Journal articles on the topic 'Women Marines Association'

PURPOSE: To examine the relationship between plasma levels of reproductive sex steroid hormones in postmenopausal women and their reported fat intake.METHODS: We measured plasma sex steroid hormones levels in plasma collected in 1989 and 1990 from 381 healthy postmenopausal women. For each woman, we measured fat intake in 1986 and 1990 by a food-frequency questionnaire. The cross-sectional associations between the percentage of energy from total and specific types of dietary fat intake and plasma hormone levels were assessed by linear regression, controlling for energy intake, obesity, and protein intake.RESULTS: The plasma estradiol level was 4.3% lower (95% confidence limits, −8.3%, −0.2%) for a substitution of 5% of energy from fat intake for an equivalent amount of energy from carbohydrate when adjusted for obesity and other covariates. Estradiol was also inversely associated with all other fat types except trans fat; the inverse associations with vegetable fat and marine omega-3 fats were statistically significant.CONCLUSION: We observed an inverse association between total fat intake averaged over 4 to 5 years and estradiol levels. This result is inconsistent with the hypothesis that fat intake predisposes to breast cancer risk by raising endogenous estrogen levels.

Abstract Uterine leiomyomata (UL) are associated with severe reproductive morbidity and are the primary indication for hysterectomy in the United States. A recent prospective cohort study of Black women reported positive associations between intakes of marine-sourced ω-3 fatty acids and UL risk. We examined whether intakes of dietary fat were associated with UL incidence in a 5-year prospective study of premenopausal Black women living in Detroit who underwent serial ultrasound. At baseline (2010–2012) and 20, 40, and 60 months of follow-up, participants underwent transvaginal ultrasound. Among 1,171 UL-free women at baseline, incident UL were detected in 277 women. Cox regression was used to estimate hazard ratios and 95% confidence intervals for the association of dietary fat and UL incidence. Intakes of total fat and saturated, monounsaturated, polyunsaturated, and trans-fat were not appreciably associated with UL incidence. Intake of the marine ω-3 polyunsaturated fatty acid, docosahexaenoic acid, was associated with 49% higher UL incidence (quartile 4 vs. 1: hazard ratio = 1.49, 95% confidence interval: 1.04, 2.14; P for trend = 0.01). Intakes of total marine ω-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids were similarly associated with elevated UL incidence (hazard ratio = 1.35, 95% confidence interval: 0.94, 1.93; P for trend = 0.03). It remains unclear whether the fatty acids or persistent environmental pollutants drive the association.

AbstractSeveral studies have investigated the potential benefits of marine n-3 PUFA in CVD, generally suggesting a lower risk of CHD. However, recent trials have questioned these results. This study investigated the association of fish consumption with dietary intake of marine n-3 PUFA with incident myocardial infarction (MI). In a Danish cohort study, 57 053 subjects between 50 and 64 years of age were enrolled from 1993 to 1997. From national registries, we identified all cases of incident MI. Dietary fish consumption was assessed using a semi-quantitative food questionnaire, including twenty-six questions regarding fish intake. In addition, we calculated the intake of total and individual marine n-3 PUFA. During a median follow-up of 17·0 years, we identified 3089 cases of incident MI. For both men and women, a high intake of fatty fish was inversely related to incident MI. Thus, when comparing the highest and the lowest quintile of fatty fish intake, we found a 12 % lower relative risk of MI in men (hazard ratio (HR) 0·88; 95 % CI 0·77, 1·00) and a 22 % lower relative risk in women (HR 0·78; 95 % CI 0·63, 0·96) after adjustments. For women, similar associations were observed for individual and total marine n-3 PUFA. In contrast, intake of lean fish was not associated with MI. In conclusion, incident MI was inversely related to a high intake of fatty fish, but not lean fish. However, test for trends across quintiles was not statistically significant. In general, this study supports the view that consumption of fatty fish may protect against MI.

Dietary intake of marine n-3 PUFA has been negatively associated with the risk of CHD among subjects with known CHD, whereas an effect in healthy subjects is less documented. We assessed the hypothesis that dietary intake of marine n-3 PUFA is negatively associated with the risk of acute coronary syndrome (ACS) in healthy subjects. In the Danish Diet, Cancer and Health cohort study, 57 053 participants were enrolled. Dietary intake of total n-3 PUFA, including EPA, docosapentaenoic acid (DPA) and DHA, was assessed. During a mean follow-up period of 7·6 years, we identified all cases (n 1150) from this cohort with an incident ACS diagnosis in the Danish National Patient Registry or the Cause of Death Registry. Diagnoses were verified through medical record review. In Cox proportional hazard models, we adjusted for established risk factors for CHD. Men in the four highest quintiles of n-3 PUFA intake (>0·39 g n-3 PUFA per d) had a lower incidence of ACS compared with men in the lowest quintile. The hazard ratio was 0·83 (95 % CI 0·67, 1·03) when we compared men in the second lowest and lowest quintile of n-3 PUFA intake. Higher intake of n-3 PUFA did not strengthen this association. Associations for EPA, DPA and DHA were all negative, but less consistent. No convincing associations were found among women. In conclusion, we found borderline significant negative associations between the intake of marine n-3 PUFA and ACS among healthy men.

Oily fish, an important source of marine n-3 long-chain polyunsaturated fatty acids (LCPUFA), has shown to reduce cardiometabolic risk in adults. Whether maternal fish intake affects offspring metabolic health is less established, especially among high-risk pregnancies. We aimed to examine the association of fish intake in pregnancy with offspring metabolic health who were either exposed or unexposed to gestational diabetes mellitus (GDM). Our study included 1234 mother-offspring dyads (608 with a GDM index pregnancy and 626 control dyads) nested within the Danish National Birth Cohort, which is a prebirth cohort. Maternal seafood and marine n-3 LCPUFA consumption was quantified by a food frequency questionnaire (gestational week 25) and a sub-sample with interview data (weeks 12 and 30). The offspring were clinically examined at 9–16 years, including a Dual energy X-ray Absorptiometry (DXA) scan and a fasting blood sample. We calculated multivariable effect estimates and 95% confidence intervals (CI) for anthropometric, adiposity, and metabolic parameters. The median (IQR) intake of total seafood was 23(24) g/day. We found largely no association for total seafood and marine n-3 LCPUFA with offspring metabolic parameters in either group. Using interview data, GDM-exposed women reporting no fish in week 12 and 30 (versus intake >2 times/week) had offspring with a higher Body Mass Index (BMI) (ratio of geometric means (RGM): 1.28, 95% CI: 1.06, 1.55), waist circumference (RGM: 1.22, 95% CI: 1.05, 1.40), triglycerides (RGM: 1.77, 95% CI: 1.03, 3.03), and homeostatic model assessment of insulin resistance HOMA-IR (RGM: 2.16, 95% CI: 1.17, 3.97). We found no associations of n-3 LCPUFA and seafood intake with offspring metabolic outcomes. However, GDM-exposed women who consistently reported eating no fish had offspring with a poorer metabolic profile. Fish intake in pregnancy may mitigate some adverse effects of intrauterine hyperglycemia, however, these findings need replication in better powered studies.

ObjectiveWe tested whether genetic variants near fatty acid desaturases gene (FADS) cluster, which were recently identified to be signatures of adaptation to fish-rich and n-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFAs)-rich diet, interacted with these dietary factors on change in body mass index (BMI).DesignThreeFADSvariants were examined for gene-diet interactions on long-term (~10 years) changes in BMI and body weight in four prospective cohort studies.SettingPopulation based study.Participants11 323 women from the Nurses’ Health Study (NHS), 6833 men from the Health Professionals Follow-up Study (HPFS) and replicated in 6254 women from the Women’s Health Initiative (WHI) and 5 264 Chinese from the Singapore Chinese Health Study (SCHS).Main outcomesLong-term (~10 years) changes in BMI and body weight.ResultsIn the NHS and HPFS cohorts, food-sourced n-3 PUFAs intake showed interactions with theFADSrs174570 on changes of BMI (P for interaction=0.02 in NHS, 0.05 in HPFS and 0.007 in combined). Such interactions were replicated in two independent cohorts WHI and SCHS (P for interaction=0.04 in WHI, 0.02 in SCHS and 0.001 in combined). The genetic associations of theFADSrs174570 with changes in BMI increased across the tertiles of n-3 PUFAs in all the cohorts. Fish intake also accentuated the genetic associations of theFADSrs174570 with long-term changes in BMI (pooled P for interaction=0.006). Viewed differently, long chain n-3 PUFAs intake showed stronger association with long-term changes in BMI among the rs174570 T carriers (beta=0.79 kg/m2per g, p=3×10−5) than the rs174570 non-T carriers (beta=0.16 kg/m2per g, p=0.08). Similar results were observed for fish intake.ConclusionsOur hypothesis-driven analyses provide replicable evidence that long chain n-3 PUFAs and fish intakes may interact with theFADSvariant on long-term weight gain. Further investigation is needed to confirm our findings in other cohorts.

The intake of marine n-3 PUFA has been shown to decrease the risk of CVD in a number of studies. Since the development of CVD is often a lifelong process, marine n-3 PUFA intake early in life may also affect the development of later CVD. The aim of the present study was to investigate the association between maternal intake of marine n-3 PUFA during the second trimester of pregnancy and factors associated with cardiometabolic risk in the 20-year-old offspring. The study was based on the follow-up of the offspring of a Danish pregnancy cohort who participated in a study conducted from 1988 to 1989. A total of 965 pregnant women were originally included in the cohort and detailed information about the intake of marine n-3 PUFA during the second trimester was collected. In 2008–9, the offspring were invited to participate in a clinical examination including anthropometric, blood pressure (BP) and short-term heart rate variability measurements. Also, a fasting venous blood sample was drawn from them. Multiple linear regression modelling, using the lowest quintile of marine n-3 PUFA intake as the reference, was used to estimate the association with all outcomes. A total of 443 offspring participated in the clinical examination. No association between the intake of marine n-3 PUFA during the second trimester of pregnancy and offspring adiposity, glucose metabolism, BP or lipid profile was found. In conclusion, no association between the intake of marine n-3 PUFA during the second trimester of pregnancy and the factors associated with cardiometabolic risk in the 20-year-old offspring could be detected.

ObjectivesAssess the association between marine omega-3 polyunsaturated fatty acid (n-3 PUFA) intake from supplements, mainly cod liver oil, and coronary heart disease (CHD) mortality.DesignProspective cohort study, with three exposure measurements over 22 years.SettingNorfolk-based European Prospective Investigation into Cancer (EPIC-Norfolk, UK).Participants22 035 men and women from the general population, 39–79 years at recruitment.ExposureSupplement use was assessed in three questionnaires (1993–1998; 2002–2004; 2004–2011). Participants were grouped into non-supplement users (NSU), n-3 PUFA supplement users (SU+n3) and non–n-3 PUFA supplement users (SU-n3). Cox regression adjusted for time-point specific variables: age, smoking, prevalent illnesses, body mass index, alcohol consumption, physical activity and season and baseline assessments of sex, social class, education and dietary intake (7-day diet diary).Primary and secondary outcome measuresDuring a median of 19-year follow-up, 1562 CHD deaths were registered for 22 035 included participants.ResultsBaseline supplement use was not associated with CHD mortality, but baseline food and supplement intake of n-3 PUFA was inversely associated with CHD mortality after adjustment for fish consumption. Using time-varying covariate analysis, significant associations were observed for SU+n3 (HR: 0.74, 95% CI 0.66 to 0.84), but not for SU-n3 versus NSU. In further analyses, the association for SU+n3 persisted in those who did not take other supplements (HR: 0.83, 95% CI 0.71 to 0.97). Those who became SU+n3 over time or were consistent SU+n3 versus consistent NSU had a lower hazard of CHD mortality; no association with CHD was observed in those who stopped using n-3 PUFA-containing supplements.ConclusionsRecent use of n-3 PUFA supplements was associated with a lower hazard of CHD mortality in this general population with low fish consumption. Residual confounding cannot be excluded, but the findings observed may be explained by postulated biological mechanisms and the results were specific to SU+n3.

It has been hypothesized that marine n-3 fatty acids ingested during pregnancy prolong duration of pregnancy and increase fetal growth rate in humans. By a combined self-administered questionnaire and interview applied in the 30th week of gestation we assessed dietary intake of marine n-3 fatty acids and energy in a population-based sample of 965 pregnant Danish women; in a random 14% subsample we also measured marine n-3 fatty acids relative to arachidonic acid (FA-ratio) in erythrocytes. Mean intake of marine n-3 fatty acids was 0·25 (95% range 0–0·75) g/d. We could detect no association between n-3 fatty acid intake and FA-ratio on the one hand, and gestation length, birth weight and birth length on the other. The analyses were adjusted for maternal height, prepregnant weight, parity and smoking. The conclusion from the study was that within the intake range of this population, marine n-3 fatty acids ingested in the weeks prior to the 30th week of pregnancy seem not to be a predictor of gestation length or fetal growth rate.

Background: Seafood is an important source of omega-3 fatty acids, which have been associated with improved oocyte quality and embryo morphology in some studies. However, seafood is also a source of persistent organic pollutants and heavy metals, which may adversely affect fecundity. Previous studies of seafood intake and fecundity have generated inconsistent results. Methods: In two prospective cohort studies of 7836 female pregnancy planners from Denmark (Snart Foraeldre, n = 2709) and North America (PRESTO, n = 5127), we evaluated the association of dietary intake of total seafood and marine-sourced long-chain omega-3 fatty acids (eicosapentaenoic acid, docosahexaenoic acid, and docosapentaenoic acid) with fecundability. Participants completed a baseline questionnaire on sociodemographics, behavioral factors, anthropometrics, and medical history, and a food frequency questionnaire. Pregnancy status was updated bimonthly for up to 12 months or until reported conception. We estimated fecundability ratios (FRs) and 95% confidence intervals (CIs) using proportional probabilities regression models, adjusted for energy intake and other potential confounders. We restricted analyses to women with ≤6 menstrual cycles of attempt time at enrollment. Results: Intake of total seafood or marine-sourced long-chain omega-3 fatty acids was not appreciably associated with fecundability in either cohort (≥200 vs. <50 g/week total seafood: FR = 0.94, 95% CI: 0.79–1.10 in Snart Foraeldre; FR = 1.00, 95% CI: 0.90–1.13 in PRESTO; marine fatty acids: ≥90th vs. <25th percentile: FR = 1.00, 95% CI: 0.85–1.18 in Snart Foraeldre; FR = 0.97, 95% CI: 0.86–1.09 in PRESTO). In PRESTO, where we collected additional data on seafood preparation, we observed an inverse association between fecundability and fried shellfish (≥10 g/week vs. none: FR = 0.77, 95% CI: 0.61–0.98), but not unfried shellfish (≥20 g/week vs. none: FR = 0.98, 95% CI: 0.89–1.07); in Snart Foraeldre, there was no association with total shellfish intake. Conclusions: We found little association between seafood intake and fecundability overall, but greater intake of fried shellfish was associated with reduced fecundability among North American participants.

ABSTRACT Background Preconception nutrition sets the stage for a healthy pregnancy. Maternal fatty acids (FAs) are related to beneficial neonatal outcomes with DNA methylation proposed as a mechanism; however, few studies have investigated this association and none with preconception FAs. Objectives We examined the relations of maternal plasma FA concentrations at preconception (n = 346) and 8 weeks of gestation (n = 374) with newborn DNA methylation. Methods The Effects of Aspirin in Gestation and Reproduction Trial (2006–2012) randomly assigned women with previous pregnancy loss to low dose aspirin or placebo prior to conception. We measured maternal plasma phospholipid FA concentration at preconception (on average 4 mo before pregnancy) and 8 weeks of gestation. Cord blood DNA from singletons was measured using the MethylationEPIC BeadChip. We used robust linear regression to test the associations of FA concentration with methylation β-values of each CpG site, adjusting for estimated cell count using a cord blood reference, sample plate, maternal sociodemographic characteristics, cholesterol, infant sex, and epigenetic-derived ancestry. False discovery rate correction was used for multiple testing. Results Mean ± SD concentrations of preconception marine (20:5n–3+22:6n–3+22:5n–3) and ω-6 PUFAs, SFAs, MUFAs, and trans FAs were 4.7 ± 1.2, 38.0 ± 2.0, 39.4 ± 1.8, 11.6 ± 1.1, and 1.0 ± 0.4 % of total FA, respectively; concentrations at 8 weeks of gestation were similar. Preconception marine PUFA concentration was associated with higher methylation at GRAMD2 (P = 1.1 × 10−8), LOXL1 (P = 5.5 × 10−8), SIK3 (P = 1.6 × 10−7), HTR1B (P = 1.9 × 10−7), and MCC (P = 2.1 × 10−7) genes. Preconception SFA concentration was associated with higher methylation at KIF25-AS1 and lower methylation at SLC39A14; other associations exhibited sensitivity to outliers. The trans FA concentration was related to lower methylation at 3 sites and higher methylation at 1 site. FAs at 8 weeks of gestation were largely unrelated to DNA methylation. Conclusions Maternal preconception FAs are related to newborn DNA methylation of specific CpG sites, highlighting the importance of examining nutritional exposures preconceptionally. This trial was registered at clinicaltrials.gov as NCT00467363.

Trans-fatty acids (TFA) have adverse effects on blood lipids, but whether TFA from different sources are associated with risk of CVD remains unresolved. The objective of the present study was to evaluate the association between TFA intake from partially hydrogenated vegetable oils (PHVO), partially hydrogenated fish oils (PHFO) and ruminant fat (rTFA) and risks of death of CVD, CHD, cerebrovascular diseases and sudden death in the Norwegian Counties Study, a population-based cohort study. Between 1974 and 1988, participants were examined for up to three times. Fat intake was assessed with a semi-quantitative FFQ. A total of 71 464 men and women were followed up through 2007. Hazard ratios (HR) and 95 % CI were estimated with Cox regression. Energy from TFA was compared to energy from all other sources, carbohydrates or unsaturated cis-fatty acids with different multivariable models. During follow-up, 3870 subjects died of CVD, 2383 of CHD, 732 of cerebrovascular diseases and 243 of sudden death. Significant risks, comparing highest to lowest intake category, were found for: TFA from PHVO and CHD (HR 1·23 (95 % CI 1·00, 1·50)) and cerebrovascular diseases (HR 0·65 (95 % CI 0·45, 0·94)); TFA from PHFO and CVD (HR 1·14 (95 % CI 1·03, 1·26)) and cerebrovascular diseases (HR 1·32 (95 % CI 1·04, 1·69)); and rTFA intake and CVD (HR 1·30 (95 % CI 1·05, 1·61)), CHD (HR 1·50 (95 % CI 1·11, 2·03)) and sudden death (HR 2·73 (95 % CI 1·19, 6·25)) in women. These associations with rTFA intake were not significant in men (Pinteraction ≥ 0·01). The present study supports that TFA intake, irrespective of source, increases CVD risk. Whether TFA from PHVO decreases risk of cerebrovascular diseases warrants further investigation.

AbstractBackgroundFish consumption has been shown to be inversely associated with CHD, which may be due to n-3 fatty acids. The n-3 fatty acids, EPA and DHA, are naturally found only in marine sources. Dietary intakes of methylmercury from certain fish have been hypothesized to increase the risk of CHD.ObjectiveTo investigate the relationship between 30 d fish frequency consumption (assessed by FFQ), total blood Hg concentrations and risk markers of CHD in women aged 16–49 years participating in the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey 1999–2002.DesignMultiple linear regression analyses were used to test (i) the relationships between 30 d fish frequency consumption and five CHD risk markers, i.e. HDL cholesterol (HDL-C), LDL cholesterol, total cholesterol, TAG and C-reactive protein (CRP); and (ii) if total blood Hg attenuated any associations between fish consumption and CHD risk markers in non-pregnant, non-diabetic females aged 16–49 years.ResultsTotal 30 d fish frequency consumption was negatively associated with CRP (b = −0·10, 95 % CI −0·19, −0·02, P = 0·015) and positively associated with HDL-C (b = 1·40, 95 % CI 0·31, 2·50, P = 0·014). Adjustment for other risk factors did not significantly attenuate the associations. Despite the collinearity between fish and Hg, there is a protective association between fish intake and CHD risk factors.ConclusionsThe levels of DHA + EPA and other nutrients in fish may be adequate to offset the hypothesized risks of heart disease related to ingesting Hg from fish.

Background: The prognostic value of erythrocyte levels of n-6 fatty acids (FAs) for total mortality and cardiovascular disease (CVD) outcomes remains an open question. Methods: We examined cardiovascular (CV) outcomes and death in 2500 individuals in the Framingham Heart Study Offspring cohort without prevalent CVD (mean age 66 years, 57% women) as a function of baseline levels of different length n-6 FAs (18 carbon, 20 carbon, and 22 carbon) in the erythrocyte membranes. Clinical outcomes were monitored for up to 9.5 years (median follow up, 7.26 years). Cox proportional hazards models were adjusted for a variety of demographic characteristics, clinical status, and red blood cell (RBC) n-6 and long chain n-3 FA content. Results: There were 245 CV events, 119 coronary heart disease (CHD) events, 105 ischemic strokes, 58 CVD deaths, and 350 deaths from all causes. Few associations between either mortality or CVD outcomes were observed for n-6 FAs, with those that were observed becoming non-significant after adjusting for n-3 FA levels. Conclusions: Higher circulating levels of marine n-3 FA levels are associated with reduced risk for incident CVD and ischemic stroke and for death from CHD and all-causes; however, in the same sample little evidence exists for association with n-6 FAs. Further work is needed to identify a full profile of FAs associated with cardiovascular risk and mortality.

