Добірка наукової літератури з теми "Zone sources critiques"

This paper draws on three information sources to critically evaluate how new United States counterinsurgency strategies are transforming the delivery of humanitarian aid in war zones. Emerging critiques from within the NGO humanitarian assistance community find growing concern over, and resistance to, the military's use of conflict zone humanitarian assistance to further military goals. Anthropological contributions to past war-related counterinsurgency operations are considered, and patterns of past problems with divergent goals from anthropologists and military sponsors are identified. Newly available military manuals and governmental cables disclosed by WikiLeaks further document how military and civilian governmental agencies use humanitarian aid as a form of counterinsurgency. The paper concludes by reviewing some of the options available to anthropologists working on humanitarian aid projects in conflict zones.

Abstract The last two decades have witnessed a rapid rise in the use, size and capability of many western Special Operations Forces (SOF). A response to the global jihadist threat, the growing presence, prominence and technology-enabled lethality of SOF in conflict zones has resulted in increased scholarly attention. Some have argued that their rise is indicative of important and ongoing changes in the character of war itself. One of the most influential of these works is Steven Niva's study of the transformation of US Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) Task Forces in Iraq. Niva argues that JSOC (more accurately its Task Force 714 Command Headquarters, henceforth TF714) was forced to adopt a networked organizational structure to counter Al-Qa'ida in Iraq (AQI). For Niva, this transformation provided evidence of a shift towards ‘counter-net’ and ‘chaoplexic’ forms of warfare conceptualized by Bousquet in this journal. This article uses new primary and secondary sources to critique these claims. It argues that although a network approach was an important part of TF714's transformation, it was only one part. Instead, JSOC's transformation is more accurately understood through a post-Fordist industrial framework of the centralization of management control and the simultaneous decentralization of decision-making; the integration of core and periphery forces; outsourcing; and a network approach to knowledge. From this analysis, it argues that post-Fordist, rather than network or chaoplexic theory, best describes even the most networked military organizations in the twenty-first century, and that more broadly, fully networked warfare is unlikely given the frictions associated with the coming ‘binary’ battlefield.

Une expertise scientifique collective conduite par l’Inra (INRA 2012) pointe l’importance des flux d’azote liés aux activités d’élevage et identifie des leviers pour limiter la pression sur l’environnement. Depuis une vingtaine d’années, les pollutions azotées font l’objet de diverses législations et plans d’action dans le cadre des politiques relatives à la qualité des eaux, de l’air et des écosystèmes. La transposition de la directive «Nitrates» (12 décembre 1991) fait actuellement l’objet d’un contentieux avec la commission européenne. C’est dans ce contexte que les ministères français en charge de l’Agriculture et de l’Ecologie ont sollicité l’Inra pour dresser un bilan de l’état des connaissances scientifiques sur les flux d’azote en élevage et leur devenir. L’objectif était de mettre à disposition des décideurs et des acteurs publics et privés les connaissances scientifiques actualisées et d’identifier des options permettant de réduire les pressions de l’azote sur l’environnement. 1/LA MÉTHODE D’EXPERTISE SCIENTIFIQUE COLLECTIVELe travail d’expertise a été porté par un collectif de 22 experts. Deux tiers d’entre eux appartiennent à l’Inra, un tiers à d’autres organismes de recherche (Irstea, CNRS, universités) dont deux experts des Pays-Bas (WUR) et un du Canada (Agriculture et Agroalimentaire Canada). Les sciences sociales ont fourni un quart de l’effectif d’experts, la zootechnie et l’approche systémique des systèmes d’élevage 40% et le complément regroupe des spécialistes des cycles biogéochimiques et de l’agronomie. La méthode a consisté à dresser un état des lieux critique des connaissances scientifiques publiées. Quelque 1360 références bibliographiques (2900 auteurs) ont été sélectionnées parmi les articles les plus récents (80% des sources sont postérieures à 1998) et relatifs ou transposables au cadre géographique français. L’analyse a privilégié l’échelle de l’exploitation agricole car c’est l’unité de référence des politiques agricoles et environnementales et des actions agronomiques. Cependant les informations scientifiques portent souvent sur un niveau infra : l’animal, l’atelier d’élevage, la parcelle, le bâtiment, la zone de stockage, etc., ou sur un niveau supra : le bassin versant, le paysage, les statistiques et modélisations nationales et internationales. Ces différents niveaux d’information ont permis d’approcher les variations entre productions et celles liées aux pratiques agricoles. 2 / L’EXPERTISE A MIS EN AVANT LE RÔLE MAJEUR DE L’ÉLEVAGE DANS LES FLUX D’AZOTE ET LES IMPACTS POTENTIELS 2.1 / Les flux d’azote en élevage et les fuites vers l’environnement sont élevésL’élevage utilise plus des trois quarts des quantités d’azote entrant dans les systèmes agricoles. Mais l’efficience, c’est-à-dire le rapport entre les sorties valorisées et les entrées d’azote, calculée au niveau de l’animal est globalement faible : souvent beaucoup moins de la moitié de l’azote ingéré se retrouve sous forme de protéines consommables, lait, œufs et viande. A l’échelle de l’exploitation d’élevage, une part de l’azote excrété dans les déjections est recyclée avec les effluents mais l’efficience reste néanmoins généralement inférieure à 50%. Le reste de l’azote se disperse dans l’environnement. L’élevage contribue ainsi pour environ la moitié aux pertes nationales de nitrates vers les eaux, et pour plus des trois quarts aux émissions nationales atmosphériques azotées, notamment sous forme d’ammoniac (et jusqu’à 90% si on tient compte du fait qu’une grande partie des engrais industriels est employée sur les cultures utilisées pour produire des aliments du bétail). L’azote se trouve de ce fait à la croisée de préoccupations croissantes en termes de compétitivité des filières animales et d’impacts sur l’environnement et sur la santé humaine. Ces impacts ont été récemment décrits dans une expertise européenne (European Nitrogen Assessment 2011). Ils interviennent au niveau de l’écosystème environnant (dépôts de NH3), de la région (NH3, NO3 -) et plus globalement dans le changement climatique (émissions de N2O). 2.2 / La question de l’azote ne se réduit pas à celles du nitrate, les émissions de NH3 constituent un enjeu fort Alors qu’en France, la question du nitrate a longtemps focalisé les débats, dans certains pays d’Europe du Nord, l’ammoniacest aussi de longue date au centre des préoccupations. D’abord étudié pour son rôle dans l’acidification et l’eutrophisation des milieux, l’ammoniac est aujourd’hui examiné dans le cadre de la pollution de l’air par les particules. Au niveau national, le premier contributeur d’émissions d’ammoniac est l’élevage bovin. 2.3 / Risques et impacts dépendent aussi de la sensibilité des territoires et de leur capacité d’épurationLes teneurs en nitrate des eaux ne dépendent pas seulement du niveau de surplus des bilans azotés mais aussi du climat, des types de sol, de la topographie et des modes d’occupation des sols : densité animale, part des terres agricoles dans les utilisations totales des surfaces, importance des prairies permanentes, etc. La présence majoritaire de prairies au sein des territoires réduit les risques de fuites de nitrate et d’émissions d’ammoniac. 