Journal articles on the topic 'New Zealand. Manpower Planning Unit'

This study sought to shed light on the experiences of Tongan immigrants in New Zealand. Three major areas were explored: the migration decision-making process, socio-economic changes in the host country, and transnational networks with Tonga. With respect to migration decision-making, the nuclear family plays an important role as the final decision-making unit. Family-related reasons, jobs, and study were the typical reasons for migration to New Zealand. Regarding socio-economic changes, the immigrants' income tends to increase as their duration of stay in New Zealand lengthens. Most of them work at blue-collar jobs. Many immigrants who were unmarried at the time of migration married after moving to New Zealand, mostly to other Tongans. The church serves as a critical support system for the immigrants. Tongans tend to prefer permanent residency visas over New Zealand citizenship. Remittances continue to play an important role in immigrants' links to Tonga, as do communication with family members and visits to Tonga. Despite these continuing links with their home country, most of the immigrants do not wish to return to Tonga permanently.

The author develops a simulation model to estimate the optimum timing and maximum impact of full rehabilitation of New Zealand housing stock. The model is based on the theories of classical population dynamics. Data used in the model include empirical estimates of the mortality of New Zealand housing stock, assumed schedules of depreciation of dwelling services, and assumed schedules of annual maintenance costs. The dwelling service years provided by dwellings serve as a proxy for benefits of rents or imputed rents (excluding rent for land). The cost to construct one dwelling and fractions thereof serve as a proxy for costs of maintenance, rehabilitation, replacement, and new construction. Optimum timing of rehabilitation can increase the quantity of benefits provided by the housing stock per unit total cost but a reduction in the growth rate of new dwellings has a greater impact in achieving the same objective. A stationary and stable housing stock can provide 45% more dwelling services per unit total cost than a housing stock which doubles in size every 35 years.

Much of the emphasis on facility design for shipbuilding has focused on improved processes and material flow, whether in the panel lines, block assembly, unit erection, or dry-dock operations. However, the analysis performed during planning for a new structural fabrication facility at the Quonset Point site of Electric Boat Corporation indicates that excessive, non-value-added time is spent in material movement, job setup, and locating resources (crane, service material, inspection equipment, etc.). Although these problems are evident in many shipbuilding operations, they are especially problematic in submarine fabrication, where the structural components are high value added, production volumes are low, movement of in-process products is costly, and inspection requirements are stringent. In planning for the new facility for structural fabrication, Electric Boat is using a product-centric approach. The goal is to define manageable families of products and design a facility to ensure that all of the resources required by these products are readily available during their fabrication. In this paper the authors first present the methodology used to develop process models for the product families at Electric Boat. These process models provide critical input to the design team determining space, equipment, and manpower requirements for the new facility. The authors then discuss the design process for a new facility focused on the production of structural product families for submarines.

ObjectiveTo compare maternal and neonatal birth outcomes and morbidities associated with the intention to give birth in a freestanding primary level midwife-led maternity unit (PMU) or tertiary level obstetric-led maternity hospital (TMH) in Canterbury, Aotearoa/New Zealand.DesignProspective cohort study.Participants407 women who intended to give birth in a PMU and 285 women who intended to give birth at the TMH in 2010–2011. All of the women planning a TMH birth were ‘low risk’, and 29 of the PMU cohort had identified risk factors.Primary outcomesMode of birth, Apgar score of less than 7 at 5 min and neonatal unit admission. Secondary outcomes: labour onset, analgesia, blood loss, third stage of labour management, perineal trauma, non-pharmacological pain relief, neonatal resuscitation, breastfeeding, gestational age at birth, birth weight, severe morbidity and mortality.ResultsWomen who planned a PMU birth were significantly more likely to have a spontaneous vaginal birth (77.9%vs62.3%, adjusted OR (AOR) 1.61, 95% CI 1.08 to 2.39), and significantly less likely to have an instrumental assisted vaginal birth (10.3%vs20.4%, AOR 0.59, 95% CI 0.37 to 0.93). The emergency and elective caesarean section rates were not significantly different (emergency: PMU 11.6% vs TMH 17.5%, AOR 0.88, 95% CI 0.55 to 1.40; elective: PMU 0.7% vs TMH 2.1%, AOR 0.34, 95% CI 0.08 to 1.41). There were no significant differences between the cohorts in rates of 5 min Apgar score of <7 (2.0%vs2.1%, AOR 0.82, 95% CI 0.27 to 2.52) and neonatal unit admission (5.9%vs4.9%, AOR 1.44, 95% CI 0.70 to 2.96). Planning to give birth in a primary unit was associated with similar or reduced odds of intrapartum interventions and similar odds of all measured neonatal well-being indicators.ConclusionsThe results of this study support freestanding midwife-led primary-level maternity units as physically safe places for well women to plan to give birth, with these women having higher rates of spontaneous vaginal births and lower rates of interventions and their associated morbidities than those who planned a tertiary hospital birth, with no differences in neonatal outcomes.

This research focuses on proposing and evaluating an optimized hybrid system of wind and tidal turbines operating as a renewable energy generating unit in New Zealand. Literature review indicates increasing worldwide investment in offshore renewable energy in recent years. Offshore energy shows a high potential as an alternative energy generation solution to that of fossil fuels. Using the capacities of wind and tidal power in renewable technologies would be a suitable alternative for fossil fuels and would help prevent their detrimental effects on the environment. It is a cost-effective procedure for the power generation sector to maximize these renewables as a hybrid system. At the design phase, turbine types appropriate to environmental conditions for an area with high wind speed and tidal flow need to be considered. When selecting which turbines should be used, horizontal or vertical axis, number and length of blades, and optimized rotational speed are all important to get maximum capacity from either the wind or tidal energy for the hybrid system. Comprehensive simulation models of the hybrid system are now being set up, using several available commercial software packages such as QBlade, Simulink, and RETScreen. Several different parameters will be required for these simulation models to run in order to test performance, capacity and efficiency of the proposed hybrid system. To decide which regions are suitable for the hybrid system, it will be necessary to analyze available wind and tide records from NIWA, and online databases such as GLOBAL ATLAS. This next phase of research will aim to create optimized scenarios for the hybrid model by considering the effect of wind and water speed on performance. After deciding which region and scenarios are suitable, it will also be necessary to evaluate the costs and returns of a hybrid system. This final phase will be performed using the RETScreen simulation model.

Universities and academic institutions play a very crucial role in nation development through the production of highly competent manpower. The eight universities in New Zealand have been recognized as some of the top academic institutions in the world. However, the rankings from different international organizations are declining and are hardly likely to rise. Government policies in funding allocation are being blamed for the universities’ regress as they operate with an insufficient amount of funds. This study uses the Malmquist Productivity Index model to examine the technical efficiency, technological change, and productivity performance of the eight universities. This model uses a variety of inputs (number of academic and non-academic staff and total enrolment) and outputs (number of degree and postgraduate graduates, total graduates, and total operating revenue from the Equivalent Full-Time Student (EFTS) funding system and the Performance-Based Research Fund (PBRF), etc.) obtained for the period 2013–2018. The overall results show that the average catch-up and frontier-shift efficiencies of the universities are roughly in a “no-change” scenario, meaning that the universities did not make any progress over these years. The Malmquist Productivity Index (MPI) also shows a stable result, with average final values slightly higher than 1, wherein only five universities reached an actual productivity score of 1. It is recommended that the universities improve their internal factors, including personnel, equipment, facilities, and student services, while taking accounts of external aspects, such as rapid growth in technological environments and innovations, to achieve sustainable organizational progress and improved productivity. The re-assessment of government policies for funding allocation is also suggested. This research paper offers insights into the New Zealand universities’ productivity performances for the past few years. This could be used as a reference for other purposes.

The unit root hypothesis owes much to the work of Dickey and Fuller and has gained momentum since the seminal contribution of Perron (1989), who introduced the idea of structural breaks in unit root tests. In a recent study Sen (2003), extending the work of Zivot and Andrews (1992), recommends the F-test statistic for a unit root in the presence of a structural change in the economy. The central aim of this paper is to apply the Sen test to tourist arrivals to Fiji. The idea behind this exercise is to identify the year of the structural break and, more importantly, to examine whether the break has had a permanent or temporary effect on tourist arrivals in Fiji. Among our key results, we find that visitor arrivals in Fiji from Australia, New Zealand and the USA are stationary, implying that shocks have a temporary effect.

