Academic literature on the topic 'Thesis (D.C.A. ) – University of Western Sydney, 2015'

Climate change induced sea-level rise (SLR) is on its increase globally. Regionally the lowlands of China, Vietnam, Bangladesh, and islands of the Malaysian, Indonesian and Philippine archipelagos are among the world’s most threatened regions. Sea-level rise has major impacts on the ecosystems and society. It threatens coastal populations, economic activities, and fragile ecosystems as mangroves, coastal salt-marches and wetlands. This paper provides a summary of the current state of knowledge of sea level-rise and its effects on both human and natural ecosystems. The focus is on coastal urban areas and low lying deltas in South-East Asia and Vietnam, as one of the most threatened areas in the world. About 3 mm per year reflects the growing consensus on the average SLR worldwide. The trend speeds up during recent decades. The figures are subject to local, temporal and methodological variation. In Vietnam the average values of 3.3 mm per year during the 1993-2014 period are above the worldwide average. Although a basic conceptual understanding exists that the increasing global frequency of the strongest tropical cyclones is related with the increasing temperature and SLR, this relationship is insufficiently understood. Moreover the precise, complex environmental, economic, social, and health impacts are currently unclear. SLR, storms and changing precipitation patterns increase flood risks, in particular in urban areas. Part of the current scientific debate is on how urban agglomeration can be made more resilient to flood risks. Where originally mainly technical interventions dominated this discussion, it becomes increasingly clear that proactive special planning, flood defense, flood risk mitigation, flood preparation, and flood recovery are important, but costly instruments. Next to the main focus on SLR and its effects on resilience, the paper reviews main SLR associated impacts: Floods and inundation, salinization, shoreline change, and effects on mangroves and wetlands. The hazards of SLR related floods increase fastest in urban areas. This is related with both the increasing surface major cities are expected to occupy during the decades to come and the increasing coastal population. In particular Asia and its megacities in the southern part of the continent are increasingly at risk. The discussion points to complexity, inter-disciplinarity, and the related uncertainty, as core characteristics. An integrated combination of mitigation, adaptation and resilience measures is currently considered as the most indicated way to resist SLR today and in the near future.References Aerts J.C.J.H., Hassan A., Savenije H.H.G., Khan M.F., 2000. Using GIS tools and rapid assessment techniques for determining salt intrusion: Stream a river basin management instrument. Physics and Chemistry of the Earth, Part B: Hydrology, Oceans and Atmosphere, 25, 265-273. Doi: 10.1016/S1464-1909(00)00014-9. Alongi D.M., 2002. Present state and future of the world’s mangrove forests. Environmental Conservation, 29, 331-349. Doi: 10.1017/S0376892902000231 Alongi D.M., 2015. The impact of climate change on mangrove forests. Curr. Clim. Change Rep., 1, 30-39. Doi: 10.1007/s404641-015-0002-x. Anderson F., Al-Thani N., 2016. Effect of sea level rise and groundwater withdrawal on seawater intrusion in the Gulf Coast aquifer: Implications for agriculture. Journal of Geoscience and Environment Protection, 4, 116-124. Doi: 10.4236/gep.2016.44015. Anguelovski I., Chu E., Carmin J., 2014. Variations in approaches to urban climate adaptation: Experiences and experimentation from the global South. Global Environmental Change, 27, 156-167. Doi: 10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2014.05.010. Arustienè J., Kriukaitè J., Satkunas J., Gregorauskas M., 2013. Climate change and groundwater - From modelling to some adaptation means in example of Klaipèda region, Lithuania. In: Climate change adaptation in practice. P. Schmidt-Thomé, J. Klein Eds. John Wiley and Sons Ltd., Chichester, UK., 157-169. Bamber J.L., Aspinall W.P., Cooke R.M., 2016. A commentary on “how to interpret expert judgement assessments of twenty-first century sea-level rise” by Hylke de Vries and Roderik S.W. Van de Wal. Climatic Change, 137, 321-328. Doi: 10.1007/s10584-016-1672-7. Barnes C., 2014. Coastal population vulnerability to sea level rise and tropical cyclone intensification under global warming. BSc-thesis. Department of Geography, University of Lethbridge, Alberta Canada. Be T.T., Sinh B.T., Miller F., 2007. Challenges to sustainable development in the Mekong Delta: Regional and national policy issues and research needs. The Sustainable Mekong Research Network, Bangkok, Thailand, 1-210. Bellard C., Leclerc C., Courchamp F., 2014. Impact of sea level rise on 10 insular biodiversity hotspots. Global Ecology and Biogeography, 23, 203-212. Doi: 10.1111/geb.12093. Berg H., Söderholm A.E., Sönderström A.S., Nguyen Thanh Tam, 2017. Recognizing wetland ecosystem services for sustainable rice farming in the Mekong delta, Vietnam. Sustainability Science, 12, 137-154. Doi: 10.1007/s11625-016-0409-x. Bilskie M.V., Hagen S.C., Medeiros S.C., Passeri D.L., 2014. Dynamics of sea level rise and coastal flooding on a changing landscape. Geophysical Research Letters, 41, 927-934. Doi: 10.1002/2013GL058759. Binh T.N.K.D., Vromant N., Hung N.T., Hens L., Boon E.K., 2005. Land cover changes between 1968 and 2003 in Cai Nuoc, Ca Mau penisula, Vietnam. Environment, Development and Sustainability, 7, 519-536. Doi: 10.1007/s10668-004-6001-z. Blankespoor B., Dasgupta S., Laplante B., 2014. Sea-level rise and coastal wetlands. Ambio, 43, 996- 005.Doi: 10.1007/s13280-014-0500-4. Brockway R., Bowers D., Hoguane A., Dove V., Vassele V., 2006. A note on salt intrusion in funnel shaped estuaries: Application to the Incomati estuary, Mozambique.Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science, 66, 1-5. Doi: 10.1016/j.ecss.2005.07.014. Cannaby H., Palmer M.D., Howard T., Bricheno L., Calvert D., Krijnen J., Wood R., Tinker J., Bunney C., Harle J., Saulter A., O’Neill C., Bellingham C., Lowe J., 2015. Projected sea level rise and changes in extreme storm surge and wave events during the 21st century in the region of Singapore. Ocean Sci. Discuss, 12, 2955-3001. Doi: 10.5194/osd-12-2955-2015. Carraro C., Favero A., Massetti E., 2012. Investment in public finance in a green, low carbon economy. Energy Economics, 34, S15-S18. Castan-Broto V., Bulkeley H., 2013. A survey ofurban climate change experiments in 100 cities. Global Environmental Change, 23, 92-102. Doi: 10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2012.07.005. Cazenave A., Le Cozannet G., 2014. Sea level rise and its coastal impacts. GeoHealth, 2, 15-34. Doi: 10.1002/2013EF000188. Chu M.L., Guzman J.A., Munoz-Carpena R., Kiker G.A., Linkov I., 2014. A simplified approach for simulating changes in beach habitat due to the combined effects of long-term sea level rise, storm erosion and nourishment. Environmental modelling and software, 52, 111-120. Doi.org/10.1016/j.envcsoft.2013.10.020. Church J.A. et al., 2013. Sea level change. In: Climate change 2013: The physical science basis. Contribution of working group I to the fifth assessment report of Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Eds: Stocker T.F., Qin D., Plattner G.-K., Tignor M., Allen S.K., Boschung J., Nauels A., Xia Y., Bex V., Midgley P.M., Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK. Connell J., 2016. Last days of the Carteret Islands? Climate change, livelihoods and migration on coral atolls. Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 57, 3-15. Doi: 10.1111/apv.12118. Dasgupta S., Laplante B., Meisner C., Wheeler, Yan J., 2009. The impact of sea level rise on developing countries: A comparative analysis. Climatic Change, 93, 379-388. Doi: 10.1007/s 10584-008-9499-5. Delbeke J., Vis P., 2015. EU climate policy explained, 136p. Routledge, Oxon, UK. DiGeorgio M., 2015. Bargaining with disaster: Flooding, climate change, and urban growth ambitions in QuyNhon, Vietnam. Public Affairs, 88, 577-597. Doi: 10.5509/2015883577. Do Minh Duc, Yasuhara K., Nguyen Manh Hieu, 2015. Enhancement of coastal protection under the context of climate change: A case study of Hai Hau coast, Vietnam. Proceedings of the 10th Asian Regional Conference of IAEG, 1-8. Do Minh Duc, Yasuhara K., Nguyen Manh Hieu, Lan Nguyen Chau, 2017. Climate change impacts on a large-scale erosion coast of Hai Hau district, Vietnam and the adaptation. Journal of Coastal Conservation, 21, 47-62. Donner S.D., Webber S., 2014. Obstacles to climate change adaptation decisions: A case study of sea level rise; and coastal protection measures in Kiribati. Sustainability Science, 9, 331-345. Doi: 10.1007/s11625-014-0242-z. Driessen P.P.J., Hegger D.L.T., Bakker M.H.N., Van Renswick H.F.M.W., Kundzewicz Z.W., 2016. Toward more resilient flood risk governance. Ecology and Society, 21, 53-61. Doi: 10.5751/ES-08921-210453. Duangyiwa C., Yu D., Wilby R., Aobpaet A., 2015. Coastal flood risks in the Bangkok Metropolitan region, Thailand: Combined impacts on land subsidence, sea level rise and storm surge. American Geophysical Union, Fall meeting 2015, abstract#NH33C-1927. Duarte C.M., Losada I.J., Hendriks I.E., Mazarrasa I., Marba N., 2013. The role of coastal plant communities for climate change mitigation and adaptation. Nature Climate Change, 3, 961-968. Doi: 10.1038/nclimate1970. Erban L.E., Gorelick S.M., Zebker H.A., 2014. Groundwater extraction, land subsidence, and sea-level rise in the Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Environmental Research Letters, 9, 1-20. Doi: 10.1088/1748-9326/9/8/084010. FAO - Food and Agriculture Organisation, 2007.The world’s mangroves 1980-2005. FAO Forestry Paper, 153, Rome, Italy. Farbotko C., 2010. Wishful sinking: Disappearing islands, climate refugees and cosmopolitan experimentation. Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 51, 47-60. Doi: 10.1111/j.1467-8373.2010.001413.x. Goltermann D., Ujeyl G., Pasche E., 2008. Making coastal cities flood resilient in the era of climate change. Proceedings of the 4th International Symposium on flood defense: Managing flood risk, reliability and vulnerability, 148-1-148-11. Toronto, Canada. Gong W., Shen J., 2011. The response of salt intrusion to changes in river discharge and tidal mixing during the dry season in the Modaomen Estuary, China.Continental Shelf Research, 31, 769-788. Doi: 10.1016/j.csr.2011.01.011. Gosian L., 2014. Protect the world’s deltas. Nature, 516, 31-34. Graham S., Barnett J., Fincher R., Mortreux C., Hurlimann A., 2015. Towards fair outcomes in adaptation to sea-level rise. Climatic Change, 130, 411-424. Doi: 10.1007/s10584-014-1171-7. COASTRES-D-12-00175.1. Güneralp B., Güneralp I., Liu Y., 2015. Changing global patterns of urban expoàsure to flood and drought hazards. Global Environmental Change, 31, 217-225. Doi: 10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2015.01.002. Hallegatte S., Green C., Nicholls R.J., Corfee-Morlot J., 2013. Future flood losses in major coastal cities. Nature Climate Change, 3, 802-806. Doi: 10.1038/nclimate1979. Hamlington B.D., Strassburg M.W., Leben R.R., Han W., Nerem R.S., Kim K.-Y., 2014. Uncovering an anthropogenic sea-level rise signal in the Pacific Ocean. Nature Climate Change, 4, 782-785. Doi: 10.1038/nclimate2307. Hashimoto T.R., 2001. Environmental issues and recent infrastructure development in the Mekong Delta: Review, analysis and recommendations with particular reference to large-scale water control projects and the development of coastal areas. Working paper series (Working paper No. 4). Australian Mekong Resource Centre, University of Sydney, Australia, 1-70. Hibbert F.D., Rohling E.J., Dutton A., Williams F.H., Chutcharavan P.M., Zhao C., Tamisiea M.E., 2016. Coral indicators of past sea-level change: A global repository of U-series dated benchmarks. Quaternary Science Reviews, 145, 1-56. Doi: 10.1016/j.quascirev.2016.04.019. Hinkel J., Lincke D., Vafeidis A., Perrette M., Nicholls R.J., Tol R.S.J., Mazeion B., Fettweis X., Ionescu C., Levermann A., 2014. Coastal flood damage and adaptation costs under 21st century sea-level rise. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 111, 3292-3297. Doi: 10.1073/pnas.1222469111. Hinkel J., Nicholls R.J., Tol R.S.J., Wang Z.B., Hamilton J.M., Boot G., Vafeidis A.T., McFadden L., Ganapolski A., Klei R.J.Y., 2013. A global analysis of erosion of sandy beaches and sea level rise: An application of DIVA. Global and Planetary Change, 111, 150-158. Doi: 10.1016/j.gloplacha.2013.09.002. Huong H.T.L., Pathirana A., 2013. Urbanization and climate change impacts on future urban flooding in Can Tho city, Vietnam. Hydrol. Earth Syst. Sci., 17, 379-394. Doi: 10.5194/hess-17-379-2013. Hurlimann A., Barnett J., Fincher R., Osbaldiston N., Montreux C., Graham S., 2014. Urban planning and sustainable adaptation to sea-level rise. Landscape and Urban Planning, 126, 84-93. Doi: 10.1016/j.landurbplan.2013.12.013. IMHEN-Vietnam Institute of Meteorology, Hydrology and Environment, 2011. Climate change vulnerability and risk assessment study for Ca Mau and KienGiang provinces, Vietnam. Hanoi, Vietnam Institute of Meteorology, Hydrology and Environment (IMHEN), 250p. IMHEN-Vietnam Institute of Meteorology, Hydrology and Environment, Ca Mau PPC, 2011. Climate change impact and adaptation study in The Mekong Delta - Part A: Ca Mau Atlas. Hanoi, Vietnam: Institute of Meteorology, Hydrology and Environment (IMHEN), 48p. IPCC-Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, 2014. Fifth assessment report. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK. Jevrejeva S., Jackson L.P., Riva R.E.M., Grinsted A., Moore J.C., 2016. Coastal sea level rise with warming above 2°C. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 113, 13342-13347. Doi: 10.1073/pnas.1605312113. Junk W.J., AN S., Finlayson C.M., Gopal B., Kvet J., Mitchell S.A., Mitsch W.J., Robarts R.D., 2013. Current state of knowledge regarding the world’s wetlands and their future under global climate change: A synthesis. Aquatic Science, 75, 151-167. Doi: 10.1007/s00027-012-0278-z. Jordan A., Rayner T., Schroeder H., Adger N., Anderson K., Bows A., Le Quéré C., Joshi M., Mander S., Vaughan N., Whitmarsh L., 2013. Going beyond two degrees? The risks and opportunities of alternative options. Climate Policy, 13, 751-769. Doi: 10.1080/14693062.2013.835705. Kelly P.M., Adger W.N., 2000. Theory and practice in assessing vulnerability to climate change and facilitating adaptation. Climatic Change, 47, 325-352. Doi: 10.1023/A:1005627828199. Kirwan M.L., Megonigal J.P., 2013. Tidal wetland stability in the face of human impacts and sea-level rice. Nature, 504, 53-60. Doi: 10.1038/nature12856. Koerth J., Vafeidis A.T., Hinkel J., Sterr H., 2013. What motivates coastal households to adapt pro actively to sea-level rise and increased flood risk? Regional Environmental Change, 13, 879-909. Doi: 10.1007/s10113-12-399-x. Kontgis K., Schneider A., Fox J;,Saksena S., Spencer J.H., Castrence M., 2014. Monitoring peri urbanization in the greater Ho Chi Minh City metropolitan area. Applied Geography, 53, 377-388. Doi: 10.1016/j.apgeogr.2014.06.029. Kopp R.E., Horton R.M., Little C.M., Mitrovica J.X., Oppenheimer M., Rasmussen D.J., Strauss B.H., Tebaldi C., 2014. Probabilistic 21st and 22nd century sea-level projections at a global network of tide-gauge sites. Earth’s Future, 2, 383-406. Doi: 10.1002/2014EF000239. Kuenzer C., Bluemel A., Gebhardt S., Quoc T., Dech S., 2011. Remote sensing of mangrove ecosystems: A review.Remote Sensing, 3, 878-928. Doi: 10.3390/rs3050878. Lacerda G.B.M., Silva C., Pimenteira C.A.P., Kopp Jr. R.V., Grumback R., Rosa L.P., de Freitas M.A.V., 2013. Guidelines for the strategic management of flood risks in industrial plant oil in the Brazilian coast: Adaptive measures to the impacts of sea level rise. Mitigation and Adaptation Strategies for Global Change, 19, 104-1062. Doi: 10.1007/s11027-013-09459-x. Lam Dao Nguyen, Pham Van Bach, Nguyen Thanh Minh, Pham Thi Mai Thy, Hoang Phi Hung, 2011. Change detection of land use and river bank in Mekong Delta, Vietnam using time series remotely sensed data. Journal of Resources and Ecology, 2, 370-374. Doi: 10.3969/j.issn.1674-764x.2011.04.011. Lang N.T., Ky B.X., Kobayashi H., Buu B.C., 2004. Development of salt tolerant varieties in the Mekong delta. JIRCAS Project, Can Tho University, Can Tho, Vietnam, 152. Le Cozannet G., Rohmer J., Cazenave A., Idier D., Van de Wal R., de Winter R., Pedreros R., Balouin Y., Vinchon C., Oliveros C., 2015. Evaluating uncertainties of future marine flooding occurrence as sea-level rises. Environmental Modelling and Software, 73, 44-56. Doi: 10.1016/j.envsoft.2015.07.021. Le Cozannet G., Manceau J.-C., Rohmer J., 2017. Bounding probabilistic sea-level projections with the framework of the possible theory. Environmental Letters Research, 12, 12-14. Doi.org/10.1088/1748-9326/aa5528.Chikamoto Y., 2014. Recent Walker circulation strengthening and Pacific cooling amplified by Atlantic warming. Nature Climate Change, 4, 888-892. Doi: 10.1038/nclimate2330. Lovelock C.E., Cahoon D.R., Friess D.A., Gutenspergen G.R., Krauss K.W., Reef R., Rogers K., Saunders M.L., Sidik F., Swales A., Saintilan N., Le Xuan Tuyen, Tran Triet, 2015. The vulnerability of Indo-Pacific mangrove forests to sea-level rise. Nature, 526, 559-563. Doi: 10.1038/nature15538. MA Millennium Ecosystem Assessment, 2005. Ecosystems and human well-being: Current state and trends. Island Press, Washington DC, 266p. Masterson J.P., Fienen M.N., Thieler E.R., Gesch D.B., Gutierrez B.T., Plant N.G., 2014. Effects of sea level rise on barrier island groundwater system dynamics - ecohydrological implications. Ecohydrology, 7, 1064-1071. Doi: 10.1002/eco.1442. McGanahan G., Balk D., Anderson B., 2007. The rising tide: Assessing the risks of climate changes and human settlements in low elevation coastal zones.Environment and urbanization, 19, 17-37. Doi: 10.1177/095624780707960. McIvor A., Möller I., Spencer T., Spalding M., 2012. Reduction of wind and swell waves by mangroves. The Nature Conservancy and Wetlands International, 1-27. Merryn T., Pidgeon N., Whitmarsh L., Ballenger R., 2016. Expert judgements of sea-level rise at the local scale. Journal of Risk Research, 19, 664-685. Doi.org/10.1080/13669877.2015.1043568. Monioudi I.N., Velegrakis A.F., Chatzipavlis A.E., Rigos A., Karambas T., Vousdoukas M.I., Hasiotis T., Koukourouvli N., Peduzzi P., Manoutsoglou E., Poulos S.E., Collins M.B., 2017. Assessment of island beach erosion due to sea level rise: The case of the Aegean archipelago (Eastern Mediterranean). Nat. Hazards Earth Syst. Sci., 17, 449-466. Doi: 10.5194/nhess-17-449-2017. MONRE - Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment, 2016. Scenarios of climate change and sea level rise for Vietnam. Publishing House of Environmental Resources and Maps Vietnam, Hanoi, 188p. Montz B.E., Tobin G.A., Hagelman III R.R., 2017. Natural hazards. Explanation and integration. The Guilford Press, NY, 445p. Morgan L.K., Werner A.D., 2014. Water intrusion vulnerability for freshwater lenses near islands. Journal of Hydrology, 508, 322-327. Doi: 10.1016/j.jhydrol.2013.11.002. Muis S., Güneralp B., Jongman B., Aerts J.C.H.J., Ward P.J., 2015. Science of the Total Environment, 538, 445-457. Doi: 10.1016/j.scitotenv.2015.08.068. Murray N.J., Clemens R.S., Phinn S.R., Possingham H.P., Fuller R.A., 2014. Tracking the rapid loss of tidal wetlands in the Yellow Sea. Frontiers in Ecology and Environment, 12, 267-272. Doi: 10.1890/130260. Neumann B., Vafeidis A.T., Zimmermann J., Nicholls R.J., 2015a. Future coastal population growth and exposure to sea-level rise and coastal flooding. A global assessment. Plos One, 10, 1-22. Doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0118571. Nguyen A. Duoc, Savenije H. H., 2006. Salt intrusion in multi-channel estuaries: a case study in the Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Hydrology and Earth System Sciences Discussions, European Geosciences Union, 10, 743-754. Doi: 10.5194/hess-10-743-2006. Nguyen An Thinh, Nguyen Ngoc Thanh, Luong Thi Tuyen, Luc Hens, 2017. Tourism and beach erosion: Valuing the damage of beach erosion for tourism in the Hoi An, World Heritage site. Journal of Environment, Development and Sustainability. Nguyen An Thinh, Luc Hens (Eds.), 2018. Human ecology of climate change associated disasters in Vietnam: Risks for nature and humans in lowland and upland areas. Springer Verlag, Berlin.Nguyen An Thinh, Vu Anh Dung, Vu Van Phai, Nguyen Ngoc Thanh, Pham Minh Tam, Nguyen Thi Thuy Hang, Le Trinh Hai, Nguyen Viet Thanh, Hoang Khac Lich, Vu Duc Thanh, Nguyen Song Tung, Luong Thi Tuyen, Trinh Phuong Ngoc, Luc Hens, 2017. Human ecological effects of tropical storms in the coastal area of Ky Anh (Ha Tinh, Vietnam). Environ Dev Sustain, 19, 745-767. Doi: 10.1007/s/10668-016-9761-3. Nguyen Van Hoang, 2017. Potential for desalinization of brackish groundwater aquifer under a background of rising sea level via salt-intrusion prevention river gates in the coastal area of the Red River delta, Vietnam. Environment, Development and Sustainability. Nguyen Tho, Vromant N., Nguyen Thanh Hung, Hens L., 2008. Soil salinity and sodicity in a shrimp farming coastal area of the Mekong Delta, Vietnam. Environmental Geology, 54, 1739-1746. Doi: 10.1007/s00254-007-0951-z. Nguyen Thang T.X., Woodroffe C.D., 2016. Assessing relative vulnerability to sea-level rise in the western part of the Mekong River delta. Sustainability Science, 11, 645-659. Doi: 10.1007/s11625-015-0336-2. Nicholls N.N., Hoozemans F.M.J., Marchand M., Analyzing flood risk and wetland losses due to the global sea-level rise: Regional and global analyses.Global Environmental Change, 9, S69-S87. Doi: 10.1016/s0959-3780(99)00019-9. Phan Minh Thu, 2006. Application of remote sensing and GIS tools for recognizing changes of mangrove forests in Ca Mau province. In Proceedings of the International Symposium on Geoinformatics for Spatial Infrastructure Development in Earth and Allied Sciences, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, 9-11 November, 1-17. Reise K., 2017. Facing the third dimension in coastal flatlands.Global sea level rise and the need for coastal transformations. Gaia, 26, 89-93. Renaud F.G., Le Thi Thu Huong, Lindener C., Vo Thi Guong, Sebesvari Z., 2015. Resilience and shifts in agro-ecosystems facing increasing sea-level rise and salinity intrusion in Ben Tre province, Mekong Delta. Climatic Change, 133, 69-84. Doi: 10.1007/s10584-014-1113-4. Serra P., Pons X., Sauri D., 2008. Land cover and land use in a Mediterranean landscape. Applied Geography, 28, 189-209. Shearman P., Bryan J., Walsh J.P., 2013.Trends in deltaic change over three decades in the Asia-Pacific Region. Journal of Coastal Research, 29, 1169-1183. Doi: 10.2112/JCOASTRES-D-12-00120.1. SIWRR-Southern Institute of Water Resources Research, 2016. Annual Report. Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development, Ho Chi Minh City, 1-19. Slangen A.B.A., Katsman C.A., Van de Wal R.S.W., Vermeersen L.L.A., Riva R.E.M., 2012. Towards regional projections of twenty-first century sea-level change based on IPCC RES scenarios. Climate Dynamics, 38, 1191-1209. Doi: 10.1007/s00382-011-1057-6. Spencer T., Schuerch M., Nicholls R.J., Hinkel J., Lincke D., Vafeidis A.T., Reef R., McFadden L., Brown S., 2016. Global coastal wetland change under sea-level rise and related stresses: The DIVA wetland change model. Global and Planetary Change, 139, 15-30. Doi:10.1016/j.gloplacha.2015.12.018. Stammer D., Cazenave A., Ponte R.M., Tamisiea M.E., 2013. Causes of contemporary regional sea level changes. Annual Review of Marine Science, 5, 21-46. Doi: 10.1146/annurev-marine-121211-172406. Tett P., Mee L., 2015. Scenarios explored with Delphi. In: Coastal zones ecosystems services. Eds., Springer, Berlin, Germany, 127-144. Tran Hong Hanh, 2017. Land use dynamics, its drivers and consequences in the Ca Mau province, Mekong delta, Vietnam. PhD dissertation, 191p. VUBPRESS Brussels University Press, ISBN 9789057186226, Brussels, Belgium. Tran Thuc, Nguyen Van Thang, Huynh Thi Lan Huong, Mai Van Khiem, Nguyen Xuan Hien, Doan Ha Phong, 2016. Climate change and sea level rise scenarios for Vietnam. Ministry of Natural resources and Environment. Hanoi, Vietnam. Tran Hong Hanh, Tran Thuc, Kervyn M., 2015. Dynamics of land cover/land use changes in the Mekong Delta, 1973-2011: A remote sensing analysis of the Tran Van Thoi District, Ca Mau province, Vietnam. Remote Sensing, 7, 2899-2925. Doi: 10.1007/s00254-007-0951-z Van Lavieren H., Spalding M., Alongi D., Kainuma M., Clüsener-Godt M., Adeel Z., 2012. Securing the future of Mangroves. The United Nations University, Okinawa, Japan, 53, 1-56. Water Resources Directorate. Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development, 2016. Available online: http://www.tongcucthuyloi.gov.vn/Tin-tuc-Su-kien/Tin-tuc-su-kien-tong-hop/catid/12/item/2670/xam-nhap-man-vung-dong-bang-song-cuu-long--2015---2016---han-han-o-mien-trung--tay-nguyen-va-giai-phap-khac-phuc. Last accessed on: 30/9/2016. Webster P.J., Holland G.J., Curry J.A., Chang H.-R., 2005. Changes in tropical cyclone number, duration, and intensity in a warming environment. Science, 309, 1844-1846. Doi: 10.1126/science.1116448. Were K.O., Dick O.B., Singh B.R., 2013. Remotely sensing the spatial and temporal land cover changes in Eastern Mau forest reserve and Lake Nakuru drainage Basin, Kenya. Applied Geography, 41, 75-86. Williams G.A., Helmuth B., Russel B.D., Dong W.-Y., Thiyagarajan V., Seuront L., 2016. Meeting the climate change challenge: Pressing issues in southern China an SE Asian coastal ecosystems. Regional Studies in Marine Science, 8, 373-381. Doi: 10.1016/j.rsma.2016.07.002. Woodroffe C.D., Rogers K., McKee K.L., Lovdelock C.E., Mendelssohn I.A., Saintilan N., 2016. Mangrove sedimentation and response to relative sea-level rise. Annual Review of Marine Science, 8, 243-266. Doi: 10.1146/annurev-marine-122414-034025.