Alaska Native (AN) children experience one of the highest reported rates of severe early childhood caries (S-ECC). Serum vitamin D concentrations in AN childbearing women in the Yukon Kuskokwim Delta (YKD) region have decreased since the 1960s to currently low levels, related to a decrease in traditional marine diet. Recent studies suggest an association between prenatal vitamin D (25(OH)D) concentrations in mothers and S-ECC in their infants. We used independent t tests to analyze the influence of prenatal 25(OH)D levels in YKD AN mothers on S-ECC in their children using data collected in the Maternal Organics Monitoring Study (MOMS). Maternal 25(OH)D levels were assessed at prenatal visits and in cord blood. We queried electronic dental records to assess early childhood caries (ECC) status using highest decayed, missing, filled, primary teeth (dmft) scores at 12 to 59 mo of age. We examined prenatal and cord blood for 76 and 57 mother/infant pairs, respectively. Children 12 to 35 mo of age with “deficient” cord blood (25(OH)D <30 nmol/L) had a mean dmft score twice as high as children who were “nondeficient” at birth (9.3 vs. 4.7; P = 0.002). There was no significant difference in mean dmft scores for children aged 36 to 59 mo with deficient versus nondeficient cord blood 25(OH)D (10.9 vs. 8.7 P = 0.14). There was no significant difference in mean dmft scores for children aged 12 to 35 mo whose mothers had “sufficient” versus “insufficient” 25(OH)D during prenatal visits (9.0 vs. 7.4; P = 0.48). In this small sample, children with deficient vitamin D levels in cord blood had a dmft score at 12 to 35 mo 2-fold higher than children with nondeficient cord blood. Maternal 25(OH)D may influence the primary dentition, and improving vitamin D status in pregnant women might affect ECC rates in their infants.

ABSTRACT Background Stress fracture risk is elevated during initial military training (IMT), particularly in lower-extremity bones such as the tibia. Although the etiology of stress fractures is multifactorial, lower bone strength increases risk. Objective The objective of this study was to assess, through the use of peripheral quantitative computed tomography, whether adherence to a dietary pattern rich in calcium, potassium, and protein before IMT is positively associated with bone indexes in young adults entering IMT. Design A cross-sectional analysis was performed with the use of baseline data from 3 randomized controlled trials in Army, Air Force, and Marine recruits (n = 401; 179 men, 222 women). Dietary intake was estimated from a food-frequency questionnaire. A dietary pattern characterized by calcium, potassium, and protein was derived via reduced rank regression and a pattern z score was computed for each volunteer, where higher scores indicated greater adherence to the pattern. At the 4% (metaphysis) and 14% (diaphysis) sites of the tibia, bone mineral content (BMC), volumetric bone mineral density, robustness, and strength indexes were evaluated. Associations between dietary pattern z score as the predictor variable and bone indexes as the response variables were evaluated by multiple linear regression. Results Pattern z score was positively associated with BMC (P = 0.004) and strength (P = 0.01) at the metaphysis and with BMC (P = 0.0002), strength (P = 0.0006), and robustness (P = 0.02) at the diaphysis when controlling for age, sex, race, energy, smoking, education, and exercise. Further adjustment for BMI attenuated the associations, except with diaphyseal BMC (P = 0.005) and strength (P = 0.01). When height and weight were used in place of body mass index, the association with BMC remained (P = 0.046). Conclusions A dietary pattern rich in calcium, potassium, and protein is positively associated with measures of tibia BMC and strength in recruits entering IMT. Whether adherence to this dietary pattern before IMT affects injury susceptibility during training remains to be determined. These trials were registered at clinicaltrials.gov as NCT01617109 and NCT02636348.

1510 Background: Epidemiologic data suggest that vitamin D supplementation may reduce cancer mortality. We tested whether vitamin D and/or omega-3 supplementation reduces the incidence of advanced stage cancer at diagnosis or lethal cancer, and whether body mass index (BMI) modifies these associations. Methods: The VITamin D and OmegA-3 TriaL (VITAL) is a randomized, placebo-controlled, 2x2 factorial trial of vitamin D3 (cholecalciferol, 2000 IU/day) and marine omega-3 fatty acids (1 g/day) that enrolled men aged ≥50 years and women aged ≥55 years free of cancer and cardiovascular disease at baseline. For this particular analysis, the primary outcome is a composite of metastatic and fatal invasive total cancer. Secondary analyses included examination of BMI (<25, 25-<30, and >= 30 kg/m2) as effect modifiers of the observed associations. Results: VITAL randomized 25,871 participants, among whom 1,617 were diagnosed with invasive cancer over a median 5.3 year intervention period. No significant differences by treatment arm (vitamin D vs placebo: hazard ratio [HR]=0.96; 95% confidence interval, 0.88-1.06; p=0.47; omega-3 vs placebo; HR 1.03 [0.93-1.13]; p=0.56) were observed. However, a significant reduction in advanced cancers (metastatic or fatal) was found for those randomized to vitamin D, compared to placebo (226 assigned to vitamin D and 274 to placebo; HR 0.83 [0.69-0.99]; p=0.036). There was no difference by omega-3 assignment (246 assigned to omega-3 and 254 to placebo: HR 0.97 [0.81-1.15], p=0.72). When stratified by BMI, there was a significant reduction for the vitamin D arm in incident metastatic or fatal cancer among those with normal BMI (BMI<25: HR 0.62 [0.45-0.86], but not among those who were overweight or obese (BMI 25-<30: HR 0.89 [0.68-1.17]; BMI >=30: HR 1.05 [0.74-1.49]); p for interaction by BMI =0.03. There was no effect modification by BMI noted for the omega 3 arm. Conclusions: In a randomized clinical trial, supplementation with vitamin D, but not omega-3s, reduced incidence of advanced (metastatic or fatal) cancer in the overall cohort, with strongest risk reduction in normal weight individuals. Further research is needed to understand these findings. Clinical trial information: NCT01169259.

Domoic acid (DA) is a marine-based neurotoxin that, if ingested via tainted shellfish, is associated with Amnesic Shellfish Poisoning (ASP). These acute effects of elevated DA exposure in humans have been well described. In contrast, the long-term impacts of lower level, repetitive, presumably safe doses of DA (less than 20 ppm) are minimally known. Since Native Americans (NA) residing in coastal communities of the Pacific NW United States are particularly vulnerable to DA exposure, this study focuses on the long-term, 8-year memory outcome associated with their repeated dietary consumption of the neurotoxin. Measures of razor clam consumption, memory, clerical speed and accuracy, and depression were administered over eight years to 500 randomly selected adult NA men and women ages 18–64. Data were analyzed using GEE analyses taking into consideration the year of study, demographic factors, and instrumentation in examining the association between dietary exposure and outcomes. Findings indicated a significant but small decline in total recall memory within the context of otherwise stable clerical speed and accuracy and depression scores. There is reason to believe that a continuum of memory difficulties may be associated with DA exposure, rather than a unitary ASP syndrome.

Abstract Objectives Dietary marine omega-3 eicosapentaenoic acid (EPA) is readily incorporated into cardiac cell membranes, partially replacing the omega-6 arachidonic acid (AA). Blood omega-3 is an objective marker of their intake over the last days. Increasing blood EPA at the time of a ST-segment elevation myocardial infarction (STEMI) relates to a smaller infarct size and preserved long-term left ventricular ejection fraction. We explored whether blood EPA at the time of STEMI also relates to a lower incidence of hard clinical endpoints. We also explored whether blood alpha-linolenic acid (ALA, the vegetable omega-3) modulates such association. Methods We prospectively included 944 consecutive patients treated with primary percutaneous coronary intervention in a single tertiary referral hospital. We determined fatty acids in serum phosphatidylcholine (PC) at 12 hours of evolution. The primary outcomes were cardiovascular disease-related hospital readmission and all-cause mortality after 3 years of follow-up. We constructed multivariable Cox proportional hazards models, calculating risk estimates as hazard ratios (HR). Results The mean age of the cohort was 61 years and 209 (22.1%) were women. During follow-up, 130 patients (13.8%) were readmitted for cardiovascular disease, and 108 (11.4%) died. After adjustment for known clinical predictors, multivariate analysis showed that EPA in serum PC at the time of STEMI inversely related to incident hospital readmission (HR, 0.74; 95% CI, 0.56–0.96; P = 0.024, for a 1 SD increase). Further adjustment for serum PC AA and ALA did not change the association. EPA in serum PC was found to be unrelated to 3-y total mortality. However, after including serum PC proportions of AA and ALA into the model, we observed a significantly decreased risk of mortality for ALA (HR, 0.65; 95% CI, 0.44–0.96; P = 0.030, for a 1 SD increase). Conclusions Increasing proportions of EPA and ALA in serum PC at the time of STEMI inversely relate to 3-y cardiovascular disease-hospital readmission and all-cause mortality, respectively. Dietary EPA and ALA act synergistically and are partners rather than competitors in improving prognosis in case of a STEMI. Funding Sources Instituto de Salud Carlos III, Spain; California Walnut Commission.

Background:The use of eHealth tools (internet, mobile applications, connected devices) in chronic diseases and in the field of rheumatoid arthritis (RA) is growing (1). eHealth may improve the overall care of patients suffering from chronic diseases (2,3).Objectives:The main objective of this study was to describe the use of eHealth by RA patients in France. The secondary objectives were to identify differences in demographic and disease characteristics between patients using eHealth tools or not. We also assessed patients’ expectations about digital devices.Methods:We conducted a cross-sectional, multicenter study. Patients with RA according to the ACR / EULAR 2010 criteria were recruited in 5 university hospitals (Bordeaux, Clermont-Ferrand, Limoges, Montpellier and Toulouse). Patients completed an anonymous self-questionnaire including demographic data, assessment about the use of eHealth (access, support, frequency of use, type of use, reason for use). The treating rheumatologist of the patient filled in an independent medical questionnaire collecting the disease characteristics, the activity of RA and the treatments. Data were collected from December 2018 to July 2019.Results:The questionnaires were completed by 575 patients, with an average age of 62±13 years, 78% of whom were women. 473 (82%) patients had access to eHealth through a computer (n=402, 86%), a tablet (n=188, 40%) and/or a smartphone (n=221, 47%). Among them, 36% (170/473) used internet for health in general and 29% (134/473) specifically for RA. Regarding the use of eHealth for RA, all patients used it to learn about their disease and 66% (89/134) as a tool to help monitoring RA. Most of them (n=87/125, 70%) had a paper medical record, 24/125 patients (19%) used a digital tool (spreadsheet n=10, 8% and / or mobile application n=9, 7% and / or website n=5, 4%) and 31/125 patients (25%) did not use any tool to monitor their RA. Few patients (16/126, 13%) used numeric reminders for their treatments. A specific application for RA was used by 27/127 patients (21%) using eHealth. Age, level of study, employment, treatment, comorbidities, membership of a patient association group and patient education program were associated with the use of eHealth for RA in univariate analysis. In multivariate analysis, membership of patient’s association (OR: 5.8 [3.0-11.2]), bDMARDs use (OR: 0.6 [0.4-1]) and comorbidities (OR: 0.7 [0.6-0.8]) remained associated with eHealth use for RA. According to the patients, recommendation by a doctor (n=225/330, 68%), ease of use (n=105/330, 32%) and data security (n=69/330, 21%) were the factors that would favor the use of eHealth.Conclusion:To date, few patients used eHealth for their disease. The use of a reliable and validated eHealth tool in RA could therefore be promoted by rheumatologist and might optimize the therapeutic adherence.References:[1]Mosa ASM, Yoo I, Sheets L. A systematic review of healthcare applications for smartphones. BMC Med Inform Decis Mak. 10 juill 2012;12:67.[2]Lorig KR, Ritter PL, Laurent DD, Plant K. The internet-based arthritis self-management program: a one-year randomized trial for patients with arthritis or fibromyalgia. Arthritis Rheum. 15 juill 2008;59(7):1009‑17.[3]Charpentier G, Benhamou P-Y, Dardari D, Clergeot A, Franc S, Schaepelynck-Belicar P, et al. The Diabeo software enabling individualized insulin dose adjustments combined with telemedicine support improvesDisclosure of Interests:Marion Magnol: None declared, Eleonore Berard: None declared, Claire Rempenault: None declared, Benjamin Castagne: None declared, marine pugibet: None declared, Cédric Lukas: None declared, Anne Tournadre: None declared, Pascale Vergne-Salle: None declared, Thomas Barnetche: None declared, Marie-Elise Truchetet: None declared, Adeline Ruyssen-Witrand Grant/research support from: Abbvie, Pfizer, Consultant of: Abbvie, BMS, Lilly, Mylan, Novartis, Pfizer, Sandoz, Sanofi-Genzyme

Background:Rheumatoid arthritis (RA) patients are at increased risk of infections, some of which could be prevented in part by vaccination (1). Influenza and pneumococcal vaccines are recommended in RA (2). However, vaccination coverage of these patients remains very low. Five years ago, we found in a previous study that vaccination rates in France were 55% for pneumococcal and 60% for influenza vaccines (3).Objectives:The aim of our study was to evaluate the vaccination rate among RA patients, compare it with our previous results, and identify factors associated with non-vaccination.Methods:We conducted a cross sectional multicentric observational study in the rheumatology departments of 5 university hospitals in France. Data were collected from December 2018 to July 2019. Outpatients and hospitalized adult patients with RA according to the ACR/EULAR 2010 criteria were included. Data were collected during a single visit through an anonymous questionnaire completed by the patients. Pearson Chi-squared analysis and multivariable logistic regression were used to compare characteristics of vaccinated versus non vaccinated patients.Results:584 patients (77.9% of women, mean age 61.8±12.6 years old) were included. 81.7% were RF and/or ACPA positive, with a mean RA duration of 15.7±10.5 years, 58.2% were treated with methotrexate (MTX), and 68.6% with a biologic. Vaccination rate against pneumococcal was 78.9% (versus 55% in 2013, p<0.0001) and 60.4% for influenza (versus 60% in 2013). The main reason for non-vaccination was absence of vaccine proposal (59.2%) for pneumococcal, and fear of vaccines (56.7%) for influenza. In the multivariate analysis, a higher level of education (OR [CI95] 4.4 [2.3-8.4], p<0.0001), a very good opinion on vaccination (2.1 [1.1-4.1], p=0.003), vaccination against influenza done (2.3 {1.3-4.2], p=0.006), and exposure to biologics (4.0 [2.2-7.4], p<0.0001) were associated with vaccination against pneumococcal. Age over 65 years old (2.0 [1.2-3.2], p=0.006), participation in a patients’ association (3.6 [1.4-8.9], p=0.006), vaccination against pneumococcal done (2.4 [1.3-4.5], p=0.004), exposure to biologics (2.1 [1.2-3.7], p=0.006), a good (3.3 [1.4-8.9], p=0.03) and a very good opinion on vaccination (6.6 [2.8-15.6], p<0.0001) were associated with vaccination against influenza.Conclusion:Vaccination rate against pneumococcal increased over the last 5 years but remained stable for influenza vaccine in French RA patients. This could be improved with patient’s information and education, especially in patients age under 65, biologic naïve and with a bad opinion about vaccination.References:[1] Doran MF, Crowson CS et al. Arthritis Rheum. 2002 Sep;46(9):2287–93.[2]van Assen S, Agmon-Levin N et al. Ann Rheum Dis. 2011 Mar;70(3):414–22.[3] Hua C, Morel J et al. Rheumatol Oxf Engl. 2015 Apr;54(4):748–50.Disclosure of Interests:Claire Rempenault: None declared, Thomas Barnetche: None declared, Marion Magnol: None declared, Benjamin Castagne: None declared, marine pugibet: None declared, Eleonore Berard: None declared, Marie-Elise Truchetet: None declared, Pascale Vergne-Salle: None declared, Anne Tournadre: None declared, Adeline Ruyssen-Witrand Grant/research support from: Abbvie, Pfizer, Consultant of: Abbvie, BMS, Lilly, Mylan, Novartis, Pfizer, Sandoz, Sanofi-Genzyme, Cédric Lukas: None declared

Background:Type-2 diabetes and rheumatoid arthritis (RA) are two chronic diseases characterized by tissue inflammation and insulin resistance. To date, no data have evaluated the influence of RA-induced joint and systemic inflammation on the course of type-2 diabetes.Objectives:To study the impact of RA on type-2 diabetesMethods:Observational, multicenter, cross-sectional usual-care study, including 7 rheumatology centers. This study included over a 24-month period consecutive patients with type-2 diabetes and RA, fulfilling the 2010 ACR / EULAR criteria, and diabetic controls with osteoarthritis (OA). The following data were collected: demographics, disease activity and severity indices, current treatment for RA and diabetes, history and complications of diabetes. A systematic blood test was performed, assessing inflammatory (CRP levels) and metabolic (fasting glycemia and insulin levels, HbA1c) parameters. The HOMA2%B (insulin secretion) and HOMA2%S (tissue insulin sensitivity) indices (HOMA calculator, © Diabetes Trials Unit, University of Oxford) were used to assess insulin resistance. Ra and OA patients were compared using parametric tests after adjusting for age and BMI. A multivariate logistic regression was performed ti identify factors independently associated with insulin resistance.Results:We included 122 RA patients (74% women, mean age 64+/-11 years, mean disease duration 15+/-11 11 years, 75% with positive ACPA antibodies and 64% with erosive disease) and 54 controls with OA. 64% of RA patients were treated with oral corticosteroids <10 mg/day, 65% received methotrexate and 53% received targeted biological therapies.The characteristics of type-2 diabetes in the 54 OA patients corresponded to severe insulin-resistant diabetes: age> 65 years, high BMI> 30 kg/m2, mean HbA1c 7.3%+/-11 1.3%, 30% of insulin requirement, high frequency of other cardiovascular risk factors, macroangiopathy found in almost half of patients and biological criteria of insulin resistance (elevation of HOMA2%B and decrease of HOMA2%S).RA patients with type-2 diabetes had a younger age (64+/-11 years vs. 68+/-12 years, p=0.031) and lower BMI (27.7+/-11 5.5 vs. 31.5+/-11 6.3, p<0.001). These patients also had severe diabetes (HbA1c 7.0%+/-11 1.2%, 29% of insulin requirement, 43% of macroangiopathy) with an insulin resistance profile identical to OA controls. After adjusting for age and BMI, RA patients had a significantly increased insulin secretion compared to OA patients (HOMA2%B: 83.1+/-11 65.2 vs. 49.3+/-11 25.7, p=0.023) as well as a significant reduction of insulin sensitivity (HOMA2%S: 61.1+/-11 31.6 vs. 92.9+/-11 68.1, p=0.016). This insulin resistance was associated with the inflammatory activity of RA, with a negative correlation between the HOMA2%S and the DAS28 (r=-0.28, p=0.027). The multivariate logistic regression confirmed the independent association between the HOMA2%S index and DAS28 (OR: 3.93, 95% CI 1.02-15.06), as well as high blood pressure (OR: 1.29, 95% CI 0.33-1.99 CI).Conclusion:RA patients with type-2 diabetes displayed severe, poorly controlled diabetes, highlighting the burden of comorbidities associated with RA. The clinical-biological profile of diabetic RA patients was severe insulin-resistant diabetes, with a biological profile of insulin resistance linked to the inflammatory activity of the disease. These findings may have therapeutic implications, with the potential targeting of insulin resistance through the treatment of joint and systemic inflammation.Acknowledgments:Société Française de Rhumatologie (research grant)Bristol Myers Squibb (research grant)Disclosure of Interests:Jérôme Avouac Grant/research support from: Pfizer, Bristol Myers Squibb, Consultant of: Sanofi, Bristol Myers Squibb, Abbvie, Boerhinger, Nordic Pharma, Speakers bureau: Sanofi, Bristol Myers Squibb Abbvie, MSD, Pfizer, Nordic Pharma, Muriel ELHAI: None declared, Marine Forien: None declared, Jérémie SELLAM: None declared, Florent Eymard Consultant of: Regenlab, Anna Moltó Grant/research support from: Pfizer, UCB, Consultant of: Abbvie, BMS, MSD, Novartis, Pfizer, UCB, Laure Gossec Grant/research support from: Lilly, Mylan, Pfizer, Sandoz, Consultant of: AbbVie, Amgen, Biogen, Celgene, Janssen, Lilly, Novartis, Pfizer, Sandoz, Sanofi-Aventis, UCB, Frédéric Banal: None declared, Joel Daminano: None declared, Philippe Dieudé: None declared, Yannick Allanore Shareholder of: Sanofi, Roche, Consultant of: Actelion, Bayer, BMS, Boehringer Ingelheim, Inventiva, Sanofi

