Academic literature on the topic 'Volunteer workers in social service – Training of – Zambia'

Choosing to volunteer one’s time in service to another is one of life’s selfless endeavors. Social work practice often intersects with volunteers. Many social workers volunteer their time. Yet, when volunteerism is studied from a quantitative framework, findings may overlook what is so special in this prosocial act, the voices of the volunteers. This article reports on the qualitative findings in a pilot mixed methods research study exploring a group of volunteers who chose to assist incapacitated older and disabled adults in their community by acting as their legal guardians. Volunteer legal guardianship may serve as the only guardian option in many localities, and may be greatly needed as our population ages. Qualitative data from 15 first and second individual interviews ( n = 12) were analyzed using a thematic analysis process. Findings indicated a strong humanitarian and civic interest in helping their neighbors in their community. Moreover, volunteers performed a wide variety of tasks in their capacity as guardians along a continuum related to their professional background and skills, an important finding relative to informing recruitment and retention strategies. Volunteer guardians trained in human service–related professions tended to require little information or support throughout the process. Those without human service training tended to request more information and support. However, many became increasingly independent in the task as their experience and competence grew. Additional implications include an understanding of this previously unexplored volunteer task, which may encourage use of and support training of volunteer guardians in aging and allied services.

The article refers to the educational electronic service provided in libraries by volunteer instructors, who help users, mostly those unemployed and elderly, to master computer literacy, work with the Internet , and search for information, especially concerning the labor market. Launched at the Chicago Public Library, in which, under the conditions of manifestation of the so-called phenomenon of library axiom, volunteers act as digital social workers, the CyberNavigator program has become one of the most sought-after and contributed to reducing the digital inequality in this megalopolis. Having familiarized with the American practice in the fi eld of library volunteering, during an educational trip to the United States, Polish specialists, studying foreign experience in the organization of modern volunteering to increase the level of its development in their country, decided to adopt a new service addressed to persons with diffi culties in accessing to information and communication technologies (ICT). To do this, they created and implemented a pilot project called “Information for Citizens — Cyber-Navigators in Libraries”. Its main objective was to introduce a system of continuous electronic training for persons with diffi culties in accessing to ICT by implementing a specifi c service of “cyber-navigators” in libraries. The authors of the project strived to implement digital and media training in libraries, both for those users “delimited by the digit” and for librarians to develop various forms of lessons for visitors like that (trai nings, instructions, consultations, etc.). The authors also wanted to identify the needs in the fi eld of users’ digital training and to attract volunteers in professional library activities, basing on the experience of American libraries and taking into account the Polish realities. The idea of cyber-navigation appeared to be so timely and fruitful, that the libraries have included this informal educational service in their list of permanent ones.

Background Peace Corps is a US government volunteer service agency which provides trained Volunteers to assist host countries in addressing critical development challenges at the community level. The US President’s Malaria Initiative provides technical expertise and financial resources to reduce malaria morbidity and mortality in focus countries in sub-Saharan Africa. Objective We aim to describe the nature of the collaboration between Peace Corps and President’s Malaria Initiative (PMI) and highlight examples of the partnership in select countries. Methods We conducted an analysis of retrospective data obtained from Peace Corps and PMI for the years 2014–2019. Results Volunteers were able to learn about and work on malaria prevention and control with PMI in three key ways: a malaria-specific training program for staff and Volunteers; malaria-focused small grants; and extension of Volunteer assignments for a third year to support malaria projects. Successful Peace Corps projects supported by PMI, at the community level, were highlighted, with a focus on Rwanda, Benin, Zambia, Madagascar, and Senegal. In Fiscal Year 2019, 1408 Volunteers contributed to malaria prevention activities in 18 Peace Corps programs across Africa, of which 15 were PMI focus countries. While the majority of documented work by Volunteers has involved social and behavior change, there were many other ways to partner with PMI staff. Conclusion Each of the proven interventions that PMI supports for malaria prevention and control may have a role for Volunteer involvement. Combined with the technical expertise and the relationships that PMI staff have with national-level counterparts in PMI focus countries, the continued collaboration between Peace Corps and PMI can accelerate the fight against malaria.

IntroductionIn regional Australia and New Zealand, museums and art galleries are increasingly becoming primary sites of cultural engagement. They are one of the key tourist attractions for regional towns and expected to generate much needed tourism revenue. In 2017 in New South Wales alone, there were three million visitors to regional galleries and museums (MGNSW 13). However, apart from those (partially) funded by local councils, they are often run on donations, good will, and the enthusiasm of volunteers. Regional museums and galleries provide some paid, and more unpaid, employment for ageing populations. While two-thirds of Australia’s population lives in capital cities, the remainder who live in regional towns are likely to be in the 60+ age cohort because people are choosing to retire away from the bustling, growing cities (ABS). At last count, there were about 3000 museums and galleries in Australia with about 80% of them located in regional areas (Scott). Over the last 40 years, this figure has tripled from the 1000 regional and provincial museums estimated by Peter Piggott in his 1975 report (24). According to a 2014 survey (Shaw and Davidson), New Zealand has about 470 museums and galleries and about 70% are located outside capital cities. The vast majority, 85%, have less than five, full-time paid staff, and more than half of these were run entirely by ageing volunteers. They are entrusted with managing the vast majority of the history and heritage collections of Australia and New Zealand. These ageing volunteers need a diverse range of skills and experience to care for and interpret collections. How do you find the time and budget for professional development for both paid staff and volunteers? Many professional development events are held in capital cities, which are often a significant distance from the regional museum—this adds substantially to the costs of attending and the time commitment required to get there. In addition, it is not uncommon for people working in regional museums to be responsible for everything—from security, collection management, conservation, research, interpretation and public programs to changing the light bulbs. While there are a large number of resources available online, following a manual is often more difficult than learning from other colleagues or learning in a more formal educational or vocational environment where you can receive timely feedback on your work. Further, a foundational level of prior knowledge and experience is often required to follow written instructions. This article will suggest some strategies for low cost professional development and networking. It involves planning, thinking strategically and forming partnerships with others in the region. It is time to harness the power of modern communications technology and use it as a tool for professional development. Some models of professional development in regional areas that have been implemented in the past will also be reviewed. The focus for this article is on training and professional development for workers in regional museums, heritage sites and keeping places. Regional art galleries have not been included because they tend to have separate regional networks and training opportunities. For example, there are professional development opportunities provided through the Art Galleries Association of Australia and their state branches. Regional galleries are also far more likely to have one or more paid staff members (Winkworth, “Fixing the Slums” 2). Regional Museums, Volunteers, and Social CapitalIt is widely accepted that regional museums and galleries enhance social capital and reduce social isolation (Kelly 32; Burton and Griffin 328). However, while working in a regional museum or gallery can help to build friendship networks, it can also be professionally isolating. How do you benchmark what you do against other places if you are two or more hours drive from those places? How do you learn from other colleagues if all your colleagues are also isolated by the ‘tyranny of distance’ and struggling with the same lack of access to training? In 2017 in New South Wales alone, there were 8,629 active volunteers working in regional museums and galleries giving almost five million hours, which Museums and Galleries NSW calculated was worth over $150 million per annum in unpaid labour (MGNSW 1). Providing training and professional development to this group is an investment in Australia’s social and cultural capital.Unlike other community-run groups, the museums and heritage places which have emerged in regional Australia and New Zealand are not part of a national or state branch network. Volunteers who work for the Red Cross, Scouts or Landcare benefit from being part of a national organisation which provides funding, support workers, a website, governance structure, marketing, political advocacy and training (Winkworth, “Let a Thousand Flowers” 11). In Australia and New Zealand, this role is undertaken by the Australian Museums and Galleries Association AMaGA (formerly Museums Australia) and Museums Aotearoa respectively. However, both of these groups operate at the macro policy level, for example organising annual conferences, publishing a journal and developing Indigenous policy frameworks, rather than the local, practical level. In 1995, due to their advocacy work, Landcare Australia received $500 million over five years from the federal government to fund 5000 Landcare groups, which are run by 120,000 volunteers (Oppenheimer 177). They argued successfully that the sustainable development of land resources started at the local level. What do we need to do to convince government of the need for sustainable development of our local and regional museum and heritage resources?Training for Volunteers Working in Regional Museums: The Current SituationAnother barrier to training for regional museum workers is the assumption that the 70:20:10 model of professional development should apply. That is, 70% of one’s professional development is done ‘on the job’ by completing tasks and problem-solving; 20% is achieved by learning from mentors, coaches and role models and 10% is learnt from attending conferences and symposia and enrolling in formal courses of study. However, this model pre-supposes that there are people in your workplace whom you can learn from and who can show you how to complete a task, and that you are not destroying or damaging a precious, unique object if you happen to make a mistake.Some museum volunteers come with skills in research, marketing, administration, customer service or photography, but very few come with specific museum skills like writing exhibition text, registering an acquisition or conserving artefacts. These skills need to be taught. As Kylie Winkworth has written, museum management now requires a [...] skills set, which is not so readily found in small communities, and which in many ways is less rewarding for the available volunteers, who may have left school at 15. We do not expect volunteer librarians to catalogue books, which are in any case of low intrinsic value, but we still expect volunteers in their 70s and 80s to catalogue irreplaceable heritage collections and meet ever more onerous museum standards. That so many volunteers manage to do this is extraordinary. (“Let a Thousand Flowers” 13)Workers in regional museums are constantly required to step outside their comfort zones and learn new skills with minimal professional support. While these challenging experiences can be very rewarding, they are also potentially damaging for our irreplaceable material cultural heritage.Training for museum professionals has been on the agenda of the International Council of Museums (ICOM) since 1947 (Boylan 62). However, until 1996, their work focused on recommending curricula for new museum professionals and did not include life-long learning and on-going professional development. ICOM’s International Committee for the Training of Personnel (ICTOP) and the ICOM Executive has responded to this in their new curricula—ICOM Curricula Guidelines for Professional Museum Development, but this does not address the difficulties staff or volunteers working in regional areas face in accessing training.In some parts of Australia, there are regional support and professional development programs in place. For example, in Queensland, there is the Museum Development Officer (MDO) network. However, because of the geographic size of the state and the spread of the museums, these five regionally based staff often have 60-80 museums or keeping places in their region needing support and so their time and expertise is spread very thinly. It is also predominantly a fee-for-service arrangement. That is, the museums have to pay for the MDO to come and deliver training. Usually this is done by the MDO working with a local museum to apply for a Regional Arts Development Fund (RADF) grant. In Victoria there is a roving curator program where eligible regional museums can apply to have a professional curator come and work with them for a few days to help the volunteers curate exhibitions. The roving curator can also provide advice on “develop[ing] high quality exhibitions for diverse audiences” via email, telephone and networking events. Tasmania operates a similar scheme but their two roving curators are available for up to 25 days of work each year with eligible museums, provided the local council makes a financial contribution. The New South Wales government supports the museum advisor program through which a museum professional will come to your museum for up to 20 days/year to give advice and hands-on training—provided your local council pays $7000, an amount that is matched by the state government—for this service. In 