3/LES FLUX D’AZOTE SONT AUSSI DÉTERMINÉS PAR DES CONSIDÉRATIONS ÉCONOMIQUES ET JURIDIQUES3.1 / La concentration spatiale des élevages a un rôle déterminant dans les impacts des pollutions azotéesLes plus fortes pressions azotées se situent dans les territoires de l’Ouest qui combinent productions de ruminants et de monogastriques. Les quantités d’azote contenues dans les effluents y dépassent parfois largement les capacités d’absorption des surfaces agricoles. Les territoires d’élevage plus extensifs connaissent des pressions azotées faibles. Cette hétérogénéité s’explique par la concentration géographique des filières animales, résultant principalement de facteurs économiques dont les moteurs relèvent des économies d’échelle et des économies d’agglomération qui sont liées à l’intensification et à la spécialisation des élevages ainsi qu’à leur concentration territoriale. La littérature scientifique pointe la difficulté de sortir d’une telle trajectoire, notamment parce que le fonctionnement technique et économique des acteurs des filières (producteurs d’intrants, éleveurs, transformateurs) est étroitement dépendant. 3.2 / L’encadrement juridique n’a pas permis d’atteindre les objectifs environnementaux La réglementation française a abouti à une multiplicité de zonages auxquels sont dédiés des normes, obligations ou programmes d’action volontaire. L’architecture d’ensemble est confuse et ses résultats critiqués de longue date. Parmi les difficultés rencontrées, la littérature pointe i) le caractère diffus des pollutions, qui, à la différence d’autres pays, n’a pas incité en France àune responsabilisation individuelle des éleveurs, ii) l’intégration de préoccupations économiques et sociales dans les politiques environnementales, iii) le suivi des objectifs environnementaux confié aux acteurs du développement agricole et les échelles administratives peu pertinentes vis-à-vis du réseau hydrographique. Enfin, la multiplicité des formes de pollution azotée pose la question de la cohérence d’ensemble des politiques, notamment entre les critères de la directive «Nitrates» et ceux la Convention de Genève sur la pollution atmosphérique (1979). 4/DE NOMBREUSES PISTES DE PROGRÈS EXISTENT QUI ENGAGENT PLUS OU MOINS EXPLOITANTS AGRICO- LES, TERRITOIRES ET FILIÈRES D’ÉLEVAGE4.1 / Améliorer les pratiques à l’échelle de l’exploitationLa littérature fournit de nombreuses pistes d’actions pour limiter les pertes d’azote dans l’exploitation (figure 1). Il est encore possible d’optimiser la nutrition azotée des animaux, cependant les gains escomptés sont modestes en regard des enjeux. La maîtrise de la chaîne de gestion des effluents ouvre plus de marges de manœuvre pour préserver l’azote organique et réduire les achats d’engrais minéraux. En effet, selon les modalités de gestion des effluents, les fuites vers l’environnement varient de 30 à 75% de l’azote rejeté par les animaux. Des innovations sont déjà disponibles pour le stockage et l’épandage, même si les incertitudes sur les facteurs de variation des émissions sont encore grandes. Il est enfin démontré que développer les prairies à base de légumineuses, les cultures intermédiaires pièges à nitrate (Cipan) et ajuster les rotations réduit les risques de lixiviation du nitrate. A l’échelle des systèmes, les modes de production à bas intrants (moins de fertilisants et d’aliments riches en protéines) améliorent l’efficience de l’azote et limitent donc les pertes vers l’environnement. Les indicateurs de type bilan d’azote à l’échelle de l’exploitation et de ses sous-systèmes (troupeau, gestion des effluents, sols et cultures) sont des outils adaptés pour identifier les sources d’inefficacité et rechercher les voies d’amélioration les mieux adaptées localement. De nombreux autres indicateurs approchent les niveaux d’émissions, de pollution ou les impacts, mais ne sont pas toujours d’usage facile. pour le document complet voir le pdf https://www6.inrae.fr/productions-animales/content/download/6365/88149/version/1/file/nouvelles+de+la+recherche.pdf

Murray Forman’s text The ‘Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip-Hop provides insightful commentary on the workings of and relationship between place and space. To highlight the difference of scale between these two parameters, he writes that, “place defines the immediate locale of human interaction in the particular, whereas space is the expanse of mobile trajectories through which subjects pass in their circulation between or among distinct and varied places” (25). This statement reflects Doreen Massey’s earlier observation from her book Space, Place, and Gender that “one view of a place is as a particular articulation” of the spatial (5). These descriptions clarify how human action shapes, and is shaped by, what Forman describes as the “more narrowly circumscribed parameters” of place (25) and the broader realm of space. Clearly, these two terms describe interconnected components that are socially constructed and dynamic: that is, they operate at different scales but are constructed in time, constantly reshaped by human action and perception. “Space and time are inextricably interwoven,” states Massey. She continues: “It is not that the interrelations between objects occur in space and time; it is these relationships themselves which create/define space and time” (261). If place and space represent different scales of social interaction and space and time are interconnected, place and time must be linked as well.While this indicates that human experience and representation operate on different scales, it is important to note that these two factors are also interrelated. As Stuart Hall writes, “[I]t is only through the way in which we represent and imagine ourselves that we come to know how we are constituted and who we are” (473). There is no objective experience, only that which is subjectively represented through various means. Through depictions of these relationships between place, space, and time, rap music shapes listeners’ comprehension of these parameters. DJs, MCs, producers, and other creative artists express personal observations through the influence of both the local and global, the past and present. In rap lyrics and their musical accompaniment, countries, cities, neighbourhoods, and even specific government housing developments inform the music, but the identities of these places and spaces are not fixed – for the performers or for the audience. They are more than the backdrop for what happens, inanimate structures or coordinates of latitude and longitude. Their dynamic nature, and their representation in music, serves to continually redefine “how we are constituted and who we are” (473).In MC Solaar’s Léve-toi et Rap from his 2001 album Cinquième as and his song Nouveau Western, from 1994’s Prose Combat, this is demonstrated in two very different ways. Léve-toi et Rap, a personal history told in the first person, clearly demonstrates both American hip-hop lineage and the transnational influences of Solaar’s upbringing. This song serves as an example of the adoption of American musical and lyrical techniques as means through which personally empowering, often place-based stories are told. In Nouveau Western, the narrative demonstrates the negative effects of globalization through this story about a geographically and temporally transported American cowboy. This track employs musical materials in a way that reflects the more critical lyrical commentary on the repercussions of American cultural and economic power. Through the manner of his storytelling, and through the stories themselves, MC Solaar explicitly demonstrates his own agency in representing, and thus constructing the meaning of, dynamic place and space as they are defined from these two perspectives.As a Paris-based French rapper, MC Solaar often makes his affiliation to this geographic focal point significant in his lyrics. This is especially clear in Léve-toi et Rap, in which Parisian banlieues (HLM government housing projects), nightclubs, and other places figure prominently in the text. From the lyrics, one learns a great deal about this rapper and his background: MC Solaar was born in Senegal, but his parents brought him to France when he was young (MC Solaar, “Léve-toi et Rap”; Petetin, 802, 805). He grew up struggling with the isolation and social problems of the banlieues and the discrimination he faced as an immigrant. He began rapping, established a musical career, and now encourages others to rap as a means of making something constructive out of a challenging situation. In the excerpt below, MC Solaar explains these origins and the move to the banlieues (Solaar, “Lève-toi et rap;” All translations by the author).Lève-toi et rap elaborates on the connection between the local and global in rap music, and between place, space, and time. The lyrics and music represent