Journal articles on the topic 'Pacific Island (English)'

This article reports on a preliminary study of an English-lexifier Pidgin spoken on the tiny Pacific island of Nauru. This pidgin has distinctive features of both Chinese Pidgin English and Pacific Pidgin English, as well as many unique characteristics. Socio-historical information shows that these two forms of Pidgin English have come into contact in Nauru and the data suggests that pidgin mixing, a form of koineization, has occurred. The linguistic consequences of such a mixture are similar to those of the mixing of other linguistic subsystems such as regional dialects. The data also supports observations about the problems of genetic classification and the significance of mixing in tracing the development of pidgins in the Pacific and other areas.

Summary This paper speculates about the possible existence of Pidgin English toponyms on the Melanesian Mission on Norfolk Island. The argument considers why modern historians and linguists studying the social and linguistic history of the Melanesian Mission missionaries, and why missionaries from earlier periods, who were documenting and studying local Melanesian languages spoken within the Mission’s activities, did not provide possible available information on Pidgin English toponyms. This noted absence of an explicit focus on the toponymic lexicon of Pidgin English and other marginalised languages highlights certain metalinguistic and social priorities held by linguists.

Objectives: The Pacific Island region is estimated to have among the highest rates of childhood ear disease and hearing loss in the world. The adverse effects of childhood hearing loss include delayed speech/language development, learning difficulties, and reduced social-emotional well-being. Schoolteachers and early childhood educators are among the first professionals who may suspect hearing loss in their young students, and they are well-placed to initiate referrals to appropriate health services. Given the current efforts to implement Inclusive Education in the Pacific Islands, teachers are also uniquely positioned to positively influence, support, and advocate for a child with hearing loss in their classroom. There are no previous studies on this topic from the Pacific Island region. Methods: The study will use a national survey and convenience sampling design. Teachers attending the Annual Teachers Conference in Samoa will be invited to independently and anonymously completed a 23-item questionnaire on childhood hearing loss and hearing services. Questions are in English, with a Samoan translation provided. The participating teachers will be required to respond with “yes,” “no,” or “unsure,” and to mark their response on the questionnaire. The questions assess knowledge of biomedical etiology of hearing impairment, knowledge of the adverse impacts of hearing loss on childhood development, knowledge of hearing loss identification and intervention, and attitudes toward children with a hearing impairment. Results: Not applicable for a study protocol. Conclusion: We publish these protocols to facilitate similar studies in other low- and middle-income countries, and especially among our Pacific Island neighbors.

Introduction: Diabetes is a common among Pacific peoples. The personal cost of diabetes is substantial with the indirect costs shown to outweigh the direct costs in some instances. The aim of this case study was to identify and describe the personal cost to four Pacific people living with type 2 diabetes in New Zealand. Methods: Two Pacific men and two Pacific women with type 2 diabetes were recruited with the assistance of the Pacific Island Centre and the Pacific Research Student Support Unit, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. The participants were interviewed (three in Samoan and one in English) using an open question approach. Appropriate cultural protocols were observed, and interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed. Samoan interviews were translated into English. A thematic analysis was undertaken using an inductive approach. Findings: Participants’ ages ranged from the mid-30s to 75 years. The two retired participants had difficulty paying their prescription fees and three participants considered healthy food expensive. Other costs included time off work and family members moving towns to take care of participants and their diabetes. Pacific community members provided time, gifts and money at times when participants were less well. At the same time, participants considered they had a role in educating their community about diabetes prevention. A diagnosis of diabetes triggered healthful lifestyle changes for one participant. Conclusions: The personal cost associated with diabetes is broad and complex, with particular implications for roles and responsibilities among Pacific communities.

Three Korean women won $75,000 in damages in a libel action against the American-owned Newsweek, Inc. in Seoul for publication of a defamatory photo and a caption in the Pacific edition of Newsweek. A Singapore judge awarded former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore and two others a §678,000 damage award against the International Herald Tribune, owned by the New York Times Co. and the Washington Post Co., for libel relating to an editorial-page column about the “dynastic politics” in the island nation.

Drawing on Professor Angelo’s work in relation to the patriation of law in Niue and Tokelau as an exemplar of best possible practice, Associate Professor Corrin argues in this article that the time has come for other small island jurisdictions to complete their own promised patriation projects. In her article Dr Corrin reviews the issues facing former British dependencies in assessing whether English law applies in their jurisdiction. Dr Corrin concludes that the situation is problematic and that the interests of the rule of law would be better fulfilled by the introduction or the completion of patriation programmes. She reviews case law from a wide range of former dependencies which demonstrate the complexities of applying the reception rule and that of the confusion that can result.

Norfolk Island (South Pacific), a small external territory of Australia, has a placenaming record marked by distinct historical, settlement, and land use periods. This brief communication considers the complex nexus of official–unofficial, embedded–unembedded, and English–Norfolk Island language toponyms as a way to make better sense of the localization of toponymic knowledge and to appreciate better how such knowledge functions within a minute society intricately connected to its own largely known past and an ever changing toponymic present. The data were collected during interview fieldwork on Norfolk Island during the period 2007–2009. It concludes by putting forward a four-category division of Norfolk Island toponyms: 1) official names adhering to common colonial forms; 2) official and unofficial descriptive names; 3) unofficial names commemorating local people; 4) unofficial and esoteric names remembering local events and people. These categories appear distinct, but they are not necessarily mutually exclusive. The differentiation of processes of toponyms becoming embedded and the localization of toponymic knowledge are a possible explanation for the loss of toponymic knowledge among younger people on Norfolk Island and suggests a general ecological disconnect across time involving people, history, and events associated with Norfolk Island toponyms. The Norfolk Island official–unofficial toponym distinction is applicable to other toponymic case studies, especially situations with competing placenaming histories.

Since the beginning of Anglican missionary activity in the southwest Pacific in the mid-nineteenth century, fifteen European missionaries and at least seven Pacific Islanders have died violently in the course of their work. In that same region, comprising island Melanesia and New Guinea, Roman Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists, and the London Missionary Society [L.M.S.] have each had their honour roll of martyrs. Three of these have achieved a measure of fame outside the Pacific and their own denomination: John Williams of the L.M.S., killed at Erromanga in Vanuatu (formerly the New Hebrides) in 1839; James Chalmers, also of the L.M.S., killed in New Guinea in 1901; and John Coleridge Patteson, Missionary Bishop of Melanesia and head of the Melanesian Mission, killed in 1871. Patteson has been the subject of more than fifteen biographies (several of them in German and Dutch), in addition to essays in collections on English missionary heroes, scholarly articles, and pamphlets for popular consumption. In Anglican churches in England, Australia, New Zealand, the United States, and elsewhere he is commemorated as missionary hero in memorial tablets and stained-glass windows.

Pacific Island Countries (PICs) lag behind global trends in water, sanitation and hygiene (WaSH) development. We conducted a systematic search of all English language papers (published before February 2015) about WaSH in PICs to evaluate the state of the peer-reviewed literature and explore thematic findings. A total of 121 papers met the criteria for full-text review following an initial search result of more than 6,000 papers. Two reviewers independently assessed the quality and relevance of each article and consolidated their findings according to four emergent themes: public health, environment, emergency response and interventions, and management and governance. Findings indicate a knowledge gap in evidence-guided WaSH management strategies that advocate for human health while concurrently protecting and preserving drinking water resources. Extreme weather events threaten the quantity and quality of limited freshwater resources, and cultural factors that are unique to PICs present challenges to hygiene and sanitation. This review highlights the strengths and weaknesses of the peer-reviewed literature on WaSH in PICs, addresses spatial and temporal publication trends, and suggests areas in need of further research to help PICs meet development goals.

Niuean (ISO 639-3 code niu) is a Polynesian language spoken on the island of Niue, with an additional population of speakers living in New Zealand. Figure 1 indicates where Niue is located with respect to other neighboring islands in the South Pacific. The 2011 Niue Census of Populations and Households cited the number of individuals who had either basic or fluent spoken abilities at 1121 (with 101 non-speakers) (Statistics Niue 2012). English is the second most widely used language on the island. The 2013 New Zealand census cited 4548 individuals living in New Zealand who listed Niuean as one of their languages (Statistics New Zealand 2013). Niuean is classified as ‘definitely endangered’ by UNESCO (Moseley 2010). There are historically two distinct dialects: the older Motu dialect from the northern area, and the more recent Tafiti from the southern area. These dialect differences were once reflected in slight phonological differences in vocabulary items, but the differences have since eroded in the modern language (see McEwen 1970: ix). Previous research on Niuean phonetics and phonology includes a brief outline in Seiter (1980: x), two dictionaries (McEwen 1970, Sperlich 1997), and an article on vowel length (Rolle & Starks 2014). While these works provide an overview of some of the phenomena to be addressed below, this sketch attempts a more thorough documentation of the phonetic structures of Niuean, and provides novel acoustic and articulatory data from the language. Recordings accompanying this paper are of a male speaker (Mr. Krypton Okesene) and a female speaker (the second author).

Owing to the relatively small population sizes and remoteness of the Small Island Development States (SIDS), their mental health systems face many common difficulties. These include having few mental health specialists per country, limited access to mental health services and low awareness. To overcome these limitations, the World Health Organization (WHO) Mental Health Gap Action Programme (mhGAP), which aims to decrease the treatment gap by training non-specialists, was implemented in more than 20 Pacific and English-speaking Caribbean countries. Many lessons were learnt from the experience. Mental health specialist support is crucial, and online training and supervision could be a solution. mhGAP training proved to be effective to improve knowledge and attitude, but close monitoring and supervision are needed to change clinical practice. Awareness raising and mental health service capacity building need to occur simultaneously. To realise sustainable development goals, countries need to invest more in mental health, especially in human resources; mhGAP will be one effective solution.

LANGUAGE NOTE | Document text in English; abstract also in Chinese. The purpose of the study was to examine the physical activity levels, nutrition, and body image of participants from Yap Proper and the outer islands. A mixed methods design was utilized. Participants included 29 adults enrolled in an undergraduate Education degree program from two separate summer school classes: 19 adults from an Introductory Health and Wellness class and 12 adults from a PE Methods: Elementary class for classroom teachers. Three higher-order themes resulted from the analysis: Cultural Values, Body Image, and Westernization. Results from the nutrition logs indicated that participants preferred local grown foods and also consumed western imported foods available on the island. Daily step counts of participants ranged from a low of 190 steps on day one to a high of 12, 375 on day 28. By day 28, participants were walking between 3-6 miles per day. Additional exercise outside of walking was not performed by participants. The mean of Pre-BMI data were 31.91 and the mean for Post-BMI data were 31.97. Participants stated that they felt that their bodies were fat and that they were satisfied with that image. Participants also indicated that a higher importance in their culture was placed on obesity and that an obese body was associated with beauty and prosperity. Findings suggest that cultural beliefs contribute to obesity rates by affecting the type of physical activity that is performed due to gender-specific roles. Lack of access to a variety of nutritious foods also affects nutrition habits. 本文旨在探討太平洋島居民的體質指數、身體活動、營養攝取及身體形象。結果顯示文化因素是影響身體肥胖的原因。

When the 30-year old English-born, Auckland-trained Robert Mackay Fripp (1858-1917) and his New Zealand bride left the port of Auckland in the late summer of 1888, they were headed for the bustling construction environment of post-fire Vancouver. Leaving his practice with C Paul, and his architectural design tutorship at the Auckland Society of the Arts, Fripp's was an astute career move. In the not quite eight years Fripp was based in Vancouver, he built and published almost 50 projects in British Columbia before he escaped the fast-approaching Vancouver recession and returned to Auckland in 1896. Attempting to put himself forward for more prestigious commissions in the Lower Mainland and Vancouver Island (which regularly went to Samuel Maclure), Fripp developed a national profile as an Arts and Crafts aesthete and designer with considerable international experience by publishing his drawings and reporting on the "West Coast scene" in the Toronto-based Canadian Architect and Builder (CAB). Among the local-interest articles there, which he consistently turned into a crabby proselytising for the Arts and Crafts, Fripp also placed both appreciative and critical articles and notes on Māori architecture and domestic design, and timber and construction in Auckland, and, even more surprisingly, he continued to do so throughout the 1890s, that is, long after he returned to New Zealand and set-up in partnership with GS Goldsboro' in Auckland. Meanwhile in the 33 months Fripp was back in Auckland from 1896 he realised a number of substantive and significant Auckland houses in Parnell, Grafton and Mount Eden. In these works I will show that he can be seen to have brought current "progressive" ideas from the West Coast about strongly-shaped shingled and half-timbered houses simply detailed with heavy timber to stand within the strong ocean coastal conditions. Fripp left for Victoria in 1899 and after some disappointing (losing the competition for Government House to Francis Rattenbury) months, during which he posted a scathing report in CAB about house design in Auckland, he moved to Los Angeles renting office space immediately adjacent to the Greene brothers executing and publishing a series of large (as yet undiscovered) houses in and around Santa Monica and Pasadena throughout 1900-5.

Two related species of Hedera spp. exist throughout Canada: English Ivy (Hedera helix L.) and Irish Ivy [Hedera hibernica (G. Kirchn.) Bean]. These species are difficult to distinguish taxonomically and clear distinctions are not always made in the literature, so we largely discuss them as a single taxon in this account. Ivy is an evergreen perennial with two distinct forms: woody vine (juvenile form) or shrub (adult form). In Canada, Hedera spp. are found naturalized along the southern coast of British Columbia (Vancouver, Vancouver Island, and the Gulf Islands) and in southwestern Ontario. During the past century, ivies have greatly expanded their ranges along the Pacific and Atlantic coasts of North America and in New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, Brazil, and Hawaii. Ivy is physiologically plastic, invading both semi-open and deeply shaded forests. It forms a dense ground cover that can inhibit native vegetation. It grows up on tree trunks and competes for soil nutrients, frequently leading to tree damage or even tree fall. Invasive characteristics include its evergreen habit, persistence, and vegetative reproductive capabilities. Humans have accelerated the spread of ivy by planting it along highway embankments and medians to control soil erosion and through widespread sale as an ornamental plant. There is debate among horticulturalists and ecologists over the destructive and advantageous effects of ivy growth and sale within North America. Various methods of control (chemical, manual, biological, and integrated) may be used to manage this species, but more research is needed to design better control techniques.