2010, in response to recommendations in the Dunn Report (2007), the Collections Council of Australia (CCA) established a pilot project with the City of Kalgoorlie-Boulder in Western Australia and $120,000 in funding from the Myer Foundation to trial the provision of a paid Collections Care Coordinator who would provide free training, expertise and support to local museums in the region. Tragically, CCA was de-funded by the Cultural Ministers Council the same year and the roll-out of a hub and spoke regional model was not supported by government due to the lack of an evidence base (Winkworth, “Let a Thousand Flowers” 18). An evaluation of the trial project would have tested a different model of regional training and added to the evidence base.All these state-based models (except the aborted Collections Care hub in Western Australia) require small regional museums to compete with each other for access to a museum professional and to successfully apply for funding, usually from their local council or state government. If they are successful, the training that is delivered is a one-off, as they are unlikely to get a second slice of the regional pie.An alternative to this competitive, fly-in fly-out, one-off model of professional development is to harness the technology and resources of local libraries and other cultural facilities in regional areas. This is what the Sydney Opera House Trust did in March 2019 to deliver their All about Women program of speakers via live streaming to 37 satellite sites throughout Australia and New Zealand.Harnessing Technology and Using Regional Library Infrastructure to Provide Training: ScenarioImagine the following scenario. It is a Monday morning in a regional library in Dubbo, New South Wales. Dubbo is 391 km or five hours drive by car from the nearest capital city (Sydney) and there are 50 regional museums within a 100 km radius. Ten people are gathered in a meeting room at the library watching a live stream of the keynote speakers who are presenting at their national museums conference. They are from five regional museums where they work as volunteers or part-time paid staff. They cannot afford to pay $2000, or more, to attend the conference, but they are happy to self-fund to drive for an hour or two to link up with other colleagues to listen to the presentations. They make notes and tweet in their questions using the conference twitter handle and hashtag. They have not been exposed to international speakers in the industry before and the ideas presented are fresh and stimulating. When the conference breaks for morning tea, they take a break too and get to know each other over a cuppa (provided free of charge by the library). Just as the networking sessions at conferences are vitally important for the delegates, they are even more important to address social isolation amongst this group. When they reconvene, they discuss their questions and agree to email the presenters with the questions that are unresolved. After the conference keynote sessions finish, the main conference (in the capital city) disperses into parallel sessions, which are no longer available via live stream.To make the two-hour drive more worthwhile and continue their professional development, they have arranged to hold a significance assessment workshop as well. Each museum worker has brought along photographs of one item in their collection that they want to do more research on. Some of them have also brought the object, if it is small and robust enough to travel. They have downloaded copies of Significance 2.0 and read it before they arrived. They started to write significance reports but could not fully understand how to apply some of the criteria. They cannot afford to pay for professional workshop facilitators, but they have arranged for the local studies librarian to give them an hour of free training on using the library’s resources (online and onsite) to do research on the local area and local families. They learn more about Trove, Papers Past and other research tools which are available online. This is hands-on and computer-based skills training using their own laptops/tablets or the ones provided by the library. After the training with the librarian, they break into two groups and read each other’s significance reports and make suggestions. The day finishes with a cuppa at 2.30pm giving them time to drive home before the sun sets. They agree to exchange email addresses so they can keep in touch. All the volunteers and staff who attended these sessions in regional areas feel energised after these meetings. They no longer feel so isolated and like they are working in the dark. They feel supported just knowing that there are other people who are struggling with the same issues and constraints as they are. They are sick of talking about the lack of budget, expertise, training and resources and want to do something with what they have.Bert (fictional name) decides that it is worth capitalising on this success. He emails the people who came to the session in Dubbo to ask them if they would like to do it again but focus on some different training needs. He asks them to choose two of the following three professional development options. First, they can choose to watch and discuss a recording of the keynote presentations from day two of the recent national conference. The conference organisers have uploaded digital recordings of the speakers’ presentations and the question time to the AMaGA website. This is an option for local libraries that do not have sufficient bandwidth to live stream video. The local library technician will help them cast the videos to a large screen. Second, they can each bring an object from their museum collection that they think needs conservation work. If the item is too fragile or big to move, they will bring digital photographs of it instead. Bert consulted their state-based museum and found some specialist conservators who have agreed to Skype or Facetime them in Dubbo free of charge, to give them expert advice about how to care for their objects, and most importantly, what not to do. The IT technician at Dubbo Library can set up their meeting room so that they can cast the Skype session onto a large smart screen TV. One week before the event, they will send a list of their objects and photographs of them to the conservator so that she can prepare, and they can make best use of her time. After this session, they will feel more confident about undertaking small cleaning and flattening treatments and know when they should not attempt a treatment themselves and need to call on the experts. Third, they could choose to have a training session with the council’s grants officer on writing grant applications. As he assesses grant applications, he can tell them what local councils look for in a successful grant application. He can also inform them about some of the grants that might be relevant to them. After the formal training, there will be an opportunity for them to exchange information about the grants they have applied for in the past—sometimes finding out what’s available can be difficult—and work in small groups to critique each other’s grant applications.The group chooses options two and three, as they want more practical skills development. They take a break in the middle of the day for lunch, which gives them the opportunity to exchange anecdotes from their volunteer work and listen to and support each other. They feel validated and affirmed. They have gained new skills and don’t feel so isolated. Before they leave, Alice agrees to get in touch with everyone to organise their next regional training day.Harnessing Technology and Using Regional Library Infrastructure to Provide Training: BenefitsThese scenarios need not be futuristic. The training needs are real, as is the desire to learn and the capacity of libraries to support regional groups. While funding for regional museums has stagnated or declined in recent years, libraries have been surging ahead. In August 2018, the New South Wales Government announced an “historic investment” of $60 million into all 370 public libraries that would “transform the way NSW’s public libraries deliver much-needed services, especially in regional areas” (Smith). Libraries are equipped and charged with the responsibility of enabling local community groups to make best use of their resources. Most state and national museum workers are keen to share their expertise with their regional colleagues: funding and distance are often the only barriers. These scenarios allow national conference keynote speakers to reach a much larger audience than the conference attendees. While this strategy might reduce the number of workers from regional areas who pay to attend conferences, the reality is that due to distance, other volunteer commitments, expense and family responsibilities, they probably would not attend anyway. Most regional museums and galleries and their staff might be asset-rich, but they are cash-poor, and the only way their workers get to attend conferences is if they win a bursary or grant. In 2005, Winkworth said: “the future for community museums is to locate them within local government as an integral part of the cultural, educational and economic infrastructure of the community, just like libraries and galleries” (“Fixing the Slums” 7). Fourteen years on, very little progress has been made in this direction. Those museums which have been integrated into the local council infrastructure, such as at Orange and Wagga Wagga in western New South Wales, are doing much better than those that are still stuck in ‘cultural poverty’ and trying to operate independently.However, the co-location and convergence of museums, libraries and archives is only successful if it is well managed. Helena Robinson has examined the impact on museum collection management and interpretation of five local government funded, converged collecting institutions in Australia and New Zealand and found that the process is complex and does not necessarily result in “optimal” cross-disciplinary expertise or best practice outcomes (14158).ConclusionRobinson’s research, however, did not consider community-based collecting institutions using regional libraries as sites for training and networking. By harnessing local library resources and making better use of existing communications technology it is possible to create regional hubs for professional development and collegiate support, which are not reliant on grants. If the current competitive, fly-in fly-out, self-funded model of providing professional development and support to regional museums continues, then the future for our cultural heritage collections and the dedicated volunteers who care for them is bleak. Alternatively, the scenarios I have described give regional museum workers agency to address their own professional development needs. This in no way removes the need for leadership, advocacy and coordination by national representative bodies such as AMaGA and Museums Aotearoa. If AMaGA partnered with the Australian Library and Information Association (ALIA) to stream their conference keynote sessions to strategically located regional libraries and used some of their annual funding from the Department of Communication and the Arts to pay for museum professionals to travel to some of those sites to deliver training, they would be investing in the nation’s social and cultural capital and addressing the professional development needs of regional museum workers. This would also increase the sustainability of our cultural heritage collections, which are valuable economic assets.ReferencesAustralian Bureau of Statistics. “2071.0—Census of Population and Housing: Reflecting Australia—Snapshot of Australia, 2016”. Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2017. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/Lookup/by%20Subject/2071.0~2016~Main%20Features~Snapshot%20of%20Australia,%202016~2>.Boylan, Patrick. “The Intangible Heritage: A Challenge and an Opportunity for Museums and Museum Professional Training.” International Journal of Intangible Heritage 1 (2006): 53–65.Burton, Christine, and Jane Griffin. “More than a Museum? Understanding How Small Museums Contribute to Social Capital in Regional Communities.” Asia Pacific Journal of Arts & Cultural Management 5.1 (2008): 314–32. 17 Mar. 2019 <http://apjacm.arts.unimelb.edu.au/article/view/32>.Dunn, Anne. The Dunn Report: A Report on the Concept of Regional Collections Jobs. Adelaide: Collections Council of Australia, 2007.ICOM Curricula Guidelines for Professional Museum Development. 2000. <http://museumstudies.si.edu/ICOM-ICTOP/comp.htm>.Kelly, Lynda. “Measuring the Impact of Museums on Their Communities: The Role of the 21st Century Museum.” New Roles and Issues of Museums INTERCOM Symposium (2006): 25–34. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://media.australianmuseum.net.au/media/dd/Uploads/Documents/9355/impact+paper+INTERCOM+2006.bb50ba1.pdf>.Museums and Galleries New South Wales (MGNSW). 2018 NSW Museums and Galleries Sector Census. Museums and Galleries of New South Wales. Data and Insights—Culture Counts. Sydney: MGNSW, 2019. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://mgnsw.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/2018-NSW-Museum-Gallery-Sector-Census.pdf>Oppenheimer, Melanie. Volunteering: Why We Can’t Survive without It. Sydney: U of New South Wales P, 2008.Pigott, Peter. Museums in Australia 1975. Report of the Committee of Inquiry on Museums and National Collections Including the Report of the Planning Committee on the Gallery of Aboriginal Australia. Canberra: Australian Government Printing Service, 1975. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://apo.org.au/node/35268>.Public Sector Commission, Western Australia. 70:20:10 Framework Learning Philosophy. Perth: Government of Western Australia, 2018. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://publicsector.wa.gov.au/centre-public-sector-excellence/about-centre/702010-framework>.Robinson, Helena. “‘A Lot of People Going That Extra Mile’: Professional Collaboration and Cross-Disciplinarity in Converged Collecting Institutions.” Museum Management and Curatorship 31 (2016): 141–58.Scott, Lee. National Operations Manager, Museums Australia, Personal Communication. 22 Oct. 2018.Shaw, Iain, and Lee Davidson, Museums Aotearoa 2014 Sector Survey Report. Wellington: Victoria U, 2014. 17 Mar. 2019 <http://www.museumsaotearoa.org.nz/sites/default/files/documents/museums_aotearoa_sector_survey_2014_report_-_final_draft_oct_2015.pdf>.Smith, Alexandra. “NSW Libraries to Benefit from $60 Million Boost.” Sydney Morning Herald 24 Aug. 2018. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/politics/nsw/nsw-libraries-to-benefit-from-60-million-boost-20180823-p4zzdj.html>. Winkworth, Kylie. “Fixing the Slums of Australian Museums; or Sustaining Heritage Collections in Regional Australia.” Museums Australia Conference Paper. Canberra: Museums Australia, 2005. ———. “Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom: Museums in Regional Australia.” Understanding Museums—Australian Museums and Museology. Eds. Des Griffin and Leon Paroissien. Canberra: National Museum of Australia, 2011. 17 Mar. 2019 <https://nma.gov.au/research/understanding-museums/KWinkworth_2011.html>.