these properties in part by appropriating American rap’s stylistic practices. The introductory chorus incorporates sampled lyrics of the American artists Lords of the Underground, the Beastie Boys, Nas, and Redman (Various Contributors, “‘Lève-toi et rap’ Direct Sample of Vocals/Lyrics,” whosampled.com.). A bassline originally recorded by the funk group The Crusaders grounds the musical accompaniment that begins with the first verse (partially printed above), in which MC Solaar begins to depict his own place and space as he has experienced it temporally.In this chorus, the first sample is “I remember way back in the days on my block” from Lords of the Underground’s song Tic-Toc. This leads to “Oh My God” and “Ah, Ah, Ah,” both samples from Q-Tip’s contribution to the Beastie Boys’ song Get It Together. “I Excel,” which appears in Nas’s It Ain’t Hard to Tell comes next. The last sample, “Who Got the Funk,” is from Can’t Wait by Redman (Lords of the Underground, “Tic-Tic;” Beastie Boys and Q-Tip, “Get It Together;” Nas, “It Ain’t Hard to Tell;” The Crusaders, “The Well’s Gone Dry”).Scratching begins the introductory chorus (printed below), which ends with a voice announcing “MC Solaar.” At this point, the sampled bassline from The Crusaders’ 1974 song The Well’s Gone Dry begins.[Scratching]I remember back in the days on my block... Lords of the UndergroundOh my God... Ah, Ah, Ah... Beastie Boys and Q-TipI excel… NasWho got the funk... RedmanMC Solaar[Crusaders sample begins] The rap samples all date from 1994, the year Solaar released his well-received album Prose Combat and most are strategically placed: the first sample originated in the last verse of Tic-Toc, the Q-Tip samples in the middle are from the middle of Get It Together, and the last sample, “I Excel,” is from the first line of It Ain’t Hard to Tell. As Lève-toi et rap continues, MC Solaar’s statement of the song title itself replaces the iteration “MC Solaar” of the first chorus. In a sense, “Lève-toi et rap” becomes the last sample of the chorus. Through these American references, Solaar demonstrates an affiliation with the place in which rap is commonly known to have originally coalesced. For French rappers consciously working to prove their connection to rap’s lineage, such demonstrations are useful (Faure and Garcia, 81-82). Achieved by sampling music and lyrics from 1974 and 1994 from sources that are not all that obvious to a casual listener, Solaar spatially connects his work to the roots of rap (Shusterman, 214). These particular samples also highlight a spatial relationship to particular styles of rap that represent place and space in particular ways. Nas and Lords of the Underground, for instance, have added to the discourse on street credibility and authenticity, while Q-tip has provided commentary on social and political issues. MC Solaar’s own story widens the parameters for illustrating these concepts, as he incorporates the personally significant places such as Senegal, Chad, and the Saint Denis banlieue to establish street credibility on a transnational scale; the lyrics also describe serious social and political issues, including the “skinheads” he encountered while living in Paris. Dynamic place is clear throughout all of this, as everything occurring in these places is meaningful in part because of the unavoidable relationship with the passing of time – Solaar’s birth, his upbringing, and his success occurred through his choices and social interactions in specific places.Looking more closely at the representation of place and time, Lève-toi et rap is less than straightforward. As discussed previously, some of the vocal samples are rearranged, demonstrating purposeful alteration of pre-recorded material; in contrast, the use of a repeated funk bassline sample during a clear narrative of Solaar’s life juxtaposes a linear story with a non-linear musical accompaniment. To this, MC Solaar made a contemporary textual contribution to later choruses, with the title of the song added as the chorus’s last line. Such manipulation in the context of this first-person narrative to express this movement supports the conclusion that, far from being a victim of political and economic forces, MC Solaar has used them to his advantage. After all, the title of the song itself, Lève-toi et rap, translates roughly to “get up and rap.”In addition to manipulating the materials of American rap and funk for this purpose, Solaar’s use of verlan, a type of slang used in the banlieues, brings another level of locality to Lève-toi et rap. The use of verlan brings the song’s association with French banlieue culture closer: by communicating in a dialect fluently understood by relatively few, rappers ensure that their message will be understood best by those who share the constellation of social and temporal relations of these housing developments (Milon, 75). Adding verlan to other slang and to unique grammatical rules, the rap of the banlieues is to some extent in its own language (Prévos, “Business” 902-903).Referring to MC Solaar’s 1994 album Prose Combat, André Prévos observed that this material “clearly illustrates the continuity of this tradition, all the while adding an identifiable element of social and personal protest as well as an identifiable amount of ‘signifying’ also inspired by African American hip-hip lyrics” (Prévos, “Postcolonial” 43). While it is clear at this point that this is also true for Lève-toi et rap from Cinquème as, Nouveau Western from Prose Combat demonstrates continuity in different way. To start, the samples used in this song create a more seamless texture. A sample from the accompaniment to Serge Gainsbourg’s Bonnie and Clyde from 1967 undergirds the song, providing a French pop reference to a story about an American character (Various Contributors, “Nouveau Western” whosampled.com). The bassline from Bonnie and Clyde is present throughout Nouveau Western, while the orchestral layer from the sample is heard during sections of the verses and choruses. Parts of the song also feature alto saxophone samples that provide continuity with the jazz-influenced character of many songs on this album.The contrasts with Lève-toi et rap continue with the lyrical content. Rather than describing his own process of acquiring knowledge and skill as he moved in time from place to place, in Nouveau Western MC Solaar tells the story of a cowboy named “Harry Zona” who was proud and independent living in Arizona, hunting for gold with his horse, but who becomes a victim in contemporary Paris. In the fabled west, the guns he carries and his method of transportation facilitate his mission: Il erre dans les plaines, fier, solitaire. Son cheval est son partenaire [He wanders the plains, proud, alone. His horse is his partner.]. After suddenly being transported to modern-day Paris, he orders a drink from an “Indian,” at a bistro and “scalps” the foam off, but this is surely a different kind of person and practice than Solaar describes Harry encountering in the States (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).After leaving the bistro, Harry is arrested driving his stagecoach on the highway and shut away by the authorities in Fresnes prison for his aberrant behaviour. His pursuit of gold worked for him in the first context, but the quest for wealth advanced in his home country contributed to the conditions he now faces, and which MC Solaar critiques, later in the song. He raps, Les States sont comme une sorte de multinationale / Elle exporte le western et son monde féudal / Dicte le bien, le mal, Lucky Luke et les Dalton [The States are a kind of multinational”/ “They export the western and its feudal way/ Dictate the good the bad, Lucky Luke and the Daltons] (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).Harry seems to thrive in the environment portrayed as the old west: as solitary hero, he serves as a symbol of the States’ independent spirit. In the nouveau far west [new far west] francophone comic book characters Lucky Luke and the Daltons sont camouflés en Paul Smith’s et Wesson [are camouflaged in Paul Smith’s and Wesson], and Harry is not equipped to cope with this confusing combination. He is lost as he negotiates le système moderne se noie l’individu [the modern system that drowns the individual]. To return to Bonnie and Clyde, these ill-fated and oft-fabled figures weren’t so triumphant either, and in Gainsbourg’s song, they are represented by 1960s French pop rather than by even a hint of local 1930s musical traditions. “Harry Zona” is not the only person whose story unfolds through the lens of another culture.While Solaar avoids heavy use of verlan or other Parisian slang in this song, he does use several American cultural references, some of which I have already mentioned. In addition, the word “western” refers to western movies, but it also serves as another term for the United States and its cultural exports. “Hollywood” is another term for the west, and in this context MC Solaar warns his listeners to question this fictional setting. Following his observation that John Wayne looks like Lucky Luke, “well groomed like an archduke,” he exclaims Hollywood nous berne, Hollywood berne! [Hollywood fooled us! Hollywood fools!]