Background. Domestic cultural space is in urgent need of selfpreservation, and a renaissance of national self-identity of the Ukrainian cinema is connected with the state interest in this topic. There are the discussions around the attempts to revive the Ukrainian poetic cinema with its inherent mythological outlook erasing the boundaries between imaginary and real. It is logical, that the further development and studying of national cinema is impossible without revise of creative work of actors of the past; they were the bearers of poetic worldview, guided by folk traditions and customs. The tendency to the study of the forgotten names would help to bring back to their proper place the classics of Ukrainian cinematography. In the national scientific circles, there is an interest in the revival of forgotten names of cultural figures, and theater and filmmakers, in particular. Nevertheless, creativity of some Kharkiv actors, among them, Polina Kumanchenko and Lidia Krynytska, undeservedly deprived of attention in the scientific environment. The object of this research is the creativity of representatives of the Kharkiv acting school – Polina Kumanchenko and Lidiya Krynytska. The aim of the author is to study the performing manner of the actresses, to identify the peculiar facets of their playing, and, as a result, the certain traditions that are inherent the Kharkiv local artistic environment. The interpretation of the image of a mother in the performance of the mentioned actors is the subject of studying. Methods of analysis, synthesis, classification are the basis of this study and used for the scientific validity of the findings. We used the method of comparison in the considering of the mother images created by Kumanchenko and Krynytska. Research results. As the key in the cultural aspect, should be considered the fact that the image of the mother in Ukrainian mentality is iconic, associated with the image of the Earth, since the essence of both is the function of the “giver of life”, fertility. The worldview of Maria, the personage of P. Kumanchenko, is fixated on owning the land, because thanks to her, a person exists and continues his family. Like her ancestors, Maria is going to become a link in the further transfer of land to her descendants, passing to them the “genetic code” of love of Ukrainian peasants for the Earth. She is expecting a second child, and therefore, through her actions, she seeks to provide her children with stability, which is possible only with land. The actress focuses the attention of the viewer on expressive gestures, sudden movements to emphasize the active behavior of her heroine; at the same time, the extremely expressive regard of P. Kumanchenko, shown in close-up, convey the true thoughts and feelings of Maria, whose soul inhabits somewhere in her own, unreal world. In the first of the films of the trilogy by M. Makarenko (director) –“Human’s blood is not water”, – the actor’s decision of P. Kumanchenko presents a presentiment of happiness and stability that arises in her heroine’s soul against the background of her everyday suffering life – just like the Earth awaits spring blossoming after a long winter. Later we observe the changes that have occurred in the character of Maria along with her motherhood and confidence in the future. The actress gives her heroine a new external expressiveness: smooth movements, a gentle mysterious smile, elusive tenderness. The second part of the trilogy (“Dmytro Horytsvit”), presents P. Kumanchenko in a small episode. We see her in the light national costume, with tragic wringed hands, against the background of the burning home, where her child remained. The episode can be interpreted as an allegory: a mockery of fertile land devastated by fires, wars, destruction. However, just as a new cycle is needed for a ravaged Earth to bloom again, so for Maria the salvation of her daughter becomes the impetus for a new rebirth. The main idea of the film is embedded in this episode – the eternal pain of the Ukrainian land and its eternal revival. Based on the analysis of the role of Maria in the interpretation of P. Kumanchenko, we can talk about the embodiment in the mother image the idea of cyclicity of nature and life, coming from the ancient cults of the Earth. Thus, the influence of mythopoetics traced in the images created by the actresses, due to their symbolic similarity with the image of the mythological Mother Earth. In the film “Lymerivna” (directed by V. Lapoknysh) the image of a mother was created by actress L. Krynytska, which played Lymerykha – the mother of the main heroine. This is a passive woman, broken by life circumstances, who is going with the stream and is not able to deal with everyday problems. It would seem that both, Maria and Lymerykha, are united by a love for children and a desire to give them happiness. However, each of them has its own strategy of behavior. Unlike Maria, Lymerykha made tears the main tool on the way to her aim – to break the will of her daughter. It was her tears pushed Lymerykha’s daughter to a tragic death. The game of L. Krynitska outlines the “two-faced” path of the heroine’s behavior, reveals the “white” and “black” sides of her nature. That is, the actor’s task of L. Krynitska was to embody the image of a person with a “double bottom”. The manner of performing of this role may be partially explained by the etymology of the surname “Lymar”, which the heroine received when she got married. Lymar is a manufacturer, which make the harness for horses. Such a sign surname symbolizes her life – “horse harnessing”, a yoke that Lymerykha is afraid to throw off, because she does not know how to bear responsibility for her own destiny. There are also unifying links between the heroines of P. Kumanchenko and L. Krynytska: both manipulate by their motherhood. The cycles in the life events of both heroines are also clearly outlined. In Maria’s case, it is association with modifications in the state of the Earth due to natural changes in the seasons or terrible destructions, because of war or natural disasters. For Lymerykha, the cyclic existence is characterized, limited by the inability to overcome slavish psychology – to throw off the yoke, the “sword of Damocles,” which dominates her. In one of the scenes, the scenery symbolically emphasizes the essence of her being: a windmill, whose wings are constantly spinning. P. Kumanchenko and L. Krynytska are the Kharkiv actresses of the Drama Theater named after T. G. Shevchenko, and the influence of the actor’s system of his outstanding director Les Kurbas on the performing style of both cannot be overlooked. In the acting of the performers, the use of the “laws of Kurbas” is clearly traced: “the law of thrift”, “the law of fixation”, “the law of light-andshade”, etc. Conclusions. We analyzed both the differences and the unifying features in the interpretation of the image of the mother by Kharkov actresses. In the images created by P. Kumanchenko and L. Krynytska there is a relationship with the mythopoetic worldview. Тhanks to a number of artistic and meaningful associations, we can talk about the embodiment in the image of a woman-mother of the symbolic hypostases of Mother-Earth and the idea of the cyclical nature of life, which comes from ancient agricultural cults. The work with imaginary symbolism (a horse harness appears as a symbol of the enslavement of Women-Mother Earth) take place, as and a complete organics embodiment of the mythopoietic aspect inherent the Kharkiv acting school (Les Kurbas’s aesthetics) and, in general, the Ukrainian drama and cinema (A. Dovzhenko). A deeper analysis of various aspects of the performing work of Kharkiv actors, in particular, searching for the traditions in the actor’s game of Kharkovians, as well as more detailed studying of Les Kurbas’s methodological influence makes up the prospects of our study. The specifics of actor’s art of the Kharkiv school can serve as an example to follow in the training of actors and directors.

Abstract:This paper examines the professional activities of never-married women teachers. The ‘spinster’ teacher was not considered a potential ideal career teacher, in part, because women were not considered long-term workers. Until the mid-1940s, most school districts refused to hire married women teachers and so remaining single was the only option to continue in the profession. These career teachers were forced to deal with the same short shrift faced by young short-term women teachers though they were trying to establish themselves in the profession. Without established pathways and facing discrimination in employment, these never-married women persevered to have long careers and to make contributions to their professional associations. These teachers were in the forefront of women who broke the glass ceiling into what had been male preserves in the profession and in teachers’ associations.Résumé:Cet article s'intéresse aux activités professionnelles des enseignantes qui ne se sont jamais mariées. Il était difficile d'imaginer des enseignantes « vieilles filles » comme des femmes faisant carrière en partie parce qu'on ne les voyait pas comme travailleuses à long terme. Jusqu’au milieu des années 1940, la plupart des commissions scolaires refusaient d’engager des enseignantes mariées et la seule option pour poursuivre dans l'enseignement était de rester célibataire. Ces femmes de carrière étaient confronté aux mêmes difficultés que les jeunes travaillant à court terme malgré leurs efforts pour s’établir dans le métier. Ne jouissant d'aucun précédent, elles ont eu à affronter de la discrimination à l’embauche. Pourtant, ces femmes célibataires ont persévéré en menant de longues carrières et en participant à leurs associations professionnelles. Ces enseignantes étaient au premier rang parmi ces femmes qui ont brisé le plafond de verre en entrant dans les domaines auparavant réservés exclusivement aux hommes tant au sein de la profession que dans les associations professionnelles.

Introduction: Several studies have investigated the potential benefits from marine n-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFA) on cardiovascular disease, generally suggesting a lower risk of coronary heart disease. However, recent trials have questioned these results and clinical guidelines are currently at debate. Hypothesis: This study investigated the association of fish consumption, intake of marine n-3 PUFA and adipose tissue content of marine n-3 PUFA with incident myocardial infarction (MI), expecting to find an inverse relationship. Methods: In a Danish prospective cohort study 57,053 subjects between the age of 50-64 years were enrolled from 1993-97. From national registries we identified all cases of incident MI. Dietary intake of total, fatty and lean fish was assessed using a semi-quantitative food questionnaire, and analyzed in a traditional cohort design. Adipose tissue biopsies were analyzed for all MI-cases and a randomly selected sub-cohort (n=3409). Associations between adipose tissue content of major marine n-3 PUFA and MI were examined using a nested case-cohort design. Results: During a mean follow-up time of 15.9 years, we identified 3,089 cases of incident MI. In both men and women, a high intake of fatty fish (>28 g/day) was inversely related to incident MI. Comparing the highest and lowest quintile, we found a 12 % lower relative risk in men (HR=0.88; 95% CI: 0.77;1.00) and a 24% lower relative risk in women (HR=0.76; 95% CI: 0.61;0.95). Total and lean fish was neutrally associated with MI. Furthermore, high content of EPA and DHA in adipose tissue was negatively associated with incident MI. However, only EPA remained statistically significant after multivariate adjustments with a HR of 0.76 (CI: 0.59;0.98) for men and HR of 0.65 (CI: 0.45;0.94) for women. Conclusions: Incident MI was inversely associated with fatty fish intake and content of EPA in adipose tissue. This study supports the view that consumption of fatty fish may protect against MI.

BACKGROUND A previous prospective study showed that dietary intakes of fish or ω-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFA) were associated with reduced risk of heart failure (HF), but no study has examined the association between plasma ω-3 PUFA and HF. Our a priori hypothesis was that plasma ω-3 PUFA would be inversely associated with incident HF. METHODS We included 3,592 white participants from the Minneapolis field center of the ARIC Study, aged 45– 64 at baseline (1987– 89), initially free of coronary heart disease, stroke and HF. Fractions of plasma cholesterol ester (CE) and phospholipid (PL) ω-3 PUFA of marine origin (eicosapentaenoic acid [EPA], ω-3 docosapentaenoic acid [DPA] and docosahexaenoic acid [DHA]) were measured by gas-liquid chromatography. The subjects were followed through 2003, and incident HF was defined by a hospital discharge or death including a HF ICD code. The hazard ratio and 95% confidence interval (HR [95%CI]) for HF was calculated according to quintiles of CE and PL fractions of ω-3 PUFA. RESULTS During the 14.3-year follow-up, we identified 197 cases of CHF (110 for men and 87 for women). After adjustment for age and potential risk factors (smoking, pack-years, alcohol consumption, body mass index, systolic blood pressure, antihypertensive medication use, plasma total cholesterol, diabetes and total energy intake), the incidence of HF for women was associated inversely and linearly with ω-3 PUFA in the PL fraction (HR for highest quintile vs lowest quintile was 0.27 [0.12– 0.63], p for trend <0.001). There was a similar tendency for the CE fraction for women (HR=0.45 [0.20 –1.03], p for trend =0.08). No associations were observed for men (interaction for gender p=0.04 for PL fraction). CONCLUSIONS We found a significant inverse association between plasma ω-3 PUFA and incident HF among women, consistent with a prior study using a food frequency questionnaire. Contrary to our hypothesis, however, no such association was observed for men.

Abstract Introduction Previous studies investigating the association between intake of the plant-derived n-3 fatty acid alpha-linolenic and atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease (ASCVD) have shown conflicting results. However, the effect of ALA intake on ASCVD may depend on the intake of marine n-3 fatty acids. Purpose We aimed to explore the association between ALA intake and risk of ASCVD in subjects consuming below and above the 10th percentile of marine n-3 fatty acids, respectively. Methods We followed men and women enrolled into the Danish Diet, Cancer and Health cohort (n=57.053) by linkage with nationwide registers and identified all incident ASCVD cases. All participants were aged 50 to 65 years at baseline. ASCVD was defined as the first registration of myocardial infarction, peripheral artery disease or ischemic stroke due to large artery atherosclerosis or small-vessel occlusions. Intake of ALA and marine n-3 fatty acids was assessed using a validated food frequency questionnaire and expressed as energy-adjusted intake. Statistical analyses were conducted using Cox proportional hazard regression. Results During a median of 13.4 years of follow-up, we identified a total of 3958 incident ASCVD cases including 366 cases among subjects in the lowest 10th percentile of consumption of marine n-3 fatty acids (<252 mg/day). In multivariable analyses, we found a statistically significant inverse association between ALA modelled as a restricted cubic spline and the rate of ASCVD (p=0.005) in subjects with a low intake of marine n-3 fatty acids, whereas no statistically significant association was found between ALA intake and ASCVD in subjects with a higher intake of marine n-3 fatty acids (p=0.155) (Figure). Conclusion Intake of ALA may be associated with a lower rate of ASCVD in subjects with a low intake of marine n-3 fatty acids. Acknowledgement/Funding The Danish Heart Foundation (17-R115-A7415-22060), Helene and Georg Jensens and Ethel Merethe and Christian Pontoppidan's Fund.

Introduction: The role of dietary fat intake in body weight regulation remains controversial and few studies have examined long-term changes in types of dietary fat and weight change in longitudinal studies. Methods: We examined the association between changes in energy from dietary fat and weight change in three large, prospective cohorts including 102, 123 U.S. women and men who were free of diabetes, cardiovascular disease and cancer at baseline. Linear mixed model was used to assess the association between changes in energy from specific dietary fat and weight changes at 4-year intervals with multivariable adjustment for age, baseline body-mass index at each period, and simultaneous changes in dietary factors (total energy, energy from protein, cereal fiber) and lifestyle factors (smoking, physical activity, television watching, sleep duration). Results: Increased intake of polyunsaturated fatty acid (PUFA) was inversely associated with weight gain. A 5% increment in energy from total PUFA was associated with less weight gain (-1.8 lb, 95% CI: -1.95 to -1.65, p<0.0001) and a 5% increment in energy from n-6 PUFA was associated with 0.90 lb (95% CI: -1.07 to -0.73, p <0.0001) less weight gain over 4-yr period. For marine n-3 PUFA, a 0.3% increase in intake was associated with 2.28 lb (95% CI: -2.50 to -2.10, p<0.0001) less weight gain; a 0.3% increase in intake of vegetable n-3 PUFA (ALA) was also associated with less weight gain (-0.77 lb, 95% CI: -0.86 to -0.68, p<0.0001) at a 4-year interval. The effect of monounsaturated fatty acid (MUFA) intake on weight changes varied across time as the major food contributors to MUFA shifted from animal sources since 1986 to plant sources after 1994 in these cohorts. Prior to 1994, increasing intake of MUFA was positively associated with weight gain (0.50 lb, 95% CI: 0.36 to 0.65), whereas after 1994, increasing intake of MUFA was inversely associated with weight gain (-0.56 lb, 95% CI: -0.56 to 0.07, p<0.0001 for interaction). In addition, a 5% increase in energy from SFA was associated with 1.71 lb (95% CI: 1.59 to 1.83) greater weight and a 1% increase in energy from trans -fat was associated with 1.97 lb (95% CI: 1.86 to 2.08) greater weight gain within each 4-year period. Conclusion: Different types of dietary fats have divergent associations with long-term weight change: higher intakes of PUFA (both n-6 and n-3 PUFA) and plant-based MUFA were associated with less weight gain, whereas increasing saturated and trans -fat intakes were associated with greater weight gain. Our results support the current dietary guidelines that recommend unsaturated fats as replacements for saturated and trans -fats.

Abstract Background Chronic kidney disease (CKD) is associated with life style diseases such as hypertension and type 2 diabetes. However the role of diet is not yet clearly defined for development of CKD. Recent studies have shown that n-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFAs) may exert favourable effects on several processes that may inhibit the development and progression of CKD. A gold standard biomarker for long-term intake and metabolism of n-3 PUFAs, is their content in adipose tissue; because these fatty acids are essential and not endogenously produced. Aims The primary aim of this study is to investigate the association of adipose tissue content of marine and plant-based n-3 PUFAs to the risk of incident CKD. This study will also examine associations between the content of n-3 PUFAs in adipose tissue and the risk of main subtypes of CKD: Proteinuria with unknown cause, Hypertensive nephropathy, Glomerular diseases, Diabetic nephropathy and Chronic renal failure of unknown cause. Method In this case-cohort study based on data from the prospective Danish Diet, Cancer and Health cohort (DCH), information concerning diet and other lifestyle factors was obtained from 57,053 Danish men and women aged 50 to 65 years, using questionnaires and interviews. Anthropometric measurements were undertaken, and adipose tissue biopsies were taken from the buttocks of all participants at baseline. The follow-up period was from December 1993 to September 2017. The outcome CKD is defined as having a diagnosis of one of the CKDs causes in the Danish National Patient Registry (DNPR). Cases of CKD will be identified and included together with a randomly drawn subcohort, representative for all participants of the cohort. Adipose tissue samples will be analyzed by gas chromatography in all incident CKD cases and in 5,000 randomly drawn participants from the whole cohort. The outcome will be adjusted for age, sex, body mass index, physical activity, energy intake, alcohol consumption, fermented dairy products, education, smoking status, hormone replacement therapy and comorbidity. The study is approved by the Danish National Committee on Health Research Ethics (N-20180074) and the Danish Data Protection Agency (2018-139). Results No results are available yet. Conclusion Our hypothesis is that the content of total n-3 PUFAs, as well as both marine and plant-based n-3 PUFAs, in adipose tissue is inversely associated with the risk of CKD and its subtypes.