The chef profession is considered a challenging career, with female chefs seeming to be most affected. As such, it is rare to find female chefs occupying the coveted executive chef positions. The aim of this research was to establish if female chefs in Kenya encounter similar challenges to those experienced by female chefs elsewhere.
 Previous research shows that female chefs encounter career challenges in hospitality organisations and hence they struggle to make it as chefs; for example, studies by Druckman [1] and Harris and Giuffre [2,3] in the United States, Murray-Gibbons and Gibbons [4] in the United Kingdom, as well as Zengeni et al. [5] in Zimbabwe. This article poses the important question: how can these challenges be overcome?
 The study sought to make sense of the lived work experiences of Kenyan female chefs. Baum [6] recommends contextualised research methodologies to explore hospitality issues in non-Western countries. Moreover, Adelowo [7] asserts that lived experiences are better expressed through stories. Therefore, a qualitative approach was employed in this study where 15 chefs working in the Kenyan hospitality industry were interviewed [8]. Ten female chefs told stories of their workplace experiences while five male executive chefs recounted their experiences of working with female chefs.
 Despite the different geographical, socio-cultural and economic factors between Kenya and other countries previously studied, female chefs expressed common challenges such as sexual harassment, gender discrimination, unsupportive attitudes towards pregnancy and an unhealthy work environment, as well as hierarchical kitchen structures that they believed discriminated against them. There was an indication of engrained patriarchal attitudes that limit the professional success of potential female chefs. Unfortunately, hospitality employers appeared to support the status quo; that is, a gendering of the chef’s profession that privileges men and penalises women.
 These findings suggest a trend that must worry hospitality employers. The highly competitive career structures and the male domination that discourages women from making a long-term career in the kitchen [2], coupled with stiff competition for scarce hospitality human resources, support the need to retain female chefs. Christensen and Rog [9] stress that employee retention strategies will only work if human resource managers are fully committed to creating a positive workplace culture that treats all employees equally, regardless of their gender or any other dimension of diversity.
 In his study, Orido [8] suggests that the following measures may help to attract and retain female chefs. Firstly, employers should introduce personalised career development plans. For instance, a female chef who has attained postgraduate qualifications ought to be promoted and remunerated accordingly. This will not only retain female chefs but also enable them to further their career aspirations within the hospitality industry. Secondly, female chefs should be given the opportunity to fully participate at all levels of the kitchen hierarchy, thereby acquiring the necessary skills for promotion in the future to executive chef’s positions. Additionally, it will encourage a clear career progression path within the kitchen hierarchy.
 Hospitality employers must ensure that employment opportunities as well as employment terms and career progression are not dependant on a chef’s gender, but on their qualifications and competencies. By investing in female chefs and, most importantly, keeping them safe from bullying at work, the hospitality industry will not only attract, but retain, these talented professionals in satisfying culinary careers.
 If you would like to read the PhD thesis this research is based on you can access it here: http://hdl.handle.net/10292/10626
 Corresponding author
 Charles is a chef and lecturer at Kenya Utalii College, Nairobi, Kenya. His research interests include inhospitable hospitality, culinary arts, human behaviour in the hospitality industry, and indigenous research. He holds a Certificate in Food Production (currently Culinary Arts) from Kenya Utalii College, a BA degree in Hospitality Management from the University of Nairobi, Kenya, and a Master of International Hospitality Management (MIHM) from Auckland University of Technology, New Zealand.
 Charles Orido can be contacted at: chaloridoh@gmail.com or corido@utalii.ac.ke
 References 
 (1) Druckman, C. Why Are There No Great Women Chefs? Gastronomica 2010, 10, 24–31. https://doi.org/10.1525/gfc.2010.10.1.24
 (2) Harris, D. A.; Giuffre, P. “The Price You Pay”: How Female Professional Chefs Negotiate Work and Family. Gender Issues 2010, 27, 27–52.
 (3) Harris, D. A.; Giuffre, P. Taking the Heat: Women Chefs and Gender Inequality in the Professional Kitchen; Rutgers University Press: New Brunswick, NJ, 2015. https://books.google.co.nz/books?id=qTaACgAAQBAJ
 (4) Murray-Gibbons, R.; Gibbons, C. Occupational Stress in the Chef Profession. International Journal of Contemporary Hospitality Management 2007, 19, 32–42. https://doi.org/10.1108/09596110710724143
 (5) Zengeni, D. M. F.; Tendani, E.; Zengeni, N. The Absence of Females in Executive Chef Position in Zimbabwean Hotels: Case of Rainbow Tourism Group (RTG). Australian Journal of Business and Management Research 2013, 3, 1–18.
 (6) Baum, T. Human Resources in Tourism: Still Waiting for Change? – A 2015 Reprise. Tourism Management 2015, 50, 204–212.
 (7) Adelowo, A. The Adjustment of African Women Living in New Zealand: A Narrative Study; Ph.D. Thesis, Auckland University of Technology, 2012. http://aut.researchgateway.ac.nz/handle/10292/4601
 (8) Orido, C. O. Challenges Faced by Female Chefs in the Kenyan Hospitality Industry: A Study through an African Oral Tradition of Storytelling; Ph.D. Thesis, Auckland University of Technology, 2017. http://hdl.handle.net/10292/10626
 (9) Christensen, J.; Rog, E. Talent Management: A Strategy for Improving Employee Recruitment, Retention and Engagement within Hospitality Organizations. International Journal of Contemporary Hospitality Management 2008, 20, 743–757.

