Farnell ii). This article critically examines how Gothic themes and modes are used in the music videos of Lana Del Rey; particularly the “ways in which Gothic is dispersed through contemporary non-literary media” (Spooner and McEvoy 2). This work follows the argument laid down by Edwards and Monnet who describe Gothic’s assimilation into popular culture —Pop Gothic— as a powerful pop cultural force, not merely a subcultural or cult expression. By interpreting Del Rey’s work as a both a component of, and a contributor to, the Pop Gothic advance, themes of social climate, consumer culture, gender identity, sexuality and the male gaze can be interrogated. Indeed the potential for a collective crisis of these issues in early 21st Century western culture is exposed, “the façade of carnivalised surfaces is revealed to hide the chaos and entropy of existential emptiness.” (Yeo 17). Gothic modes have been approximated by Pop Gothic into the mainstream (Edwards and Monnet) as a driving force behind these contradictions and destabilisations. The Gothic has become ubiquitous within popular culture and continues to exert influence. This is easily reflected in the $392 million the first Twilight movie grossed at the box office (Edwards and Monnet). Examples are abundant in pop culture across music, film and television. Edwards and Monnet cite the movies Zombieland and Blade in the Pop Gothic march, along with TV shows including Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Being Human, True Blood as well as Lady Gaga’s Fame Monster music album. Edwards and Monnet observe that the Gothic aesthetics of the 1980s and 1990s, “melancholy and imagery associated with death, dying and the undead” (3), shifted from the corners of subculture to the mainstream of millennial popular culture. With this shift comes the rebelliousness and melancholy that characterises Gothic texts. This is evident when a pop star of Lana Del Rey’s popularity —her Summertime Sadness video alone has over 160 million views on youtube.com (YouTube)— narratively represents themes of death and suicide repeatedly in her videos. In two of Lana Del Rey’s music videos —Blue Jeans and Born to Die— either she or a representation of her persona dies. In a third video, Summertime Sadness, her companion takes her own life and Lana ultimately follows suit. Themes of death and loss are just the most obvious of Gothic elements present in Del Rey’s work. Del Rey’s songs and videos speak of the American dream, of aestheticised beauty, of being immaculately presented, well dressed and having hair “beauty queen style”, as in Summertime Sadness. She depicts an excess of hedonistic consumption and love that knows no bounds, not even death. Much of the delivery has resonance with the Gothic; performatively, visually and musically, and shows a subversion and fatalism that juxtaposes, contests and contradicts pop cultural tropes (Macfarlane). This contrary nature of the Gothic, as characterised by Botting, can provoke a sense of otherness; the uncanny, including “displays of uncontrolled passion, violent emotion or flights of fancy to portrayals of perversion or obsession” (Gothic 2). It is argued that these characteristics have been commodified into merchandisable and mainstream stylistic representations (Edwards and Monnet). Del Rey’s visual work uses this otherness and representation of repressed darkness as subversion or contestation to the bubble gum consumerist, fairy tale sexualisation of the Katy Perry brand of neo-liberal pop music that floods the mainstream (Macfarlane). Del Rey also harnesses the Gothic mode in her music, underscoring social anxieties through moments of sound which act as “a sonic imp, this music enters perception through the back door, and there it does its destabilising work” (van Elferen 137). As potential psychosocial sources of this otherness in the Gothic (Botting, Gothic), Jung argued that as a collective consciousness by repressing our darkest side, we can be dislocated from it. Further he argued that many modern ills —conflict, war, disenfranchisement, poverty— stem from culturally rationalised divisions of ‘good vs evil’ (Tacey). Providing a space for these dark sides to surface, Swirski comments that cultural product can act "as a social barometer and a cultural diagnostic tool. It identifies social trends and cultural patterns and weaves elaborate counterfactuals- literary fictions- that hang human faces on large-scale human abstractions such as society and culture" (1). Jung proposes the large-scale social abstraction; that to truly live with ourselves we need embrace the otherness inside us— to learn to live with it (Tacey). The Gothic may enable this living with, rather than living without. Jung asserts that we now rely so much on what we can touch, taste and own, that western culture has become a “creed without substance” (Tacey 32). In more concrete terms, Hoffie argues that popular media today tells stories: in terms of disaster and crisis: weather patterns: disastrous. Climate Change: disastrous. Global Financial Crisis: disastrous. Political situations: disastrous. Unemployment: disastrous. And so on. The high-pitched wail of this lament corrodes the peaks and troughs of potential emotional responsiveness; the vapours of benumbing apathy steam upwards like a bewitching spell. All stands still. Action, like in a bad dream, seems impossible. (14) This apathy in the face of crisis or disaster is well expressed in Del Rey’s work through the Gothic influenced lyrics and videos; she describes her partner as so good looking as to be “sick as cancer” in Blue Jeans and that her lover left her because he was “chasing paper”. Represented here is the social current that the need to acquire goods in late capitalism’s climate “of unrestrained consumerism” (Heine and Thakur 2) is her lover’s priority over companionship. Revealing more of the Gothic aesthetic is that her videos and songs represent this loss, they depict “disturbances of sanity and security” (Botting, Gothic 2) and thematically reflect the social climate of “disaster and crisis” (Hoffie 14). This sense of otherness through Gothic influences of the uncanny, death and melancholy have a significant impact on creative expression creating music videos that play like a kind of half remembered nightmare (Botting, Love Your Zombie; Macfarlane). In the black and white video for Blue Jeans the opening shot shows an image of Del Rey rippling and blurred, framed by circular waves of water as black as oil. The powerful Gothic aesthetic of the abyss is rendered here, “to convey the figurative meaning of a catastrophic situation seen as likely to occur whereby the individual will sink to immeasurable intellectual, ethical or moral depths” (Edwards and Monnet 9). This abyss is represented as Del Rey sings to her ghostly tattooed lover that she will love him until “the end of time” and climaxes in the suggestion that he drowns her. As in Edwards and Monnet‘s description of zombie films, Del Rey’s videos narratively “suggest that the postmodern condition is itself a form of madness that disseminates cultural trauma and erases historical memory” (8). This view is evident in contrasting Del Rey’s interview comment that she finds conversations about feminism boring (Cooper). Yet in her song delivery and lyrics she retains an ironic tone regards feminine power. This combination helps “produce a darkly funny and carnivalesque representation of sex and waste under late capitalism” (Edwards and Monnet 8). Further evidence of these ironies and distorted juxtapositions of loss and possession are evident in the song Radio. The video —a bricolage of retrospective fashion imagery— and lyrics hint at the persistent desire for goods in US western culture (Heine and Thakur). Simultaneously in her song Radio, she is corruptibly engorged by consumption and being consumed (Mulvey) as she sings that life is “sweet like cinnamon, a fucking dream on Ritalin”. The video itself represents distorted dreams hyper-real on Ritalin. Del Rey’s work speaks of an excess; the overflow of sensations, sexual excess, of buying, of having, of owning, and at the same time the absence; of loss or not knowing what to have (Botting, Love Your Zombie). Exemplified by the lyrics in What Makes Us Girls, “do I know what I want?” and again in Radio “American dreams came true somehow, I swore I’d chase until I was dead”. Increasingly it is evident that Del Rey sings “as a woman who does not know what she wants” (Vigier 5). She illustrates the “endemic narcissism” (Hoffie 15) of contemporary western culture. Del Rey therefore clearly delineates much of “the loneliness, emptiness, and alienation that results from rampant consumerism and materialism under advanced capitalism” (Edwards and Monnet 8). As a theme of this representation, Del Rey implies a sense of commodified female sexual energy through the male gaze (Mulvey), along with a sense of wasted youth and opportunity in the carnivalesque National Anthem. The video, shot as if on Super 8 film, tells the story of Del Rey’s ‘character’ married to a hedonistic style of president. It is reminiscent of the JFK story including authentic and detailed presentation of costume —especially Del Rey’s Jackie Onassis fashions— the couple posing in presidential gardens with handsome mixed-race children. Lavish lifestyles are depicted whilst the characters enjoy drinking, gambling and consumerist excess, Del Rey sings "It's a love story for the new age, For the six page, We're on a quick sick rampage, Wining and dining, Drinking and driving, Excessive buying, Overdose and dyin'". In National Anthem sexual excess is one of the strongest themes communicated. Repeatedly depicted are distinct close up shots of his hand on her thigh, and vice versa. Without being sexually explicit in itself, it is an overtly sexual reference, communicating something of sexual excess because of the sheer number of times it is highlighted in close-up shots. This links to the idea of the Gothic use of jouissance, a state of: excessive energies that burst in and beyond circuits of pleasure: intensities are read in relation to a form of subjectivity that finds itself briefly and paradoxically in moments of extreme loss. (Botting, Love Your Zombie 22) Del Rey represents these moments of loss —of herself, of her man, of her power, of her identity being subsumed by his— as intense pleasure, indicated in the video through sexual referencing. Botting argues that these excesses create anxieties; that in the pursuit of postmodern excess, of ownership, of consumption: the subject internalises the inconsistencies and contradictions of capitalism, manifesting pathologies not of privation but overabundance: stress, eating disorders, self-harming, and a range of anxieties. (Love Your Zombie 22) These anxieties are further expressed in National Anthem. Del Rey sings to her lover that he cannot keep his “pants on” and she must “hold you like a python”. The python in this tale simultaneously symbolises the exotic, erotic and dangerous entrapment by her male suitor. Edwards and Monnet argue for the Gothic monster, whose sign is further referenced as Del Rey swims with crocodiles in Blue Jeans. Here the male power, patriarchy and dominance is represented as monstrous. In the video she shares the pool with her beau yet we only see Del Rey swim and writhe with the crocodiles. Analogous of her murderous lover, this adds a powerful otherness to the scene and reinforces the symbols of threatening masculinity and impeding disaster. This expression of monstrousness creates a cathartic tension as it “puts the ‘pop’ in Pop Goth: its popularity is based on the frisson of selling simultaneous aversion from and attraction to self-destruction and cultural taboo” (Edwards and Monnet 9). In a further representation of anxieties Del Rey conforms to the sexual object persona in large part through her retro pin-up iconography —meticulous attention to costume, continuous posing and pouting— and song lyrics (Buszek). As in National Anthem her lyrics talk of devotion and male strength to protect and to “keep me safe in his bell tower”. Her videos, whilst they may show some of her strength, ultimately reside in patriarchal resolution (Mulvey). She is generally confounded by the male figures in her videos appearing to be very much alone and away from them: most notably in Blue Jeans, Born to Die and Video Games. In two cases it is suggested she is murdered by the male figures of her love. Her costume and appearance —iconic 1960’s swimsuits, pantsuits and big hairstyles in National Anthem— portray something of the retro pin-up. Buszek argues that at one time “young feminists may poke fun at the pin-up, but they do so in ways that betray affinities with, even affection for, the genre itself” (3). Del Rey simultaneously adheres to and confronts these normative gender roles, as is characteristic of the Gothic mode (Botting, Gothic). These very Gothic contradictions are also evident in Del Rey’s often ironic or mocking song delivery, undermining apparent heteronormative sexual and gender positioning. In National Anthem she sings, as if parodying women who might sincerely ask, “do you think he’ll buy me lots of diamonds?”