Contemporary culinary discourse in Australia has been dominated by the notion that migration and the increased mobility of Australians is responsible for filling a culinary void, as though, because we have had no peasantry we have no affinity with either the land or its produce. This argument serves to alienate Australians of British descent and its validity is open to questioning. It's an argument in urgent need of debate because cuisine stands out as the signifier of a 'multicultural' nation. Despite all the political posturing, food has 'long been the acceptable face of multiculturalism' (Gunew 13). We argue that the rhetoric of multiculturalism serves to widen the chasm between Australians of British descent and other migrants by encouraging the 'us' and 'them' mentality. We have examined the common links in the food stories of three women from disparate backgrounds. The sample is small in quantitative terms but we felt that if the culinary histories of just three women ran counter to the dominant discourse, then they would provide a new point of departure. In doing this we hope to question the precept driving culinary discourse which gives more weight to what men have said and done, than what women have cooked and how; and propagates mythologies about the eating habits of 'ethnic' migrants. Multiculturalism The terminology surrounding policies that seek to manage difference and diversity is culturally loaded and tends to perpetuate binaries. "Multiculturalism, circulates in Australia as a series of discursive formations serving a variety of institutional interests" (Gunew 256). In Australia multicultural policy seeks to "manage our cultural diversity so that the social cohesion of our nation is preserved" (Advisory Council on Multicultural Affairs 4). The result is to allow diversity that is sanctioned and is to some extent homogenised, while difference is not understood and is contained (see Newman). Multicultural? Who does it include and exclude? Gunew points out that official formulations of multiculturalism exclude people of 'Anglo-Celtic' origin, as though they had no 'ethnicity'. Multiculturalism, while addressing some of the social problems of immigration, is propelled at government level by our need for national cultural policy (see Stratton and Ang). To have a national cultural policy you need, it would seem, a film industry, a music industry, and a cuisine. In his history of Australian cuisine, Symons has only briefly alluded to women's role in the development of Australia's 'industrial cuisine'. One Continuous Picnic presents an essentially masculinist history, a pessimistic derogatory view giving little value to domestic traditions passed from mother to daughter. Women are mentioned only as authors of cookbooks produced throughout the 19th century and as the housewives whose role in the 1950s changed due to the introduction of labour-saving devices. Scant reference is made to the pre-eminent icon of Australian rural culinary history, the Country Women's Association1 and their recipe books. These books have gone through numerous editions from the 1920s, but Symons refers to them dismissively as a 'plain text' arising from the 'store-shelf of processed ingredients' (Symons 201). What of the 'vegie' patch, the afternoon tea? These traditions are mentioned, but only in passing. The products of arduous and loving baking are belittled as 'pretty things'. Is this because they are too difficult to document or because they are women's business? Female writers Barbara Santich and Marion Halligan have both written on the importance of these traditions in the lives of Australian women. Symons's discourse concentrates on 'industrial cuisine', but who is to say that its imperatives were not transgressed. The available data derives from recipe books, sales figures and advertising, but we don't actually know how much food came from other sources. Did your grandmother keep chickens? Did your grandfather fish? Terra Australis Culinae Nullius2 Michael Symons's precept is: This is the only continent which has not supported an agrarian society ... . Our land missed that fertile period when agriculture and cooking were created. There has never been the creative interplay between society and the soil. Almost no food has ever been grown by the person who eats it, almost no food has been preserved in the home and indeed, very little preparation is now done by a family cook. This is the uncultivated continent. Our history is without peasants. (10, our emphasis) This notion of terra Australis culinae nullius is problematic on two levels. The use of the word indigenous implies both Aboriginal and British settler culinary tradition. This statement consequently denies both traditional Aboriginal knowledge and the British traditions. The importance of Aboriginal foodways, their modern exploitation and their impact on the future of Australian cuisine needs recognition, but the complexity of the issue places it beyond the bounds of this paper. Symons's view of peasantry is a romanticised one, and says less about food and more about nostalgia for a more permanent, less changing environment. Advertising of 'ethnic' food routinely exploits this nostalgia by appropriating the image of the cheerful peasant. These advertisements perpetuate the mythologies that link pastoral images with 'family values'. These myths, or what Barthes describes as 'cultural truths', hold that migrant families all have harmonious relationships, are benevolently patriarchal and they all sit down to eat together. 'Ethnic' families are at one with the land and use recipes made from fresher, more natural produce, that are handed down through the female line and have had the benefit of generations of culinary wisdom. (See Gallegos & Mansfield.) So are the culinary traditions of Australians of British descent so different from those of migrant families? Joan, born near her home in Cunderdin in the Western Australian wheatbelt, grew up on a farm in reasonably prosperous circumstances with her six siblings. After marrying, she remained in the Cunderdin area to continue farming. Giovanna was born in 1915 on a farm four kilometres outside Vasto, in the Italian region of Abruzzi. One of seven children, her father died when she was young and at the age of twenty, she came to Australia to marry a Vastese man 12 years her senior. Maria was born in Madeira in 1946, in a coastal village near the capital Funchal. Like Giovanna she is the fifth of seven children and arrived in Australia at the age of twenty to marry. We used the information elicited from these three women to scrutinise some of the mythology surrounding ethnic families. Myth 1: 'Ethnic' families all eat together. All three women said their families had eaten together in the past and it was Joan who commented that what was missing in Australia today was people sitting down together to share a meal. Joan's farming community all came in for an extended midday meal from necessity, as the horses needed to be rested. Both women described radio, television, increasing work hours and different shifts as responsible for the demise of the family meal. Commensality is one of the common boundary markers for all groups 'indicating a kind of equality, peership, and the promise of further kinship links stemming from the intimate acts of dining together' (Nash 11). It is not only migrant families who eat together, and the demise of the family meal is more widely felt. Myth 2: Recipes in 'ethnic' families are passed down from generation to generation. Handing recipes down from generation to generation is not limited to just 'ethnic' families. All three women describe learning to cook from their mothers. Giovanna and Maria had hands-on experiences at very young ages, cooking for the family out of necessity. Joan did not have to cook for her family but her mother still taught her basic cookery as well as the finer points. The fluidity of the mother-daughter identity is expressed and documented by the handing on of recipes. Joan's community thought the recipes important enough to document in a written form, and so the West Australian version of the CWA cookbook became a reality. Joan, when asked about why the CWA developed a cookbook, replied that they wanted to record the recipes that were all well tried by women who spent the bulk of their days in the kitchen, cooking. Being taught to cook, teaching your children to cook and passing on recipes crosses borders, and does not serve to create or maintain boundaries. Myth 3: 'Ethnic' food is never prepared from processed products but always from homegrown produce. During their childhoods the range of food items purchased by the families was remarkably similar for all three women. All described buying tinned fish, rice and sugar, while the range of items produced from what was grown reflected common practices for the use and preservation of fresh produce. The major difference was the items that were in abundance, so while Joan describes pickling meat in addition to preserving fruits, Maria talks about preserving fish and Giovanna vegetables. The traditions developed around what was available. Joan and her family grew the food that they ate, preserved the food in their own home, and the family cook did all the preparation. To suggest they did not have a creative interplay with the soil is suggesting that they were unskilled in making a harsh landscape profitable. Joan's family could afford to buy more food items than the other families. Given the choice both Giovanna's and Maria's families would have only been too eager to make their lives easier. For example, on special occasions when the choice was available Giovanna's family chose store-bought pasta. The perception of the freshness and tastiness of peasant cuisine and affinity with the land obscures the issue, which for much of the world is still quantity, not quality. It would seem that these women's stories have points of reference. All three women describe the sense of community food engendered. They all remember sharing and swapping recipes. This sense of community was expressed by the sharing of food -- regardless of how little there was or what it was. The legacy lives on, while no longer feeling obliged to provide an elaborate afternoon tea as she did in her married life, visitors to Joan's home arrive to the smell of freshly baked biscuits shared over a cup of tea or coffee. Giovanna is only too eager to share her Vastese cakes with a cup of espresso coffee, and as new acquaintances we are obliged to taste each of the five different varieties of cakes and take some home. Maria, on the other hand, offered instant coffee and store-bought biscuits; having worked outside the home all her life and being thirty years younger than the other women, is this perhaps the face of modernity? The widespread anticipation of the divisions between these women has more to do with power relationships and the politics of east, west, north, south than with the realities of everyday life. The development of a style of eating will depend on your knowledge both as an individual and as a collective, the ingredients that are available at any one time, the conditions under which food has to be grown, and your own history. For the newly-arrived Southern Europeans meat was consumed in higher quantities because its availability was restricted in their countries of origin, to eat meat regularly was to increase your status in society. Interest in 'ethnic' food and its hybridisation is a global phenomenon and the creolisation of eating has been described both in America (see Garbaccia) and in Britain (James 81). The current obsession with the 'ethnic' has more to do with nostalgia than tolerance. The interviews which were conducted highlight the similarities between three women from different backgrounds despite differences in age and socioeconomic status. Our cuisine is in the process of hybridisation, but let us not forget who is manipulating this process and the agendas under which it is encouraged. To lay claim that one tradition is wonderful, while the other either does not exist or has nothing to offer, perpetuates divisive binaries. By focussing on what these women have in common rather than their differences we begin to critically interrogate the "culinary binary". It is our intention to stimulate debate that we hope will eventually lead to the encouragement of difference rather than the futile pursuit of authenticity. Footnotes 1. The Country Women's Association is an organisation that began in Australia in the 1920s. It is still operational and has as one of its primary aims the improvement of the welfare and conditions of women and children, especially those living in the country. 2. The term terra australis nullius is used to describe Australia at the point of colonisation. The continent was regarded as "empty" because the native people had neither improved nor settled on the land. We have extended this concept to incorporate cuisine. This notion of emptiness has influenced readings of Australian history which overlook the indigenous population and their relationship with the land. References Advisory Council on Multicultural Affairs. Towards A National Agenda for a Multicultural Australia. Canberra, 1988. Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Trans. A. Lavers. London: Vintage, 1993. Belasco, Warren. "Ethnic Fast Foods: The Corporate Melting Pot". Food and Foodways 2.1 (1987): 1-30. Gallegos, Danielle, and Alan Mansfield. "Eclectic Gastronomes or Conservative Eaters: What Does Advertising Say?" Nutrition Unplugged, Proceedings of the 16th Dietitians Association of Australia National Conference. Hobart: Dietitians Association of Australia, 1997. Gallegos, Danielle, and Alan Mansfield. "Screen Cuisine: The Pastes, Powders and Potions of the Mediterranean Diet". Celebrate Food, Proceedings of the 17th Dietitians Association of Australia National Conference. Sydney: Dietitians Association of Australia, 1998. Garbaccia, D.R. We Are What We Eat: Ethnic Food and the Making of Americans. Boston: Harvard UP, 1998. Gunew, Sneja. "Denaturalising Cultural Nationalisms; Multicultural Readings of 'Australia'." Nation and Narration. Ed. Homi Bhabha. London: Routledge, 1990. 245-66. Gunew, Sneja. Introduction. Feminism and the Politics of Difference. Eds. S. Gunew and A. Yeatman. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1993. xiii-xxv. Halligan, Marion. Eat My Words. Melbourne: Angus & Robertson, 1990. Harvey, D. The Condition of Postmodernity. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989. James, Alison. "How British Is British Food". Food, Health and Identity. Ed. P. Caplan. London: Routledge, 1997. 71-86. Mennell, Stephen. All Manners of Food: Eating and Taste in England and France from the Middle Ages to the Present. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1996. Nash, Manning. The Cauldron of Ethnicity in the Modern World. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1989. Newman, Felicity. Didn't Your Mother Teach You Not to Talk with Your Mouth Full? Food, Families and Friction. Unpublished Masters Thesis, Murdoch University, Perth, Western Australia, 1997. Santich, Barbara. Looking for Flavour. Adelaide: Wakefield, 1996. Stratton, Jon, and Ien Ang. "Multicultural Imagined Communities: Cultural Difference and National Identity in Australia and the USA". Continuum 8.2 (1994): 124-58. Symons, Michael. One Continuous Picnic. Adelaide: Duck, 1992. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Danielle Gallegos, Felicity Newman. "What about the Women? Food, Migration and Mythology." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.7 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/women.php>. Chicago style: Danielle Gallegos, Felicity Newman, "What about the Women? Food, Migration and Mythology," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 7 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/women.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Danielle Gallegos, Felicity Newman. (1999) What about the women? Food, migration and mythology. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(7). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9910/women.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction: Low serum 25-hydroxyvitamin D (25(OH)D) and low marine omega-3 fatty acid (n-3) intake are associated with increased stroke risk in observational studies. Among stroke patients, low serum 25(OH)D at admission predicts poor outcomes and animal studies suggest that higher n-3 intake may diminish brain damage in ischemic stroke. However, few studies have examined effects of vitamin D or n-3 supplements on stroke outcomes. Hypothesis: We hypothesized that vitamin D (cholecalciferol, 2,000 IU/day) or n-3 (840 mg/day of EPA/DHA [ratio of 1.3:1]) supplementation initiated prior to stroke would reduce risk of functional limitations or physical disability after stroke compared to placebo. Methods: We used data from the completed VITamin D and OmegA-3 TriaL (VITAL) which randomized 25,871 men aged ≥50 years and women aged ≥55 years without cardiovascular disease or cancer at baseline and followed them for incident events over 5.3 years. Individuals experiencing a stroke were mailed a questionnaire to assess functional limitations (with the physical performance scale adapted from Nagi) and physical disability (with the modified Katz Activities of Daily Living and Rosow-Breslau Functional Health scales). We used logistic regression to analyze associations between randomized treatment assignments and limitations on each scale. Results: 290 individuals experienced their first stroke during the trial (including 42 fatal strokes). 197 stroke survivors completed the stroke outcomes questionnaire a mean of 1.6 years after diagnosis. We observed no associations between randomized treatment to vitamin D and functional limitations (odds ratio (OR)=1.01, 95% confidence interval (CI): 0.52, 1.97) or physical disability on the Rosow-Breslau (OR=1.03, 95% CI: 0.31, 3.42) or Katz (OR=0.92, 95% CI: 0.50, 1.67) scales. Although not statistically significant, those randomized to n-3 had lower risk of functional limitations (OR=0.55, 95% CI: 0.28, 1.09) and physical disability on the Katz scale (OR=0.32, 95% CI: 0.50, 1.67) but not on the Rosow-Breslau scale (OR=1.03, 95% CI: 0.31, 3.42). Conclusion: Supplementation with vitamin D or omega-3 fatty acids prior to stroke did not result in significantly improved outcomes after stroke among older individuals.

O mergulho recreativo marinho é um dos serviços mais rentáveis dentre os explorados na zona costeira do município do Rio de Janeiro. O estudo caracterizou e avaliou a percepção ambiental de mergulhadores recreativos e os possíveis impactos negativos que essa prática pode causar na zona costeira do município e adjacências para subsidiar a otimização dessa atividade. Foram elaborados questionários específicos para a coleta de dados primários junto a mergulhadores recreativos e gestores de operadoras e escolas de mergulho. A amostragem consistiu em 35 questionários respondidos por mergulhadores recreativos e sete por gestores de escolas e operadoras do mesmo município. Os dados foram digitalizados em planilhas eletrônicas para sua analise estatística pelo Programa Statistica. Os mergulhadores recreativos analisados são na maioria adultos de 20-40 anos, com escolaridade de nível superior e distribuída de forma equilibrada entre homens e mulheres, com variados padrões de renda familiar. Os gastos com saídas e equipamentos variaram significativamente (Qui-quadrado, p < 0,1%) de acordo com a renda familiar e faixa etária. Os mergulhadores com menos qualificações em cursos de mergulho são os que mais tocam e revolvem o fundo. Os impactos ambientais negativos da atividade do mergulho são: a) interação com a biota; b) presença de lixo. A maioria dos mergulhadores apontou que a disposição adequada de lixo, evitar o óleo na água e ancoragem adequada são soluções para minimizar o impacto negativo dos mergulhos recreativos. Todos foram unânimes de que não se deve tocar o fundo. Os subsídios técnicos propostos são: 1) a necessidade urgente da inclusão de conteúdos sobre os ecossistemas aquáticos nos cursos do nível básico à dive-master, na forma de materiais impressos e preleções; 2) Especial atenção dos guias e instrutores aos iniciantes e mergulhadores com qualificação básica; 3) devem-se evitar ecossistemas sensíveis para instrução de novos alunos, batismos subaquáticos e visitação por mergulhadores básicos; 4) o uso correto do colete hidrostático deve ser obrigatório; 5) treinamentos para o correto deslocamento submerso devem ser inseridos nos cursos; 6) preleções abrangentes devem ser feitas previamente à qualquer mergulho realizado por um grupo de alunos ou turistas; 7) as certificadoras devem realizar o acompanhamento e avaliação constante do trabalho dos guias e instrutores. A adoção dessas simples medidas pelos profissionais do setor do mergulho recreativo trará inúmeros benefícios para o setor e a integridade dos ecossistemas visitados, possibilitando um ecoturismo marinho sustentável. ABSTRACT Marine recreational diving stands out among one of the most profitable services in the coastal area of Rio de Janeiro. The paper describes and evaluates the environmental perception of recreational divers and the possible impacts that may be caused by this activity in Rio de Janeiro coastal zone and surroundings, in order to generate subsidies for this activity optimization. Specific questionnaires were elaborated for primary data collection from recreational divers and managers of diving shops and schools. The whole sample comprised by 35 questionnaires filled by recreational divers resident in Rio de Janeiro city and 7 by managers of diving shops and schools situated at the same city. All collected data was statistically analyzed in electronic spreadsheets by Statistica Program. The majority of divers surveyed were adults between 20 to 40 years old, with graduated degree and evenly distributed among men and woman. They presented different patterns of income and their expenditures with diving trips and equipments varied significantly (Chi-square, p < 0,1%) according to their incomes and age. The divers with less qualification (diving courses) were the ones who touch the substrate and also revolve the sediment more frequently. The negative environmental impacts due the diving activity are the following: a) the interaction with marine life; b) littering. Most of the divers point out that adequate litter disposal, avoidance of oil pollution and correct anchoring are solutions for minimizing the negative impact due the recreational diving. All divers are unanimous that it was not allowed to touch bottom. This research brought some important technical subsides, listed as following: 1) it’s urgent that some knowledge related to the aquatic environment were added to the contends of diving courses from basic to dive-master levels as printed materials or teachings; 2) especial attention must be given by diving guides and instructors to beginners and basic qualification divers; 3) sensitive ecosystems must be avoided for field classes, diving baptism and visitation by basic level divers, 4) the correct use of buoyancy equilibrator must be obligatory; 5) training for correct underwater movements and swimming must be included among diving courses teachings; 6) comprehensive teachings must be performed previously and along each dive by a group of tourists or at field classes; 7) recreational diving associations must perform comprehensive follow ups and evaluation of the personal employed at their affiliated diving shops and schools. It’s believed that the throughout adoption of these simple procedures by the professionals involved in the recreational diving, will be possible to obtain innumerous benefits to that activity as well as the integrity of these visited ecosystems. KEYWORDS: Coastal Zone; Marine Diving Tourism; Environmental Sustainability.