. This is followed by, on dit gare au gorille, mais gare à Gary Cooper [as they say watch out for the gorilla, watch out for Gary Cooper]. Slick characters like the ones Gary Cooper played have ultimately served as cultural capital that has generated economic capital for the “multinational” States that Solaar describes. As Harry moves “epochs and places,” he discovers that this sort of influence, now disguised in fashion-forward clothing, is more influential than his Smith and Wesson of the old west (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).It is important to note that this narrative is described with the language of the cultural force that it critiques. As Geoffrey Baker writes, “MC Solaar delves into the masterpieces and linguistic arsenal of his colonizers in order to twist the very foundations of their linguistic oppression against them” (Baker, 241). These linguistic – and cultural – references facilitate this ironic critique of the “new Far West”: Harry suffers in the grip of a more sophisticated gold rush (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).Lève-toi et rap transforms musical and verbal language as well, but the changes are more overt. Even though the musical samples are distinctly American, they are transformed, and non-American places of import to MC Solaar are described with heavy use of slang. This situates the song in American and French cultural territory while demonstrating Solaar’s manipulation of both. He is empowered by the specialized expression of place and space, and by the loud and proud references to a dynamic upbringing, in which struggle culminates in triumph.Empowerment through such manipulation is an attractive interpretation, but because this exercise includes the transformation of a colonizer’s language, it ultimately depends on understanding rap as linked to some extent to what Murray Forman and Tricia Rose describe as “Western cultural imperialism” (Rose, 19; Forman, 21). Both Rose and Forman point out that rap has benefitted from what Rose describes as “the disproportionate exposure of U.S. artists around the world,” (Rose, 19) even though this music has provided an avenue through which marginalized groups have articulated social and political concerns (Rose, 19; Forman 21). The “transnational circulation of contemporary culture industries” that Forman describes (21) has benefitted multinational corporations, but it has also provided new means of expression for those reached by this global circulation. Additionally, this process has engendered a sense of community around the world among those who identify with rap’s musical and lyrical practices and content; in many cases, rap’s connection to the African diaspora is a significant factor in the music’s appeal. This larger spatial connection occurs alongside more locally place-based connections. Lève-toi et rap clearly manifests this sense of simultaneously negotiating one’s role as a global citizen and as an individual firmly grounded in the place and space of local experience.Even though rap has been a music of resistance to hegemonic social and economic forces for people around the world, it is nonetheless important to recognize that the forces that have disseminated this music on a global scale have contributed to the unequal distribution of wealth and power. Working within this system is almost always unavoidable for rappers, many of whom criticize these conditions in their music, but depend on these transnational corporations for their success. Paul A. Silverstein writes that “hip-hop formations themselves, while enunciating an explicit critique of both state interventionism and the global market, have directly benefited from both and, to be sure, simultaneously desire their end and their continuation” (47-48). This is very clear in Nouveau Western, which Silverstein writes “portrayed neo-liberalism as a ‘new Far West’ where credit cards replace Remingtons.” (48) That this critique has reached a large audience in the francophone world and elsewhere highlights the irony of the situation: under the current system of popular musical production and circulation, such material often must reach its audience through complicity with the very system it denounces. This view on the mixture of the local and global presented in these songs illustrates this confusing situation, but from another perspective, the representation of social interaction on varying scales connects to the factors that have contributed to rap since its inception. Local places and geographically broad spatial connections have been articulated in constantly changing ways through musical and lyrical sampling, original lyrical references, and the uses that creators, listeners, and the industry enact vis-à-vis global rap culture. Whether revealed through clear references to American rap that facilitate a personal narrative or through a more complicated critique of American culture, MC Solaar’s songs Lève-toi et rap and Nouveau Western expose some accomplishments of a French rapper whose work reveals personal agency both outside and within the “multinational” United States. ReferencesBaker, Geoffrey. “Preachers, Gangsters, Pranksters: MC Solaar and Hip-Hop as Overt and Covert Revolt.” The Journal of Popular Culture 44 (2011): 233-54.Beastie Boys and Q-Tip. “Get It Together.” Ill Communication. Grand Royal Records, 1994. CD.Faure, Sylvia, and Marie-Carmen Garcia. “Conflits de Valeurs et Générations.” Culture Hip Hop Jeunes des Cités et Politiques Publiques. Paris: La Dispute SNÉDIT, 2005. 69-83. Forman, Murray. “Space Matters: Hip-Hop and the Spatial Perspective.” The ‘Hood Comes First: Race, Space and Place in Rap and Hip-Hop. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 2002. 1- 34. Hall, Stuart. “What Is This ‘Black’ in Black Popular Culture?” Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, Edited by David Morley and Kuan-Hsing Chen. London: Routledge, 1996. 465-475. Lords of the Underground. “Tic-Tic.” Keepers of the Funk. Pendulum Records, 1994. CD.Massey, Doreen. Space, Place and Gender. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press, 1994. 19-24.Milon, Alain. “Pourquoi le Rappeur Chante? Le Rap comme Expression de la Relégation Urbaine.” Cités 19 (2004): 71-80.MC Solaar (Claude M’Barali). “Lève-toi et rap.” Cinquème as. Wea International, 2001. CD.———. “Nouveau Western.” Prose Combat. Cohiba, 1994. CD.Nas. “It Ain’t Hard to Tell.” Illmatic. Columbia Records, 1994. CD.Petetin, Véronique. “Slam, Rap, et ‘Mondialité.” Études 6 (June 2009): 797-808.Prévos, André J.M. “Le Business du Rap en France.” The French Review 74 (April 2001): 900-21.———. “Postcolonial Popular Music in France.” Global Noise: Rap and Hip-Hop outside the USA. Ed. Tony Mitchell. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 2001. 39-56. Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1994.Shusterman, Richard. “L’Estitique Postmoderne du Rap.” Rue Deseartes 5/6 (November 1992): 209-28.Silverstein, Paul A. “‘Why Are We Waiting to Start the Fire?’: French Gangsta Rap and the Critique of State Capitalism.” Black, Blanc, Beur: Rap Music and Hip-Hop Culture in the Francophone World. Ed. Alain-Philippe Durand. Oxford: Scarecrow Press, 2002. 45-67. The Crusaders. “The Well’s Gone Dry.” Southern Comfort. ABC/Blue Thumb Records, 1974. CD.Various Contributors. “‘Lève-toi et rap’ Direct Sample of Vocals/Lyrics.” whosampled.com.———. “‘Nouveau Western’ Direct Sample of Hook/Riff.” whosampled.com.Various Contributors. “MC Solaar – ‘Lève-toi et rap’ Lyrics.” Rap Genius.