Sclerosant foam, a mixture of a surfactant liquid and air, is injected directly into varicose veins as a treatment that causes the vein to collapse. This investigation develops a model that will allow the medical specialist to visualise how the sclerosant foam will interact with the blood and behave within the vein. The process is simulated using a multiphase computational fluid dynamics model with the sclerosant foam considered as a two-phase non-Newtonian power law viscosity liquid. The governing multiphase equations are solved using an Eulerian⁠–⁠Eulerian approach coupled with a population balance model to predict the bubble size distribution within the flow field. The computational results demonstrate similar flow characteristics and flow features to an available set of experimental results. The model predicts the mixing layers between the sclerosant foam and the ambient fluid, and the sclerosant liquid and the ambient fluid, as well as the sclerosant liquid coverage on the vein wall and the bubble size distribution within the vein. These quantities are of interest to medical specialists allowing them to assess the treatment feasibility and safety before treating the patients. 
 
 References S. Ali Mirjalili, J. C. Muirhead, and M. D. Stringer. Redefining the surface anatomy of the saphenofemoral junction in vivo. Clin. Anat., 27(6):915–919, 2014. doi:10.1002/ca.22386. E. Cameron, T. Chen, D. E. Connor, M. Behnia, and K. Parsi. Sclerosant foam structure is strongly influenced by liquid air fraction. Eur. J. Vasc. Endo. Surg., 46:488–494, 2013. doi:10.1016/j.ejvs.2013.07.013. P. Coleridge-Smith. Saphenous ablation: Sclerosant or sclerofoam? Semin. Vasc. Surg., 18:19–24, 2005. doi:10.1053/j.semvascsurg.2004.12.007. J.-J. Guex. Complications and side-effects of foam sclerotherapy. Phlebology, 24:270–274, 2009. doi:10.1258/phleb.2009.009049. Ansys Inc. ANSYS FLUENT 12.0 population balance module manual. ANSYS, 2010. URL https://www.afs.enea.it/project/neptunius/docs/fluent/html/popbal/main_pre.htm. F. Ren, N. A. Noda, T. Ueda, Y. Sano, Y. Takase, T. Umekage, Y. Yonezawa, and H. Tanaka. CFD-PMB coupled simulation of a nanobubble generator with honeycomb structure. volume 372 of IOP Conference Series: Materials Science and Engineering, page 012012, June 2018. doi:10.1088/1757-899X/372/1/012012. P. Souroullas, R. Barnes, G. Smith, S. Nandhra, D. Carradice, and I. Chetter. The classic saphenofemoral junction and its anatomical variations. Phlebology, 32(3):172–178, 2017. doi:10.1177/0268355516635960. A. H. Syed, M. Boulet, T. Melchiori, and J. M. Lavoie. CFD simulations of an air-water bubble column: Effect of Luo coalescence parameter and breakup kernels. Front. Chem., 5(68):1–16, 2017. doi:10.3389/fchem.2017.00068. T. Wang and J. Wang. Numerical simulation of gas-liquid mass transfer in bubble column with a CFD-PBM coupled model. Chem. Eng. Sci., 62:7107–7118, 2007. doi:10.1016/j.ces.2007.08.033. M. R. Watkins. Deactivation of sodium tetradecyl sulphate injection by blood proteins. Euro. J. Vasc. Endo. Surg., 41(4): 521–525, 2011. doi:10.1016/j.ejvs.2010.12.012. K. Wong. Experimental and numerical investigation and modelling of sclerosant foam. PhD thesis, University of Sydney, 2018. K. Wong, T. Chen, D. E. Connor, M. Behnia, and K. Parsi. Basic physiochemical and rheological properties of detergent sclerosants. Phlebology, 30(5):339–349, 2015. doi:10.1177/0268355514529271. K. C. Wong, T. Chen, D. E. Connor, M. Behnia, and K. Parsi. Computational fluid dynamics of liquid and foam sclerosant injection in a vein model. Appl. Mech. Mater., 553:293–298, 2014. doi:10.4028/www.scientific.net/AMM.553.293.

Drawing from historical literary works and contemporary French literature, this study [1] explored the evolution of the meanings of ‘gourmandise’ as a concept, from its early characterisation as a cardinal sin to a contemporary notion merging with visual textualisation. Furthermore, it argues that the twentieth century paved the way for a transformation in the meaning of gourmandise: its definition now emphasises a visual refinement characteristic, while retaining the element of excess as part of its appeal, thus making ‘gourmandise’ symbolic, accessible and acceptable to the general public.
 Although the word ‘gourmandise’ appeared in written documents at the end of the Middle Ages, its history is much older since its use dates back to the early days of Christianity, to the first monastic communities of the third and fourth centuries. In addition, while the term still exists today, its significance has had many variations over the centuries.
 While contemporary lexicographers define it as “the aptitude to appreciate the quality and delicacy of dishes” and the “excessive taste for the pleasure of the table” [2], its meaning has varied over the centuries [3] and is still contested. Philosophical, spiritual and social debates exist over whether the word depicts excess or moderation.
 In Western society, gourmandise refers to three denotations roughly corresponding to three historical periods. The earliest meaning refers to the big eaters, the heavy drinkers, and all the excesses of the table. Strongly negative, the word ‘gourmandise’ qualifies a horrible vice, one of the seven deadly sins codified by the Christian Church.
 Gradually, gourmandise was enriched by a second, positive sense, which would triumph in France in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and introduce the word ‘gourmet’ into European languages. While still reprobated by the Christian Church and moralists, gourmandise became a respectable epithet characterising amateur appreciators of good food, good wines and good company.
 The eighteenth century brought about a redefinition of the notion of gourmandise, all the more so as the influence of the Christian Church declined considerably. The works of Grimod de la Reynière and, a few years later, Brillat-Savarin saw a semantic change in the meaning of gourmandise, which has been attributed to the transition of an economy of scarcity to one of abundance [4, 5].
 The twentieth and twenty-first centuries brought a new era for gourmandise. With the advent of digital communication, people began to talk about their experiences more rapidly and to a wider audience. Eating out has become a social event, one which must be shared instantly. Gourmandise has become digital and focuses both on quality and quantity, retaining some of its original meaning but with a new visual dimension [5].
 Gourmandise is now part of everyday and professional life. It still includes the implications of excess, sharing and exchange, but now denotes transference in an increasingly seductive and interactive way. This rediscovered gourmandise is now voyeuristic instead of the gourmandise of the stomach.
 The findings of this study suggest that, while the meaning of gourmandise has evolved over a period of two millennia, the aspect of excessive food consumption has been retained from its beginnings right through to the twenty-first century. Paralleling its growing prestige within popular culture and social media, the discourse on gourmandise is thriving. Amidst the ‘explosion’ of food-related blogs, vlogs, websites and television programmes, gourmandise has become an engaging form of entertainment, trying to satisfy the appetites of a contemporary ‘food-crazed’ culture.
 The original research on which this article is based is available here http://hdl.handle.net/10292/12964
 Corresponding author
 Gilles Petit can be contacted at: gilles.petit@aut.ac.nz
 References
 (1) Petit, G. From Glutton to Gourmet: Is Gourmandise Still a Deadly Sin? Master’s Thesis, Auckland University of Technology, Jul 2019. http://hdl.handle.net/10292/12964 (accessed Apr 20, 2020).
 (2) Gourmandise. Dictionnaire de l'Académie Française [online], 9th ed. https://academie.atilf.fr/consulter/Gourmandise?page=1 (accessed May, 2018).
 (3) Bantreil-Voisin, N. Gourmandise: Histoire d'un péché capital [online]. La Cliothèque, Jan 3, 2011. http://clio-cr.clionautes.org/gourmandise-histoire-d-un-peche-capital.html (accessed May 1, 2016).
 (4) Meyzie, P., Ed. La gourmandise entre péché et plaisir. Lumières 2008, 11. https://www.fabula.org/actualites/lumieres-ndeg11-la-gourmandise-entre-peche-et-plaisir_28260.php (accessed April, 2018).
 (5) Greene, C. Gourmands & Gluttons: The Rhetoric of Food Excess; Peter Lang Publishing: New York, 2015.