What is the countercultural potential of citizen science? As a participant in the wider citizen science movement, I can attest that contemporary citizen science initiatives rarely characterise themselves as countercultural. Rather, the goal of most citizen science projects is to be seen as producing orthodox scientific knowledge: the ethos is respectability rather than rebellion (NERC). I will suggest instead that there are resonances with the counterculture that emerged in the 1960s, most visibly through an emphasis on participatory experimentation and the principles of environmental sustainability and social justice. This will be illustrated by example, through two citizen science projects that have a commitment to combining social values with scientific practice. I will then describe the explicitly countercultural organisation, Science for the People, which arose from within the scientific community itself, out of opposition to the Vietnam War. Methodological and conceptual weaknesses in the authoritative model of science are explored, suggesting that there is an opportunity for citizen science to become anti-hegemonic by challenging the hegemony of science itself. This reformulation will be expressed through Deleuze and Guattari's notion of nomadic science, the means through which citizen science could become countercultural. Counterculture Before examining the countercultural potential of citizen science, I set out some of the grounds for identifying a counterculture drawing on the ideas of Theodore Roszak, who invented the term counterculture to describe the new forms of youth movements that emerged in the 1960s (Roszak). This was a perspective that allowed the carnivalesque procession of beatniks, hippies and the New Left to be seen as a single paradigm shift combining psychic and social revolution. But just as striking and more often forgotten is the way Roszak characterised the role of the counterculture as mobilising a vital critique of the scientific worldview (Roszak 273-274). The concept of counterculture has been taken up in diverse ways since its original formation. We can draw, for example, on Lawrence Grossberg's more contemporary analysis of counterculture (Grossberg) to clarify the main concepts and contrast them with a scientific approach. Firstly, a counterculture works on and through cultural formations. This positions it as something the scientific community would see as the other, as the opposite to the objective, repeatable and quantitative truth-seeking of science. Secondly, a counterculture is a diverse and hybrid space without a unitary identity. Again, scientists would often see science as a singular activity applied in modulated forms depending on the context, although in practice the different sciences can experience each other as different tribes. Thirdly, a counterculture is lived as a transformative experience where the participant is fundamentally changed at a psychic level through participation in unique events. Contrast this with the scientific idea of the separation of observer and observed, and the objective repeatability of the experiment irrespective of the experimenter. Fourthly, a counterculture is associated with a unique moment in time, a point of shift from the old to the new. For the counterculture of the 1960s this was the Age of Aquarius. In general, the aim of science and scientists is to contribute to a form of truth that is essentially timeless, in that a physical law is assumed to hold across all time (and space), although science also has moments of radical change with regard to scientific paradigms. Finally, and significantly for the conclusions of this paper, according to Roszak a counterculture stands against the mainstream. It offers a challenge not at the level of detail but, to the fundamental assumptions of the status quo. This is what “science” cannot do, in as much as science itself has become the mainstream. It was the character of science as the bedrock of all values that Roszak himself opposed and for which he named and welcomed the counterculture. Although critical of some of the more shallow aspects of its psychedelic experimentation or political militancy, he shared its criticism of the technocratic society (the technocracy) and the egocentric mode of consciousness. His hope was that the counterculture could help restore a visionary imagination along with a more human sense of community. What Is Citizen Science? In recent years the concept of citizen science has grown massively in popularity, but is still an open and unstable term with many variants. Current moves towards institutionalisation (Citizen Science Association) are attempting to marry growth and stabilisation, with the first Annual General Meeting of the European Citizen Science Association securing a tentative agreement on the common principles of citizen science (Haklay, "European"). Key papers and presentations in the mainstream of the movement emphasise that citizen science is not a new activity (Bonney et al.) with much being made of the fact that the National Audubon Society started its annual Christmas Bird Count in 1900 (National Audubon Society). However, this elides the key role of the Internet in the current surge, which takes two distinct forms; the organisation of distributed fieldwork, and the online crowdsourcing of data analysis. To scientists, the appeal of citizen science fieldwork follows from its distributed character; they can research patterns over large scales and across latitudes in ways that would be impossible for a researcher at a single study site (Toomey). Gathering together the volunteer, observations are made possible by an infrastructure of web tools. The role of the citizen in this is to be a careful observer; the eyes and ears of the scientist in cyberspace. In online crowdsourcing, the internet is used to present pattern recognition tasks; enrolling users in searching images for signs of new planets or the jets of material from black holes. The growth of science crowdsourcing is exponential; one of the largest sites facilitating this kind of citizen science now has well in excess of a million registered users (Zooniverse). Such is the force of the technological aura around crowdsourced science that mainstream publications often conflate it with the whole of citizen science (Parr). There are projects within citizen science which share core values with the counterculture as originally defined by Roszak, in particular open participation and social justice. These projects also show characteristics from Grossberg's analysis of counterculture; they are diverse and hybrid spaces, carry a sense of moving from an old era to a new one, and have cultural forms of their own. They open up the full range of the scientific method to participation, including problem definition, research design, analysis and action. Citizen science projects that aim for participation in all these areas include the Extreme Citizen Science research group (ExCiteS) at University College London (UCL), the associated social enterprise Mapping for Change (Mapping for Change), and the Public Laboratory for Open Technology and Science (Public Lab). ExCiteS sees its version of citizen science as "a situated, bottom-up practice" that "takes into account local needs, practices and culture". Public Lab, meanwhile, argue that many citizen science projects only offer non-scientists token forms of participation in scientific inquiry that rarely amount to more that data collection and record keeping. They counter this through an open process which tries to involve communities all the way from framing the research questions, to prototyping tools, to collating and interpreting the measurements. ExCiteS and Public Lab also share an implicit commitment to social justice through scientific activity. The Public Lab mission is to "put scientific inquiry at the heart of civic life" and the UCL research group strive for "new devices and knowledge creation processes that can transform the world". All of their work is framed by environmental sustainability and care for the planet, whether it's enabling environmental monitoring by indigenous communities in the Congo (ExCiteS) or developing do-it-yourself spectrometry kits to detect crude oil pollution (Public Lab, "Homebrew"). Having provided a case for elements of countercultural DNA being present in bottom-up and problem-driven citizen science, we can contrast this with Science for the People, a scientific movement that was born out of the counterculture. Countercultural Science from the 1970s: Science for the People Science for the People (SftP) was a scientific movement seeded by a rebellion of young physicists against the role of US science in the Vietnam War. Young members of the American Physical Society (APS) lobbied for it to take a position against the war but were heavily criticised by other members, whose written complaints in the communications of the APS focused on the importance of scientific neutrality and the need to maintain the association's purely scientific nature rather than allowing science to become contaminated by politics (Sarah Bridger, in Plenary 2, 0:46 to 1:04). The counter-narrative from the dissidents argued that science is not neutral, invoking the example of Nazi science as a justification for taking a stand. After losing the internal vote the young radicals left to form Scientists and Engineers for Social and Political Action (SESPA), which later became Science for the People (SftP). As well as opposition to the Vietnam War, SftP embodied from the start other key themes of the counterculture, such as civil rights and feminism. For example, the first edition of Science for the People magazine (appearing as Vol. 2, No. 2 of the SESPA Newsletter) included an article about leading Black Panther, Bobby Seale, alongside a piece entitled “Women Demand Equality in Science.” The final articles in the same issue are indicators of SftP's dual approach to science and change; both the radicalisation of professionals (“Computer Professionals for Peace”) and the demystification of technical practices (“Statistics for the People”) (Science for the People). Science for the People was by no means just a magazine. For example, their technical assistance programme provided practical support to street health clinics run by the Black Panthers, and brought SftP under FBI surveillance (Herb Fox, in Plenary 1, 0:25 to 0:35). Both as a magazine and as a movement, SftP showed a tenacious longevity, with the publication being produced every two months between August 1970 and May/June 1989. It mutated through a network of affiliated local groups and international links, and was deeply involved in constructing early critiques of nuclear power and genetic determinism. SftP itself seems to have had a consistent commitment to non-hierarchical processes and, as one of the founders expressed it, a “shit kicking” approach to putting its principles in to practice (Al Weinrub, in Plenary 1, 0:25 to 0:35). SftP criticised power, front and centre. It is this opposition to hegemony that puts the “counter” into counterculture, and is missing from citizen science as currently practised. Cracks in the authority of orthodox science, which can be traced to both methodologies and basic concepts, follow in this paper. These can be seen as an opportunity for citizen science to directly challenge orthodox science and thus establish an anti-hegemonic stance of its own. Weaknesses of Scientific Hegemony In this section I argue that the weaknesses of scientific hegemony are in proportion to its claims to authority (Feyerabend). Through my scientific training as an experimental particle physicist I have participated in many discussions about the ontological and epistemological grounds for scientific authority. While most scientists choose to present their practice publicly as an infallible machine for the production of truths, the opinions behind the curtain are far more mixed. Physicist Lee Somolin has written a devastating critique of science-in-practice that focuses on the capture of the institutional economy of science by an ideological grouping of string theorists (Smolin), and his account is replete with questions about science itself and ethnographic details that bring to life the messy behind-the-scenes conflicts in scientific-knowledge making. Knowledge of this messiness has prompted some citizen science advocates to take science to task, for example for demanding higher standards in data consistency from citizen science than is often the case in orthodox science (Haklay, "Assertions"; Freitag, "Good Science"). Scientists will also and invariably refer to reproducibility as the basis for the authority of scientific truths. The principle that the same experiments always get the same results, irrespective of who is doing the experiment, and as long as they follow the same method, is a foundation of scientific objectivity. However, a 2012 study of landmark results in cancer science was able to reproduce only 11 per cent of the original findings (Begley and Ellis). While this may be an outlier case, there are broader issues with statistics and falsification, a bias on positive results, weaknesses in peer review and the “publish or perish” academic culture (The Economist). While the pressures are all-too-human, the resulting distortions are rarely acknowledged in public by scientists themselves. On the other hand, citizen science has been slow to pick up the gauntlet. For example, while some scientists involved in citizen science have commented on the inequality and inappropriateness of orthodox peer review for citizen science papers (Freitag, “What Is the Role”) there has been no direct challenge to any significant part of the scientific edifice. I argue that the nearest thing to a real challenge to orthodox science is the proposal for a post-normal science, which pre-dates the current wave of citizen science. Post-normal science tries to accommodate the philosophical implications of post-structuralism and at the same time position science to tackle problems such as climate change, intractable to reproducibility (Funtowicz and Ravetz). It accomplishes this by extending the domains in which science can provide meaningful answers to include issues such as global warming, which involve high decision stakes and high uncertainty. It extends traditional peer review into an extended peer community, which includes all the stakeholders in an issue, and may involve active research as well as quality assessment. The idea of extended peer review has obvious overlaps with community-oriented citizen science, but has yet to be widely mobilised as a theoretical buttress for citizen-led science. Prior even to post-normal science are the potential cracks in the core philosophy of science. In her book Cosmopolitics, Isabelle Stengers characterises the essential nature of scientific truth as the ability to disqualify and exclude other truth claims. This, she asserts, is the hegemony of physics and its singular claim to decide what is real and what is true. Stengers traces this, in part, to the confrontation more than one hundred years ago between Max Planck and Ernst Mach, whereas the latter argued that claims to an absolute truth should be replaced by formulations that tied physical laws to the human practices that produced them. Planck stood firmly for knowledge forms that were unbounded by time, space or specific social-material procedures (Stengers). Although contemporary understandings of science are based on Planck's version, citizen science has the potential to re-open these questions in a productive manner for its own practices, if it can re-conceive of itself as what Deleuze and Guattari would call nomadic science (Deleuze; Deleuze & Guattari). Citizen Science as Nomadic Science Deleuze and Guattari referred to orthodox science as Royal Science or Striated Science, referring in part to its state-like form of authority and practice, as well as its psycho-social character. Their alternative is a smooth or nomadic science that, importantly for citizen science, does not have the ambition to totalise knowledge. Nomadic science is a form of empirical investigation that has no need to be hooked up to a grand narrative. The concept of nomadic science is a natural fit for bottom-up citizen science because it can valorise truths that are non-dual and that go beyond objectivity to include the experiential. In this sense it is like the extended peer review of post-normal science but without the need to be limited to high-risk high-stakes questions. As there is no a priori problem with provisional knowledges, it naturally inclines towards the local, the situated and the culturally reflective. The apparent unreliability of citizen science in terms of participants and tools, which is solely a source of anxiety, can become heuristic for nomadic science when re-cast through the forgotten alternatives like Mach's formulation; that truths are never separated from the specifics of the context and process that produced them (Stengers 6-18; 223). Nomadic science, I believe, will start to emerge through projects that are prepared to tackle toxic epistemology as much as toxic pollutants. For example, the Community Based Auditing (CBA) developed by environmental activists in Tasmania (Tattersall) challenges local alliances of state and extractive industries by undermining their own truth claims with regards to environmental impact, a process described in the CBA Toolbox as disconfirmation. In CBA, this mixture of post-normal science and Stenger's critique is combined with forms of data collection and analysis known as Community Based Sampling (Tattersall et al.), which would be recognisable to any citizen science project. The change from citizen science to nomadic science is not a total rupture but a shift in the starting point: it is based on an overt critique of power. One way to bring this about is being tested in the “Kosovo Science for Change” project (Science for Change Kosovo), where I am a researcher and where we have adopted the critical pedagogy of Paulo Freire as the starting point for our empirical investigations (Freire). Critical pedagogy is learning as the co-operative activity of understanding—how our lived experience is constructed by power, and how to make a difference in the world. Taking a position such as nomadic science, openly critical of Royal Science, is the anti-hegemonic stance that could qualify citizen science as properly countercultural. Citizen Science and Counterculture Counterculture, as I have expressed it, stands against or rejects the hegemonic culture. However, there is a strong tendency in contemporary social movements to take a stance not only against the dominant structures but against hegemony itself. They contest what Richard Day calls the hegemony of hegemony (Day). I witnessed this during the counter-G8 mobilisation of 2001. Having been an activist in the 1980s and 1990s I was wearily familiar with the sectarian competitiveness of various radical narratives, each seeking to establish itself as the correct path. So it was a strongly affective experience to stand in the convergence centre and listen to so many divergent social groups and movements agree to support each other's tactics, expressing a solidarity based on a non-judgemental pluralism. Since then we have seen the emergence of similarly anti-hegemonic countercultures around the Occupy and Anonymous movements. It is in this context of counterculture that I will try to summarise and evaluate the countercultural potential of citizen science and what being countercultural might offer to citizen science itself. To be countercultural it is not enough for citizen science to counterpose participation against the institutional and hierarchical aspects of professional science. As an activity defined purely by engagement it offers to plug the legitimacy gap for science while still being wholly dependent on it. A countercultural citizen science must pose a strong challenge to the status quo, and I have suggested that a route to this would be to develop as nomadic science. This does not mean replacing or overthrowing science but constructing an other to science with its own claim to empirical methods. It is fair to ask what this would offer citizen science that it does not already have. At an abstract level it would gain a freedom of movement; an ability to occupy Deleuzian smooth spaces rather than be constrained by the striation of established science. The founders of Science for the People are clear that it could never have existed if it had not been able to draw on the mass movements of its time. Being countercultural would give citizen science an affinity with the bottom-up, local and community-based issues where empirical methods are likely to have the most social impact. One of many examples is the movement against fracking (the hydraulic fracturing of deep rock formations to release shale gas). Together, these benefits of being countercultural open up the possibility for forms of citizen science to spread rhizomatically in a way that is not about immaterial virtual labour but is itself part of a wider cultural change. 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I have only ever owned one pig. It didn’t have a name, due as it was for the table. Just pu‘aka. But I liked feeding it; nothing from the household was wasted. I planned not to become attached. We were having a feast and a pig was the one essential requirement. The piglet came to us as a small creature with a curly tail. It would not even live an adult life, as the fully-grown local pig is a fatty beast with little meat. Pigs are mostly killed when partly grown, when the meat/fat ratio is at its optimum. The pig was one of the few animals to accompany Polynesians as they made the slow journey across the islands and oceans from Asia: pigs and chickens and dogs. The DNA of island pigs reveals details about the route taken that were previously hidden (Larsen et al.). Of these three animals, pigs assumed the most ceremonial importance. In Tonga, pigs often live an exalted life. They roam freely, finding food where they can. They wallow. Wherever there is a pool of mud, often alongside a road, there is a pig wallowing. Huge beasts emerge from their pools with dark mud lining their bellies as they waddle off, teats swinging, to another pleasure. Pig snouts are extraordinarily strong; with the strength of a pig behind them, they can dig holes, uproot crops, and generally wreak havoc. How many times have I chased them from my garden, despairing at the loss of precious vegetables I could get no other way? But they must forage. They are fed scraps, and coconut for protein, but often must fend for themselves. Despite the fact that many meet an early death, their lives seem so much more interesting than those lived by the anonymous residents of intensive piggeries in Australia, my homeland. When the time came for the pig to be sacrificed to the demands of the feast, two young Tongan men did the honours. They also cooked the pig on an open fire after skewering it on a pole. Their reward was the roasted sweetmeats. The ‘umu was filled with taro and cassava, yam and sweet potato, along with lū pulu and lū ika: tinned beef and fish cooked in taro leaves and coconut cream. In the first sitting, all those of high status—church ministers, college teachers, important villagers and pālangi like me—had the first pick of the food. Students from the college and lowly locals had the second. The few young men who remained knew it was their task to finish off all of the food. They set about this activity with intense dedication, paying particular attention to the carcass of the pig. By the end of the night, what was left of our little pig was a pile of bones, the skeleton taken apart at every joint. Not a scrap of anything edible remained. In the early 1980s, I went to live on a small island in the Kingdom of Tonga, where my partner was the Principal of an agricultural college, in the main training young men for working small hereditary mixed farms. Memories of that time and a recent visit inform this reflection on the contemporary Tongan diet and problems associated with it. The role of food in a culture is never a neutral issue. Neither is body size, and Tongans have traditionally favoured the large body as an indication of status (Pollock 58). Similarly the capacity to eat has been seen as positive. Many Tongans are larger than is healthy, with 84% of men and 93% of women “considered overweight or obese” (Kirk et al. 36). The rate of diabetes, 80% of it undiagnosed, has doubled since the 1970s to 15% of the adult population (Colagiuri et al. 1378). In the Tongan diaspora there are also high rates of so-called “metabolic syndrome,” leading to this tendency to diabetes and cardiovascular disease. In Auckland, for instance, Pacific Islanders are 2.5 times more likely to suffer from this condition (Gentles et al.). Its chief cause is not, however, genetic, but comes from “differences in obesity,” leading to a much higher incidence of cardiovascular disease and diabetes (Gentles et al.). Deaths from diabetes in Tonga are common. When a minister’s wife in the neighbouring village to mine died, everyone of status on the island attended the putu. Though her gangrenous foot could have been amputated, the family decided against this, and she soon died from the complications of her diabetes. On arrival at the putu, as well as offering gifts such as mats and tapa, participants lined up to pay very personal respects to the dead woman. This took the form of a kiss on her face. I had never touched a dead person before, let alone someone who had died of gangrene, but life in another culture requires many firsts. I bent down and kissed the dry, cold face of a woman who had suffered much before dying. Young men of the family pushed sand over the grave with their own hands as the rest of us stood around, waiting for the funeral food: pigs, yes, but also sweets made from flour and refined sugar. Diet and eating practices are informed by culture, but so are understandings of illness and its management. In a study conducted in New Zealand, sharp differences were seen between the Tongan diaspora and European patients with diabetes. Tongans were more likely “to perceive their diabetes as acute and cyclical in nature, uncontrollable, and caused by factors such as God’s will, pollution in the environment, and poor medical care in the past”, and this was associated “with poorer adherence to diet and medication taking” (Barnes et al. 1). This suggests that as well as being more likely to suffer from illnesses associated with diet and body size, Tongans may also be less likely to manage them, causing these diseases to be even more debilitating. When James Cook visited the Tongan group and naively named them the Friendly Islands, he was given the customary hospitality shown to one of obviously high status. He and his officers were fed regularly by their hosts, even though this must have put enormous pressure on the local food systems, in which later supply was often guaranteed by the imposition of tapu in order to preserve crops and animals. Further pressure was added by exchanges of hogs for nails (Beaglehole). Of course, while they were feeding him royally and entertaining his crew with wrestling matches and dances, the local chiefs of Ha‘apai were arguing about exactly when they were going to kill him. If it were by night, it would be hard to take the two ships. By day, it might be too obvious. They never could agree, and so he sailed off to meet his fate elsewhere (Martin 279-80). As a visitor of status, he was regularly fed pork, unlike most of the locals. Even now, in contemporary Tonga, pigs are killed to mark a special event, and are not eaten as everyday food by most people. That is one of the few things about the Tongan diet that has not changed since the Cook visits. Pigs are usually eaten on formal feasting occasions, such as after church on the Sabbath (which is rigorously kept by law), at weddings, funerals, state occasions or church conferences. During such conferences, village congregations compete with each other to provide the most lavish spreads, with feasting occurring three times a day for a week or more. Though each pola is spread with a range of local root crops, fish and seafood, and possibly beef or even horse, the pola is not complete unless there is at least one pig on it. Pigs are not commercially farmed in Tonga, so these pigs have been hand- and self-raised in and around villages, and are in short supply after these events. And, although feasts are a visible sign of tradition, they are the exception. Tongans are not suffering from metabolic syndrome because they consume too much pork; they are suffering because in everyday life traditional foods have been supplanted by imports. While a range of traditional foods is still eaten, they are not always the first choice. Some imported foods have become delicacies. Mutton flap is a case in point. Known as sipi (sheep), it is mostly fat and bone, and even when barbequed it retains most of its fat. It is even found on outer islands without refrigeration, because it can be transported frozen and eaten when it arrives, thawed. I remember once the local shopkeeper said she had something I might like. A leg of lamb was produced from under the counter, mistakenly packed in the flap box. The cut was so unfamiliar that nobody else had much use for it. The question of why it is possible to get sipi in Tonga and very difficult to get any other kind of fresh meat other than one’s own pigs or chickens raises the question of how Tonga’s big neighbours think of Pacific islands. Such islands are the recipients of Australian and New Zealand aid; they are also the recipients of their waste. It’s not uncommon to find out of date medications, banned agricultural chemicals, and food that is really unsuitable for human consumption. Often the only fresh and affordable meat is turkey tails, chicken backs, and mutton flap. From July 2006 to July 2007, New Zealand exported $73 million worth of sheep off-cuts to the Pacific (Edwardes & Frizelle). Australia and the US account for the supply of turkey tails. Not only are these products some of the few fresh meat sources available, they are also relatively inexpensive (Rosen et al.). These foods are so detrimental to the health of locals that importing them has been banned in Fiji and independent Samoa (Edwardes & Frizelle). The big nations around the Pacific have found a market for the meat by-products their own citizens will not eat. Local food sources have also been supplanted as a result of the high value placed on other foods, like rice, flour and sugar, which from the nineteenth century became associated with “civilisation and progress” (Pollock 233). To counter this, education programs have been undertaken in Tonga and elsewhere in the Pacific in order to promote traditional local foods. These have also sought to address the impact of high food imports on the trade balance (Pollock 232). Food choices are not just determined by preference, but also by cost and availability. Similarly, the Tonga Healthy Weight Loss Program ran during the late 1990s, but it was found that a lack of “availability of healthy low-cost food was a problem” to its success (Englberger et al. 147). In a recent study of Tongan food preferences, it was found that “in general, Tongans prefer healthier traditional, indigenously produced, foods”, but that they are not always available (Evans et al. 170). In the absence of a consistent supply of local protein sources, the often inferior but available imported sources become the default ingredient. Fish in particular are in short supply. Though many Tongans can still be seen harvesting the reef for seafood at low tide, there is no extensive fishing industry capable of providing for the population at large. Intensive farming of pigs has been considered—there was a model piggery on the college where I lived, complete with facilities for methane collection—but it has not been undertaken. Given the strongly ceremonial function of the pig, it would take a large shift in thinking for it to be considered an everyday food. The first cooked pig I encountered arrived at my house in a woven coconut leaf basket, surrounded by baked taro and yam. It was a small pig, given by a family too poor to hold the feast usually provided after church when it was their turn. Instead, they gave the food portion owed directly to the preacher. There’s a faded photo of me squatting on a cracked linoleum floor, examining the contents of the basket, and wondering what on earth I’m going to do with them. I soon learnt the first lesson of island life: food must be shared. With no refrigeration, no family of strapping youths, and no plans to eat the pig myself, it had to be given away to neighbours. It was that simple. Even watermelon went off within the day. In terms of eating, that small pig would have been better kept until a later day, when it reached optimum size, but each family’s obligation came around regularly, and had to be fulfilled. Feasting, and providing for feasting, was a duty, even a fatongia mamafa: a “heavy duty” among many duties, in which the pig was an object deeply “entangled” in all social relations (Thomas). A small pig was big enough to carry the weight of such obligations, even if it could not feed a crowd. Growing numbers of tourists to Tonga, often ignored benignly by their hosts, are keen to snap photos of grazing pigs. It is unusual enough for westerners to see pigs freely wandering, but what is more striking about some pigs on Tongatapu and ‘Eua is that they venture onto the reefs and mudflats at low tide, going after the rich marine pickings, just as their human counterparts do. The silhouette of a pig in the water as the tropical sun sinks behind, caught in a digital frame, it is a striking memory of a holiday in a place that remains largely uninterested in its tourist potential. While an influx of guests is seen by development consultants as the path to the nation’s economic future, Tongans bemusedly refuse to take this possibility seriously (Menzies). Despite a negative trade balance, partly caused by the importation of foreign food, Tonga survives on a combination of subsistence farming and remittances from Tongans living overseas; the tourist potential is largely unrealised. Dirk Spennemann’s work took a strange turn when, as an archaeologist working in Tonga, it became necessary for him to investigate whether these reef-grazing pigs were disturbing midden contents on Tongatapu. In order to establish this, he collected bags of both wet and dry “pig excreta” (107). Spenemann’s methodology involved soaking the contents of these bags for 48 hours, stirring them frequently; “they dissolved, producing considerable smell” (107). Spennemann concluded that pigs do appear to have been eating fish and shellfish, along with grass and “the occasional bit of paper” (107). They also feed on “seaweed and seagrass” (108). I wonder if these food groups have any noticeable impact on the taste of their flesh? Creatures fed particular diets in order to create a certain distinct taste are part of the culinary traditions of the world. The deli around the corner from where I live sells such gourmet items as part of its lunch fare: Saltbush lamb baguettes are one of their favourites. In the Orkneys, the rare and ancient North Ronaldsay Sheep are kept from inland foraging for most of the year by a high stone fence in order to conserve the grass for lambing time. This forces them to eat seaweed on the beach, producing a distinct marine taste, one that is highly valued in certain Parisian restaurants. As an economy largely cut out of the world economic loop, Tonga is unlikely to find select menus on which its reef pigs might appear. While living on ‘Eua, I regularly took a three hour ferry trip to Tongatapu in order to buy food I could not get on my home island. One of these items was wholemeal flour, from which I baked bread in a mud oven we had built outside. Bread was available on ‘Eua, but it was white, light and transported loose in the back of truck. I chose to make my own. The ferry trip usually involved a very rough crossing, though on calmer days, roof passengers would cook sipi on the diesel chimney, added flavour guaranteed. It usually only took about thirty minutes on the way out from Nafanua Harbour before the big waves struck. I could endure them for a while, but soon the waves, combined with a heavy smell of diesel, would have me heading for the rail. On one journey, I tried to hold off seasickness by focussing on an island off shore from Tongatapu. I went onto the front deck of the ferry and faced the full blast of the wind. With waves and wind, it was difficult to stand. I diligently stared at the island, which only occasionally disappeared beneath the swell, but I soon knew that this trip would be like the others; I’d be leaning over the rail as the ocean came up to meet me, not really caring if I went over. I could not bear to share the experience, so in many ways being alone on the foredeck was ideal for me, if I had to be on the boat at all. At least I thought I was alone, but I soon heard a grunt, and looked across to see an enormous sow, trotters tied front and back, lying across the opposite side of the boat. And like me, she too was succumbing to her nausea. Despite the almost complete self-absorption seasickness brings, we looked at each other. I may have imagined an acknowledgement, but I think not. While the status of pigs in Tongan life remains important, in many respects the imposition of European institutions and the availability of imported foods have had an enormous impact on the rest of the Tongan diet, with devastating effects on the health of Tongans. Instead of the customary two slow-cooked meals, one before noon and one in the evening (Pollock 56), consisting mostly of roots crops, plantains and breadfruit, with a relish of meat or fish, most Tongans eat three meals a day in order to fit in with school and work schedules. In current Tongan life, there is no time for an ‘umu every day; instead, quick and often cheaper imported foods are consumed, though local foods can also be cooked relatively quickly. While some still start the day by grabbing a piece of left over cassava, many more would sit down to the ubiquitous Pacific breakfast food: crackers, topped with a slab of butter. Food is a neo-colonial issue. If larger nations stopped dumping unwanted and nutritionally poor food products, health outcomes might improve. Similarly, the Tongan government could tip the food choice balance by actively supporting a local and traditional food supply in order to make it as cheap and accessible as the imported foods that are doing such harm to the health of Tongans References Barnes, Lucy, Rona Moss-Morris, and Mele Kaufusi. “Illness Beliefs and Adherence in Diabetes Mellitus: A Comparison between Tongan and European Patients.” The New Zealand Medical Journal 117.1188 (2004): 1-9. Beaglehole, J.C. Ed. The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery: The Voyage of the Resolution and Discovery 1776-1780. Parts I & II. Cambridge: Hakluyt Society, 1967. ­­­____. Ed. The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery: The Voyage of the Resolution and Adventure 1772-1775. Cambridge: Hakluyt Society, 1969. Colagiuri, Stephen, Ruth Colgaiuri, Siva Na‘ati, Soana Muimuiheata, Zafirul Hussein, and Taniela Palu. “The Prevalence of Diabetes in the Kingdom of Tonga.” Diabetes Care 28.2 (2002): 1378-83. Edwardes, Brennan, and Frank Frizelle. “Globalisation and its Impact on the South Pacific.” The New Zealand Medical Journal 122.1291 (2009). 4 Aug. 2010 Englberger, L., V. Halavatau, Y. Yasuda, & R, Yamazaki. “The Tonga Healthy Weight Loss Program.” Asia Pacific Journal of Clinical Nutrition 8.2 (1999): 142-48. Gentles, Dudley, et al. “Metabolic Syndrome Prevalence in a Multicultural Population in Auckland, New Zealand.” Journal of the New Zealand Medical Association 120.1248 (2007). 4 Aug. 2010 Kirk, Sara F.L., Andrew J. Cockbain, and James Beasley. “Obesity in Tonga: A cross-sectional comparative study of perceptions of body size and beliefs about obesity in lay people and nurses.” Obesity Research & Clinical Practice 2.1 (2008): 35-41. Larsen, Gregor, et al. “Phylogeny and Ancient DNA of Sus Provides New Insights into Neolithic Expansion in Island Southeast Asia and Oceania.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 104.12 (2007): 4834-39. Martin, John. Tonga Islands: William Mariner’s Account, 1817. Neiafu, Tonga: Vava‘u, 1981. Menzies, Isa. “Cultural Tourism and International Development in Tonga: Notes from the Field”. Unpublished paper. Oceanic Passages Conference. Hobart, June 2010. Pollock, Nancy J. These Roots Remain: Food Habits in Islands of the Central and Eastern Pacific since Western Contact. Honolulu: Institute for Polynesian Studies, 1992. Rosen, Rochelle K., Judith DePue, and Stephen T. McGarvey. “Overweight and Diabetes in American Samoa: The Cultural Translation of Research into Health Care Practice.” Medicine and Health/ Rhode Island 91.12 (2008): 372-78. Spennemann, Dirk H.R. “On the Diet of Pigs Foraging on the Mud Flats of Tongatapu: An Investigation in Taphonomy.” Archaeology in New Zealand 37.2 (1994): 104-10. Thomas, Nicholas. Entangled Objects: Exchange, Material Objects and Colonialism in the Pacific. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard UP, 1991.