Introduction In an era of upheaval and uncertainty for higher education institutions around the world, scholars, like those in many in other professions, are increasingly using social media to build communities around mutual support and professional development. These communities appear to offer opportunities for participants to exert more positive influence over the types of interactions they engage in with colleagues, in many cases being valued as more altruistic, transformational, or supportive than established academic structures (Gibson, and Gibbs; Mewburn, and Thomson; Maitzen). What has been described as ‘digital scholarship’ applies social media to “different facets of scholarly activity in a helpful and productive way” (Carrigan 5), with online scholarly communities being likened to evolutions of face-to-face practices including peer mentoring (Ferguson, and Wheat) or a “virtual staffroom” (Mewburn, and Thomson). To a large extent, these accounts of scholarly practice adapted for digital media have resonance. From writing groups (O’Dwyer, McDonough, Jefferson, Goff, and Redman-MacLaren) to conference attendance (Spilker, Silva, and Morgado) and funding (Osimo, Priego, and Vuorikari), the transformational possibilities of social media have been applied to almost every facet of existing academic practices. These practices have increasingly attracted scrutiny from higher education institutions, with social media profiles of staff both a potential asset and risk to institutions’ brands. Around the world, institutions use social media for marketing, student recruitment, student support and alumni communication (Palmer). As such, social media policies have emerged in recent years in attempts to ensure staff engage in ways that align with the interests of their employers (Solberg; Carrigan). However, engagement via social media is also still largely considered “supplementary to ‘real’ scholarly work” (Mussell 347).Paralleling this trend, guides to effectively managing an online profile as a component of professional reputation have also become increasingly common (e.g. Carrigan). While public relations and management literatures have approached reputation management in terms of how an organisation is regarded by its multiple stakeholders (Fombrun) this is increasingly being applied to individuals on social media. According to Gandini a “reputation economy” (22) has come to function for knowledge workers who seek to cultivate a reputation as a good community member through sociality in order to secure more (or better) work.The popularity of professional social media communities and scrutiny of participants raises questions about the work involved in building and participating in them. This article explores these questions through analysis of tweets from the first year of #ECRchat, a Twitter group for early career researchers (ECRs). The group was established in 2012 to provide an opportunity for ECRs (typically within five years of PhD completion) to discuss career-related issues. Since it was founded, the group has been administered through partnerships between early career scholars using a Twitter account (@ECRchat) and a blog. Tweets, the posts of 140 characters or fewer, which appear on a user’s profile and in followers’ feeds (Twitter) are organised into a ‘chat’ by participants through the use of the hashtag ‘#ECRchat’. Participants vote on chat topics and take on the role of hosting on a volunteer basis. The explicit career focus of this group provides an ideal case study to explore how work is represented in an online professionally-focused community, in order to reflect on what this might mean for the norms of knowledge work.Digital Labour The impact of Internet Communication Technologies (ICT), including social media, on the lives of workers has long been a source of both concern and hope. Mobile devices, wireless Internet and associated communications software enable increasing numbers of people to take work home. This flexibility has been welcomed as the means by which workers might more successfully access jobs and manage competing commitments (Raja, Imaizumi, Kelly, Narimatsu, and Paradi-Guilford). However, hours worked from home are often unpaid and carry with them a strong likelihood of interfering with rest, recreation and family time (Pocock and Skinner). Melissa Gregg describes this as “presence bleed” (2): the dilutions of focus from everyday activities as workers increasingly use electronic devices to ‘check in’ during non-work time. Moving beyond the limitations of this work-life balance approach, which tends to over-state divisions between employment and other everyday life practices, a growing literature seeks to address work in online environments by analysing the types of labour being practiced, rather than seeing such practices as adjunct to physical workplaces. Responding to claims that digital communication heralds a new age of greater freedom, creativity and democratic participation, this work draws attention to the reliance of such networks on unpaid labour (e.g. Hearn; Hesmondhalgh) with ratings, reviews and relationship maintenance serving business’ economic ends alongside the individual interests which motivate participants. The immaterial, affective, and often precarious labour that has been observed is “simultaneously voluntarily given and unwaged, enjoyed and exploited” (Terranova). This work builds particularly on feminist analysis of work (see McRobbie for a discussion of this), with behind the scenes moderator, convenor, and community builder roles largely female and largely unrecognised, be they activist (Gleeson), creative (Duffy) or consumer (Arcy) groups. For some, this suggests the emergence of a new ‘women’s work’ of affective immaterial labour which goes into building transformational communities (Jarrett). Yet, digital labour has not yet been foregrounded within research into higher education, where it is largely practiced in the messy intersections of employment, unpaid professional development, and leisure. Joyce Goggin argues that convergence of these spheres is a feature of digital labour. Consequently, this article seeks to add a consideration of digital labour, specifically the cultural politics of work that emerge in these spaces, to the literature on digital practices as a translation of existing academic responsibilities online. In the context of widespread concerns over academic workload and job market (Bentley, Coates, Dobson, Goedegebuure, and Meek) and the growing international engagement and impact agenda (Priem, Piwowar, and Hemminger), it raises questions about the implications of these practices. Researching Twitter Communities This article analyses tweets from the publicly available Twitter timeline, containing the hashtag #ECRchat, during scheduled chats, from 1 July 2012 to 31 July 2013 (the first year of operation). Initially, all tweets in this time period were analysed in anonymised form to determine the most commonly mentioned topics during chats. This content analysis removed the most common English language words, such as: the; it; I; and RT (which stands for retweet), which would otherwise appear as top results in almost any content analysis regardless of the community of interest. This was followed by qualitative analysis of tweets, to explore in more depth how important issues were articulated and rationalised within the group. This draws on Catherine Driscoll’s and Melissa Gregg’s idea of “sympathetic online cultural studies” which seeks to explore online communities first and foremost as communities rather than as exemplars of online communications (15-20). Here, a narrative approach was undertaken to analyse how participants curated, made sense of, and explained their own career stories (drawing on Pamphilon). Although I do not claim that participants are representative of all ECRs, or that the ideas given the most attention during chats are representative of the experiences of all participants, representations of work articulated here are suggestive of the kinds of public utterances that were considered reasonable within this open online space. Participants are identified according to the twitter handle and user name they had chosen to use for the chats being analysed. This is because the practical infeasibility of guaranteeing online anonymity (readers need only to Google the text of any tweet to associate it with a particular user, in most cases) and the importance of actively involving participants as agents in the research process, in part by identifying them as authors of their own stories, rather than informants (e.g. Butz; Evans; Svalastog and Eriksson).Representations of Work in #ECRchat The co-creation of the #ECRchat community through participant hosts and community votes on chat topics gave rise to a discussion group that was heavily focused on ‘the work’ of academia, including its importance in the lives of participants, relative appeal over other options, and negative effects on leisure time. I was clear that participants regarded participation as serving their professional interests, despite participation not being paid or formally recognised by employers. With the exception of two discussions focused on making decisions about the future of the group, #ECRchat discussions during the year of analysis focused on topics designed to help participants succeed at work such as “career progression and planning”, “different routes to postdoc funding”, and “collaboration”. At a micro-level, ‘work’ (and related terms) was the most frequently used term in #ECRchat, with its total number of uses (1372) almost double that of research (700), the next most used term. Comments during the chats reiterated this emphasis: “It’s all about the work. Be decent to people and jump through the hoops you need to, but always keep your eyes on the work” (Magennis).The depth of participants’ commitment comes through strongly in discussions comparing academic work with other options: “pretty much everyone I know with ‘real jobs’ hates their work. I feel truly lucky to say that I love mine #ECRchat” (McGettigan). This was seen in particular in the discussion about ‘careers outside academia’. Hashtags such as #altac (referring to alternative-academic careers such as university research support or learning and teaching administration roles) and #postac (referring to PhD holders working outside of universities in research or non-research roles) used both alongside the #ECRchat hashtag and separately, provide an ongoing site of these kinds of representations. While participants in #ECRchat sought to shift this perception and were critically aware that it could lead to undesirable outcomes: “PhDs and ECRs in Humanities don’t seem to consider working outside of academia – that limits their engagement with training #ECRchat” (Faculty of Humanities at the University of Manchester), such discussions frequently describe alternative academic careers as a ‘backup plan’, should academic employment not be found. Additionally, many participants suggested that their working hours were excessive, extending the professional into personal spaces and times in ways that they did not see as positive. This was often described as the only way to achieve success: “I hate to say it, but one of the best ways to improve track record is to work 70+ hours a week, every week. Forever. #ecrchat” (Dunn). One of the key examples of this dynamic was the scheduling of the chat itself. When founded in 2012, #ECRchat ran in the Australian evening and UK morning, eliding the personal/work distinction for both its coordinators and participants. While considerable discussion was concerned with scheduling the chat during times when a large number of international participants could attend, this discussion centred on waking rather than working hours. The use of scheduled tweets and shared work between convenors in different time zones (Australia and the United Kingdom) maintained an around the clock online presence, extending well beyond the ordinary working hours of any individual participant.Personal Disclosure The norms that were articulated in #ECRchat are perhaps not surprising for a group of participants seeking to establish themselves in a profession where a long-hours culture and work-life interference are common (Bentley, Coates, Dobson, Goedegebuure, and Meek). However, what is notable is that participation frequently involved the extension of the personal into the professional and in support of professional aims. In the chat’s first year, an element of personal disclosure and support for others became key to acting as a good community member. Beyond the well-established norms of white collar workers demonstrating professionalism by deploying “courtesy, helpfulness, and kindness” (Mills xvii), this community building relied on personal disclosure which to some extent collapsed personal and professional boundaries.By disclosing individual struggles, anxieties, and past experiences participants contributed to a culture of support. This largely functioned through discussions of work stress rather than leisure: “I definitely don’t have [work-life balance]. I think it’s because I don’t have a routine so work and home constantly blend into one another” (Feely). Arising from these discussions, ideas to help participants better navigate and build academic careers was one of the