This audit of airway incidents was conducted over six months in 12 tertiary level hospitals across Australia and New Zealand. During that time, 131,233 patients had airway management and 111 reports were submitted (incidence 0.08%). The airway incidents included a combination of difficult airway management (83), oxygen desaturation (58), aspiration (19), regurgitation (14), laryngospasm (16), airway bleeding (10), bronchospasm (5) and dental injury (4), which gave a total of 209 events in 111 reports. Most incidents occurred during general anaesthesia (GA; 83.8%) and normal working hours (81.1%). Forty-three percent were associated with head and neck surgery and 12.6% with upper abdominal procedures. Of these patients, 52% required further medical treatment or additional procedures and 16.2% required unplanned admission to an intensive care unit or a high dependency unit. A total of 31.5% of patients suffered from temporary harm and 1.8% from permanent harm. There was one death. The factors associated with a high relative risk (RR) of an airway incident included American Society of Anesthesiologists Physical Status (ASA PS) (ASA PS 2 versus 1, RR 1.75; ASA PS 3 versus 1, RR 3.56; ASA PS 4 versus 1, RR 6.1), and emergency surgery (RR 2.16 compared with elective). Sedation and monitored anaesthesia care were associated with lower RRs (RR 0.49 and RR 0.73 versus GA, respectively). Inadequate airway assessment, poor judgement and poor planning appeared to be contributors to these events. Future teaching and research should focus on these areas to further improve airway management and patient safety.

The tourism sector is now New Zealand’s number one export earner, contributing 17.4 percent to New Zealand’s total exports of goods and services [1]. In addition, the sector directly employs 8.4 percent of New Zealand’s workforce and a further 6.1 percent are indirectly employed [2]. Given the obvious importance of hospitality and tourism to both the national economy and local communities, one would expect that a potential career in the industry would be something for a young person to aspire to. Sadly, this is not the case, and recent research has found that much of the poor perception of a career in hospitality and tourism stems from the delivery of hospitality and tourism education in New Zealand secondary schools [3]. In the New Zealand secondary school curriculum, secondary students gain New Zealand’s Certificate of Educational Achievement (NCEA) by working towards a combination of achievement or unit standards. The Ministry of Education is the only developer of achievement standards, which are derived from the achievement objectives of the New Zealand Curriculum. Unit standards are developed by industry training organisations [4]. Both hospitality and tourism are deemed to be ‘vocational’ rather than ‘academic’ subjects in the NCEA structure and are delivered as unit standards. In a review of the list of approved subjects for University Entrance (UE) in 2011, only subjects delivered as achievement standards were eligible, hence the removal of hospitality and tourism after the revisions came into effect in 2014 [5]. Students are often introduced to the study of hospitality and tourism at secondary school and therefore their early perceptions of a potential career are formed at this stage. These perceptions can be influenced by several factors, including the position that studying hospitality and tourism does not prepare students for further or higher education as effectively as other subjects might. Criticisms of hospitality and tourism as secondary school subjects include that the curriculum lacks both serious and relevant content and academic rigour. The idea that hospitality and tourism classes are used as a ‘dumping ground’ for the less academically able students is damning. The attitudes of teachers, career advisors, school management and parents also play a significant role in the development of a positive or negative perception of the industry, with some actively discouraging students’ interest. The removal of hospitality and tourism as UE approved subjects has only contributed to this poor perception both by students and the larger community, including parents [3]. There is an evident disparity between the importance of hospitality and tourism to the economy and local communities, and the perception of a career in the industry. Tourism Industry Aotearoa’s People and Skills 2025 report [6] identifies that an extra 36,000 full-time equivalent workers (approx. 47,000 jobs) could be required to service the visitor economy by 2025. The current delivery of hospitality and tourism education in secondary schools does nothing to enhance the perception of the industry, but instead contributes to its struggle for recognition and credibility. To address this disparity, there is an urgent need for discussion and strategic planning by all stakeholders. The government’s current review of the education system, including NCEA, provides this opportunity. Corresponding author Helen Andreassen can be contacted at helen.andeassen@aut.ac.nz References (1) Tourism New Zealand. About the Industry, 2018. https://www.tourismnewzealand.com/about/about-the-industry/ (accessed Mar 8, 2018). (2) Ministry of Business, Innovation & Employment (MBIE). New Zealand Tourism Dashboard, 2018. https://mbienz.shinyapps.io/tourism_dashboard_prod/ (accessed Mar 8, 2018). (3) Roberts, M. D.; Andreassen, H.; O’Donnell, D.; O’Neill, S.; Neill, L. (2018). Tourism Education in New Zealand’s Secondary Schools: The Teachers’ Perspective. Journal of Hospitality & Tourism Education 2018. https://doi.org/10.1080/10963758.2017.1413380 (4) New Zealand Qualifications Authority (NZQA). Standards, 2018. http://www.nzqa.govt.nz/ncea/understanding-ncea/how-ncea-works/standards/ (accessed Apr 26, 2018). (5) New Zealand Qualifications Authority (NZQA). Processes for Maintaining the Approved Subjects List for University Entrance. http://www.nzqa.govt.nz/qualifications-standards/awards/university-entrance/processes-for-maintaining-the-approved-subjects-list-for-university-entrance/ (accessed Jun 12, 2018). (6) Tourism Industry Aotearoa. People & Skills 2025, 2015. http://www.tourism2025.org.nz/assets/Uploads/People-Skills-2025.pdf (accessed Mar 8, 2018).

AbstractWe conduct a contingent valuation investigation of the preference of international migrants for better home country institutional quality. Our study uses contingent valuation questions in a survey of 1.6% of Vietnamese adult migrants living in New Zealand (NZ) in 2016 to establish the compensating differentials that make those migrants indifferent between residing in NZ and returning to Viet Nam (VN) in hypothetical scenarios. We find that the estimated willingness to pay for an incremental unit improvement in institutional quality in VN is, on average, about NZD 80 per week (approximately 33% of the average weekly wage in VN in PPP terms for the same period), and positively associated with the respondents’ age and the perceived importance of institutional quality in VN to their repatriation intentions. This study underscores the importance of institutional quality to migration decisions by showing that migrants are willing to trade-off part of their regular income for better home country institutional quality.

When gifted Māori students feel they belong and find their realities reflected in the curriculum, conversations and interactions of schooling, they are more likely to engage in programmes of learning and experience greater school success. This article reports on a teacher-led project called the Ruamano Project, which investigated whether Maker and Zimmerman's (2008) Real Engagement in Active Problem Solving model (REAPS) could be adapted successfully to identify talents and benefit the student achievement and engagement of Māori boys in two rural Northland, New Zealand secondary school contexts. The project aimed to implement Treaty of Waitangi-responsive and place-based science practices by improving home–school–community relationships through the authentic engagement of whānau and iwi into the schools’ planning, implementation and evaluation of a REAPS unit. As a result of this innovation, teachers’ perceptions of Māori boys shifted, their teaching practices changed, more junior secondary Māori boys were identified as gifted by way of improved academic performance, and iwi and community members were engaged in co-designing the inquiry projects. Our research indicated that the local adaptation of the REAPS model was effective in engaging and promoting the success of gifted and talented Māori boys.

