Academic literature on the topic 'Pennsylvania Dutch Folk art'

In the great age of museum institutionalization between 1875 and 1925, museums competed to form collections in newly defined object categories. Yet museums were uncertain about what to collect, as the boundaries between art and anthropology and between art and craft were fluid and contested. As a case study, this article traces the tortured fate of a large collection of folk pottery assembled by New York art patron Emily de Forest (1851–1942). After assembling her private collection, Mrs. de Forest encountered difficulties in donating it to the American Museum of Natural History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. After becoming part of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, it finally found a home at the Pennsylvania State Museum of Anthropology. Emily de Forest represents an initial movement in the estheticization of ethnic and folk crafts, an appropriation that has since led to the establishment of specifically defined museums of folk art and craft.

Dolalak dance is a folk dance whose movements and costumes adopted the Dutch soldiers war training and dancing movements and costumes. The exsistention of the traditional art become degradation in a year. Dolalak dance is also influenced by the cultural change from modernity, and then the meaning of Dolalak will be gone.This enable people interprete the ideal value of Dolalak dance in daily life that different from Dolalak dance in the past that was full of life regulation values.This qualitative research uses a case study method to answer the different interprete the meaning of Dolalak dance.It uses interview, observation and documentation techniques to collect data. Theory in thisresearch using interpretative culture from Clifford Geertz.This research reveals that Dolalak experienced a cultural creativity by combining with other arts, i.e dangdut and Campursari.It also experienced changes in players, movements, makeup, costumes, and time performanes. As a folk dance play a role in unity and guide the social life. Dolalak dance is interpreted as a religious symbols, varlour, faith and social conditions. Nowdays, it has a new interpretation as a equality, effectivity, efficiency and specialization lead to individualization in the group.

Abstract In 1911, Dutch parliament changed and expanded the vice laws of the penal code. The most controversial change was the introduction of art. 248bis Sr., which created a specific age of consent (21) for homosexual contacts, while it remained 16 for heterosexual behaviour. According to Attorney General E.R.H. Regout, homosexuality was spreading rapidly, resulting from the seduction of minors between the age of 16 and 21. Referring to Greek pederasty, he claimed that adult homosexuals preyed almost exclusively on this age group. Once seduced, a minor would become a homosexual himself. Although a memorandum briefly mentioned that the new article would also apply to women, lesbian behaviour was not discussed at all during readings in parliament: originating from his previous role as public prosecutor, boys and young men were the minister’s sole concern.Most publications about 248bis Sr. are descriptive with a near self-evident focus on its repressive nature. This contribution also recounts the way in which Regout’s proposal was turned into law. Yet, based on a rereading of parliamentary papers, as well as on extensive archival research by the author, it raises questions viz-à-viz Regout’s concern over young males and its relationship to contemporary sexual folk knowledge and prevailing etiologies. Moreover, this article will argue that 248bis, aside from criminalising aspects of homosexual behaviour, also turned a disciplinary eye towards male adolescents at a time when puberty as a cultural construct began to emerge.

AbstrakSunan Gunung Jati selain sebagai kepala nagari Cirebon, ia juga salah satu walisanga yang mempunyai tugas menyebarkan agama Islam. Tantangan dan hambatansebagai wali ia temui, di antaranya menghadapi Pangeran Welang. Pangeran Welangmemiliki kesaktian, karena mempunyai pusaka Curug Sewu. Ia ingin mengalahkanSunan Gunung Jati. Sunan Gunung Jati menanggapinya tidak dengan kekerasan,melainkan membentuk kelompok kesenian dan mengadakan pertunjukan kelilingkampung. Dalam kelompok kesenian tersebut menampilkan Nyi Mas Gandasarisebagai penari yang memakai penutup muka (kedok). Pangeran Welang terpikatdengan penampilan Nyi Mas Gandasari, ia pun meminangnya untuk dijadikan isteri.Nyi Mas Gandasari menerima pinangan tersebut dengan syarat dipinang denganpusaka Curug Sewu. Pangeran Welang menyanggupi syarat tersebut yang akhirnyakesaktian Pangeran Welang pun hilang. Ia menyerah kepada Sunan Gunung Jati danmasuk Islam. Selanjutnya Tari Topeng di samping digunakan untuk menyebarkanagama Islam juga merupakan kesenian khas istana, dan menjadi sarana hiburan yangdisukai masyarakat. Setelah Belanda menduduki Cirebon, seniman topeng merasatidak nyaman tinggal di lingkungan keraton, karena Belanda telah ikut mencampuriurusan keraton. Mereka keluar dari istana dan menyebar ke Kabupaten Cirebon,di antaranya Gegesik, Palimanan, Losari. Penelitian ini untuk mengetahui sejarahpertumbuhan dan perkembangan Tari Topeng. Metode yang digunakan metodesejarah. Dari hasil penelitian diketahui bahwa Tari Topeng sudah ada sejak SunanGunung Jati sebagai kepala nagari Cirebon. Tari Topeng dijadikan sebagai mediadakwah dan persebaran ke Gegesik, Palimanan, dan Losari mempunyai karakter yangberbeda dengan pakem yang sama.AbstractTari Topeng (mask dance) is a kind of folk performing art vastly known inCirebon. The dance was a court art during the rule of Sunan Gunung Jati, functioning as a means to spread Islam. It spread outside the court when the artists left the courtfollowing the Dutch arrival in Cirebon who made the court split into three: Kasepuhan,Kanoman, and Kacirebonan. The Dutch interference in almost everything in thecourt made them unpleasant. They eventually left the court and spread to KabupatenCirebon. The aims of this research is to get knowledge of the history and developmentof Tari Topeng using history method. The result is that this dance has been existingsince the time of Sunan Gunung Jati and served as a means to spread Islam. Then itspread to Gegesik, Palimanan and Losari following the arrival of the Dutch.