main ways this community support and concern was practiced: “I think I’m often more productive and less anxious if I'm working on a couple of things in parallel, too #ecrchat” (Brian).Activities such as preparing meals, caring for family, and leisure activities, became part of the discussion. “@snarkyphd Sorry, late, had to deal with toddler. Also new; currently doing casual teaching/industry work & applying for postdocs #ecrchat” (Ronald). Exclusively professional profiles were considered less engaging than the combination of personal and professional that most participants adopted: “@jeanmadams I’ve answered a few queries on ResearchGate, but agree lack of non-work opinions / personality makes them dull #ecrchat” (Tennant). However, this is not to suggest that these networks become indistinguishable from more informal, personal, or leisurely uses of social media: “@networkedres My ‘professional’ online identity is slightly more guarded than my ‘facebook’ id which is for friends and family #ECRchat” (Wheat). Instead, disclosure of certain kinds of work struggles came to function as a positive contribution to a more reflexive professionalism. In the context of work-focused discussion, #ECRchat opens important spaces for scholars to question norms they considered damaging or at least make these tacit norms explicit and receive support to manage them. Affective Labour The professional goals and focus of #ECRchat, combined with the personal support and disclosure that forms the basis for the supportive elements in this group is arguably one of its strongest and most important elements. Mark Carrigan suggests that the practices of revealing something of the struggles we experience could form the basis for a new collegiality, where common experiences which had previously not been discussed publicly are for the first time recognised as systemic, not individual challenges. However, there is work required to provide context and support for these emotional experiences which is largely invisible here, as has typically been the case in other communities. Such ‘affective labour’ “involves the production and manipulation of affect and requires (virtual or actual) human contact, labour in the bodily mode … the labour is immaterial, even if it is corporeal and affective, in the sense that its products are intangible, a feeling of ease, well-being, satisfaction, excitement or passion” (Hardt, and Negri 292). In #ECRchat, this ranges from managing the schedule and organising discussions – which involves following up offers to help, assisting people to understand the task, and then ensuring things go ahead as planned –to support offered by members of the group within discussions. This occurs in the overlaps between personal and professional representations, taking a variety of forms from everyday reassurance, affirmation, and patience: “Sorry to hear - hang in there. Hope you have a good support network. #ECRchat” (Galea) to empathy often articulated alongside the disclosure discussed earlier: “The feeling of guilt over not working sounds VERY familiar! #ecrchat” (Vredeveldt).The point here is not to suggest that this work is not sufficiently valued by participants, or that it does not parallel the kinds of work undertaken in more formal job roles, including in academia, where management, conference convening or participation in professional societies, and teaching, as just a few examples, involve degrees of affective labour. However, as a consequence of the (semi)public nature of these groups, the interactions observed here appear to represent a new inflection of professional reputation work, where, in building online professional communities, individuals peg their professional reputations to these forms of affective labour. Importantly, given the explicitly professional nature of the group, these efforts are not counted as part of the formal workload of those involved, be they employed (temporarily or more securely) inside or outside universities, or not in the paid workforce. Conclusion A growing body of literature demonstrates that online academic communities can provide opportunities for collegiality, professional development, and support: particularly among emerging scholars. These accounts demonstrate the value of digital scholarly practices across a range of academic work. However, this article’s discussion of the work undertaken to build and maintain #ECRchat in its first year suggests that these practices at the messy intersections of employment, unpaid professional development, and leisure constitute a new inflection of professional reputation and service work. This work involves publicly building a reputation as a good community member through a combination of personal disclosure and affective labour.In the context of growing emphasis on the economic, social, and other impacts of academic research and concerns over work intensification, this raises questions about possible scope for, and impact of, formal recognition of digital academic labour. While institutions’ work planning and promotion processes may provide opportunities to recognise work developing professional societies or conferences as a leadership or service to a discipline, this new digital service work remains outside the purview of such recognition and reward systems. Further research into the relationships between academic reputation and digital labour will be needed to explore the implications of this for institutions and academics alike. AcknowledgementsI would like to gratefully acknowledge the contributions and support of everyone who participated in developing and sustaining #ECRchat. Both online and offline, this paper and the community itself would not have been possible without many generous contributions of time, understanding and thoughtful discussion. In particular, I would like to thank Katherine L. Wheat, co-founder and convenor, as well as Beth Montague-Hellen, Ellie Mackin, and Motje Wolf, who have taken on convening the group in the years since my involvement. ReferencesArcy, Jacquelyn. “Emotion Work: Considering Gender in Digital Labor.” Feminist Media Studies 16.2 (2016): 365-68.Bentley, Peter, Hamish Coates, Ian Dobson, Leo Goedegebuure, and Lynn Meek. Job Satisfaction around the Academic World. Dordrecht: Springer, 2013. Brian, Deborah (@deborahbrian). “I think I’m often more productive and less anxious if I’m working on a couple of things in parallel, too #ecrchat” (11 April 2013, 10:25). 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It’s a cool autumn morning and I am grateful for the sun as it warms the wet concrete. I have been told we will be spending some time outside later, so I am hopeful it will remain sunny. When everyone arrives, we go directly to the principal’s office. Once inside, someone points at the PA system. People pull out their cameras and take a quick photo—we were told the PA system in each school can be different so information about the broadcasting mechanism could be helpful in an emergency. I decide to take a photo as well. Figure 1: PA system inside the principal's office (Photo by Michelle Stewart) The principal joins us and we begin the task of moving through the school: a principal, two plain clothes police officers, two uniformed police officers, two police volunteers and an anthropologist researcher. Our goal is to document the entire school for a police program called School Action For Emergencies (SAFE) that seeks to create emergency plans for each school on a national Canadian police database. It is a massive undertaking to collect the data necessary to create the interactive maps of each school. We were told that potential hiding spaces were one focus alongside the general layout of the school; the other focus is thinking about potential response routes and staging for emergency responders. We snap photos based on our morning training. Broom closets and cubbyholes are now potential hiding spots that must be documented with a photo and narrated with a strategy. Misplaced items present their own challenges. A large gym mattress stored under the stairs. The principal comments that the mattress needs to be returned to the gym; a volunteer crouches down and takes a picture in the event that it remains permanently and creates a potential hiding spot. Figure 2: Documenting gym mat in hallway/potential hiding spot (Photo by Michelle Stewart) We emerge from the school, take a photo of the door, and enter the schoolyard. We move along the fence line: some individuals take notes about the physical characteristics of the property, others jot down the height of the retaining wall, still others take photos of the neighboring properties. Everyone is taking notes, taking photos, or comparing notes and photos. Soon we will be back at the police station for the larger project of harmonizing all the data into a massive mapping database. Locating the State in Its Objects Focusing on a Canadian police program called School Action for Emergency (SAFE), this article discusses the material labour practices required to create a virtual object—an augmented map. This mapping program provides a venue through which to consider the ways augmented objects come into the world. In this article, I discuss the labour practices necessary to create this map and then illustrate how labour practices are erased as part of this production and consumption of an augmented technology meant to facilitate an effective emergency response. In so doing, I will also discuss the production of authority and expertise through deployment of these police aids. As someone concerned with the ways in which the state instantiates itself into the lives of its subjects, I look at the particular enrollment practices of citizen and state agents as part of statecraft (Stewart). From Weber we are told about the role of police as they relate to state power, “state is a human community that (successfully) claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory. Note that 'territory' is one of the characteristics of the state. Specifically, at the present time, the right to use physical force is ascribed to other institutions or to individuals only to the extent to which the state permits it” (Weber, 34 my emphasis). I would argue that part of this monopoly involves cultivating citizen consent; that the subordination of citizens is equally important to police power as is the state’s permission to act. One way citizen consent is cultivated is through the performance of expertise such that subjects agree to give police power because police appear to be experts. Seen this way, police aids can be critical in cultivating this type of consent through the appearance of police as experts when they appear all knowing; what is often forgotten are the workers and aids that support that appearance (think here of dispatchers and databases). Becoming SAFE The SAFE project is an initiative of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), the national police force in Canada. The goal of the program is to “certify” every school in the country, meaning each school will have documentation of the school that has been uploaded into the SAFE computer program. As illustrated in the introduction, this is a time-consuming process requiring not only photos and other data be collected but also all of this data and material be uploaded into the RCMP’s centralized computer program. The desired effect is that each school will have a SAFE program so police and dispatchers can access this massive collection of the data in the event of an emergency. During my time conducting research with the RCMP, I attended training sessions with John, a young corporal in the national police force. One of John’s duties was to coordinate the certification of the SAFE program that included training sessions. The program was initiated in 2007, and within one year, the province we were working in began the process of certifying approximately 850 of its 1700 schools; it had completed over 170 schools and identified 180 local SAFE coordinators. In that first year alone over 23,000 photos had been uploaded and 2,800 school layouts were available. In short, SAFE was a data heavy, labour-intensive process and one of John’s jobs was to visit police stations to get them started certifying local schools. Certification requires that at least one police officer be involved in the documentation of the school (photos and notes). After all the data is collected it must be articulated into the computer program through prompts that allow for photos and narratives to be uploaded. In the session described in the introduction, John worked with a group of local police and police auxiliaries (volunteers). The session started with a short Power Point presentation that included information about recent school tragedies, an audio clip from Columbine that detailed the final moments of a victim as she hid from killers, and then a practical, hands-on engagement with the computer software. Prior to leaving for on-site data collection, John had the trainees open the computer program to become familiar with the screens and prompts. He highlighted the program was user-friendly, and that any mistake made could be corrected. He focused on instilling interest before leaving for the school to collect data. During this on-site visit, as I trailed behind the participants, I was fascinated by one particularly diligent