Background: Increasing importance is being placed on the coordination of services at the end of life. Aim: To describe decision-making processes that influence transitions in care when approaching the end of life. Design: Qualitative study using field observations and longitudinal semi-structured interviews. Setting/participants: Field observations were undertaken in three sites: a residential care home, a medical assessment unit and a general medical unit in New Zealand. The Supportive and Palliative Care Indicators Tool was used to identify participants with advanced and progressive illness. Patients and family members were interviewed on recruitment and 3–4 months later. Four weeks of fieldwork were conducted in each site. A total of 40 interviews were conducted: 29 initial interviews and 11 follow-up interviews. Thematic analysis was undertaken. Findings: Managing risk was an important factor that influenced transitions in care. Patients and health care staff held different perspectives on how such risks were managed. At home, patients tolerated increasing risk and used specific support measures to manage often escalating health and social problems. In contrast, decisions about discharge in hospital were driven by hospital staff who were risk-adverse. Availability of community and carer services supported risk management while a perceived need for early discharge decision making in hospital and making ‘safe’ discharge options informed hospital discharge decisions. Conclusion: While managing risk is an important factor during care transitions, patients should be able to make choices on how to live with risk at the end of life. This requires reconsideration of transitional care and current discharge planning processes at the end of life.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to use an experiential learning model in an introduction to events unit/module in partnership with Sport Canterbury (one of 17 regional Sports Trusts, throughout New Zealand). During this unit/module students explored the creation and manipulation of an event experience and gained real-life hands on experience. Through their engagement in this process, students were able to acquire skills and knowledge that helped them experience the whole event planning cycle in planning, implement and evaluating an event. Experiential learning approaches are a valuable tool to overcome the knowledge-practice gap recognised in many vocationally orientated disciplines, including event management. Design/methodology/approach – This paper uses a mixed methods approach including an on-line questionnaire, a number of interviews with students enrolled in the unit/module a survey involving the evaluation of those involved in the events organised by the students and a review of critical reflection diaries, written by students. Findings – This paper highlights that an extensive range of event skills both personal and team based were acquired, developed and practised during the unit/module and students were able to relate the theory of event studies to the practice of managing an event. In particular students reported that they were able to utilise, record and reflect on their experience and adapt their learning to organising a real-life event. The experiential learning model used in this study resulted in students being actively engaged in their learning through involvement and active participation in an actual event, where they were able to apply what they had learnt in the classroom to the real world. The connection between theory and practice is therefore, pivotal and is a prevailing theme of this paper. Originality/value – This paper demonstrates how students of event management were provided with the skills and knowledge to run events, by personal involvement in a real-life event in a student centred learning environment. Students enrolled on this unit/module were made responsible for every aspect of managing the annual Rebel Kiwisport Challenge (a series of recreation-based events held over a half day period for primary schoolchildren based in the Canterbury region). Balancing the theoretical input with the practical aspects of events in the introduction to events module/unit enabled students to become multitasking and as a result gain highly portable skills that will help them succeed in their future careers in events. Indeed, in a survey involving 1,100 employers in Australia Neilsen (2000) reported that the five most important skills needed for graduate employment were oral business communication skills, creativity, problem-solving skills, independent and critical thinking skills and flexibility. Similar research undertaken by Greenan et al. (1997) in the UK and Braxton et al. (1996) in the USA, report the same findings. Although, there is a dearth of literature in the social sciences on experiential learning, the same debate within event management education is sadly lacking and it is hoped that this study will help fill a gap in the literature.

Context Effective design of conservation management programs for long-term population control requires an accurate definition of the spatial extent of populations, along with a proper understanding of the ways that landscape patchiness influences demography and dispersal within these populations. Aims In the present study, genetic techniques are used to describe the population genetic structure and connectivity of invasive stoats (Mustela erminea) across the Auckland region, New Zealand, so as to assist planning for mainland stoat control, and define potential future eradication units. Methods A sample of stoats from across the region (n = 120), was genotyped at 17 microsatellite loci, and a combination of clustering, genetic population assignment and various migration estimation methods were applied to these data. Key results Moderate population structure was observed (FST = 0.03–0.21), with five geographic populations defined by genetic clustering. Almost all individuals were correctly assigned to the location of origin, and recent migration rates among forest patches were found to be low. Conclusions It is possible to define the origin of stoats at this regional scale using genetic measures. From this, we show that the stoat incursion on Rangitoto Island that occurred post-eradication in 2010 probably came from East Auckland (P < 0.0001), whereas the 2014 stoat incursion on Motutapu Island probably originated from a population linked to the Waitakeres. Also, the Waiheke Island stoat population has minimal connection to all other populations and it is therefore a potential eradication unit. Implications The low migration rates among forest patches indicated that if thorough control is imposed on a discrete forest patch, reinvasion from other forest patches will be relatively low. Importantly, for stoat control in the region, the isolation of the Waiheke Island stoat population means that eradication here is likely to be feasible with low reinvasion pressure.

Following recent increases in the diversity of students, technologies, pedagogies and environments, New Zealand classrooms are sites of growing complexity. Tasked with covering a broad range of disciplines within each school day, opportunities for subject integration are of increasing value to busy teachers. Developing upon a previous piece of research (Coleman & Davies, 2018), this project sought to gain student engagement in mathematics through a dramatic framework. A key factor in developing adaptable, responsive and capable learners, creativity is an area of intense educational interest and yet substantial confusion (Jefferson & Anderson, 2017). Focusing upon the activation of students’ creative capacities through drama, this project offers suggestions for future praxis and the development of classrooms that invite creativity. We began by establishing a fictional pre-text closely related to their earlier studies of insects. Recruited to assist Professor Lee—a flea circus owner, with the redesign of her circus, this pretext deliberately offered opportunities for mathematics integration. When planning we predicted the need for students to engage with numbers and measurement, yet remained responsive to opportunities arising from the drama or instigated by the students themselves. Over the five drama-maths sessions, we collaborated with students both in and out of role, to design, plan and prepare a new cockroach circus extravaganza. We generated data for the research through reflective journal entries, student work, drama based research and focus groups. Our findings indicate an enthusiasm for the use of drama to engage students and make mathematics meaningful and highlight the vital elements for collaboration and creativity. Three distinct elements appear crucial to engaging in an effective drama-maths unit: a sense of unity in pursuing a common goal, the value of the affective and embodied elements associated with drama, and cultivation of skills for collaboration. While this project bolsters existing rhetoric surrounding STEAM integration, it advocates for further development around existing notions of collaboration for 21st century learning.

IntroductionIn-bed cycling with patients with critical illness has been shown to be safe and feasible, and improves physical function outcomes at hospital discharge. The effects of early in-bed cycling on reducing the rate of skeletal muscle atrophy, and associations with physical and cognitive function are unknown.Methods and analysisA single-centre randomised controlled trial in a mixed medical-surgical intensive care unit (ICU) will be conducted. Adult patients (n=68) who are expected to be mechanically ventilated for more than 48 hours and remain in ICU for a further 48 hours from recruitment will be randomly allocated into either (1) a usual care group or (2) a group that receives usual care and additional in-bed cycling sessions. The primary outcome is change in rectus femoris cross-sectional area at day 10 in comparison to baseline measured by blinded assessors. Secondary outcome measures include muscle strength, incidence of ICU-acquired weakness, handgrip strength, time to achieve functional milestones (sitting out of bed, walking), Functional Status Score in ICU, ICU Mobility Scale, 6 min walk test 1 week post-ICU discharge, incidence of delirium and quality of life (EuroQol Five Dimensions questionnaire Five Levels scale). Quality of life assessments will be conducted post-ICU admission at day 10, 3 and 6 months after acute hospital discharge. Participants in the intervention group will complete an acceptability of intervention questionnaire.Ethics and disseminationAppropriate ethical approval from Metro South Health Human Research Ethics Committee has been attained. Results will be published in peer-reviewed publications and presented at scientific conferences to assist planning of future multicentre randomised controlled trials (if indicated) that will test in-bed cycling as an intervention to improve the physical, cognitive and health-related quality of life outcomes of patients with critical illness.Trial registration numberThis trial has been prospectively registered on the Australian and New Zealand Clinical Trial Registry (ACTRN12616000948493); Pre-results.

<strong><strong></strong></strong><p class="AbstractTitle"><em><span lang="EN-GB">Abstract: </span></em><em><span>The working world demands to the skilled workers encourage the job seekers attending non-formal training and education to increase their skills and expertise. In this case the Ministry of Manpower and Transmigration through the Technical Managing Unit (UPT) Vocational Training Center (BLK) have important role in preparing the job training. Surakarta </span></em><em><span lang="EN-GB">Vocational Training Center (BLK) is one of the training center located in Surakarta city which serves as a training and education place for the job seekers in their productive age from the city. As a potential educational and training facilities that still work properly, this building still has problems in some aspects, therefore in an attempt to keep its function well, need a plan to redesign. The redesign will be </span></em><em><span lang="IN">consists of creating a space to cater all the activities</span></em><em></em><em><span lang="IN">in </span></em><em><span>Surakarta Vocational Training Center and taking form fitting to introduce its existence to society. </span></em><em><span lang="EN-GB">The redesign method is Post Occupancy Evaluation (POE) on the conditions and elements of the existing buiding, with the redesign strategy that emphasizes functional aspects, technical aspect such as building physical condition, and behavioural aspects to be solved in accordance with the concept of redesigning. This redesign method will be a reference in consideration of planning and design for the new building. The redesign of Vocational Training Center (BLK) in Surakarta city aims to improve the condition of the building and its surroundings in order to provide convenient education and training center.</span></em></p><p class="Keywords"><strong><em><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></em></strong></p><p class="Keywords"><strong><em><span lang="EN-GB">Keywords:</span></em></strong><em><span lang="EN-GB"> Post Occupancy Evaluation (POE), Redesign, Surakarta City, Vocational Training Center. </span></em><em></em></p>