Introduction Sydney, Australia has experienced a sustained period of building and infrastructure development. There are hundreds of kilometres of bitumen and rail currently being laid. There are significant building projects in large central sites such as Darling Harbour and Barangaroo on the famous Harbour foreshore. The period of development has offered an unprecedented opportunity for the New South Wales (NSW) State Government to arrest the attention of the Sydney public through kilometres of construction hoarding. This opportunity has not been missed, with the public display of a new logo, complete with pithy slogan, on and around all manner of government projects and activities since September 2015. NSW is “making it happen” according to the logo being displayed. At first glance it is a proactive, simple and concise slogan that, according to the NSW Government brand guidelines, has a wide remit to be used for projects that relate to construction, economic growth, improved services, and major events. However, when viewed through the lens of public, expert, and media research into Sydney infrastructure development it can also be read as a message derived from reactive politics. This paper elucidates turning points in the history of the last decade of infrastructure building in NSW through qualitative primary research into media, public, and practice led discourse. Ultimately, through the prism of Colin Hay’s investigation into political disengagement, I question whether the current build-at-any-cost mentality and its mantra “making it happen” is in the long-term interest of the NSW constituency or the short-term interest of a political party or whether, more broadly, it reflects a crisis of identity for today’s political class. The Non-Launch of the New Logo Image 1: An ABC Sydney Tweet. Image credit: ABC Sydney. There is scant evidence of a specific launch of the logo. Michael Koziol states that to call it an unveiling, “might be a misnomer, given the stealth with which the design has started to make appearances on banners, barriers [see: Image 1, above] and briefing papers” (online). The logo has a wide range of applications. The NSW Government brand guidelines specify that the logo be used “on all projects, programs and announcements that focus on economic growth and confidence in investing in NSW” as well as “infrastructure for the future and smarter services” (30). The section of the guidelines relating to the “making it happen” logo begins with a full-colour, full-page photograph of the Barangaroo building development on Sydney Harbour—complete with nine towering cranes clearly visible across the project/page. The guidelines specifically mention infrastructure, housing projects, and major developments upfront in the section denoted to appropriate logo applications (31). This is a logo that the government clearly intends to use around its major projects to highlight the amount of building currently underway in NSW.In the first week of the logo’s release journalist Elle Hunt asks an unnamed government spokesperson for a definition of “it” in “making it happen.” The spokesperson states, “just a buzz around the state in terms of economic growth and infrastructure […] the premier [the now retired Mike Baird] has used the phrase several times this week in media conferences and it feels like we are making it happen.” Words like “buzz,” “feels like” and the ubiquitous “it” echo the infamous courtroom scene summation of Dennis Denuto from the 1997 Australian film The Castle that have deeply penetrated the Australian psyche and lexicon. Denuto (played by actor Tiriel Mora) is acting as a solicitor for Darryl Kerrigan (Michael Caton) in fighting the compulsory acquisition of the Kerrigan family property. In concluding an address to the court, Denuto states, “In summing up, it’s the constitution, it’s Mabo, it’s justice, it’s law, it’s the Vibe and, no that’s it, it’s the vibe. I rest my case.” All fun and irony (the reason for the house acquisition that inspired Denuto’s now famous speech was an airport infrastructure expansion project) aside, we can assume from the brand guidelines as well as the Hunt article that the intended meaning of “making it happen” is fluid and diffuse rather than fixed and specific. With this article I question why the government would choose to express this diffuse message to the public?Purpose, Scope, Method and ResearchTo explore this question I intertwine empirical research with a close critique of Colin Hay’s thesis on the problematisation of political decision-making—specifically the proliferation of certain tenets of public choice theory. My empirical research is a study of news media, public, and expert discourse and its impact on the success or otherwise of major rail infrastructure projects in Sydney. One case study project, initially announced as the North West Rail Line (NWR) and recently rebadged as the Sydney Metro Northwest (see: http://www.sydneymetro.info/northwest/project-overview), is at the forefront of the infrastructure building that the government is looking to highlight with “making it happen.” A comparison case study is the failed Sydney City Metro (SCM) project that preceded the NWR as the major Sydney rail infrastructure endeavour. I have written in greater detail on the scope of this research elsewhere (see: Richardson, “Curatorial”; “Upheaval”; “Hinterland”). In short, my empirical secondary research involved a study of print news media from 2010 to 2016 spanning Sydney’s two daily papers the Sydney Morning Herald (SMH) and the Daily Telegraph (TELE). My qualitative research was conducted in 2013. The public qualitative research consisted of a survey, interviews, and focus groups involving 149 participants from across Sydney. The primary expert research consisted of 30 qualitative interviews with experts from politics, the news media and communications practice, as well as project delivery professions such as architecture and planning, project management, engineering, project finance and legal. Respondents were drawn from both the public and private sectors. My analysis of this research is undertaken in a manner similar to what Virginia Braun and Victoria Clarke term a “thematic discourse analysis” (81). The intention is to examine “the ways in which events, realities, meanings and experiences and so on are the effects of a range of discourses operating within society.” A “theme” captures “something important about the data in relation to the research question,” and represents, “some level of patterned response or meaning within the data set.” Thematic analysis therefore, “involves the searching across a data set—be that a number of interviews or focus groups, or a range of texts—to find repeated patterns of meaning” (80-86).Governing Sydney: A Legacy of Inability, Broken Promises, and Failure The SCM was abandoned in February 2010. The project’s abandonment had long been foreshadowed in the news media (Anonymous, Future). In the days preceding and following the announcement, news media articles focussed almost exclusively on the ineptitude and wastefulness of a government that would again fail to deliver transport it had promised and invested in (Cratchley; Teutsch & Benns; Anonymous, Taxation). Immediately following the decision, the peak industry body, Infrastructure Partnerships Australia, asserted, “this decision shreds the credibility of the government in delivering projects and will likely make it much harder to attract investment and skills to deliver new infrastructure” (Anonymous, Taxation). The reported ineptitude of the then Labor Government of NSW and the industry fallout surrounding the decision were clearly established as the main news media angles. My print media research found coverage to be overwhelmingly and consistently negative. 70% of the articles studied were negatively inclined. Furthermore, approximately one-quarter featured statements pertaining directly to government paralysis and inability to deliver infrastructure.My public, expert, and media research revealed a number of “repeated patterns of meaning,” which Braun and Clarke describe as themes (86). There are three themes that are particularly pertinent to my investigation here. To describe the first theme I have used the statement, an inability of government to successfully deliver projects. The theme is closely tied to the two other interrelated themes—for one I use the statement, a legacy of failure to implement projects successfully—for the other I use a cycle of broken promises to describe the mounting number of announcements on projects that government then fails to deliver. Some of the more relevant comments, on this matter, collected throughout my research appear below.A former Sydney radio announcer, now a major project community consultation advisor, asserts that a “legacy issue” exists with regards to the poor performance of government over time. Through the SCM failure, which she asserts was “a perfectly sound idea,” the NSW Government came to represent “lost opportunities” resulting in a “massive erosion of public trust.” This sentiment was broadly mirrored across the public and industry expert research I conducted. For example, a public respondent states, “repeated public transport failures through the past 20 years has lowered my belief in future projects being successful.” And, a former director general of NSW planning asserts that because of the repeated project failures culminating in the demise of the SCM, “everybody is now so cynical”.Today under the “making it happen” banner, the major Sydney rail transport project investment is to the northwest of Sydney. There was a change of government in 2011 and the NWR was a key election promise for the incoming Premier at the time, Barry O’Farrell. The NWR project, (now renamed Sydney Metro Northwest as well as extended with new stages through the city to Sydney’s Southwest) remains ongoing and in many respects it appears that Sydney may have turned a corner with major infrastructure construction finally underway. Paradoxically though, the NWR project received far less support than the SCM from the majority of the 30 experts I interviewed. The most common theme from expert respondents (including a number working on the project) is that it is not the most urgent transport priority for Sydney but was instead a political decision. As a communications manager for a large Australian infrastructure provider states: “The NWR was an election promise, it wasn’t a decision based on whether the public wanted that rail link or not”. And, the aforementioned former director general of NSW planning mirrors this sentiment when she contends that the NWR is not a priority and “totally political”.My research findings strongly indicate that the failure of the SCM is in fact a vitally important catalyst for the implementation of the NWR. In other words, I assert that the formulation of the NWR has been influenced by the dominant themes that portray the abilities of government in a negative light—themes strengthened and amplified due to the failure of the SCM. Therefore, I assert that the NWR symbolises a desperate government determined to reverse these themes even if it means adopting a build at any cost mentality. As a respondent who specialises in infrastructure finance for one of Australia’s largest banks, states: “I think in politics there are certain promises that people attempt to keep and I think Barry O’Farrell has made it very clear that he is going to make sure those [NWR] tunnel boring machines are on the ground. So that’s going to happen rain, hail or shine”. Hating Politics My empirical research clearly elucidates the three themes I term an inability of government to successfully deliver projects, a legacy of failure and a cycle of broken promises. These intertwining themes are firmly embedded and strengthening. They also portray government in a negative light. I assert that the NWR, as a determined attempt to reverse these themes (irrespective of the cost), indicates a government at best reactive in its decision making and at worst desperate to reverse public and media perception.The negativity facing the NSW government seems extreme. However, in the context of Colin Hay’s work, the situation is perhaps more inevitable than surprising. In Why We Hate Politics (2007), Hay charts the history of public disengagement with western politics. He does this largely by arguing the considerable influence of problematic key tenets of public choice theory that permeate the discourse of most western democracies, including Australia. They are tenets that normalise depoliticisation and cast a lengthy shadow over the behaviour and motivations of politicians and bureaucrats. Public choice can be defined as the economic study of nonmarket decision-making, or, simply the application of economics to political science. The basic behavioral postulate of public choice, as for economics, is that man is an egoistic, rational, utility maximizer. (Mueller 395)Originating from rational choice theory generally and spurred by Kenneth Arrow’s investigations into rational choice and social policy more specifically, the basic premise of public choice is a privileging of individual values above rational collective choice in social policy development (Arrow; Dunleavy; Hauptman; Mueller). Hay asserts that public choice evolved as a theory throughout the 1960s and 70s in order to conceptualise a more market-orientated alternative to the influential theory of welfare economics. Both were formulated in response to a need for intervention and regulation of markets to correct their “natural tendency to failure” (95). In many ways public choice was a reaction to the “idealized depiction of the state” that welfare economics was seen to be propagating. Instead a “more sanguine and realistic view of the […] imperfect state, it was argued, would lead to a rather safer set of inferences about the need for state intervention” (96). Hay asserts that in effect by challenging the motivations of elected officials and public servants, public choice theory “assumed the worst”, branding all parties self-interested and declaring the state inefficient and ineffective in the delivery of public goods (96). Although, as Hay admits, public choice advocates perhaps provided “a healthy cynicism about both the motivations and the capabilities of politicians and public officials,” the theory was overly simplistic, overstated and unproven. Furthermore, when market woes became real rather than theoretical with crippling stagflation in the 1970s, public choice readily identify “villains” at the heart of the problem and the media and public leapt on it (Hay 109). An academic theory was thrust into mainstream discourse. Two results key to the investigations of this paper were 1) a perception of politics “synonymous with the blind pursuit of individual self interest” and 2) the demystification of the “public service ethos” (Hay 108-12). Hay concludes that instead the long-term result has been a conception of politicians and the bureaucracy that is “increasingly synonymous with duplicity, greed, corruption, interference and inefficiency” (160).Deciphering “Making It Happen” More than three decades on, echoes of public choice theory abound in my empirical research into NSW infrastructure building. In particular they are clearly evident in the three themes I term an inability of government to successfully deliver projects, a legacy of failure and a cycle of broken promises. Within this context, what then can we decipher from the pithy, ubiquitous slogan on a government logo? Of course, in one sense “making it happen” could be interpreted as a further attempt to reverse these three themes. The brand guidelines provide the following description of the logo: “the tone is confident, progressive, friendly, trustworthy, active, consistent, getting on with the job, achieving deadlines—“making it happen” (30). Indeed, this description seems the antithesis of perceptions of government identified in my primary research as well as the dogma of public choice theory. There is certainly expert evidence that one of the centrepieces of the government’s push to demonstrate that it is “making it happen”, the NWR, is a flawed project that represents a political decision. Therefore, it is hard not to be cynical and consider the government self-interested and shortsighted in its approach to building and development. If we were to adopt this view then it would be tempting to dismiss the new logo as political, reactive, and entirely self-serving. Further, with the worrying evidence of a ‘build at any cost’ mentality that may lead to wasted taxpayer funds and developments that future generations may judge harshly. As the principal of an national architectural practice states:politicians feel they have to get something done and getting something done is more important than the quality of what might be done because producing something of quality takes time […] it needs to have the support of a lot of people—it needs to be well thought through […] if you want to leap into some trite solution for something just to get something done, at the end of the day you’ll probably end up with something that doesn’t suit the taxpayers very well at all but that’s just the way politics is.In this context, the logo and its mantra could come to represent irreparable long-term damage to Sydney. That said, what if the cynics (this author included) tried to silence the public choice rhetoric that has become so ingrained? What if we reflect for a moment on the effects of our criticism – namely, the further perpetuation and deeper embedding of the cycle of broken promises, the legacy of failure and ineptitude? As Hay states, “if we look hard enough, we are likely to find plenty of behaviour consistent with such pessimistic assumptions. Moreover, the more we look the more we will reinforce that increasingly intuitive tendency” (160). What if we instead consider that by continuing to adopt the mantra of a political cynic, we are in effect perpetuating an overly simplistic, unsubstantiated theory that has cleverly affected us so profoundly? When confronted by the hundreds of kilometres of construction hoarding across Sydney, I am struck by the flippancy of “making it happen.” The vast expanse of hoarding itself symbolises that things are evidently “happening.” However, my research suggests these things could be other things with potential to deliver better public benefits. There is a conundrum here though—publicly expressing pessimism weakens further the utility of politicians and the bureaucracy and exacerbates the problems. Such is the self-fulfilling nature of public choice. ConclusionHay argues that rather than expecting politics and politicians to change, it is our expectations of what government can achieve that we need to modify. Hay asserts that although there is overwhelming evidence that we hate politics more now than at any stage in the past, he does not believe that, “today’s breed of politicians are any more sinful than their predecessors.” Instead he contends that it is more likely that “we have simply got into the habit of viewing them, and their conduct, in such terms” (160). The ramifications of such thinking ultimately, according to Hay, means a breakdown in “trust” that greatly hampers the “co-operation,” so important to politics (161). He implores us to remember “that politics can be more than the pursuit of individual utility, and that the depiction of politics in such terms is both a distortion and a denial of the capacity for public deliberation and the provision of collective goods” (162). What then if we give the NSW Government the benefit of the doubt and believe that the current building boom (including the decision to build the NWR) was not entirely self-serving but a line drawn in the sand with the determination to tackle a problem that is far greater than just that of Sydney’s transport or any other single policy or project problem—the ongoing issue of the spiralling reputation and identity of government decision-makers and perhaps even democracy generally as public choice ideals proliferate in western democracies like that of Australia’s most populous state. As a partner in a national architectural and planning practice states: I think in NSW in particular there has been such an under investment in infrastructure and so few of the promises have been kept […]. Who cares if NWR is right or not? If they actually build it they’ll be the first government in 25 years to do anything.ReferencesABC Sydney. “Confirmed. This is the new logo and phrase for #NSW getting its first outing. What do you think of it?” Twitter. 1 Sep. 2015. 19 Jan. 2017 <https://twitter.com/abcsydney/status/638909482697777152>.Arrow, Kenneth, J. Social Choice and Individual Values. New York: Wiley, 1951.Braun, Virginia, and Victoria Clarke. “Using Thematic Analysis in Psychology.” Qualitative Research in Psychology 3 (2006): 77-101. The Castle. Dir. Rob Sitch. Working Dog, 1997.Cratchley, Drew. “Builders Want Compo If Sydney Metro Axed.” Sydney Morning Herald 12 Feb. 2010. 17 Apr. 2012 <http://news.smh.com.au/breaking-news-national/builders-want-compo-if-sydney-metro-axed-20100212-nwn2.html>.Dunleavy, Patrick. Democracy, Bureaucracy and Public Choice. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1991. Hauptmann, Emily. Putting Choice before Democracy: A Critique of Rational Choice Theory. Albany, New York: State U of New York P, 1996.Hay, Colin. Why We Hate Politics. Cambridge: Polity, 2007.Hunt, Elle. “New South Wales’ New Logo and Slogan Slips By Unnoticed – Almost.” The Guardian Australian Edition 10 Sep. 2015. 19 Jan. 2017 <https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/blog/2015/sep/10/new-south-wales-new-logo-and-slogan-slips-by-unnoticed-almost>.Koziol, Michael. “‘Making It Happen’: NSW Gets a New Logo. Make Sure You Don’t Breach Its Publishing Guidelines.” Sydney Morning Herald 11 Sep. 2015. 19 Jan. 2017 <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/making-it-happen-nsw-gets-a-new-logo-make-sure-you-dont-breach-its-publishing-guidelines-20150911-gjk6z0.html>.Mueller, Dennis C. “Public Choice: A Survey.” Journal of Economic Literature 14 (1976): 395-433.“The NSW Government Branding Style Guide.” Sydney: NSW Government, 2015. 19 Jan. 2017 <http://www.advertising.nsw.gov.au/sites/default/files/downloads/page/nsw_government_branding_guide.pdf>.Perry, Jenny. “Future of Sydney Metro Remains Uncertain.” Rail Express 3 Feb. 2010. 25 Apr. 2017 <https://www.railexpress.com.au/future-of-sydney-metro-remains-uncertain/>.Richardson, Nicholas. “Political Upheaval in Australia: Media, Foucault and Shocking Policy.” ANZCA Conference Proceedings 2015, eds. D. Paterno, M. Bourk, and D. Matheson.———. “A Curatorial Turn in Policy Development? Managing the Changing Nature of Policymaking Subject to Mediatisation” M/C Journal 18.4 (2015).———. “The Hinterland of Power: Rethinking Mediatised Messy Policy.” PhD Thesis. University of Western Sydney, 2015.“Taxpayers Will Compensate Axed Metro Losers: Keneally.” Sydney Morning Herald 21 Feb. 2010. 17 Apr. 2012 <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/taxpayers-will-compensate-axed-metro-losers-keneally-20100221-on6h.html>. Teutsch, Danielle, and Matthew Benns. “Call for Inquiry over $500m Poured into Doomed Metro.” Sydney Morning Herald 21 Mar. 2010. 17 Apr. 2012 <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/call-for-inquiry-over-500m-poured-into-doomed-Metro-20100320-qn7b.html>.“Train Ready to Leave: Will Politicians Get on Board?” Sydney Morning Herald 13 Feb. 2010. 17 Apr. 2012 <http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/editorial/train-ready-to-leave-will-politicians-get-on-board-20100212-nxfk.html>.