AbstractIntroduction:A multiple patient incident involving a commercial airliner is a challenge for any community EMS system. When the community is on a remote island in the North Pacific Ocean, where there is no hospital and only a small clinic staffed by just one physician and several nurses and technicians, the challenge is much greater. The incident described herein necessitated providing emergency care at the airport, and at the same time, activating a response capability from hundreds of miles away to transport the patients to definitive care. The situation was compounded further by the fact that most of those injured spoke little or no English. This paper reviews the events that occurred and the lessons learned..Objective:To identify the events that occurred when a commercial airliner, with more than 250 passengers and crew aboard, experienced an in-flight “upset” that resulted in many being injured. What was learned may help other areas be better prepared for such events.Study Population:A commercial airliner incident that occurred in April, 1993 resulted in the need for emergency medical care at the remote island location of Shemya, Alaska initially, and fixed-wing transport of the injured to definitive care in Anchorage, Alaska, USA, which is about 1,300 miles (2,130 km) from Shemya.Methods:A case review methodology was used that included interviews with key persons involved in the response to this incident to learn first-hand what occurred; by review of the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) reports, and by having agencies involved in the event review draft report materials to ensure accuracy.Results:This study showed how a remote site with a small cadre of medically trained personnel could organize and effectively provide initial emergency care for >200 persons, an have them transported more than a thousand miles to definitive care.Conclusion:Valuable lessons were learned from this incident that may help other areas be better prepared, particularly in remote areas, for large multiple patient events.

Objectives: The first objective was to develop a culturally appropriate research method to investigate Samoan perspectives on mental health issues. The second objective was to apply this to identify cultural values and understandings important in the care and treatment of Samoan people with mental health problems. Method: Gender-specific focus groups consisting of Samoan elders and service providers were facilitated by Samoan researchers in the Samoan language. Systematic analysis of the transcripts, adapted to the cultural context, were conducted in Samoan and later translated into English. Results: A culturally derived method, referred to as Fa'afaletui, reflecting Samoan communal values and familiar institutional structures within the community, allowed each focus group to come to a consensual view on issues discussed. The Samoan self was identified as an essential concept for understanding Samoan views of mental health. This self was described as a relational self and mental wellness as a state of relational harmony, where personal elements of spiritual, mental and physical are in balance. Mental ill health was sometimes linked to breaches of forbidden and sacred relationships, which could be addressed effectively only within protocols laid down in the culture. Additional stressors contributing to mental ill-health were identified as low income, unemployment, rising housing costs and the marginalization of Samoan cultural norms in New Zealand. Participants identified the need for a culturally based mental health service for Samoan people to address key cultural factors. Conclusions: The Fa'afaletui method is a new research method which is sensitive and responsive to Samoan cultural norms and is methodologically rigorous. Such an approach may be relevant for other Pacific Island cultures and other cultures, which have a strong emphasis on collectivity. The Samoan concept of self provides a theoretical foundation for understanding the mental health needs of Samoan people and a basis for developing appropriate services.

The English creole now known as ‘Pitkern-Norfolk’ is spoken as a community language only on the widely separated Pitcairn and Norfolk Islands in the Pacific Ocean. Scholars divide the pidgins and creoles of English into two broad types: Atlantic and Pacific. Logically, the creole that arose as a consequence of the mutiny on the Royal Navy's H.M.S Bounty in 1789 should straightforwardly belong in the Pacific group, but internal evidence indicates, paradoxically, that it is an Atlantic rather than a Pacific Creole.

Abstract This paper explores the sociolinguistic patterning of glottal choices in the English spoken in the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI), a variety that variationist research has thus far eschewed. The analysis suggests that the schooling background of the speaker is the most crucial determinant for both /h/-dropping and /h/-insertion. These findings are not surprising given the dramatic social inequalities regarding access to educational opportunities that characterise the RMI. The locally-specific contact situation, in conjunction with the constraints on /h/-insertion, suggest that the English spoken in the Marshall Islands is typologically distinct from the Southern British dialect root described for other parts of the Pacific by Schreier (2019).

Historical research on the early years of photography in the Pacific Islands has revealed changes in the practice of photography, the development of Pacific imagery, tropes and stereotypes and changes in the ways images were distributed, archived and used in modern contexts. Research in the field was initially focused on photography’s indexical nature and the role of professional and amateur photographers, travellers, colonial officials and missionaries. The research highlighted here, only in the English language and excluding Aotearoa/New Zealand, reveals how later analyses have begun to grow more theoretical, in keeping with postcolonial approaches to reading cross-cultural representation, and how new directions in research point towards the nature of Indigenous engagement with early photography.

The concepts of centre and margins are of course, or ought to be, interchangeable: where we are is, in that sense, always the centre. However, no one would deny that in terms of culture, some 'centres' are more dominant than others. As a translator of Pacific texts, both from French into English and from English into French (as a co-translator), I have become acutely aware of what is at stake in the 'centre' of the Pacific, in particular on the islands of New Caledonia and French Polynesia. Focusing on texts from French Polynesia, I look at some of the ways in which indigenous Pacific authors writing in French 'deterritorialise' both genre and language conventions to create new forms of expression. Chantal Spitz, for example, employs a highly poetic style, even including traditional poetic forms in her prose. How can the translator respond to these strategies in such a way as to promote a reading 'from the inside out'?

The development of pronouns, copulas, and other key features of Chinese Pidgin English (CPE) is traced from 1743 onwards. Major grammatical and lexical changes in the early 19th century are found to coincide with the period when foreigners were increasingly allowed to reside in Canton instead of merely being tolerated as transient visitors. The resulting continuity of interaction between Chinese and non-Chinese is seen as the catalyst for these developments in CPE. First attestations of 34 key features in CPE are compared with their earliest occurrence (if any) in more than a dozen Pacific varieties of Pidgin English (PPE). It is shown that none of the latter can possibly be a "direct descendant" of CPE. While four features exclusively shared by CPE and PPE indicate a modest degree of CPE influence on PPE, it is suggested that three key features of PPE, found only sporadically and/or tardily in CPE, provide evidence of some hitherto unsuspected influence of PPE on CPE. In the course of the above it is noted that most of the CPE features which also occur in three or more varieties of PPE have their earliest PPE attestation in New South Wales, the only Pacific territory in which there was continuity of interaction (in this case between Aborigines and whites) from the outset, and it is claimed that this social circumstance favors both the expansion and stabilization of a pidgin. Data from early Australian Pidgin English are presented showing that it includes the earliest known attestations of a number of features generally associated with PPE of the islands of the Southwest Pacific. This leads to the claim that New South Wales Pidgin English was a far more important influence on the PPE of those islands than what has often been termed "South Sea Jargon." After reviewing the linguistic implications of the labor trade which took many Pacific islanders to work on plantations in Queensland, Samoa, and elsewhere, it is claimed that the interrelationships between the many varieties of Pidgin English spoken, currently or formerly, in the vast area from China to Hawaii to the Marquesas to Australia and back to China cannot adequately be represented by means of "family tree" type diagrams.

The English Channel was the site of the discovery of the phylum Kinorhyncha in 1841 by the French zoologist Felix Dujardin. Although initially reported from St Malo, Rennes, and Paris by Dujardin (1851), St Vaast la Hougue, France was the site from which the first species, Echinoderes dujardinii Claparede, 1863 was described 12 years later. Since then, E. dujardinii has been reported from many localities in northern Europe as well as from the Mediterranean, the Black Sea, and the Canary Islands (cf. Higgins, 1983). Reports of this species from various North Pacific Ocean localities are either incorrect or higher questionable (Higgins, 1983).