Data are generated and employed for many ends, including governing societies, managing organisations, leveraging profit, and regulating places. In all these cases, data are key inputs into systems that paradoxically are implemented in the name of making societies more secure, safe, competitive, productive, efficient, transparent and accountable, yet do so through processes that monitor, discipline, repress, coerce, and exploit people. (Kitchin, 165) Introduction Provenance refers to the place of origin or earliest known history of a thing. It refers to the custodial history of objects. It is a term that is commonly used in the art-world but also has come into the language of other disciplines such as computer science. It has also been applied in reference to the transactional nature of objects in supply chains and circular economies. In an interview with Scotland’s Institute for Public Policy Research, Adam Greenfield suggests that provenance has a role to play in the “establishment of reliability” given that a “transaction or artifact has a specified provenance, then that assertion can be tested and verified to the satisfaction of all parities” (Lawrence). Recent debates on the unrecognised effects of digital media have convincingly argued that data is fully embroiled within capitalism, but it is necessary to remember that data is more than just a transactable commodity. One challenge in bringing processes of datafication into critical light is how we understand what happens to data from its point of acquisition to the point where it becomes instrumental in the production of outcomes that are of ethical concern. All data gather their meaning through relationality; whether acting as a representation of an exterior world or representing relations between other data points. Data objectifies relations, and despite any higher-order complexities, at its core, data is involved in factualising a relation into a binary. Assumptions like these about data shape reasoning, decision-making and evidence-based practice in private, personal and economic contexts. If processes of datafication are to be better understood, then we need to seek out conceptual frameworks that are adequate to the way that data is used and understood by its users. Deborah Lupton suggests that often we give data “other vital capacities because they are about human life itself, have implications for human life opportunities and livelihoods, [and] can have recursive effects on human lives (shaping action and concepts of embodiment ... selfhood [and subjectivity]) and generate economic value”. But when data are afforded such capacities, the analysis of its politics also calls for us to “consider context” and “making the labour [of datafication] visible” (D’Ignazio and Klein). For Jenny L. Davis, getting beyond simply thinking about what data affords involves bringing to light how continually and dynamically to requests, demands, encourages, discourages, and refuses certain operations and interpretations. It is in this re-orientation of the question from what to how where “practical analytical tool[s]” (Davis) can be found. Davis writes: requests and demands are bids placed by technological objects, on user-subjects. Encourage, discourage and refuse are the ways technologies respond to bids user-subjects place upon them. Allow pertains equally to bids from technological objects and the object’s response to user-subjects. (Davis) Building on Lupton, Davis, and D’Ignazio and Klein, we see three principles that we consider crucial for work on data, darkness and light: data is not simply a technological object that exists within sociotechnical systems without having undergone any priming or processing, so as a consequence the data collecting entity imposes standards and way of imagining data before it comes into contact with user-subjects; data is not neutral and does not possess qualities that make it equivalent to the things that it comes to represent; data is partial, situated, and contingent on technical processes, but the outcomes of its use afford it properties beyond those that are purely informational. This article builds from these principles and traces a framework for investigating the complications arising when data moves from one context to another. We draw from the “data provenance” as it is applied in the computing and informational sciences where it is used to query the location and accuracy of data in databases. In developing “data provenance”, we adapt provenance from an approach that solely focuses on technical infrastructures and material processes that move data from one place to another and turn to sociotechnical, institutional, and discursive forces that bring about data acquisition, sharing, interpretation, and re-use. As data passes through open, opaque, and darkened spaces within sociotechnical systems, we argue that provenance can shed light on gaps and overlaps in technical, legal, ethical, and ideological forms of data governance. Whether data becomes exclusive by moving from light to dark (as has happened with the removal of many pages and links from Facebook around the Australian news revenue-sharing bill), or is publicised by shifting from dark to light (such as the Australian government releasing investigative journalist Andie Fox’s welfare history to the press), or even recontextualised from one dark space to another (as with genetic data shifting from medical to legal contexts, or the theft of personal financial data), there is still a process of transmission here that we can assess and critique through provenance. These different modalities, which guide data acquisition, sharing, interpretation, and re-use, cascade and influence different elements and apparatuses within data-driven sociotechnical systems to different extents depending on context. Attempts to illuminate and make sense of these complex forces, we argue, exposes data-driven practices as inherently political in terms of whose interests they serve. Provenance in Darkness and in Light When processes of data capture, sharing, interpretation, and re-use are obscured, it impacts on the extent to which we might retrospectively examine cases where malpractice in responsible data custodianship and stewardship has occurred, because it makes it difficult to see how things have been rendered real and knowable, changed over time, had causality ascribed to them, and to what degree of confidence a decision has been made based on a given dataset. To borrow from this issue’s concerns, the paradigm of dark spaces covers a range of different kinds of valences on the idea of private, secret, or exclusive contexts. We can parallel it with the idea of ‘light’ spaces, which equally holds a range of different concepts about what is open, public, or accessible. For instance, in the use of social data garnered from online platforms, the practices of academic researchers and analysts working in the private sector often fall within a grey zone when it comes to consent and transparency. Here the binary notion of public and private is complicated by the passage of data from light to dark (and back to light). Writing in a different context, Michael Warner complicates the notion of publicness. He observes that the idea of something being public is in and of itself always sectioned off, divorced from being fully generalisable, and it is “just whatever people in a given context think it is” (11). Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri argue that publicness is already shadowed by an idea of state ownership, leaving us in a situation where public and private already both sit on the same side of the propertied/commons divide as if the “only alternative to the private is the public, that is, what is managed and regulated by states and other governmental authorities” (vii). The same can be said about the way data is conceived as a public good or common asset. These ideas of light and dark are useful categorisations for deliberately moving past the tensions that arise when trying to qualify different subspecies of privacy and openness. The problem with specific linguistic dyads of private vs. public, or open vs. closed, and so on, is that they are embedded within legal, moral, technical, economic, or rhetorical distinctions that already involve normative judgements on whether such categories are appropriate or valid. Data may be located in a dark space for legal reasons that fall under the legal domain of ‘private’ or it may be dark because it has been stolen. It may simply be inaccessible, encrypted away behind a lost password on a forgotten external drive. Equally, there are distinctions around lightness that can be glossed – the openness of Open Data (see: theodi.org) is of an entirely separate category to the AACS encryption key, which was illegally but enthusiastically shared across the internet in 2007 to the point where it is now accessible on Wikipedia. The language of light and dark spaces allows us to cut across these distinctions and discuss in deliberately loose terms the degree to which something is accessed, with any normative judgments reserved for the cases themselves. Data provenance, in this sense, can be used as a methodology to critique the way that data is recontextualised from light to dark, dark to light, and even within these distinctions. Data provenance critiques the way that data is presented as if it were “there for the taking”. This also suggests that when data is used for some or another secondary purpose – generally for value creation – some form of closure or darkening is to be expected. Data in the public domain is more than simply a specific informational thing: there is always context, and this contextual specificity, we argue, extends far beyond anything that can be captured in a metadata schema or a licensing model. Even the transfer of data from one open, public, or light context to another will evoke new degrees of openness and luminosity that should not be assumed to be straightforward. And with this a new set of relations between data-user-subjects and stewards emerges. The movement of data between public and private contexts by virtue of the growing amount of personal information that is generated through the traces left behind as people make use of increasingly digitised services going about their everyday lives means that data-motile processes are constantly occurring behind the scenes – in darkness – where it comes into the view, or possession, of third parties without obvious mechanisms of consent, disclosure, or justification. Given that there are “many hands” (D’Iganzio and Klein) involved in making data portable between light and dark spaces, equally there can be diversity in the approaches taken to generate critical literacies of these relations. There are two complexities that we argue are important for considering the ethics of data motility from light to dark, and this differs from the concerns that we might have when we think about other illuminating tactics such as open data publishing, freedom-of-information requests, or when data is anonymously leaked in the public interest. The first is that the terms of ethics must be communicable to individuals and groups whose data