Este artigo fundamenta-se teoricamente à Linguística Sistêmico-funcional de Halliday (2014) e à Pedagogia de Gêneros (Martin; Rose, 2008, 2012) e tem como objetivo apresentar a implementação do Ciclo de Aprendizagem com alunos do sexto ano do Ensino Fundamental em uma escola da rede pública. Buscou-se, dessa forma, evidenciar possíveis formas de aprendizagem explícita do gênero notícias, bem como a escrita autônoma de textos. A metodologia aplicada é estabelecida pelo Ciclo de Aprendizagem com alunos que frequentam o turno inverso para um projeto de letramento, oferecido por uma professora da rede municipal. Apresenta-se a análise da produção de um aluno e discute-se a influência da implementação do Ciclo no letramento dos alunos envolvidos.
 Ah duvido – O que são lendas urbanas. Disponível em: http://ahduvido.com.br/50-lendasurbanas. Acesso em: 11 abr 2016BRASIL. Ministério da Educação/Diretoria de Avaliação da Educação Básica (DAEB). Brasil no PISA 2015. Sumário Executivo, Brasília, DF, 2016BERNSTEIN, B. The structuring of pedagogic discourse. Routledge, 1990.BERNSTEIN, B. Pedagogy, symbolic control, and identity: Theory, research, critique. Rowman & Littlefield, 2000.BUTT, D.; FAHEY, R.; SPINKS, S. & ALLOP, C. Using Functional. Grammar: An Explorer's Guide. NationaL. Centre for English Language Teaching and Research, Sidney: Claredon Printing, 2003.EGGINS, S. Introduction to systemic functional linguistics. New York/London: Continuum. 2014.GOUVEIA, C. A. M. Compreensão leitora como base instrumental do ensino da produção escrita. In: SILVA, W. R.; SANTOS, J. S.; MELO, M. A. (org.), Pesquisas em Língua(gem) e demandas do ensino básico. Campinas, Pontes Editores, p. 203-231, 2014HALLIDAY, M. A. K. An introduction to functional grammar. 5a ed. Revisada por MATTHIESSEN, C. M. I. M. London: Edward Arnold, 2014.HALLIDAY, M. A. K.; An introduction to functional grammar. 2ª ed. London E. Arnold, 1994.HALLIDAY, M. A. K. Language as social semiotics. 1978.HALLIDAY, M. A. K.; HASAN, R. Language, context, and text: Aspects of language in a social-semiotic perspective. 1989.MARTIN, J. R. Grammar meets genre: Reflections on the “Sydney School”. Arts: the journal of the Sydney University Arts Association, 22, 47-95, 2000.MARTIN, J. R.; ROSE, D. Learning to write, reading to learn: Genre, knowledge and pedagogy in the Sydney School. Equinox, 2012.MARTIN, J. R.; ROSE, D. Genre relations: Mapping culture. Equinox, 2008PAINTER, C. Into the Mother Tongue: a case study of early language development, London, 1984.ROSE, D. Genre, knowledge and pedagogy in the ‘Sydney School’ David Rose Artemeva, N & A Freedman (Eds.) 2015 Trends and traditions in genre studies. Alberta, Canada: Inkshed, 2015a.ROSE, D. New developments in genre-based literacy pedagogy David Rose In C A. MacArthur,S Graham, J Fitzgerald [Eds.] 2015 Handbook of Writing Research, 2nd Edition. New York: Guilford, 2015cROSE, D. Analysing pedagogic discourse: an approach from genre and register. Functional Linguistics, 2014. Disponível em https://www.readingtolearn.com.au/wpcontent/uploads/2016/01/Analysing-pedagogic-iscourse.pdf>. Disponível em 21 abr 2020.ROTHERY, J. Making changes: developing an educational linguistics. Hasan & Williams. 1996, p. 86-123.WHITE P. R. R. Telling Media Tales: The News Story as Rhetoric. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Sydney. 1998.


 
 
 The following article is in response to a research project that took the form of a road trip from Perth to Lombadina re-enacting the journey undertaken by the characters in the play Bran Nue Dae by playwright Jimmy Chi and Broome band Kuckles. This project was facilitated by the assistance of a Creative and Research Publication Grant from the Faculty of Communications and Creative Industries, Edith Cowan University, Western Australia. The project was carried out by researchers Kara Jacob and Margaret Hair.
 
 One thing is plainly clear. Aboriginal art expresses the possibility of human intimacy with landscapes. This is the key to its power: it makes available a rich tradition of human ethics and relationships with place and other species to a worldwide audience. For the settler Australian audience, caught ambiguously between old and new lands, their appreciation of this art embodies at least a striving for the kind of citizenship that republicans wanted: to belong to this place rather than to another (Marcia Langton in Watson 191).
 
 
 Marcia Langton is talking here about painting. My question is whether this “kind of citizenship” can also be accessed through appreciation of indigenous theatre, and specifically through the play Bran Nue Dae, by playwright Jimmy Chi and Broome band Kuckles, a play closely linked to the Western Australian landscape through its appropriation of the road trip genre. The physical journey taken by the characters metaphorically takes them also through the contact history of black and white Australians in Western Australia. Significantly, the non-indigenous characters experience the redemptive power of “human intimacy with landscapes” through travelling to the traditional country of their road trip companions.
 
 The road trip genre typically places its characters on a quest for knowledge. American poet Gary Snyder says that the two sources of human knowledge are symbols and sense-impressions (vii). Bran Nue Dae abounds with symbols, from the priest’s cassock and mitre to Roebourne prison; however, the sense impressions, which are so strong in the performance of the play, are missing from the written text, apart from ironic comments on the weather.
 
 In my efforts to understand Bran Nue Dae, I undertook the road trip from Perth to the Kimberley myself in order to discover those missing sense-impressions, as they form part of the “back story” of the play. In the play there is a void between the time the characters leave Perth and reach first Roebourne, where they are locked up, and then Roebuck Plains, not far from Broome, yet in the “real world” they would have travelled more than two thousand kilometres. What would they have seen and experienced on this journey?
 
 I took note of Krim Benterrak, Paddy Roe and Stephen Muecke’s Reading the Country, a cross-cultural and cross-textual study on Roebuck Plains, near Broome. Muecke talks about “stories being contingent upon place … Aboriginal storytellers have a similar policy. If one is not prepared to take the trouble to go to the place, then its story can only be given as a short version” (72). In preparing for the trip, I collected tourist brochures and maps. The use of maps, seemingly essential on any road trip as guides to “having a look at” country (Muecke ibid.), was instantly problematic in itself, in that maps represent country as colonised space.
 
 In Saltwater People, Nonie Sharp discusses the “distinction between mapping and personal journeying”:
 
 Maps and mapping describe space in a way that depersonalises it. Mapping removes the footprints of named creatures – animal, human, ancestral – who belong to this place or that place. A map can be anywhere. ‘Itineraries’, however, are actions and movements within a named and footprinted land (Sharp 199-200).
 
 
 The country journeyed through in Bran Nue Dae, which privileges indigenous experience, could be designated as the potentially dangerous liminal space between the “map” and the “itinerary”. This “space between” resonates with untold stories, with invisibilities. One of the most telling discoveries on the research trip was the thoroughness with which indigenous people have been made to disappear from the “mapped” zones through various colonial policies. It was very evident that indigenous people are still relegated to the fringes of town, as in Onslow and Port Hedland, in housing situations closely resembling the old missions and reserves. 
 
 Although my travelling companion and I made an effort in every place we visited to pay our respects by at least finding out the language group of the traditional owners, it became clear that a major challenge in travelling through post-colonial space is in avoiding becoming complicit in the disappearance of indigenous people. We wanted our focus to be “on the people whose bodies, territories, beliefs and values have been travelled though” (Tuhiwai Smith 78) but our experience was that finding even written guides into the “footprinted land” is not easy when few tourist pamphlets acknowledge the traditional owners of the country. Even when “local Aboriginal” words are quoted, as in the CALM brochure for Nambung National Park (i.e., the Pinnacles), the actual language or language group is not mentioned. In many interpretive brochures and facilities, traditional owners are represented as absent, as victims or as prisoners.
 
 The fate of the “original inhabitants of the Greenough Flats”, the Yabbaroo people, is alluded to in the Greenough River Nature Walk Trail Guide, under the title, “A short history of Greenough River from the Rivermouth to Westbank Road”:
 
 The Gregory brothers, exploring for pastoral land in 1848, peacefully met with a large group of Aborigines camped beside a freshwater spring in a dense Melaleuca thicket. They named the spring Bootenal, from the Nyungar word Boolungal, meaning pelican. Gregory’s glowing reports of good grazing prompted pastoralists to move their flocks to Greenough, and by 1852 William Criddle was watering cattle for the Cattle Company at the Bootenal Spring. The Aborigines soon resented this intrusion and in 1854, large numbers with many from surrounding tribes, gathered in the relative safety of the Bootenal thicket. Making forays at night, they killed cattle and sheep and attacked homesteads. The pastoralists retaliated by forming a posse at Glengarry under the command of the Resident Magistrate. On the night of the 4th/5th July they rode to Bootenal and drove the Aborigines from the thicket. No arrests were made and no official report given of casualties. Aboriginal resistance in the area was finished.
 
 
 The fact that the extract actually describes a massacre while purporting to be a “history of Greenough River” subverts the notion that the land can ever really be “depersonalised”.
 
 At the very heart of the difference lie different ways of being human: in Aboriginal classical tradition the person dwells within a personified landscape which is alive, named, inscribed by spiritual and human agents. It is a ‘Thou’ not an ‘It’, and I and Thou belong together (Sharp 199-200).
 
 
 Peter Read’s book Belonging: Australians, Place and Aboriginal Ownership contains a section titled “The Past Embedded in the Landscape” in which Read discusses whether the land holds the memory of events enacted upon it, so forming a tangible link between the dispossessed and the possessors. While discussing Judith Wright’s poem Bora Ring, Read states: “The unlaid violence of dispossession lingers at the sites of evil or old magic”, bringing to mind Wright’s notion of Australia as “a haunted country” (14).
 
 It is not surprising that the “unlaid violence of dispossession lingers” at the sites of old prisons and lock-ups, since it is built into the very architecture. The visitor pamphlet states that the 1890s design by George Temple Poole of the third Roebourne gaol, further up the great Northern Highway from Greenough and beautifully constructed from stone, “represents a way in which the state ideology of control of a remote and potentially dangerous population could be expressed in buildings”. The current Roebourne prison, still holding a majority of Aboriginal inmates, does away with any pretence of architectural elegance but expresses the same state ideology with its fence topped with razor wire.
 
 Without a guide like Bran Nue Dae’s Uncle Tadpole to keep us “off the track”, non-indigenous visitors to these old gaols, now largely museums, may be quickly led by the interpretation into the “mapped zone” – the narrative of imperialist expansion. However, we can follow Paul Carter’s injunction to “deepen grooves” and start with John Pat’s story at the Roebourne police lock-up, or the story of any indigenous inmate of the present Roebuck prison, spiralling back a century to the first Roebuck prison in settler John Withnell’s woolshed (Weightman 4). Then we gain a sense of the contact experience of the local indigenous peoples.
 
 John Withnell and his wife Emma are represented as particularly resourceful by the interpretation at the old Roebourne gaol (now Roebourne Visitors Centre and Museum). The museum has a replica of a whalebone armchair that John Withnell built for his wife with vertebrae as the seat and other bones as the back and armrests. The family also invented the canvas waterbag. The interpretation fails to mention that the same John Withnell beat an Aboriginal woman named Talarong so severely for refusing to care for sheep at Withnell’s Hillside Station that “she retreated into the bush and died of her injuries two days later”. No charges were brought against Withnell because, according to the Acting Government Resident, of the “great provocation” by Talarong in the incident (Hunt 99-100). Such omissions and silences in the official record force indigenous people into a parallel “invisible country” and leave us stranded on the highways of the “mapped zone”, bereft of our rights and responsibilities to connect either to the country or to its traditional owners.
 
 Roebourne, and its coastal port Cossack, stand on the hauntingly beautiful country of the Ngarluma and seaside Yapurarra peoples. Settlers first arrived in the 1860s and Aboriginal people began to be officially imprisoned soon after, primarily as a result of their resistance to being “blackbirded” and exploited as labour for the pearling and pastoral industries. Prisoners were chained by the neck, day and night, and forced to build roads and tramlines, ostensibly a “civilising” practice. As the history pamphlet for The Old Roebourne Gaol reads: “It was widely believed that the Roebourne Gaol was where the ‘benefit’ of white civilisation could be shown to the ‘savage’ Aboriginal” (Weightman 2).
 