<p class="AbstractTitle"><em><span lang="EN-GB">Abstract: </span></em><em><span>The working world demands to the skilled workers encourage the job seekers attending non-formal training and education to increase their skills and expertise. In this case the Ministry of Manpower and Transmigration through the Technical Managing Unit (UPT) Vocational Training Center (BLK) have important role in preparing the job training. Surakarta </span></em><em><span lang="EN-GB">Vocational Training Center (BLK) is one of the training center located in Surakarta city which serves as a training and education place for the job seekers in their productive age from the city. As a potential educational and training facilities that still work properly, this building still has problems in some aspects, therefore in an attempt to keep its function well, need a plan to redesign. The redesign will be </span></em><em><span lang="IN">consists of creating a space to cater all the activities</span></em><em></em><em><span lang="IN">in </span></em><em><span>Surakarta Vocational Training Center and taking form fitting to introduce its existence to society. </span></em><em><span lang="EN-GB">The redesign method is Post Occupancy Evaluation (POE) on the conditions and elements of the existing buiding, with the redesign strategy that emphasizes functional aspects, technical aspect such as building physical condition, and behavioural aspects to be solved in accordance with the concept of redesigning. This redesign method will be a reference in consideration of planning and design for the new building. The redesign of Vocational Training Center (BLK) in Surakarta city aims to improve the condition of the building and its surroundings in order to provide convenient education and training center.</span></em></p><p class="Keywords"><strong><em><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></em></strong></p><p class="Keywords"><strong><em><span lang="EN-GB">Keywords:</span></em></strong><em><span lang="EN-GB"> Post Occupancy Evaluation (POE), Redesign, Surakarta City, Vocational Training Center. </span></em><em></em></p>

Abstract Background Current international consensus is that ‘early’ referral to palliative care services improves cancer patient and family carer outcomes. In practice, however, these referrals are not routine. An approach which directly addresses identified barriers to early integration of palliative care is required. This protocol details a trial of a standardized model of early palliative care (Care Plus) introduced at key defined, disease-specific times or transition points in the illness for people with cancer. Introduced as a ‘whole of system’ practice change for identified advanced cancers, the key outcomes of interest are population health service use change. The aims of the study are to examine the effect of Care Plus implementation on (1) acute hospitalisation days in the last 3 months of life; (2) timeliness of access to palliative care; (3) quality and (4) costs of end of life care; and (5) the acceptability of services for people with advanced cancer. Methods Multi-site stepped wedge implementation trial testing usual care (control) versus Care Plus (practice change). The design stipulates ‘control’ periods when usual care is observed, and the process of implementing Care Plus which includes phases of planning, engagement, practice change and evaluation. During the practice change phase, all patients with targeted advanced cancers reaching the transition point will, by default, receive Care Plus. Health service utilization and unit costs before and after implementation will be collated from hospital records, and state and national health service administrative datasets. Qualitative data from patients, consumers and clinicians before and after practice change will be gathered through interviews and focus groups. Discussion The study outcomes will detail the impact and acceptability of the standardized integration of palliative care as a practice change, including recommendations for ongoing sustainability and broader implementation. Trial registration Australian New Zealand Clinical Trials Registry ACTRN 12619001703190. Registered 04 December 2019.

Abstract Background The promotion of healthy eating is a public health priority. Poor dietary behaviours, including low fruit and vegetable (F&V) consumption are of particular concern among children. Novel nutrition promotion strategies are needed to improve F&V consumption. Sustainability education could be used to support nutrition education within the school context. The purpose of this paper is to report the protocol for impact and process evaluation of the school-based Food Education and Sustainability Training (FEAST) program, designed to educate children about sustainability, food waste and nutrition, using hands-on cooking activities. Methods A pragmatic, parallel, cluster non-randomized controlled trial with pre- and post-measures, will be implemented among 20 primary schools (10 intervention vs 10 wait-list-control) within NSW, Australia, involving children in Grades 5–6. FEAST is a curriculum-aligned program, delivered as a 1.5-h lesson/week, for a 10-week unit of inquiry, incorporating theory and cooking. FEAST was developed using theoretical frameworks which included Social Cognitive Theory and the Precede-Proceed Planning model. Primary outcomes include children’s self-reported F&V intakes (serves/day). Food literacy constructs such as: nutrition knowledge, food preparation and cooking skills, self-efficacy and behaviours, food waste knowledge and behaviours and food production knowledge, will be assessed as secondary outcomes. Process evaluation will assess program reach, adoption, implementation, maintenance, satisfaction and perceived benefits by teachers and students. An online survey (including quantitative and qualitative questions) was developed for administration at baseline (impact evaluation) and immediately post-intervention (impact and process evaluation). Intervention effects on quantitative study outcomes will be estimated with ​generalised linear mixed models, including random effects and will follow the intention-to-treat principles. Open-ended questions embedded within the surveys will be analysed qualitatively using content and thematic analyses. Discussion Results from this trial will provide valuable information on the value of adding environmental sustainability strategies to nutrition education in schools. Results will inform the design of future research and programs focused on primary-school children’s nutrition, sustainability-related behaviours and experiential school-based interventions. Trial registration Trial registered 14th December 2020 with the Australian and New Zealand Clinical Trials Registry (ACTRN12620001347954).