Education in Oceania continues to reflect the embedded implicit and explicit colonial practices and processes from the past. This paper conceptualises a cultural approach to education and leadership appropriate and relevant to the Republic of the Marshall Islands. As elementary school leaders, we highlight Kanne Lobal, a traditional Marshallese navigation practice based on indigenous language, values and practices. We conceptualise and develop Kanne Lobal in this paper as a framework for understanding the usefulness of our indigenous knowledge in leadership and educational practices within formal education. Through bwebwenato, a method of talk story, our key learnings and reflexivities were captured. We argue that realising the value of Marshallese indigenous knowledge and practices for school leaders requires purposeful training of the ways in which our knowledge can be made useful in our professional educational responsibilities. Drawing from our Marshallese knowledge is an intentional effort to inspire, empower and express what education and leadership partnership means for Marshallese people, as articulated by Marshallese themselves. Introduction As noted in the call for papers within the Waikato Journal of Education (WJE) for this special issue, bodies of knowledge and histories in Oceania have long sustained generations across geographic boundaries to ensure cultural survival. For Marshallese people, we cannot really know ourselves “until we know how we came to be where we are today” (Walsh, Heine, Bigler & Stege, 2012). Jitdam Kapeel is a popular Marshallese concept and ideal associated with inquiring into relationships within the family and community. In a similar way, the practice of relating is about connecting the present and future to the past. Education and leadership partnerships are linked and we look back to the past, our history, to make sense and feel inspired to transform practices that will benefit our people. In this paper and in light of our next generation, we reconnect with our navigation stories to inspire and empower education and leadership. Kanne lobal is part of our navigation stories, a conceptual framework centred on cultural practices, values, and concepts that embrace collective partnerships. Our link to this talanoa vā with others in the special issue is to attempt to make sense of connections given the global COVID-19 context by providing a Marshallese approach to address the physical and relational “distance” between education and leadership partnerships in Oceania. Like the majority of developing small island nations in Oceania, the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) has had its share of educational challenges through colonial legacies of the past which continues to drive education systems in the region (Heine, 2002). The historical administration and education in the RMI is one of colonisation. Successive administrations by the Spanish, German, Japanese, and now the US, has resulted in education and learning that privileges western knowledge and forms of learning. This paper foregrounds understandings of education and learning as told by the voices of elementary school leaders from the RMI. The move to re-think education and leadership from Marshallese perspectives is an act of shifting the focus of bwebwenato or conversations that centres on Marshallese language and worldviews. The concept of jelalokjen was conceptualised as traditional education framed mainly within the community context. In the past, jelalokjen was practiced and transmitted to the younger generation for cultural continuity. During the arrival of colonial administrations into the RMI, jelalokjen was likened to the western notions of education and schooling (Kupferman, 2004). Today, the primary function of jelalokjen, as traditional and formal education, it is for “survival in a hostile [and challenging] environment” (Kupferman, 2004, p. 43). Because western approaches to learning in the RMI have not always resulted in positive outcomes for those engaged within the education system, as school leaders who value our cultural knowledge and practices, and aspire to maintain our language with the next generation, we turn to Kanne Lobal, a practice embedded in our navigation stories, collective aspirations, and leadership. The significance in the development of Kanne Lobal, as an appropriate framework for education and leadership, resulted in us coming together and working together. Not only were we able to share our leadership concerns, however, the engagement strengthened our connections with each other as school leaders, our communities, and the Public Schooling System (PSS). Prior to that, many of us were in competition for resources. Educational Leadership: IQBE and GCSL Leadership is a valued practice in the RMI. Before the IQBE programme started in 2018, the majority of the school leaders on the main island of Majuro had not engaged in collaborative partnerships with each other before. Our main educational purpose was to achieve accreditation from the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC), an accreditation commission for schools in the United States. The WASC accreditation dictated our work and relationships and many school leaders on Majuro felt the pressure of competition against each other. We, the authors in this paper, share our collective bwebwenato, highlighting our school leadership experiences and how we gained strength from our own ancestral knowledge to empower “us”, to collaborate with each other, our teachers, communities, as well as with PSS; a collaborative partnership we had not realised in the past. The paucity of literature that captures Kajin Majol (Marshallese language) and education in general in the RMI is what we intend to fill by sharing our reflections and experiences. To move our educational practices forward we highlight Kanne Lobal, a cultural approach that focuses on our strengths, collective social responsibilities and wellbeing. For a long time, there was no formal training in place for elementary school leaders. School principals and vice principals were appointed primarily on their academic merit through having an undergraduate qualification. As part of the first cohort of fifteen school leaders, we engaged in the professional training programme, the Graduate Certificate in School Leadership (GCSL), refitted to our context after its initial development in the Solomon Islands. GCSL was coordinated by the Institute of Education (IOE) at the University of the South Pacific (USP). GCSL was seen as a relevant and appropriate training programme for school leaders in the RMI as part of an Asia Development Bank (ADB) funded programme which aimed at “Improving Quality Basic Education” (IQBE) in parts of the northern Pacific. GCSL was managed on Majuro, RMI’s main island, by the director at the time Dr Irene Taafaki, coordinator Yolanda McKay, and administrators at the University of the South Pacific’s (USP) RMI campus. Through the provision of GCSL, as school leaders we were encouraged to re-think and draw-from our own cultural repository and connect to our ancestral knowledge that have always provided strength for us. This kind of thinking and practice was encouraged by our educational leaders (Heine, 2002). We argue that a culturally-affirming and culturally-contextual framework that reflects the lived experiences of Marshallese people is much needed and enables the disruption of inherent colonial processes left behind by Western and Eastern administrations which have influenced our education system in the RMI (Heine, 2002). Kanne Lobal, an approach utilising a traditional navigation has warranted its need to provide solutions for today’s educational challenges for us in the RMI. Education in the Pacific Education in the Pacific cannot be understood without contextualising it in its history and culture. It is the same for us in the RMI (Heine, 2002; Walsh et al., 2012). The RMI is located in the Pacific Ocean and is part of Micronesia. It was named after a British captain, John Marshall in the 1700s. The atolls in the RMI were explored by the Spanish in the 16th century. Germany unsuccessfully attempted to colonize the islands in 1885. Japan took control in 1914, but after several battles during World War II, the US seized the RMI from them. In 1947, the United Nations made the island group, along with the Mariana and Caroline archipelagos, a U.S. trust territory (Walsh et al, 2012). Education in the RMI reflects the colonial administrations of Germany, Japan, and now the US. Before the turn of the century, formal education in the Pacific reflected western values, practices, and standards. Prior to that, education was informal and not binded to formal learning institutions (Thaman, 1997) and oral traditions was used as the medium for transmitting learning about customs and practices living with parents, grandparents, great grandparents. As alluded to by Jiba B. Kabua (2004), any “discussion about education is necessarily a discussion of culture, and any policy on education is also a policy of culture” (p. 181). It is impossible to promote one without the other, and it is not logical to understand one without the other. Re-thinking how education should look like, the pedagogical strategies that are relevant in our classrooms, the ways to engage with our parents and communities - such re-thinking sits within our cultural approaches and frameworks. Our collective attempts to provide a cultural framework that is relevant and appropriate for education in our context, sits within the political endeavour to decolonize. This means that what we are providing will not only be useful, but it can be used as a tool to question and identify whether things in place restrict and prevent our culture or whether they promote and foreground cultural ideas and concepts, a significant discussion of culture linked to education (Kabua, 2004). Donor funded development aid programmes were provided to support the challenges within education systems. Concerned with the persistent low educational outcomes of Pacific students, despite the prevalence of aid programmes in the region, in 2000 Pacific educators and leaders with support from New Zealand Aid (NZ Aid) decided to intervene (Heine, 2002; Taufe’ulungaki, 2014). In April 2001, a group of Pacific educators and leaders across the region were invited to a colloquium funded by the New Zealand Overseas Development Agency held in Suva Fiji at the University of the South Pacific. The main purpose of the colloquium was to enable “Pacific educators to re-think the values, assumptions and beliefs underlying [formal] schooling in Oceania” (Benson, 2002). Leadership, in general, is a valued practice in the RMI (Heine, 2002). Despite education leadership being identified as a significant factor in school improvement (Sanga & Chu, 2009), the limited formal training opportunities of school principals in the region was a persistent concern. As part of an Asia Development Bank (ADB) funded project, the Improve Quality Basic Education (IQBE) intervention was developed and implemented in the RMI in 2017. Mentoring is a process associated with the continuity and sustainability of leadership knowledge and practices (Sanga & Chu, 2009). It is a key aspect of building capacity and capabilities within human resources in education (ibid). Indigenous knowledges and education research According to Hilda Heine, the relationship between education and leadership is about understanding Marshallese history and culture (cited in Walsh et al., 2012). It is about sharing indigenous knowledge and histories that “details for future generations a story of survival and resilience and the pride we possess as a people” (Heine, cited in Walsh et al., 2012, p. v). This paper is fuelled by postcolonial aspirations yet is grounded in Pacific indigenous research. This means that our intentions are driven by postcolonial pursuits and discourses linked to challenging the colonial systems and schooling in the Pacific region that privileges western knowledge and learning and marginalises the education practices and processes of local people (Thiong’o, 1986). A point of difference and orientation from postcolonialism is a desire to foreground indigenous Pacific language, specifically Majin Majol, through Marshallese concepts. Our collective bwebwenato and conversation honours and values kautiej (respect), jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity), and jouj (kindness) (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). Pacific leaders developed the Rethinking Pacific Education Initiative for and by Pacific People (RPEIPP) in 2002 to take control of the ways in which education research was conducted by donor funded organisations (Taufe’ulungaki, 2014). Our former president, Dr Hilda Heine was part of the group of leaders who sought to counter the ways in which our educational and leadership stories were controlled and told by non-Marshallese (Heine, 2002). As a former minister of education in the RMI, Hilda Heine continues to inspire and encourage the next generation of educators, school leaders, and researchers to re-think and de-construct the way learning and education is conceptualised for Marshallese people. The conceptualisation of Kanne Lobal acknowledges its origin, grounded in Marshallese navigation knowledge and practice. Our decision to unpack and deconstruct Kanne Lobal within the context of formal education and leadership responds to the need to not only draw from indigenous Marshallese ideas and practice but to consider that the next generation will continue to be educated using western processes and initiatives particularly from the US where we get a lot of our funding from. According to indigenous researchers Dawn Bessarab and Bridget Ng’andu (2010), doing research that considers “culturally appropriate processes to engage with indigenous groups and individuals is particularly pertinent in today’s research environment” (p. 37). Pacific indigenous educators and researchers have turned to their own ancestral knowledge and practices for inspiration and empowerment. Within western research contexts, the often stringent ideals and processes are not always encouraging of indigenous methods and practices. However, many were able to ground and articulate their use of indigenous methods as being relevant and appropriate to capturing the realities of their communities (Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Fulu-Aiolupotea, 2014; Thaman, 1997). At the same time, utilising Pacific indigenous methods and approaches enabled research engagement with their communities that honoured and respected them and their communities. For example, Tongan, Samoan, and Fijian researchers used the talanoa method as a way to capture the stories, lived realities, and worldviews of their communities within education in the diaspora (Fa’avae, Jones, & Manu’atu, 2016; Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Aiolupotea, 2014; Vaioleti, 2005). Tok stori was used by Solomon Islander educators and school leaders to highlight the unique circles of conversational practice and storytelling that leads to more positive engagement with their community members, capturing rich and meaningful narratives as a result (Sanga & Houma, 2004). The Indigenous Aborigine in Australia utilise yarning as a “relaxed discussion through which both the researcher and participant journey together visiting places and topics of interest relevant” (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010, p. 38). Despite the diverse forms of discussions and storytelling by indigenous peoples, of significance are the cultural protocols, ethics, and language for conducting and guiding the engagement (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010; Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Aiolupotea, 2014). Through the ethics, values, protocols, and language, these are what makes indigenous methods or frameworks unique compared to western methods like in-depth interviews or semi-structured interviews. This is why it is important for us as Marshallese educators to frame, ground, and articulate how our own methods and frameworks of learning could be realised in western education (Heine, 2002; Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014). In this paper, we utilise bwebwenato as an appropriate method linked to “talk story”, capturing our collective stories and experiences during GCSL and how we sought to build partnerships and collaboration with each other, our communities, and the PSS. Bwebwenato and drawing from Kajin Majel Legends and stories that reflect Marshallese society and its cultural values have survived through our oral traditions. The practice of weaving also holds knowledge about our “valuable and earliest sources of knowledge” (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019, p. 2). The skilful navigation of Marshallese wayfarers on the walap (large canoes) in the ocean is testament of their leadership and the value they place on ensuring the survival and continuity of Marshallese people (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019; Walsh et al., 2012). During her graduate study in 2014, Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner conceptualised bwebwenato as being the most “well-known form of Marshallese orality” (p. 38). The Marshallese-English dictionary defined bwebwenato as talk, conversation, story, history, article, episode, lore, myth, or tale (cited in Jetnil Kijiner, 2014). Three years later in 2017, bwebwenato was utilised in a doctoral project by Natalie Nimmer as a research method to gather “talk stories” about the experiences of 10 Marshallese experts in knowledge and skills ranging from sewing to linguistics, canoe-making and business. Our collective bwebwenato in this paper centres on Marshallese ideas and language. The philosophy of Marshallese knowledge is rooted in our “Kajin Majel”, or Marshallese language and is shared and transmitted through our oral traditions. For instance, through our historical stories and myths. Marshallese philosophy, that is, the knowledge systems inherent in our beliefs, values, customs, and practices are shared. They are inherently relational, meaning that knowledge systems and philosophies within our world are connected, in mind, body, and spirit (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014; Nimmer, 2017). Although some Marshallese believe that our knowledge is disappearing as more and more elders pass away, it is therefore important work together, and learn from each other about the knowledges shared not only by the living but through their lamentations and stories of those who are no longer with us (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014). As a Marshallese practice, weaving has been passed-down from generation to generation. Although the art of weaving is no longer as common as it used to be, the artefacts such as the “jaki-ed” (clothing mats) continue to embody significant Marshallese values and traditions. For our weavers, the jouj (check spelling) is the centre of the mat and it is where the weaving starts. When the jouj is correct and weaved well, the remainder and every other part of the mat will be right. The jouj is symbolic of the “heart” and if the heart is prepared well, trained well, then life or all other parts of the body will be well (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). In that light, we have applied the same to this paper. Conceptualising and drawing from cultural practices that are close and dear to our hearts embodies a significant ontological attempt to prioritize our own knowledge and language, a sense of endearment to who we are and what we believe education to be like for us and the next generation. The application of the phrase “Majolizing '' was used by the Ministry of Education when Hilda Heine was minister, to weave cultural ideas and language into the way that teachers understand the curriculum, develop lesson plans and execute them in the classroom. Despite this, there were still concerns with the embedded colonized practices where teachers defaulted to eurocentric methods of doing things, like the strategies provided in the textbooks given to us. In some ways, our education was slow to adjust to the “Majolizing '' intention by our former minister. In this paper, we provide Kanne Lobal as a way to contribute to the “Majolizing intention” and perhaps speed up yet still be collectively responsible to all involved in education. Kajin Wa and Kanne Lobal “Wa” is the Marshallese concept for canoe. Kajin wa, as in canoe language, has a lot of symbolic meaning linked to deeply-held Marshallese values and practices. The canoe was the foundational practice that supported the livelihood of harsh atoll island living which reflects the Marshallese social world. The experts of Kajin wa often refer to “wa” as being the vessel of life, a means and source of sustaining life (Kelen, 2009, cited in Miller, 2010). “Jouj” means kindness and is the lower part of the main hull of the canoe. It is often referred to by some canoe builders in the RMI as the heart of the canoe and is linked to love. The jouj is one of the first parts of the canoe that is built and is “used to do all other measurements, and then the rest of the canoe is built on top of it” (Miller, 2010, p. 67). The significance of the jouj is that when the canoe is in the water, the jouj is the part of the hull that is underwater and ensures that all the cargo and passengers are safe. For Marshallese, jouj or kindness is what living is about and is associated with selflessly carrying the responsibility of keeping the family and community safe. The parts of the canoe reflect Marshallese culture, legend, family, lineage, and kinship. They embody social responsibilities that guide, direct, and sustain Marshallese families’ wellbeing, from atoll to atoll. For example, the rojak (boom), rojak maan (upper boom), rojak kōrā (lower boom), and they support the edges of the ujelā/ujele (sail) (see figure 1). The literal meaning of rojak maan is male boom and rojak kōrā means female boom which together strengthens the sail and ensures the canoe propels forward in a strong yet safe way. Figuratively, the rojak maan and rojak kōrā symbolise the mother and father relationship which when strong, through the jouj (kindness and love), it can strengthen families and sustain them into the future. Figure 1. Parts of the canoe Source: https://www.canoesmarshallislands.com/2014/09/names-of-canoe-parts/ From a socio-cultural, communal, and leadership view, the canoe (wa) provides understanding of the relationships required to inspire and sustain Marshallese peoples’ education and learning. We draw from Kajin wa because they provide cultural ideas and practices that enable understanding of education and leadership necessary for sustaining Marshallese people and realities in Oceania. When building a canoe, the women are tasked with the weaving of the ujelā/ujele (sail) and to ensure that it is strong enough to withstand long journeys and the fierce winds and waters of the ocean. The Kanne Lobal relates to the front part of the ujelā/ujele (sail) where the rojak maan and rojak kōrā meet and connect (see the red lines in figure 1). Kanne Lobal is linked to the strategic use of the ujelā/ujele by navigators, when there is no wind north wind to propel them forward, to find ways to capture the winds so that their journey can continue. As a proverbial saying, Kanne Lobal is used to ignite thinking and inspire and transform practice particularly when the journey is rough and tough. In this paper we draw from Kanne Lobal to ignite, inspire, and transform our educational and leadership practices, a move to explore what has always been meaningful to Marshallese people when we are faced with challenges. The Kanne Lobal utilises our language, and cultural practices and values by sourcing from the concepts of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity). A key Marshallese proverb, “Enra bwe jen lale rara”, is the cultural practice where families enact compassion through the sharing of food in all occurrences. The term “enra” is a small basket weaved from the coconut leaves, and often used by Marshallese as a plate to share and distribute food amongst each other. Bwe-jen-lale-rara is about noticing and providing for the needs of others, and “enra” the basket will help support and provide for all that are in need. “Enra-bwe-jen-lale-rara” is symbolic of cultural exchange and reciprocity and the cultural values associated with building and maintaining relationships, and constantly honouring each other. As a Marshallese practice, in this article we share our understanding and knowledge about the challenges as well as possible solutions for education concerns in our nation. In addition, we highlight another proverb, “wa kuk wa jimor”, which relates to having one canoe, and despite its capacity to feed and provide for the individual, but within the canoe all people can benefit from what it can provide. In the same way, we provide in this paper a cultural framework that will enable all educators to benefit from. It is a framework that is far-reaching and relevant to the lived realities of Marshallese people today. Kumit relates to people united to build strength, all co-operating and working together, living in peace, harmony, and good health. Kanne Lobal: conceptual framework for education and leadership An education framework is a conceptual structure that can be used to capture ideas and thinking related to aspects of learning. Kanne Lobal is conceptualised and framed in this paper as an educational framework. Kanne Lobal highlights the significance of education as a collective partnership whereby leadership is an important aspect. Kanne Lobal draws-from indigenous Marshallese concepts like kautiej (respect), jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity), and jouj (kindness, heart). The role of a leader, including an education leader, is to prioritise collective learning and partnerships that benefits Marshallese people and the continuity and survival of the next generation (Heine, 2002; Thaman, 1995). As described by Ejnar Aerōk, an expert canoe builder in the RMI, he stated: “jerbal ippān doon bwe en maron maan wa e” (cited in Miller, 2010, p. 69). His description emphasises the significance of partnerships and working together when navigating and journeying together in order to move the canoe forward. The kubaak, the outrigger of the wa (canoe) is about “partnerships”. For us as elementary school leaders on Majuro, kubaak encourages us to value collaborative partnerships with each other as well as our communities, PSS, and other stakeholders. Partnerships is an important part of the Kanne Lobal education and leadership framework. It requires ongoing bwebwenato – the inspiring as well as confronting and challenging conversations that should be mediated and negotiated if we and our education stakeholders are to journey together to ensure that the educational services we provide benefits our next generation of young people in the RMI. Navigating ahead the partnerships, mediation, and negotiation are the core values of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity). As an organic conceptual framework grounded in indigenous values, inspired through our lived experiences, Kanne Lobal provides ideas and concepts for re-thinking education and leadership practices that are conducive to learning and teaching in the schooling context in the RMI. By no means does it provide the solution to the education ills in our nation. However, we argue that Kanne Lobal is a more relevant approach which is much needed for the negatively stigmatised system as a consequence of the various colonial administrations that have and continue to shape and reframe our ideas about what education should be like for us in the RMI. Moreover, Kannel Lobal is our attempt to decolonize the framing of education and leadership, moving our bwebwenato to re-framing conversations of teaching and learning so that our cultural knowledge and values are foregrounded, appreciated, and realised within our education system. Bwebwenato: sharing our stories In this section, we use bwebwenato as a method of gathering and capturing our stories as data. Below we capture our stories and ongoing conversations about the richness in Marshallese cultural knowledge in the outer islands and on Majuro and the potentialities in Kanne Lobal. Danny Jim When I was in third grade (9-10 years of age), during my grandfather’s speech in Arno, an atoll near Majuro, during a time when a wa (canoe) was being blessed and ready to put the canoe into the ocean. My grandfather told me the canoe was a blessing for the family. “Without a canoe, a family cannot provide for them”, he said. The canoe allows for travelling between places to gather food and other sources to provide for the family. My grandfather’s stories about people’s roles within the canoe reminded me that everyone within the family has a responsibility to each other. Our women, mothers and daughters too have a significant responsibility in the journey, in fact, they hold us, care for us, and given strength to their husbands, brothers, and sons. The wise man or elder sits in the middle of the canoe, directing the young man who help to steer. The young man, he does all the work, directed by the older man. They take advice and seek the wisdom of the elder. In front of the canoe, a young boy is placed there and because of his strong and youthful vision, he is able to help the elder as well as the young man on the canoe. The story can be linked to the roles that school leaders, teachers, and students have in schooling. Without each person knowing intricately their role and responsibility, the sight and vision ahead for the collective aspirations of the school and the community is difficult to comprehend. For me, the canoe is symbolic of our educational journey within our education system. As the school leader, a central, trusted, and respected figure in the school, they provide support for teachers who are at the helm, pedagogically striving to provide for their students. For without strong direction from the school leaders and teachers at the helm, the students, like the young boy, cannot foresee their futures, or envisage how education can benefit them. This is why Kanne Lobal is a significant framework for us in the Marshall Islands because within the practice we are able to take heed and empower each other so that all benefit from the process. Kanne Lobal is linked to our culture, an essential part of who we are. We must rely on our own local approaches, rather than relying on others that are not relevant to what we know and how we live in today’s society. One of the things I can tell is that in Majuro, compared to the outer islands, it’s different. In the outer islands, parents bring children together and tell them legends and stories. The elders tell them about the legends and stories – the bwebwenato. Children from outer islands know a lot more about Marshallese legends compared to children from the Majuro atoll. They usually stay close to their parents, observe how to prepare food and all types of Marshallese skills. Loretta Joseph Case There is little Western influence in the outer islands. They grow up learning their own culture with their parents, not having tv. They are closely knit, making their own food, learning to weave. They use fire for cooking food. They are more connected because there are few of them, doing their own culture. For example, if they’re building a house, the ladies will come together and make food to take to the males that are building the house, encouraging them to keep on working - “jemjem maal” (sharpening tools i.e. axe, like encouraging workers to empower them). It’s when they bring food and entertainment. Rubon Rubon Togetherness, work together, sharing of food, these are important practices as a school leader. Jemjem maal – the whole village works together, men working and the women encourage them with food and entertainment. All the young children are involved in all of the cultural practices, cultural transmission is consistently part of their everyday life. These are stronger in the outer islands. Kanne Lobal has the potential to provide solutions using our own knowledge and practices. Connie Joel When new teachers become a teacher, they learn more about their culture in teaching. Teaching raises the question, who are we? A popular saying amongst our people, “Aelon kein ad ej aelon in manit”, means that “Our islands are cultural islands”. Therefore, when we are teaching, and managing the school, we must do this culturally. When we live and breathe, we must do this culturally. There is more socialising with family and extended family. Respect the elderly. When they’re doing things the ladies all get together, in groups and do it. Cut the breadfruit, and preserve the breadfruit and pandanus. They come together and do it. Same as fishing, building houses, building canoes. They use and speak the language often spoken by the older people. There are words that people in the outer islands use and understand language regularly applied by the elderly. Respect elderly and leaders more i.e., chiefs (iroj), commoners (alap), and the workers on the land (ri-jerbal) (social layer under the commoners). All the kids, they gather with their families, and go and visit the chiefs and alap, and take gifts from their land, first produce/food from the plantation (eojōk). Tommy Almet The people are more connected to the culture in the outer islands because they help one another. They don’t have to always buy things by themselves, everyone contributes to the occasion. For instance, for birthdays, boys go fishing, others contribute and all share with everyone. Kanne Lobal is a practice that can bring people together – leaders, teachers, stakeholders. We want our colleagues to keep strong and work together to fix problems like students and teachers’ absenteeism which is a big problem for us in schools. Demetria Malachi The culture in the outer islands are more accessible and exposed to children. In Majuro, there is a mixedness of cultures and knowledges, influenced by Western thinking and practices. Kanne Lobal is an idea that can enhance quality educational purposes for the RMI. We, the school leaders who did GCSL, we want to merge and use this idea because it will help benefit students’ learning and teachers’ teaching. Kanne Lobal will help students to learn and teachers to teach though traditional skills and knowledge. We want to revitalize our ways of life through teaching because it is slowly fading away. Also, we want to have our own Marshallese learning process because it is in our own language making it easier to use and understand. Essentially, we want to proudly use our own ways of teaching from our ancestors showing the appreciation and blessings given to us. Way Forward To think of ways forward is about reflecting on the past and current learnings. Instead of a traditional discussion within a research publication, we have opted to continue our bwebwenato by sharing what we have learnt through the Graduate Certificate in School Leadership (GCSL) programme. Our bwebwenato does not end in this article and this opportunity to collaborate and partner together in this piece of writing has been a meaningful experience to conceptualise and unpack the Kanne Lobal framework. Our collaborative bwebwenato has enabled us to dig deep into our own wise knowledges for guidance through mediating and negotiating the challenges in education and leadership (Sanga & Houma, 2004). For example, bwe-jen-lale-rara reminds us to inquire, pay attention, and focus on supporting the needs of others. Through enra-bwe-jen-lale-rara, it reminds us to value cultural exchange and reciprocity which will strengthen the development and maintaining of relationships based on ways we continue to honour each other (Nimmer, 2017). We not only continue to support each other, but also help mentor the next generation of school leaders within our education system (Heine, 2002). Education and leadership are all about collaborative partnerships (Sanga & Chu, 2009; Thaman, 1997). Developing partnerships through the GCSL was useful learning for us. It encouraged us to work together, share knowledge, respect each other, and be kind. The values of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity) are meaningful in being and becoming and educational leader in the RMI (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014; Miller, 2010; Nimmer, 2017). These values are meaningful for us practice particularly given the drive by PSS for schools to become accredited. The workshops and meetings delivered during the GCSL in the RMI from 2018 to 2019 about Kanne Lobal has given us strength to share our stories and experiences from the meeting with the stakeholders. But before we met with the stakeholders, we were encouraged to share and speak in our language within our courses: EDP05 (Professional Development and Learning), EDP06 (School Leadership), EDP07 (School Management), EDP08 (Teaching and Learning), and EDP09 (Community Partnerships). In groups, we shared our presentations with our peers, the 15 school leaders in the GCSL programme. We also invited USP RMI staff. They liked the way we presented Kannel Lobal. They provided us with feedback, for example: how the use of the sail on the canoe, the parts and their functions can be conceptualised in education and how they are related to the way that we teach our own young people. Engaging stakeholders in the conceptualisation and design stages of Kanne Lobal strengthened our understanding of leadership and collaborative partnerships. Based on various meetings with the RMI Pacific Resources for Education and Learning (PREL) team, PSS general assembly, teachers from the outer islands, and the PSS executive committee, we were able to share and receive feedback on the Kanne Lobal framework. The coordinators of the PREL programme in the RMI were excited by the possibilities around using Kanne Lobal, as a way to teach culture in an inspirational way to Marshallese students. Our Marshallese knowledge, particularly through the proverbial meaning of Kanne Lobal provided so much inspiration and insight for the groups during the presentation which gave us hope and confidence to develop the framework. Kanne Lobal is an organic and indigenous approach, grounded in Marshallese ways of doing things (Heine, 2002; Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). Given the persistent presence of colonial processes within the education system and the constant reference to practices and initiatives from the US, Kanne Lobal for us provides a refreshing yet fulfilling experience and makes us feel warm inside because it is something that belongs to all Marshallese people. Conclusion Marshallese indigenous knowledge and practices provide meaningful educational and leadership understanding and learnings. They ignite, inspire, and transform thinking and practice. The Kanne Lobal conceptual framework emphasises key concepts and values necessary for collaborative partnerships within education and leadership practices in the RMI. The bwebwenato or talk stories have been insightful and have highlighted the strengths and benefits that our Marshallese ideas and practices possess when looking for appropriate and relevant ways to understand education and leadership. Acknowledgements We want to acknowledge our GCSL cohort of school leaders who have supported us in the development of Kanne Lobal as a conceptual framework. A huge kommol tata to our friends: Joana, Rosana, Loretta, Jellan, Alvin, Ellice, Rolando, Stephen, and Alan. References Benson, C. (2002). Preface. In F. Pene, A. M. Taufe’ulungaki, & C. Benson (Eds.), Tree of Opportunity: re-thinking Pacific Education (p. iv). Suva, Fiji: University of the South Pacific, Institute of Education. Bessarab, D., Ng’andu, B. (2010). Yarning about yarning as a legitimate method in indigenous research. International Journal of Critical Indigenous Studies, 3(1), 37-50. Fa’avae, D., Jones, A., & Manu’atu, L. (2016). Talanoa’i ‘a e talanoa - talking about talanoa: Some dilemmas of a novice researcher. AlterNative: An Indigenous Journal of Indigenous Peoples,12(2),138-150. Heine, H. C. (2002). A Marshall Islands perspective. In F. Pene, A. M. Taufe’ulungaki, & C. 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Voices Against Violence, as told to Kate Burry and Connie Grouse: Women living in the Solomon Islands share their stories as survivors of violence and/or participants in the ground-breaking Stages of Change theatre project funded by the European Union. Auckland, Aotearoa/New Zealand: British Council. 2015. English & Bislama dual language edition. 89 pages. ISBN 978-0-473-31329-6 THE SUBJECT of violence against women is one that is prevalent in Pacific countries such as the Solomon Islands. Gender-based violence, particularly violence against women, is an issue that is often treated as a cultural or societal norm.