<i>Barbclabornia luedersensis</i> (Berman, 1970) is defined on the basis of small (2 mm high) isolated teeth that lack an intermediate cusp. It is known from the Lower Permian and possibly the Upper Pennsylvanian of North America. The two principal cusps are slightly curved orally, nearly parallel, and bear cristae mainly on their distal halves. They are cylindrical but become compressed proximally. The long axis of each cusp base is >45° to the labial margin of the tooth base. The base bears a prominent apical button in contact with the cusps; a central foramen is absent. Fewer than ten foramina occur on the aboral surface of the base, which bears a prominent concave basal tubercle. The shape of the base ranges from somewhat triangular to quadrangular. The cusps are composed of orthodentine covered by hypermineralized pallial dentine; the base is composed of orthodentine but may also contain trabecular dentine. Except for the possible occurrence of symphysial teeth, the dentition is homodont. <i>Barbclabornia</i> cf. <i>B. luedersensis</i> is stratigraphically highest in the known range of the genus and is restricted to the nearly lowermost part of the Clear Fork Group (Artinskian) of Texas. The teeth are similar to <i>B. luedersensis</i>, but are more robust and have a quadrangular-shaped base. <i>Barbclabornia</i> was large, based on an undescribed palatoquadrate some 45 cm long. It was probably freshwater and is most closely related to <i>Triodus</i>. <br><br> <i>Barbclabornia luedersensis</i> (Berman, 1970) wird anhand kleiner (2 mm Höhe), isolierter Zähne definiert, denen eine Medianspitze fehlt. Die Art ist aus dem unteren Perm und möglicherweise dem oberen Pennsylvanium von Nordamerika bekannt. Die zwei Hauptspitzen sind schwach oral geneigt, beinahe parallel und zeigen hauptsächlich auf der distalen Hälfte Cristae. Die Spitzen sind zylindrisch, erhalten allerdings proximal durch Kompression einen ovalen Umriss. Der Winkel zwischen der Längsachse jeder Spitze und dem labialen Rand der Zahnbasis beträgt mehr als 45°. Die Basis besitzt einen prominenten, in Kontakt mit den Spitzen stehenden Apicalhöcker, ein zentrales Foramen fehlt. Weniger als zehn Foramina sowie ein prominenter, konkav eingebuchteter Basaltuberkel befinden sich auf der aboralen Seite der Basis. Die Basis zeigt einen etwa tri- bis quadrangulären Umriss. Die Spitzen bestehen aus Orthodentin, ummantelt von einem hypermineralisierten Pallialdentin; die Basis besteht aus Orthodentin, kann aber auch Trabeculardentin beinhalten. Mit Ausnahme des Auftretens von Symphysenzähnen ist die Bezahnung homodent. <i>Barbclabornia</i> cf. <i>B. luedersensis</i> repräsentiert den stratigraphisch jüngsten Vertreter dieser Gattung und ist etwa auf den untersten Abschnitt der Clear Fork Group (Artinskium) von Texas beschränkt. Die Zähne ähneln denen des <i>B. luedersensis</i>, sind aber robuster und besitzen eine Basis mit quadrangulärem Umriss. Ein unbeschriebenes Palatoquadratum von etwa 45 cm Länge weist <i>Barbclabornia</i> als großwüchsig aus. Es handelt sich wahrscheinlich um eine Süßwasserform. Barbclabornia besitzt enge Beziehungen zu <i>Triodus</i>. <br><br> doi:<a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/mmng.20030060106" target="_blank">10.1002/mmng.20030060106</a>

-Martin Baier, Han Knapen, Forests of fortune?; The environmental history of Southeast Borneo, 1600-1880. Leiden: The KITLV Press, 2001, xiv + 487 pp. [Verhandelingen 189] -Jean-Pascal Bassino, Per Ronnas ,Entrepreneurship in Vietnam; Transformations and dynamics. Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies (NIAS) and Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2001, xii + 354 pp., Bhargavi Ramamurty (eds) -Adriaan Bedner, Renske Biezeveld, Between individualism and mutual help; Social security and natural resources in a Minangkabau village. Delft: Eburon, 2001, xi + 307 pp. -Linda Rae Bennett, Alison Murray, Pink fits; Sex, subcultures and discourses in the Asia-Pacific. Clayton, Victoria: Monash Asia Institute, 2001, xii + 198 pp. [Monash Papers on Southeast Asia 53.] -Peter Boomgaard, Laurence Monnais-Rousselot, Médecine et colonisation; L'aventure indochinoise 1860-1939. Paris: CNRS Editions, 1999, 489 pp. -Ian Coxhead, Yujiro Hayami ,A rice village saga; Three decades of Green revolution in the Philippines. Houndmills, Basingstoke: MacMillan, 2000, xviii + 274 pp., Masao Kikuchi (eds) -Robert Cribb, Frans Hüsken ,Violence and vengeance; Discontent and conflict in New Order Indonesia. Saarbrücken: Verlag für Entwicklungspolitik, 2002, 163 pp. [Nijmegen Studies in Development and Cultural Change 37.], Huub de Jonge (eds) -Frank Dhont, Michael Leifer, Asian nationalism. London: Routledge, 2000, x + 210 pp. -David van Duuren, Joseph Fischer ,The folk art of Bali; The narrative tradition. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1998, xx + 116 pp., Thomas Cooper (eds) -Cassandra Green, David J. Stuart-Fox, Pura Besakih; Temple, religion and society in Bali. Leiden: KITLV Press, xvii + 470 pp. [Verhandelingen 193.] -Hans Hägerdal, Vladimir I. Braginsky ,Images of Nusantara in Russian literature. Leiden: KITLV Press, 1999, xxvi + 516 pp., Elena M. Diakonova (eds) -Hans Hägerdal, David Chandler, A history of Cambodia (third edition). Boulder, Colorado: Westview, 2000, xvi + 296 pp. -Robert W. Hefner, Leo Howe, Hinduism and hierarchy in Bali. Oxford: James Currey, Santa Fe: School of American Research Press, 2001, xviii + 228 pp. -Russell Jones, Margaret Shennan, Out in the midday sun; The British in Malaya, 1880-1960. London: John Murray, 2000, xviii + 426 pp. -Russell Jones, T.N. Harper, The end of empire and the making of Malaya. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999, xviii + 417 pp. -Sirtjo Koolhof, Christian Pelras, The Bugis. Oxford: Blackwell, 1996, xvii + 386 pp. [The People of South-East Asia and the Pacific.] -Tania Li, Lily Zubaidah Rahim, The Singapore dilemma; The political and educational marginality of the Malay community. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1998, xviii + 302 pp. -Yasser Mattar, Vincent J.H. Houben ,Coolie labour in colonial Indonesia; A study of labour relations in the Outer Islands, c. 1900-1940. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999, xvi + 268 pp., J. Thomas Lindblad et al. (eds) -Yasser Mattar, Zawawi Ibrahim, The Malay labourer; By the window of capitalism. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1998, xvi + 348 PP. -Kees Mesman Schultz, Leo J.T. van der Kamp, C.L.M. Penders, The West Guinea debacle; Dutch decolonisation and Indonesia 1945-1962. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2002, viii + 490 pp. -S. Morshidi, Beng-Lan Goh, Modern dreams; An inquiry into power, cultural production, and the cityscape in contemporary urban Penang, Malaysia. Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program, 2002, 224 pp. [Studies on Southeast Asia 31.] -Richard Scaglion, Gert-Jan Bartstra, Bird's Head approaches; Irian Jaya studies - a programme for interdisciplinary research. Rotterdam: Balkema, 1998, ix + 275 pp. [Modern Quarternary Research in Southeast Asia 15.] -Simon C. Smith, R.S. Milne ,Malaysian politics under Mahathir. London: Routledge, 1999, xix + 225 pp., Diane K. Mauzy (eds) -Reed L. Wadley, Christine Helliwell, 'Never stand alone'; A study of Borneo sociality. Phillips, Maine: Borneo Research Council, 2001, xiv + 279 pp. [BRC Monograph Series 5.] -Nicholas J. White, Francis Loh Kok Wah ,Democracy in Malaysia; Discourses and practices. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2002, xiii + 274 pp. [Nordic Institute of Asian Studies Democracy in Asia Series 5.], Khoo Boo Teik (eds)

RESUMENDe entre todos los objetos, tiempos, espacios, palabras y seres que componen el mundo físico, algunos están investidos de un valor especial por cuanto se les atribuye la virtud de visibilizar las instancias invisibles de las que dependemos los mortales. Es lo sagrado. A lo sagrado se le depara un trato singular hecho de respeto, veneración o miedo, pero en ocasiones también de rencor y de odio por lo que encarna o representa. Es adorado, pero también, y acaso por las mismas razones, puede ser insultado, destruido, objeto de burla y, si tiene forma humana, martirizado o asesinado. La violencia contra lo sagrado puede caber en sistemas religiosos que le otorgan a la agresión un papel central en su universo mítico o ritual. También se ofende u agrede lo santo para grupos o pueblos a someter, puesto que en ello está resumido su orden del mundo. Desde esta perspectiva, el agravio, la irreverencia y el daño pasan a reclamar un lugar protagonista en los estudios sobre la institución religiosa de la cultura bajo las figuras del sacrilegio y la profanación.PALABRAS CLAVE: sagrado, profanación, sacrilegio, violencia religiosa, iconoclastia.ABSTRACTOf all the objects, times, spaces, words and beings that make up the physical world, some are invested with a special value because they are attributed the virtue of making visible the invisible instances on which we mortals depend. This is the sacred. The sacred is given a singular treatment combining respect, veneration or fear, but sometimes also resentment and hatred of what it embodies or represents. It is adored, but also, and perhaps for the same reasons, it can be insulted,destroyed, mocked and, if it has a human form, martyred or killed. Violence against the sacred can fit into religious systems that give aggression a central role in their mythical or ritual universe. 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This variable describes what kind of concept of culture underlies the cultural coverage at a certain point of time or across time. The variable dissects the concept of culture into cultural forms that are being journalistically covered. It presupposes that each article predominantly focuses on one cultural genre or discipline, such as literature, music, or film, which is the case in most articles in the cultural beat that are written according to cultural journalists’ areas of specialization. By identifying the cultural forms covered, the variable delivers an answer to the question of what kind of culture has been covered, or what kind of culture has been represented. Forms of culture are sometimes also called artistic or cultural disciplines (Jaakkola, 2015) or cultural genres (Purhonen et al., 2019), and cultural classification (Janssen et al., 2011) or cultural hierarchy (Schmutz, 2009). The level of detail varies from study to study, according to the need of knowledge, with some scholars tracing forms of subculture (Schmutz et al., 2010), while others just identify the overall development of major cultural forms (Purhonen et al., 2019; Jaakkola, 2015a). The concepts of culture can roughly be defined as being dominated by high cultural, popular cultural, or everyday cultural forms (Kristensen, 2019). While most culture sections in newspapers are dominated by high culture, and the question is rather about which disciplines, in the operationalization it is not always easy to draw lines between high and popular forms in the postmodern cultural landscape where boundaries are being blurred. Nevertheless, the major forms of culture in the journalistic operationalization of culture are literature, classical music, theatre, and fine arts. As certain forms of culture – such as classical music and opera – are focused on classical high culture, and other forms – such as popular music and comics – represent popular forms, distribution of coverage according to cultural forms may indicate changes in the cultural concept. Field of application/theoretical foundation The question of the concept of culture is a standard question in content analyses on arts and cultural journalism in daily newspapers and cultural magazines, posed by a number of studies conducted in different geographical areas and often with a comparative intent (e.g., Szántó et al., 2004; Janssen, 1999; Reus & Harden, 2005; Janssen et al., 2008; Larsen, 2008; Kõnno et al., 2012; Jaakkola, 2015a, 2015b; Verboord & Janssen, 2015; Purhonen et al., 2019; Widholm et al., 2019). The essence of culture has been theorized in cultural studies, predominantly by Raymond Williams (e.g., 2011), and sociologists of art (Kroeber & Kluckhohn, 1952). In studying journalistic coverage of arts and culture, the concept of culture reveals the anatomy of coverage and whether the content is targeting a broader audience (inclusive concept of culture) or a narrow audience (exclusive or elitist concept of culture). A prevalent motivation to study the ontological dimension of cultural coverage is also to trace cultural change, which means that the concept of culture is longitudinally studied (Purhonen et al., 2019). References/combination with other methods of data collection Concept of culture often occurs as a variable to trace cultural change. The variable is typically coupled with other variables, mainly with representational means, i.e., the journalistic genre (Jaakkola, 2015), event type (Stegert, 1998), or author gender (Schmutz, 2009; Jaakkola, 2015b). Quantitative content analyses may also be complemented with