volunteer. He bent, climbed, and stretched to take photos and then made careful notations. Back at the police station he was just as committed to detail when he was paired up with his partner in front of the computer. They poured over their combined notes and photos; making routes and then correcting them; demanding different types of maps to compare their handwritten notes to the apparent errors in the computer map; demanding a street map for one further clarification of the proposed route. His commitment to the process, I started to think, was quite substantial. Because of his commitment, he had to engage in quite a bit of labour. But it was in this process of refining his data that I started to see the erasure of labour. I want to take some time now to discuss the process of erasure by turning attention to feminist and labour theory emerging from science and technology studies as means to articulate what was, and was not, taking place during the data entry. Maria Puig de la Bellacasa highlights the role of care as it relates to labour. In so doing, she joins a literature that draws attention to the ways in which labour is erased through specific social and material practices (see for example works in Gibson-Graham, Resnick and Wolf). More specifically, Puig de la Bellacasa investigates care in labour as it effects what she calls “knowledge politics” (85). In her work, Puig de la Bellaca discusses Suchman’s research on software design programs that produce virtual “office assistants” to assist the user. Suchman’s work reveals the ways in which this type of “assistant” must be visible enough to assist the user but not visible enough to require recognition. In so doing, Suchman illustrates how these programs replicate the office (and domestic servant) dynamics. Seen this way, labour becomes undervalued (think for example interns, assistants, etc.) and labour that is critical to many offices (and homes). Suchman’s work in this area is helpful when thinking about the role of augmented objects such as the augmented police map because in many ways it is a type of office assistant for police officers, handing over virtual notes and information about a location that police would otherwise not necessarily know thereby replicating the office dynamic of the boss that appears all knowing because, in part, s/he has a team that supports every aspect of their work. This devalued work (the lower paid intern or assistant) facilitates the authority—and ultimately the higher wage of the boss—who appears to earn this status. Let me layer this analysis of the “office assistant” with the similar phenomena in scientific knowledge production. Steven Shapin, a sociologist of science, discusses Robert Boyle’s 17th century laboratory and the various technicians in the background that assisted in experiments but remained ignored. Shapin argues contemporary scientific practice has changed little in this regard as technicians remain unaccounted for in the scientific record. He points out “science could not be made if this technician’s work were not done, but it is thought that anyone can do it” (Shapin, 557). Without these workers and their labour, scientific knowledge would not be possible, and yet they are ignored and their labour contribution erased (for example not included in formal discussion about the research, or more recently not included as authors in articles). Of course many technicians are/were paid, but nevertheless their role in the experiment erased. One figure emerged as the expert, the scientist, whose work appeared to be solely configured and created. Programs such as the SAFE project illustrate ways in which the police officer can emerge as an authority figure; but the authority rests on labour practices that move around in the background and go unacknowledged. Much like the lab, there are many ignored figures that produce the necessary objects of police work. In the case of the SAFE program, the ideal is that a police officer will respond to a call for service and with the click of a computer screen will be immersed in this augmented map. One click reveals data about the PA system, another click offers a full layout of the school, instructions about the design of the exits, notes about potential hiding spots inside, the list goes on. Each click is a product of labourer(s) that compiled the data. But these individuals, much like Boyle’s laboratory technicians, fade into the background and are erased as the police officer emerges as an authority. The map, an augmented object, may be credited with the data it holds, but the data collectors are long forgotten as the police officer stands alone as the subject of authority because of the smooth effects of the augmented map. Smooth Effects In an era of big data and data-intensive experiences, augmented objects are increasingly present in our daily lives—with expanded tolerance and appetite. When engaging an augmented object, there is a built-in expectation that the object will "work;" meaning it will run smoothly and effectively. Take Google Maps as an example: one expects the program will run on different scales, offer the capacity to map directions, and perhaps most importantly to be accurate. When these augmented objects run smoothly they appear to be a self-contained and organized object in and of themselves. This paper intervenes on these assumptions to illustrate that this “smooth effect” can serve to erase the labour necessary to produce the effect. Thinking here of the commodity fetish, one can recall Karl Marx’s intervention that illustrated how objects, commodities, permeate our social worlds in such ways that we can see the object—that we only see the object. This concept, commodity fetishism, argues that we erase the labour and social relations involved in the production of the objects, that we forget all that was required to create the object, and we don’t see all that was destroyed in its making. An example is to think of a cup of coffee. As you sip and consume it, do you think of the commodity chain? Do you think of the worker, the working conditions necessary to plant, harvest, roast and distribute the beans; do you think about the production of the bag the beans were transported in; do you think of the warehouse or coffeehouse from which the bag of beans came from? You more likely think about how it tastes—as an object in and of itself, how it is, rather than how it came into being in the world. Similarly, I want to think about this augmented map and how attention turns to it, not how it came into the world. Thinking about labour as it relates to computer programs and computer worlds, social scientists have investigated the necessary work of computer programmers and other labourers (see for example Kelty). Tiziana Terranova discusses the immaterial and affective labour that makes online communities thrive as individuals lend their labour (often unpaid) to create an online “world” that appears to organically come together—she argues these online communities are a product of free labour. Although the police are not working for “free” the volunteers are and the valorization of labour, if erased, still results in the similar outcome. Terranova is concerned about online communities that don’t simply come into being, but rather are the product of free labour. In the case of the SAFE program, labour practices are rendered invisible when augmented objects appear to be running smoothly —when in fact this appearance of smoothness necessarily requires labour and the commodity being exchanged is the claim to authority. Figure 3: Cross referencing hardcopy map (Photo by Michelle Stewart) Figure 4: Using a hand-drawn map to assist data entry (Photo by Michelle Stewart) Moving in a different direction, but still thinking about labour, I want to turn to the work of Chris Kortright. In his work about agricultural scientists, Kortright carefully details the physical practices associated with growing an experimental crop of sorghum. From the counting and washing of the seeds, to the planting and harvesting of the seeds, he delivers rich ethnographic stories from experimental fields and labs. He closes with the story of one researcher as she enters all the data into the computer to generate one powerpoint. He explains her frustration: “You can’t see all the time we spent. The nights we slept here. All the seeds and plants. The flooding and time at the greenhouse. All the people and the labour.” I nodded, these things had disappeared. In the table, only numbers existed. (Kortright, 20) Kortright argues for the need to recognize the social relations carved out in the field that are erased through the process of producing scientific knowledge—the young researcher ultimately knowing her labour did have a place on the slide.In much the same way, the police and volunteers engaged in a practice of removing themselves from the map. There was not enough space for long sentences explaining the debate about the best route to take; longer sentences were replace with short-phrased instructions. Conjuring the image of the police officer looking for fast, quick information, quick data was what they would deliver. The focus of the program was to place emergency icons (police cars, ambulance, fire engines and helicopters) onto the map, outline response routes, and offer photos as the evidence. Their role as individuals and their labour and creativity (itself a form of labour) was erased as the desired outcome was ease and access to data—a smooth effect. I was often told that many of the police cars don’t yet have a computer inside but in an idealized future world, police cars would be equipped with a computer console. In this world, officers could receive the call for service, access the program and start to move through layers of data rapidly while receiving the details of the call. This officer would arrive informed, and prepared to effectively respond to the emergency. Thinking back to labour required to create the SAFE map for each school (photographing, mapping, writing instructions, comparing details, etc.) and then the processes of hiding that labour (limited photos and short instructions) so that the program would appear to run smoothly and be user-friendly, the SAFE program, as an object, serves to abstract and erase labour. Indeed, the desired result was a smooth running program that operated much like Suchman’s office assistant who should be just visible enough to provide the needed help but otherwise remain invisible; similar in many ways to Shapin/Boyle’s scientific technician who is critical to knowledge production and yet remains formally unrecognized. Conclusion This article investigated a map as an entry point to understand the ways in which labour can be erased in augmented objects and, concurrently, how authority figures or experts instead emerge. My goal was to discuss the labour necessary to make one augmented map while also describing the process by which the labour necessary for the map was concurrently erased. Central to this article are the ways in which labour is erased as one clicks between these layers of data and, in the process, thinks the smoothly operating computer program is a measure of the strength of program itself, and not the labour required therein. By focusing on this augmented object, I am pointing out the collective labour needed to co-produce the map but how that map then helps to produce the police officer as authority figure. My intention is to look at the map as an unexpected entry point through which to understand how consent and authority is cultivated. Accordingly, I am concerned with the labour that is erased as this police figure emerges and authority is cultivated on the ground. I focus on the labour that necessarily to produce the police officer as expert because when that labour is erased we are left only with the authority figure that appears to be self-evident—not co-constructed. To understand state practices, as practices and not magical phenomena, we must look for the ways in which the state comes into being through particular practices, such as policing and to identify the necessary labour involvedReferencesGibson-Graham, J.K., Stephen Resnick, and Richard Wolff, eds. Re/Presenting Class: Essays in Postmodern Marxism. Durham: Duke University Press, 2000. Kelty, Chris. Two Bits: The Cultural Significance of Free Software. Durham: Duke University Press, 2008. Kortright, Chris. “On Labour and Creative Transformations in the Experimental Fields of the Philippines.” East Asian Science, Technology and Society: An International Journal 7.4 (2013). Marx, Karl. Capital: A Critique of Political Econony Vol. 1. New York: Penguin Books, 2004. Puig de la Bellacasa, Maria. “Matters of Care in Technoscience: Assembling Neglected Things.” Social Studies of Science 41.1 (2011): 85-106. Shapin, Stephen. “The Invisible Technician.” Scientific American 77 (1989): 554-563. Stewart, Michelle. “The Space between the Steps: Reckoning in an Era of Reconciliation.” Contemporary Justice Review 14.1 (2011): 43-63. Suchman, Lucy. Human-Machine Reconfigurations. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Terranova, Tiziana. “Free Labour: Producing Culture for the Digital Economy.” Social Text 63 (2000): 33-58. Weber, Max. The Vocation Lectures: "Science as a Vocation", "Politics as a Vocation." Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2004.