. Her conformity is however, subverted. In Del Rey’s videos, clear evidence exists in her facial expressions where she consistently portrays Gothic elements of uncertainty, sorrow, grief and a pervading sense that she does not belong in this world (Botting, Gothic). Whilst depicted as a brooding and mourning widow —simultaneously playing the mistress luxuriating on a lion skin rug— in National Anthem Del Rey sings, “money is the anthem of success” without a smile or sense of any attachment to the lyrics. In the same song she sings “God you’re so handsome” without a trace of glee, pleasure or optimism. In the video for Blue Jeans she sings, “I will love you til the end of time” staring sorrowfully into the distance or directly at the camera. This confident yet ‘dead stare’ emphasises the overall juxtaposition of the largely positive lyrical expression, with the sorrowful facial expression and low sung notes. Del Rey signifies repeatedly that something is amiss; that the American dream is over and that even with apparent success within this sphere, there exists only emptiness and isolation (Botting, Love Your Zombie). Further contradictions exist as Lana Del Rey walks this blurred line —as is the Gothic mode— between heteronormative and ambiguous gender roles (Botting, Gothic; Edwards and Monnet). Lana Del Rey oscillates between positions of strength and independence —shown in her deadpan to-camera delivery— to that of weakness and subjugation. As she plays narrator, Del Rey symbolically reclaims some power as she retells the tragic story of Born to Die from her throne. Represented here Del Rey’s persona exerts a troubled malevolence, with two tigers calmly sat by her side: her benevolent pets, or symbols of contrived excess. She simultaneously presents the angelic —resplendent in sheer white dress and garland ‘crown’ headdress of the spurned bride in the story— and the stoic as she stares down the camera. Del Rey is powerful and in many senses threatening. At one point she draws a manicured thumbnail across her neck in a cut-throat gesture; a movement echoed later by her lover. Her character ultimately walks symbolically —and latently— to her death. She neither remedies her position as subservient, subordinate female nor revisits any kind of redemption for the excessive male dominance in her videos. The “excess is countered by greater excess” (Botting Love Your Zombie 27) and leads to otherness. In this reading of Del Rey’s work, there are representations that remain explicitly Pop Gothic, eliciting sensations of paranoia and fear, overloading her videos with these signs (Yeo). These signs elicit the otherness of the Gothic mode; expressed in visual symbols of violence, passion or obsession (Botting, Gothic). In our digital visual age, subjecting an eager viewer to this excess of signs creates the conditions for over-reading of a growing gender or consumerist paranoia, enabled by the Gothic, “paranoia stems from an excessive over-reading of signs and is a product of interpretation, misinterpretation and re-interpretation based on one’s knowledge or lack of it” (Yeo 22). Del Rey stimulates these sensations of paranoia partly through interlaying intertextual references. She does this thematically —Gothic melancholy— and pop culturally channelling Marilyn Monroe and other fashion iconography, as well as through explicit textual references, as in her most recent single Ultraviolence. In Ultraviolence, Del Rey sings “He hit me and it felt like a kiss”. Effortlessly and simultaneously she celebrates and lays bare her pain; however the intertextual reference to the violent controversy of the film A Clockwork Orange serves to aestheticise the domestic violence she describes. With Del Rey it may be that as meaning is sought amongst the texts as Macfarlane wrote about Lady Gaga, Del Rey’s “truth is ultimately irrelevant in the face of its interlayed performance” (130). Del Rey’s Gothic mode of ambiguity, of transgressed boundaries and unclear lines, shows “this ambience of perpetually deferred climax is no stranger to contemporary culture” (Hoffie 15) and may go some way to expressing something of the “lived experience of her audience” (Vigier 1). Hermes argues that in post-feminist pop culture, strong independent post-feminist women can be characterised by their ability to break traditional taboos, question or hold up for interrogation norms and traditions, but that ultimately narrative arches tend to restore the patriarchal norm. Edwards and Monnet assert that the Gothic in Pop Gothic cultural representation can become “post-race, post-sexuality, post-gender” (6). In places Del Ray exhibits this postmodernism but through the use of Gothic mode goes outside political debates and blurs clear lines of feminist discourse (Botting, Love Your Zombie). Whilst a duality in the texts exists; comments on consumerism, the emptiness of capitalist society and a suicidal expression of hopelessness, are undermined as she demonstrates conformity to subservient gender roles and her ambiguously ironic need to be “young and beautiful”. To be consumed by her man thus defines her value as an object within a consumerist neo-liberal trope (Jameson). This analysis goes some way to confirming Hermes’ assertion that in this post-feminist climate there has been a “loss of a political agenda, or the foundation for a new one, where it signposts the overcoming of unproductive old distinctions between feminist and feminine” (79). Hermes further argues, with reference to television shows Ally McBeal and Sex and the City, that presentation of female characters or personas has moved forward; the man is no longer the lone guarantor of a woman’s happiness. Yet many of the tropes in Del Rey’s work are familiar; overwhelming love for her companion equal only to the emphasis on physical appearance. Del Rey breaks taboos —she is powerful, sexual and a romantic predator, without being a demon seductress— and satirises consumerist excess and gender inequality; yet she remains sexually and politically subservient to the whim and sometimes violently expressed or implied male gaze (Mulvey). Del Rey may well represent something of Vigier’s assertion that whilst society has clear direction for the ‘success’ of women, “that real liberation and genuine satisfaction elude them” (1). In closing, there is no clear answer as to whether Del Rey is a Beauty Queen or Gothic Princess; she is neither and she is both. In Vigier’s words, “self-exploitation or self-destruction cannot be the only choices open to young women today” (13). Del Rey’s work is provocative on multiple levels. It hints at the pull of rampant consumerism and the immediacy of narcissistic desires, interlinked with contradictions which indicate the potential for social crises. This is shown in Del Rey’s use of the Gothic — otherness, the monstrous, darkness and death— and its juxtaposition with heteronormative gender representations which highlights the persistent commodification of the female body, its subjugation to male power and the potential for deep anxieties in 21st-century identity. References Blue Jeans. Dir. Yoann Lemoine. Perf. Lana Del Rey. Interscope Records, 2012. Botting, Fred. Gothic. New York: Routledge, 2014. Botting, Fred. "Love Your Zombie." The Gothic in Contemporary Literature and Popular Culture. Ed. Edwards, Justin and Agnieszka Monnet. New York: Routledge, 2012. 19-36. Buszek, Maria. Pin-Up Grrrls Feminism, Sexuality and Popular Culture. London: Duke University Press, 2006. Cooper, Duncan. "Lana Del Rey Cover Interview." Fader, June 2014. Edwards, Justin, and Agnieszka Monnet. "Introduction." The Gothic in Contemporary Literature and Popular Culture. Eds. Justin Edwards and A. Monnet. New York: Routledge, 2012. 1-18. Heine, Jorge, and Ramesh Thakur. The Dark Side of Globalisation. New York: UN UP, 2011. Hermes, Joke. "The Tragic Success of Feminism." Feminism in Popular Culture. Eds. Joanne Hollows and Rachel Moseley. New York: Berg, 2006. 79-95. Hoffie, Pat. "Deadly Ennui." Artlink Magazine 32.4 (2012): 15-16. Jameson, Fredric. "Globalisation and Political Strategy." New Left Review 2.4 (2000): 49-68. Lana Del Rey. "Radio." Born To Die. Interscope Records, 2012. "Lana Del Rey - Summertime Sadness" YouTube, n.d. 12 June 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVjsGKrE6E8›. Lana Del Rey. "This Is What Makes Us Girls." Born To Die. Interscope Records, 2012. Macfarlane, K. "The Monstrous House of Gaga." The Gothic in Contemporary Literature and Popular Culture. Ed. Justin Edwards and A. Monnet. New York: Routledge, 2012. 114-134. Mestrovic, Stjepan. Postemotional Society. London: Sage, 1997. Mulvey, Laura. Visual and other Pleasures. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. National Anthem. Dir. Anthony Mandler. Perf. Lana Del Rey. Interscope Records, 2012. Paglia, Camille. Lady Gaga and the Death of Sex. 12 Sep. 2010. 2 June 2014 ‹http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/public/magazine/article389697.ece›. Piatti-Farnell, Lorna. "Introduction: a Place for Contemporary Gothic." Aeternum: the Journal of Contemporary Gothic Studies 1.1 (2014): i-iv. Spooner, Catherine, and Emma McEvoy. The Routledge Companion to Gothic. New York: Routledge, 2007. Summertime Sadness. Dir. Chris Sweeney. Perf. Lana Del Rey. Interscope Records, 2013. Swirski, Peter. American Utopia and Social Engineering in Literature, Social Thought, and Political History. New York: Routledge, 2011. Tacey, David. The Jung Reader. New York: Routledge, 2012. Van Elferen, Isabella. "Spectural Liturgy, Transgression, Ritual and Music in Gothic." The Gothic in Contemporary Literature and Popular Culture. Eds. Justin Edwards and A. Monnet. New York: Routledge, 2012. 135-147. Vigier, Catherine. "The Meaning of Lana Del Rey." Zeteo: The Journal of Interdisciplinary Writing Fall (2012): 1-16. Yeo, David. "Gothic Paranoia in David Fincher's Seven, The Game and Fight Club." Aeternum: The Journal Of Contemporary Gothic Studies 1.1 (2014): 16-25. Young and Beautiful. Dir. Chris Sweeney. Perf. Lana Del Rey. Interscope Records, 2013.

Special Care Notice This paper discusses trauma and violence inflicted upon the Indigenous peoples of Tasmania through the process of colonisation. Content within this paper may be distressing to some readers. Introduction The decimation of the First Peoples of Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania) was systematic and swift. First Contact was an emotionally, intellectually, physically, and spiritually confronting series of encounters for the Indigenous inhabitants. There were, according to some early records, a few examples of peaceful interactions (Morris 84). Yet, the inevitable competition over resources, and the intensity with which colonists pursued their “claims” for food, land, and water, quickly transformed amicable relationships into hostile rivalries. Jennifer Gall has written that, as “European settlement expanded in the late 1820s, violent exchanges between settlers and Aboriginal people were frequent, brutal and unchecked” (58). Indeed, the near-annihilation of the original custodians of the land was, if viewed through the lens of time, a process that could be described as one that was especially efficient. As John Morris notes: in 1803, when the first settlers arrived in Van Diemen’s Land, the Aborigines had already inhabited the island for some 25,000 years and the population has been estimated at 4,000. Seventy-three years later, Truganinni, [often cited as] the last Tasmanian of full Aboriginal descent, was dead. (84) Against a backdrop of extreme violence, often referred to as the Black War (Clements 1), there were some, admittedly dubious, efforts to contain the bloodshed. One such effort, in the late 1820s, was the production, and subsequent distribution, of a set of Proclamation Boards. Approximately 100 Proclamation Boards (the Board) were introduced by the Lieutenant Governor of the day, George Arthur (after whom Port Arthur on the Tasman Peninsula is named). The purpose of these Boards was to communicate, via a four-strip pictogram, to the Indigenous peoples of the island colony that all people—black and white—were considered equal under the law. “British Justice would protect” everyone (Morris 84). This is reflected in the narrative of the Boards. The first image presents Indigenous peoples and colonists living peacefully together. The second, and central, image shows “a conciliatory handshake between the British governor and an Aboriginal ‘chief’, highly reminiscent of images found in North America on treaty medals and anti-slavery tokens” (Darian-Smith and Edmonds 4). The third and fourth images depict the repercussions for committing murder, with an Indigenous man hanged for spearing a colonist and a European man also hanged for shooting an Aborigine. Both men executed under “gubernatorial supervision” (Turnbull 53). Image 1: Governor Davey's [sic - actually Governor Arthur's] Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816 [sic - actually c. 1828-30]. Image Credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (Call Number: SAFE / R 247). The Board is an interesting re-imagining of one of the traditional methods of communication for Indigenous peoples; the leaving of images on the bark of trees. Such trees, often referred to as scarred trees, are rare in modern-day Tasmania as “the expansion of settlements, and the impact of bush fires and other environmental factors” resulted in many of these trees being destroyed (Aboriginal Heritage Tasmania online). Similarly, only a few of the Boards, inspired by these trees, survive today. The Proclamation Board was, in the 1860s, re-imagined as the output of a different Governor: Lieutenant Governor Davey (after whom Port Davey, on the south-west coast of Tasmania is named). This re-imagining of the Board’s creator was so effective that the Board, today, is popularly known as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines. This paper outlines several other re-imaginings of this Board. In addition, this paper offers another, new, re-imagining of the Board, positing that this is an early “pamphlet” on crime, justice and punishment which actually presents as a pre-cursor to the modern Australian true crime tale. In doing so this work connects the Proclamation Board to the larger genre of crime fiction. One Proclamation Board: Two Governors Labelled Van Diemen’s Land and settled as a colony of New South Wales in 1803, this island state would secede from the administration of mainland Australia in 1825. Another change would follow in 1856 when Van Diemen’s Land was, in another process of re-imagining, officially re-named Tasmania. This change in nomenclature was an initiative to, symbolically at least, separate the contemporary state from a criminal and violent past (Newman online). Tasmania’s violent history