qualitative analyses (Purhonen et al., 2019). Sample operationalization Cultural forms are separated according to the production structure (journalists and reviewers specializing in one cultural form typically indicate an increase of coverage for that cultural form). At a general level, the concept of culture can be divided into the following cultural forms: literature, music – which is, according to the newsroom specialization typically roughly categorized into classical and popular music – visual arts, theatre, dance, film, design, architecture and built environment, media, comics, cultural politics, cultural history, arts education, and other. Subcategories can be separated according to the interest and level of knowledge. The variable needs to be sensitive towards local features in journalism and culture. Example study Jaakkola (2015b) Information about Jaakkola, 2015 Author: Maarit Jaakkola Research question/research interest: Examination of the cultural concept across time in culture sections of daily newspapers Object of analysis: Articles/text items on culture pages of five major daily newspapers in Finland 1978–2008 (Aamulehti, Helsingin Sanomat, Kaleva, Savon Sanomat, Turun Sanomat) Timeframe of analysis: 1978–2008, consecutive sample of weeks 7 and 42 in five year intervals (1978, 1983, 1988, 1993, 1998, 2003, 2008) Info about variable Variable name/definition: Concept of culture Unit of analysis: Article/text item Values: Cultural form Description 1. Fiction literature Fiction books: fictional genres such as poetry, literary novels, thrillers, detective novels, children’s literature, etc. 2. Non-fiction literature Non-fiction books: non-fictional genres such as textbooks, memoirs, encyclopedias, etc. 3. Classical music Music of more high-cultural character, such as symphonic music, chamber music, opera, etc. 4. Popular music Music of more popular character, such as pop, rock, hip-hop, folk music, etc. 5. Visual arts Fine arts: painting, drawing, graphical art, sculpture, media art, photography, etc. 6. Theatre Scene art, including musicals (if not treated as music, i.e. in coverage of concerts and albums) 7. Dance Scene art, including ballet (if not treated as music, .e. in coverage of concerts and albums) 8. Film Cinema: fiction, documentary, experimental film, etc. 9. Design Design of artefacts, jewelry, fashion, interiors, graphics, etc. 10. Architecture Design, aesthetics, and planning of built environment 11. Media Television, journalism, Internet, games, etc. 12. Comics Illustrated periodicals 13. Cultural politics Policies, politics, and administration concerning arts and culture in general 14. Cultural history Historical issues and phenomena 15. Education Educational issues concerning different cultural disciplines 16. Other Miscellaneous minor categories, e.g., lifestyle issues (celebrity, gossip, everyday cultural issues), and larger categories developed from within the material can be separated into values of their own Scale: nominal Intercoder reliability: Cohen's kappa > 0.76 (two coders) References Jaakkola, M. (2015a). The contested autonomy of arts and journalism: Change and continuity in the dual professionalism of cultural journalism. Tampere: Tampere University Press. Jaakkola, M. (2015b). Outsourcing views, developing news: Changes of art criticism in Finnish dailies, 1978–2008. Journalism Studies, 16(3), 383–402. Janssen, S. (1999). Art journalism and cultural change: The coverage of the arts in Dutch newspapers 1965–1990. Poetics 26(5–6), 329–348. Janssen, S., Kuipers, G., & Verboord, M. (2008). Cultural globalization and arts journalism: The international orientation of arts and culture coverage in Dutch, French, German, and U.S. newspapers, 1955 to 2005. American Sociological Review, 73(5), 719–740. Janssen, S., Verboord, M., & Kuipers, G. (2011). Comparing cultural classification: High and popular arts in European and U.S. elite newspapers. Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, 63(51), 139–168. Kõnno, A., Aljas, A., Lõhmus, M., & Kõuts, R. (2012). The centrality of culture in the 20th century Estonian press: A longitudinal study in comparison with Finland and Russia. Nordicom Review, 33(2), 103–117. Kristensen, N. N. (2019). Arts, culture and entertainment coverage. In T. P. Vos & F. Hanusch (Eds.), The international encyclopedia of journalism studies. Wiley-Blackwell. Kroeber, A. L., & Kluckhohn, C. (1952). Culture: A critical review of concepts and definitions. Meridian Books. Larsen, L. O. (2008). Forskyvninger. Kulturdekningen i norske dagsaviser 1964–2005 [Displacements: Cultural coverage in Norwegian dailies 1964–2005]. In K. Knapskog & L.O. Larsen (Eds.), Kulturjournalistikk: pressen og den kulturelle offentligheten (pp. 283–329). Scandinavian Academic Press. Purhonen, S., Heikkilä, R., Karademir Hazir, I., Lauronen, T., Rodríguez, C. F., & Gronow, J. (2019). Enter culture, exit arts? The transformation of cultural hierarchies in European newspaper culture sections, 1960–2010. Routledge. Reus, G., & Harden, L. (2005). Politische ”Kultur”: Eine Längsschnittanalyse des Zeitungsfeuilletons von 1983 bis 2003 [Political ‘culture’: A longitudinal analysis of culture pages, 1983–2003]. Publizistik, 50(2), 153–172. Schmutz, V. (2009). Social and symbolic boundaries in newspaper coverage of music, 1955–2005: Gender and genre in the US, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Poetics, 37(4), 298–314. Schmutz, V., van Venrooij, A., Janssen, S., & Verboord, M. (2010). Change and continuity in newspaper coverage of popular music since 1955: Evidence from the United States, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Popular Music and Society, 33(4), 505–515. Stegert, G. (1998). Feuilleton für alle: Strategien im Kulturjournalismus der Presse [Feuilleton for all: Strategies in cultural journalism of the daily press]. Max Niemeyer Verlag. Szántó, A., Levy, D. S., & Tyndall, A. (Eds.). (2004). Reporting the arts II: News coverage of arts and culture in America. National Arts Journalism Program (NAJP). Verboord, M., & Janssen, J. (2015). Arts journalism and its packaging in France, Germany, the Netherlands and the United States, 1955–2005. Journalism Practice, 9(6), 829–852. Widholm, A., Riegert, K., & Roosvall, A. (2019). Abundance or crisis? Transformations in the media ecology of Swedish cultural journalism over four decades. Journalism. Advance online publication August, 6. Journalism. https://doi.org/10.1177/1464884919866077 Williams, R. (2011). Keywords: A vocabulary of culture and society. Routledge. (Original work published 1976).