 The “back story” I discovered on this research trip was one of disappearance – indigenous people being made to disappear from their countries, from non-indigenous view and from the written record. The symbols I surprisingly most engaged with and which most affected me were the gaols and prisons which the imperialists used as tools of their trade in disappearance. The sense impressions I experienced – extreme beauty, isolation, heat and sandflies – reinforced the complexity of Western Australian contact history. I began to see the central achievement of Bran Nue Dae as being the return of indigenous people to country and to story. This return, so beautifully realised in when the characters finally reach Lombadina and a state of acceptance, is critical to healing the country and to the attainment of an equitable “kind of citizenship” that denotes belonging for all.
 
 References
 
 Aboriginal Tourism Australia. Welcome to Country: Respecting Indigenous Culture for Travellers in Australia. 2004. Benterrak, Krim, Stephen Muecke, and Paddy Roe. Reading the Country. Perth: Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 1984. Carter, Paul. The Lie of the Land. London: Faber & Faber, 1996. Dalton, Peter. “Broome: A Multiracial Community. A Study of Social and Cultural Relationships in a Town in the West Kimberleys, Western Australia”. Thesis for Master of Arts in Anthropology. Perth: University of Western Australia, 1964. Hunt, Susan Jane. Spinifex and Hessian: Women’s Lives in North-Western Australia 1860–1900. Nedlands, WA: U of Western Australia P, 1986. Read, Peter. Belonging: Australians, Place and Aboriginal Ownership. UK: Cambridge UP, 2000. Reynolds, Henry. North of Capricorn: The Untold History of Australia’s North. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2003. Reynolds, Henry. Why Weren’t We Told? Ringwood, Victoria: Penguin Books Australia, 1999. Sharp, Nonie. Saltwater People: The Waves of Memory. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2002. Shire of Greenough. Greenough River Nature Walk Trail Guide. 2005. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda. Decolonizing Methodologies. Dunedin, New Zealand: U of Otago P, 1999. Watson, Christine. Piercing the Ground. Perth: Fremantle Arts Centre P, 2003. Weightman, Llyrus. The Old Roebourne Gaol: A History. Pilbara Classies & Printing Service. Wright, Judith. The Cry for the Dead. 1981. 277-80.
 
 
 
 
 Citation reference for this article
 
 MLA Style
 Hair, Margaret. "Invisible Country." M/C Journal 8.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/09-hair.php>. APA Style
 Hair, M. (Dec. 2005) "Invisible Country," M/C Journal, 8(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/09-hair.php>. 

Introduction I think the Privacy Act is a huge edifice to protect the minority of things that could go wrong. I’ve got a good example for you, I’m just trying to think … yeah the worst one I’ve ever seen was the Balga Youth Program where we took these students on a reward excursion all the way to Fremantle and suddenly this very alienated kid started to jump under a bus, a moving bus so the kid had to be restrained. The cops from Fremantle arrived because all the very good people in Fremantle were alarmed at these grown-ups manhandling a kid and what had happened is that DCD [Department of Community Development] had dropped him into the program but hadn’t told us that this kid had suicide tendencies. No, it’s just chronically bad. And there were caseworkers involved and … there is some information that we have to have that doesn’t get handed down. Rather than a blanket rule that everything’s confidential coming from them to us, and that was a real live situation, and you imagine how we’re trying to handle it, we had taxis going from Balga to Fremantle to get staff involved and we only had to know what to watch out for and we probably could have … well what you would have done is not gone on the excursion I suppose (School Principal, quoted in Balnaves and Luca 49). These comments are from a school principal in Perth, Western Australia in a school that is concerned with “at-risk” students, and in a context where the Commonwealth Privacy Act 1988 has imposed limitations on their work. Under this Act it is illegal to pass health, personal or sensitive information concerning an individual on to other people. In the story cited above the Department of Community Development personnel were apparently protecting the student’s “negative right”, that is, “freedom from” interference by others. On the other hand, the principal’s assertion that such information should be shared is potentially a “positive right” because it could cause something to be done in that person’s or society’s interests. Balnaves and Luca noted that positive and negative rights have complex philosophical underpinnings, and they inform much of how we operate in everyday life and of the dilemmas that arise (49). For example, a ban on euthanasia or the “assisted suicide” of a terminally ill person can be a “positive right” because it is considered to be in the best interests of society in general. However, physicians who tacitly approve a patient’s right to end their lives with a lethal dose by legally prescribed dose of medication could be perceived as protecting the patient’s “negative right” as a “freedom from” interference by others. While acknowledging the merits of collaboration between people who are working to improve the wellbeing of students “at-risk”, this paper examines some of the barriers to collaboration. Based on both primary and secondary sources, and particularly on oral testimonies, the paper highlights the tension between privacy as a negative right and collaborative helping as a positive right. It also points to other difficulties and dilemmas within and between the institutions engaged in this joint undertaking. The authors acknowledge Michel Foucault’s contention that discourse is power. The discourse on privacy and the sharing of information in modern societies suggests that privacy is a negative right that gives freedom from bureaucratic interference and protects the individual. However, arguably, collaboration between agencies that are working to support individuals “at-risk” requires a measured relaxation of the requirements of this negative right. Children and young people “at-risk” are a case in point. Towards Collaboration From a series of interviews conducted in 2004, the school authorities at Balga Senior High School and Midvale Primary School, people working for the Western Australian departments of Community Development, Justice, and Education and Training in Western Australia, and academics at the Edith Cowan and Curtin universities, who are working to improve the wellbeing of students “at-risk” as part of an Australian Research Council (ARC) project called Smart Communities, have identified students “at-risk” as individuals who have behavioural problems and little motivation, who are alienated and possibly violent or angry, who under-perform in the classroom and have begun to truant. They noted also that students “at-risk” often suffer from poor health, lack of food and medication, are victims of unwanted pregnancies, and are engaged in antisocial and illegal behaviour such as stealing cars and substance abuse. These students are also often subject to domestic violence (parents on drugs or alcohol), family separation, and homelessness. Some are depressed or suicidal. Sometimes cultural factors contribute to students being regarded as “at-risk”. For example, a social worker in the Smart Communities project stated: Cultural factors sometimes come into that as well … like with some Muslim families … they can flog their daughter or their son, usually the daughter … so cultural factors can create a risk. Research elsewhere has revealed that those children between the ages of 11-17 who have been subjected to bullying at school or physical or sexual abuse at home and who have threatened and/or harmed another person or suicidal are “high-risk” youths (Farmer 4). In an attempt to bring about a positive change in these alienated or “at-risk” adolescents, Balga Senior High School has developed several programs such as the Youth Parents Program, Swan Nyunger Sports Education program, Intensive English Centre, and lower secondary mainstream program. The Midvale Primary School has provided services such as counsellors, Aboriginal child protection workers, and Aboriginal police liaison officers for these “at-risk” students. On the other hand, the Department of Community Development (DCD) has provided services to parents and caregivers for children up to 18 years. Academics from Edith Cowan and Curtin universities are engaged in gathering the life stories of these “at-risk” students. One aspect of this research entails the students writing their life stories in a secured web portal that the universities have developed. The researchers believe that by engaging the students in these self-exploration activities, they (the students) would develop a more hopeful outlook on life. Though all agencies and educational institutions involved in this collaborative project are working for the well-being of the children “at-risk”, the Privacy Act forbids the authorities from sharing information about them. A school psychologist expressed concern over the Privacy Act: When the Juvenile Justice Department want to reintroduce a student into a school, we can’t find out anything about this student so we can’t do any preplanning. They want to give the student a fresh start, so there’s always that tension … eventually everyone overcomes [this] because you realise that the student has to come to the school and has to be engaged. Of course, the manner and consequences of a student’s engagement in school cannot be predicted. In the scenario described above students may have been given a fair chance to reform themselves, which is their positive right but if they turn out to be at “high risk” it would appear that the Juvenile Department protected the negative right of the students by supporting “freedom from” interference by others. Likewise, a school health nurse in the project considered confidentiality or the Privacy Act an important factor in the security of the student “at-risk”: I was trying to think about this kid who’s one of the children who has been sexually abused, who’s a client of DCD, and I guess if police got involved there and wanted to know details and DCD didn’t want to give that information out then I’d guess I’d say to the police “Well no, you’ll have to talk to the parents about getting further information.” I guess that way, recognising these students are minor and that they are very vulnerable, their information … where it’s going, where is it leading? Who wants to know? Where will it be stored? What will be the outcomes in the future for this kid? As a 14 year old, if they’re reckless and get into things, you know, do they get a black record against them by the time they’re 19? What will that information be used for if it’s disclosed? So I guess I become an advocate for the student in that way? Thus the nurse considers a sexually abused child should not be identified. It is a positive right in the interest of the person. Once again, though, if the student turns out to be at “high risk” or suicidal, then it would appear that the nurse was protecting the youth’s negative right—“freedom from” interference by others. Since collaboration is a positive right and aims at the students’ welfare, the workable solution to prevent the students from suicide would be to develop inter-agency trust and to share vital information about “high-risk” students. Dilemmas of Collaboration Some recent cases of the deaths of young non-Caucasian girls in Western countries, either because of the implications of the Privacy Act or due to a lack of efficient and effective communication and coordination amongst agencies, have raised debates on effective child protection. For example, the British Laming report (2003) found that Victoria Climbié, a young African girl, was sent by her parents to her aunt in Britain in order to obtain a good education and was murdered by her aunt and aunt’s boyfriend. However, the risk that she could be harmed was widely known. The girl’s problems were known to 6 local authorities, 3 housing authorities, 4 social services, 2 child protection teams, and the police, the local church, and the hospital, but not to the education authorities. According to the Laming Report, her death could have been prevented if there had been inter-agency sharing of information and appropriate evaluation (Balnaves and Luca 49). The agencies had supported the negative rights of the young girl’s “freedom from” interference by others, but at the cost of her life. Perhaps Victoria’s racial background may have contributed to the concealment of information and added to her disadvantaged position. Similarly, in Western Australia, the Gordon Inquiry into the death of Susan Taylor, a 15 year old girl Aboriginal girl at the Swan Nyungah Community, found that in her short life this girl had encountered sexual violation, violence, and the ravages of alcohol and substance abuse. The Gordon Inquiry reported: Although up to thirteen different agencies were involved in providing services to Susan Taylor and her family, the D[epartment] of C[ommunity] D[evelopment] stated they were unaware of “all the services being provided by each agency” and there was a lack of clarity as to a “lead coordinating agency” (Gordon et al. quoted in Scott 45). In this case too, multiple factors—domestic, racial, and the Privacy Act—may have led to Susan Taylor’s tragic end. In the United Kingdom, Harry Ferguson noted that when a child is reported to be “at-risk” from domestic incidents, they can suffer further harm because of their family’s concealment (204). Ferguson’s study showed that in 11 per cent of the 319 case sample, children were known to be re-harmed within a year of initial referral. Sometimes, the parents apply a veil of secrecy around themselves and their children by resisting or avoiding services. In such cases the collaborative efforts of the agencies and education may be thwarted. Lack of cultural education among teachers, youth workers, and agencies could also put the “at-risk” cultural minorities into a high risk category. For example, an “at-risk” Muslim student may not be willing to share personal experiences with the school or agencies because of religious sensitivities. This happened in the UK when Khadji Rouf was abused by her father, a Bangladeshi. Rouf’s mother, a white woman, and her female cousin from Bangladesh, both supported Rouf when she finally disclosed that she had been sexually abused for over eight years. After group therapy, Rouf stated that she was able to accept her identity and to call herself proudly “mixed race”, whereas she rejected the Asian part of herself because it represented her father. Other Asian girls and young women in this study reported that they could not disclose their abuse to white teachers or social workers because of the feeling that they would be “letting down their race or their Muslim culture” (Rouf 113). The marginalisation of many Muslim Australians both in the job market and in society is long standing. For example, in 1996 and again in 2001 the Muslim unemployment rate was three times higher than the national total (Australian Bureau of Statistics). But since the 9/11 tragedy and Bali bombings visible Muslims, such as women wearing hijabs (headscarves), have sometimes been verbally and physically abused and called ‘terrorists’ by some members of the wider community (Dreher 13). The Howard government’s new anti-terrorism legislation and the surveillance hotline ‘Be alert not alarmed’ has further marginalised some Muslims. Some politicians have also linked Muslim asylum seekers with terrorists (Kabir 303), which inevitably has led Muslim “at-risk” refugee students to withdraw from school support such as counselling. Under these circumstances, Muslim “at-risk” students and their parents may prefer to maintain a low profile rather than engage with agencies. In this case, arguably, federal government politics have exacerbated the barriers to collaboration. It appears that unfamiliarity with Muslim culture is not confined to mainstream Australians. For example, an Aboriginal liaison police officer engaged in the Smart Communities project in Western Australia had this to say about Muslim youths “at-risk”: Different laws and stuff from different countries and they’re coming in and sort of thinking that they can bring their own laws and religions and stuff … and when I say religions there’s laws within their religions as well that they don’t seem to understand that with Australia and our laws. Such generalised misperceptions of Muslim youths “at-risk” would further alienate them, thus causing a major hindrance to collaboration. The “at-risk” factors associated with Aboriginal youths have historical connections. Research findings have revealed that indigenous youths aged between 10-16 years constitute a vast majority in all Australian States’ juvenile detention centres. This over-representation is widely recognised as associated with the nature of European colonisation, and is inter-related with poverty, marginalisation and racial discrimination (Watson et al. 404). Like the Muslims, their unemployment rate was three times higher than the national total in 2001 (ABS). However, in 1998 it was estimated that suicide rates among Indigenous peoples were at least 40 per cent higher than national average (National Advisory Council for Youth Suicide Prevention, quoted in Elliot-Farrelly 2). Although the wider community’s unemployment rate is much lower than the Aboriginals and the Muslims, the “at-risk” factors of mainstream Australian youths are often associated with dysfunctional families, high conflict, low-cohesive families, high levels of harsh parental discipline, high levels of victimisation by peers, and high behavioural inhibition (Watson et al. 404). The Macquarie Fields riots in 2005 revealed the existence of “White” underclass and “at-risk” people in Sydney. Macquarie Fields’ unemployment rate was more than twice the national average. Children growing up in this suburb are at greater risk of being involved in crime (The Age). Thus small pockets of mainstream underclass youngsters also require collaborative attention. In Western Australia people working on the Smart Communities project identified that lack of resources can be a hindrance to collaboration for all sectors. As one social worker commented: “government agencies are hierarchical systems and lack resources”. They went on to say that in their department they can not give “at-risk” youngsters financial assistance in times of crisis: We had a petty cash box which has got about 40 bucks in it and sometimes in an emergency we might give a customer a couple of dollars but that’s all we can do, we can’t give them any larger amount. We have bus/metro rail passes, that’s the only thing that we’ve actually got. A youth worker in Smart Communities commented that a lot of uncertainty is involved with young people “at-risk”. They said that there are only a few paid workers in their field who are supported and assisted by “a pool of volunteers”. Because the latter give their time voluntarily they are under no obligation to be constant in their attendance, so the number of available helpers can easily fluctuate. Another youth worker identified a particularly important barrier to collaboration: because of workers’ relatively low remuneration and high levels of work stress, the turnover rates are high. The consequence of this is as follows: The other barrier from my point is that you’re talking to somebody about a student “at-risk”, and within 14 months or 18 months a new person comes in [to that position] then you’ve got to start again. This way you miss a lot of information [which could be beneficial for the youth]. Conclusion The Privacy Act creates a dilemma in that it can be either beneficial or counter-productive for a student’s security. To be blunt, a youth who has suicided might have had their privacy protected, but not their life. Lack of funding can also be a constraint on collaboration by undermining stability and autonomy in the workforce, and blocking inter-agency initiatives. Lack of awareness about cultural differences can also affect unity of action. The deepening inequality between the “haves” and “have-nots” in the Australian society, and the Howard government’s harshness on national security issues, can also pose barriers to collaboration on youth issues. Despite these exigencies and dilemmas, it would seem that collaboration is “the only game” when it comes to helping students “at-risk”. To enhance this collaboration, there needs to be a sensible modification of legal restrictions to information sharing, an increase in government funding and support for inter-agency cooperation and informal information sharing, and an increased awareness about the cultural needs of minority groups and knowledge of the mainstream underclass. Acknowledgments The research is part of a major Australian Research Council (ARC) funded project, Smart Communities. The authors very gratefully acknowledge the contribution of the interviewees, and thank *Donald E. Scott for conducting the interviews. References Australian Bureau of Statistics. 1996 and 2001. Balnaves, Mark, and Joe Luca. “The Impact of Digital Persona on the Future of Learning: A Case Study on Digital Repositories and the Sharing of Information about Children At-Risk in Western Australia”, paper presented at Ascilite, Brisbane (2005): 49-56. 10 April 2006. http://www.ascilite.org.au/conferences/brisbane05/blogs/proceedings/ 06_Balnaves.pdf>. Dreher, Tanya. ‘Targeted’: Experiences of Racism in NSW after September 11, 2001. Sydney: University of Technology, 2005. Elliot-Farrelly, Terri. “Australian Aboriginal Suicide: The Need for an Aboriginal Suicidology”? Australian e-Journal for the Advancement of Mental Health, 3.3 (2004): 1-8. 15 April 2006 http://www.auseinet.com/journal/vol3iss3/elliottfarrelly.pdf>. Farmer, James. A. High-Risk Teenagers: Real Cases and Interception Strategies with Resistant Adolescents. Springfield, Ill.: C.C. Thomas, 1990. Ferguson, Harry. Protecting Children in Time: Child Abuse, Child Protection and the Consequences of Modernity. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Ed. Colin Gordon, trans. Colin Gordon et al. New York: Pantheon, 1980. Kabir, Nahid. Muslims in Australia: Immigration, Race Relations and Cultural History. London: Kegan Paul, 2005. Rouf, Khadji. “Myself in Echoes. My Voice in Song.” Ed. A. Bannister, et al. Listening to Children. London: Longman, 1990. Scott E. Donald. “Exploring Communication Patterns within and across a School and Associated Agencies to Increase the Effectiveness of Service to At-Risk Individuals.” MS Thesis, Curtin University of Technology, August 2005. The Age. “Investing in People Means Investing in the Future.” The Age 5 March, 2005. 15 April 2006 http://www.theage.com.au>. Watson, Malcolm, et al. “Pathways to Aggression in Children and Adolescents.” Harvard Educational Review, 74.4 (Winter 2004): 404-428. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid, and Mark Balnaves. "Students “at Risk”: Dilemmas of Collaboration." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/04-kabirbalnaves.php>. APA Style Kabir, N., and M. Balnaves. (May 2006) "Students “at Risk”: Dilemmas of Collaboration," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/04-kabirbalnaves.php>.