IntroductionIn July 1997, the Mackay campus of Central Queensland University hosted a conference with the theme Regional Australia: Visions of Mackay. It was the first academic conference to be held at the young campus, and its aim was to provide an opportunity for academics, business people, government officials, and other interested parties to discuss their visions for the development of Mackay, a regional community of 75,000 people situated on the Central Queensland coast (Danaher). I delivered a presentation at that conference and authored a chapter in the book that emerged from its proceedings. The chapter entitled “Mackay Online” explored the potential impact that the Internet could have on the Mackay region, particularly in the areas of regional business, education, health, and entertainment (Pace). Two decades later, how does the reality compare with that vision?Broadband BluesAt the time of the Visions of Mackay conference, public commercial use of the Internet was in its infancy. Many Internet services and technologies that users take for granted today were uncommon or non-existent then. Examples include online video, video-conferencing, Voice over Internet Protocol (VoIP), blogs, social media, peer-to-peer file sharing, payment gateways, content management systems, wireless data communications, smartphones, mobile applications, and tablet computers. In 1997, most users connected to the Internet using slow dial-up modems with speeds ranging from 28.8 Kbps to 33.6 Kbps. 56 Kbps modems had just become available. Lamenting these slow data transmission speeds, I looked forward to a time when widespread availability of high-bandwidth networks would allow the Internet’s services to “expand to include electronic commerce, home entertainment and desktop video-conferencing” (Pace 103). Although that future eventually arrived, I incorrectly anticipated how it would arrive.In 1997, Optus and Telstra were engaged in the rollout of hybrid fibre coaxial (HFC) networks in Sydney, Melbourne, and Brisbane for the Optus Vision and Foxtel pay TV services (Meredith). These HFC networks had a large amount of unused bandwidth, which both Telstra and Optus planned to use to provide broadband Internet services. Telstra's Big Pond Cable broadband service was already available to approximately one million households in Sydney and Melbourne (Taylor), and Optus was considering extending its cable network into regional Australia through partnerships with smaller regional telecommunications companies (Lewis). These promising developments seemed to point the way forward to a future high-bandwidth network, but that was not the case. A short time after the Visions of Mackay conference, Telstra and Optus ceased the rollout of their HFC networks in response to the invention of Asynchronous Digital Subscriber Line (ADSL), a technology that increases the bandwidth of copper wire and enables Internet connections of up to 6 Mbps over the existing phone network. ADSL was significantly faster than a dial-up service, it was broadly available to homes and businesses across the country, and it did not require enormous investment in infrastructure. However, ADSL could not offer speeds anywhere near the 27 Mbps of the HFC networks. When it came to broadband provision, Australia seemed destined to continue playing catch-up with the rest of the world. According to data from the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), in 2009 Australia ranked 18th in the world for broadband penetration, with 24.1 percent of Australians having a fixed-line broadband subscription. Statistics like these eventually prompted the federal government to commit to the deployment of a National Broadband Network (NBN). In 2009, the Kevin Rudd Government announced that the NBN would combine fibre-to-the-premises (FTTP), fixed wireless, and satellite technologies to deliver Internet speeds of up to 100 Mbps to 90 percent of Australian homes, schools, and workplaces (Rudd).The rollout of the NBN in Mackay commenced in 2013 and continued, suburb by suburb, until its completion in 2017 (Frost, “Mackay”; Garvey). The rollout was anything but smooth. After a change of government in 2013, the NBN was redesigned to reduce costs. A mixed copper/optical technology known as fibre-to-the-node (FTTN) replaced FTTP as the preferred approach for providing most NBN connections. The resulting connection speeds were significantly slower than the 100 Mbps that was originally proposed. Many Mackay premises could only achieve a maximum speed of 40 Mbps, which led to some overcharging by Internet service providers, and subsequent compensation for failing to deliver services they had promised (“Optus”). Some Mackay residents even complained that their new NBN connections were slower than their former ADSL connections. NBN Co representatives claimed that the problems were due to “service providers not buying enough space in the network to provide the service they had promised to customers” (“Telcos”). Unsurprisingly, the number of complaints about the NBN that were lodged with the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman skyrocketed during the last six months of 2017. Queensland complaints increased by approximately 40 percent when compared with the same period during the previous year (“Qld”).Despite the challenges presented by infrastructure limitations, the rollout of the NBN was a boost for the Mackay region. For some rural residents, it meant having reliable Internet access for the first time. Frost, for example, reports on the experiences of a Mackay couple who could not get an ADSL service at their rural home because it was too far away from the nearest telephone exchange. Unreliable 3G mobile broadband was the only option for operating their air-conditioning business. All of that changed with the arrival of the NBN. “It’s so fast we can run a number of things at the same time”, the couple reported (“NBN”).Networking the NationOne factor that contributed to the uptake of Internet services in the Mackay region after the Visions of Mackay conference was the Australian Government’s Networking the Nation (NTN) program. When the national telecommunications carrier Telstra was partially privatised in 1997, and further sold in 1999, proceeds from the sale were used to fund an ambitious communications infrastructure program named Networking the Nation (Department of Communications, Information Technology and the Arts). The program funded projects that improved the availability, accessibility, affordability, and use of communications facilities and services throughout regional Australia. Eligibility for funding was limited to not-for-profit organisations, including local councils, regional development organisations, community groups, local government associations, and state and territory governments.In 1998, the Mackay region received $930,000 in Networking the Nation funding for Mackay Regionlink, a project that aimed to provide equitable community access to online services, skills development for local residents, an affordable online presence for local business and community organisations, and increased external awareness of the Mackay region (Jewell et al.). One element of the project was a training program that provided basic Internet skills to 2,168 people across the region over a period of two years. A second element of the project involved the establishment of 20 public Internet access centres in locations throughout the region, such as libraries, community centres, and tourist information centres. The centres provided free Internet access to users and encouraged local participation and skill development. More than 9,200 users were recorded in these centres during the first year of the project, and the facilities remained active until 2006. A third element of the project was a regional web portal that provided a free easily-updated online presence for community organisations. The project aimed to have every business and community group in the Mackay region represented on the website, with hosting fees for the business web pages funding its ongoing operation and development. More than 6,000 organisations were listed on the site, and the project remained financially viable until 2005.The availability, affordability and use of communications facilities and services in Mackay increased significantly during the period of the Regionlink project. Changes in technology, services, markets, competition, and many other factors contributed to this increase, so it is difficult to ascertain the extent to which Mackay Regionlink fostered those outcomes. However, the large number of people who participated in the Regionlink training program and made use of the public Internet access centres, suggests that the project had a positive influence on digital literacy in the Mackay region.The Impact on BusinessThe Internet has transformed regional business for both consumers and business owners alike since the Visions of Mackay conference. When Mackay residents made a purchase in 1997, their choice of suppliers was limited to a few local businesses. Today they can shop online in a global market. Security concerns were initially a major obstacle to the growth of electronic commerce. Consumers were slow to adopt the Internet as a place for doing business, fearing that their credit card details would be vulnerable to hackers once they were placed online. After observing the efforts that finance and software companies were making to eliminate those obstacles, I anticipated that it would only be a matter of time before online transactions became commonplace:Consumers seeking a particular product will be able to quickly find the names of suitable suppliers around the world, compare their prices, and place an order with the one that can deliver the product at the cheapest price. (Pace 106)This expectation was soon fulfilled by the arrival of online payment systems such as PayPal in 1998, and online shopping services such as eBay in 1997. eBay is a global online auction and shopping website where individuals and businesses buy and sell goods and services worldwide. The eBay service is free to use for buyers, but sellers are charged modest fees when they make a sale. It exemplifies the notion of “friction-free capitalism” articulated by Gates (157).In 1997, regional Australian business owners were largely sceptical about the potential benefits the Internet could bring to their businesses. Only 11 percent of Australian businesses had some form of web presence, and less than 35 percent of those early adopters felt that their website was significant to their business (Department of Industry, Science and Tourism). Anticipating the significant opportunities that the Internet offered Mackay businesses to compete in new markets, I recommended that they work “towards the goal of providing products and services that meet the needs of international consumers as well as local ones” (107). In the two decades that have passed since that time, many Mackay businesses have been doing just that. One prime example is Big on Shoes (bigonshoes.com.au), a retailer of ladies’ shoes from sizes five to fifteen (Plane). Big on Shoes has physical shopfronts in Mackay and Moranbah, an online store that has been operating since 2009, and more than 12,000 followers on Facebook. This speciality store caters for women who have traditionally been unable to find shoes in their size. As the store’s customer base has grown within Australia and internationally, an unexpected transgender market has also emerged. In 2018 Big on Shoes was one of 30 regional businesses featured in the first Facebook and Instagram Annual Gift Guide, and it continues to build on its strengths (Cureton).The Impact on HealthThe growth of the Internet has improved the availability of specialist health services for people in the Mackay region. Traditionally, access to surgical services in Mackay has been much more limited than in metropolitan areas because of the shortage of specialists willing to practise in regional areas (Green). In 2003, a senior informant from the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons bluntly described the Central Queensland region from Mackay to Gladstone as “a black hole in terms of surgery” (Birrell et al. 15). In 1997 I anticipated that, although the Internet would never completely replace a visit to a local doctor or hospital, it would provide tools that improve the availability of specialist medical services for people living in regional areas. Using these tools, doctors would be able to “analyse medical images captured from patients living in remote locations” and “diagnose patients at a distance” (Pace 108).These expectations have been realised in the form of Queensland Health’s Telehealth initiative, which permits medical specialists in Brisbane and Townsville to conduct consultations with patients at the Mackay Base Hospital using video-conference technology. Telehealth reduces the need for patients to travel for specialist advice, and it provides health professionals with access to peer support. Averill (7), for example, reports on the experience of a breast cancer patient at the Mackay Base Hospital who was able to participate in a drug trial with a Townsville oncologist through the Telehealth network. Mackay health professionals organised the patient’s scans, administered blood tests, and checked her lymph nodes, blood pressure and weight. Townsville health professionals then used this information to advise the Mackay team about her ongoing treatment. The patient expressed appreciation that the service allowed her to avoid the lengthy round-trip to Townsville. Prior to being offered the Telehealth option, she had refused to participate in the trial because “the trip was just too much of a stumbling block” (Averill 7).The Impact on Media and EntertainmentThe field of media and entertainment is another aspect of regional life that has been reshaped by the Internet since the Visions of Mackay conference. Most of these changes have been equally apparent in both regional and metropolitan areas. Over the past decade, the way individuals consume media has been transformed by new online services offering user-generated video, video-on-demand, and catch-up TV. These developments were among the changes I anticipated in 1997:The convergence of television and the Internet will stimulate the creation of new services such as video-on-demand. Today television is a synchronous media—programs are usually viewed while they are being broadcast. When high-quality video can be transmitted over the information superhighway, users will be able to watch what they want, when and where they like. […] Newly released movies will continue to be rented, but probably not from stores. Instead, consumers will shop on the information superhighway for movies that can be delivered on demand.In the mid-2000s, free online video-sharing services such as YouTube and Vimeo began to emerge. These websites allow users to freely upload, view, share, comment on, and curate online videos. Subscription-based streaming services such as Netflix and Amazon Prime have also become increasingly popular since that time. These services offer online streaming of a library of films and television programs for a fee of less than 20 dollars per month. Computers, smart TVs, Blu-ray players, game consoles, mobile phones, tablets, and other devices provide a multitude of ways of accessing streaming services. Some of these devices cost less than 100 dollars, while higher-end electronic devices include the capability as a bundled feature. Netflix became available in Mackay at the time of its Australian launch in 2015. The growth of streaming services greatly reduced the demand for video rental shops in the region, and all closed down as a result. The last remaining video rental store in Mackay closed its doors in 2018 after trading for 26 years (“Last”).Some of the most dramatic transformations that have occurred the field of media and entertainment were not anticipated in 1997. The rise of mobile technology, including wireless data communications, smartphones, mobile applications, and tablet computers, was largely unforeseen at that time. Some Internet luminaries such as Vinton Cerf expected that mobile access to the Internet via laptop computers would become commonplace (Lange), but this view did not encompass the evolution of smartphones, and it was not widely held. Similarly, the rise of social media services and the impact they have had on the way people share content and communicate was generally unexpected. In some respects, these phenomena resemble the Black Swan events described by Nassim Nicholas Taleb (xvii)—surprising events with a major effect that are often inappropriately rationalised after the fact. They remind us of how difficult it is to predict the future media landscape by extrapolating from things we know, while failing to take into consideration what we do not know.The Challenge for MackayIn 1997, when exploring the potential impact that the Internet could have on the Mackay region, I identified a special challenge that the community faced if it wanted to be competitive in this new environment:The region has traditionally prospered from industries that control physical resources such as coal, sugar and tourism, but over the last two decades there has been a global ‘shift away from physical assets and towards information as the principal driver of wealth creation’ (Petre and Harrington 1996). The risk for Mackay is that its residents may be inclined to believe that wealth can only be created by means of industries that control physical assets. The community must realise that its value-added information is at least as precious as its abundant natural resources. (110)The Mackay region has not responded well to this challenge, as evidenced by measures such as the Knowledge City Index (KCI), a collection of six indicators that assess how well a city is positioned to grow and advance in today’s technology-driven, knowledge-based economy. A 2017 study used the KCI to conduct a comparative analysis of 25 Australian cities (Pratchett, Hu, Walsh, and Tuli). Mackay rated reasonably well in the areas of Income and Digital Access. But the city’s ratings were “very limited across all the other measures of the KCI”: Knowledge Capacity, Knowledge Mobility, Knowledge Industries and Smart Work (44).The need to be competitive in a technology-driven, knowledge-based economy is likely to become even more pressing in the years ahead. The 2017 World Energy Outlook Report estimated that China’s coal use is likely to have peaked in 2013 amid a rapid shift toward renewable energy, which means that demand for Mackay’s coal will continue to decline (International Energy Agency). The sugar industry is in crisis, finding itself unable to diversify its revenue base or increase production enough to offset falling global sugar prices (Rynne). The region’s biggest tourism drawcard, the Great Barrier Reef, continues to be degraded by mass coral bleaching events and ongoing threats posed by climate change and poor water quality (Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority). All of these developments have disturbing implications for Mackay’s regional economy and its reliance on coal, sugar, and tourism. Diversifying the local economy through the introduction of new knowledge industries would be one way of preparing the Mackay region for the impact of new technologies and the economic challenges that lie ahead.ReferencesAverill, Zizi. “Webcam Consultations.” Daily Mercury 22 Nov. 2018: 7.Birrell, Bob, Lesleyanne Hawthorne, and Virginia Rapson. The Outlook for Surgical Services in Australasia. Melbourne: Monash University Centre for Population and Urban Research, 2003.Cureton, Aidan. “Big Shoes, Big Ideas.” Daily Mercury 8 Dec. 2018: 12.Danaher, Geoff. Ed. Visions of Mackay: Conference Papers. Rockhampton: Central Queensland UP, 1998.Department of Communications, Information Technology and the Arts. Networking the Nation: Evaluation of Outcomes and Impacts. Canberra: Australian Government, 2005.Department of Industry, Science and Tourism. Electronic Commerce in Australia. Canberra: Australian Government, 1998.Frost, Pamela. “Mackay Is Up with Switch to Speed to NBN.” Daily Mercury 15 Aug. 2013: 8.———. “NBN Boost to Business.” Daily Mercury 29 Oct. 2013: 3.Gates, Bill. The Road Ahead. New York: Viking Penguin, 1995.Garvey, Cas. “NBN Rollout Hit, Miss in Mackay.” Daily Mercury 11 Jul. 2017: 6.Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority. Reef Blueprint: Great Barrier Reef Blueprint for Resilience. Townsville: Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority, 2017.Green, Anthony. “Surgical Services and Referrals in Rural and Remote Australia.” Medical Journal of Australia 177.2 (2002): 110–11.International Energy Agency. World Energy Outlook 2017. France: IEA Publications, 2017.Jewell, Roderick, Mary O’Flynn, Fiorella De Cindio, and Margaret Cameron. “RCM and MRL—A Reflection on Two Approaches to Constructing Communication Memory.” Constructing and Sharing Memory: Community Informatics, Identity and Empowerment. Eds. Larry Stillman and Graeme Johanson. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007. 73–86.Lange, Larry. “The Internet: Where’s It All Going?” Information Week 17 Jul. 1995: 30.“Last Man Standing Shuts Doors after 26 Years of Trade.” Daily Mercury 28 Aug. 2018: 7.Lewis, Steve. “Optus Plans to Share Cost Burden.” Australian Financial Review 22 May 1997: 26.Meredith, Helen. “Time Short for Cable Modem.” Australian Financial Review 10 Apr. 1997: 42Nassim Nicholas Taleb. The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable. New York: Random House, 2007.“Optus Offers Comp for Slow NBN.” Daily Mercury 10 Nov. 2017: 15.Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development. “Fixed Broadband Subscriptions.” OECD Data, n.d. <https://data.oecd.org/broadband/fixed-broadband-subscriptions.htm>.Pace, Steven. “Mackay Online.” Visions of Mackay: Conference Papers. Ed. Geoff Danaher. Rockhampton: Central Queensland University Press, 1998. 111–19.Petre, Daniel and David Harrington. The Clever Country? Australia’s Digital Future. Sydney: Lansdown Publishing, 1996.Plane, Melanie. “A Shoe-In for Big Success.” Daily Mercury 9 Sep. 2017: 6.Pratchett, Lawrence, Richard Hu, Michael Walsh, and Sajeda Tuli. The Knowledge City Index: A Tale of 25 Cities in Australia. Canberra: University of Canberra neXus Research Centre, 2017.“Qld Customers NB-uN Happy Complaints about NBN Service Double in 12 Months.” Daily Mercury 17 Apr. 2018: 1.Rudd, Kevin. “Media Release: New National Broadband Network.” Parliament of Australia Press Release, 7 Apr. 2009 <https://parlinfo.aph.gov.au/parlInfo/search/display/display.w3p;query=Id:"media/pressrel/PS8T6">.Rynne, David. “Revitalising the Sugar Industry.” Sugar Policy Insights Feb. 2019: 2–3.Taylor, Emma. “A Dip in the Pond.” Sydney Morning Herald 16 Aug. 1997: 12.“Telcos and NBN Co in a Crisis.” Daily Mercury 27 Jul. 2017: 6.