Very large numbers of people habitually spend time interacting in online social spaces based on the software developed by Pavel Curtis for Lambda MOO. Although chatting is part of the functionality of these spaces, it is much richer than the functionality given by basic chat rooms. In particular, members of these spaces explicitly declare a gender within the space (I will call it their 'presenting gender'), which may or may not correspond with their offline gender. As well as the traditional options of "male" and "female", it is possible to choose presenting genders such as "neutral", "royal", or "witch". Around 35% of the members of Media MOO and 22% of Lambda MOO have a presenting gender that is neither "male" nor "female" (Danet). I surveyed active citizens of another such space, Little Italy, by examining 400 characters that had accessed the space during the preceding month. Of these, 72 (18%) had a presenting gender other than "male", "female", and the default, "neutral" (assigned to Little Italians who haven't yet chosen a presenting gender). 11% had default presenting gender. I found that those who had a presenting gender 'other' than "male", "female", or the default were more likely to still be active in Little Italy a year later. This result holds at the 80% significance level -- in other words, there is a less than 1 in 5 probability that the difference observed could have arisen by chance if the distributions were in reality identical. In fact, 'other'-gendered active citizens were 23% more likely than "male" and 32% more likely than "female" active citizens to be still active a year later. This suggests that 'other'-gendered chat may be more a pleasant (or addictive) activity than male- or female-gendered chat. Amazingly, 49% of the 'other'-gendered citizens sampled were still active a year later. This intrigued me, so I sent a message to currently active Little Italians with presenting genders other than male or female, asking them why they had chosen such a presenting gender. I had 28 responses. Quotations from the responses below are by permission, and translated from the Italian. A popular idea amongst gender theorists (e.g. Stone) is that choosing a presenting gender other than "male" and "female" is a strategy for people who don't feel they fit precisely into gender stereotypes. This may include most of us to some degree. As the Kinks sang, "girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed-up, muddled-up, shook-up world, except for Lola" -- where Lola has ambiguous presenting gender, and thus is the only non-mixed-up one. This is indeed the reason given by one respondent for choosing a presenting gender other than male or female: "despite being a man, I feel very feminine (since I was small I've always wanted to be a woman)". However, no other respondents gave this as their reason. Another idea from the literature is that of "gender masking" (Jaffe et al. 11-2, and table 1). According to this theory, people, especially women, hide their gender online in order to avoid discrimination and harassment, or gender-related assumptions. Indeed, one respondent described his/her 'masked' character as "a mind without sex or body, an entity without appearance, as insubstantial as a cloud of smoke". On the other hand, the majority of other-gendered Little Italians give some clue that they are either male or female in their character descriptions, and most give some clue when speaking socially within Little Italy. Italian is an inflected language, and has many constructions that reveal whether the speaker is male or female -- it is rare (although not unknown) for a Little Italian to avoid these constructions or to use them ambiguously, as might be expected by someone masking their gender. To consider another idea, Bruckman (also Reid ch. 3 iii) suggests that the online world can be an "identity workshop" (1), where people can emphasise particular aspects of their personality, or try out new personae, or experience what it is like to be someone completely different. Some Little Italians emphasise part of their real identity through their presenting gender, choosing for example to have a gender such as "rebel", "dutch", or "angel". One respondent suggested, "I chose 'angel' because I help everyone who asks me -- and some who don't ask -- let's say I like being a guardian angel ;) and because my name is Michelangelo". Other Little Italians choose 'other' presenting genders precisely because these genders do not have an offline equivalent. Their choice is a form of creativity or escapism. One such respondent asked, "if everything is just like reality, what's the point of logging on?" This creative aspect becomes clear in the more outré genders invented by Little Italians, such as "\V/amp!" for a vampire character, which includes a visual reference to Dracula's high collar, and "...nothing like the sun" (the ellipsis is part of the gender). One surprise was that several citizens became 'other'-gendered by accident! Offline it is difficult to have a sex-change without realising, but online a badly-designed interface can have this effect. 3% of the sample had gender "me", which is a side-effect of a particular mistake in the use of the space. Another surprise was the joke gender. If you ask the system for information about a Little Italy character, one line of the answer is of the form "Sex: <the character's presenting gender>". Around 2% of the sample had presenting genders such as "If only!", "Too much!!", and "Go ahead!!". Several other citizens told me their genders were references to in-jokes amongst their online friends. Some characters had an 'other' gender because the character portrayed was not a human being -- such as a duck with presenting gender "duck", and a character called Harley with presenting gender "H-D". Looking at the 'other' genders in the sample, I was struck by the diversity both of the genders themselves, and of the reasons for which they are chosen. There is no single motive valid for most 'other'-gendered citizens. I was also struck by their lightheartedness. Gender studies texts tend to treat the choice of presenting gender as something highly serious and important. Several writers deal with gender as performance (Butler interviewed by Osborne and Segal, 109-26) or masquerade (Danet) with playful and ironic characteristics (Haraway 149-81). These writers, however, tend to emphasise a serious purpose underlying the performance. Haraway talks of "serious play" (149) and Butler is interested in performing gender as a subversive practice that aims to undermine the dominant forms of gender. Little Italy shows that in online spaces this need not be the case. The Little Italian with presenting gender "duck" does not think of herself as a duck, she is not critiquing female stereotypes, she is not questioning the idea of femaleness, she is not hiding her offline gender to avoid harassment, she is not asserting her inner duckiness; she's just having a bit of fun. Little Italy is more of an identity playground than an identity workshop. The creation of 'other' presenting genders in Little Italy is an example of the unexpectedly creative use of public space by members (in this case the space after Sex: in the character information) that was not originally designed with this use in mind. It is perhaps even more fascinating than other examples of folk art in unexpected places, such as graffiti, crop circles, bumper stickers or carved spoon handles, because of the clarity of its relationship with the artists' (lighthearted) construction of their identities. 'Stickiness' -- the likelihood of visitors to continue visiting a Website over an extended period of time -- is a quality much sought after by e-companies. Little Italy is very 'sticky' for all its citizens, but exceptionally so for other-gendered ones. In my opinion, it is the personal creative investment of the other-gendered citizens in Little Italy that makes them especially likely to remain active citizens. 'Other' presenting genders are possible in Little Italy because Pavel Curtis's software does not limit the options to male and female. This research suggests that designers and administrators of commercial Websites who want stickiness should avoid making assumptions about how their visitors may wish to present and express themselves. Rather, they should try to leave spaces open for their visitors' creativity. Many commercial Websites try to control and limit visitors' interaction, using forms and limited-choice menus. But if I am right about the stickiness of personal creative investment, then this may be a mistake. Creative empowerment of visitors may be better for the bottom line. Acknowledgements Grazie ai cittadini e wiz di Little Italy, sopratutto a quelli citati, per loro aiuto e amichevolezza. References Bruckman, Amy. "Identity Workshop: Emergent Social and Psychological Phenomena in Text-based Virtual Reality." Masters thesis, MIT Media Laboratory. 1992. Danet, Brenda. "Text as Mask: Gender and Identity on the Internet." Conference on "Masquerade and Gendered Identity". Venice, Italy, Feb. 1996. 18 Jul. 2000 <http://atar.mscc.huji.ac.il/~msdanet/mask.php>. Haraway, Donna. "A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century." Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New York: Routledge, 1991. Jaffe, J. Michael, et al. "Gender, Pseudonyms, and CMC: Making Identities and Baring Souls." 45th Annual Conference of the International Communication Association. Albuquerque, USA, 1995. 18 Jul. 2000 <http://members.iworld.net/yesunny/genderps.php>. Osborne, Peter, and Lynne Segal. "Gender as Performance." Interview with Judith Butler. A Critical Sense: Interviews with Intellectuals. Ed. Peter Osborne. London and New York: Routledge, 1996. Elizabeth Reid. "Cultural Formations in Text-based Virtual Realities." Masters thesis, Dept. of English, University of Melbourne. 1994. 11 Aug. 2000 <http://www.aluluei.com>. Stone, Allucquère Rosanne. "Will the Real Body Please Stand Up? Boundary Stories about Virtual Cultures." Cyberspace: First Steps. Ed. Michael Benedikt. Cambridge, MA: MIT P, 1991. 18-118. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Miranda Mowbray. "Neither Male nor Female: Other -- Gendered Chat in Little Italy." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.4 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/gendered.php>. Chicago style: Miranda Mowbray, "Neither Male nor Female: Other -- Gendered Chat in Little Italy," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 4 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/gendered.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Miranda Mowbray. (2000) Neither male nor female: other -- gendered chat in Little Italy. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(4). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/gendered.php> ([your date of access]).