literacy may be low, effectively non-existent, or not oriented around the objective of upholding or generating data-luminosity as an element of a wider, more general form of responsible data stewardship. Historically, a productive approach to data literacy has been finding appropriate metaphors from adjacent fields that can help add depth – by way of analogy – to understanding data motility. Here we return to our earlier assertion that data is more than simply a transactable commodity. Consider the notion of “giving” and “taking” in the context of darkness and light. The analogy of giving and taking is deeply embedded into the notion of data acquisition and sharing by virtue of the etymology of the word data itself: in Latin, “things having been given”, whereby in French données, a natural gift, perhaps one that is given to those that attempt capture for the purposes of empiricism – representation in quantitative form is a quality that is given to phenomena being brought into the light. However, in the contemporary parlance of “analytics” data is “taken” in the form of recording, measuring, and tracking. Data is considered to be something valuable enough to give or take because of its capacity to stand in for real things. The empiricist’s preferred method is to take rather than to accept what is given (Kitchin, 2); the data-capitalist’s is to incentivise the act of giving or to take what is already given (or yet to be taken). Because data-motile processes are not simply passive forms of reading what is contained within a dataset, the materiality and subjectivity of data extraction and interpretation is something that should not be ignored. These processes represent the recontextualisation of data from one space to another and are expressed in the landmark case of Cambridge Analytica, where a private research company extracted data from Facebook and used it to engage in psychometric analysis of unknowing users. Data Capture Mechanism Characteristics and Approach to Data Stewardship Historical Information created, recorded, or gathered about people of things directly from the source or a delegate but accessed for secondary purposes. Observational Represents patterns and realities of everyday life, collected by subjects by their own choice and with some degree of discretion over the methods. Third parties access this data through reciprocal arrangement with the subject (e.g., in exchange for providing a digital service such as online shopping, banking, healthcare, or social networking). Purposeful Data gathered with a specific purpose in mind and collected with the objective to manipulate its analysis to achieve certain ends. Integrative Places less emphasis on specific data types but rather looks towards social and cultural factors that afford access to and facilitate the integration and linkage of disparate datasets Table 1: Mechanisms of Data Capture There are ethical challenges associated with data that has been sourced from pre-existing sets or that has been extracted from websites and online platforms through scraping data and then enriching it through cleaning, annotation, de-identification, aggregation, or linking to other data sources (tab. 1). As a way to address this challenge, our suggestion of “data provenance” can be defined as where a data point comes from, how it came into being, and how it became valuable for some or another purpose. In developing this idea, we borrow from both the computational and biological sciences (Buneman et al.) where provenance, as a form of qualitative inquiry into data-motile processes, centres around understanding the origin of a data point as part of a broader almost forensic analysis of quality and error-potential in datasets. Provenance is an evaluation of a priori computational inputs and outputs from the results of database queries and audits. Provenance can also be applied to other contexts where data passes through sociotechnical systems, such as behavioural analytics, targeted advertising, machine learning, and algorithmic decision-making. Conventionally, data provenance is based on understanding where data has come from and why it was collected. Both these questions are concerned with the evaluation of the nature of a data point within the wider context of a database that is itself situated within a larger sociotechnical system where the data is made available for use. In its conventional sense, provenance is a means of ensuring that a data point is maintained as a single source of truth (Buneman, 89), and by way of a reproducible mechanism which allows for its path through a set of technical processes, it affords the assessment of a how reliable a system’s output might be by sheer virtue of the ability for one to retrace the steps from point A to B. “Where” and “why” questions are illuminating because they offer an ends-and-means view of the relation between the origins and ultimate uses of a given data point or set. Provenance is interesting when studying data luminosity because means and ends have much to tell us about the origins and uses of data in ways that gesture towards a more accurate and structured research agenda for data ethics that takes the emphasis away from individual moral patients and reorients it towards practices that occur within information management environments. Provenance offers researchers seeking to study data-driven practices a similar heuristic to a journalist’s line of questioning who, what, when, where, why, and how? This last question of how is something that can be incorporated into conventional models of provenance that make it useful in data ethics. The question of how data comes into being extends questions of power, legality, literacy, permission-seeking, and harm in an entangled way and notes how these factors shape the nature of personal data as it moves between contexts. Forms of provenance accumulate from transaction to transaction, cascading along, as a dataset ‘picks up’ the types of provenance that have led to its creation. This may involve multiple forms of overlapping provenance – methodological and epistemological, legal and illegal – which modulate different elements and apparatuses. Provenance, we argue is an important methodological consideration for workers in the humanities and social sciences. Provenance provides a set of shared questions on which models of transparency, accountability, and trust may be established. It points us towards tactics that might help data-subjects understand privacy in a contextual manner (Nissenbaum) and even establish practices of obfuscation and “informational self-defence” against regimes of datafication (Brunton and Nissenbaum). Here provenance is not just a declaration of what means and ends of data capture, sharing, linkage, and analysis are. We sketch the outlines of a provenance model in table 2 below. Type Metaphorical frame Dark Light What? The epistemological structure of a database determines the accuracy of subsequent decisions. Data must be consistent. What data is asked of a person beyond what is strictly needed for service delivery. Data that is collected for a specific stated purpose with informed consent from the data-subject. How does the decision about what to collect disrupt existing polities and communities? What demands for conformity does the database make of its subjects? Where? The contents of a database is important for making informed decisions. Data must be represented. The parameters of inclusion/exclusion that create unjust risks or costs to people because of their inclusion or exclusion in a dataset. The parameters of inclusion or exclusion that afford individuals representation or acknowledgement by being included or excluded from a dataset. How are populations recruited into a dataset? What divides exist that systematically exclude individuals? Who? Who has access to data, and how privacy is framed is important for the security of data-subjects. Data access is political. Access to the data by parties not disclosed to the data-subject. Who has collected the data and who has or will access it? How is the data made available to those beyond the data subjects? How? Data is created with a purpose and is never neutral. Data is instrumental. How the data is used, to what ends, discursively, practically, instrumentally. Is it a private record, a source of value creation, the subject of extortion or blackmail? How the data was intended to be used at the time that it was collected. Why? Data is created by people who are shaped by ideological factors. Data has potential. The political rationality that shapes data governance with regard to technological innovation. The trade-offs that are made known to individuals when they contribute data into sociotechnical systems over which they have limited control. Table 2: Forms of Data Provenance Conclusion As an illuminating methodology, provenance offers a specific line of questioning practices that take information through darkness and light. The emphasis that it places on a narrative for data assets themselves (asking what when, who, how, and why) offers a mechanism for traceability and has potential for application across contexts and cases that allows us to see data malpractice as something that can be productively generalised and understood as a series of ideologically driven technical events with social and political consequences without being marred by perceptions of exceptionality of individual, localised cases of data harm or data violence. References Brunton, Finn, and Helen Nissenbaum. "Political and Ethical Perspectives on Data Obfuscation." Privacy, Due Process and the Computational Turn: The Philosophy of Law Meets the Philosophy of Technology. Eds. Mireille Hildebrandt and Katja de Vries. New York: Routledge, 2013. 171-195. Buneman, Peter, Sanjeev Khanna, and Wang-Chiew Tan. "Data Provenance: Some Basic Issues." International Conference on Foundations of Software Technology and Theoretical Computer Science. Berlin: Springer, 2000. Davis, Jenny L. How Artifacts Afford: The Power and Politics of Everyday Things. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2020. D'Ignazio, Catherine, and Lauren F. Klein. Data Feminism. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2020. Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Commonwealth. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2009. Kitchin, Rob. "Big Data, New Epistemologies and Paradigm Shifts." Big Data & Society 1.1 (2014). Lawrence, Matthew. “Emerging Technology: An Interview with Adam Greenfield. ‘God Forbid That Anyone Stopped to Ask What Harm This Might Do to Us’. Institute for Public Policy Research, 13 Oct. 2017. <https://www.ippr.org/juncture-item/emerging-technology-an-interview-with-adam-greenfield-god-forbid-that-anyone-stopped-to-ask-what-harm-this-might-do-us>. Lupton, Deborah. "Vital Materialism and the Thing-Power of Lively Digital Data." Social Theory, Health and Education. Eds. Deana Leahy, Katie Fitzpatrick, and Jan Wright. London: Routledge, 2018. Nissenbaum, Helen F. Privacy in Context: Technology, Policy, and the Integrity of Social Life. Stanford: Stanford Law Books, 2020. Warner, Michael. "Publics and Counterpublics." Public Culture 14.1 (2002): 49-90.