IntroductionFestivals, according to Chris Gibson and John Connell, are like “glue”, temporarily sticking together various stakeholders, economic transactions, and networks (9). Australia’s First Nations peoples see festivals as an opportunity to display cultural vitality (Henry 586), and to challenge a history which has rendered them absent (587). The 2017 Australia Council for the Arts Showcasing Creativity report indicates that performing arts by First Nations peoples are under-represented in Australia’s mainstream venues and festivals (1). Large Aboriginal cultural festivals have long thrived in Australia’s northern half, but have been under-developed in the south. Each regional happening develops a cultural landscape connected to a long and intimate relationship with the natural environment.The Far South East coast and mountainous hinterland of New South Wales is rich in pristine landscapes that ground the Yuin and Monaro Nations to Country as the Monaroo Bobberrer Gadu (Peoples of the Mountains and the Sea). This article highlights cross-sector interaction between Koori and mainstream organisations in producing the Giiyong (Guy-Yoong/Welcoming) Festival. This, the first large festival to be held within the Yuin Nation, took place on Aboriginal-owned land at Jigamy, via Eden, on 22 September 2018. Emerging regional artists joined national headline acts, most notably No Fixed Address (one of the earliest Aboriginal bands to break into the Australian mainstream music industry), and hip-hop artist Baker Boy (Danzal Baker, Young Australian of the Year 2019). The festival followed five years of sustained community preparation by South East Arts in association with Grow the Music, Twofold Aboriginal Corporation, the Eden Local Aboriginal Land Council, and its Elders. We offer dual understandings of the Giiyong Festival: the viewpoints of a male Yuin Elder wedded to an Australian woman of European descent. We acknowledge, and rely upon, key information, statistics, and photographs provided by the staff of South East Arts including Andrew Gray (General Manager), Jasmin Williams (Aboriginal Creative and Cultural Engagement Officer and Giiyong Festival Project Manager), and Kate Howarth (Screen Industry Development Officer). We are also grateful to Wiradjuri woman Alison Simpson (Program Manager at Twofold Aboriginal Corporation) for valuable feedback. As community leaders from First Nations and non-First Nations backgrounds, Simpson and Williams complement each other’s talents for empowering Indigenous communities. They plan a 2020 follow-up event on the basis of the huge success of the 2018 festival.The case study is informed by our personal involvement with community. Since the general population barely comprehends the number and diversity of Australia’s Indigenous ‘nations’, the burgeoning Indigenous festival movement encourages First Nations and non-First Nations peoples alike to openly and confidently refer to the places they live in according to Indigenous names, practices, histories, and knowledge. Consequently, in the mental image of a map of the island-continent, the straight lines and names of state borders fade as the colours of the Indigenous ‘Countries’ (represented by David Horton’s wall map of 1996) come to the foreground. We reason that, in terms of ‘regionality,’ the festival’s expressions of “the agency of country” (Slater 141) differ vastly from the centre-periphery structure and logic of the Australian colony. There is no fixed centre to the mutual exchange of knowledge, culture, and experience in Aboriginal Australia. The broader implication of this article is that Indigenous cultural festivals allow First Nations peoples cultures—in moments of time—to assume precedence, that is to ‘stitch’ back together the notion of a continent made up of hundreds of countries, as against the exploitative structure of ‘hub and region’ colonial Australia.Festival Concepts and ContextsHoward Becker observed that cultural production results from an interplay between the person of the artist and a multitude of support personnel whose work is not frequently studied: “It is through this network of cooperation that the art work we eventually see or hear comes to be and continues to be” (1). In assisting arts and culture throughout the Bega Valley, Eurobodalla, and Snowy Monaro, South East Arts delivers positive achievements in the Aboriginal arts and cultural sector. Their outcomes are significant in the light of the dispossession, segregation, and discrimination experienced by Aboriginal Australians. Michael Young, assisted by Indigenous authors Ellen Mundy and Debbie Mundy, recorded how Delegate Reserve residents relocating to the coast were faced with having their lives controlled by a Wallaga Lake Reserve manager or with life on the fringes of the towns in shacks (2–3). But as discovered in the records, “their retention of traditional beliefs, values and customs, reveal that the accommodation they were forced to make with the Europeans did not mean they had surrendered. The proof of this is the persistence of their belief in the value of their culture” (3–4). The goal of the Twofold Aboriginal Corporation is to create an inclusive place where Aboriginal people of the Twofold Bay Region can be proud of their heritage, connect with the local economy, and create a real future for their children. When Simpson told Williams of the Twofold Aboriginal Corporation’s and Eden Local Aboriginal Land Council’s dream of housing a large cultural festival at Jigamy, Williams rigorously consulted local Indigenous organisations to build a shared sense of community ownership of the event. She promoted the festival as “a rare opportunity in our region to learn about Aboriginal culture and have access to a huge program of Aboriginal musicians, dancers, visual artists, authors, academics, storytellers, cooks, poets, creative producers, and films” (McKnight).‘Uncle Ossie’ Cruse of Eden envisaged that the welcoming event would enliven the longstanding caring and sharing ethos of the Yuin-Monaro people. Uncle Ossie was instrumental in establishing Jigamy’s majestic Monaroo Bobberrer Gudu Keeping Place with the Eden Local Aboriginal Land Council in 1994. Built brick by brick by Indigenous workers, it is a centre for the teaching and celebration of Aboriginal culture, and for the preservation of artefacts. It represents the local community's determination to find their own solutions for “bridging the gap” by creating education and employment opportunities. The centre is also the gateway to the Bundian Way, the first Aboriginal pathway to be listed on the NSW State Heritage Register. Festival Lead-Up EventsEden’s Indigenous students learn a revived South Coast language at Primary and Secondary School. In 2015, Uncle Ossie vitally informed their input into The Black Ducks, a hip-hop song filmed in Eden by Desert Pea Media. A notable event boosting Koori musical socialisation was a Giiyong Grow the Music spectacle performed at Jigamy on 28 October 2017. Grow the Music—co-founded by Lizzy Rutten and Emily White—specialises in mentoring Indigenous artists in remote areas using digital recording equipment. Eden Marine High School students co-directed the film Scars as part of a programme of events with South East Arts and the Giiyong Festival 2018. The Eden Place Project and Campbell Page also create links between in- and out-of-school activities. Eden’s Indigenous students thus perform confidently at NAIDOC Week celebrations and at various festivals. Preparation and PersonnelAn early decision was made to allow free entry to the Giiyong Festival in order to attract a maximum number of Indigenous families. The prospect necessitated in-kind support from Twofold Aboriginal Corporation staff. They galvanised over 100 volunteers to enhance the unique features of Jigamy, while Uncle Ossie slashed fields of bushes to prepare copious parking space. The festival site was spatially focused around two large stages dedicated to the memory of two strong supporters of cultural creativity: Aunty Doris Kirby, and Aunty Liddy Stewart (Image 1). Image 1: Uncle Ossie Cruse Welcomes Festival-Goers to Country on the Aunty Liddy Stewart Stage. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduction Courtesy of South East Arts.Cultural festivals are peaceful weapons in a continuing ontological political contest (Slater 144). In a panel discussion, Uncle Ossie explained and defended the Makarrata: the call for a First Nations Voice to be enshrined in the Constitution.Williams also contracted artists with a view to capturing the past and present achievements of Aboriginal music. Apart from her brilliant centrepiece acts No Fixed Address and Baker Boy, she attracted Pitjantjatjara singer Frank Yamma (Image 2), Yorta Yorta singer/songwriter Benny Walker, the Central Desert Docker River Band, and Jessie Lloyd’s nostalgic Mission Songs Project. These stellar acts were joined by Wallaga Lake performers Robbie Bundle, Warren Foster, and Alison Walker as well as Nathan Lygon (Eden), Chelsy Atkins (Pambula), Gabadoo (Bermagui), and Drifting Doolgahls (Nowra). Stage presentations were technologically transformed by the live broadcast of acts on large screens surrounding the platforms. Image 2: Singer-Songwriter Frank Yamma Performs at Giiyong Festival 2018. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduction Courtesy of South East Arts.Giiyong Music and Dance Music and dance form the staple components of Indigenous festivals: a reflection on the cultural strength of ancient ceremony. Hundreds of Yuin-Monaro people once attended great corroborees on Mumbulla Mountain (Horton 1235), and oral history recorded by Janet Mathews evidences ceremonies at Fishy Flats, Eden, in the 1850s. Today’s highly regarded community musicians and dancers perform the social arrangements of direct communication, sometimes including their children on stage as apprentices. But artists are still negotiating the power structures through which they experience belonging and detachment in the representation of their musical identity.Youth gain positive identities from participating alongside national headline acts—a form of learning that propels talented individuals into performing careers. The One Mob Dreaming Choir of Koori students from three local schools were a popular feature (Image 3), as were Eden Marine student soloists Nikai Stewart, and Nikea Brooks. Grow the Music in particular has enabled these youngsters to exhibit the roots of their culture in a deep and touching way that contributes to their life-long learning and development. Image 3: The One Mob Dreaming Choir, Directed by Corinne Gibbons (L) and Chelsy Atkins (R). Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduction Courtesy of South East Arts. Brydie-Leigh Bartleet describes how discourses of pride emerge when Indigenous Australian youth participate in hip-hop. At the Giiyong Festival the relationship between musical expression, cultural representation, and political positioning shone through the songs of Baker Boy and Gabadoo (Image 4). Channelling emotions into song, they led young audiences to engage with contemporary themes of Indigeneity. The drones launched above the carpark established a numerical figure close on 6,000 attendees, a third of whom were Indigenous. Extra teenagers arrived in time for Baker Boy’s evening performance (Williams), revealing the typical youthful audience composition associated with the hip-hop craze (Image 5).Image 4: Bermagui Resident Gabadoo Performs Hip-Hop at the Giiyong Festival. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduced Courtesy South East Arts.Image 5: A Youthful Audience Enjoys Baker Boy’s Giiyong Festival Performance. Image Credit: David Rogers for South East Arts, Reproduced Courtesy South East Arts.Wallaga Lake’s traditional Gulaga Dancers were joined by Bermagui’s Gadhu Dancers, Eden’s Duurunu Miru Dancers, and Narooma’s Djaadjawan Dancers. Sharon Mason founded Djaadjawan Dancers in 2015. Their cultural practice connects to the environment and Mingagia (Mother Earth). At their festival tent, dancers explained how they gather natural resources from Walbanja Country to hand-make traditional dance outfits, accessories, and craft. They collect nuts, seeds, and bark from the bush, body paint from ancient ochre pits, shells from beaches, and bird feathers from fresh roadkill. Duurunu Miru dancer/didjeriduist Nathan Lygon elaborates on the functions of the Far South East Coast dance performance tradition:Dance provides us with a platform, an opportunity to share our stories, our culture, and our way of being. It demonstrates a beautiful positivity—a feeling of connection, celebration, and inclusion. The community needs it. And our young people need a ‘space’ in which they can grow into the knowledge and practices of their culture. The festival also helped the wider community to learn more about these dimensions. (n.p.)While music and dance were at the heart of the festival, other traditional skills were included, for example the exhibitions mounted inside the Keeping Place featured a large number of visual artists. Traditional bush cooking took place near Lake Pambula, and yarn-ups, poetry, and readings were featured throughout the day. Cultural demonstrations in the Bunaan Ring (the Yuin name for a corroboree circle) included ‘Gum Leaf Playing.’ Robin Ryan explained how the Yuin’s use of cultural elements to entertain settlers (Cameron 79) led to the formation of the Wallaga Lake Gum Leaf Band. As the local custodian of this unique musical practice, Uncle Ossie performed items and conducted a workshop for numerous adults and children. Festival Feedback and Future PlanningThe Giiyong Festival gained huge Indigenous cultural capital. Feedback gleaned from artists, sponsors, supporters, volunteers, and audiences reflected on how—from the moment the day began—the spirit of so many performers and consumers gathered in one place took over. The festival’s success depended on its reception, for as Myers suggests: “It is the audience who create the response to performance and if the right chemistry is achieved the performers react and excel in their presentation” (59). The Bega District News, of 24 September 2018, described the “incredibly beautiful event” (n.p.), while Simpson enthused to the authors:I believe that the amount of people who came through the gates to attend the Giiyong Festival was a testament to the wider need and want for Aboriginal culture. Having almost double the population of Eden attend also highlights that this event was long overdue. (n.p.)Williams reported that the whole festival was “a giant exercise in the breaking down of walls. Some signed contracts for the first time, and all met their contracts professionally. National artists Baker Boy and No Fixed Address now keep in touch with us regularly” (Williams). Williams also expressed her delight that local artists are performing further afield this year, and that an awareness, recognition, and economic impact has been created for Jigamy, the Giiyong Festival, and Eden respectively:We believe that not only celebrating, but elevating these artists and Aboriginal culture, is one of the most important things South East Arts can do for the overall arts sector in the region. This work benefits artists, the economy and cultural tourism of the region. Most importantly it feeds our collective spirit, educates us, and creates a much richer place to live. (Giiyong Festival Report 1)Howarth received 150 responses to her post-event survey. All respondents felt welcome, included, and willing to attend another festival. One commented, “not even one piece of rubbish on the ground.” Vanessa Milton, ABC Open Producer for South East NSW, wrote: “Down to the tiniest detail it was so obvious that you understood the community, the audience, the performers and how to bring everyone together. What a coup to pull off this event, and what a gift to our region” (Giiyong Festival Report 4).The total running cost for the event was $257,533, including $209,606 in government grants from local, state, and federal agencies. Major donor Create NSW Regional Partnerships funded over $100,000, and State Aboriginal Affairs gave $6,000. Key corporate sponsors included Bendigo Bank, Snowy Hydro and Waterway Constructions, Local Land Services Bega, and the Eden Fisherman’s Club. Funding covered artists’ fees, staging, the hiring of toilets, and multiple generators, including delivery costs. South East Arts were satisfied with the funding amount: each time a new donation arrived they were able to invite more performers (Giiyong Festival Report 2; Gray; Williams). South East Arts now need to prove they have the leadership capacity, financial self-sufficiency, and material resources to produce another festival. They are planning 2020 will be similar to 2018, provided Twofold Aboriginal Corporation can provide extra support. Since South East Arts exists to service a wider area of NSW, they envisage that by 2024, they would hand over the festival to Twofold Aboriginal Corporation (Gray; Williams). Forthcoming festivals will not rotate around other venues because the Giiyong concept was developed Indigenously at Jigamy, and “Jigamy has the vibe” (Williams). Uncle Ossie insists that the Yuin-Monaro feel comfortable being connected to Country that once had a traditional campsite on the east side. Evaluation and ConclusionAlthough ostensibly intended for entertainment, large Aboriginal festivals significantly benefit the educational, political, and socio-economic landscape of contemporary Indigenous life. The cultural outpourings and dissemination of knowledges at the 2018 Giiyong Festival testified to the resilience of the Yuin-Monaro people. In contributing to the processes of Reconciliation and Recognition, the event privileged the performing arts as a peaceful—yet powerful truth-telling means—for dealing with the state. Performers representing the cultures of far-flung ancestral lands contributed to the reimagining of a First Nations people’s map representing hundreds of 'Countries.’It would be beneficial for the Far South East region to perpetuate the Giiyong Festival. It energised all those involved. But it took years of preparation and a vast network of cooperating people to create the feeling which made the 2018 festival unique. Uncle Ossie now sees aspects of the old sharing culture of his people springing back to life to mould the quality of life for families. Furthermore, the popular arts cultures are enhancing the quality of life for Eden youth. As the cross-sector efforts of stakeholders and volunteers so amply proved, a family-friendly, drug and alcohol-free event of the magnitude of the Giiyong Festival injects new growth into an Aboriginal arts industry designed for the future creative landscape of the whole South East region. AcknowledgementsMany thanks to Andrew Gray and Jasmin Williams for supplying a copy of the 2018 Giiyong Festival Report. We appreciated prompt responses to queries from Jasmin Williams, and from our editor Rachel Franks. We are humbly indebted to our two reviewers for their expert direction.ReferencesAustralian Government. Showcasing Creativity: Programming and Presenting First Nations Performing Arts. Australia Council for the Arts Report, 8 Mar. 2017. 20 May 2019 <https://tnn.org.au/2017/03/showcasing-creativity-programming-and-presenting-first-nations-performing-arts-australia-council/>.Bartleet, Brydie-Leigh. “‘Pride in Self, Pride in Community, Pride in Culture’: The Role of Stylin’ Up in Fostering Indigenous Community and Identity.” The Festivalization of Culture. Eds. Andy Bennett, Jodie Taylor, and Ian Woodward. New York: Routledge, 2014.Becker, Howard S. Art Worlds. 25th anniversary edition. Berkeley: U of California P, 2008.Brown, Bill. “The Monaroo Bubberer [Bobberer] Gudu Keeping Place: A Symbol of Aboriginal Self-determination.” ABC South East NSW, 9 Jul. 2015. 20 May 2019 <http://www.abc.net.au/local/photos/2015/07/09/4270480.htm>.Cameron, Stuart. "An Investigation of the History of the Aborigines of the Far South Coast of NSW in the 19th Century." PhD Thesis. Canberra: Australian National U, 1987. Desert Pea Media. The Black Ducks “People of the Mountains and the Sea.” <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fbJNHAdbkg>.“Festival Fanfare.” Eden Magnet 28 June 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <edenmagnet.com.au>.Gibson, Chris, and John Connell. Music Festivals and Regional Development in Australia. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012.Gray, Andrew. Personal Communication, 28 Mar. 2019.Henry, Rosita. “Festivals.” The Oxford Companion to Aboriginal Art and Culture. Eds. Syvia Kleinert and Margot Neale. South Melbourne: Oxford UP, 586–87.Horton, David R. “Yuin.” Encyclopaedia of Aboriginal Australia. Ed. David R. Horton. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 1994.———. Aboriginal Australia Wall Map Compiled by David Horton. Aboriginal Studies Press, 1996.Lygon, Nathan. Personal Communication, 20 May 2019.Mathews, Janet. Albert Thomas Mentions the Leaf Bands That Used to Play in the Old Days. Cassette recorded at Wreck Bay, NSW on 9 July 1964 for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders (AIATSIS). LAA1013. McKnight, Albert. “Giiyong Festival the First of Its Kind in Yuin Nation.” Bega District News 17 Sep. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.begadistrictnews.com.au/story/5649214/giiyong-festival-the-first-of-its-kind-in-yuin-nation/?cs=7523#slide=2>. ———. “Giiyong Festival Celebrates Diverse, Enduring Cultures.” Bega District News 24 Sep. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.begadistrictnews.com.au/story/5662590/giiyong-festival-celebrates-diverse-enduring-cultures-photos-videos/>.Myers, Doug. “The Fifth Festival of Pacific Arts.” Australian Aboriginal Studies 1 (1989): 59–62.Simpson, Alison. Personal Communication, 9 Apr. 2019.Slater, Lisa. “Sovereign Bodies: Australian Indigenous Cultural Festivals and Flourishing Lifeworlds.” The Festivalization of Culture. Eds. Andy Bennett, Jodie Taylor, and Ian Woodward. London: Ashgate, 2014. 131–46.South East Arts. "Giiyong Festival Report." Bega: South East Arts, 2018.———. Giiyong Grow the Music. Poster for Event Produced on Saturday, 28 Oct. 2017. Bega: South East Arts, 2017.Williams, Jasmin. Personal Communication, 28 Mar. 2019.Young, Michael, with Ellen, and Debbie Mundy. The Aboriginal People of the Monaro: A Documentary History. Sydney: NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service, 2000.