I sat alone on the beach under the shade of a big umbrella. My husband, Bill, and our three children were in the condo taking a break from the Florida sunshine. Dreamily, I gazed at the vast Gulf of Mexico, the brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly above. I was sitting about 50 feet from the surf, but I couldn't actually see the waves hitting the beach; I was almost blind. It was a windy day in late May and I loved feeling the ocean breeze sweeping over me. I imagined I could hear the waves crashing onto the surf, but the sound was only a memory. I was totally deaf. Although I had a cochlear implant and could hear the waves, the cry of sea gulls, and many other sounds with the technology, I wasn't wearing it at the moment and everything I heard was in my mind. As a child, my understanding of speech was better and my vision was clearer. My diagnosis was optic atrophy at age 5 and my vision gradually degenerated over the years. For unknown reasons, nerve damage caused hearing loss and during my teens, my hearing grew worse and worse until by the time I was ready for college, I was profoundly deaf. I chose to attend Gallaudet University because my high school teachers and my parents felt I would receive better services as a deaf and blind student. I feel it was a very good decision; when I entered Gallaudet, it was like entering a new and exhilarating world. Before attending Gallaudet, while I struggled to cope with hearing loss combined with severely low vision, my world grew smaller and smaller, not being able to communicate efficiently with others. At Gallaudet, I suddenly found I could communicate with almost anybody I met on campus using sign language. Thus, my self-confidence and independence grew as I proceeded to get a college education.It wasn't an easy route to follow. I didn't know Braille at the time and depended on using a CCTV (closed captioned television) electronic aid which magnified text, enabling me to read all my college books. I also relied on the assistance of a class aid who interpreted all my teachers' lectures and class discussions because I was unable to see people's signing unless they signed right in front of my face. It was slow going and often frustrating, trying to keep involved socially and keeping up with my coursework but when I was 13 years old, my vision specialist teacher who had worked with me from 5th grade until I graduated from high school, wrote a note for me saying, "Anything worthwhile seldom comes easy." The phrase stuck in my mind and I tried to follow this philosophy. In 1989 after 7 years of persistence, I graduated with a Bachelor's of Arts degree in psychology. With the B.A. in hand and having developed good communication skills with deaf and deaf-blind people using sign language and ASL (American Sign Language), I was ready to face the world. But I wasn't exactly ready; I knew I wanted a professional job working with deaf-blind people and the way to get there was to earn a master's degree. I applied for admission into Gallaudet's graduate school and was accepted into the vocational rehabilitation counselling program. While I thoroughly enjoyed graduate school experience, I got to work with my class mates one-on-one more often and there were a lot more hands-on activities, it became obvious to me that I wasn't prepared for graduate school. I needed to learn Braille and how to use Braille technology; my vision had worsened a lot since starting college. In addition, I needed a break from school and needed to gain experience in the working world. After completing one and a half years and earning 15 credit hours in the master's program, I left Gallaudet and found a job in Baltimore, Maryland.The job was with a new program for adults who were visually and hearing impaired and mentally disabled. My job was assisting the clients with independent living and work related skills. Most of the other staff were deaf, communicating via ASL. By then, I was skilled using tactile signing, putting my hand on the back of the signer's hand to follow movements by touch, and I made friends with co-workers. I felt grown up and independent working full-time, living in my own apartment, using the subway train and bus to travel to and from work. I didn't have any serious problems living on my own. There was a supermarket up the road to which I could walk or ride a bus. But I needed a taxi ride back to the apartment when I had more groceries than I could carry. I would leave a sign I made out of cardboard and wrote my address in big black numbers, on my apartment door to help the driver find my place. I used a white cane and upon moving to Baltimore, an Orientation and Mobility (O and M) teacher who worked with blind people, showing them how to travel in the city, taught me the route to my work place using the subway and bus. Thus, I was independent and knew my way to work as well as to a nearby shopping mall. One day as I stood on the subway station platform holding my white cane, waiting for my train, the opposite train pulled in. As I stood watching passengers hurrying to board, knowing my train would arrive soon on the other side, a woman ran up to me and started pulling my arm. I handed her my notebook and black marker I used for communicating with people in the public, telling her I couldn't hear and would she please write in large print? She frantically scribbled something, but I couldn't read the note. She then gave me back the pen and pad, grabbed my arm again and started pulling me towards the train. I refused to budge, gesturing towards the opposite tracks, clearly indicating I was waiting for the other train. Finally, she let go, dashed into the train before the doors closed. I watched the train pull away, sadly reflecting that some people who wanted to help, just didn't understand how to approach disabled people. As a deaf-blind traveller, it was my duty to help educate the general public how to assist disabled persons in a humane way. After I established my new life for a few months, Bill was offered a position in the same program and moved to Baltimore to join me. He had worked at the Helen Keller National Centre in New York where I met him while doing a summer internship there three years before. I was thrilled when he got the job working beside me and we got to know each other on a daily basis. We had been dating since we met although I was in college and he was working and living in New York and then Cleveland, Ohio. Bill being hearing and sighted, was skilled in sign language and communication techniques with deaf-blind people. He had a wonderful attitude towards disabled people and made me feel like a normal person who was capable of doing things. We shared a lot and were very comfortable with each other. After nearly six months together in Baltimore, we married in May 1992, several weeks before my 28th birthday.After our first year of marriage living in Maryland, Bill and I moved to Little Rock, Arkansas. We wanted to live closer to my family and parents, Ron and Judy Cummings, who lived in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, 176 miles north of Little Rock. I wanted to go back to school and entered the deaf education program at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock with the goal of becoming a teacher for deaf-blind students. I never dreamed I would have a deaf-blind child of my own one day. My vision and hearing loss were caused by nerve damage and no one else in my family nor Bill's had a similar disability.I was pregnant with our first child when I entered UALR. In spite of my growing belly, I enjoyed the teacher training experience. I worked with a deaf-blind 12-year-old student and her teacher at the Arkansas School for the Deaf; observed two energetic four-year-olds in the pre-school program. But when my son, Joe was born in June 1994, my world changed once again. School became less important and motherhood became the ultimate. As a deaf-blind person, I wanted to be the best mom within my abilities.I decided that establishing good communication with my child was an important aspect of being a deaf-blind mom. Bill was in full agreement and we would set Joe on the kitchen table in his infant carrier, reciting together in sign language, "The three Bears". I could see Joe's tiny fists and feet wave excitedly in the air as he watched us signing children's stories. I would encourage Joe to hold my fingers while I signed to him, trying to establish a tactile signing relationship. But he was almost two years old when he finally understood that he needed to sign into my hands. We were sitting at the table and I had a bag of cookies. I refused to give him one until he made the sign for "cookie" in my hand. I quickly rewarded him with a cookie and he got three or four each time he made the sign in my hand. Today at 16, Joe is an expert finger speller and can effectively communicate with me and his younger deaf-blind brother, Ben.When Joe was two and a half, I decided to explore a cochlear implant. It was 1996 and we were living in Poplar Bluff by then. My cousin, who was studying audiology, told me that people using cochlear implants were able to understand sound so well they didn't need good vision. I made an appointment with the St. Louis cochlear implant program and after being evaluated, I decided to go ahead. I am glad I have a cochlear implant. After months of practice I learned to use the new sound and was eventually able to understand many environmental sounds. I never regained the ability of understanding speech, though, but I could hear people's voices very clearly, the sound of laughter, birds singing, and many more. Being able to hear my children's voices is especially wonderful, even when they get noisy and I get a headache. That fall I went to Leader Dogs School for the Blind (LDSB) where I met Milo, a large yellow Labrador retriever. At LDSB I learned how to care for and work with a dog guide. Having Milo as my companion and guide was like stepping into another new and wonderful world of independence. With Milo, I could walk briskly and feel secure. Milo was a big help as a deaf-blind mom, too. With Milo's guiding help, it was wonderful following my children while they rode tricycles or bikes and the whole family enjoyed going out for walks together. Our second son, Ben, was born in February 1999. He was a perfectly healthy little boy and Bill and I were looking forward to raising two sons. Joe was four and a half years old when Ben was born and was fascinated in his new brother. But when Ben was 5 months old, he was diagnosed with Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis (LCH), a rare childhood disease and in some cases, fatal. It was a long, scary road we followed as Ben received treatment at the children's hospital in St. Louis which involved making the 150 mile trip almost weekly for chemotherapy and doctor check-ups. Through it all, Ben was a happy little boy, in spite of the terrible rash that affected his scalp and diaper area, a symptom of LCH. Bill and I knew that we had to do everything possible to help Ben. When he was a year old, his condition seemed stable enough for me to feel comfortable leaving my family for two months to study Braille and learn new technology skills at a program in Kansas City. My vision had deteriorated to a point where I could no longer use a CCTV.Bill's mom, Marie Reid, who lived in Cleveland, Ohio, made a special trip to stay at our home in Poplar Bluff to help Bill with the boys while I was gone. I was successful at the program, learning Braille, making a change from magnification to Braille technology. Upon returning home, I began looking for a job and found employment as a deaf-blind specialist in a new project in Mississippi. The job was in Tupelo and we moved to northern Mississippi, settling into a new life. We transferred Ben's treatment to St. Judes Children's hospital located in Memphis, 94 miles west of Tupelo. I went to work and Bill stayed home with the boys, which worked well. When Ben had to go to St. Judes every three weeks for chemotherapy, Bill was able to drive him. The treatment was successful, the rash had disappeared and there were no traces of LCH in Ben's blood tests. But when he was almost 3 years old, he was diagnosed with optic atrophy, the same eye disease I suffered from and an audiologist detected signs of inner ear hearing loss.Shocked at the news that our little son would grow up legally blind and perhaps become deaf, Bill and I had to rethink our future. We knew we wanted Ben to have a good life and as a deaf-blind child, he needed quality services. We chose to move to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania because I knew there were good services for deaf-blind people and I could function independently as a stay-home mom. In addition, Cleveland, Ohio, where Marie Reid and several of Bill's siblings lived, was a two hour's drive from Pittsburgh and living near family was important to us. With regret, I left my job opportunity and new friends and we re-located to Pittsburgh. We lived on a quiet street near Squirrel Hill and enrolled Joe into a near-by Catholic school. Ben received excellent early intervention services through the Pittsburgh public school, beginning Braille, using a white cane and tactile signing. The Pennsylvania services for the blind generously purchased a wonderful computer system and Braille display for me to use at home. I was able to communicate with Joe's and Ben's teachers and other contacts using e-mail. Ben's Braille teacher provided us with several print/Braille books which I read to the boys while Ben touched the tactile pictures. I made friends in the deaf and deaf-blind community and our family attended social events. Besides the social benefits of a deaf community, Pittsburgh offered a wonderful interpreting service and I was able to take Ben to doctor appointments knowing an interpreter would meet me at the hospital to assist with communication. I also found people who were willing to help me as volunteer SSPs (support Service Providers), persons whose role is to assist a deaf-blind person in any way, such as shopping, going to the bank, etc. Thus, I was able to function quite independently while Bill worked. Perhaps Bill and I were a bit crazy; after all, we had enough on our plate with a deaf-blind son and a deaf-blind mom, but love is a mysterious thing. In October 2003, Tim was born and our family was complete. Having two school-aged children and a baby on my hands was too much for me to handle alone. Bill was working and busy with culinary arts school. We realized we needed more help with the children, plus the high cost of living in the city was a struggle for us. We decided for the family's best interest, it would be better to move back to Poplar Bluff. After Joe and Ben were out of school in June, my mom flew out to Pittsburgh to escort them back to her home while Bill finished his externship for his culinary arts degree and in the late summer of 2004, we packed up our apartment, said good-bye to Pittsburgh, and drove to Missouri. The move was a good decision in many ways. Poplar Bluff, a rural town in south-eastern Missouri, has been my hometown since I was 10 years old. My extended family live there and the boys are thriving growing up among their cousins. Ben is receiving Braille and sign language services at public school and reads Braille faster than me!While both Bill and I are deeply satisfied knowing our children are happy, we have made personal sacrifices. Bill has given up his career satisfaction as a professional cook, needing to help look after the children and house. I have given up the benefits of city life such as interpreting and SSP services, not to mention the social benefits of a deaf community. But the children's well-being comes first, and I have found ways to fulfil my needs by getting involved with on-line groups for deaf-blind people, including writers and poets. I have taken a great interest in writing, especially children's stories and hope to establish a career as a writer. While I work on my computer, Bill keeps busy engaging the boys in various projects. They have built a screened-in tree house in the backyard where Ben and Tim like to sleep during warm summer nights.“It's almost 5 o'clock," Bill signed into my hand, rousing me from my thoughts. Time to prepare for our homeward journey the next day to Poplar Bluff, Missouri.Christy and Family

Thesis (PhD)--University of Stellenbosch, 2006
ENGLISH ABSTRACT: Zambia is reported to have high levels of maternal morbidity and mortality due to low contraceptive prevalence rates, over 50% of births not being attended to by skilled persons, and teenage pregnancies. A number of organisations (stakeholders) have invested in the training of adolescent reproductive health peer educators with the aim of empowering them to be role models to their peers in reproductive health, but Zambia does not have a generic and locally developed training programme for peer educators. The purpose of this study was to develop a training programme that would produce competent and more effective peer educators for Zambia. The objectives were to determine the characteristics of the ideal peer educator. Further objectives were to ascertain the factors that contribute to or impair the development of the ideal peer educator, and to determine whether training programmes that were being used were producing ideal peer educators and enhancing healthy lifestyle behaviours. Key stakeholders participated in group interviews were they presented and critiqued their training programmes. Emerging out of this process was a draft training programme, developed by the stakeholders. Focus Group Discussions (FGDs) were held with adolescent peer educators from Lusaka, Kafue, Livingstone and Maheba refugee camp. Data were analysed by triangulating the outcomes of the group interviews (with the stakeholders) with the outcomes of the FGDs and reviewed literature. The FGDs highlighted the characteristics of an ideal peer educator as well as factors that contribute towards his/her competence development. Numerous factors were reported that had a negative impact on the development of an ideal peer educator. The peer educators reported that their training had had a positive effect on their lifestyle behaviours. While they had gained more knowledge on HIV and AIDS, they recommended more training on other health issues. The study found that at community level, peer educators were not being given adequate respect because the concept of voluntary work was not readily accepted and they were regarded as failures in life. Major demotivating factors were the lack of payment of incentives and the fact that peer educators were not certified. Peer educators did not receive sufficient support from programme managers/coordinators to enable them to become more effective at community level. Weaknesses in the way the training programmes were conducted were also discerned. Based on the findings of this study, it is recommended that more life skills’ development be promoted for peer educators. Training should be contextualised for the communities in which the peer educators work. The developed training programme, which should be used as a guide, should be repackaged to suit the profiles (e.g. values) of the different communities. Adolescents and various social sectors (inclusive of indicated stakeholders) ought to be involved in diagnosing community needs so as to influence both peers and communities in a way that would promote adolescent reproductive health. This study also recommends a more informal way of practising peer education, which would produce trainees who would be peer educators and role models in any given setting.