The 2000s have been a lively decade for cities. The Worldwatch Institute estimated that 2007 was the first year in human history that more people worldwide lived in cities than the countryside. Globalisation and new digital media technologies have generated the seemingly paradoxical outcome that spatial location came to be more rather than less important, as combinations of firms, industries, cultural activities and creative talents have increasingly clustered around a select node of what have been termed “creative cities,” that are in turn highly networked into global circuits of economic capital, political power and entertainment media. Intellectually, the period has seen what the UCLA geographer Ed Soja refers to as the spatial turn in social theory, where “whatever your interests may be, they can be significantly advanced by adopting a critical spatial perspective” (2). This is related to the dynamic properties of socially constructed space itself, or what Soja terms “the powerful forces that arise from socially produced spaces such as urban agglomerations and cohesive regional economies,” with the result that “what can be called the stimulus of socio-spatial agglomeration is today being assertively described as the primary cause of economic development, technological innovation, and cultural creativity” (14). The demand for social justice in cities has, in recent years, taken the form of “Right to the City” movements. The “Right to the City” movement draws upon the long tradition of radical urbanism in which the Paris Commune of 1871 features prominently, and which has both its Marxist and anarchist variants, as well as the geographer Henri Lefebvre’s (1991) arguments that capitalism was fundamentally driven by the production of space, and that the citizens of a city possessed fundamental rights by virtue of being in a city, meaning that political struggle in capitalist societies would take an increasingly urban form. Manifestations of contemporary “Right to the City” movements have been seen in the development of a World Charter for the Right to the City, Right to the City alliances among progressive urban planners as well as urban activists, forums that bring together artists, architects, activists and urban geographers, and a variety of essays on the subject by radical geographers including David Harvey, whose work I wish to focus upon here. In his 2008 essay "The Right to the City," Harvey presents a manifesto for 21st century radical politics that asserts that the struggle for collective control over cities marks the nodal point of anti-capitalist movements today. It draws together a range of strands of arguments recognizable to those familiar with Harvey’s work, including Marxist political economy, the critique of neoliberalism, the growth of social inequality in the U.S. in particular, and concerns about the rise of speculative finance capital and its broader socio-economic consequences. My interest in Harvey’s manifesto here arises not so much from his prognosis for urban radicalism, but from how he understands the suburban in relation to this urban class struggle. It is an important point to consider because, in many parts of the world, growing urbanisation is in fact growing suburbanisation. This is the case for U.S. cities (Cox), and it is also apparent in Australian cities, with the rise in particular of outer suburban Master Planned Communities as a feature of the “New Prosperity” Australia has been experiencing since the mid 1990s (Flew; Infrastructure Australia). What we find in Harvey’s essay is that the suburban is clearly sub-urban, or an inferior form of city living. Suburbs are variously identified by Harvey as being:Sites for the expenditure of surplus capital, as a safety valve for overheated finance capitalism (Harvey 27);Places where working class militancy is pacified through the promotion of mortgage debt, which turns suburbanites into political conservatives primarily concerned with maintaining their property values;Places where “the neoliberal ethic of intense possessive individualism, and its cognate of political withdrawal from collective forms of action” are actively promoted through the proliferation of shopping malls, multiplexes, franchise stores and fast-food outlets, leading to “pacification by cappuccino” (32);Places where women are actively oppressed, so that “leading feminists … [would] proclaim the suburb as the locus of all their primary discontents” (28);A source of anti-capitalist struggle, as “the soulless qualities of suburban living … played a critical role in the dramatic events of 1968 in the US [as] discontented white middle-class students went into a phase of revolt, sought alliances with marginalized groups claiming civil rights and rallied against American imperialism” (28).Given these negative associations, one could hardly imagine citizens demanding the right to the suburb, in the same way as Harvey projects the right to the city as a rallying cry for a more democratic social order. Instead, from an Australian perspective, one is reminded of the critiques of suburbia that have been a staple of radical theory from the turn of the 20th century to the present day (Collis et. al.). Demanding the “right to the suburb” would appear here as an inherently contradictory demand, that could only be desired by those who the Australian radical psychoanalytic theorist Douglas Kirsner described as living an alienated existence where:Watching television, cleaning the car, unnecessary housework and spectator sports are instances of general life-patterns in our society: by adopting these patterns the individual submits to a uniform life fashioned from outside, a pseudo-life in which the question of individual self-realisation does not even figure. People live conditioned, unconscious lives, reproducing the values of the system as a whole (Kirsner 23). The problem with this tradition of radical critique, which is perhaps reflective of the estrangement of a section of the Australian critical intelligentsia more generally, is that most Australians live in suburbs, and indeed seem (not surprisingly!) to like living in them. Indeed, each successive wave of migration to Australia has been marked by families seeking a home in the suburbs, regardless of the housing conditions of the place they came from: the demand among Singaporeans for large houses in Perth, or what has been termed “Singaperth,” is one of many manifestations of this desire (Lee). Australian suburban development has therefore been characterized by a recurring tension between the desire of large sections of the population to own their own home (the fabled quarter-acre block) in the suburbs, and the condemnation of suburban life from an assortment of intellectuals, political radicals and cultural critics. This was the point succinctly made by the economist and urban planner Hugh Stretton in his 1970 book Ideas for Australian Cities, where he observed that “Most Australians choose to live in suburbs, in reach of city centres and also of beaches or countryside. Many writers condemn this choice, and with especial anger or gloom they condemn the suburbs” (Stretton 7). Sue Turnbull has observed that “suburbia has come to constitute a cultural fault-line in Australia over the last 100 years” (19), while Ian Craven has described suburbia as “a term of contention and a focus for fundamentally conflicting beliefs” in the Australian national imaginary “whose connotations continue to oscillate between dream and suburban nightmare” (48). The tensions between celebration and critique of suburban life play themselves out routinely in the Australian media, from the sun-lit suburbanism of Australia’s longest running television serial dramas, Neighbours and Home and Away, to the pointed observational critiques found in Australian comedy from Barry Humphries to Kath and Kim, to the dark visions of films such as The Boys and Animal Kingdom (Craven; Turnbull). Much as we may feel that the diagnosis of suburban life as a kind of neurotic condition had gone the way of the concept album or the tie-dye shirt, newspaper feature writers such as Catherine Deveny, writing in The Age, have offered the following as a description of the Chadstone shopping centre in Melbourne’s eastern suburbChadstone is a metastasised tumour of offensive proportions that's easy to find. You simply follow the line of dead-eyed wage slaves attracted to this cynical, hermetically sealed weatherless biosphere by the promise a new phone will fix their punctured soul and homewares and jumbo caramel mugachinos will fill their gaping cavern of disappointment … No one looks happy. Everyone looks anaesthetised. A day spent at Chadstone made me understand why they call these shopping centres complexes. Complex as in a psychological problem that's difficult to analyse, understand or solve. (Deveny) Suburbanism has been actively promoted throughout Australia’s history since European settlement. Graeme Davison has observed that “Australia’s founders anticipated a sprawl of homes and gardens rather than a clumping of terraces and alleys,” and quotes Governor Arthur Phillip’s instructions to the first urban developers of the Sydney Cove colony in 1790 that streets shall be “laid out in such a manner as to afford free circulation of air, and where the houses are built … the land will be granted with a clause that will prevent more than one house being built on the allotment” (Davison 43). Louise Johnson (2006) argued that the main features of 20th century Australian suburbanisation were very much in place by the 1920s, particularly land-based capitalism and the bucolic ideal of home as a retreat from the dirt, dangers and density of the city. At the same time, anti-suburbanism has been a significant influence in Australian public thought. Alan Gilbert (1988) drew attention to the argument that Australia’s suburbs combined the worst elements of the city and country, with the absence of both the grounded community associated with small towns, and the mental stimuli and personal freedom associated with the city. Australian suburbs have been associated with spiritual emptiness, the promotion of an ersatz, one-dimensional consumer culture, the embourgeoisment of the working-class, and more generally criticised for being “too pleasant, too trivial, too domestic and far too insulated from … ‘real’ life” (Gilbert 41). There is also an extensive feminist literature critiquing suburbanization, seeing it as promoting the alienation of women and the unequal sexual division of labour (Game and Pringle). More recently, critiques of suburbanization have focused on the large outer-suburban homes developed on new housing estates—colloquially known as McMansions—that are seen as being environmentally unsustainable and emblematic of middle-class over-consumption. Clive Hamilton and Richard Denniss’s Affluenza (2005) is a locus classicus of this type of argument, and organizations such as the Australia Institute—which Hamilton and Denniss have both headed—have regularly published papers making such arguments. Can the Suburbs Make You Creative?In such a context, championing the Australian suburb can feel somewhat like being an advocate for Dan Brown novels, David Williamson plays, Will Ferrell comedies, or TV shows such as Two and a Half Men. While it may put you on the side of majority opinion, you can certainly hear the critical axe grinding and possibly aimed at your head, not least because of the association of such cultural forms with mass popular culture, or the pseudo-life of an alienated existence. The art of a program such as Kath and Kim is that, as Sue Turnbull so astutely notes, it walks both sides of the street, both laughing with and laughing at Australian suburban culture, with its celebrity gossip magazines, gourmet butcher shops, McManisons and sales at Officeworks. Gina Riley and Jane Turner’s inspirations for the show can be seen with the presence of such suburban icons as Shane Warne, Kylie Minogue and Barry Humphries as guests on the program. Others are less nuanced in their satire. The website Things Bogans Like relentlessly pillories those who live in McMansions, wear Ed Hardy t-shirts and watch early evening current affairs