We take as our subject what many would deem a waste of good celluloid: the degraded cultural form of the stoner film. Stoner films plot the experiences of the wasted (those intoxicated on marijuana) as they exhibit wastefulness—excessiveness, improvidence, decay—on a number of fronts. Stoners waste time in constantly hunting for pot and in failing to pursue more productive activity whilst wasted. Stoners waste their minds, both literally, if we believe contested studies that indicate marijuana smoking kills brains cells, and figuratively, in rendering themselves cognitively impaired. Stoners waste their bodies through the dangerous practice of smoking and through the tendency toward physical inertia. Stoners waste money on marijuana firstly, but also on such sophomoric accoutrements as the stoner film itself. Stoners lay waste to convention in excessively seeking pleasure and in dressing and acting outrageously. And stoners, if the scatological humour of so many stoner films is any index, are preoccupied with bodily waste. Stoners, we argue here, waste whiteness as well. As the likes of Jesse and Chester (Dude, Where’s My Car?), Wayne and Garth (Wayne’s World), Bill and Ted (Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure) and Jay and Silent Bob (Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back) make clear, whiteness looms large in stoner films. Yet the genre, we argue, disavows its own whiteness, in favour of a post-white hybridity that lavishly squanders white privilege. For all its focus on whiteness, filmic wastedness has always been an ethnically diverse and ambiguous category. The genre’s origins in the work of Cheech Marin, a Chicano, and Tommy Chong, a Chinese-European Canadian, have been buttressed in this regard by many African American contributions to the stoner oeuvre, including How High, Half Baked and Friday, as well as by Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, and its Korean-American and Indian-American protagonists. Cheech and Chong initiated the genre with the release of Up in Smoke in 1978. A host of films have followed featuring protagonists who spend much of their time smoking and seeking marijuana (or—in the case of stoner films such as Dude, Where’s My Car? released during the height of the War on Drugs—acting stoned without ever being seen to get stoned). Inspired in part by the 1938 anti-marijuana film Reefer Madness, and the unintended humour such propaganda films begat amongst marijuana smokers, stoner films are comedies that satirise both marijuana culture and its prohibition. Self-consciously slapstick, the stoner genre excludes more serious films about drugs, from Easy Rider to Shaft, as well as films such as The Wizard of Oz, Yellow Submarine, the Muppet movies, and others popular amongst marijuana smokers because of surreal content. Likewise, a host of films that include secondary stoner characters, such as Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, are commonly excluded from the genre on the grounds that the stoner film, first and foremost, celebrates stonerism, that is “serious commitment to smoking and acquiring marijuana as a lifestyle choice.” (Meltzer). Often taking the form of the “buddy film,” stoner flicks generally feature male leads and frequently exhibit a decidedly masculinist orientation, with women, for the most part reduced to little more than the object of the white male gaze.The plot, such as it is, of the typical stoner film concerns the search for marijuana (or an accessory, such as junk food) and the improbable misadventures that ensue. While frequently represented as resourceful and energetic in their quest for marijuana, filmic stoners otherwise exhibit ambivalent attitudes toward enterprise that involves significant effort. Typically represented as happy and peaceable, filmic stoners rarely engage in conflict beyond regular clashes with authority figures determined to enforce anti-drug laws, and other measures that stoners take to be infringements upon happiness. While Hollywood’s stoners thus share a sense of entitlement to pleasure, they do not otherwise exhibit a coherent ideological orthodoxy beyond a certain libertarian and relativistic open-mindedness. More likely to take inspiration from comic book heroes than Aldous Huxley or Timothy Leary, stoners are most often portrayed as ‘dazed and confused,’ and could be said to waste the intellectual tradition of mind expansion that Leary represents. That stoner films are, at times, misunderstood to be quintessentially white is hardly suprising. As a social construct that creates, maintains and legitimates white domination, whiteness manifests, as one of its most defining features, an ability to swallow up difference and to insist upon, at critical junctures, a universal subjectivity that disallows for difference (hooks 167). Such universalising not only sanctions co-optation of ethnic cultural expression, it also functions to mask whiteness’s existence, thus reinforcing its very power. Whiteness, as Richard Dyer argues, is simultaneously everywhere and nowhere. It obfuscates itself and its relationship to the particular traits it is said to embody—disinterest, prudence, temperance, rationality, bodily restraint, industriousness (3). Whiteness is thus constructed as neither an ethnic nor racial particularity, but rather the transcendence of such positionality (Wiegman 139). While non-whites are raced, to be white is to be “just human” and thus to possess the power to “claim to speak for the commonality of humanity” whilst denying the accrual of any particular racial privilege (Dyer 2). In refuting its own advantages—which are so wide ranging (from preferential treatment in housing loans, to the freedom to fail without fear of reflecting badly on other whites) that they are, like whiteness itself, both assumed and unproblematic—whiteness instantiates individualism, allowing whites to believe that their successes are in no way the outcome of systematic racial advantage, but rather the product of individual toil (McIntosh; Lipsitz). An examination of the 1978 stoner film Up in Smoke suggests that whatever the ethnic ambiguity of the figure of the stoner, the genre of the stoner film is all about the wasting of whiteness. Up in Smoke opens with two alternating domestic scenes. We first encounter Pedro De Pacas (Cheech Marin) in a cluttered and shadowy room as his siblings romp affectionately upon his back, waking him from his slumber on the couch. Pedro rises, stepping into a bowl of cereal on the floor. He stumbles to the bathroom, where, sleepy and disoriented, he urinates into the laundry hamper. The chaos of Pedro’s disrupted sleep is followed in the film by a more metaphoric awakening as Anthony Stoner (Tommy Chong) determines to leave home. The scene takes place in a far more orderly, light and lavish room. The space’s overpowering whiteness is breached only by the figure of Anthony and his unruly black hair, bushy black beard, and loud Hawaiian shirt, which vibrates with colour against the white walls, white furnishings and white curtains. We watch as Anthony, behind an elaborate bar, prepares a banana protein shake, impassively ignoring his parents, both clothed in all-white, as they clutch martini glasses and berate their son for his lack of ambition. Arnold Stoner [father]: Son, your mother and me would like for you to cozy up to the Finkelstein boy. He's a bright kid, and, uh... he's going to military school, and remember, he was an Eagle Scout. Tempest Stoner [mother]: Arnold…Arnold Stoner: [shouts over/to his wife] Will you shut up? We’re not going to have a family brawl!Tempest Stoner: [continues talking as her husband shouts]…. Retard.Arnold Stoner: [to Anthony] We've put up with a hell of a lot.[Anthony starts blender] Can this wait? ... Build your goddamn muscles, huh? You know, you could build your muscles picking strawberries.You know, bend and scoop... like the Mexicans. Shit, maybe I could get you a job with United Fruit. I got a buddy with United Fruit. ... Get you started. Start with strawberries, you might work your way up to these goddamn bananas! When, boy? When...are you going to get your act together?Anthony: [Burps]Tempest Stoner: Gross.Arnold Stoner: Oh, good God Almighty me. I think he's the Antichrist. Anthony, I want to talk to you. [Anthony gathers his smoothie supplements and begins to walk out of the room.] Now, listen! Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you! You get a goddamn job before sundown, or we're shipping you off to military school with that goddamn Finkelstein shit kid! Son of a bitch!The whiteness of Anthony’s parents is signified so pervasively and so strikingly in this scene—in their improbable white outfits and in the room’s insufferably white décor—that we come to understand it as causative. The rage and racism of Mr. Stoner’s tirade, the scene suggests, is a product of whiteness itself. Given that whiteness achieves and maintains its domination via both ubiquity and invisibility, what Up in Smoke accomplishes in this scene is notable. Arnold Stoner’s tortured syntax (“that goddamn Finkelstein shit kid”) works to “mak[e] whiteness strange” (Dyer 4), while the scene’s exaggerated staging delineates whiteness as “a particular – even peculiar – identity, rather than a presumed norm” (Roediger, Colored White 21). The belligerence of the senior Stoners toward not only their son and each other, but the world at large, in turn, functions to render whiteness intrinsically ruthless and destructive. Anthony’s parents, in all their whiteness, enact David Roediger’s assertion that “it is not merely that ‘Whiteness’s is oppressive and false; it is that ‘Whiteness’s is nothing but oppressive and false” (Toward the Abolition 13).Anthony speaks not a word during the scene. He communicates only by belching and giving his parents the finger as he leaves the room and the home. This departure is significant in that it marks the moment when Anthony, hereafter known only as “Man,” flees the world of whiteness. He winds up taking refuge in the multi-hued world of stonerism, as embodied in the scene that follows, which features Pedro emerging from his home to interact with his Chicano neighbours and to lovingly inspect his car. As a lowrider, a customised vehicle that “begin[s] with the abandoned materials of one tradition (that of mainstream America), … [and is] … then transformed and recycled . . . into new and fresh objects of art which are distinctly Chicano,” Pedro’s car serves as a symbol of the cultural hybridisation that Man is about to undergo (quoted in Ondine 141).As Man’s muteness in the presence of his parents suggests, his racial status seems tentative from the start. Within the world of whiteness, Man is the subaltern, silenced and denigrated, finding voice only after he befriends Pedro. Even as the film identifies Man as white through his parental lineage, it renders indeterminate its own assertion, destabilising any such fixed or naturalised schema of identity. When Man is first introduced to Pedro’s band as their newest member, James, the band’s African American bass player, looks at Man, dressed in the uniform of the band, and asks: “Hey Pedro, where’s the white dude you said was playing the drums?” Clearly, from James’s point of view, the room contains no white dudes, just stoners. Man’s presumed whiteness becomes one of the film’s countless gags, the provocative ambiguity of the casting of a Chinese-European to play a white part underscored in the film by the equally implausible matter of age. Man, according to the film’s narrative, is a high school student; Chong was forty when the film was released. Like his age, Man’s whiteness is never a good fit. That Man ultimately winds up sleeping on the very couch upon which we first encounter Pedro suggests how radical and final the break with his dubious white past is. The “Mexicans” whom his father would mock as fit only for abject labour are amongst those whom Man comes to consider his closest companions. In departing his parents’ white world, and embracing Pedro’s dilapidated, barrio-based world of wastedness, Man traces the geographies narrated by George Lipsitz in The Possessive Investment in Whiteness. Historically, Lipsitz argues, the development of affluent white space (the suburbs) was made possible by the disintegration of African American, Chicano and other minority neighbourhoods disadvantaged by federal, state, and corporate housing, employment, health care, urban renewal, and education policies that favoured whites over non-whites. In this sense, Man’s flight from his parents’ home is a retreat from whiteness itself, and from the advantages that whiteness conveys. In choosing the ramshackle, non-white world of stonerism, Man performs an act of racial treachery. Whiteness, Lipsitz contends, has “cash value,” and “is invested in, like property, but it is also a means of accumulating property and keeping it from others,” which allows for “intergenerational transfers of inherited wealth that pass on the spoils of discrimination to succeeding generations” (vii-viii). Man’s disavowal of the privileges of whiteness is a reckless refusal to accept this racial birthright. Whiteness is thus wasted upon Man because Man wastes his whiteness. Given the centrality of prudence and restraint to hegemonic constructions of whiteness, Man’s willingness to squander the “valuable asset” that is his white inheritance is especially treasonous (Harris 1713). Man is the prodigal son of whiteness, a profligate who pours down the drain “the wages of whiteness” that his forbearers have spent generations accruing and protecting (Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness). His waste not only offends the core values which whiteness is said to comprise, it also denigrates whiteness itself by illuminating the excess of white privilege, as well as the unarticulated excess of meanings that hover around whiteness to create the illusion of transcendence and infinite variety. Man’s performance, like all bad performances of whiteness, “disrupt[s] implicit understandings of what it means to be white” (Hartigan 46). The spectre of seeing white domination go ‘up in smoke’—via wasting, as opposed to hoarding, white privilege—amounts to racial treason, and helps not only to explicate why whites in the film find stonerism so menacing, but also to explain the paradox of “pot [making] the people who don’t smoke it even more paranoid than the people who do” (Patterson). While Tommy Chong’s droll assertion that "what makes us so dangerous is that we're harmless" ridicules such paranoia, it ultimately fails to account for the politics of subversive squandering of white privilege that characterise the stoner film (“Biographies”). Stoners in Up in Smoke, as in most other stoner films, are marked as non-white, through association with ethnic Others, through their rejection of mainstream ideas about work and achievement, and/or through their lack of bodily restraint in relentlessly seeking pleasure, in dressing outrageously, and in refusing to abide conventional grooming habits. Significantly, the non-white status of the stoner is both voluntary and deliberate. While stonerism embraces its own non-whiteness, its Otherness is not signified, primarily, through racial cross-dressing of the sort Eric Lott detects in Elvis, but rather through race-mixing. Stoner collectivity practices an inclusivity that defies America’s historic practice of racial and ethnic segregation (Lott 248). Stonerism further reveals its unwillingness to abide constrictive American whiteness in a scene in which Pedro and Man, both US-born Americans, are deported. The pair are rounded up along with Pedro’s extended family in a raid initiated when Pedro’s cousin “narcs” on himself to la migra (the Immigration and Naturalization Service) in order to get free transport for his extended family to his wedding in Tijuana. Pedro and Man return to the US as unwitting tricksters, bringing back to the US more marijuana than has ever crossed the Mexican-US border at one time, fusing the relationship between transnationalism and wastedness. The disrespect that stoners exhibit for pregnable US borders contests presumed Chicano powerlessness in the face of white force and further affronts whiteness, which historically has mobilised itself most virulently at the threat of alien incursion. Transgression here is wilful and playful; stoners intend to offend normative values and taste through their actions, their dress, and non-white associations as part of the project of forging a new hybridised, transnational subjectivity that threatens to lay waste to whiteness’s purity and privilege. Stoners invite the scrutiny of white authority with their outrageous attire and ethnically diverse composition, turning the “inevitability of surveillance” (Borrie 87) into an opportunity to enact their own wastedness—their wasted privilege, their wasted youth, their wasted potential—before a gaze that is ultimately confounded and threatened by the chaotic hybridity with which it is faced (Hebdige 26). By perpetually displaying his/her wasted Otherness, the stoner makes of him/herself a “freak,” a label cops use derisively throughout Up in Smoke to denote the wasted without realising that stoners define themselves in precisely such terms, and, by doing so, obstruct whiteness’s assertion of universal subjectivity. Pedro’s cousin Strawberry (Tom Skerritt), a pot dealer, enacts freakishness by exhibiting a large facial birthmark and by suffering from Vietnam-induced Post Traumatic Stress disorder. A freak in every sense of the word, Strawberry is denied white status by virtue of physical and mental defect. But Strawberry, as a stoner, ultimately wants whiteness even less than it wants him. The defects that deny him membership in the exclusive “club” that is whiteness prove less significant than the choice he makes to defect from the ranks of whiteness and join with Man in the decision to waste his whiteness wantonly (“Editorial”). Stoner masculinity is represented as similarly freakish and defective. While white authority forcefully frustrates the attempts of Pedro and Man to “score” marijuana, the duo’s efforts to “score” sexually are thwarted by their own in/action. More often than not, wastedness produces impotence in Up in Smoke, either literally or figuratively, wherein the confusion and misadventures that attend pot-smoking interrupt foreplay. The film’s only ostensible sex scene is unconsummated, a wasted opportunity for whiteness to reproduce itself when Man sleeps through his girlfriend’s frenzied discussion of sex. During the course of Up in Smoke, Man dresses as a woman while hitchhiking, Pedro mistakes Man for a woman, Man sits on Pedro’s lap when they scramble to change seats whilst being pulled over by the police, Man suggests that Pedro has a “small dick,” Pedro reports liking “manly breasts,” and Pedro—unable to urinate in the presence of Sgt. Stedenko—tells his penis that if it does not perform, he will “put [it] back in the closet.” Such attenuations of the lead characters’ masculinity climax in the penultimate scene, in which Pedro, backed by his band, performs “Earache My Eye,” a song he has just composed backstage, whilst adorned in pink tutu, garter belt, tassle pasties, sequined opera mask and Mickey Mouse ears: My momma talkin’ to me tryin’ to tell me how to liveBut I don't listen to her cause my head is like a sieveMy daddy he disowned me cause I wear my sister's clothesHe caught me in the bathroom with a pair of pantyhoseMy basketball coach he done kicked me off the teamFor wearing high heeled sneakers and acting like a queen“Earache My Eye” corroborates the Othered natured of stonerism by marking stoners, already designated as non-white, as non-straight. In a classic iteration of a bad gender performance, the scene rejects both whiteness and its hegemonic partners-in-crime, heterosexuality and normative masculinity (Butler 26). Here stoners waste not only their whiteness, but also their white masculinity. Whiteness, and its dependence upon “intersection … [with] interlocking axes [of power such as] gender … [and] sexuality,” is “outed” in this scene (Shome 368). So, too, is it enfeebled. In rendering masculinity freakish and defective, the film threatens whiteness at its core. For if whiteness can not depend upon normative masculinity for its reproduction, then, like Man’s racial birthright, it is wasted. The stoner’s embodiment of freakishness further works to emphasise wasted whiteness by exposing just how hysterical whiteness’s defense of its own normativity can be. Up in Smoke frequently inflates not only the effects of marijuana, but also the eccentricities of those who smoke it, a strategy which means that much of the film’s humour turns on satirising hegemonic stereotypes of marijuana smokers. Equally, Cheech Marin’s exaggerated “slapstick, one-dimensional [portrayal] of [a] Chicano character” works to render ridiculous the very stereotypes his character incarnates (List 183). While the film deconstructs processes of social construction, it also makes extensive use of counter-stereotyping in its depictions of characters marked as white. The result is that whiteness’s “illusion of [its] own infinite variety” is contested and the lie of whiteness as non-raced is exposed, helping to explain the stoner’s decision to waste his/her whiteness (Dyer 12; 2). In Up in Smoke whiteness is the colour of straightness. Straights, who are willing neither to smoke pot nor to tolerate the smoking of pot by others/Others, are so comprehensively marked as white in the film that whiteness and straightness become isomorphic. As a result, the same stereotypes are mobilised in representing whiteness and straightness: incompetence, belligerence, hypocrisy, meanspiritedness, and paranoia, qualities that are all the more oppressive because virtually all whites/straights in the film occupy positions of authority. Anthony’s spectacularly white parents, as we have seen, are bigoted and dominating. Their whiteness is further impugned by alcohol, which fuels Mr. Stoner’s fury and Mrs. Stoner’s unintelligibility. That the senior Stoners are drunk before noon works, of course, to expose the hypocrisy of those who would indict marijuana use while ignoring the social damage alcohol can produce. Their inebriation (revealed as chronic in the DVD’s outtake scenes) takes on further significance when it is configured as a decidedly white attribute. Throughout the film, only characters marked as white consume alcohol—most notably, the judge who is discovered to be drinking vodka whist adjudicating drug charges against Pedro and Man—therefore dislodging whiteness’s self-construction as temperate, and suggesting just how wasted whiteness is. While stonerism is represented as pacific, drunkenness is of a piece with white/straight bellicosity. In Up in Smoke, whites/straights crave confrontation and discord, especially the angry, uptight, and vainglorious narcotics cop Sgt. Stedenko (Stacey Keech) who inhabits so many of the film’s counter-stereotypes. While a trio of white cops roughly apprehend and search a carload of innocent nuns in a manner that Man describes as “cold blooded,” Stedenko, unawares in the foreground, gives an interview about his plans for what he hopes will be the biggest border drug bust in US history: “[Reporter:] Do you expect to see any violence here today? [Sgt. Stedenko:] I certainly hope so.” Stedenko’s desire to act violently against stoners echoes mythologies of white regeneration in the Old West, wherein whiteness refurbished itself through violent attacks on Native Americans, whose wasteful cultures failed to make “civilised” use of western lands (Slotkin 565).White aggression is relentlessly depicted in the film, with one important exception: the instance of the stoned straight. Perhaps no other trope is as defining of the genre, as is the scene wherein a straight person accidentally becomes stoned. Up in Smoke offers several examples, most notably the scene in which a motorcycle cop pulls over Pedro and Man as they drive a van belonging to Pedro’s Uncle Chuey. In a plot twist requiring a degree of willing suspension of disbelief that even wasted audiences might find a stretch, the exterior shell of the van, unbeknownst to Pedro and Man, is made entirely of marijuana which has started to smoulder around the exhaust pipe. The cop, who becomes intoxicated whilst walking through the fumes, does not hassle Pedro and Man, as expected, but instead asks for a bite of their hot dog and then departs happily, instructing the duo to “have a nice day.” In declining, or perhaps simply forgetting, to exercise his authority, the cop demonstrates the regenerative potential not of violent whiteness but rather of hybrid wastedness. Marijuana here is transformative, morphing straight consciousness into stoner consciousness and, in the process, discharging all the uptight, mean-spirited, unnecessary, and hence wasteful baggage of whiteness along the way. While such a utopian potential for pot is both upheld and satirised in the film, the scene amounts to far more than an inconsequential generic gag, in that it argues for the disavowal of whiteness via the assumption of the voluntary Otherness that is stonerism. Whiteness, the scene suggests, can be cast off, discarded, wasted and thus surmounted. Whites, for want of a better phrase, simply need to ‘just say no’ to whiteness in order to excrete the brutality that is its necessary affliction and inevitable result. While Up in Smoke laudably offers a powerful refusal to horde the assets of whiteness, the film fails to acknowledge that ‘just saying no’ is, indeed, one of whiteness’s exclusive privileges, since whites and only whites possess the liberty to refuse the advantages whiteness bestows. Non-whites possess no analogical ability to jettison the social constructions to which they are subjected, to refuse the power of dominant classes to define their subjectivity. Neither does the film confront the fact that Man nor any other of Up in Smoke’s white freaks are disallowed from re-embracing their whiteness, and its attendant value, at any time. However inchoate the film’s challenge to racial privilege, Up in Smoke’s celebration of the subversive pleasures of wasting whiteness offers a tentative, if bleary, first step toward ‘the abolition of whiteness.’ Its utopian vision of a post-white hybridised subjectivity, however dazed and confused, is worthy of far more serious contemplation than the film, taken at face value, might seem to suggest. Perhaps Up in Smoke is a stoner film that should also be viewed while sober. ReferencesBill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Dir. Stephen Herek. Orion Pictures Corporation, 1989.“Biographies”. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.cheechandchongfans.com/biography.html›. Borrie, Lee. "Wild Ones: Containment Culture and 1950s Youth Rebellion”. Diss. University of Canterbury, 2007.Butler, Judith. "Critically Queer”. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 1.1 (1993): 17-32.Chavoya, C. Ondine. “Customized Hybrids: The Art of Ruben Ortiz Torres and Lowriding in Southern California”. 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