Based on the fact that most of factories/manufacturers failed to comply with foreign customers’ requirements for Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) practices from the first audits, the present study aims to explore SME exporters’ understanding of CSR requirements from foreign clients, motivations and obstacles for them to practice and implement CSR. In order to tackle the research objectives, qualitative approach is chosen and in-depth interview with owners, HR/CSR managers and production managers is employed to collect data. The research scope is firms/suppliers in hardlines (non-furniture and non-apparel) section. Thematic analysis is used to analyse and categorise data from interviews. The research findings show some crucial points. Firstly, CSR requirements from clients are not correctly understood. Secondly, there are seven drivers for CSR practices which match with previous studies. Lastly, six per ten obstacles to implement CSR are new findings in the present research context. From these findings, some recommendations are proposed to improve CSR practices in SMEs.
 Keywords
 Corporate social responsibility (CSR), motivations (motives), obstacles, SMEs
 References
 
 Albareda, L., Lozano, J. M., Tencati, A., Midtun, A., & Perrini, F. (2008). The changing roles of governments in corporate social responsibility: drivers and responses. Business Ethics: A European Review, 17(4), 347-363. Arevalo, J. A., & Aravind, D. (2011). Corporate Social Responsibility practices in India: approaches, drivers and barriers. Corporate Governance, 11(4), 399-414. Baden, D. A., Harwood, I. A., & Woodward, D. G. (2009). The effect of buyer pressure on suppliers in SMEs to demonstrate CSR practices: An added incentive or counter productive? European Management Journal, 27(6), 429-441. doi:https://doi.org/10.1016/j.emj.2008.10.004Bondy, K., Matten, D., & Moon, J. (2008). Multinational Corporation Codes of Conduct: Governance Tools for Corporate Social Responsibility? Corporate Governance: An International Review, 16(4), 294-311. doi:10.1111/j.1467-8683.2008.00694.xCambra-Fierro, J., Wilson, A., Polo-Redondo, Y., Fuster-Mur, A., & Lopez-Perez, M. E. (2013). When do firms implement corporate social responsibility? A study of the Spanish construction and real-estate sector. Journal of Management & Organization, 19(02), 150-166. doi:doi:10.1017/jmo.2013.12Carroll, A. B. (1991). The pyramid of corporate social responsibility: toward the moral management of organizational stakeholders. Business Horizons, 34, 39-48. Carroll, A. B. (1999). Corporate social responsibility: evolution of a definitional construct. Business & Society, 38(3), 268-295. Cochran, P. L., & Wood, R. A. (1984). Corporate Social Responsibility and Financial Performance. Academy of Management Journal, 27(1), 42-56. Creswell, J. W. (2007). Qualitative inquiry & research design - choosing among five approaches (2nd ed.). the U.S: Sage Publications, Inc.Faisal, M. N. (2010). Analysing the barriers to corporate social responsibility in supply chains: an interpretive structural modelling approach. International Journal of Logistics Research and Applications, 13(3), 179-195. doi:10.1080/13675560903264968Ghasemi, S., & Nejati, M. (2013). Corporate Social Responsibility: Opportunities, Drivers and Barriers. International Journal of Entrepreuneurial Knowledge, 1(1), 33-37. Gibson, W. J., & Andrew, B. (2009). Working with qualitative data London: SAGE.Graafland, J., & Mazereeuw-Van der Duijn Schouten, C. (2012). Motives for Corporate Social Responsibility. De Economist, 160(4), 377-396. doi:10.1007/s10645-012-9198-5Hamm, B. (2012). Corporate Social Responsibility in Vietnam: Integration or Mere Adaptation? Pacific News, 38, 4-8. Hemingway, C. A., & Maclagan, P. W. (2004). Managers' Personal Values as Drivers of Corporate Social Responsibility. Journal of Business Ethics, 50(1), 33-44. Kang, B. (2014). Corporate Social Responsibility Perceptions and Corporate Performances. Journal of Applied Sciences, 14(21), 2662-2673. Lantos, G. P. (2001). The boundaries of strategic corporate social responsibility. Journal of Consumer Marketing, 18(7), 595-630. Lin, C.-H., Yang, H.-L., & Liou, D.-Y. (2009). The impact of corporate social responsibility on financial performance: Evidence from business in Taiwan. Technology in Society, 31, 56-63. McWilliams, A., & Siegel, D. (2001). Corporate Social Responsibility: A theory of the firm perspective. Academy of Management Review, 26(1), 117-127. Mishra, S., & Suar, D. (2010). Does Corporate Social Responsibility influence firm performance of Indian companies? Journal of Business Ethics, 95, 571-601. Moon, J. (2004). Government as Driver of CSR. ICCSR Research Series Papers, 24. Pedersen, E. R., & Neergaard, P. (2009). What matters to managers? The whats, whys and hows of corporate social responsibility in a multinational corporation. Management Decision, 47(8), 1261-1280. Visser, W. (2008). Corporate social responsibility in developing countries. In A. Crane, A. McWilliams, D. Matten, J. Moon, & D. Siegel (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Corporate Social Responsibility (pp. 473-499). Oxford: Oxford University Press.Xuan, L. T. T. (2013). Managers' preceptions of Corporate Social Responsibility: The construction industry in Vietnam. (Doctoral), Western Sydney University, Xuan, L. T. T., & Khoa, T. T. (2015). Drivers of Corporate Social Respobsibility Practices-A comparative analysis between Spanish and Vietnamese Construction Industry. Paper presented at the The International Conference on Business 2015, Hochiminh city.Xuan, L. T. T., & Teal, G. (2011). A development in defining Corporate Social Responsibility. Journal of Science and Technology Development, 14(2), 106-115. http://baocongthuong.com.vn/viet-nam-sau-10-nam-gia-nhap-wto-nhung-thanh-tuu-kha-quan.htmlhttp://www.unido.org/en/what-we-do/trade/csr/what-is-csr.html#pp1[g1]/0/