television, making much of the lack of self-awareness of those who would simultaneously acquire Buddhist statues for their homes and take budget holidays in Bali and Phuket while denouncing immigration and multiculturalism. It also jokes about the propensity of “bogans” to loudly proclaim that those who question their views on such matters are demonstrating “political correctness gone mad,” appealing to the intellectual and moral authority of writers such as the Melbourne Herald-Sun columnist Andrew Bolt. There is also the “company you keep” question. Critics of over-consuming middle-class suburbia such as Clive Hamilton are strongly associated with the Greens, whose political stocks have been soaring in Australia’s inner cities, where the majority of Australia’s cultural and intellectual critics live and work. By contrast, the Liberal party under John Howard and now Tony Abbott has taken strongly to what could be termed suburban realism over the 1990s and 2000s. Examples of suburban realism during the Howard years included the former Member for Lindsay Jackie Kelly proclaiming that the voters of her electorate were not concerned with funding for their local university (University of Western Sydney) as the electorate was “pram city” and “no one in my electorate goes to uni” (Gibson and Brennan-Horley), and the former Minister for Immigration and Citizenship, Garry Hardgrave, holding citizenship ceremonies at Bunnings hardware stores, so that allegiance to the Australian nation could co-exist with a sausage sizzle (Gleeson). Academically, a focus on the suburbs is at odds with Richard Florida’s highly influential creative class thesis, which stresses inner urban cultural amenity and “buzz” as the drivers of a creative economy. Unfortunately, it is also at odds with many of Florida’s critics, who champion inner city activism as the antidote to the ersatz culture of “hipsterisation” that they associate with Florida (Peck; Slater). A championing of suburban life and culture is associated with writers such as Joel Kotkin and the New Geography group, who also tend to be suspicious of claims made about the creative industries and the creative economy. It is worth noting, however, that there has been a rich vein of work on Australian suburbs among cultural geographers, that has got past urban/suburban binaries and considered the extent to which critiques of suburban Australia are filtered through pre-existing discursive categories rather than empirical research findings (Dowling and Mee; McGuirk and Dowling; Davies (this volume). I have been part of a team engaged in a three-year study of creative industries workers in outer suburban areas, known as the Creative Suburbia project.[i] The project sought to understand how those working in creative industries who lived and worked in the outer suburbs maintained networks, interacted with clients and their peers, and made a success of their creative occupations: it focused on six suburbs in the cities of Brisbane (Redcliffe, Springfield, Forest Lake) and Melbourne (Frankston, Dandenong, Caroline Springs). It was premised upon what has been an inescapable empirical fact: however much talk there is about the “return to the city,” the fastest rates of population growth are in the outer suburbs of Australia’s major cities (Infrastructure Australia), and this is as true for those working in creative industries occupations as it is for those in virtually all other industry and occupational sectors (Flew; Gibson and Brennan-Horley; Davies). While there is a much rehearsed imagined geography of the creative industries that points to creative talents clustering in dense, highly agglomerated inner city precincts, incubating their unique networks of trust and sociality through random encounters in the city, it is actually at odds with the reality of where people in these sectors choose to live and work, which is as often as not in the suburbs, where the citizenry are as likely to meet in their cars at traffic intersections than walking in city boulevards.There is of course a “yes, but” response that one could have to such empirical findings, which is to accept that the creative workforce is more suburbanised than is commonly acknowledged, but to attribute this to people being driven out of the inner city by high house prices and rents, which may or may not be by-products of a Richard Florida-style strategy to attract the creative class. In other words, people live in the outer suburbs because they are driven out of the inner city. From our interviews with 130 people across these six suburban locations, the unequivocal finding was that this was not the case. While a fair number of our respondents had indeed moved from the inner city, just as many would—if given the choice—move even further away from the city towards a more rural setting as they would move closer to it. While there are clearly differences between suburbs, with creative people in Redcliffe being generally happier than those in Springfield, for example, it was quite clear that for many of these people a suburban location helped them in their creative practice, in ways that included: the aesthetic qualities of the location; the availability of “headspace” arising from having more time to devote to creative work rather than other activities such as travelling and meeting people; less pressure to conform to a stereotyped image of how one should look and act; financial savings from having access to lower-cost locations; and time saved by less commuting between locations.These creative workers generally did not see having access to the “buzz” associated with the inner city as being essential for pursuing work in their creative field, and they were just as likely to establish hardware stores and shopping centres as networking hubs as they were cafes and bars. While being located in the suburbs was disadvantageous in terms of access to markets and clients, but this was often seen in terms of a trade-off for better quality of life. Indeed, contrary to the presumptions of those such as Clive Hamilton and Catherine Deveny, they could draw creative inspiration from creative locations themselves, without feeling subjected to “pacification by cappuccino.” The bigger problem was that so many of the professional associations they dealt with would hold events in the inner city in the late afternoon or early evening, presuming people living close by and/or not having domestic or family responsibilities at such times. The role played by suburban locales such as hardware stores as sites for professional networking and as elements of creative industries value chains has also been documented in studies undertaken of Darwin as a creative city in Australia’s tropical north (Brennan-Horley and Gibson; Brennan-Horley et al.). Such a revised sequence in the cultural geography of the creative industries has potentially great implications for how urban cultural policy is being approached. The assumption that the creative industries are best developed in cities by investing heavily in inner urban cultural amenity runs the risk of simply bypassing those areas where the bulk of the nation’s artists, musicians, filmmakers and other cultural workers actually are, which is in the suburbs. Moreover, by further concentrating resources among already culturally rich sections of the urban population, such policies run the risk of further accentuating spatial inequalities in the cultural realm, and achieving the opposite of what is sought by those seeking spatial justice or the right to the city. An interest in broadband infrastructure or suburban university campuses is certainly far more prosaic than a battle for control of the nation’s cultural institutions or guerilla actions to reclaim the city’s streets. Indeed, it may suggest aspirations no higher than those displayed by Kath and Kim or by the characters of Barry Humphries’ satirical comedy. But however modest or utilitarian a focus on developing cultural resources in Australian suburbs may seem, it is in fact the most effective way of enabling the forms of spatial justice in the cultural sphere that many progressive people seek. ReferencesBrennan-Horley, Chris, and Chris Gibson. “Where Is Creativity in the City? Integrating Qualitative and GIS Methods.” Environment and Planning A 41.11 (2009): 2595–614. Brennan-Horley, Chris, Susan Luckman, Chris Gibson, and J. Willoughby-Smith. “GIS, Ethnography and Cultural Research: Putting Maps Back into Ethnographic Mapping.” The Information Society: An International Journal 26.2 (2010): 92–103.Collis, Christy, Emma Felton, and Phil Graham. “Beyond the Inner City: Real and Imagined Places in Creative Place Policy and Practice.” The Information Society: An International Journal 26.2 (2010): 104–12.Cox, Wendell. “The Still Elusive ‘Return to the City’.” New Geography 28 February 2011. < http://www.newgeography.com/content/002070-the-still-elusive-return-city >.Craven, Ian. “Cinema, Postcolonialism and Australian Suburbia.” Australian Studies 1995: 45-69. Davies, Alan. “Are the Suburbs Dormitories?” The Melbourne Urbanist 21 Sep. 2010. < http://melbourneurbanist.wordpress.com/2010/09/21/are-the-suburbs-dormitories/ >.Davison, Graeme. "Australia: The First Suburban Nation?” Journal of Urban History 22.1 (1995): 40-75. Deveny, Catherine. “No One Out Alive.” The Age 29 Oct. 2009. < http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/no-one-gets-out-alive-20091020-h6yh.html >.Dowling, Robyn, and K. Mee. “Tales of the City: Western Sydney at the End of the Millennium.” Sydney: The Emergence of World City. Ed. John Connell. Melbourne: Oxford UP, 2000. 244–72.Flew, Terry. “Economic Prosperity, Suburbanization and the Creative Workforce: Findings from Australian Suburban Communities.” Spaces and Flows: Journal of Urban and Extra-Urban Studies 1.1 (2011, forthcoming).Game, Ann, and Rosemary Pringle. “Sexuality and the Suburban Dream.” Australian and New Zealand Journal of Sociology 15.2 (1979): 4–15.Gibson, Chris, and Chris Brennan-Horley. “Goodbye Pram City: Beyond Inner/Outer Zone Binaries in Creative City Research.” Urban Policy and Research 24.4 (2006): 455–71. Gilbert, A. “The Roots of Australian Anti-Suburbanism.” Australian Cultural History. Ed. S. I. Goldberg and F. B. Smith. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1988. 33–39. Gleeson, Brendan. Australian Heartlands: Making Space for Hope in the Suburbs. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2006.Hamilton, Clive, and Richard Denniss. Affluenza. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2005.Harvey, David. “The Right to the City.” New Left Review 53 (2008): 23–40.Infrastructure Australia. State of Australian Cities 2010. Infrastructure Australia Major Cities Unit. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia. 2010.Johnson, Lesley. “Style Wars: Revolution in the Suburbs?” Australian Geographer 37.2 (2006): 259–77. Kirsner, Douglas. “Domination and the Flight from Being.” Australian Capitalism: Towards a Socialist Critique. Eds. J. Playford and D. Kirsner. Melbourne: Penguin, 1972. 9–31.Kotkin, Joel. “Urban Legends.” Foreign Policy 181 (2010): 128–34. Lee, Terence. “The Singaporean Creative Suburb of Perth: Rethinking Cultural Globalization.” Globalization and Its Counter-Forces in South-East Asia. Ed. T. Chong. Singapore: Institute for Southeast Asian Studies, 2008. 359–78. Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith. Oxford: Blackwell, 1991.McGuirk, P., and Robyn Dowling. “Understanding Master-Planned Estates in Australian Cities: A Framework for Research.” Urban Policy and Research 25.1 (2007): 21–38Peck, Jamie. “Struggling with the Creative Class.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 29.4 (2005): 740–70. Slater, Tom. “The Eviction of Critical Perspectives from Gentrification Research.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 30.4 (2006): 737–57. Soja, Ed. Seeking Spatial Justice. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2010.Stretton, Hugh. Ideas for Australian Cities. Melbourne: Penguin, 1970.Turnbull, Sue. “Mapping the Vast Suburban Tundra: Australian Comedy from Dame Edna to Kath and Kim.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 11.1 (2008): 15–32.