All history of this area and the general talk and all of that is that 1973 was a turning point and the Aquarius Festival is credited with having turned this region around in so many ways, but I think that is a myth ... and I have to honour the truth; and the truth is that old Dicke Donelly came and did a Welcome to Country the night before the festival. (Joseph in Joseph and Hanley)In 1973 the Australian Union of Students (AUS) held the Aquarius Arts and Lifestyle Festival in a small, rural New South Wales town called Nimbin. The festival was seen as the peak expression of Australian counterculture and is attributed to creating the “Rainbow Region”, an area with a concentration of alternative life stylers in Northern NSW (Derrett 28). While the Aquarius Festival is recognised as a founding historical and countercultural event, the unique and important relationships established with Indigenous people at this time are generally less well known. This article investigates claims that the 1973 Aquarius Festival was “the first event in Australian history that sought permission for the use of the land from the Traditional Owners” (Joseph and Hanley). The diverse international, national and local conditions that coalesced at the Aquarius Festival suggest a fertile environment was created for reconciliatory bonds to develop. Often dismissed as a “tree hugging, soap dodging movement,” the counterculture was radically politicised having sprung from the 1960s social revolutions when the world witnessed mass demonstrations that confronted war, racism, sexism and capitalism. Primarily a youth movement, it was characterised by flamboyant dress, music, drugs and mass gatherings with universities forming the epicentre and white, middle class youth leading the charge. As their ideals of changing the world were frustrated by lack of systematic change, many decided to disengage and a migration to rural settings occurred (Jacob; Munro-Clarke; Newton). In the search for alternatives, the counterculture assimilated many spiritual practices, such as Eastern traditions and mysticism, which were previously obscure to the Western world. This practice of spiritual syncretism can be represented as a direct resistance to the hegemony of the dominant Western culture (Stell). As the new counterculture developed, its progression from urban to rural settings was driven by philosophies imbued with a desire to reconnect with and protect the natural world while simultaneously rejecting the dominant conservative order. A recurring feature of this countercultural ‘back to the land’ migration was not only an empathetic awareness of the injustices of colonial past, but also a genuine desire to learn from the Indigenous people of the land. Indigenous people were generally perceived as genuine opposers of Westernisation, inherently spiritual, ecological, tribal and communal, thus encompassing the primary values to which the counterculture was aspiring (Smith). Cultures converged. One, a youth culture rebelling from its parent culture; the other, ancient cultures reeling from the historical conquest by the youths’ own ancestors. Such cultural intersections are rich with complex scenarios and politics. As a result, often naïve, but well-intended relations were established with Native Americans, various South American Indigenous peoples, New Zealand Maori and, as this article demonstrates, the Original People of Australia (Smith; Newton; Barr-Melej; Zolov). The 1960s protest era fostered the formation of groups aiming to address a variety of issues, and at times many supported each other. Jennifer Clarke says it was the Civil Rights movement that provided the first models of dissent by formulating a “method, ideology and language of protest” as African Americans stood up and shouted prior to other movements (2). The issue of racial empowerment was not lost on Australia’s Indigenous population. Clarke writes that during the 1960s, encouraged by events overseas and buoyed by national organisation, Aborigines “slowly embarked on a political awakening, demanded freedom from the trappings of colonialism and responded to the effects of oppression at worst and neglect at best” (4). Activism of the 1960s had the “profoundly productive effect of providing Aborigines with the confidence to assert their racial identity” (159). Many Indigenous youth were compelled by the zeitgeist to address their people’s issues, fulfilling Charlie Perkins’s intentions of inspiring in Indigenous peoples a will to resist (Perkins). Enjoying new freedoms of movement out of missions, due to the 1967 Constitutional change and the practical implementation of the assimilation policy, up to 32,000 Indigenous youth moved to Redfern, Sydney between 1967 and 1972 (Foley, “An Evening With”). Gary Foley reports that a dynamic new Black Power Movement emerged but the important difference between this new younger group and the older Indigenous leaders of the day was the diverse range of contemporary influences. Taking its mantra from the Black Panther movement in America, though having more in common with the equivalent Native American Red Power movement, the Black Power Movement acknowledged many other international struggles for independence as equally inspiring (Foley, “An Evening”). People joined together for grassroots resistance, formed anti-hierarchical collectives and established solidarities between varied groups who previously would have had little to do with each other. The 1973 Aquarius Festival was directly aligned with “back to the land” philosophies. The intention was to provide a place and a reason for gathering to “facilitate exchanges on survival techniques” and to experience “living in harmony with the natural environment.” without being destructive to the land (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). Early documents in the archives, however, reveal no apparent interest in Australia’s Indigenous people, referring more to “silken Arabian tents, mediaeval banners, circus, jugglers and clowns, peace pipes, maypole and magic circles” (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). Obliterated from the social landscape and minimally referred to in the Australian education system, Indigenous people were “off the radar” to the majority mindset, and the Australian counterculture similarly was slow to appreciate Indigenous culture. Like mainstream Australia, the local counterculture movement largely perceived the “race” issue as something occurring in other countries, igniting the phrase “in your own backyard” which became a catchcry of Indigenous activists (Foley, “Whiteness and Blackness”) With no mention of any Indigenous interest, it seems likely that the decision to engage grew from the emerging climate of Indigenous activism in Australia. Frustrated by student protestors who seemed oblivious to local racial issues, focusing instead on popular international injustices, Indigenous activists accused them of hypocrisy. Aquarius Festival directors, found themselves open to similar accusations when public announcements elicited a range of responses. Once committed to the location of Nimbin, directors Graeme Dunstan and Johnny Allen began a tour of Australian universities to promote the upcoming event. While at the annual conference of AUS in January 1973 at Monash University, Dunstan met Indigenous