AFRIKAANSE OPSOMMING: Na berig word is die hoë siekte- en sterftesyfers onder moeders in Zambië daaraan te wyte dat voorbehoedmiddels nie algemeen gebruik word nie, dat meer as 50% van geboortes plaasvind sonder die bystand van bekwame persone, en dat daar ‘n hoë voorkoms van tienerswangerskappe is. ‘n Aantal organisasies (belanghebbers) het in die opleiding van adolessent- portuurgroep-opvoeders in reproduktiewe gesondheid belê ten einde hierdie portuurgroep-opvoeders te bemagtig om as rolmodelle in reproduktiewe gesondheid op te tree. Zambië het egter nie ‘n eie generiese, plaaslik-ontwikkelde opleidingsprogram vir portuurgroep-opvoeders nie. Die doel van hierdie studie was om ‘n opleidingsmodel en opleidingsprogram te ontwikkel wat bekwame en meer effektiewe portuurgroep-opvoeders vir Zambië sou kon oplewer. Die doelstellings was om die kenmerke van ‘n ideale portuurgroep-opvoeder te bepaal en om die faktore te identifiseer wat óf tot die ontwikkeling van ‘n ideale portuurgroep-opvoeder bydra óf sy/haar ontwikkeling strem. Daar moes ook vasgestel word of bestaande opleidingsprogramme ideale portuurgroep-opvoeders oplewer en gevolglik gesonde leefstylgedrag bevorder. Die navorser het groeponderhoude gebruik en betekenisvolle belanghebbers genooi om hulle opleidingsprogramme aan te bied, te beoordeel en krities te bespreek. ‘n Konsepopleidingsprogram wat deur die belanghebbers ontwikkel is, het uit hierdie proses ontstaan. Fokusgroepbesprekings (Engels: Focus Group Discussions of FGDs) is met adolessente portuurgroep-opvoeders van Lusaka, Kafue, Livingstone en die Maheba-vlugtelingekamp gehou. Data is ontleed deur die uitkomste van die groeponderhoude (met die deelhebbers) met die uitkomste van die fokusgroepbesprekings en die bespreekte literatuur te trianguleer. Die fokusgroepbesprekings het die soeklig op die kenmerke van die ideale portuurgroepopvoeder asook op die faktore wat tot sy/haar bekwaamheidsontwikkeling bydra, laat val. Talle faktore wat ‘n negatiewe uitwerking op die ontwikkeling van ‘n ideale portuurgroep-opvoeder het, is ook vasgestel. Die portuurgroep-opvoeders het bevestig dat hul opleiding ‘n positiewe invloed op hul lewenstylgedrag gehad het. Terwyl hulle genoem het dat hulle meer kennis oor MIV en VIGS opgedoen het, het hulle aanbeveel dat daar ook meer klem op ander gesondheidskwessies behoort te wees. In hierdie studie is daar bevind dat portuurgroepopvoeders op gemeenskapsvlak nie met voldoende respek behandel word nie. Die begrip van vrywillige werk word nie geredelik aanvaar nie, en die opvoeders word as mislukkings beskou. Faktore wat besonder ontmoedigend inwerk is die gebrek aan ‘n aansporingsloon en die feit dat portuurgroep-opvoeders nie sertifikate ontvang nie. Portuurgroep-opvoeders het ook nie voldoende ondersteuning van programbestuurders/- koördineerders ontvang om hulle in staat te stel om meer effektief op gemeenskapsvlak op te tree nie. Daar is voorts swakhede opgemerk in die wyse waarop die opleidingsprogramme uitgevoer is. Gegrond op die bevindinge van hierdie studie, word daar aanbeveel dat die ontwikkeling van lewensvaardighede tot ‘n groter mate bevorder word. Opleiding behoort gekontekstualiseer te word vir die gemeenskappe waarbinne die opvoeders werk. Die bestaande opleidingsprogram, wat as ‘n riglyn gebruik behoort te word, behoort herstruktureer te word om by die profiele (bv. die waardes) van die verskillende gemeenskappe in te pas. Adolessente en verskillende sosiale sektore (insluitend die aangeduide belanghebbers) behoort betrokke te wees by die bepaling van die gemeenskap se behoeftes ten einde beide portuurgroepe en gemeenskappe so te beïnvloed dat adolessente- reproduktiewe gesondheid bevoordeel sal word. Hierdie studie beveel ook aan dat portuurgroep-opvoeding op ‘n informeler grondslag beoefen behoort te word sodat die kwekelinge uiteindelik in enige gegewe omgewing suksesvolle portuurgroepopvoeders en rolmodelle sal kan wees.

Thesis (MPhil)--University of Stellenbosch, 2002.
ENGLISH ABSTRACT: The Department of Occupational Therapy of the University of Stellenbosch has been involved in the development of the Volcano Community Project in the Ravensmead area since 1994. A needs assessment conducted in the area has led to the indentification of the following problems: • there are no after school care services in the area; • limited opportunities for individual attention to learners because of a high learner educator ratio; • high incidence of substance abuse amongst the youth; • children loitering in the streets in the afternoon; and • a quarter of all grade one learners in the area repeat their basis year of school. In order to address the abovementioned problems it was decided to recruit unemployed youth within the community as voluntary workers. This group of volunteers received training in the execution of pre-planned developmental stimulation lessons that they then present to grade one and two learners who have problems. The volunteers undergo a training programme in order to equip them to handle the learners. This project is still in progress and it needs to be evaluated in order to gain information which would help to improve the programme as well as the management thereof. The aim of the research was to establish the impact of programme participation on the voluntary workers and that was done by looking at the following: • what the strengths of the project are; • what the weaknesses of the project are; and • which suggestions there are to improve the project. Qualitative formative evaluation research was the paradigm within which the research was executed. Interviews were conducted with the voluntary workers and the following themes/patterns emerged from the data: Strengths of the project: Turnabout in the lives of the voluntary workers; improvement of self-knowledge; development of skills; work satisfaction; and guidance by the students. Weaknesses of the project: Schools where this project is in progress and facilities available at these schools; management of the project; and the group of voluntary workers. Suggestions regarding the project: Encouragement; management; and other logistics. The researcher took each of these main themes and with the help of process/impact rubrics data was interpreted. From these rubrics factors were identified and recommendations made which may contribute to the improvement of the project for example feedback after completion of the task is very important and should be very specific for an individual. Possibilities for the broader application of findings are also suggested.
AFRIKAANSE OPSOMMING: Die Departement Arbeidsterapie van die Universiteit van Stellenbosch, is sedert 1994 betrokke by die ontwikkeling van die Volcano gemeenskapsprojek in die Ravensmeadarea. In Behoeftebepaling in die area het gelei tot die identifisering van die volgende probleme: • geen naskoolse dienste is in die area beskikbaar nie; • beperkte geleenthede vir individuele aandag aan leerders as gevolg van 'n te hoë leerdertoedeling per onderwyser; • hoë voorkoms van substansmisbruik onder die jeug; • kinders wat in die middag in die straat rondslenter; en • In kwart van alle graad een leerders in die area herhaal hul basisjaar van skool. Daar is besluit om bogenoemde probleme aan te spreek deur werklose jeugdiges in die gemeenskap te werf as vrywillige werkers. Die groep vrywillige werkers is dan opgelei om vooraf opgestelde ontwikkelingstimulasielesse aan te bied aan graad een en twee leerders wat probleme ervaar. Die vrywillige werkers deurloop In opleidingsprogram om hulle beter toe te rus om die leerders optimaal te kan hanteer. Die program is nog lopend en evaluering is nodig ten einde inligting te verkry wat kan lei tot die verbetering van die program en die bestuur van die projek oor die algemeen. Die doel van hierdie navorsing was om die impak wat programdeelname op die vrywillige werkers het te ondersoek deur te kyk na: • wat die sterkpunte van die projek is; • wat die swakpunte van die projek is; en • watter voorstelle daar is om die program te verbeter. Kwalitatiewe formatiewe evaluasienavorsing is die paradigma wat in hierdie navorsing gebruik is om die data in te samel en te analiseer. Onderhoude is met vrywillige werkers gevoer en die volgende hooftemas het uit die data na vore gekom: Sterkpunte van die projek: Ommeswaai in vrywillige werkers se lewens; bevordering van selfkennis; ontwikkeling van vaardighede; werksbevrediging; en leiding deur die studente. Swakpunte van die projek: Skole waar die program aangebied word en die fasiliteite beskikbaar by die skole; bestuur van die projek; en die groep vrywillige werkers. Voorstelle ten opsigte van die projek: Aansporing; bestuur en ander logistieke. Die navorser het elk van hierdie hooftemas geneem en met behulp van proses/impakmatrikse is die data geïnterpreteer vir hierdie projek. Uit hierdie matrikse is faktore geïdentifiseer en aanbevelings gemaak wat mag bydra tot die verbetering van die projek, byvoorbeeld terugvoer na afloop van die uitvoering van take is belangrik en moet spesifiek en individueel gerig wees. Wyer toepassingsmoontlikhede van die bevindinge word ook voorgestel.

Thesis (MSocialWork)--Stellenbosch University, 2002.
ENGLISH ABSTRACT: Through the establishment of victim support centres, NICRO Eastern Cape aims to develop community networks that render available and appropriate support services to victims of crime. Social workers empower volunteers to run the centres. In order for the social workers to empower volunteers, they need to clearly understand their role in the empowerment process. The goal of the study is to clarify the role of social workers when empowering volunteers at community victim support centres. The profile, motivation and current empowerment of volunteers at NICRO Eastern Cape were determined and described by means of questionnaires. The respondents were fifteen volunteers and three social workers. Conclusions and recommendations were made which focused, among other aspects, on the training of social workers and strategic planning around empowerment. The framework of this research report can be utilized by social workers in the empowering of volunteers, which could possibly lead to victim support centres that are managed by volunteers, as representatives of communities, independently from NICRO.