IntroductionThis article addresses the experience of designing and conducting life-writing workshops for a group of clients with severe mental illness; the aim of this pilot study was to begin to determine whether such writing about the self can aid in individual ‘recovery’, as that term is understood by contemporary health professionals. A considerable amount has been written about the potential of creative writing in mental health therapy; the authors of this article provide a brief summary of that literature, then of the concept of ‘recovery’ in a psychology and arts therapy context. There follows a first-hand account by one of the authors of being an arts therapy workshop facilitator in the role of a creative practitioner. This occurred in consultation with, and monitored by, experienced mental health professionals. Life-Writing as ‘Therapeutic’ Life-story or life-writing can be understood in this context as involving more than disclosure or oral expression of a subject’s ‘story’ as in psycho-therapy – life-story is understood as a written, structured narrative. In 2001, Wright and Chung published a review of the literature in which they claimed that writing therapy had been “restimulated by the development of narrative approaches” (278). Pennebaker argues that “catharsis or the venting of emotions” without “cognitive processing” has little therapeutic value and people need to “build a coherent narrative that explains some past experience” in order to benefit from writing” (Pennebaker, Telling Stories 10–11). It is claimed in the Clinical Psychology Review that life-writing has the therapeutic benefits of, for example, “striking physical health and behaviour change” (Esterling et al. 84). The reasons are still unclear, but it is possible that the cognitive and linguistic processing of problematic life-events through narrative writing may help the subject assimilate such problems (Alschuler 113–17). As Pennebaker and Seagal argue in the Journal of Clinical Psychology, the life-writing processallows one to organise and remember events in a coherent fashion while integrating thoughts and feelings ... This gives individuals a sense of predictability and control over their lives. Once an experience has structure and meaning, it would follow that the emotional effects of that experience are more manageable. (1243)It would seem reasonable to suggest that life-writing which constructs a positive recovery narrative can have a positive therapeutic effect, providing a sense of agency, connectedness and creativity, in a similar, integrating manner. Humans typically see their lives as stories. Paul Eakin stresses the link between narrative and identity in both this internal life-story and in outwardly constructed autobiography:narrative is not merely a literary form but a mode of phenomenological and cognitive self-experience, while self – the self of autobiographical discourse - does not necessarily precede its constitution in narrative. (Making Selves 100)So both a self-in-time and a socially viable identity may depend on such narrative. The term ‘dysnarrativia’ has been coined to describe the documented inability to construct self-narrative by those suffering amnesia, autism, severe child abuse or brain damage. The lack of ability to achieve narrative construction seems to be correlated with identity disorders (Eakin, Fictions in Autobiography 124). (For an overview of the current literature on creative and life-writing as therapy see Murphy & Neilsen). What is of particular relevance to university creative writing practitioners/teachers is that there is evidence, for example from Harvard psychiatrist Judith Herman and creative writing academic Vicki Linder, that life-narratives are more therapeutically effective if guided to be written according to fundamental ‘effective writing’ aesthetic conventions – such as having a regard to coherent structure in the narrative, the avoidance of cliché, practising the ‘demonstrate don’t state’ dictum, and writing in one’s own voice, for example. Defining ‘Recovery’There remains debate as to the meaning of recovery in the context of mental health service delivery, but there is agreement that recovery entails significantly more than symptom remission or functional improvement (Liberman & Kopelowicz). In a National Consensus Statement, the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) unit of the US Department of Health and Human Services in 2005 described recovery (in general terms) as being achieved by the enabling of a person with a mental illness to live meaningfully in a chosen community, while also attempting to realize individual potential. ‘Recovery’ as a central concept behind rehabilitation can be understood both as objective recovery – that is, in terms of noting a reduction in objective indicators of illness and disability (such as rates of hospital usage or unemployment) and a greater degree of social functioning – and also as subjective recovery. Subjective recovery can be ascertained by listening closely to what clients themselves have said about their own experiences. It has been pointed out (King, Lloyd & Meehan 2) that there is not always a correspondence between objective indicators of recovery and the subjective, lived experience of recovery. The experience of mental illness is not just one of symptoms and disability but equally importantly one of major challenge to sense of self. Equally, recovery from mental illness is experienced not just in terms of symptoms and disability but also as a recovery of sense of self … Recovery of sense of self and recovery with respect to symptoms and disability may not correspond. (King, Lloyd & Meehan; see also Davidson & Strauss)Symptoms of disability can persist, but a person can have a much stronger sense of self or empowerment – that is still recovery. Illness dislocates the sense of self as part of a community and of a self with skills and abilities. Restoring this sense of empowerment is an aim of arts therapy. To put it another way, recovery is a complex process by which a client with a mental illness develops a sense of identity and agency as a citizen, as distinct from identification with illness and disability and passivity as a ‘patient’. The creative arts have gone well beyond being seen as a diversion for the mentally ill. In a comprehensive UK study of creative arts projects for clients with mental illness, Helen Spandler et al. discovered strong evidence that participation in creative activity promoted a sense of purpose and meaning, and assisted in “rediscovering or rebuilding an identity within and beyond that of someone with mental health difficulties” (795). Recovery is aided by people being motivated to achieve self-confidence through mastery and competence; by learning and achieving goals. Clearly this is where arts therapy could be expected or hoped to be effective. The aim of the pilot study was not to measure ‘creativity’, but whether involvement in what is commonly understood as a creative process (life-writing) can have flow-on benefits in terms of the illness of the workshop participant. The psychologists involved, though more familiar with visual arts therapy (reasonably well-established in Australia – in 2006, the ANZAT began publishing the Australian and New Zealand Journal of Art Therapy), thought creative writing could also be valuable. Preparation for and Delivery of the Workshops I was acutely aware that I had no formal training in delivering a program to clients with mental health illness. I was counselled during several meetings with experienced psychologists and a social worker that the participants in the three workshops over two weeks would largely be people who had degrees of difficulty in living independently, and could well have perceptual problems, could misjudge signals from outside and inside the group, and be on medication that could affect their degree of engagement. Some clients could have impaired concentration and cognition, and a deficit in volition. Participants needed to be free to leave and rejoin the workshops during the afternoon sessions. Attendance might well fall as the workshops progressed. Full ethical clearance was attained though the University of Queensland medical faculty (after detailed description of the content and conduct of the proposed workshops) and consent forms prepared for participants. My original workshop ‘kit’ to be distributed to participants underwent some significant changes as I was counselled and prepared for the workshops. The major adjustment to my usual choice of material and approach was made in view of the advice that recounting traumatic events can have a negative effect on some patients – at least in the short term. For the sake of both the individuals and the group as a whole this was to be avoided. I changed my initial emphasis on encouraging participants to recount their traumatic experiences in a cathartic way (as suggested by the narrative psychology literature), to encouraging them to recount positive narratives from their lives – narratives of ‘recovery’ – as I explain in more detail below. I was also counselled that clients with mental health problems might dwell on retelling their story – their case history – rather than reflecting upon it or using their creative and imaginative ability to shape a life-story that was not a catalogue of their medical history. Some participants did demonstrate a desire to retell their medical history or narrative – including a recurring theme of the difficulty in gaining continuity with one trusted medical professional. I gently guided these participants back to fashioning a different and more creative narrative, with elements of scene creation, description and so on, by my first listening intently to and acknowledging their medical narrative for a few minutes and then suggesting we try to move beyond that. This simple strategy was largely successful; several participants commented explicitly that they were tired of having to retell their medical history to each new health professional they encountered in the hospital system, for example. My principal uncertainty was whether I should conduct the workshops at the same level of complexity that I had in the past with groups of university students or community groups. While in both of those cohorts there will often be some participants with mental health issues, for the most part this possibility does not affect the level or kind of content of material discussed in workshops. However, within this pilot group all had been diagnosed with moderate to severe mental illness, mostly schizophrenia, but also bipolar disorder and acute depression and anxiety disorders. The fact that my credentials were only as a published writer and teacher of creative writing, not as a health professional, was also a strong concern to me. But the clients readily accepted me as someone who knew the difficulty of writing well and getting published. I stressed to them that my primary aim was to teach effective creative writing as an end in itself. That it might be beneficial in health terms was secondary. It was a health professional who introduced me and briefly outlined the research aims of the workshop – including some attempt to measure qualitatively any possible benefits. It was my impression that the participants did not have a diminished sense of my usefulness because I was not a health professional. Their focus was on having the opportunity to practice creative writing and/or participate in a creative group activity. As mentioned above, I had prepared a workshop ‘kit’ for the participants of 15 pages. It contained the usual guidelines for effective writing – extracts from professional writers’ published work (including an extract from my own published work – a matter of equity, since they were allowing me to read their work), and a number of writing exercises (using description, concrete and abstract words, narrative point of view, writing in scenes, show don’t tell). The kit contained extracts from memoirs by Hugh Lunn and Bill Bryson, as well as a descriptive passage from Charles Dickens. An extract from Inga Clendinnen’s 2006 account in Agamemnon’s Kiss: selected