A 500-pages collection of documents in English showing the sovereignty of Vietnam on Hoang Sa (Paracel islands) & Truong Sa (Spratly islands) was introduced at Harvard University on 16/6/2012 after having been sent to the U.S. National Geographic Society and two Senators John McCain and Jim Webb office and the The Center For Strategic & Internatinonal Studies in 2011. This document is being proofread and completed in English in order to bring to overseas libraries especially in the United States at the addresses where the documents used to be distributed by the U.S. Army in the Pacific in 1960s over the sovereignty of Vietnam on disputing territory. It has 11 pages of summary and the full text is nearly 500 pages, including Part I that consists of textual analysis in the sovereignty dispute over the Hoang Sa and Truong Sa by U.S. Army in the Pacific in 1960. The 37 quotations from geography books , Journey of the Western countries from the 19th century and before had clearly stated from 1816 Hoang Sa has belonged to Vietnam. Part II consists of three presentations at the conferences in Hanoi and Philadelphia, USA in 2010. Part III includes the full text of a history dissertation entitled “Establishment of Vietnam’s sovereignty on Hoang Sa and Truong Sa” and the annexes of the thesis updated by the author. There are no other countries like Vietnam where the official history, codified policy books, geography books of Vietnam especial texts of the state, the local commanding sheets, clearly state the establishment of Vietnam’s sovereignty on Hoang Sa and Truong Sa. The most valuable document is the codified policy book of Nguyen dynasty (the nineteenth century reports from high-ranked officers of the Government, and other agencies or the king announcement about the establishment of Vietnam's sovereignty over Hoang Sa archipelago under the Nguyen Dynasty as the current expedition, measuring, sketching Hoang Sa, plug milestone...

On 31 October 1847, the John Williams, a ship of the London Missionary Society, left Gravesend for the Pacific Islands from whence it had come. Its cargo included five thousand Bibles and four thousand copies of The Pilgrim's Progress in Tahitian. Like other such mission ships, the John Williams had been funded by the pennies and shillings of Sunday school subscription and had become a huge media spectacle. It was but one of the many international propaganda exercises at which mission organizations so excelled.This picture of The Pilgrim's Progress (1678 and 1684) at the center of an international web is an appropriate one. Written in the wake of the English Revolution, the book had rapidly been disseminated to Protestant Europe and North America. By the late 1700s, it had reached India and by the early 1800s, Africa. Yet, some one hundred years on, this avowedly international image of The Pilgrim's Progress had been turned inside out. From being a book of the world, it had become a book of England. Today, John Bunyan is remembered as a supremely English icon, and his most famous work is still studied as the progenitor of the English novel. Roger Sharrock, in his introduction to the Penguin edition of The Pilgrim's Progress, best exemplifies this pervasive trend of analysis. His introduction begins by acknowledging Bunyan's international presence, but this idea is then snapped off from the “real” Bunyan who is local, Puritan, and above all English.

Assessing and reforming classroom literacy has become a preoccupation of nations worldwide, not the least in the Pacific where countries are often working toward literacy in English within multilingual contexts. In Solomon Islands, in 2013, the poor results in regional and local literacy testing precipitated a review of how the English language was taught in primary schools across this multilingual nation. In the subsequent reform of classroom literacy materials and associated training for teachers, a principled approach was taken using a Systemic Functional Linguistics framework. Such an approach uses a model of language instruction based on language strata together with explicit teaching within a learning cycle to support reading and writing. This article describes how such principles from sfl were embedded into new teaching materials for the early years of primary school and the accompanying training for teachers and principals that took place from 2014–2016. The work offers a potential model of reform for other settings where the development of literacy in a non-community language is critical to students’ success in schooling.