activist Gary Foley: Gary witnessed the presentation of Johnny Allen and myself at the Aquarius Foundation session and our jubilation that we had agreement from the village residents to not only allow, but also to collaborate in the production of the Festival. After our presentation which won unanimous support, it was Gary who confronted me with the question “have you asked permission from local Aboriginal folk?” This threw me into confusion because we had seen no Aboriginals in Nimbin. (Dunstan, e-mail) Such a challenge came at a time when the historical climate was etched with political activism, not only within the student movement, but more importantly with Indigenous activists’ recent demonstrations, such as the installation in 1972 of the Tent Embassy in Canberra. As representatives of the counterculture movement, which was characterised by its inclinations towards consciousness-raising, AUS organisers were ethically obliged to respond appropriately to the questions about Indigenous permission and involvement in the Aquarius Festival at Nimbin. In addition to this political pressure, organisers in Nimbin began hearing stories of the area being cursed or taboo for women. This most likely originated from the tradition of Nimbin Rocks, a rocky outcrop one kilometre from Nimbin, as a place where only certain men could go. Jennifer Hoff explains that many major rock formations were immensely sacred places and were treated with great caution and respect. Only a few Elders and custodians could visit these places and many such locations were also forbidden for women. Ceremonies were conducted at places like Nimbin Rocks to ensure the wellbeing of all tribespeople. Stories of the Nimbin curse began to spread and most likely captivated a counterculture interested in mysticism. As organisers had hoped that news of the festival would spread on the “lips of the counterculture,” they were alarmed to hear how “fast the bad news of this curse was travelling” (Dunstan, e-mail). A diplomatic issue escalated with further challenges from the Black Power community when organisers discovered that word had spread to Sydney’s Indigenous community in Redfern. Organisers faced a hostile reaction to their alleged cultural insensitivity and were plagued by negative publicity with accusations the AUS were “violating sacred ground” (Janice Newton 62). Faced with such bad press, Dunstan was determined to repair what was becoming a public relations disaster. It seemed once prompted to the path, a sense of moral responsibility prevailed amongst the organisers and they took the unprecedented step of reaching out to Australia’s Indigenous people. Dunstan claimed that an expedition was made to the local Woodenbong mission to consult with Elder, Uncle Lyle Roberts. To connect with local people required crossing the great social divide present in that era of Australia’s history. Amy Nethery described how from the nineteenth century to the 1960s, a “system of reserves, missions and other institutions isolated, confined and controlled Aboriginal people” (9). She explains that the people were incarcerated as a solution to perceived social problems. For Foley, “the widespread genocidal activity of early “settlement” gave way to a policy of containment” (Foley, “Australia and the Holocaust”). Conditions on missions were notoriously bad with alcoholism, extreme poverty, violence, serious health issues and depression common. Of particular concern to mission administrators was the perceived need to keep Indigenous people separate from the non-indigenous population. Dunstan described the mission he visited as having “bad vibes.” He found it difficult to communicate with the elderly man, and was not sure if he understood Dunstan’s quest, as his “responses came as disjointed raves about Jesus and saving grace” (Dunstan, e-mail). Uncle Lyle, he claimed, did not respond affirmatively or negatively to the suggestion that Nimbin was cursed, and so Dunstan left assuming it was not true. Other organisers began to believe the curse and worried that female festival goers might get sick or worse, die. This interpretation reflected, as Vanessa Bible argues, a general Eurocentric misunderstanding of the relationship of Indigenous peoples with the land. Paul Joseph admits they were naïve whites coming into a place with very little understanding, “we didn’t know if we needed a witch doctor or what we needed but we knew we needed something from the Aborigines to lift the spell!”(Joseph and Hanley). Joseph, one of the first “hippies” who moved to the area, had joined forces with AUS organisers. He said, “it just felt right” to get Indigenous involvement and recounted how organisers made another trip to Woodenbong Mission to find Dickee (Richard) Donnelly, a Song Man, who was very happy to be invited. Whether the curse was valid or not it proved to be productive in further instigating respectful action. Perhaps feeling out of their depth, the organisers initiated another strategy to engage with Australian Indigenous people. A call out was sent through the AUS network to diversify the cultural input and it was recommended they engage the services of South African artist, Bauxhau Stone. Timing aligned well as in 1972 Australia had voted in a new Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam. Whitlam brought about significant political changes, many in response to socialist protests that left a buoyancy in the air for the counterculturalist movement. He made prodigious political changes in support of Indigenous people, including creating the Aboriginal Arts Board as part of the Australian Council of the Arts (ACA). As the ACA were already funding activities for the Aquarius Festival, organisers were successful in gaining two additional grants specifically for Indigenous participation (Farnham). As a result We were able to hire […] representatives, a couple of Kalahari bushmen. ‘Cause we were so dumb, we didn’t think we could speak to the black people, you know what I mean, we thought we would be rejected, or whatever, so for us to really reach out, we needed somebody black to go and talk to them, or so we thought, and it was remarkable. This one Bau, a remarkable fellow really, great artist, great character, he went all over Australia. He went to Pitjantjatjara, Yirrkala and we arranged buses and tents when they got here. We had a very large contingent of Aboriginal people come to the Aquarius Festival, thanks to Whitlam. (Joseph in Joseph and Henley) It was under the aegis of these government grants that Bauxhau Stone conducted his work. Stone embodied a nexus of contemporary issues. Acutely aware of the international movement for racial equality and its relevance to Australia, where conditions were “really appalling”, Stone set out to transform Australian race relations by engaging with the alternative arts movement (Stone). While his white Australian contemporaries may have been unaccustomed to dealing with the Indigenous racial issue, Stone was actively engaged and thus well suited to act as a cultural envoy for the Aquarius Festival. He visited several local missions, inviting people to attend and notifying them of ceremonies being conducted by respected Elders. Nimbin was then the site of the Aquarius Lifestyle and Celebration Festival, a two week gathering of alternative cultures, technologies