was, perhaps, inevitable. The island was claimed by Philip Gidley King, the Governor of New South Wales, in the name of His Majesty, not for the purpose of building a community, but to “prevent the French from gaining a footing on the east side of that island” and also to procure “timber and other natural products, as well as to raise grain and to promote the seal industry” (Clark 36). Another rationale for this land claim was to “divide the convicts” (Clark 36) which re-fashioned the island into a gaol. It was this penal element of the British colonisation of Australia that saw the worst of the British Empire forced upon the Aboriginal peoples. As historian Clive Turnbull explains: the brutish state of England was reproduced in the English colonies, and that in many ways its brutishness was increased, for now there came to Australia not the humanitarians or the indifferent, but the men who had vested interests in the systems of restraint; among those who suffered restraint were not only a vast number who were merely unfortunate and poverty-stricken—the victims of a ‘depression’—but brutalised persons, child-slaughterers and even potential cannibals. (Turnbull 25) As noted above the Black War of Tasmania saw unprecedented aggression against the rightful occupants of the land. Yet, the Aboriginal peoples were “promised the white man’s justice, the people [were] exhorted to live in amity with them, the wrongs which they suffer [were] deplored” (Turnbull 23). The administrators purported an egalitarian society, one of integration and peace but Van Diemen’s Land was colonised as a prison and as a place of profit. So, “like many apologists whose material benefit is bound up with the systems which they defend” (Turnbull 23), assertions of care for the health and welfare of the Aboriginal peoples were made but were not supported by sufficient policies, or sufficient will, and the Black War continued. Colonel Thomas Davey (1758-1823) was the second person to serve as Lieutenant Governor of Van Diemen’s Land; a term of office that began in 1813 and concluded in 1817. The fourth Lieutenant Governor of the island was Colonel Sir George Arthur (1784-1854); his term of office, significantly longer than Davey’s, being from 1824 to 1836. The two men were very different but are connected through this intriguing artefact, the Proclamation Board. One of the efforts made to assert the principle of equality under the law in Van Diemen’s Land was an outcome of work undertaken by Surveyor General George Frankland (1800-1838). Frankland wrote to Arthur in early 1829 and suggested the Proclamation Board (Morris 84), sometimes referred to as a Picture Board or the Tasmanian Hieroglyphics, as a tool to support Arthur’s various Proclamations. The Proclamation, signed on 15 April 1828 and promulgated in the The Hobart Town Courier on 19 April 1828 (Arthur 1), was one of several notices attempting to reduce the increasing levels of violence between Indigenous peoples and colonists. The date on Frankland’s correspondence clearly situates the Proclamation Board within Arthur’s tenure as Lieutenant Governor. The Board was, however, in the 1860s, re-imagined as the output of Davey. The Clerk of the Tasmanian House of Assembly, Hugh M. Hull, asserted that the Board was the work of Davey and not Arthur. Hull’s rationale for this, despite archival evidence connecting the Board to Frankland and, by extension, to Arthur, is predominantly anecdotal. In a letter to the editor of The Hobart Mercury, published 26 November 1874, Hull wrote: this curiosity was shown by me to the late Mrs Bateman, neé Pitt, a lady who arrived here in 1804, and with whom I went to school in 1822. She at once recognised it as one of a number prepared in 1816, under Governor Davey’s orders; and said she had seen one hanging on a gum tree at Cottage Green—now Battery Point. (3) Hull went on to assert that “if any old gentleman will look at the picture and remember the style of military and civil dress of 1810-15, he will find that Mrs Bateman was right” (3). Interestingly, Hull relies upon the recollections of a deceased school friend and the dress codes depicted by the artist to date the Proclamation Board as a product of 1816, in lieu of documentary evidence dating the Board as a product of 1828-1830. Curiously, the citation of dress can serve to undermine Hull’s argument. An early 1840s watercolour by Thomas Bock, of Mathinna, an Aboriginal child of Flinders Island adopted by Lieutenant Governor John Franklin (Felton online), features the young girl wearing a brightly coloured, high-waisted dress. This dress is very similar to the dresses worn by the children on the Proclamation Board (the difference being that Mathinna wears a red dress with a contrasting waistband, the children on the Board wear plain yellow dresses) (Bock). Acknowledging the simplicity of children's clothing during the colonial era, it could still be argued that it would have been unlikely the Governor of the day would have placed a child, enjoying at that time a life of privilege, in a situation where she sat for a portrait wearing an old-fashioned garment. So effective was Hull’s re-imagining of the Board’s creator that the Board was, for many years, popularly known as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines with even the date modified, to 1816, to fit Davey’s term of office. Further, it is worth noting that catalogue records acknowledge the error of attribution and list both Davey and Arthur as men connected to the creation of the Proclamation Board. A Surviving Board: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales One of the surviving Proclamation Boards is held by the Mitchell Library. The Boards, oil on Huon pine, were painted by “convict artists incarcerated in the island penal colony” (Carroll 73). The work was mass produced (by the standards of mass production of the day) by pouncing, “a technique [of the Italian Renaissance] of pricking the contours of a drawing with a pin. Charcoal was then dusted on to the drawing” (Carroll 75-76). The images, once outlined, were painted in oil. Of approximately 100 Boards made, several survive today. There are seven known Boards within public collections (Gall 58): five in Australia (Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, Sydney; Museum Victoria, Melbourne; National Library of Australia, Canberra; Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, Hobart; and Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, Launceston); and two overseas (The Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University and the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, University of Cambridge). The catalogue record, for the Board held by the Mitchell Library, offers the following details:Paintings: 1 oil painting on Huon pine board, rectangular in shape with rounded corners and hole at top centre for suspension ; 35.7 x 22.6 x 1 cm. 4 scenes are depicted:Aborigines and white settlers in European dress mingling harmoniouslyAboriginal men and women, and an Aboriginal child approach Governor Arthur to shake hands while peaceful soldiers look onA hostile Aboriginal man spears a male white settler and is hanged by the military as Governor Arthur looks onA hostile white settler shoots an Aboriginal man and is hanged by the military as Governor Arthur looks on. (SAFE / R 247) The Mitchell Library Board was purchased from J.W. Beattie in May 1919 for £30 (Morris 86), which is approximately $2,200 today. Importantly, the title of the record notes both the popular attribution of the Board and the man who actually instigated the Board’s production: “Governor Davey’s [sic – actually Governor Arthur] Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816 [sic – actually c. 1828-30].” The date of the Board is still a cause of some speculation. The earlier date, 1828, marks the declaration of martial law (Turnbull 94) and 1830 marks the Black Line (Edmonds 215); the attempt to form a human line of white men to force many Tasmanian Aboriginals, four of the nine nations, onto the Tasman Peninsula (Ryan 3). Frankland’s suggestion for the Board was put forward on 4 February 1829, with Arthur’s official Conciliator to the Aborigines, G.A. Robinson, recording his first sighting of a Board on 24 December 1829 (Morris 84-85). Thus, the conception of the Board may have been in 1828 but the Proclamation project was not fully realised until 1830. Indeed, a news item on the Proclamation Board did appear in the popular press, but not until 5 March 1830: We are informed that the Government have given directions for the painting of a large number of pictures to be placed in the bush for the contemplation of the Aboriginal Inhabitants. […] However […] the causes of their hostility must be more deeply probed, or their taste as connoisseurs in paintings more clearly established, ere we can look for any beneficial result from this measure. (Colonial Times 2) The remark made in relation to becoming a connoisseur of painting, though intended to be derogatory, makes some sense. There was an assumption that the Indigenous peoples could easily translate a European-styled execution by hanging, as a visual metaphor for all forms of punishment. It has long been understood that Indigenous “social organisation and religious and ceremonial life were often as complex as those of the white invaders” (McCulloch 261). However, the Proclamation Board was, in every sense, Eurocentric and made no attempt to acknowledge the complexities of Aboriginal culture. It was, quite simply, never going to be an effective tool of communication, nor achieve its socio-legal aims. The Board Re-imagined: Popular Media The re-imagining of the Proclamation Board as a construct of Governor Davey, instead of Governor Arthur, is just one of many re-imaginings of this curious object. There are, of course, the various imaginings of the purpose of the Board. On the surface these images are a tool for reconciliation but as “the story of these paintings unfolds […] it becomes clear that the proclamations were in effect envoys sent back to Britain to exhibit the ingenious attempts being applied to civilise Australia” (Carroll 76). In this way the Board was re-imagined by the Administration that funded the exercise, even before the project was completed, from a mechanism to assist in the bringing about of peace into an object that would impress colonial superiors. Khadija von Zinnenburg Carroll has recently written about the Boards in the context of their “transnational circulation” and how “objects become subjects and speak of their past through the ventriloquism of contemporary art history” (75). Carroll argues the Board is an item that couples “military strategy with a fine arts propaganda campaign” (Carroll 78). Critically the Boards never achieved their advertised purpose for, as Carroll explains, there were “elaborate rituals Aboriginal Australians had for the dead” and, therefore, “the display of a dead, hanging body is unthinkable. […] being exposed to the sight of a hanged man must have been experienced as an unimaginable act of disrespect” (92). The Proclamation Board would, in sharp contrast to feelings of unimaginable disrespect, inspire feelings of pride across the colonial population. An example of this pride being revealed in the selection of the Board as an object worthy of reproduction, as a lithograph, for an Intercolonial Exhibition, held in Melbourne in 1866 (Morris 84). The lithograph, which identifies the Board as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines and dated 1816, was listed as item 572, of 738 items submitted by Tasmania, for the event (The Commissioners 69-85). This type of reproduction, or re-imagining, of the Board would not be an isolated event. Penelope Edmonds has described the Board as producing a “visual vernacular” through a range of derivatives including lantern slides, lithographs, and postcards. These types of tourist ephemera are in addition to efforts to produce unique re-workings of the Board as seen in Violet Mace’s Proclamation glazed earthernware, which includes a jug (1928) and a pottery cup (1934) (Edmonds online). The Board Re-imagined: A True Crime Tale The Proclamation Board offers numerous narratives. There is the story that the Board was designed and deployed to communicate. There is the story behind the Board. There is also the story of the credit for the initiative which was transferred from Governor Arthur to Governor Davey and subsequently returned to Arthur. There are, too, the provenance stories of individual Boards. There is another story the Proclamation Board offers. The story of true crime in colonial Australia. The Board, as noted, presents through a four-strip pictogram an idea that all are equal under the rule of law (Arthur 1). Advocating for a society of equals was a duplicitous practice, for while Aborigines were hanged for allegedly murdering settlers, “there is no record of whites being charged, let alone punished, for murdering Aborigines” (Morris 84). It would not be until 1838 that white men would be punished for the murder of Aboriginal people (on the mainland) in the wake of the Myall Creek Massacre, in northern New South Wales. There were other examples of attempts to bring about a greater equity under the rule of law but, as Amanda Nettelbeck explains, there was wide-spread resistance to the investigation and charging of colonists for crimes against the Indigenous population with cases regularly not going to trial, or, if making a courtroom, resulting in an acquittal (355-59). That such cases rested on “legally inadmissible Aboriginal testimony” (Reece in Nettelbeck 358) propped up a justice system that was, inherently, unjust in the nineteenth century. It is important to note that commentators at the time did allude to the crime narrative of the Board: when in the most civilized country in the world it has been found ineffective as example to hang murderers in chains, it is not to be expected a savage race will be influenced by the milder exhibition of