Under the influence of climate stressors, species distributions of fishes in the eastern Pacific are shifting, with many species moving poleward. Moray eels (family Muraenidae) are ecologically important predators inhabiting coastal reefs. Due to their cryptic nature and lack of commercial importance, the species distributions of muraenids in the tropical and subtropical eastern Pacific are poorly understood. Here, we document the geographic range size of 33 muraenid species in the eastern Pacific and also report a shift in the established population range of Muraena argus based on recent trapping efforts. We found that 17 species demonstrated shifts in geographic range size, including sampled-range expansions and new occurrences at offshore islands. Eleven species were observed in new biogeographic provinces, primarily in the northward direction to the San Diegan Province. Trapping data and local knowledge gathered from fishing cooperatives suggest that M. argus has established populations at least 300 km further north than previously reported. Both the yearly number of reported observations and geographic extent of sampling have increased over time, but the number of recorded extensions has not. These results highlight the importance of compiling data from diverse sources (including museum records, local ecological knowledge, and the non- English scientific literature) as well as the continued value of biodiversity surveys in the eastern Pacific.

The Solomon Islands is situated in the South Pacific Ocean and is a low-income country. It comprises nearly 1000 islands with a total land area of 304 000 km2 spread over a sea area of about 1 500 000 km2, making communications, travel and service delivery difficult and creating inequities in access. The population of the Solomon Islands was estimated to be just over 580 000 in 2008, and is young, with 42% aged under 15 years (Solomon Islands Ministry of Health, 2006). The majority of the people are Melanesian (93%) and 98% of the population belong to a Christian church. The population is, though, extremely diverse, with 91 indigenous languages and dialects being spoken, in addition to the Solomon Islands pijin (the most common language) and English (the official national language). Over 83% of the population live in rural areas, where subsistence agriculture, fishing and food gathering are the main sources of income. There is no substantial tourist industry. The gross domestic product (GDP) is US$1.5 billion and annual per capita income is approximately US$2800 (International Monetary Fund, 2009). Total expenditure on health represented 5.6% of GDP but only 1% of the total health budget is allocated to mental health (World Health Organization, 2005).

Abstract This article examines three ocean boundary disputes in the South Pacific in light of the South China Sea arbitration. First, we consider whether the Matthew and Hunter Islands, over which France and Vanuatu have made competing claims, are full-fledged islands or rocks and argue that they are likely to be rocks. Second, we discuss the dispute between Fiji and Tonga over the Minerva Reefs. We submit that, if the Minerva Reefs are low-tide elevations as public information in English generally suggests, Tonga’s historic claim to the maritime area around the Minerva Reefs would be inconsistent with the principle of ‘the land dominates the sea’. Third, we examine Tonga’s historic claim to the maritime area within a rectangle boundary defined in Tonga’s 1887 Royal Proclamation and submit that the main difficulty for Tonga to establish such claim is to prove that it has effectively exercised sovereignty over the relevant area.

Between November 2018 and 2020, residents of New Caledonia will have three opportunities to vote on whether to become an independent state. Residents of the Autonomous Region of Bougainville will vote on the same issue in June 2019. Should the residents of either territory vote for independence, the issue of whether a language shall be designated the national and / or official language for the new state will arise. If the decision is to designate a language for the new state, the choice of which language will also surface. This chapter considers the language choices made by a number of countries across the linguistically diverse Asia Pacific region post-independence and in so doing, provides some models for the language configurations which may eventuate should either territory become independent. The linguistic configurations discussed here are divided into Category 1 - countries where a national and / or official language are legally specified or have de jure legal status. - and Category 2 – countries where no language is legally named but at least one language may be de facto national or official. Examples of Category 1 countries include Indonesia where Bahasa Indonesia is the only de jure national and official language and Vanuatu where Bislama is the de jure national language and is also a de jure co-official language with both English and French, the languages of the former colonial powers. Examples of Category 2 countries discussed here include Papua New Guinea where Tok Pisin is named as one of the possible languages needed for an applicant to become a Papua New Guinean citizen but does not have de jure national language status and the Solomon Islands where Pijin is the de facto national language and English is the de facto official language. Whilst the results of either the Bougainville and New Caledonian referenda are not clear, the different configurations already in place serve as a pointer to what may eventuate should the residents of either territory vote for independence.

AIM: To explore influences on adherence to taking long-term medications among Samoan patients in an Auckland general practice. METHODS: Twenty Samoan participants from an Auckland general practice were identified and interviewed about their views on adherence or non-adherence to taking blood pressure–lowering medications. One-to-one semi-structured interviews using open-ended questions were undertaken in Samoan and English, recorded, transcribed and translated into English. Transcriptions were examined by two researchers to identify themes. FINDINGS: Patients with ‘high’ and ‘lower’ rates of adherence to taking usual medication were identified using medication possession ratio cut-offs from medical records of timely prescribing. Ten participants with ‘high’ and 10 with ‘lower’ rates of adherence were interviewed, including 11 women and nine men. Themes identified for those with lower adherence included ‘lack of transport’, ‘family commitments’, ‘forgetfulness’, ‘church activities’, ‘feeling well’ and ‘priorities’. Themes identified for those with high rates of adherence included ‘prioritising health’, ‘previous event’, ‘time management’, ‘supportive family members’ and ‘relationship with GP (language and trust)’. A theme common to both was ‘coping with the stress of multiple comorbidities’. CONCLUSION: Reasons for adherence and non-adherence to taking blood pressure–lowering medications among the Samoan patients interviewed were multifactorial and encompass personal, social, cultural and environmental factors. Interdisciplinary teams to support treatment decisions (including Pacific health professionals or community health workers), systematic identification of those with low rates of adherence, phone or text follow-up, use of church or family networks, provision of transport where needed and better tools and resources may help address this problem. KEYWORDS: Medication adherence; New Zealand; Pacific Islands; ethnic groups; qualitative research; antihypertensive agents

Abstract Departing from a short overview on pragmatic gestures specialized for the expression of refusal and negation, the article presents first results of a study on those gestures in Savosavo, a Papuan language spoken in the Solomon Islands in the Southwest Pacific. The paper focuses on two partly conventionalized gestures (sweeping and holding away) and shows that speakers of Savosavo use the gestures in a very similar way as speakers of German, English or French, for example. The article shows how a linguistic and semiotic analysis might serve to uncover proto-morpho-semantic structures in a manual mode of communication and contributes to a better understanding of the conventional nature and cross-linguistic distribution of gestures. Moreover, by examining partly conventionalized gestures in a small, little known and endangered language, it presents a particular approach to the analysis of multimodality in the field of language documentation.

When the Bering Strait between Alaska and Siberia opened about 3.5 Ma during the early Pliocene, cool-temperate and polar marine species were able to move between the North Pacific and Arctic-Atlantic basins. In order to investigate the extent, pattern, and dynamics of this trans-Arctic interchange, I reviewed the Recent and fossil distributions of post-Miocene shell-bearing Mollusca in each of five northern regions: (1) the northeastern Atlantic (Lofoten Islands to the eastern entrance of the English Channel and the northern entrance of the Irish Sea), (2) northwestern Atlantic (southern Labrador to Cape Cod), (3) northeastern Pacific (Bering Strait to Puget Sound), (4) northwestern Pacific (Bering Strait to Hokkaido and the northern Sea of Japan), and (5) Arctic (areas north of the Lofoten Islands, southern Labrador, and Bering Strait).I have identified 295 molluscan species that either took part in the interchange or are descended from taxa that did. Of these, 261 are of Pacific origin, whereas only 34 are of Arctic-Atlantic origin. Various analyses of the pattern of invasion confirm earlier work, indicating that there is a strong bias in favor of species with a Pacific origin.A geographical analysis of invaders implies that, although trans-Arctic interchange contributed to a homogenization of the biotas of the northern oceans, significant barriers to dispersal exist and have existed for trans-Arctic invaders within the Arctic-Atlantic basin. Nevertheless, trans-Arctic invaders in the Atlantic have significantly broader geographical ranges than do taxa with a pre-Pliocene history in the Atlantic.Among the possible explanations for the asymmetry of trans-Arctic invasion, two hypotheses were explicitly tested. The null hypothesis of diversity states that the number of invaders from a biota is proportional to the total number of species in that biota. Estimates of Recent molluscan diversity show that the North Pacific is 1.5 to 2.7 times richer than is the Arctic-Atlantic, depending on how faunistic comparisons are made. This difference in diversity is much smaller than is the asymmetry of trans-Arctic invasion in favor of Pacific species. Rough estimates of regional Pliocene diversity suggest that differences in diversity during the Pliocene were smaller than they are in the Recent fauna. The null hypothesis was therefore rejected.The hypothesis of ecological opportunity states that the number of invaders to a region is proportional to the number of species that became extinct there. The post-Early Pliocene magnitude of extinction was lowest in the North Pacific, intermediate in the northeastern Atlantic, and probably highest in the northwestern Atlantic. The absolute number and faunistic importance of post-Early Pliocene invaders (including trans-Arctic species, as well as taxa previously confined to warm-temperate waters and western Atlantic species that previously occurred only in the eastern Atlantic) was lowest in the North Pacific, intermediate in the northeastern Atlantic, and highest in the northwestern Atlantic. Further support for the hypothesis of ecological opportunity comes from the finding that hard-bottom communities, especially those in the northwestern Atlantic, show a higher representation of molluscan species of Pacific origin, and are likely to have been more affected by climatic events, than were communities on unconsolidated sandy and muddy bottoms. Support for the hypothesis does not rule out other explanations for the observed asymmetry of trans-Arctic invasion.A preliminary study of species-level evolution within lineages of trans-Arctic invaders indicates that anagenesis and cladogenesis have been more frequent among groups with Pacific origins than among those with Atlantic origins, and that the regions within the Arctic-Atlantic basin with the highest absolute number and faunistic representation of invaders (western Atlantic and Arctic) are the regions in which speciation has been least common among the invaders. The asymmetry of invasion is therefore distinct from the asymmetry of species-level evolution of invaders in the various northern marine regions.

Melanesian Pidgin is a cover term for closely related varieties of the English-lexifier Pacific Pidgin that is spoken in Vanuatu (where it is known as Bislama), Papua New Guinea (where it is known as Tok Pisin), and Solomon Islands (where it is known as Pijin). Structurally and lexically, Bislama is closer to Solomon Islands Pijin than either is to Tok Pisin. The precise nature of many of the structural differences between these three varieties of Melanesian Pidgin has not been widely described, partly because Bislama, and particularly Solomon Islands Pijin, are relatively little described in the literature. This paper aims to describe one grammatical feature which differentiates these three varieties. The grammatical feature that is the subject of this paper is the form se. It carries a particularly high functional load in Bislama. The same form is also present in Solomons Pijin, though in this variety of Melanesian Pidgin, it has a sharply reduced functional load as compared with Bislama. On the other hand, in most current varieties of Tok Pisin, it is almost completely absent. In those varieties of Tok Pisin in which it is present, its status as a genuinely independent grammatical or lexical item is questionable. This paper will also go somewhat beyond a straightforward structural description of se in Melanesian Pidgin, as it will also reconstruct its history in the three varieties of the language. The paper will concentrate on Bislama, as it is in this variety of the language that the form se is most widely used.

Daniel Immerwahr's How to Hide an Empire, recently published to much fanfare, takes as its starting point what Immerwahr calls a “conceptual filing error.” Born from his surprise at visiting the Philippines and encountering streets “named after US colleges” and university students speaking “virtually unaccented English,” the book contends that while most people have heard of the “big wars” the United States has waged, “the actual territory” of US empire “often slips from view.” In response to this alleged invisibility, Immerwahr has produced a new popular history of US empire, one focussed on officially annexed US colonies and military bases, as well as the states that lie beyond the “logo map” whose outlines are the continental United States (14–15). The book's first section quickly sketches the story of US westward expansion, mostly through the story of Daniel Boone, then moves on to more satisfying chapters detailing the annexation of the uninhabited Guano Islands, Puerto Rico and the Philippines, as well as the resistance to annexation in the latter two cases; the section ends by recounting World War II battles over Pacific islands. The second half of the book examines the postwar period, contending that the United States “gave up territory” in this period because it “honed an extraordinary suite of technologies,” from screw threads to synthetic rubber, that allowed it to construct a “pointillist empire” of communication and infrastructural networks (17).

Just after dawn, an English couple in their 30's haul up their anchor and motor across the stillness of Suva harbour. The hurricane season is approaching and they are embarking on the 2–3 week trip to Bay of Islands New Zealand for the southern summer. Three months earlier, as their yacht lay aground on the fringing reef of uninhabited Suvarov atoll, they wondered if they'd ever reach New Zealand. But, with the help of other cruisers and lucky tides their steel 36 footer was clear and safe in under 24 hours. What was to be a one year trip around the north Atlantic was now happily way off course in the South Pacific and likely to remain so for some time. That is just a glimpse of one small aspect of ocean cruising, the subculture of interest here. However, throughout the paper the ethnography of cruising is developed further. A model is proposed to show how individuals come to share the subculture ideology and then to participate in the lifestyle. Subsequently, 1 will place ocean cruising in the context of subculture theory by expanding the ethnography and relating cruising to other subcultures.

Study of petrological and geochemical characteristics of mantle peridotite xenoliths in Pliocene alkaline basalt in Nghia Dan (West Nghe An) was carried out. Rock-forming clinopyroxenes, the major trace element containers, were separated from the xenoliths to analyze for major, trace element and Sr-Nd isotopic compositions. The data were interpreted for source geochemical characteristics and geodynamic processes of the lithospheric mantle beneath the region. The peridotite xenoliths being mostly spinel-lherzolites in composition, are residual entities having been produced following partial melting events of ultramafic rocks in the asthenosphere. They are depleted in trace element abundance and Sr-Nd isotopic composition. Some are even more depleted as compared to mid-ocean ridge mantle xenoliths. Modelled calculation based on trace element abundances and their corresponding solid/liquid distribution coefficients showed that the Nghia Dan mantle xenoliths may be produced of melting degrees from 8 to 12%. Applying various methods for two-pyroxene temperature- pressure estimates, the Nghia Dan mantle xenoliths show ranges of crystallization temperature and pressure, respectively, of 1010-1044°C and 13-14.2 kbar, roughly about 43km. A geotherm constructed for the mantle xenoliths showed a higher geothermal gradient as compared to that of in the western Highlands (Vietnam) and a conductive model, implying a thermal perturbation under the region. The calculated Sm-Nd model ages for the clinopyroxenes yielded 127 and 122 Ma. 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Los Infortunios de Alonso Ramírez es una biografía, escrita casi al dictado por el erudito mexicano Carlos de Sigüenza, que narra las aventuras de un criollo de Puerto Rico que abandona su patria y se traslada sucesivamente a Cuba y Nueva España, hasta llegar en 1684 a las Islas Filipinas. Embarcado en una fragata española, es capturado por la nave corsaria inglesa Cygnet, donde como cautivo asiste a las operaciones piráticas de sus captores en el Sudeste de Asia hasta la disolución de la sociedad criminal en aguas brasileñas. El relato de Alonso Ramírez sirve para ampliar nuestros conocimientos sobre el Pacífico y el Índico a finales del siglo XVII y se convierte así en una aportación singular a la historia del imperio español en Asia e incluso a la historia universal en la época de la primera globalización, que algunos autores llaman rotundamente la época de la globalización ibérica.AbstractInfortunios de Alonso Ramírez is a biography, written by the Mexican author Carlos de Sigüenza, that tells the adventures of a criollo born in Puerto Rico, who travels to Cuba, New Spain and, finally, in 1684, to the Philippine Islands. On board of a Spanish frigate, he is seized by the Cygnet, an English privateer ship, where, as a captive, he attends the piratic actions of the seamen in South East Asia until the end of the criminal society in the Brazilian coast. This narrative helps to enlarge our knowledge about the Pacific and Indian Oceans at the end of the XVIIth century, so becoming a meaningful contribution to the History of the Spanish Empire in Asiaa and even to the World History in the times of the first globalization, that some authors openly call the times of the Iberian globalization.