and youth. It innovatively demonstrated its diversity of influences, attracted people from all over the world and was the first time that the general public really witnessed Australia’s counterculture (Derrett 224). As markers of cultural life, counterculture festivals of the 1960s and 1970s were as iconic as the era itself and many around the world drew on the unique Indigenous heritage of their settings in some form or another (Partridge; Perone; Broadley and Jones; Zolov). The social phenomenon of coming together to experience, celebrate and foster a sense of unity was triggered by protests, music and a simple, yet deep desire to reconnect with each other. Festivals provided an environment where the negative social pressures of race, gender, class and mores (such as clothes) were suspended and held the potential “for personal and social transformation” (St John 167). With the expressed intent to “take matters into our own hands” and try to develop alternative, innovative ways of doing things with collective participation, the Aquarius Festival thus became an optimal space for reinvigorating ancient and Indigenous ways (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). With philosophies that venerated collectivism, tribalism, connecting with the earth, and the use of ritual, the Indigenous presence at the Aquarius Festival gave attendees the opportunity to experience these values. To connect authentically with Nimbin’s landscape, forming bonds with the Traditional Owners was essential. Participants were very fortunate to have the presence of the last known initiated men of the area, Uncle Lyle Roberts and Uncle Dickee Donnely. These Elders represented the last vestiges of an ancient culture and conducted innovative ceremonies, song, teachings and created a sacred fire for the new youth they encountered in their land. They welcomed the young people and were very happy for their presence, believing it represented a revolutionary shift (Wedd; King; John Roberts; Cecil Roberts). Images 1 and 2: Ceremony and talks conducted at the Aquarius Festival (people unknown). Photographs reproduced by permission of photographer and festival attendee Paul White. The festival thus provided an important platform for the regeneration of cultural and spiritual practices. John Roberts, nephew of Uncle Lyle, recalled being surprised by the reaction of festival participants to his uncle: “He was happy and then he started to sing. And my God … I couldn’t get near him! There was this big ring of hippies around him. They were about twenty deep!” Sharing to an enthusiastic, captive audience had a positive effect and gave the non-indigenous a direct Indigenous encounter (Cecil Roberts; King; Oshlak). Estimates of the number of Indigenous people in attendance vary, with the main organisers suggesting 800 to 1000 and participants suggesting 200 to 400 (Stone; Wedd; Oshlak: Joseph; King; Cecil Roberts). As the Festival lasted over a two week period, many came and left within that time and estimates are at best reliant on memory, engagement and perspectives. With an estimated total attendance at the Festival between 5000 and 10,000, either number of Indigenous attendees is symbolic and a significant symbolic statistic for Indigenous and non-indigenous to be together on mutual ground in Australia in 1973. Images 3-5: Performers from Yirrkala Dance Group, brought to the festival by Stone with funding from the Federal Government. Photographs reproduced by permission of photographer and festival attendee Dr Ian Cameron. For Indigenous people, the event provided an important occasion to reconnect with their own people, to share their culture with enthusiastic recipients, as well as the chance to experience diverse aspects of the counterculture. Though the northern NSW region has a history of diverse cultural migration of Italian and Indian families, the majority of non-indigenous and Indigenous people had limited interaction with cosmopolitan influences (Kijas 20). Thus Nimbin was a conservative region and many Christianised Indigenous people were also conservative in their outlook. The Aquarius Festival changed that as the Indigenous people experienced the wide-ranging cultural elements of the alternative movement. The festival epitomised countercultural tendencies towards flamboyant fashion and hairstyles, architectural design, fantastical art, circus performance, Asian clothes and religious products, vegetarian food and nudity. Exposure to this bohemian culture would have surely led to “mind expansion and consciousness raising,” explicit aims adhered to by the movement (Roszak). Performers and participants from Africa, America and India also gave attending Indigenous Australians the opportunity to interact with non-European cultures. Many people interviewed for this paper indicated that Indigenous people’s reception of this festival experience was joyous. For Australia’s early counterculture, interest in Indigenous Australia was limited and for organisers of the AUS Aquarius Festival, it was not originally on the agenda. The counterculture in the USA and New Zealand had already started to engage with their Indigenous people some years earlier. However due to the Aquarius Festival’s origins in the student movement and its solidarities with the international Indigenous activist movement, they were forced to shift their priorities. The coincidental selection of a significant spiritual location at Nimbin to hold the festival brought up additional challenges and countercultural intrigue with mystical powers and a desire to connect authentically to the land, further prompted action. Essentially, it was the voices of empowered Indigenous activists, like Gary Foley, which in fact triggered the reaching out to Indigenous involvement. While the counterculture organisers were ultimately receptive and did act with unprecedented respect, credit must be given to Indigenous activists. The activist’s role is to trigger action and challenge thinking and in this case, it was ultimately productive. Therefore the Indigenous people were not merely passive recipients of beneficiary goodwill, but active instigators of appropriate cultural exchange. After the 1973 festival many attendees decided to stay in Nimbin to purchase land collectively and a community was born. Relationships established with local Indigenous people developed further. Upon visiting Nimbin now, one will see a vibrant visual display of Indigenous and psychedelic themed art, a central park with an open fire tended by local custodians and other Indigenous community members, an Aboriginal Centre whose rent is paid for by local shopkeepers, and various expressions of a fusion of counterculture and Indigenous art, music and dance. While it appears that reconciliation became the aspiration for mainstream society in the 1990s, Nimbin’s early counterculture history had Indigenous reconciliation at its very foundation. The efforts made by organisers of the 1973 Aquarius Festival stand as one of very few examples in Australian history where non-indigenous Australians have respectfully sought to learn from Indigenous people and to assimilate their cultural practices. It also stands as an example for the world, of reconciliation, based on hippie ideals of peace and love. 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