effigy and caricature. (Colonial Times 2) It is argued here that the Board was much more than an offering of effigy and caricature. The Proclamation Board presents, in striking detail, the formula for the modern true crime tale: a peace disturbed by the act of murder; and the ensuing search for, and delivery of, justice. Reinforcing this point, are the ideas of justice seen within crime fiction, a genre that focuses on the restoration of order out of chaos (James 174), are made visible here as aspirational. The true crime tale does not, consistently, offer the reassurances found within crime fiction. In the real world, particularly one as violent as colonial Australia, we are forced to acknowledge that, below the surface of the official rhetoric on justice and crime, the guilty often go free and the innocent are sometimes hanged. Another point of note is that, if the latter date offered here, of 1830, is taken as the official date of the production of these Boards, then the significance of the Proclamation Board as a true crime tale is even more pronounced through a connection to crime fiction (both genres sharing a common literary heritage). The year 1830 marks the release of Australia’s first novel, Quintus Servinton written by convicted forger Henry Savery, a crime novel (produced in three volumes) published by Henry Melville of Hobart Town. Thus, this paper suggests, 1830 can be posited as a year that witnessed the production of two significant cultural artefacts, the Proclamation Board and the nation’s first full-length literary work, as also being the year that established the, now indomitable, traditions of true crime and crime fiction in Australia. Conclusion During the late 1820s in Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania) a set of approximately 100 Proclamation Boards were produced by the Lieutenant Governor of the day, George Arthur. The official purpose of these items was to communicate, to the Indigenous peoples of the island colony, that all—black and white—were equal under the law. Murderers, be they Aboriginal or colonist, would be punished. The Board is a re-imagining of one of the traditional methods of communication for Indigenous peoples; the leaving of drawings on the bark of trees. The Board was, in the 1860s, in time for an Intercolonial Exhibition, re-imagined as the output of Lieutenant Governor Davey. This re-imagining of the Board was so effective that surviving artefacts, today, are popularly known as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines with the date modified, to 1816, to fit the new narrative. The Proclamation Board was also reimagined, by its creators and consumers, in a variety of ways: as peace offering; military propaganda; exhibition object; tourism ephemera; and contemporary art. This paper has also, briefly, offered another re-imagining of the Board, positing that this early “pamphlet” on justice and punishment actually presents a pre-cursor to the modern Australian true crime tale. The Proclamation Board tells many stories but, at the core of this curious object, is a crime story: the story of mass murder. Acknowledgements The author acknowledges the Palawa peoples: the traditional custodians of the lands known today as Tasmania. The author acknowledges, too, the Gadigal people of the Eora nation upon whose lands this paper was researched and written. The author extends thanks to Richard Neville, Margot Riley, Kirsten Thorpe, and Justine Wilson of the State Library of New South Wales for sharing their knowledge and offering their support. The author is also grateful to the reviewers for their careful reading of the manuscript and for making valuable suggestions. ReferencesAboriginal Heritage Tasmania. “Scarred Trees.” Aboriginal Cultural Heritage, 2012. 12 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.aboriginalheritage.tas.gov.au/aboriginal-cultural-heritage/archaeological-site-types/scarred-trees›.Arthur, George. “Proclamation.” The Hobart Town Courier 19 Apr. 1828: 1.———. Governor Davey’s [sic – actually Governor Arthur’s] Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816 [sic – actually c. 1828-30]. Graphic Materials. Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, c. 1828-30.Bock, Thomas. Mathinna. Watercolour and Gouache on Paper. 23 x 19 cm (oval), c. 1840.Carroll, Khadija von Zinnenburg. 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Edmonds, Penelope. “‘Failing in Every Endeavour to Conciliate’: Governor Arthur’s Proclamation Boards to the Aborigines, Australian Conciliation Narratives and Their Transnational Connections.” Journal of Australian Studies 35.2 (2011): 201–18.———. “The Proclamation Cup: Tasmanian Potter Violet Mace and Colonial Quotations.” reCollections 5.2 (2010). 20 May 2015 ‹http://recollections.nma.gov.au/issues/vol_5_no_2/papers/the_proclamation_cup_›.Felton, Heather. “Mathinna.” Companion to Tasmanian History. Hobart: Centre for Tasmanian Historical Studies, University of Tasmania, 2006. 29 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.utas.edu.au/library/companion_to_tasmanian_history/M/Mathinna.htm›.Gall, Jennifer. Library of Dreams: Treasures from the National Library of Australia. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 2011.Hull, Hugh M. “Tasmanian Hieroglyphics.” The Hobart Mercury 26 Nov. 1874: 3.James, P.D. Talking about Detective Fiction. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.Mace, Violet. 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Canberra: National Museum of Australia, 1934.McCulloch, Samuel Clyde. “Sir George Gipps and Eastern Australia’s Policy toward the Aborigine, 1838-46.” The Journal of Modern History 33.3 (1961): 261–69.Morris, John. “Notes on a Message to the Tasmanian Aborigines in 1829, popularly called ‘Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816’.” Australiana 10.3 (1988): 84–7.Nettelbeck, Amanda. “‘Equals of the White Man’: Prosecution of Settlers for Violence against Aboriginal Subjects of the Crown, Colonial Western Australia.” Law and History Review 31.2 (2013): 355–90.Newman, Terry. “Tasmania, the Name.” Companion to Tasmanian History, 2006. 16 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.utas.edu.au/library/companion_to_tasmanian_history/T/Tasmania%20name.htm›.Reece, Robert H.W., in Amanda Nettelbeck. “‘Equals of the White Man’: Prosecution of Settlers for Violence against Aboriginal Subjects of the Crown, Colonial Western Australia.” Law and History Review 31.2 (2013): 355–90.Ryan, Lyndall. “The Black Line in Van Diemen’s Land: Success or Failure?” Journal of Australian Studies 37.1 (2013): 3–18.Savery, Henry. 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IntroductionTasmania hangs from the map of Australia like a drop in freefall from the substance of the mainland. Often the whole state is mislaid from Australian maps and logos (Reddit). Tasmania has, at least since federation, been considered peripheral—a region seen as isolated, a ‘problem’ economically, politically, and culturally. However, Tasmania not only cleaves to the ‘north island’ of Australia but is also subject to the gravitational pull of an even greater land mass—Antarctica. In this article, we upturn the political conventions of map-making that place both Antarctica and Tasmania in obscure positions at the base of the globe. We show how a changing global climate re-frames Antarctica and the Southern Ocean as key drivers of worldwide environmental shifts. The liquid and solid water between Tasmania and Antarctica is revealed not as a homogenous barrier, but as a dynamic and relational medium linking the Tasmanian archipelago with Antarctica. When Antarctica becomes the focus, the script is flipped: Tasmania is no longer on the edge, but core to a network of gateways into the southern land. The state’s capital of Hobart can from this perspective be understood as an “Antarctic city”, central to the geopolitics, economy, and culture of the frozen continent (Salazar et al.). Viewed from the south, we argue, Tasmania is not a problem, but an opportunity for a form of ecological, cultural, economic, and political sustainability that opens up the southern continent to science, discovery, and imagination.A Centre at the End of the Earth? Tasmania as ParadoxThe islands of Tasmania owe their existence to climate change: a period of warming at the end of the last ice age melted the vast sheets of ice covering the polar regions, causing sea levels to rise by more than one hundred metres (Tasmanian Climate Change Office 8). Eleven thousand years ago, Aboriginal people would have witnessed the rise of what is now called Bass Strait, turning what had been a peninsula into an archipelago, with the large island of Tasmania at its heart. The heterogeneous practices and narratives of Tasmanian regional identity have been shaped by the geography of these islands, and their connection to the Southern Ocean and Antarctica. Regions, understood as “centres of collective consciousness and sociospatial identities” (Paasi 241) are constantly reproduced and reimagined through place-based social practices and communications over time. As we will show, diverse and contradictory narratives of Tasmanian regionality often co-exist, interacting in complex and sometimes complementary ways. Ecocritical literary scholar C.A. Cranston considers duality to be embedded in the textual construction of Tasmania, writing “it was hell, it was heaven, it was penal, it was paradise” (29). Tasmania is multiply polarised: it is both isolated and connected; close and far away; rich in resources and poor in capital; the socially conservative birthplace of radical green politics (Hay 60). The weather, as if sensing the fine balance of these paradoxes, blows hot and cold at a moment’s notice.Tasmania has wielded extraordinary political influence at times in its history—notably during the settlement of Melbourne in 1835 (Boyce), and during protests against damming the Franklin River in the early 1980s (Mercer). However, twentieth-century historical and political narratives of Tasmania portray the Bass Strait as a barrier, isolating Tasmanians from the mainland (Harwood 61). Sir Bede Callaghan, who headed one of a long line of federal government inquiries into “the Tasmanian problem” (Harwood 106), was clear that Tasmania was a victim of its own geography:the major disability facing the people of Tasmania (although some residents may consider it an advantage) is that Tasmania is an island. Separation from the mainland adversely affects the economy of the State and the general welfare of the people in many ways. (Callaghan 3)This perspective may stem from the fact that Tasmania has maintained the lowest Gross Domestic Product per capita of all states since federation (Bureau of Infrastructure Transport and Regional Economics 9). Socially, economically, and culturally, Tasmania consistently ranks among the worst regions of Australia. Statistical comparisons with other parts of Australia reveal the population’s high unemployment, low wages, poor educational outcomes, and bad health (West 31). The state’s remoteness and isolation from the mainland states and its reliance on federal income have contributed to the whole of Tasmania, including Hobart, being classified as ‘regional’ by the Australian government, in an attempt to promote immigration and economic growth (Department of Infrastructure and Regional Development 1). Tasmania is indeed both regional and remote. However, in this article we argue that, while regionality may be cast as a disadvantage, the island’s remote location is also an asset, particularly when viewed from a far southern perspective (Image 1).Image 1: Antarctica (Orthographic Projection). Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons, Modified Shading of Tasmania and Addition of Captions by H. Nielsen.Connecting Oceans/Collapsing DistanceTasmania and Antarctica have been closely linked in the past—the future archipelago formed a land bridge between Antarctica and northern land masses until the opening of the Tasman Seaway some 32 million years ago (Barker et al.). The far south was tangible to the Indigenous people of the island in the weather blowing in from the Southern Ocean, while the southern lights, or “nuyina”, formed a visible connection (Australia’s new icebreaker vessel is named RSV Nuyina in recognition of these links). In the contemporary Australian imagination, Tasmania tends to be defined by its marine boundaries, the sea around the islands represented as flat, empty space against which to highlight the topography of its landscape and the isolation of its position (Davies et al.). A more relational geographic perspective illuminates the “power of cross-currents and connections” (Stratford et al. 273) across these seascapes. The sea country of Tasmania is multiple and heterogeneous: the rough, shallow waters of the island-scattered Bass Strait flow into the Tasman Sea, where the continental shelf descends toward an abyssal plain studded with volcanic seamounts. To the south, the Southern Ocean provides nutrient-rich upwellings that attract fish and cetacean populations. Tasmania’s coast is a dynamic, liminal space, moving and changing in response to the global currents that are driven by the shifting, calving and melting ice shelves and sheets in Antarctica.Oceans have long been a medium of connection between Tasmania and Antarctica. In the early colonial period, when the seas were the major thoroughfares of the world and inland travel was treacherous and slow, Tasmania’s connection with the Southern Ocean made it a valuable hub for exploration and exploitation of the south. Between 1642 and 1900, early European explorers were followed by British penal colonists, convicts, sealers, and whalers (Kriwoken and Williamson 93). Tasmania was well known to polar explorers, with expeditions led by Jules Dumont d’Urville, James Clark Ross, Roald Amundsen, and Douglas Mawson all transiting through the port of Hobart. Now that the city is no longer a whaling hub, growing populations of