Background: Long-term opioid use for chronic non-cancer pain has increased substantially in recent years despite the paucity of strong supporting scientific data and concerns regarding adverse effects and potential misuse. Study Design: Review and summary of practice guidelines available on PubMed and Cochrane databases as well as on the Internet on chronic opioid therapy from June 2004 to June 2013. Objective: To review expert-developed practice guidelines on chronic opioid therapy, published in different countries over the past decade in order to reveal similar principles of therapy and to provide useful information and references for future development of opioid guidelines to identify adequately supported practice points and areas in need of further scientific evidence. Method: Seven guidelines were identified as pertaining specifically to the long-term use of opioids for general chronic non-cancer pain from an initial search of the PubMed/Medline and Cochrane databases using combinations of the search terms “opioid,” “chronic opioid therapy,” “chronic pain,” “chronic non-cancer pain,” “chronic non-malignant pain,” “guidelines,” “practice guidelines,” and “clinical practice guidelines,” filtered to include only articles on humans published in the English language over the past 10 years. Results: All guidelines espouse an individual approach to management, beginning with a comprehensive patient evaluation, with particular focus on eliciting factors that may indicate potential drug misuse and abuse, and a trial of therapy to determine the course of treatment. Goals of treatment should be adequately discussed with and consented to by the patient. Opioids are generally not recommended as first-line therapy but, when used, clinicians should closely monitor patients for loss of response, adverse effects or aberrant behavior, and revise the treatment plan accordingly. Urine drug testing (UDT) may be used as a tool to monitor for aberrant behavior or drug misuse; opioid rotation may be considered when loss of response or adverse effects are a concern, at a starting dose lower than the calculated equianalgesic dose. Limitations: Information on some African nations, countries in the Middle-East, and Pacific Islands is not available and therefore was not included in this review. Conclusion: There is a growing body of scientific evidence to support opioid use in chronic pain. Future work should focus on continuing to generate good-quality evidence on the longterm benefits of opioid therapy, as well as scientific data to guide drug choice and dosing for specific conditions, populations, and situations. Key words: Chronic pain, opioid, non-cancer pain, guidelines, opioid rotation, pain management, opioid therapy

This paper explores how the inhabitants of Taveuni, Fiji’s third largest island, use the music genre known as sigidrigi (from the English ‘sing drink’) to articulate and redefine their relationships to particular places. Sigidrigi songs are often performed by groups of men to entertain people during informal yaqona (or kava as it is known throughout Polynesia) drinking sessions. They feature three or four-part vocal harmony, and are accompanied by guitar and/or ukulele. The repertoire consists of covers and localised versions of overseas songs, as well as songs composed by Fijians in styles adopted and adapted primarily from Northern America and Western Europe (for example, rock, pop, country and blues). The repertoire also includes songs from other Pacific islands, the Caribbean (for example, reggae), Indo-Fijian songs, and i taukei (indigenous Fijians of Melanesian or Polynesian descent) children’s songs and meke (an art form consisting of music, dance and costuming whose origin pre-dates European contact). An examination of sigidrigi song lyrics (in terms of both language use and textual content), band names, and various elements of musical style (such as texture, timbre, meter etc.) reveals how Taveuni islanders have used this music genre to (re)construct communities at geographical scales ranging from the local to the supranational.

AbstractChina has a rich record of Holocene volcanism that is relatively little known outside the country. It is encountered in large stratovolcanoes in the NE, linked to subduction of the Pacific plate (e.g. Changbaishan), in smaller volcanoes on the Tibetan margin, associated with the collision of India and Eurasia (e.g. Tengchong, Ashishan), and in more isolated centres, possibly resulting from mantle upwelling (e.g. volcanoes in Hainan island). This makes China a natural laboratory for studies of intraplate volcanism, and significant progress in understanding its nature and origins has been made over the past quarter century. Here, we introduce the first publication in English to provide a comprehensive survey of the state of knowledge and research highlights. Accordingly, we provide an overview of the dynamics, geology, geochemistry, volcanic histories and geophysical studies of 14 volcanic areas associated with the Holocene documented thus far. The special publication represents a benchmark reference on the topic but, as importantly, we hope that it will stimulate new, international collaborations aimed at deepening our understanding of the origins, history, hazards and associated risks of China's volcanoes.