AFRIKAANSE OPSOMMING: By die slagofferondersteuningsentrums te NICRO Oos-Kaap word daar gepoog om 'n gemeenskapsnetwerk te ontwikkel waardeur slagoffers van misdaad beskikbare en toepaslike ondersteuning ontvang. Dit word gedoen deur die bemagtiging van vrywilligers deur maatskaplike werkers. Ten einde die vrywilligers te bemagtig, is dit belangrik dat maatskaplike werkers hul rol in die proses van bemagtiging begryp. Die doel van die studie is om die rol van die maatskaplike werker uit te klaar met die bemagtiging van vrywilligers by 'n gemeenskapslagofferondersteuningsentrum. Die profiel, motivering en huidige bemagtiging van vrywilligers by NICRO Oos-Kaap is deur middel van vraelyste bepaal en ontleed. Die respondente het uit vyftien vrywilligers en drie maatskaplike werkers bestaan. Gevolgtrekkings is gemaak en aanbevelings gedoen wat onder andere fokus op die opleiding aan maatskaplike werkers en strategiese beplanning rondom bemagtiging. Die raamwerk van hierdie navorsingsverslag sal deur maatskaplike werkers benut kan word in die bemagtiging van vrywilligers en dit kan moontlik aanleiding gee tot slagofferondersteuningsentrums wat onafhanklik van NICRO deur vrywilligers, as verteenwoordigers van gemeenskappe, bestuur word.

Thesis (M Social Work (Social Work))--University of Stellenbosch, 2007.
The welfare of communities depends to a large extent on the successful mobilisation of the voluntary contributions (manpower, time, money) by religious based organisations. Poverty and all the other social problems like unemployment and HIV/AIDS, that are associated with it, can only be addressed effectively if volunteers are empowered by social workers to handle the problems in a sustaining way (Annual report, Unit for Religion Development Research: 2002). In order to empower the volunteers, it is important that social workers understand their role in the empowerment process. The aim of the study is to clarify the task of the social worker regarding the empowerment of volunteers at religious based organisations. This study is a descriptive study, seeing that the empowerment of volunteers are described at the end of the research (Mouton, 2001:54). The study also contains elements of an exploring (investigation) study, seeing that the situation has been explored in practice. After completion of a literate study, an empirical investigation was done with the aim to investigate principles of empowerment in practice. For the purpose of this study, the universe is regarded as the social workers who work at religious based organisations in the working area of the Valcare Trust. Deliberate selection, according to the non-probability test sampling as described by Babbie and Mouton (2001:166-168) was used to obtain the test sample. The type of test sample selection is applicable where the researcher is conversant with the research problem and the universe (Rubin and Babbie, 1993). Deliberate selection is therefore based on the researcher’s judgement and the aim of the study (Rubin and Babbie, 1993). The researcher is well conversant with the universe, seeing that the social workers are working at religious based organisations that are registered on the database of the Valcare Trust. Questionnaires, consisting of structured questions were compiled after completion of the literate study for the purpose of the empirical study. The self administered questionnaires were supplied to the respondents. Thirteen respondents took part in the empirical study.

Namibia continues to face an ongoing struggle in protecting the rights and civil liberties of its LGBT population with LGBT rights-based organisations in the country strongly relying upon their volunteers to take advantage of political opportunities and manage multiple visibilities. Despite a growing body of international research into volunteer motivation and the beneficial application of such knowledge in volunteer management strategies, a dearth of literature exists on the motives of volunteers within LGBT rights-based organisations. This study uses data from qualitative interviews with 6 formal volunteers from Namibian LGBT rights-based organisations to explore volunteer motivations. A thematic analysis of the research findings reveal the complex motivations underlying volunteering in these organisations. Volunteer motivations in Namibian LGBT rights-based organisations included: (a) addressing and promoting humanitarian concerns; (b) improved social interaction, integration and support; (c) self-regulatory opportunities for personal enhancement; (d) developing career prospects; and (e) responding to past homophobic incidents. Barriers to volunteering were also identified and included: (a) strained organisational resources; (b) LGBT discrimination; and (c) complacency. For volunteer recruitment and retention strategies to be effective, organisations need to recognise and satisfy volunteers’ motives while also properly training and assisting volunteers in their respective roles. Also, given the local LGBT community’s sense of complacency, Namibian LGBT rights-based organisations would greatly benefit by strategically engaging community members and working to overcome the community’s lack of urgency.
Psychology
M.A. (Psychology)

Aim/Purpose: In many OECD countries, emergency response relies on volunteers, and while emergency incidents are increasing, volunteer numbers are declining. Volunteer turnover occurs at various stages of the volunteering life cycle (i.e., recruitment, training, socialisation, performance, and retirement), the socialisation stage has the greatest impact on organisations, as it occurs after the allocation of resources and training, but before the investment is returned through volunteer performance. There is sparse literature exploring this stage. Background: Addressing the gap, this paper presents a model of volunteer retention, predicting acceptance, social-expulsion, or self-exclusion, based on social fit. Methodology: The model is based on an inductive examination of the processes of volunteer turnover during socialisation of emergency service volunteers. Using a grounded theory approach, focus groups and interviews were conducted with 157 volunteers across seven locations. Contribution: This model contributes to theory by categorising volunteer turnover according to the stages of the volunteering life cycle, and to practice by drawing attention to the need to consider social fit prior to investing in new volunteer training and understanding the role of leadership intervention pre- and post-training. Findings: The study identifies the processes of volunteer turnover and predicts that volunteers either stay or leave based on the level of their social fit. Recommendations for Practitioners: Strategies are developed to guide leaders on the best approaches to maintain and retain volunteer workers in Emergency Service agencies Recommendation for Researchers: The model contributes to theory by providing an empirically based description of the processes involved in volunteer retention and turnover and offers guidelines for increasing volunteer retention in emergency services and other volunteer organisations across Australia and around the world. Impact on Society: Increased retention benefits the emergency service organisation in terms of return on the investment of volunteer training, regarding sustainability of human resources, and in regard to increasing diversity among its volunteers. In turn, this retention also benefits volunteers, and the entire community, as it gains access to a greater number of emergency services providers. Future Research: Future research should focus on recreating this study in other countries and in different emergency service contexts.

Emergency Relief (ER) is a Department of Social Services (DSS) funded program, delivered by 197 community organisations (ER Providers) across Australia, to assist people facing a financial crisis with financial/material aid and referrals to other support programs. ER has been playing this important role in Australian communities since 1979. Without ER, more people living in Australia who experience a financial crisis might face further harm such as crippling debt or homelessness. The Emergency Relief National Coordination Group (NCG) was established in April 2020 at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic to advise the Minister for Families and Social Services on the implementation of ER. To inform its advice to the Minister, the NCG partnered with the Institute for Governance at the University of Canberra to conduct research to understand the issues and challenges faced by ER Providers and Service Users in local contexts across Australia. The research involved a desktop review of the existing literature on ER service provision, a large survey which all Commonwealth ER Providers were invited to participate in (and 122 responses were received), interviews with a purposive sample of 18 ER Providers, and the development of a program logic and theory of change for the Commonwealth ER program to assess progress. The surveys and interviews focussed on ER Provider perceptions of the strengths, weaknesses, future challenges, and areas of improvement for current ER provision. The trend of increasing case complexity, the effectiveness of ER service delivery models in achieving outcomes for Service Users, and the significance of volunteering in the sector were investigated. Separately, an evaluation of the performance of the NCG was conducted and a summary of the evaluation is provided as an appendix to this report. Several themes emerged from the review of the existing literature such as service delivery shortcomings in dealing with case complexity, the effectiveness of case management, and repeat requests for service. Interviews with ER workers and Service Users found that an uplift in workforce capability was required to deal with increasing case complexity, leading to recommendations for more training and service standards. Several service evaluations found that ER delivered with case management led to high Service User satisfaction, played an integral role in transforming the lives of people with complex needs, and lowered repeat requests for service. A large longitudinal quantitative study revealed that more time spent with participants substantially decreased the number of repeat requests for service; and, given that repeat requests for service can be an indicator of entrenched poverty, not accessing further services is likely to suggest improvement. The interviews identified the main strengths of ER to be the rapid response and flexible use of funds to stabilise crisis situations and connect people to other supports through strong local networks. Service Users trusted the system because of these strengths, and ER was often an access point to holistic support. There were three main weaknesses identified. First, funding contracts were too short and did not cover the full costs of the program—in particular, case management for complex cases. Second, many Service Users were dependent on ER which was inconsistent with the definition and intent of the program. Third, there was inconsistency in the level of service received by Service Users in different geographic locations. These weaknesses can be improved upon with a joined-up approach featuring co-design and collaborative governance, leading to the successful commissioning of social services. The survey confirmed that volunteers were significant for ER, making up 92% of all workers and 51% of all hours worked in respondent ER programs. Of the 122 respondents, volunteers amounted to 554 full-time equivalents, a contribution valued at $39.4 million. In total there were 8,316 volunteers working in the 122 respondent ER programs. The sector can support and upskill these volunteers (and employees in addition) by developing scalable training solutions such as online training modules, updating ER service standards, and engaging in collaborative learning arrangements where large and small ER Providers share resources. More engagement with peak bodies such as Volunteering Australia might also assist the sector to improve the focus on volunteer engagement. Integrated services achieve better outcomes for complex ER cases—97% of survey respondents either agreed or strongly agreed this was the case. The research identified the dimensions of service integration most relevant to ER Providers to be case management, referrals, the breadth of services offered internally, co-location with interrelated service providers, an established network of support, workforce capability, and Service User engagement. Providers can individually focus on increasing the level of service integration for their ER program to improve their ability to deal with complex cases, which are clearly on the rise. At the system level, a more joined-up approach can also improve service integration across Australia. The key dimensions of this finding are discussed next in more detail. Case management is key for achieving Service User outcomes for complex cases—89% of survey respondents either agreed or strongly agreed this was the case. Interviewees most frequently said they would provide more case management if they could change their service model. Case management allows for more time spent with the Service User, follow up with referral partners, and a higher level of expertise in service delivery to support complex cases. Of course, it is a costly model and not currently funded for all Service Users through ER. Where case management is not available as part of ER, it might be available through a related service that is part of a network of support. Where possible, ER Providers should facilitate access to case management for Service Users who would benefit. At a system level, ER models with a greater component of case management could be implemented as test cases. Referral systems are also key for achieving Service User outcomes, which is reflected in the ER Program Logic presented on page 31. The survey and interview data show that referrals within an integrated service (internal) or in a service hub (co-located) are most effective. Where this is not possible, warm referrals within a trusted network of support are more effective than cold referrals leading to higher take-up and beneficial Service User outcomes. However, cold referrals are most common, pointing to a weakness in ER referral systems. This is because ER Providers do not operate or co-locate with interrelated services in many cases, nor do they have the case management capacity to provide warm referrals in many other cases. For mental illness support, which interviewees identified as one of the most difficult issues to deal with, ER Providers offer an integrated service only 23% of the time, warm referrals 34% of the time, and cold referrals 43% of the time. A focus on referral systems at the individual ER Provider level, and system level through a joined-up approach, might lead to better outcomes for Service Users. The program logic and theory of change for ER have been documented with input from the research findings and included in Section 4.3 on page 31. These show that ER helps people facing a financial crisis to meet their immediate needs, avoid further harm, and access a path to recovery. The research demonstrates that ER is fundamental to supporting vulnerable people in Australia and should therefore continue to be funded by government.