essays of her positive interaction with fellow cancer patients (a narrative with the underlying theme of recovery) was also valuable for the participants. I stressed to the group that this material was very similar to that used with beginning writers among university students. I described the importance of life-writing as follows: Life-writing is simply telling a story from your life and perhaps musing or commenting on it at the same time. When you write a short account of something chosen from your life, you are making a pattern, using your memory, using your powers of description – you are being creative. You are being a story-teller. And story-telling is one very important thing that makes us humans different from all other animals – and it is a way in which we find a lot of meaning in our lives.My central advice in the kit was: “Just try to be as honest as you can – and to remember as well as you can … being honest and direct is both the best and the easiest way to write memoir”. The only major difference between my approach with these clients and that with a university class was in the selection of possible topics offered. In keeping with the advice of the psychologists who were experts in the theory of ‘recovery’, the topics were predominantly positive, though one or two topics gave the opportunity to recount and/or explore a negative experience if the participant wanted to do so: A time when I was able to help another personA time when I realised what really mattered in lifeA time when I overcame a major difficultyA time when I felt part of a group or teamA time when I knew what I wanted to do with my lifeA time when someone recognised a talent or quality of mineA time I did something that I was proud of A time when I learned something important to meA memorable time when I lived in a certain house or suburbA story that begins: “Looking back, I now understand that …”The group expressed satisfaction with these topics, though they had the usual writing students’ difficulty in choosing the one that best suited them. In the first two workshops we worked our way through the kit; in the third workshop, two weeks later, each participant read their own work to the group and received feedback from their peers and me. The feedback was encouraged to be positive and constructive, and the group spontaneously adopted a positive reinforcement approach, applauding each piece of writing. Workshop DynamicsThe venue for the workshops was a suburban house in the Logan area of Brisbane used as a drop-in centre for those with mental illness, and the majority of the participants would be familiar with it. It had a large, breezy deck on which a round-table configuration of seating was arranged. This veranda-type setting was sheltered enough to enable all to be heard easily and formal enough to emphasise a learning event was taking place; but it was also open enough to encourage a relaxed atmosphere. The week before the first workshop I visited the house to have lunch with a number of the participants. This gave me a sense of some of the participants’ personalities and degree of engagement, the way they related to each other, and in turn enabled them to begin to have some familiarity with me and ask questions. As a novice at working with this kind of client, I found this experience extremely valuable, especially as it suggested that a relatively high degree of communication and cognition would be possible, and it reduced the anxiety I had about pitching the workshops at an appropriate level. In the course of the first workshop, the most initially sceptical workshop participant ended up being the most engaged contributor. A highly intelligent woman, she felt it would be too upsetting to write about negative events, but ultimately wrote a very effective piece about the empowerment she gained from caring for a stray cat and locating the owner. Her narrative also expressed her realisation that the pet was partly a replacement for spending time with her son, who lived interstate. Another strong participant previously had written a book-length narrative of her years of misdiagnoses and trauma in the hospital system before coming under the care of her present health professionals. The participant who had the least literacy skills was accepted by the group as an equal and after a while contributed enthusiastically. Though he refused to sign the consent form at the outset, he asked to do so at the close of the first afternoon. The workshop was comprised of clients from two health provider organisations; at first the two groups tended to speak with those they already knew (as in any such situation in the broader community), but by the third workshop a sense of larger group identity was being manifested in their comments, as they spoke of what ‘the group’ would like in the future – such as their work being published in some form. It was clear that, as in a university setting, part of the beneficial effect of the workshops came from group and face to face interaction. It would be more difficult to have this dimension of benefit achieved via a web-based version of the workshops, though a chat room scenario would presumably go some way towards establishing a group feeling. Web-based delivery would certainly suit participants who lacked mobility or who lived in the regions. Clearly the Internet is a vital social networking tool, and an Internet-based version of the workshops could well be attempted in the future. My own previous experience of community digital storytelling workshops (Neilsen, Digital Storytelling as Life-writing) suggests that a high degree of technical proficiency can not be expected across such a cohort; but with adequate technical support, a program (the usual short, self-written script, recorded voice-over and still images scanned from the participants’ photo albums, etc) could make digital storytelling a further dimension of therapeutic life-writing for clients with mental illness. One of the most useful teaching techniques in a class room setting is the judicious use of humour – to create a sense of sharing a perspective, and simply to make material more entertaining. I tested the waters at the outset by referring to the mental health worker sitting in the background, and declaring (with some comic exaggeration) my concern that if I didn’t run the workshop well he would report adversely on me. There was general laughter and this expression of my vulnerability seemed to defuse anxiety on the part of some participants. As the workshop progressed I found I could use both humorous extracts of life-writing and ad hoc comic comments (never at the expense of a participant) as freely as in a university class. Participants made some droll comments in the overall context of encouraging one another in their contributions, both oral and written. Only one participant exhibited some temporary distress during one of the workshops. I was allowing another participant the freedom to digress from the main topic and the participant beside me displayed agitation and sharply demanded we get back to the point. I apologised and acknowledged I had not stayed as focused as I should and returned to the topic. I suspect I had a fortunate first experience of such arts therapy workshops – and that this was largely due to the voluntary nature of the study and that most of the participants brought a prior positive experience of the workshop scenario, and prior interest in creative writing, to the workshops. Outcomes A significantly positive outcome was that only one of the nine participants missed a session (through ill-health) and none left during workshops. The workshops tended to proceed longer than the three hours allotted on each occasion. Post-workshop interviews were conducted by a psychologist with the participants. Detailed data is not available yet – but there was a clear indication by almost all participants that they felt the workshops were beneficial and that they would like to participate in further workshops. All but one agreed to have their life-writing included in a newsletter produced by one of the sponsors of the workshops. The positive reception of the workshops by the participants has encouraged planning to be undertaken for a wide-ranging longitudinal study by means of a significant number of workshops in both life-writing and visual arts in more than one city, conducted by a team of health professionals and creative practitioners – this time with sophisticated measurement instruments to gauge the effectiveness of art therapy in aiding ‘recovery’. Small as the workshop group was, the pilot study seems to validate previous research in the UK and US as we have summarised above. The indications are that significant elements of recovery (in particular, feelings of enhanced agency and creativity), can be achieved by life-writing workshops that are guided by creative practitioners; and that it is the process of narrative construction within life-writing that engages with or enhances a sense of self and identity. NoteWe are indebted, in making the summary of the concept of ‘recovery’ in health science terms, to work in progress by the following research team: Robert King, Tom O'Brien and Claire Edwards (School of Medicine, University of Queensland), Margot Schofield and Patricia Fenner (School of Public Health, Latrobe University). We are also grateful for the generous assistance of both this group and Seiji Humphries from the Richmond Queensland Fellowship, in providing preparation for the workshops. ReferencesAlschuler, Mari. “Lifestories – Biography and Autobiography as Healing Tools for Adults with Mental Illness.” Journal of Poetry Therapy 11.2 (1997): 113–17.Davidson, Larry and John Strauss. “Sense of Self in Recovery from Severe Mental Illness.” British Journal of Medical Psychology 65 (1992): 31–45.Eakin, Paul. Fictions in Autobiography: Studies of the Art of Self-Invention. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1985.———. How Our Lives Become Stories: Making Selves. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1999.Esterling, B.A., L. L’Abate., E.J. Murray, and J.W. Pennebaker. “Empirical Foundations for Writing in Prevention and Psychotherapy: Mental and Physical Health Outcomes.” Clinical Psychology Review 19.1 (1999): 79–96.Herman, Judith. Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence - from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. New York: Basic Books, 1992.King, Robert, Chris Lloyd, and Tom Meehan. Handbook of Psychosocial Rehabilitation. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2007.Liberman, Robert, and Alex Kopelowicz. “Recovery from Schizophrenia: A Criterion-Based Definition.” In Ralph, R., and P. Corrigan (eds). Recovery in Mental Illness: Broadening Our Understanding of Wellness. Washington, DC: APA, 2005.Linder, Vicki. “The Tale of two Bethanies: Trauma in the Creative Writing Classroom.” New Writing: The International Journal for the Practice and Theory of Creative Writing 1.1 (2004): 6–14Murphy, Ffion, and Philip Neilsen. “Recuperating Writers – and Writing: The Potential of Writing Therapy.” TEXT 12.1 (Apr. 2008). ‹http://www.textjournal.com.au/april08/murphy_neilsen.htm›.Neilsen, Philip. “Digital Storytelling as Life-Writing: Self-Construction, Therapeutic Effect, Textual Analysis Leading to an Enabling ‘Aesthetic’ for the Community Voice.” ‹http://www.speculation2005.qut.edu.au/papers/Neilsen.pdf›.Pennebaker, James W., and Janel D. Seagal. “Forming a Story: The Health Benefits of Narrative.” Journal of Clinical Psychology, 55.10 (1999): 1243–54.Pennebaker, James W. “Telling Stories: The Health Benefits of Narrative.” Literature and Medicine 19.1 (2000): 3–18.Spandler, H., J. Secker, L. Kent, S. Hacking, and J. Shenton. “Catching Life: The Contribution of Arts Initiatives to ‘Recovery’ Approaches in Mental Health.” Journal of Psychiatric and Mental Health Nursing 14.8 (2007): 791–799.Wright, Jeannie, and Man Cheung Chung. “Mastery or Mystery? Therapeutic Writing: A Review of the Literature.” British Journal of Guidance and Counselling, 29.3 (2001): 277–91.

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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