IntroductionFor many, north is an abstract point on a compass, an arrow that tells you which way to hold up a map. Though scientifically defined according to the magnetic north pole, and/or the earth’s axis of rotation, these facts are not necessarily discernible to the average person. Perhaps for this reason, the Oxford English Dictionary begins with reference to the far more mundane and accessible sun and features of the human body, in defining north as; “in the direction of the part of the horizon on the left-hand side of a person facing the rising sun” (OED Online). Indeed, many of the words for ‘north’ around the world are etymologically linked to the left hand side (for example Cornish clēth ‘north, left’). We shall see later that even in English, many speakers conceptualise ‘north’ in an egocentric way. Other languages define ‘north’ in opposition to an orthogonal east-west axis defined by the sun’s rising and setting points (see, e.g., the extensive survey of Brown).Etymology aside, however, studies such as Brown’s presume a set of four cardinal directions which are available as primordial ontological categories which may (or may not) be labelled by the languages of the world. If we accept this premise, the fact that a word is translated as ‘north’ is sufficient to understand the direction it describes. There is good reason to reject this premise, however. We present data from three languages among which there is considerable variance in how the words translated as ‘north’ are typically used and understood. These languages are Kuuk Thaayorre (an Australian Aboriginal language spoken on Cape York Peninsula), Marshallese (an Oceanic language spoken in the Republic of the Marshall Islands), and Dhivehi (an Indo-Aryan language spoken in the Maldives). Lastly, we consider the results of an experiment that show Australian English speakers tend to interpret the word north according to the orientation of their own bodies and the objects they manipulate, rather than as a cardinal direction as such.‘North’ in Kuuk ThaayorreKuuk Thaayorre is a Pama-Nyungan language spoken on the west coast of Australia’s Cape York Peninsula in the community of Pormpuraaw. The Kuuk Thaayorre words equivalent to north, south, east and west (hereafter, ‘directionals’) are both complex and frequently used. They are complex in the sense that they combine with prefixes and suffixes to form dozens of words which indicate not only the direction involved, but also the degree of distance, whether there is motion from, towards, to a fixed point, or within a bounded area in that location, proximity to the local river, and more. The ubiquity of these words is illustrated by the fact that the most common greeting formula involves one person asking nhunt wanthan pal yan? ‘where are you going’ and the other responding, for example, ngay yuurriparrop yan ‘I’m going a long way southwards towards the river’, or ngay iilungkarruw yan ‘I’m coming from the northwest’. Directional terms are strewn liberally throughout Kuuk Thaayorre speech. They are employed in the description of both large-scale and small-scale spaces, whether giving directions to a far-off town, asking another person to ‘move a little to the north’, or identifying the person ‘to the east’ of another in a photograph. Likewise, directional gestures are highly frequent, sometimes augmenting the information given in the speech stream, sometimes used in the absence of spoken directions, and other times redundantly duplicating the information given by a directional word.The forms and meanings of directional words are described in detail in Gaby (Gaby 344–52). At the core of this system are six directional roots referring to the north and south banks of the nearby Edward River as well as two intersecting axes. One of these axes is equivalent to the east—west axis familiar to English speakers, and is defined by the apparent diurnal trajectory of the sun. (At a latitude of 14 degrees 54 minutes south, the Kuuk Thaayorre homeland sees little variation in the location of sunrise and sunset through the year.) While the poles of the second axis are translated by the English terms north and south, from a Western perspective this axis is skewed such that Kuuk Thaayorre -ungkarr ‘~north’ lies approximately 35 degrees west of magnetic north. Rather than being defined by magnetic or polar north, this axis aligns with the local coastline. This is true even when the terms are used at inland locations where there is no visual access to the water or parallel sand ridges. How Kuuk Thaayorre speakers apply this system to environments further removed from this particular stretch of coast—especially in the presence of a differently-oriented coast—remains a topic for future research.‘North’ in MarshalleseMarshallese is the language of the people of the Marshall Islands, an expansive archipelago consisting of 22 inhabited atolls and three inhabited non-atoll islands located in the Northern Pacific. The Marshallese have a long history as master navigators, a skill necessary to keep strong links between far-flung and disparate islands (Lewis; Genz).Figure 1: The location of the Marshall IslandsAs with other Pacific languages (e.g. Palmer; Ross; François), Marshallese deploys a complex system of geocentric references. Cardinal directions are historically derived from the Pacific trade winds, reflecting the importance of these winds for navigation and wayfinding. The etymologies of the Marshallese directions are shown in Table 1 below. The terms given in this table are in the Ralik dialect, spoken in the western Marshall Islands. The terms used in the Ratak (eastern) dialect are related, but slightly different in form. See Schlossberg for more detailed discussion. Etymologies originally sourced from Bender et al. and Ross.Table 1: Marshallese cardinal direction words with etymological source semantics EastWestNorthSouthNoun formrearrilik iōn̄ rōkEtymology‘calm shore (of islet)’‘rough shore (of islet)’‘windy season’; ‘season of northerly winds’‘dry season’; ‘season of southerly winds’Verb modifier formtatonin̄a rōn̄aEtymology‘up(wind)’‘down(wind)’‘windy season’; ‘season of northerly winds’‘dry season’; ‘season of southerly winds’As with many other Oceanic languages, Marshallese has three domains of spatial language use: the local domain, the inshore-maritime domain and the navigational domain. Cardinal directions are the sole strategy employed in the navigational domain, which occurs when sailing on the open ocean. In the inshore-maritime domain, which applies when sailing on the ocean or lagoon in sight of land, a land-sea axis is used (The question of whether, in fact, these directions form axes as such is considered further below). Similarly, when walking around an island, a calm side-rough side (of island) axis is employed. In both situations, either the cardinal north-south axis or east-west axis is used to form a secondary cross-axis to the topography-based axis. The cardinal axis parallel to the calm-rough or land-sea axis is rarely used. When the island is not oriented perfectly perpendicular to one of the cardinal axes, the cardinal axes rotate such that they are perpendicular to the primary axis. This can result in the orientation of iōn̄ ‘north’ being quite skewed away from ‘true’ north. An example of how the cardinal and topographic axes prototypically work is exemplified in Figure 2, which shows Jabor, an islet in Jaluit Atoll in the south-west Marshalls.Figure 2: The geocentric directional system of Jabor, Jaluit AtollWhile cartographic cardinal directions comprise two perpendicular axes, this is not the case for many Marshallese. The clearest evidence for this is the directional system of Kili Island, a small non-atoll island approximately 50km west of Jaluit Atoll. The directional system of Kili is similar to that of Jabor, with one notable exception; the iōn̄-rōk ‘north-south’ and rear-rilik ‘east-west’ axes are not perpendicular but rather parallel (Figure 3) The rear-rilik axis takes precedence and the iōn̄-rōk axis is rarely used, showing the primacy of the east-west axis on Kili. This is a clear indication that the Western abstraction of crossed cardinal axes is not in play in the Marshall Islands; the iōn̄-rōk and rear-rilik axes can function completely independently of one another.Figure 3: Geocentric system of spatial reference on KiliSpringdale is a small city in north-west of the landlocked state of Arkansas. It hosts the largest number of expatriate Marshallese in the United States. Of 26 participants in an object placement task, four respondents were able to correctly identify the four cardinal points (Schlossberg). Aside from some who said they simply did not know others gave a variety of answers, including that iōn̄, rōk, rilik and rear only exist in the Marshall Islands. Others imagined a canonical orientation derived from their home atoll and transposed this onto their current environment; one person who was facing the front door in their house in Springdale reported that they imagined they were in their house in the Marshall Islands, where when oriented towards the door, they were facing iōn̄ ‘north’, thus deriving an orientation with respect to a Marshallese cardinal direction. Aside from the four participants who identified the directions correctly, a further six participants responded in a consistent—if incorrect—way, i.e. although the directions were not correctly identified, the responses were consistent with the conceptualisation of crossed cardinal axes, merely that the locations identified were rotated from their true referents. This leaves 16 of the 26 participants (62%) who did not display evidence of having a conceptual system of two crossed cardinal axes.If one were to point in a direction and say ‘this is north’, most Westerners would easily be able to identify ‘south’ by pointing in the opposite direction. This is not the case with Marshallese speakers, many of whom are unable to do the same if given a Marshallese cardinal direction and asked to name its opposite (cf. Schlossberg). This demonstrates that for many Marshallese, each of these cardinal terms do not form axes at all, but rather are four unique locally-anchored points.‘North’ in DhivehiDhivehi is spoken in the Maldives, an archipelago to the southwest of India and Sri Lanka in the Indian Ocean (see Figure 4). Maldivians have a long history of sailing on the open waters, in order to fish and to trade. Traditionally, much of the adult male population would spend long periods of time on such voyages, riding the trade winds and navigating by the stars. For Maldivians, uturu ‘north’ is a direction of safety—the long axis of the Maldivian archipelago runs north to south, and so by sailing north, one has the best possible chance of reaching another island or (eventually) the mainlands of India or Sri Lanka.Figure 4: Location of the MaldivesIt is perhaps unsurprising, then, that many Maldivians are well attuned to the direction denoted by uturu ‘north’, as well as to the other cardinal directions. In an object placement task performed by 41 participants in Laamu Atoll, 32 participants (78%) correctly placed a plastic block ‘to the north’ (uturaṣ̊) of another block when instructed to do so (Lum). The prompts dekonaṣ̊ ‘to the south’ and huḷangaṣ̊ ‘to the west’ yielded similarly high rates of correct responses, though as many as 37 participants (90%) responded correctly to the prompt iraṣ̊ ‘to the east’—this is perhaps because the term for ‘east’ also means ‘sun’ and is strongly associated with the sunrise, whereas the terms for the other cardinal directions are comparatively opaque. However, the path of the sun is not the only environmental cue that shapes the use of Dhivehi cardinal directions. As in Kuuk Thaayorre and Marshallese, cardinal directions in Dhivehi are often ‘calibrated’ according to the orientation of local coastlines. In Fonadhoo, for example, which is oriented northeast to southwest, the system of cardinal directions is rotated about 45 degrees clockwise: uturu ‘north’ points to what is actually northeast and dekona/dekunu ‘south’ to what is actually southwest (i.e., along the length of the island), while iru/iramati ‘east’ and huḷangu ‘west’ are perpendicular to shore (see Figure 5). However, despite this rotated system being in use, residents of Fonadhoo often comment that these are not the ‘real’ cardinal directions, which are determined by the path of the sun.Figure 5: Directions in Fonadhoo, Laamu Atoll, MaldivesIn addition to the four cardinal directions, Dhivehi possesses four intercardinal directions, which are compound terms: iru-uturu ‘northeast’, iru-dekunu ‘southeast’, huḷangu-uturu ‘northwest’, and huḷangu-dekunu ‘southwest’. Yet even a system of eight compass points is not sufficient for describing directions over long distances, especially on the open sea where there are no landmarks to refer to. A system of 32 ‘sidereal’ compass directions (see Figure 6), based on the rising and setting points of stars in the night sky, is available for such purposes—for example, simāgu īran̊ ‘Arcturus rising’ points ENE or 67.5°, while simāgu astamān̊ ‘Arcturus setting’ points WNW or 292.5°. (These Dhivehi names for the sidereal directions are borrowings from Arabic, and were probably introduced by Arab seafarers in the medieval period, see Lum 174-79). Eight sidereal directions coincide with the basic (inter)cardinal directions of the solar compass described earlier. For example, gahā ‘Polaris’ in the sidereal compass corresponds exactly with uturu ‘north’ in the solar compass. Thus Dhivehi has both a sidereal ‘north’ and a solar ‘north’, though the latter is sometimes rotated according to local topography. However, the system of sidereal compass directions has largely fallen out of use, and is known only to older and some middle-aged men. This appears to be due to the diversification of the Maldivian economy in recent decades along with the modernisation of Maldivian fishing vessels, including the introduction of GPS technology. Nonetheless, fishermen and fishing communities use solar compass directions much more frequently than other groups in the Maldives (Lum; Palmer et al.), and some of the oldest men still use sidereal compass directions occasionally.Figure 6: Dhivehi sidereal compass with directions in Thaana script (used with kind permission of Abdulla Rasheed and Abdulla Zuhury)‘North’ in EnglishThe traditional definition of north in terms of Magnetic North or Geographic North is well known to native English speakers and may appear relatively straightforward. In practice, however, the use and interpretation of north is more variable. English speakers generally draw on cardinal directions only in restricted circumstances, i.e. in large-scale geographical or navigational contexts rather than, for example, small-scale configurations of manipulable objects (Majid et al. 108). Consequently, most English speakers do not need to maintain a mental compass to keep track of North at all times. So, if English speakers are generally unaware of where North is, how do they perform when required to use it?A group of 36 Australian English speakers participated in an experimental task where they were presented with a stimulus object (in this case, a 10cm wide cube) while facing S72ºE (Poulton). They were then handed another cube and asked to place it next to the stimulus cube in a particular direction (e.g. ‘put this cube to the north of that cube’). Participants completed a total of 48 trials, including each of the four cardinal directions as target, as well as expressions such as behind, in front of and to the left of. As shown in Figure 7, participants’ responses were categorised in one of three ways: correct, near-correct, or incorrect.Figure 7: Possible responses to prompt of north: A = correct, B = near-correct (aligned with the side of stimulus object closest to north), C = incorrect.Every participant placed their cube in alignment with the axes of the stimulus object (i.e. responses B and C in Figure 7). Orientation to Magnetic/Geographic North was thus insufficient to override the local cues of the task at hand. The 9% of participants showed some awareness of the location of Magnetic/Geographic North, however, by making the near-correct response type B. No participants who behaved in such a way expressed certainty in their responses, however. Most commonly, they calculated the rough direction concerned by triangulating with local landmarks such as nearby roads, or the location of Melbourne’s CBD (as verbally expressed both during the task and during an informal interview afterwards).The remaining 91% of participants’ responses were entirely incorrect. Of these, 13.2% involved similar thought processes as the near-correct responses, but did not result in the identification of the closest side of the stimulus to the instructed direction. However, 77.8% of the total participants interpreted north as the far side of the stimulus. While such responses were classified incorrect on the basis of Magnetic or Geographic North, they were consistent with one another and correct with respect to an alternative definition of English north in terms of the participant’s own body. One of the participants alludes to this alternative definition, asking “Do you mean my North or physical North?”. We refer to this alternative definition as Relative North. Relative North is not bound to any given point on the Earth or a derivation of the sun’s position; instead, it is entirely bound to the perceiver’s own orientation. This equates the north direction with forward and the other cardinals’ points are derived from this reference point (see Figure 8). Map-reading practices likely support the development of the secondary, Relative sense of North.Figure 8: Relative North and the Relative directions derived from itConclusionWe have compared the words closest in meaning to the English word north in four entirely unrelated languages. In the Australian Aboriginal language Kuuk Thaayorre, the ‘north’ direction aligns with the local coast, pointing in a direction 35 degrees west of Magnetic North. In Marshallese, the compass direction corresponding to ‘north’ is different for each island, being defined in opposition to an axis running between the ocean and lagoon sides of that island. The Dhivehi ‘north’ direction may be defined either in opposition to the (sun-based) east-west axis, calibrated to the configuration of the local island, as in Marshallese, or defined in terms of Polaris, the Pole star. In all these cases, though, the system of directions is anchored by properties of the external environment. English speakers, by contrast, are shown to—at least some of the time—define north with reference to their own embodied perspective, as the direction extending outwards from the front of their bodies. These findings demonstrate that, far from being universal, ‘north’ is a culture-specific category. As such, great care must be taken when translating or drawing equivalencies between these concepts across languages.ReferencesBender, Byron W., et al. “Proto-Micronesian Reconstructions: I.” Oceanic Linguistics 42.1 (2003): 1–110.Brown, Cecil H. “Where Do Cardinal Direction Terms Come From?” Anthropological Linguistics 25.2 (1983): 121–161. François, Alexandre. “Reconstructing the Geocentric System of Proto-Oceanic.” Oceanic Linguistics 43.1 (2004): 1–31. Gaby, Alice R. A Grammar of Kuuk Thaayorre. Vol. 74. Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton, 2017.Genz, Joseph. “Complementarity of Cognitive and Experiential Ways of Knowing the Ocean in Marshallese Navigation.” Ethos 42.3 (2014): 332–351.Lewis, David Henry. We, the Navigators: The Ancient Art of Landfinding in the Pacific. 2nd ed. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 1994. Lum, Jonathon. "Frames of Spatial Reference in Dhivehi Language and Cognition." PhD Thesis. Melbourne: Monash University, 2018. Majid, Asifa, et al. “Can Language Restructure Cognition? The Case for Space.” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 8.3 (2004): 108–114.OED Online. “North, Adv., Adj., and N.” Oxford English Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. <http://www.oed.com.ezproxy.lib.monash.edu.au/view/Entry/128325>.Palmer, Bill. “Absolute Spatial Reference and the Grammaticalisation of Perceptually Salient Phenomena.” Representing Space in Oceania: Culture in Language and Mind. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics, 2002. 107–133. ———, et al. "“Sociotopography: The Interplay of Language, Culture, and Environment.” Linguistic Typology 21.3 (2017). DOI:10.1515/lingty-2017-0011.Poulton, Thomas. “Exploring Space: Frame-of-Reference Selection in English.” Honours Thesis. Melbourne: Monash University, 2016.Ross, Malcolm D. “Talking about Space: Terms of Location and Direction.” The Lexicon of Proto-Oceanic: The Culture and Environment of Ancestral Oceanic Society: The Physical Environment. Eds. Malcolm D. Ross, Andrew Pawley, and Meredith Osmond. Vol. 2. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics, 2003. 229–294. Schlossberg, Jonathan. Atolls, Islands and Endless Suburbia: Spatial Reference in Marshallese. PhD thesis. Newcastle: University of Newcastle, in preparation.