cetaceans continue to migrate past the islands on their annual journeys from the tropics, across the Sub-Antarctic Front and Antarctic circumpolar current, and into the south polar region, while southern species such as leopard seals are occasionally seen around Tasmania (Tasmania Parks and Wildlife). Although the water surrounding Tasmania and Antarctica is at times homogenised as a ‘barrier’, rendering these places isolated, the bodies of water that surround both are in fact permeable, and regularly crossed by both humans and marine species. The waters are diverse in their physical characteristics, underlying topography, sea life, and relationships, and serve to connect many different ocean regions, ecosystems, and weather patterns.Views from the Far SouthWhen considered in terms of its relative proximity to Antarctic, rather than its distance from Australia’s political and economic centres, Tasmania’s identity undergoes a significant shift. A sign at Cockle Creek, in the state’s far south, reminds visitors that they are closer to Antarctica than to Cairns, invoking a discourse of connectedness that collapses the standard ten-day ship voyage to Australia’s closest Antarctic station into a unit comparable with the routinely scheduled 5.5 hour flight to North Queensland. Hobart is the logistical hub for the Australian Antarctic Division and the French Institut Polaire Francais (IPEV), and has hosted Antarctic vessels belonging to the USA, South Korea, and Japan in recent years. From a far southern perspective, Hobart is not a regional Australian capital but a global polar hub. This alters the city’s geographic imaginary not only in a latitudinal sense—from “top down” to “bottom up”—but also a longitudinal one. Via its southward connection to Antarctica, Hobart is also connected east and west to four other recognized gateways: Cape Town in South Africa, Christchurch in New Zealand; Punta Arenas in Chile; and Ushuaia in Argentina (Image 2). The latter cities are considered small by international standards, but play an outsized role in relation to Antarctica.Image 2: H. Nielsen with a Sign Announcing Distances between Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities and Antarctica, Ushuaia, Argentina, 2018. Image Credit: Nicki D'Souza.These five cities form what might be called—to adapt geographer Klaus Dodds’ term—a ‘Southern Rim’ around the South Polar region (Dodds Geopolitics). They exist in ambiguous relationship to each other. Although the five cities signed a Statement of Intent in 2009 committing them to collaboration, they continue to compete vigorously for northern hemisphere traffic and the brand identity of the most prominent global gateway. A state government brochure spruiks Hobart, for example, as the “perfect Antarctic Gateway” emphasising its uniqueness and “natural advantages” in this regard (Tasmanian Government, 2016). In practice, the cities are automatically differentiated by their geographic position with respect to Antarctica. Although the ‘ice continent’ is often conceived as one entity, it too has regions, in both scientific and geographical senses (Terauds and Lee; Antonello). Hobart provides access to parts of East Antarctica, where the Australian, French, Japanese, and Chinese programs (among others) have bases; Cape Town is a useful access point for Europeans going to Dronning Maud Land; Christchurch is closest to the Ross Sea region, site of the largest US base; and Punta Arenas and Ushuaia neighbour the Antarctic Peninsula, home to numerous bases as well as a thriving tourist industry.The Antarctic sector is important to the Tasmanian economy, contributing $186 million (AUD) in 2017/18 (Wells; Gutwein; Tasmanian Polar Network). Unsurprisingly, Tasmania’s gateway brand has been actively promoted, with the 2016 Australian Antarctic Strategy and 20 Year Action Plan foregrounding the need to “Build Tasmania’s status as the premier East Antarctic Gateway for science and operations” and the state government releasing a “Tasmanian Antarctic Gateway Strategy” in 2017. The Chinese Antarctic program has been a particular focus: a Memorandum of Understanding focussed on Australia and China’s Antarctic relations includes a “commitment to utilise Australia, including Tasmania, as an Antarctic ‘gateway’.” (Australian Antarctic Division). These efforts towards a closer relationship with China have more recently come under attack as part of a questioning of China’s interests in the region (without, it should be noted, a concomitant questioning of Australia’s own considerable interests) (Baker 9). In these exchanges, a global power and a state of Australia generally classed as regional and peripheral are brought into direct contact via the even more remote Antarctic region. This connection was particularly visible when Chinese President Xi Jinping travelled to Hobart in 2014, in a visit described as both “strategic” and “incongruous” (Burden). There can be differences in how this relationship is narrated to domestic and international audiences, with issues of sovereignty and international cooperation variously foregrounded, laying the ground for what Dodds terms “awkward Antarctic nationalism” (1).Territory and ConnectionsThe awkwardness comes to a head in Tasmania, where domestic and international views of connections with the far south collide. Australia claims sovereignty over almost 6 million km2 of the Antarctic continent—a claim that in area is “roughly the size of mainland Australia minus Queensland” (Bergin). This geopolitical context elevates the importance of a regional part of Australia: the claims to Antarctic territory (which are recognised only by four other claimant nations) are performed not only in Antarctic localities, where they are made visible “with paraphernalia such as maps, flags, and plaques” (Salazar 55), but also in Tasmania, particularly in Hobart and surrounds. A replica of Mawson’s Huts in central Hobart makes Australia’s historic territorial interests in Antarctica visible an urban setting, foregrounding the figure of Douglas Mawson, the well-known Australian scientist and explorer who led the expeditions that proclaimed Australia’s sovereignty in the region of the continent roughly to its south (Leane et al.). Tasmania is caught in a balancing act, as it fosters international Antarctic connections (such hosting vessels from other national programs), while also playing a key role in administering what is domestically referred to as the Australian Antarctic Territory. The rhetoric of protection can offer common ground: island studies scholar Godfrey Baldacchino notes that as island narratives have moved “away from the perspective of the ‘explorer-discoverer-colonist’” they have been replaced by “the perspective of the ‘custodian-steward-environmentalist’” (49), but reminds readers that a colonising disposition still lurks beneath the surface. It must be remembered that terms such as “stewardship” and “leadership” can undertake sovereignty labour (Dodds “Awkward”), and that Tasmania’s Antarctic connections can be mobilised for a range of purposes. When Environment Minister Greg Hunt proclaimed at a press conference that: “Hobart is the gateway to the Antarctic for the future” (26 Apr. 2016), the remark had meaning within discourses of both sovereignty and economics. Tasmania’s capital was leveraged as a way to position Australia as a leader in the Antarctic arena.From ‘Gateway’ to ‘Antarctic City’While discussion of Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities often focuses on the economic and logistical benefit of their Antarctic connections, Hobart’s “gateway” identity, like those of its counterparts, stretches well beyond this, encompassing geological, climatic, historical, political, cultural and scientific links. Even the southerly wind, according to cartoonist Jon Kudelka, “has penguins in it” (Image 3). Hobart residents feel a high level of connection to Antarctica. In 2018, a survey of 300 randomly selected residents of Greater Hobart was conducted under the umbrella of the “Antarctic Cities” Australian Research Council Linkage Project led by Assoc. Prof. Juan Francisco Salazar (and involving all three present authors). Fourteen percent of respondents reported having been involved in an economic activity related to Antarctica, and 36% had attended a cultural event about Antarctica. Connections between the southern continent and Hobart were recognised as important: 71.9% agreed that “people in my city can influence the cultural meanings that shape our relationship to Antarctica”, while 90% agreed or strongly agreed that Hobart should play a significant role as a custodian of Antarctica’s future, and 88.4% agreed or strongly agreed that: “How we treat Antarctica is a test of our approach to ecological sustainability.” Image 3: “The Southerly” Demonstrates How Weather Connects Hobart and Antarctica. Image Credit: Jon Kudelka, Reproduced with Permission.Hobart, like the other gateways, activates these connections in its conscious place-branding. The city is particularly strong as a centre of Antarctic research: signs at the cruise-ship terminal on the waterfront claim that “There are more Antarctic scientists based in Hobart […] than at any other one place on earth, making Hobart a globally significant contributor to our understanding of Antarctica and the Southern Ocean.” Researchers are based at the Institute for Marine and Antarctic Studies (IMAS), the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO), and the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD), with several working between institutions. Many Antarctic researchers located elsewhere in the world also have a connection with the place through affiliations and collaborations, leading journalist Jo Chandler to assert that “the breadth and depth of Hobart’s knowledge of ice, water, and the life forms they nurture […] is arguably unrivalled anywhere in the world” (86).Hobart also plays a significant role in Antarctica’s governance, as the site of the secretariats for the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) and the Agreement on the Conservation of Albatrosses and Petrels (ACAP), and as host of the Antarctic Consultative Treaty Meetings on more than one occasion (1986, 2012). The cultural domain is active, with Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG) featuring a permanent exhibit, “Islands to Ice”, emphasising the ocean as connecting the two places; the Mawson’s Huts Replica Museum aiming (among other things) to “highlight Hobart as the gateway to the Antarctic continent for the Asia Pacific region”; and a biennial Australian Antarctic Festival drawing over twenty thousand visitors, about a sixth of them from interstate or overseas (Hingley). Antarctic links are evident in the city’s natural and built environment: the dolerite columns of Mt Wellington, the statue of the Tasmanian Antarctic explorer Louis Bernacchi on the waterfront, and the wharfs that regularly accommodate icebreakers such as the Aurora Australis and the Astrolabe. Antarctica is figured as a southern neighbour; as historian Tom Griffiths puts it, Tasmanians “grow up with Antarctica breathing down their necks” (5). As an Antarctic City, Hobart mediates access to Antarctica both physically and in the cultural imaginary.Perhaps in recognition of the diverse ways in which a region or a city might be connected to Antarctica, researchers have recently been suggesting critical approaches to the ‘gateway’ label. C. Michael Hall points to a fuzziness in the way the term is applied, noting that it has drifted from its initial definition (drawn from economic geography) as denoting an access and supply point to a hinterland that produces a certain level of economic benefits. While Hall looks to keep the term robustly defined to avoid empty “local boosterism” (272–73), Gabriela Roldan aims to move the concept “beyond its function as an entry and exit door”, arguing that, among other things, the local community should be actively engaged in the Antarctic region (57). Leane, examining the representation of Hobart as a gateway in historical travel texts, concurs that “ingress and egress” are insufficient descriptors of Tasmania’s relationship with Antarctica, suggesting that at least discursively the island is positioned as “part of an Antarctic rim, itself sharing qualities of the polar region” (45). The ARC Linkage Project described above, supported by the Hobart City Council, the State Government and the University of Tasmania, as well as other national and international partners, aims to foster the idea of the Hobart and its counterparts as ‘Antarctic cities’ whose citizens act as custodians for the South Polar region, with a genuine concern for and investment in its future.Near and Far: Local Perspectives A changing climate may once again herald a shift in the identity of the Tasmanian islands. Recognition of the central role of Antarctica in regulating the global climate has generated scientific and political re-evaluation of the region. Antarctica is not only the planet’s largest heat sink but is the engine of global water currents and wind patterns that drive weather patterns and biodiversity across the world (Convey et al. 543). For example, Tas van Ommen’s research into Antarctic glaciology shows the tangible connection between increased snowfall in coastal East Antarctica and patterns of drought southwest Western Australia (van Ommen and Morgan). Hobart has become a global centre of marine and Antarctic science, bringing investment and development to the city. As the global climate heats up, Tasmania—thanks to its low latitude and southerly weather patterns—is one of the few regions in Australia likely to remain temperate. This is already leading to migration from the mainland that is impacting house prices and rental availability (Johnston; Landers 1). The region’s future is therefore closely entangled with its proximity to the far south. Salazar writes that “we cannot continue to think of Antarctica as the end of the Earth” (67). Shifting Antarctica into focus also brings Tasmania in from the margins. As an Antarctic city, Hobart assumes a privileged positioned on the global stage. This allows the city to present itself as central to international research efforts—in contrast to domestic views of the place as a small regional capital. The city inhabits dual identities; it is both on the periphery of Australian concerns and at the centre of Antarctic activity. Tasmania, then, is not in freefall, but rather at the forefront of a push to recognise Antarctica as entangled with its neighbours to the north.AcknowledgementsThis work was supported by the Australian Research Council under LP160100210.ReferencesAntonello, Alessandro. “Finding Place in Antarctica.” Antarctica and the Humanities. Eds. Peder Roberts, Lize-Marie van der Watt, and Adrian Howkins. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 181–204.Australian Government. 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BOB Hydrographics, LLC conducted a marine archaeological assessment for portions of the Bluewater SPM Project proposed in Nueces and Aransas counties and adjoining federal waters. These archaeological investigations were sponsored by Lloyd Engineering, Inc. on behalf of Bluewater Texas Terminal, LLC. The marine portion of this project comprises two segments: Offshore and Inshore. The Inshore project corridor parallels the Aransas Ship Channel from the community of Aransas Pass to Harbor Island, crossing portions of State Mineral Lease Tracts 309, 310, 313, 314 in Corpus Christi Bay, and then crosses beneath the Lydia Ann Channel to San Jose Island, including a portion of Tract 306 in Aransas Bay. The Offshore project corridor crosses portions of State Mineral Lease Tracts 693, 694, 695 (same as MI-695), 721, 836, 837, 838, 839, 844, 845, 846, 847, 848, 849, 850, and 851 on the Gulf side of San Jose Island, and then crosses portions of Federal Lease Blocks MI-695, MI-696, MI-697, MI-698, and MI-699. The marine Area of Potential Effect (APE) is a 2,000-foot-wide corridor, offshore of San Jose Island, and a 1,000-foot-wide corridor, inshore of San Jose Island. Both Inshore and Offshore APEs are centered on the construction right-of-way and include the proposed lay barge anchorage. The APE totals 7,174 acres, including 3,079 acres in federal waters and 4,095 acres in state waters. The APE in state waters totals 288 acres Inshore and 3,807 acres Offshore in the Gulf of Mexico. Water depth ranges from 2-30 feet (ft) Inshore and from 0-92 ft Offshore. The Project proposes construction of a Deepwater Port (DWP) with two single point mooring (SPM) buoys and associated pipelines. The DWP would be located 17.3 miles offshore of San Jose Island in approximately 89.5 ft of water. The DWP would allow simultaneous loading of two Very Large Crude Carrier tankers with domestic crude oil via two 30-inch sub-marine pipelines. Pipes will be directionally drilled beneath all shorelines and Inshore waterways. Offshore pipes will be buried by a jetting sled to a depth of 6-7 ft below the seafloor with 36 inches of cover. The sled will discharge sediment back into the trench to facilitate backfilling. Subsea pipes will be separated by 10-15 ft, horizontally, within a proposed 75-ft-wide construction right-of-way. Offshore pipes will be installed from a conventional pipelay barge with an 8-point anchor system (using 4 at a time). Inshore pipes will be directionally drilled beneath all bay waters. The purpose of this study was to assess the potential for submerged archaeological sites in the APE; however, no artifacts were collected during the survey. Submerged archaeological sites, in this context, might be historic sites, such as sunken or abandoned watercraft; or drowned terrestrial prehistoric sites dating to the late Pleistocene or Early Holocene when the APE was last above sea level. A review of the cultural background determined that 11 marine archaeological investigations have been conducted within 3 miles of this project. At least, 95 wrecks have been reported within 3 miles of the APE. Geophysical survey was completed by Naismith Marine Services, Inc. from January 4 through April 19, 2019 under Texas Antiquities Permit 8672. A variety of equipment was used to conduct the marine survey, depending on water depths, including multi- and single-beam echo sounders, a sub-bottom profiler, sidescan sonar, and a magnetometer. Archaeologists monitored the acquisition of all data in state waters. Analysis of geophysical survey results from this investigation discovered three significant targets, including one in federal waters (Anomaly 1), and two in state waters (anomalies 2 and 3). All three targets are potentially eligible for the National Register of Historic Places and are recommended for avoidance. The two targets in state waters also may be eligible as State Antiquities Landmarks. Anomaly 2, is confirmed as a shipwreck by sonar imagery and is designated as an archaeological site, 41AS119. No potential historic sites were discovered by the Inshore survey. There is low potential for the presence of intact prehistoric sites in the Offshore APE. The top of the Beaumont Formation is exposed at the seafloor between the 31- ft and 46-ft isobaths and is buried by Holocene sediments to varying depths beneath the remainder of the survey corridor. This former land surface had little protection from wave energy during sea-level rise and is still actively eroding along portions of the APE where exposed. The Texas Historical Commission did not require sub-bottom data in the bay, so areas of high potential for submerged prehistoric sites were not mapped there. This study was completed in compliance with Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (Public Law 89-665; 16 U.S.C. 470) and the Antiquities Code of Texas (Texas Natural Resource Code, Title 9, Chapter 191). The minimum reporting and survey requirements for marine archaeological studies conducted under a Texas Antiquities Permit are mandated by The Texas Administrative Code, Title 13, Part 2, Chapters 26 and 28, respectively. The petroleum industry is regulated in federal waters, beyond 9 nautical miles offshore, by the Bureau of Ocean Energy Management (BOEM), an agency of the United States Department of the Interior. This study also complies with archaeological requirements published by BOEM in their Notice to Lessees 2005-G07. Archaeological project records are curated at the Center for Archeological Study at Texas State University in San Marcos.

I was born illegitimate. Born on an existential precipice. My unwed mother was 36 years old when she relinquished me. I was the fourth baby she was required to give away. After I emerged blood stained and blue tinged – abject, liminal – not only did the nurses refuse me my mother’s touch, I also lost the sound of her voice. Her smell. Her heart beat. Her taste. Her gaze. The silence was multi-sensory. When they told her I was dead, I also lost, within her memory and imagination, my life. I was adopted soon after but not told for over four decades. It was too shameful for even me to know. Imprinted at birth with a psychological ‘death’, I fell, as a Late Discovery Adoptee (LDA), into a socio-cultural and psychological abyss, frozen at birth at the bottom of a parturitive void from where, invisible within family, society, and self I was unable to form an undamaged sense of being.Throughout the 20th century (and for centuries before) this kind of ‘social abortion’ was the dominant script. An adoptee was regarded as a bastard, born of sin, the mother blamed, the father exonerated, and silence demanded (Lynch 28-74). My adoptive mother also sinned. She was infertile. But, in taking me on, she assumed the role of a womb worthy woman, good wife, and, in her case, reluctant mother (she secretly didn’t want children and was privately overwhelmed by the task). In this way, my mother, my adoptive mother, and myself are all the daughters of bereavement, all of us sacrificed on the altar of prejudice and fear that infertility, sex outside of marriage, and illegitimacy were unspeakable crimes for which a price must be paid and against which redemptive protection must be arranged. If, as Thomas Keneally (5) writes, “original sin is the mother fluid of history” then perhaps all three of us all lie in its abject waters. Grotevant, Dunbar, Kohler and Lash Esau (379) point out that adoption was used to ‘shield’ children from their illegitimacy, women from their ‘sexual indiscretions’, and adoptive parents from their infertility in the belief that “severing ties with birth family members would promote attachment between adopted children and parents”. For the adoptee in the closed record system, the socio/political/economic vortex that orchestrated their illegitimacy is born out of a deeply, self incriminating primal fear that reaches right back into the recesses of survival – the act of procreation is infested with easily transgressed life and death taboos within the ‘troop’ that require silence and the burial of many bodies (see Amanda Gardiner’s “Sex, Death and Desperation: Infanticide, Neonaticide, and Concealment of Birth in Colonial Western Australia” for a palpable, moving, and comprehensive exposition on the links between 'illegitimacy', the unmarried mother and child murder). As Nancy Verrier (24) states in Coming Home to Self, “what has to be understood is that separation trauma is an insidious experience, because, as a society, we fail to see this experience as a trauma”. Indeed, relinquishment/adoption for the baby and subsequent adult can be acutely and chronically painful. While I was never told the truth of my origins, of course, my body knew. It had been there. Sentient, aware, sane, sensually, organically articulate, it messaged me (and anyone who may have been interested) over the decades via the language of trauma, its lexicon and grammar cellular, hormonal, muscular (Howard & Crandall, 1-17; Pert, 72), the truth of my birth, of who I was an “unthought known” (Bollas 4). I have lived out my secret fatality in a miasmic nebula of what I know now to be the sequelae of adoption psychopathology: nausea, physical and psychological pain, agoraphobia, panic attacks, shame, internalised anger, depression, self-harm, genetic bewilderment, and generalised anxiety (Brodzinsky 25-47; Brodzinsky, Smith, & Brodzinsky 74; Kenny, Higgins, Soloff, & Sweid xiv; Levy-Shiff 97-98; Lifton 210-212; Verrier The Primal Wound 42-44; Wierzbicki 447-451) – including an all pervading sense of unreality experienced as dissociation (the experience of depersonalisation – where the self feels unreal – and derealisation – where the world feels unreal), disembodiment, and existential elision – all characteristics of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). In these ways, my body intervened, acted out, groaned in answer to the social overlay, and from beyond “the dermal veil” tried to procure access, as Vicky Kirby (77) writes, to “the body’s opaque ocean depths” through its illnesses, its eloquent, and incessantly aching and silent verbosities deepened and made impossibly fraught because I was not told. The aim of this paper is to discuss one aspect of how my body tried to channel the trauma of my secret fatality and liminality: my pre-disclosure art work (the cellular memory of my trauma also expressed itself, pre-disclosure, through my writings – poetry, journal entries – and also through post-coital glossolalia, all discussed at length in my Honours research “Womb Tongues” and my Doctoral Dissertation “The Womb Artist – A Novel: Translating Pre-verbal Late Discovery Adoption Trauma into Narrative”). From the age of thirty onwards I spent twelve years in therapy where the cause of my childhood and adult psychopathology remained a mystery. During this time, my embodied grief and memories found their way into my art work, a series of 5’ x 3’ acrylic paintings, some of which I offer now for discussion (figures 1-4). These paintings map and express what my body knew but could not verbalise (without language to express my grief, my body found other ways to vent). They are symptom and sign of my pre-verbal adoption trauma, evidence that my body ‘knew’ and laboured ceaselessly and silently to find creative ways to express the incarcerated trauma. Post disclosure, I have used my paintings as artefacts to inform, underpin, and nourish the writing of a collection of poetry “Womb Tongues” and a literary novel/memoir “The Womb Artist” (TWA) in an ongoing autoethnographical, performative, and critical inquiry. My practice-led research as a now conscious and creative witness, fashions the recontextualisation of my ‘self’ into my ‘self’ and society, this time with cognisant and reparative knowledge and facilitates the translation of my body’s psychopathology and memory (explicit and implicit) into a healing testimony that explores the traumatised body as text and politicizes the issues surrounding LDAs (Riley 205). If I use these paintings as a memoirist, I use them second hand, after the fact, after they have served their initial purpose, as the tangible art works of a baby buried beneath a culture’s prejudice, shame, and judgement and the personal cries from the illegitimate body/self. I use them now to explore and explain my subclinical and subterranean life as a LDA.My pre-disclosure paintings (Figures 1-4) – filled with vaginal, fetal, uterine, and umbilical references – provide some kind of ‘evidence’ that my body knew what had happened to me as if, with the tenacity of a poltergeist, my ‘spectral self’ found ways to communicate. Not simply clues, but the body’s translation of the intra-psychic landscape, a pictorial and artistic séance into the world, as if my amygdala – as quasar and signal, homing device and history lesson (a measure, container, and memoir) – knew how to paint a snap shot or an x-ray of the psyche, of my cellular marrow memories (a term formulated from fellow LDA Sandy McCutcheon’s (76) memoir, The Magician’s Son when he says, “What I really