Like any genre or mode, the Gothic is malleable, changing according to time and place. This is particularly apparent when what is considered Gothic in one era is compared with that of another. The giant helmet that falls from the sky in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764) is a very different threat to the ravenous vampires that stalk the novels of Anne Rice, just as Ann Radcliffe’s animated portraits may not inspire anxiety for a contemporary reader of Stephen King. The mutability of Gothic is also apparent across various versions of national Gothic that have emerged, with the specificities of place lending Gothic narratives from countries such as Ireland, Scotland and Australia a distinctive flavour. In New Zealand, the Gothic is most commonly associated with Pakeha artists exploring extreme psychological states, isolation and violence. Instead of the haunted castles, ruined abbeys and supernatural occurrences of classic Gothics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as those produced by writers as diverse as Charles Brockden Brown, Matthew Lewis, Edgar Allen Poe, Radcliffe, Bram Stoker and Walpole, New Zealand Gothic fiction tends to focus on psychological horror, taking its cue, according to Jenny Lawn, from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), which ushered in a tendency in the Gothic novel to explore the idea of a divided consciousness. Lawn observes that in New Zealand “Our monsters tend to be interior: they are experiences of intense psychological states, often with sexual undertones within isolated nuclear families” (“Kiwi Gothic”). Kirsty Gunn’s novella Rain (1994), which focuses on a dysfunctional family holidaying in an isolated lakeside community, exemplifies the tendency of New Zealand Gothic to omit the supernatural in favour of the psychological, with its spectres being sexual predation, parental neglect and the death of an innocent. Bronwyn Bannister’s Haunt (2000) is set primarily in a psychiatric hospital, detailing various forms of psychiatric disorder, as well as the acts that spring from them, such as one protagonist’s concealment for several years of her baby in a shed, while Noel Virtue’s The Redemption of Elsdon Bird (1987) is another example, with a young character’s decision to shoot his two younger siblings in the head as they sleep in an attempt to protect them from the religious beliefs of his fundamentalist parents amply illustrating the intense psychological states that characterise New Zealand Gothic. Although there is no reason why Gothic literature ought to include the supernatural, its omission in New Zealand Gothic does point to a confusion that Timothy Jones foregrounds in his suggestion that “In the absence of the trappings of established Gothic traditions – castles populated by fiendish aristocrats, swamps draped with Spanish moss and possessed by terrible spirits” New Zealand is “uncertain how and where it ought to perform its own Gothic” (203). The anxiety that Jones notes is perhaps less to do with where the New Zealand Gothic should occur, since there is an established tradition of Gothic events occurring in the bush and on the beach, while David Ballantyne’s Sydney Bridge Upside Down (1968) uses a derelict slaughterhouse as a version of a haunted castle and Maurice Gee successfully uses a decrepit farmhouse as a Gothic edifice in The Fire-Raiser (1986), but more to do with available ghosts. New Zealand Gothic literature produced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries certainly tends to focus on the psychological rather than the supernatural, but earlier writing that utilises the Gothic mode is far more focused on spooky events and ghostly presences. There is a tradition of supernatural Gothic in New Zealand, but its representations of Maori ghosts complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. The stories in D. W. O. Fagen’s collection Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand (1952) illustrate the tendency in colonial New Zealand literature to represent Maori in supernatural terms expressive both of anxieties surrounding Maori agency and indigeneity, as well as Western assumptions regarding Maori culture. In much colonial Gothic, Maori ghosts, burial grounds and the notion of tapu express settler anxieties while also working to contain those anxieties by suggesting the superstitious and hence backward nature of indigenous culture. In Fagan’s story “Tapu”, which first appeared in the Bulletin in 1912, the narrator stumbles into a Maori burial ground where he is confronted by the terrible sight of “two fleshless skeletons” that grin and appear “ghastly in the dim light” (37). The narrator’s desecration of land deemed tapu fills him with “a sort of nameless terror at nothing, a horror of some unknown impending fate against which it was useless to struggle and from which there was no escape” (39). This expresses a sense of the authenticity of Maori culture, but the narrator’s thought “Was there any truth in heathen devilry after all?” is quickly superseded by the relegation of Maori culture as “ancient superstitions” (40). When the narrator is approached by a tohunga following his breach of tapu, his reaction is outrage: "Here was I – a fairly decent Englishman, reared in the Anglican faith and living in the nineteenth century – hindered from going about my business, outcast, excommunicated, shunned as a leper, my servant dying, all on account of some fiendish diablerie of heathen fetish. The affair was preposterous, incredible, ludicrous" (40). Fagan’s story establishes a clear opposition between Western rationalism and “decency”, and the “heathen fetishes” associated with Maori culture, which it uses to infuse the story with the thrills appropriate to Gothic fiction and which it ultimately casts as superstitious and uncivilised. F. E. Maning’s Old New Zealand (1863) includes an episode of Maori women grieving that is represented in terms that would not be out of place in horror. A group of women are described as screaming, wailing, and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of tuhua, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went; then from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; then the rude but keen knife was shifted from the right hand to the left, placed to the right wrist, drawn upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast; and so the operation went on all the time I was there, the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body was a mere clot of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger – a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. (Maning 120–21) The gory quality of this episode positions Maori as barbaric, but Patrick Evans notes that there is an incident in Old New Zealand that grants authenticity to indigenous culture. After being discovered handling human remains, the narrator of Maning’s text is made tapu and rendered untouchable. Although Maning represents the narrator’s adherence to his abjection from Maori society as merely a way to placate a local population, when a tohunga appears to perform cleansing rituals, the narrator’s indulgence of perceived superstition is accompanied by “a curious sensation […] like what I fancied a man must feel who has just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness” (qtd. in Evans 85). Evans points out that Maning may represent the ritual as solely performative, “but the result is portrayed as real” (85). Maning’s narrator may assert his lack of belief in the tohunga’s power, but he nevertheless experiences that power. Such moments of unease occur throughout colonial writing when assertions of European dominance and rational understanding are undercut or threatened. Evans cites the examples of the painter G. F. Angus whose travels through the native forest of Waikato in the 1840s saw him haunted by the “peculiar odour” of rotting vegetation and Edward Shortland whose efforts to remain skeptical during a sacred Maori ceremony were disturbed by the manifestation of atua rustling in the thatch of the hut in which it was occurring (Evans 85). Even though the mysterious power attributed to Maori in colonial Gothic is frequently represented as threatening, there is also an element of desire at play, which Lydia Wevers highlights in her observation that colonial ghost stories involve a desire to assimilate or be assimilated by what is “other.” Wevers singles out for discussion the story “The Disappearance of Letham Crouch”, which appeared in the New Zealand Illustrated Magazine in 1901. The narrative recounts the experiences of an overzealous missionary who is received by Maori as a new tohunga. In order to learn more about Maori religion (so as to successfully replace it with Christianity), Crouch inhabits a hut that is tapu, resulting in madness and fanaticism. He eventually disappears, only to reappear in the guise of a Maori “stripped for dancing” (qtd. in Wevers 206). Crouch is effectively “turned heathen” (qtd. in Wevers 206), a transformation that is clearly threatening for a Christian European, but there is also an element of desirability in such a transformation for a settler seeking an authentic New Zealand identity. Colonial Gothic frequently figures mysterious experiences with indigenous culture as a way for the European settler to essentially become indigenous by experiencing something perceived as authentically New Zealand. Colonial Gothic frequently includes the supernatural in ways that are complicit in the processes of colonisation that problematizes them as models for contemporary writers. For New Zealanders attempting to produce a Gothic narrative, the most immediately available tropes for a haunting past are Maori, but to use those tropes brings texts uncomfortably close to nineteenth-century obsessions with Maori skeletal remains and a Gothicised New Zealand landscape, which Edmund G. C. King notes is a way of expressing “the sense of bodily and mental displacement that often accompanied the colonial experience” (36). R. H. Chapman’s Mihawhenua (1888) provides an example of tropes particularly Gothic that remain a part of colonial discourse not easily transferable into a bicultural context. Chapman’s band of explorers discover a cave strewn with bones which they interpret to be the remains of gory cannibalistic feasts: Here, we might well imagine, the clear waters of the little stream at our feet had sometime run red with the blood of victims of some horrid carnival, and the pale walls of the cavern had grown more pale in sympathy with the shrieks of the doomed ere a period was put to their tortures. Perchance the owners of some of the bones that lay scattered in careless profusion on the floor, had, when strong with life and being, struggled long and bravely in many a bloody battle, and, being at last overcome, their bodies were brought here to whet the appetites and appease the awful hunger of their victors. (qtd. in King) The assumptions regarding the primitive nature of indigenous culture expressed by reference to the “horrid carnival” of cannibalism complicate the processes through which contemporary writers could meaningfully draw on a tradition of New Zealand Gothic utilising the supernatural. One answer to this dilemma is to use supernatural elements not specifically associated with New Zealand. In Stephen Cain’s anthology Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side (1996) there are several instances of this, such as in the story “Never Go Tramping Alone” by Alyson Cresswell-Moorcock, which features a creature called a Gravett. As Timothy Jones’s discussion of this anthology demonstrates, there are two problems arising from this unprecedented monster: firstly, the story does not seem to be a “New Zealand Gothic”, which a review in The Evening Post highlights by observing that “there is a distinct ‘Kiwi’ feel to only a few of the stories” (Rendle 5); while secondly, the Gravatt’s appearance in the New Zealand landscape is unconvincing. Jones argues that "When we encounter the wendigo, a not dissimilar spirit to the Gravatt, in Ann Tracy’s Winter Hunger or Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, we have a vague sense that such beings ‘exist’ and belong in the American or Canadian landscapes in which they are located. A Gravatt, however, has no such precedent, no such sense of belonging, and thus loses its authority" (251). Something of this problem is registered in Elizabeth Knox’s vampire novel Daylight (2003), which avoids the problem of making a vampire “fit” with a New Zealand landscape devoid of ancient architecture by setting all the action in Europe. One of the more successful stories in Cain’s collection demonstrates a way of engaging with a specifically New Zealand tradition of supernatural Gothic, while also illustrating some of the potential pitfalls in utilising colonial Gothic tropes of menacing bush, Maori burial caves and skeletal remains. Oliver Nicks’s “The House” focuses on a writer who takes up residence in an isolated “little old colonial cottage in the bush” (8). The strange “odd-angled walls”, floors that seem to slope downwards and the “subterranean silence” of the cottage provokes anxiety in the first-person narrator who admits his thoughts “grew increasingly dark and chaotic” (8). The strangeness of the house is only intensified by the isolation of its surroundings, which are fertile but nevertheless completely uninhabited. Alone and unnerved by the oddness of the house, the narrator listens to the same “inexplicable night screeches and rustlings of the bush” (9) that furnish so much New Zealand Gothic. Yet it is not fear inspired by the menacing bush that troubles the narrator as much as the sense that there was more in this darkness, something from which I felt a greater need to be insulated than the mild horror of mingling with a few wetas, spiders, bats, and other assorted creepy-crawlies. Something was subtlely wrong here – it was not just the oddness of the dimensions and angles. Everything seemed slightly off, not to add up somehow. I could not quite put my finger on whatever it was. (10) When the narrator escapes the claustrophobic house for a walk in the bush, the natural environment is rendered in spectral terms. The narrator is engulfed by the “bare bones of long-dead forest giants” (11) and “crowding tree-corpses”, but the path he follows in order to escape the “Tree-ghosts” is no more comforting since it winds through “a strange grey world with its shrouds of hanging moss, and mist” (12). In the midst of this Gothicised environment the narrator is “transfixed by the intersection of two overpowering irrational forces” when something looms up out of the mist and experiences “irresistible curiosity, balanced by an equal and opposite urge to turn and run like hell” (12). The narrator’s experience of being deep in the threatening bush continues a tradition of colonial writing that renders the natural environment in Gothic terms, such as H. B. Marriot Watson’s The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure (1891), which includes an episode that sees the protagonist Palliser become lost in the forest of Te Tauru and suffer a similar demoralization as Nicks’s narrator: “the horror of the place had gnawed into his soul, and lurked there, mordant. He now saw how it had come to be regarded as the home of the Taniwha, the place of death” (77). Philip Steer points out that it is the Maoriness of Palliser’s surroundings that inspire his existential dread, suggesting a certain amount of settler alienation, but “Palliser’s survival and eventual triumph overwrites this uncertainty with the relegation of Maori to the past” (128). Nicks’s story, although utilising similar tropes to colonial fiction, attempts to puts them to different ends. What strikes such fear in Nicks’s narrator is a mysterious object that inspires the particular dread known as the uncanny: I gave myself a stern talking to and advanced on the shadow. It was about my height, angular, bony and black. It stood as it now stands, as it has stood for centuries, on the edge of a swamp deep in the heart of an ancient forest high in this remote range of hills forming a part of the Southern Alps. As I think of it I cannot help but shudder; it fills me even now with inexplicable awe. It snaked up out of the ground like some malign fern-frond, curving back on itself and curling into a circle at about head height. Extending upwards from the circle were three odd-angled and bent protuberances of unequal length. A strange force flowed from it. It looked alien somehow, but it was man-made. Its power lay, not in its strangeness, but in its unaccountable familiarity; why did I know – have I always known? – how to fear this… thing? (12) This terrible “thing” represents a return of the repressed associated with the crimes of colonisation. After almost being devoured by the malevolent tree-like object the narrator discovers a track leading to a cave decorated with ancient rock paintings that contains a hideous wooden creature that is, in fact, a burial chest. Realising that he has discovered a burial cave, the narrator is shocked to find more chests that have been broken open and bones scattered over the floor. With the discovery of the desecrated burial cave, the hidden crimes of colonisation are brought to light. Unlike colonial Gothic that tends to represent Maori culture as threatening, Nicks’s story represents the forces contained in the cave as a catalyst for a beneficial transformative experience: I do remember the cyclone of malign energy from the abyss gibbering and leering; a flame of terror burning in every cell of my body; a deluge of shrieking unreason threatening to wash away the bare shred that was left of my mind. Yet even as each hellish new dimension yawned before me, defying the limits even of imagination, the fragments of my shattered sanity were being drawn together somehow, and reassembled in novel configurations. To each proposition of demonic impossibility there was a surging, answering wave of kaleidoscopic truth. (19) Although the story replicates colonial writing’s tendency to represent indigenous culture in terms of the irrational and demonic, the authenticity and power of the narrator’s experience is stressed. When he comes to consciousness following an enlightenment that sees him acknowledging that the truth of existence is a limitless space “filled with deep coruscations of beauty and joy” (20) he knows what he must do. Returning to the cottage, the narrator takes several days to search the house and finally finds what he is looking for: a steel box that contains “stolen skulls” (20). The narrator concludes that the “Trophies” (20) buried in the collapsed outhouse are the cause for the “Dark, inexplicable moods, nightmares, hallucinations – spirits, ghosts, demons” that “would have plagued anyone who attempted to remain in this strange, cursed region” (20). Once the narrator returns the remains to the burial cave, the inexplicable events cease and the once-strange house becomes an ideal home for a writer seeking peace in which to work. The colonial Gothic mode in New Zealand utilises the Gothic’s concern with a haunting past in order to associate that past with the primitive and barbaric. By rendering Maori culture in Gothic terms, such as in Maning’s blood-splattered scene of grieving or through the spooky discoveries of bone-strewn caves, colonial writing compares an “uncivilised” indigenous culture with the “civilised” culture of European settlement. For a contemporary writer wishing to produce a New Zealand supernatural horror, the colonial Gothic is a problematic tradition to work from, but Nicks’s story succeeds in utilising tropes associated with colonial writing in order to reverse its ideologies. “The House” represents European settlement in terms of barbarity by representing a brutal desecration of sacred ground, while indigenous culture is represented in positive, if frightening, terms of truth and power. Colonial Gothic’s tendency to associate indigenous culture with violence, barbarism and superstition is certainly replicated in Nicks’s story through the frightening object that attempts to devour the narrator and the macabre burial chests shaped like monsters, but ultimately it is colonial violence that is most overtly condemned, with the power inhabiting the burial cave being represented as ultimately benign, at least towards an intruder who means no harm. More significantly, there is no attempt in the story to explain events that seem outside the understanding of Western rationality. The story accepts as true what the narrator experiences. Nevertheless, in spite of the explicit engagement with the return of repressed crimes associated with colonisation, Nicks’s engagement with the mode of colonial Gothic means there is a replication of some of its underlying notions relating to settlement and belonging. The narrator of Nicks’s story is a contemporary New Zealander who is placed in the position of rectifying colonial crimes in order to take up residence in a site effectively cleansed of the sins of the past. Nicks’s narrator cannot happily inhabit the colonial cottage until the stolen remains are returned to their rightful place and it seems not to occur to him that a greater theft might underlie the smaller one. Returning the stolen skulls is represented as a reasonable action in “The House”, and it is a way for the narrator to establish what Linda Hardy refers to as “natural occupancy,” but the notion of returning a house and land that might also be termed stolen is never entertained, although the story’s final sentence does imply the need for the continuing placation of the powerful indigenous forces that inhabit the land: “To make sure that things stay [peaceful] I think I may just keep this story to myself” (20). The fact that the narrator has not kept the story to himself suggests that his untroubled occupation of the colonial cottage is far more tenuous than he might have hoped. References Ballantyne, David. Sydney Bridge Upside Down. Melbourne: Text, 2010. Bannister, Bronwyn. Haunt. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2000. Calder, Alex. “F. E. Maning 1811–1883.” Kotare 7. 2 (2008): 5–18. Chapman, R. H. Mihawhenua: The Adventures of a Party of Tourists Amongst a Tribe of Maoris Discovered in Western Otago. Dunedin: J. Wilkie, 1888. Cresswell-Moorcock, Alyson. “Never Go Tramping Along.” Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side. Ed. Stephen Cain. Wellington: IPL Books, 1996: 63-71. Evans, Patrick. The Long Forgetting: Postcolonial Literary Culture in New Zealand. Christchurch: Canterbury University Press, 2007. Fagan, D. W. O. Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand. Wellington: A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1952. Gee, Maurice. The Fire-Raiser. Auckland: Penguin, 1986. Gunn, Kirsty. Rain. New York: Grove Press, 1994. Hardy, Linda. “Natural Occupancy.” Meridian 14.2 (October 1995): 213-25. Jones, Timothy. The Gothic as a Practice: Gothic Studies, Genre and the Twentieth Century Gothic. PhD thesis. Wellington: Victoria University, 2010. King, Edmund G. C. “Towards a Prehistory of the Gothic Mode in Nineteenth-Century Zealand Writing,” Journal of New Zealand Literature 28.2 (2010): 35-57. “Kiwi Gothic.” Massey (Nov. 2001). 8 Mar. 2014 ‹http://www.massey.ac.nz/~wwpubafs/magazine/2001_Nov/stories/gothic.html›. Maning, F. E. Old New Zealand and Other Writings. Ed. Alex Calder. London: Leicester University Press, 2001. Marriott Watson, H. B. The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure. London: Hutchinson, 1891. Nicks, Oliver. “The House.” Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side. Ed. Stephen Cain. Wellington: IPL Books, 1996: 8-20. Rendle, Steve. “Entertaining Trip to the Dark Side.” Rev. of Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side, ed. Stephen Cain. The Evening Post. 17 Jan. 1997: 5. Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed. Patrick Nobes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. Steer, Philip. “History (Never) Repeats: Pakeha Identity, Novels and the New Zealand Wars.” Journal of New Zealand Literature 25 (2007): 114-37. Virtue, Noel. The Redemption of Elsdon Bird. New York: Grove Press, 1987. Walpole, Horace. The Castle of Otranto. London: Penguin, 2010. Wevers, Lydia. “The Short Story.” The Oxford History of New Zealand Literature in English. Ed. Terry Sturm. Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1991: 203–70.