Reviewing Melissa Lucashenko’s Mullumbimby (2013), Eve Vincent notes that it shares with Keri Hulme’s The Bone People (1984) one significant feature: “a glossary of Indigenous words.” Working with various forms of the term “abroad”, this article surveys the debate The Bone People ignited around the relative merits of such a glossary in texts written predominantly in English, the colonizing language. At stake here is the development of a post-colonial community that incorporates Indigenous identity and otherness (Maori or Aboriginal) with the historical legacy of the English/Indigenous-language multi-lingualism of multi-cultural Australia and New Zealand. I argue that the terms of this debate have remained static since 1984 and that this creates a problem for post-colonial theory. Specifically, the debate has favoured a binary either/or approach, whereby either the Indigenous language or English has been empowered with authority over the text’s linguistic, historical, cultural and political territory. Given that the significations of “abroad” include a travelling encounter with overseas places and the notion of being widely scattered or dispersed, the term has value for an investigation into how post-colonialism as a historical circumstance is mediated and transformed within literature. Post-colonial literature is a response to the “homeland” encounter with a foreign “abroad” that creates particular wide scatterings or dispersals of writing within literary texts.In 1989, Maryanne Dever wrote that “some critics have viewed [The Bone People’s] glossary as a direct denial of otherness. … It can be argued, however, that the glossary is in fact a further way of asserting that otherness” (24). Dever is responding to Simon During, who wrote in 1985 that “by translating the Maori words into English [the glossary allows] them no otherness within its Europeanising apparatus” (During 374). Dever continues: “[The glossary] is a considered statement of the very separateness of the Maori language. In this way, the text inverts the conventional sense of privileging, the glossary forming the key into a restricted or privileged form of knowledge” (24). Dever’s language is telling: “direct denial of otherness,” “asserting that otherness,” and “the very separateness of the Maori language,” reinforce a binary way of thinking that is reproduced by Vincent in 2013 (24).This binary hinders a considered engagement with post-colonial difference because it produces hierarchal outcomes. For Toril Moi, “binary oppositions are heavily imbricated in the patriarchal value system: each opposition can be analysed as a hierarchy where the ‘feminine’ side is always seen as the negative, powerless instance” (104). Inspired by Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey’s concept of “tidalectics”, my article argues that the neologism “glossary islands” provides a more productive way of thinking about the power relations of the relationship of glossaries of Indigenous words to Hulme’s and Lucashenko’s mainly English-language, post-colonial novels. Resisting a binary either/or approach, “glossary islands” engages with the inevitable intermingling of languages of post-colonial and multi-cultural nations and holds value for a new methodological approach to the glossary as an element of post-colonial (islandic) literature.Both The Bone People and Mullumbimby employ female protagonists (Kerewin Holmes and Jo Breen respectively) to explore how family issues resolve into an assertion of place-based community for people othered by enduring colonial forces. Difficult loves and difficult children provide opportunities for tension and uneasy resolution in each text. In Hulme’s novel, Kerewin resists the romantic advances of Joe Gillayley to the end, without ever entirely rejecting him. Similarly, in Mullumbimby, Jo and Twoboy Jackson conduct a vacillating relationship, though one that ultimately steadies. The Bone People tells of an autistic child, Simon P. Gillayley, while Mullumbimby thematises a difficult mother-daughter relationship in its narration of single-mother Jo’s struggles with Ellen. Furthermore, employing realist and magic realist techniques, both novels present family and love as allegories of post-colonial community, thereby exemplifying Stephen Slemon’s thesis that “the real social relations of post-colonial cultures appear, through the mediation of the text’s language of narration, in the thematic dimension of the post-colonial magic realist work” (12).Each text also shows how post-colonial literature always engages with the “abroad” by virtue of the post-colonial relationship of the indigenous “homeland” to the colonial “imported abroad”. DeLoughrey characterises this post-colonial relationship to the “abroad” by a “homeland” as a “tidalectics”, meaning “a dynamic and shifting relationship between land and sea that allows island literatures to be engaged in their spatial and historical complexity” (2-3). The Bone People and Mullumbimby are examples of island literatures for their geographic setting. But DeLoughrey does not compress “tidalectics” to such a reductionist definition. The term itself is as “dynamic and shifting” as what it signifies, and available for diverse post-colonial redeployments (DeLoughrey 2).The margin of land and sea that DeLoughrey foregrounds as constitutive of “tidalectics” is imaginatively re-expressed in both The Bone People and Mullumbimby. Lucashenko’s novel is set in the Byron Bay hinterland, and the text is replete with teasing references to “tidalectics”. For example, “Jo knew that the water she watched was endlessly cycling upriver and down, travelling constantly between the saltwater and the fresh” (Lucashenko 260-61). The writing, however, frequently exceeds a literal “tidalectics”: “Everything in the world was shapeshifting around her, every moment of every day. Nothing remained as it was” (Lucashenko 261).Significantly, Jo is no passive figure at the centre of such “shapeshifting”. She actively takes advantage of the “dynamic and shifting” interplay between elemental presences of her geographical circumstances (DeLoughrey 2). It is while “resting her back against the granite and bronze directional marker that was the last material evidence of humanity between Ocean Shores and New Zealand,” that Jo achieves her major epiphany as a character (Lucashenko 261). “Her eyelids sagged wearily. … Jo groaned aloud, exhausted by her ignorance and the unending demands being made on her to exceed it. The temptation to fall asleep in the sun, and leave these demands far behind, began to take her over. … No. We need answers” (Lucashenko 263). The “tidalectics” of her epiphany is telling: the “silence then splintered” (262) and “momentarily the wrens became, not birds, but mere dark movement” (263). The effect is dramatic: “The hairs on Jo’s arms goosepimpled. Her breathing grew fast” (263). “With an unspoken curse for her own obtuseness”, Jo becomes freshly decisive (264). Thus, a “tidalectics” is not a mere geographic backdrop. Rather, a “dynamic and shifting” landscape—a metamorphosis—energizes Jo’s identity in Mullumbimby. In the “homeland”/“abroad” flux of “tidalectics”, post-colonial community germinates.The geography of The Bone People is also a “tidalectics”, as demonstrated, for instance, by chapter five’s title: “Spring Tide, Neap Tide, Ebb Tide, Flood” (Hulme 202). Hulme’s novel contains literally hundreds of such passages that dramatise the margin of land and sea as “dynamic and shifting” (DeLoughrey 2). Again: “She’s standing on the orangegold shingle, arms akimbo, drinking the beach in, absorbing sea and spindrift, breathing it into her dusty memory. It’s all here, alive and salt and roaring and real. The vast cold ocean and the surf breaking five yards away and the warm knowledge of home just up the shore” (163). Like the protagonist of Mullumbimby, Kerewin Holmes is an energised subject at the margin of land and sea. Geography as “tidalectics” is activated in the construction of character identity. Kerewin involves her surroundings with her sense of self, as constituted through memory, in a fashion that enfolds the literal with the metaphorical: memory is “dusty” in the midst of “vast” waters (163).Thus, at least three senses of “abroad” filter through these novels. Firstly, the “abroad” exists in the sense of an abroad-colonizing power retaining influence even in post-colonial times, as elaborated in Simon During’s distinction between the “post-colonised” and the “post-colonisers” (Simon 460). Secondly, the “abroad” reveals itself in DeLoughrey’s related conceptualisation of “tidalectics” as a specific expression of the “abroad”/“homeland” relationship. Thirdly, the “abroad” is present by virtue of the more general definition it shares with “tidalectics”; for “abroad”, like “tidalectics”, also signifies being widely scattered, at large, ranging freely. There is both denotation and connotation in “tidalectics”, which Lucashenko expresses here: “the world was nothing but water in the air and water in the streams” (82). That is, beyond any “literal littoral” geography, “abroad” is linked to “tidalectics” in this more general sense of being widely scattered, dispersed, ranging freely.The “tidalectics” of Lucashenko’s and Hulme’s novels is also shared across their form because each novel is a complex interweaving of English and the Indigenous language. Here though, we encounter a clear difference between the two novels, which seems related to the predominant genres of the respective texts. In Lucashenko’s largely realist mode of writing, the use of Indigenous words is more transparent to a monolingual English speaker than is Hulme’s use of Maori in her novel, which tends more towards magic realism. A monolingual English speaker can often translate Lucashenko almost automatically, through context, or through an in-text translation of the words worked into the prose. With Hulme, context usually withholds adequate clues to the meaning of the Maori words, nor are any in-text translations of the Maori commonly offered.Leaving aside for now any consideration of their glossaries, each novel presents a different representation of the post-colonial/“abroad” relationship of an Indigenous language to English. Mullumbimby is the more conservative text in this respect. The note prefacing Mullumbimby’s Glossary reads: “In this novel, Jo speaks a mixture of Bundjalung and Yugambeh languages, interspersed with a variety of Aboriginal English terms” (283). However, the Indigenous words often shade quite seamlessly into their English translation, and the “Aboriginal English” Jo speaks is actually not that different from standard English dialogue as found in many contemporary Australian novels. If anything, there is only a slight, distinguishing American flavour to Jo’s dialogue. In Mullumbimby, the Indigenous tongue tends to disappear into the text’s dominant language: English.By contrast, The Bone People contains many instances where Maori presents in all its bold strangeness to a monolingual English speaker. My reading experience consisted in running my eyes over the words but not really taking them in, except insofar as they represented a portion of Maori of unknown meaning. I could look up the recondite English words (of which there were many) in my dictionary or online, but it was much harder to conveniently source definitions of the Maori words, especially when they formed larger syntactic units.The situation is reversed, however, when one considers the two glossaries. Mullumbimby’s glossary asserts the difference of the Indigenous language(s) by having no page numbers alongside its Indigenous words (contrast The Bone People’s glossary) and because, despite being titled Glossary as a self-sufficient part of the book, it is not mentioned in any Contents page. One comes across Lucashenko’s glossary, at the end of her novel, quite unexpectedly. Conversely, Hulme’s glossary is clearly referenced on its Contents page, where it is directly described as a “Translation of Maori Words and Phrases” commencing on page 446. Hulme’s glossary appears predictably, and contains page references to all its Maori words or phrases. This contrasts with Lucashenko’s glossary, which follows alphabetical order, rather than the novel’s order. Mullumbimby’s glossary is thus a more assertive textual element than The Bone People’s glossary, which from the Contents page on is more homogenised with the prevailing English text.Surely the various complexities of these two glossaries show the need for a better way of critically engaging with them that does not lead to the re-accentuation of the binary terms in which the scholarly discussion about their genre has been couched so far. Such a methodology needs to be sensitive to the different forms of these glossaries and of others like them in other texts. But some terminological minesweeping is required in order to develop this methodology, for a novel and a glossary are different textual forms and should not be compared like for like. A novel is a work of the imagination in fictional form whereas a glossary is a meta-text that, according to The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, comprises “a list with explanations, often accompanying a text, of abstruse, obsolete, dialectal, or technical terms.” The failure to take this difference substantially into account explains why the debate around Hulme’s and Lucashenko’s glossaries as instruments of post-colonial language relationships has defaulted, thus far, to a binary approach insensitive to the complexities of linguistic relations in post-colonial and multi-cultural nations. Ignoring the formal difference between novel and glossary patronises a reading that proceeds by reference to binary opposition, and thus hierarchy.By contrast, my approach is to read these glossaries as texts that can be read and interpreted as one might read and interpret the novels they adjoin, and also with close attention to the architecture of their relationship to the novels they accompany. This close reading methodology enables attention to the differences amongst glossaries, as much as to the differences between them and the texts they gloss. One consequence of this is that, as I have shown above, a text might be conservative so far as its novel segment is concerned, yet radical so far as its glossary is concerned (Mullumbimby), or vice versa (The Bone People).To recap, “tidalectics” provides a way of engaging with the post-colonial/“abroad” (linguistic) complexities of island nations and literatures. It denotes “a dynamic and shifting relationship between land and sea that allows island literatures to be engaged in their spatial and historical complexity” (DeLoughrey 2-3). The methodological challenge for my article is to show how “tidalectics” is useful to a consideration of that sub-genre of post-colonial novels containing glossaries. Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey’s unpacking of “tidalectics” considers not just islands but also the colonial relationships of (archetypally mainland European) colonial forces to islands. Referring to the popularity of “desert-island stories” (12), DeLoughrey notes how “Since the colonial expansion of Europe, its literature has increasingly inscribed the island as a reflection of various political, sociological, and colonial practices” (13). Further, “European inscriptions of island topoi have often upheld imperial logic and must be recognized as ideological tools that helped make colonial expansion possible” (13). DeLoughrey also underscores the characteristics of such “desert-island stories” (12), including how accidental colonization of “a desert isle has been a powerful and repeated trope of empire building and of British literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries” (13). Shipwrecks are the most common narrative device of such “accidents”.Drawing on the broad continuum of the several significations of “abroad”, one can draw a parallel between the novel-glossary relationship and the mainland-island relationship DeLoughrey outlines. I recall here Stephen Slemon’s suggestion that “the real social relations of post-colonial cultures appear, through the mediation of the text’s language of narration, in the thematic dimension of the post-colonial magic realist work” (12). Adapting Slemon’s approach, one might read the formal (as opposed to thematic) dimension of the glossary in a post-colonial narrative like The Bone People or Mullumbimby as another literary appearance of “the real social relations of post-colonial cultures” (Slemon 12). What’s appearing is the figure of the island in the form of the glossary: hence, my neologism “glossary islands”. These novels are thus not only examples of island novels to be read via “tidalectics”, but of novels with their own islands appended to them, as glossaries, in the “abroad” of their textuality.Thus, rather than seeing a glossary in a binary either/or way as a sign of the (artificial) supremacy of either English or the Indigenous language, one could use the notion of “glossary islands” to more fully engage with the complexities of post-colonialism as expressed in literature. Seen in this light, a glossary (as to The Bone People or Mullumbimby) can be read as an “abroad” through which the novel circulates its own ideas or inventions of post-colonial community. In this view, islands and glossaries are linked through being intensified sites of knowledge, as described by DeLoughrey. Crucially, the entire, complex, novel-glossary relationship needs to be analysed, and it is possible (though space considerations mediate against pursuing this here) that a post-colonial novel’s glossary expresses the (Freudian) unconscious knowledge of the novel itself.Clearly then, there is a deep irony in how what Simon During calls the “Europeanising apparatus” of the glossary itself becomes, in Mullumbimby, an object of colonisation (During 374). (Recall how one comes across the glossary at the end of Lucashenko’s novel unexpectedly—accidentally—as a European might be cast up upon a desert island.) I hazard the suggestion that a post-colonial novel is more radical in its post-colonial politics the more “island-like” its glossary is, because this implies that the “glossary island” is being used to better work out the nature of post-colonial community as expressed and proposed in the novel itself. Here then, again, the seemingly more radical novel linguistically, The Bone People, seems in fact to be less radical than Mullumbimby, given the latter’s more “island-like” glossary. Certainly their prospects for post-colonial community are being worked out on different levels.Working with the various significations of “abroad” that span the macro level of historical circumstances and the micro levels of post-colonial literature, this article has introduced a new methodological approach to engaging with Indigenous language glossaries at the end of post-colonial texts written largely in English. This methodology responds to the need to go beyond the binary either/or approach that has characterised the debate in this patch of post-colonial studies so far. A binary view of language relations, I suggest, is debilitating to prospects for post-colonial community in post-colonial, multi-cultural and island nations like Australia and New Zealand, where language flows are multifarious and complex. My proposed methodology, as highlighted in the neologism “glossary islands”, seems to show promise for the (re-)interpretation of Mullumbimby and The Bone People as texts that deal, albeit in different ways, with similar issues of language relations and of community. An “abroad” methodology provides a powerful infrastructure for engagement with domains such as post-colonialism that, as Stephen Slemon indicates, involve the intensive intermingling of the largest geo-historical circumstances with the detail, even minutiae, of the textual expression of those circumstances, as in literature.ReferencesDeLoughrey, Elizabeth M. Routes and Roots: Navigating Caribbean and Pacific Island Literatures. Honolulu: U of Hawai’i P, 2007.Dever, Maryanne. “Violence as Lingua Franca: Keri Hulme’s The Bone People.” World Literature Written in English 29.2 (1989): 23-35.During, Simon. “Postmodernism or Postcolonialism?” Landfall 39.3 (1985): 366-80.———. “Postmodernism or Post-Colonialism Today.” Postmodernism: A Reader. Ed. Thomas Docherty. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993. 448-62.Hulme, Keri. The Bone People. London: Pan-Picador, 1986.Lucashenko, Melissa. Mullumbimby. St Lucia, Queensland: U of Queensland P, 2013.Moi, Toril. Sexual/Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory. London: Routledge, 1985.Slemon, Stephen. “Magic Realism as Post-Colonial Discourse.” Canadian Literature 116 (Spring 1988): 9-24.The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary. Ed. Lesley Brown. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1993.Vincent, Eve. “Country Matters.” Sydney Review of Books. Sydney: The Writing and Society Research Centre at the University of Western Sydney, 2013. 8 Aug. 2016 <http://sydneyreviewofbooks.com/country-matters/>.

AbstractWittgenstein (1889-1951) was highly disapproving of scholars whom he thought unable to properly acknowledge diversity amongst cultures or take due note of the enormous differences separating them from tribes living in radically heterogeneous cultural environments. The best known and paradigmatic example of his attitude to such differences is to be found in his Remarks on Frazer’s ‘Golden Bough’, where he wrote: “[…] how impossible for him [Frazer, J.B.] to understand a different way of life from the English one of his time”. But to cut a long story short, whether Wittgenstein saw this “impossibility” as an intrinsic feature of the task or not is by no means unambiguously clear. To resolve this question, I shall take as my point of departure the socio-anthropological writings of B. Malinowski (1884-1942), who spent several years amongst one of the Pacific island tribes - the Trobriands. In his “field studies”, Malinowski focused on the tribe’s “form of life”: i.e. on their belief in ritual and magic, and on how their customs interlinked with kinship and with their economy. Taking into account Malinowski’s own pragmatic conception of language and his notion of the divergent character of scientific and magical forms of belief, I then outline Wittgenstein’s notions of “language game”, “family resemblance” and “form of life”. The usage of these concepts will show in what sense Wittgenstein would have recognized the similarities within and between different cultures and human societies - but, equally, just how far we can understand a human way of life deeply different from our own.

Within New Zealand (NZ), Pacific people experience higher prevalence of mental disorder than non-Pacific people. Bilinguals are believed to have psychological advantages over monolinguals, although the empirical evidence base is equivocal. A prospective cohort of Pacific mothers was studied at 6 weeks (n = 1272), 1-year (n = 1135), and 2-year (n = 1059) postpartum. At 6 weeks, 343 (27.0%) mothers were fluent in both Pacific and English languages, 519 (40.8%) only fluent in Pacific language(s), and 410 (32.2%) only fluent in English. Over assessment waves, 16.0%, 12.5%, and 8.7% of mothers had mental disorder symptom indications. In adjusted generalized estimating equation analysis, mothers speaking English only had odds of mental disorder symptom indication 2.24 (95% confidence interval [CI] = 1.44-3.49) that of bilingual mothers, while those who spoke Pacific language(s) only had odds of 1.52 (95% CI = 0.95-2.42). Supporting Pacific and English languages within NZ may confer mental health benefits to new Pacific mothers and potentially others.