wanted was the history of my marrow”). If, as Salveet Talwar suggests, “trauma is processed from the body up”, then for the LDA pre-discovery, non-verbal somatic signage is one’s ‘mother tongue’(25). Talwar writes, “non-verbal expressive therapies such as art, dance, music, poetry and drama all activate the sub-cortical regions of the brain and access pre-verbal memories” (26). In these paintings, eerily divinatory and pointed traumatic, memories are made visible and access, as Gussie Klorer (213) explains in regard to brain function and art therapy, the limbic (emotional) system and the prefrontal cortex in sensorimotor integration. In this way, as Marie Angel and Anna Gibbs (168) suggest, “the visual image may serve as a kind of transitional mode in thought”. Ruth Skilbeck in her paper First Things: Reflections on Single-lens Reflex Digital Photography with a Wide-angled Lens, also discusses (with reference to her photographic record and artistic expression of her mother’s death) what she calls the “dark matter” – what has been overlooked, “left out”, and/or is inexplicable (55) – and the idea of art work as the “transitional object” as “a means that some artists use, conceptually and yet also viscerally, in response to the extreme ‘separation anxiety’ of losing a loved one, to the void of the Unknown” (57). In my case, non-disclosure prevented my literacy and the evolution of the image into language, prevented me from fully understanding the coded messages left for me in my art work. However, each of my paintings is now, with the benefit of full disclosure, a powerful, penetrating, and comprehensible intra and extra sensory cry from the body in kinaesthetic translation (Lusebrink, 125; Klorer, 217). In Figure 1, ‘Embrace’, the reference to the umbilical is palpable, described in my novel “The Womb Artist” (184) this way; “two ropes tightly entwine as one, like a dark and dirty umbilical cord snaking its way across a nether world of smudged umbers”. There is an ‘abject’ void surrounding it. The cord sapped of its colour, its blood, nutrients – the baby starved of oxygen, breath; the LDA starved of words and conscious understanding. It has two parts entwined that may be seen in many ways (without wanting to reduce these to static binaries): mother/baby; conscious/unconscious; first person/third person; child/adult; semiotic/symbolic – numerous dualities could be spun from this embrace – but in terms of my novel and of the adoptive experience, it reeks of need, life and death, a text choking on the poetic while at the same time nourished by it; a text made ‘available’ to the reader while at the same narrowing, limiting, and obscuring the indefinable nature of pre-verbal trauma. Figure 1. Embrace. 1993. Acrylic on canvas.The painting ‘Womb Tongues’ (Figure 2) is perhaps the last (and, obviously, lasting) memory of the infinite inchoate universe within the womb, the umbilical this time wrapped around in a phallic/clitorial embrace as the baby-self emerges into the constrictions of a Foucauldian world, where the adoptive script smothers the ‘body’ encased beneath the ‘coils’ of Judeo-Christian prejudice and centuries old taboo. In this way, the reassigned adoptee is an acute example of power (authority) controlling and defining the self and what knowledge of the self may be allowed. The baby in this painting is now a suffocated clitoris, a bound subject, a phallic representation, a gagged ‘tongue’ in the shape of the personally absent (but socially imposing) omni-present and punitive patriarchy. Figure 2. Womb Tongues. 1997. Acrylic on canvas.‘Germination’ (Figure 3) depicts an umbilical again, but this time as emerging from a seething underworld and is present in TWA (174) this way, “a colony of night crawlers that writhe and slither on the canvas, moving as one, dozens of them as thin as a finger, as long as a dream”. The rhizomic nature of this painting (and Figure 4), becomes a heaving horde of psychosomatic and psychopathological influences and experiences, a multitude of closely packed, intense, and dendridic compulsions and symptoms, a mass of interconnected (and by nature of the silence and lie) subterranean knowledges that force the germination of a ‘ghost baby/child/adult’ indicated by the pale and ashen seedling that emerges above ground. The umbilical is ghosted, pale and devoid of life. It is in the air now, reaching up, as if in germination to a psychological photosynthesis. There is the knot and swarm within the unconscious; something has, in true alien fashion, been incubated and is now emerging. In some ways, these paintings are hardly cryptic.Figure 3. Germination.1993. Acrylic on canvas.In Figure 4 ‘The Birthing Tree’, the overt symbolism reaches ‘clairvoyant status’. This could be read as the family ‘tree’ with its four faces screaming out of the ‘branches’. Do these represent the four babies relinquished by our mother (the larger of these ‘beings’ as myself, giving birth to the illegitimate, silenced, and abject self)? Are we all depicted in anguish and as wraithlike, grotesquely simplified into pure affect? This illegitimate self is painted as gestating a ‘blue’ baby, near full-term in a meld of tree and ‘self’, a blue umbilical cord, again, devoid of blood, ghosted, lifeless and yet still living, once again suffocated by the representation of the umbilical in the ‘bowels’ of the self, the abject part of the body, where refuse is stored and eliminated: The duodenum of the damned. The Devil may be seen as Christopher Bollas’s “shadow of the object”, or the Jungian archetypal shadow, not simply a Judeo-Christian fear-based spectre and curmudgeon, but a site of unprocessed and, therefore, feared psychological material, material that must be brought to consciousness and integrated. Perhaps the Devil also is the antithesis to ‘God’ as mother. The hell of ‘not mother’, no mother, not the right mother, the reluctant adoptive mother – the Devil as icon for the rich underbelly of the psyche and apophatic to the adopted/artificial/socially scripted self.Figure 4. The Birthing Tree. 1995. Acrylic on canvas.These paintings ache with the trauma of my relinquishment and LDA experience. They ache with my body’s truth, where the cellular and psychological, flesh and blood and feeling, leak from my wounds in unspeakable confluence (the two genital lips as the site of relinquishment, my speaking lips that have been sealed through non-disclosure and shame, the psychological trauma as Verrier’s ‘primal wound’) just as I leaked from my mother (and society) at birth, as blood and muck, and ooze and pus and death (Grosz 195) only to be quickly and silently mopped up and cleansed through adoption and life-long secrecy. Where I, as translator, fluent in both silence and signs, disclose the baby’s trauma, asking for legitimacy. My experience as a LDA sets up an interesting experiment, one that allows an examination of the pre-verbal/pre-disclosure body as a fleshed and breathing Rosetta Stone, as an interface between the language of the body and of the verbalised, painted, and written text. As a constructed body, written upon and invented legally, socially, and psychologically, I am, in Hélène Cixous’s (“To Live the Orange” 83) words, “un-forgetting”, “un-silencing” and “unearthing” my ‘self’ – I am re-writing, re-inventing and, under public scrutiny, legitimising my ‘self’. I am a site of inquiry, discovery, extrapolation, and becoming (Metta 492; Poulus 475) and, as Grosz (vii) suggests, a body with “all the explanatory power” of the mind. I am, as I embroider myself and my LDA experience into literary and critical texts, authoring myself into existence, referencing with particular relevance Peter Carnochan’s (361) suggestion that “analysis...acts as midwife to the birth of being”. I am, as I swim forever amorphous, invisible, and unspoken in my mother’s womb, fashioning a shore, landscaping my mind against the constant wet, my chronic liminality (Rambo 629) providing social landfall for other LDAs and silenced minorities. As Catherine Lynch (3) writes regarding LDAs, “Through the creation of text and theory I can formulate an intimate space for a family of adoptive subjects I might never know via our participation in a new discourse in Australian academia.” I participate through my creative, self-reflexive, process fuelled (Durey 22), practice-led enquiry. I use the intimacy (and also universality and multiplicity) and illegitimacy of my body as an alterative text, as a site of academic and creative augmentation in the understanding of LDA issues. The relinquished and silenced baby and LDA adult needs a voice, a ‘body’, and a ‘tender’ place in the consciousness of society, as Helen Riley (“Confronting the Conspiracy of Silence” 11) suggests, “voice, validation, and vindication”. Judith Herman (3) argues that, “Survivors challenge us to reconnect fragments, to reconstruct history, to make meaning of their present symptoms in the light of past events”. I seek to use the example of my experience – as Judith Durey (31) suggests, in “support of evocative, creative modes of representation as valid forms of research in their own right” – to unfurl the whole, to give impetus and precedence for other researchers into adoption and advocate for future babies who may be bought, sold, arranged, and/or created by various means. The recent controversy over Gammy, the baby boy born with Down Syndrome in Thailand, highlights the urgent and moral need for legislation with regard to surrogacy (see Kajsa Ekis Ekman’s Being and Being Bought: Prostitution, Surrogacy and the Split Self for a comprehensive examination of surrogacy issues). Indeed, Catherine Lynch in her paper Doubting Adoption Legislation links the experiences of LDAs and the children of born of surrogacy, most effectively arguing that, “if the fate that closed record adoptees suffered was a misplaced solution to the question of what to do with children already conceived how can you justify the deliberate conception of a child with the intention even before its creation of cruelly removing that child from their mother?” (6). Cixous (xxii) confesses, “All I want is to illustrate, depict fragments, events of human life and death...each unique and yet at the same time exchangeable. Not the law, the exception”. I, too, am a fragment, an illustration (a painting), and, as every individual always is – paradoxically – a communal and, therefore, deeply recognisable and generally applicable minority and exception. In my illegitimacy, I am some kind of evidence. Evidence of cellular memory. Evidence of embodiment. Evidence that silenced illegitimacies will manifest in symptom and non-verbal narratives, that they will ooze out and await translation, verification, and witness. This paper is offered with reverence and with feminist intention, as a revenant mouthpiece for other LDAs, babies born of surrogacy, and donor assisted offspring (and, indeed, any) who are marginalised, silenced, and obscured. It is also intended to promote discussion in the psychological and psychoanalytic fields and, as Helen Riley (202-207) advocates regarding late discovery offspring, more research within the social sciences and the bio-medical field that may encourage legislators to better understand what the ‘best interests of the child’ are in terms of late discovery of origins and the complexity of adoption/conception practices available today. As I write now (and always) the umbilical from my paintings curve and writhe across my soul, twist and morph into the swollen and throbbing organ of tongues, my throat aching to utter, my hands ready to craft latent affect into language in translation of, and in obedience to, my body’s knowledges. It is the art of mute witness that reverses genesis, that keeps the umbilical fat and supple and full of blood, and allows my conscious conception and creation. Indeed, in the intersection of my theoretical, creative, psychological, and somatic praxis, the heat (read hot and messy, insightful and insistent signage) of my body’s knowledges perhaps intensifies – with a ripe bouquet – the inevitably ongoing odour/aroma of the reproductive world. ReferencesAngel, Maria, and Anna Gibbs. “On Moving and Being Moved: The Corporeality of Writing in Literary Fiction and New Media Art.” Literature and Sensation, eds. Anthony Uhlmann, Helen Groth, Paul Sheehan, and Stephan McLaren. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009: 162-172. Bollas, Christopher. The Shadow of the Object: Psychoanalysis of the Unthought Known. New York: Columbia UP, 1987. Brodzinsky, David. “Adjustment to Adoption: A Psychosocial Perspective.” Clinical Psychology Review 7 (1987): 25-47. doi: 10.1016/0272-7358(87)90003-1.Brodzinsky, David, Daniel Smith, and Anne Brodzinsky. Children’s Adjustment to Adoption: Developmental and Clinical Issues. California: Sage Publications, 1998.Carnochan, Peter. “Containers without Lids”. Psychoanalytic Dialogues 16.3 (2006): 341-362.Cixous, Hélène. “To Live the Orange”. The Hélène Cixous Reader: With a Preface by Hélène Cixous and Foreword by Jacques Derrida, ed. Susan Sellers. Oxford, UK: Routledge, 1979/1994. 81-92. ---. “Preface.” The Hélène Cixous Reader: With a Preface by Hélène Cixous and Foreword by Jacques Derrida, ed. Susan Sellers. Oxford, UK: Routledge, 1994. xv-xxii.Coull, Kim. “Womb Tongues: A Collection of Poetry.” Honours Thesis. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2007. ---. “The Womb Artist – A Novel: Translating Late Discovery Adoptee Pre-Verbal Trauma into Narrative”. Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014. Durey, Judith. Translating Hiraeth, Performing Adoption: Art as Mediation and Form of Cultural Production. Dissertation. Perth, WA: Murdoch University, 2010. 22 Sep. 2011 .Ekis Ekman, Kajsa. Being and Being Bought: Prostitution, Surrogacy and the Split Self. Trans. S. Martin Cheadle. North Melbourne: Spinifex Press, 2013. Gardiner, Amanda. “Sex, Death and Desperation: Infanticide, Neonaticide, and Concealment of Birth in Colonial Western Australia”. Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014. Grosz, Elizabeth. Volatile Bodies. NSW: Allen &. Unwin, 1994. Grotevant, Harold D., Nora Dunbar, Julie K. Kohler, and Amy. M. Lash Esau. “Adoptive Identity: How Contexts within and beyond the Family Shape Developmental Pathways.” Family Relations 49.3 (2000): 79-87.Herman, Judith L. Trauma and Recovery: From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. London: Harper Collins, 1992. Howard, Sethane, and Mark W. Crandall. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder: What Happens in the Brain. Washington Academy of Sciences 93.3 (2007): 1-18.Keneally, Thomas. Schindler’s List. London: Serpentine Publishing Company, 1982. Kenny, Pauline, Daryl Higgins, Carol Soloff, and Reem Sweid. Past Adoption Experiences: National Research Study on the Service Response to Past Adoption Practices. Research Report 21. Australian Institute of Family Studies, 2012.Kirby, Vicky. Telling Flesh: The Substance of the Corporeal. New York and London: Routledge, 1997. Klorer, P. Gussie. “Expressive Therapy with Severely Maltreated Children: Neuroscience Contributions.” Journal of the American Art Therapy Association 22.4 (2005): 213-220. doi:10.1080/07421656.2005.10129523.Levy-Shiff, Rachel. “Psychological Adjustment of Adoptees in Adulthood: Family Environment and Adoption-Related Correlates. International Journal of Behavioural Development 25 (2001): 97-104. doi: 1080/01650250042000131.Lifton, Betty J. “The Adoptee’s Journey.” Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless 11.2 (2002): 207-213. doi: 10.1023/A:1014320119546.Lusebrink, Vija B. “Art Therapy and the Brain: An Attempt to Understand the Underlying Processes of Art Expression in Therapy.” Journal of the American Art Therapy Association 21.3 (2004): 125-135. doi:10.1080/07421656. 2004.10129496.Lynch, Catherine. “An Ado/aptive Reading and Writing of Australia and Its Contemporary Literature.” Australian Journal of Adoption 1.1 (2009): 1-401.---. Doubting Adoption Legislation. n.d.McCutcheon, Sandy. The Magician’s Son: A Search for Identity. Sydney, NSW: Penguin, 2006. Metta, Marilyn. “Putting the Body on the Line: Embodied Writing and Recovery through Domestic Violence.” Handbook of Autoethnography, eds. Stacy Holman Jones, Tony Adams, and Carolyn Ellis. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2013: 486-509.Pert, Candace. Molecules of Emotion: The Science behind Mind-body Medicine. New York: Touchstone, 2007. Rambo, Carol. “Twitch: A Performance of Chronic Liminality.” Handbook of Autoethnography, eds. Stacy Holman Jones, Tony Adams, and Carolyn Ellis. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2013: 627-638.Riley, Helen J. Identity and Genetic Origins: An Ethical Exploration of the Late Discovery of Adoptive and Donor-insemination Offspring Status. Dissertation. Brisbane: Queensland University of Technology, 2012.---. “Confronting the Conspiracy of Silence and Denial of Difference for Late Discovery Persons and Donor Conceived People.” Australian Journal of Adoption 7.2 (2013): 1-13.Skilbeck, Ruth. “First Things: Reflection on Single-Lens Reflex Digital Photography with a Wide-Angle Lens.” International Journal of the Image 3 (2013): 55-66. Talwar, Savneet. “Accessing Traumatic Memory through Art Making: An Art Therapy Trauma Protocol (ATTP)." 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Horizon Environmental Services, Inc. (Horizon) was selected by the City of Dripping Springs to conduct an intensive cultural resources inventory survey and assessment of the proposed Dripping Springs Wastewater System Improvements Project (EID 1) in Dripping Springs, Hays County, Texas (USACE Project No. SWF-2020-00075). This survey represents the first phase of a larger project involving the proposed construction of wastewater system improvements in Dripping Springs. The current phase of the project would involve three separate components—the West Interceptor segment, which extends approximately 3.7 kilometers (2.3 miles) in length along Onion Creek west of Farm-to-Market Road (FM) 12; the Reclaimed Water Line segment, which extends approximately 1.3 kilometers (0.8 mile) in length between Needham Road and the intersection of FM 12 and FM 150; an approximately 2.3-hectare (5.7-acre) effluent pond located south of an existing water reclamation facility south of FM 150; and the proposed expansion of the existing water reclamation facility adjacent to the proposed effluent pond, which together cover 3.3 hectares (8.0 acres). The linear rights-of-way (ROW) of proposed pipeline segments would measure a maximum of 30.5 meters (100.0 feet) in width, and the proposed project components would cover a combined area of approximately 18.5 hectares (45.6 acres). The proposed undertaking would be sponsored by the City of Dripping Springs, a public subdivision of the state of Texas. As a political subdivision of the state of Texas, the project would fall under the jurisdiction of the Antiquities Code of Texas (Natural Resources Code, Title 9, Chapter 191). In addition, the project would utilize funding provided by the Clean Water State Revolving Fund (CWSRF) program, which is a federal-state partnership between the US Environmental Protection Agency (US EPA) and the state of Texas. As the US EPA is a federal agency, the project would also fall under the jurisdiction of Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) of 1966, as amended. As the proposed project represents a publicly sponsored undertaking, the project sponsor is required to provide the Texas Historical Commission (THC), which serves as the State Historic Preservation Office (SHPO) for the state of Texas, with an opportunity to review and comment on the project’s potential to adversely affect historic properties listed on or considered eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) under the NHPA and for designation as State Antiquities Landmarks (SAL) under the Antiquities Code of Texas. From October 1 to 3, on November 4, and on November 22, 2019, Horizon archeologists Jesse Dalton, McKinzie Froese, Amy Goldstein, Elizabeth Sefton, and Jared Wiersema conducted an intensive cultural resources survey of the project area, including pedestrian walkover with shovel testing and backhoe trenching. The survey was performed under the supervision of Jeffrey D. Owens, who served as Principal Investigator, under Texas Antiquities Permit No. 9114. The purpose of the survey was to locate any significant cultural resources that potentially would be impacted by the proposed undertaking. Horizon’s archeologists traversed the project area on foot and thoroughly inspected the modern ground surface for aboriginal and historic-age cultural resources. Overall, vegetation across the entire project area generally consisted of short- to medium-length grasses interspersed with mature live oak and cedar trees, which afforded fair to good ground surface visibility (30 to 60%). Within the riparian zone of Onion Creek, vegetation consisted of tall, dense grass and mature honey mesquite, cedar, live oak, and hackberry trees, which provided poor ground surface visibility (<30%). The West Interceptor segment runs along the gravelly terraces of Onion Creek. Topographically, this segment of the project area consists of steep limestone steps and rocky outcrops that give way to flat, open fields. The proposed interceptor crosses Onion Creek at three locations, and the lower stream terraces of the creek have extensive gravel bars and debris associated with high-energy flooding. Soil profiles typically consist of a shallow A horizon of hard, calcareous clay loam underlain by dense gravelly deposits; however, in the southeastern portion of the West Interceptor, deeper clayey loam alluvium underlain by limestone bedrock was encountered. The Reclaimed Water Line segment traverses the west-facing hillslopes of upland ridges east of Onion Creek. Approximately the southeastern half of this segment of the project area would be constructed within the existing ROW of FM 12 west of the roadway, and construction, use, and ongoing maintenance of the roadway and associated facilities has resulted in extensive prior disturbances. Evidence of ground disturbance resulting from land clearing for housing developments and a transmission line were also noted within the northwestern portion of the proposed Reclaimed Water Line segment. The far northwestern end of the proposed Reclaimed Water Line segment skims the edge of the floodplain associated with a tributary of Onion Creek. Sediments on the terraces of this stream channel consist of calcareous loamy alluvial deposits, while soils across the upland portions of the segment consist of shallow deposits of gravelly clay and clay loam underlain by naturally degrading limestone bedrock. The water reclamation facility expansion and effluent pond segment are located on the upper terraces northeast of Onion Creek. The water reclamation facility is an existing industrial facility surrounded by septic fields, and prior disturbances from construction, use, and ongoing maintenance of the facility are extensive. The proposed expansion area to the north of the existing facility is currently utilized as a septic field. Sediments within this segment of the project area consist of shallow, gravelly, calcareous loamy to clayey loam alluvium underlain by naturally degrading limestone bedrock. In addition to a pedestrian walkover, the Texas State Minimum Archeological Survey Standards (TSMASS) require a minimum of 16 subsurface shovel tests per 1.6 kilometers (1.0 mile) for each 30.5-meter- (100.0-foot-) wide transect (or fraction thereof) for linear surveys unless field conditions warrant more shovel tests (e.g., in cultural high-probability areas) or fewer shovel tests (e.g., on steep slopes, in areas with excellent ground surface visibility). For block-area surveys, the TSMASS require two shovel tests per 0.4 hectare (1.0 acre) for project areas between 1.2 and 4.0 hectares (3.0 and 10.0 acres) in size. As such, a minimum of 37 shovel tests would be required within the West Interceptor segment, 13 shovel tests would be required within the Reclaimed Water Line segment, and 16 shovel tests would be required within the proposed water reclamation facility expansion and effluent pond area, for a total of 66 shovel tests for the project area as a whole. Horizon excavated a total of 106 shovel tests during the survey, including 82 shovel tests within the West Interceptor segment, 13 shovel tests within the Reclaimed Water Line segment, and 11 shovel tests within the facility expansion and effluent pond area. The shovel tests within the proposed facility expansion and effluent pond area were not all excavated directly within the final proposed construction footprint as the boundaries of this portion of the project area had not been firmly determined at the time of the survey, and no shovel tests were excavated within the existing water reclamation facility due to the extent of observable prior disturbances within this area. Overall, Horizon exceeded the minimum number of shovel tests required for the project area as a whole, and it is Horizon’s opinion that shovel testing was capable of fully penetrating sediments with the potential to contain subsurface archeological deposits (with the exception noted below where backhoe trenches were excavated along a portion of the West Interceptor segment). In addition to shovel testing, Horizon excavated four backhoe trenches within the southeastern portion of the proposed West Interceptor segment. The trenches were excavated at roughly 100.0-meter (328.0-foot) intervals along the proposed centerline to depths ranging from 105.0 to 350.0 centimeters (41.3 to 137.8 inches) below surface. Sediments observed within trench profiles typically consisted of moderately deep deposits of grayish-brown fine clay loam over yellowish-brown fine sandy loam. Dense deposits of river cobbles and/or naturally degrading limestone bedrock were observed at the base of three of the four trenches, and it is Horizon’s opinion that backhoe trenching was capable of fully penetrating sediments with the potential to contain archeological deposits. One chert flake was recorded in a shovel test (ST AG30) at a depth of 0.0 to 30.0 centimeters (0.0 to 11.8 inches) below surface at the far northwestern end of the West Interceptor project segment. Supplemental delineation shovel tests excavated around this initial discovery failed to produce any additional evidence of prehistoric cultural activity at this location, so the chert flake was recorded as an isolated artifact occurrence but was not documented as an archeological site. No other cultural resources of prehistoric or historic age were recorded within the project area during the pedestrian survey, shovel testing, or backhoe trenching. Based on the results of the survey-level investigations documented in this report, no cultural resources would be affected by the proposed undertaking. In accordance with 36 CFR 800.4, Horizon has made a reasonable and good-faith effort to identify historic properties within the project area. No cultural resources were identified within the project area that meet the criteria for designation as SALs according to 13 TAC 26 or for inclusion in the NRHP according to 36 CFR 60.4. Horizon recommends a finding of “no historic properties affected,” and no further archeological work is recommended in connection with the proposed undertaking. However, human burials, both prehistoric and historic, are protected under the Texas Health and Safety Code. In the event that any human remains or burial objects are inadvertently discovered at any point during construction, use, or ongoing maintenance in the project area, even in previously surveyed areas, all work should cease immediately in the vicinity of the inadvertent discovery, and the THC should be notified immediately. Following completion of the project, all project records will be prepared for permanent curation at the Texas Archeological Research Laboratory (TARL).