IntroductionUtopian and forward looking in tenor, official narratives of urban renewal and development implicitly promote normative ideals of progress and necessary civic improvement. Yet an underlying condition of such renewal is frequently the very opposite of building: the demolition of existing urban fabric. Taking as its starting point the large-scale demolition of buildings proposed for the NSW Government’s Sydney Metro rail project, this article interrogates the role of literary treatments of demolition in mediating complex, and often contradictory, responses to transformations of the built environment. Case studies are drawn from literary texts in which demolition and infrastructure development are key preoccupations, notably Louis Aragon’s 1926 Surrealist document of a threatened Parisian arcade, Paris Peasant, and the non-fiction accounts of the redevelopment of London’s East End by British writer Iain Sinclair. Sydney UnbuiltPresently, Australia’s biggest public transport project according to the NSW Government website, the Sydney Metro is set to revolutionise Sydney’s rail future with more than 30 metro stations and a fleet of fully-automated driverless trains. Its impetus extends at least as far back as the Liberal-National Coalition’s landslide win at the 2011 New South Wales state election when Barry O’Farrell, then party leader, declared “NSW has to be rebuilt” (qtd in Aston). Infrastructure upgrades became one of the Coalition’s key priorities upon forming government. Following a second Coalition win at the 2015 election, the state of NSW, or the city of Sydney more accurately, remains today deep amidst widespread building works with an unprecedented number of infrastructure, development and urban renewal projects simultaneously underway.From an historical perspective, Sydney is certainly no stranger to demolition. This was in evidence in Demolished Sydney, an exhibition at the Museum of Sydney that captured the zeitgeist of 2016 with its historical survey of Sydney’s demolished architecture. As the exhibition media release pointed out: “Since 1788 Sydney has been built, unbuilt and rebuilt as it has grown from Georgian town to Victorian city to the global urban centre it is today” (Museum of Sydney). What this evolutionist narrative glosses over, however, is the extent to which the impact of Sydney’s significant reinventions of itself through large-scale redevelopment are often not properly registered until well after such changes have taken place. With the imminent commencement of Sydney Metro Stage 2 CBD works, the city similarly stands to lose a number of buildings that embody the civic urban ideals of an earlier era, the effects of which are unlikely to be fully appreciated until the project’s post-demolition phase. The revelation, over the past year, of the full extent of demolition required to build Sydney Metro casts a spotlight on the project and raises questions about its likely impact in reconfiguring the character of Sydney’s inner city. An Environmental Impact Statement Summary (EISS) released by the NSW Government in May 2016 confirms that 79 buildings in the CBD and surrounding suburbs are slated for demolition as part of station development plans for the Stage 2 Chatswood to Sydenham line (Transport for NSW). Initial assurances were that the large majority of acquisitions would be commercial buildings. Yet, the mix also comprises some locally-heritage listed structures including, most notably, 7 Elizabeth Street Sydney (Image 1), a residential apartment tower of 54 studio flats located at the top end of the Sydney central business district.Image 1: 7 Elizabeth Street Sydney apartment towers (middle). Architect: Emil Sodersten. Image credit: Ella Mudie.As the sole surviving block of CBD flats constructed during the 1930s, 7 Elizabeth Street had been identified by the Australian Institute of Architects as an example of historically significant twentieth-century residential architecture. Furthermore, the modernist block is aesthetically significant as the work of prominent Art Deco architect Emil Sodersten (1899-1961) and interior designer Marion Hall Best (1905-1988). Disregarding recommendations that the building should be retained and conserved, Transport for NSW compulsorily acquired the block, evicting residents in late 2016 from one of the few remaining sources of affordable housing in the inner-city. Meanwhile, a few blocks down at 302 Pitt Street the more than century-old Druids House (Image 2) is also set to be demolished for the Metro development. Prior to purchase by Transport for NSW, the property had been slated for a state-of-the-art adaptive reuse as a boutique hotel which would have preserved the building’s façade and windows. In North Sydney, a locally heritage listed shopfront at 187 Miller Street, one of the few examples of the Victorian Italianate style remaining on the street, faces a similar fate. Image 2. Druids House, 302 Pitt Street Sydney. Image credit: Ella Mudie.Beyond the bureaucratic accounting of the numbers and locations of demolitions outlined in the NSW Government’s EISS, this survey of disappearing structures highlights to what extent, large-scale transport infrastructure projects like Sydney Metro, can reshape what the Situationists termed the “psychogeography” of a city; the critical manner in which places and environments affect our emotions and behaviour. With their tendency to erase traces of the city’s past and to smooth over its textures, those variegations in the urban fabric that emerge from the interrelationship of the built environment with the lived experience of a space, the changes wrought by infrastructure and development thus manifest a certain anguish of urban dynamism that is connected to broader anxieties over modernity’s “speed of change and the ever-changing horizons of time and space” (Huyssen 23). Indeed, just as startling as the disappearance of older and more idiosyncratic structures is the demolition of newer building stock which, in the case of Sydney Metro, includes the slated demolition of a well-maintained 22-storey commercial office tower at 39 Martin Place (Image 3). Completed in just 1972, the fact that the lifespan of this tower will amount to less than fifty years points to the rapid obsolescence, and sheer disposability, of commercial building stock in the twenty first-century. It is also indicative of the drive towards destruction that operates within the project of modernism itself. Pondering the relationship of modernist architecture to time, Guiliana Bruno asks: can we really speak of a modernist ruin? Unlike the porous, permeable stone of ancient building, the material of modernism does not ‘ruin.’ Concrete does not decay. It does not slowly erode and corrode, fade out or fade away. It cannot monumentally disintegrate. In some way, modernist architecture does not absorb the passing of time. Adverse to deterioration, it does not age easily, gracefully or elegantly. (80)In its resistance to organic ruination, Bruno’s comment thus implies it is demolition that will be the fate of the large majority of the urban building stock of the twentieth century and beyond. In this way, Sydney Metro is symptomatic of far broader cycles of replenishment and renewal at play in cities around the world, bringing to the fore timely questions about demolition and modernity, the conflict between economic development and the civic good, and social justice concerns over the public’s right to the city. Image 3: 39 Martin Place Sydney. Image credit: Ella Mudie.In the second part of this article, I turn to literary treatments of demolition in order to consider what role the writer might play in giving expression to some of the conflicts and tensions, as exemplified by Sydney Metro, that manifest in ‘unbuilding’ the city. How might literature, I ask, be uniquely placed to mobilise critique? And to what extent does the writer—as both a detached observer and engaged participant in the city—occupy an ambivalent stance especially sensitive to the inherent contradictions and paradoxes of the built environment’s relationship to modernity?Iain Sinclair: Calling Time on the Grand Projects For more than two decades, British author Iain Sinclair has been mapping the shifting terrain of London and its edgelands across a spectrum of experimental fiction and non-fiction works. In addition to the thematic attention paid to neoliberal capitalist processes of urban renewal and their tendency to implode established ties between place, memory and identity, Sinclair’s hybrid documentary-novels are especially pertinent to the analysis of “writing demolition” for their distinct writerly approach. Two recent texts, Ghost Milk: Calling Time on the Grand Project (2011) and London Overground: A Day’s Walk around the Ginger Line (2015), highlight an intensification of interest on Sinclair’s part in the growing influence exerted by global finance, hyper consumerism and security fears on the reterritorialisation of the English capital. Written in the lead up to the 2012 London Olympics, Ghost Milk is Sinclair’s scathing indictment of the corporate greed that fuelled the large-scale redevelopment of Stratford and its surrounds ahead of the Games. It is an angry and vocal response to urban transformation, a sustained polemic intensified by the author’s local perspective. A long-term resident of East London, in the 1970s Sinclair worked as a labourer at Chobham Farm and thus feels a personal assault in how Stratford “abdicated its fixed identity and willingly prostituted itself as a backdrop for experimental malls, rail hubs and computer generated Olympic parks” (28). For Sinclair, the bulldozing of the Stratford and Hackney boroughs was performed in the name of a so-called civic legacy beyond the Olympic spectacle that failed to culminate in anything more than a “long march towards a theme park without a theme” (11), a site emblematic of the bland shopping mall architecture of what Sinclair derisorily terms “the GP [Grand Project] era” (125).As a literary treatment of demolition Ghost Milk is particularly concerned with the compromised role of language in urban planning rhetoric. The redevelopment required for the Olympics is backed by a “fraudulent narrative” (99), says Sinclair, a conspiratorial co-optation of language made to bend in the service of urban gentrification. “In many ways,” he writes, “the essential literature of the GP era is the proposal, the bullet-point pitch, the perversion of natural language into weasel forms of not-saying” (125). This impoverishment and simplification of language, Sinclair argues, weakens the critical thinking required to recognise the propagandising tendencies underlying so many urban renewal programs.The author’s vocal admonishment of the London Olympics did not go unnoticed. In 2008 a reading from his forthcoming book Hackney, That Rose-Red Empire (2009), at a local library was cancelled out of fear of providing a public platform for his negative views. In Ghost Milk Sinclair reflects upon the treatment of his not yet published docu-novel as “found guilty, with no right of reply, of being political but somehow outside politics” (115). Confronted with the type of large-scale change that underpins such projects as the Olympic Games, or the Sydney Metro closer to home, Sinclair’s predicament points to the ambiguous position of influence occupied by writers. On the one hand, influence is limited in so far as authors play no formal part in the political process. Yet, when outspoken critique resonates words can become suddenly powerful, radically undermining the authority of slick environmental impact statements and sanctioned public consultation findings. In a more poetic sense, Sinclair’s texts are further influential for the way in which they offer a subjective mythologising of the city as a counterpoint to the banal narratives of bureaucratised urbanism. This is especially apparent in London Overground: A Day’s Walk around the Ginger Line (2015), in which Sinclair recounts a single-day street-level pedestrian exploration of the 35-mile and 33-station circuit of the new London Overground railway line. Surveying with disapproval the “new bridges, artisan bakeries, blue-bike racks and coffee shops” (20) that have sprung up along the route of the elevated railway, the initial gambit of the text appears to be to critique the London Overground as a “device for boosting property values” (23). Rail zone as “generator for investment” (31), and driver of the political emasculation of suburbs like Hackney and Shoreditch. Yet as the text develops the narrator appears increasingly drawn to the curious manner in which the Overground line performs an “accidental re-mapping of London” (24). He drifts, then, in search of: a site in which to confront one’s shadow. In a degraded form, this was the ambition behind our orbital tramp. To be attentive to the voices; to walk beside our shadow selves. To reverse the polarity of incomprehensible public schemes, the secret motors of capital defended and promoted by professionally mendacious politicians capable of justifying anything. (London Overground 127)Summoning the oneiric qualities of the railway and its inclination to dreaming and reverie, Sinclair reimagines it as divine oracle, a “ladder of initiation” (47) bisecting resonant zones animated by traces of the visionary artists and novelists whose sensitivity to place have shaped the perception of the London boroughs in the urban imaginary. It is in this manner that Sinclair’s walks generate “an oppositional perspective against the grand projects of centralized planning and management of space” (Weston 261). In a kind of poetic re-enchantment of urban space, texts like Ghost Milk and London Overground shatter the thin veneer of present-day capitalist urbanism challenging the reader to conceive of alternative visions of the city as heterogeneous and imbued with deep historical time.Louis Aragon: Demolition and ModernityWhile London Overground was composed after the construction of the new railway circuit, the pre-demolition phase of a project is, by comparison, a threshold moment. Literary responses to impending demolition are thus shaped in an unstable context as the landscape of a city becomes subject to unpredictable changes that can unfold at a very swift pace. Declan Tan suggests that the writing of Ghost Milk in the lead up to the London Olympics marks Sinclair’s disapproval as “futile, Ghost Milk is knowingly written as a documentary of near-history, an archival treatment of 2012 now, before it happens.” Yet, paradoxically it is the very futility of Sinclair’s project that intensifies the urgency to record, sharpening his polemic. This notion of writing a “documentary of near-history” also suggests a certain breach in time, which in the case of Louis Aragon’s Paris Peasant is mined for its revolutionary energies.First published in book form in 1926, Paris Peasant is an experimental Surrealist novel comprising four collage-like fragments including Aragon’s famous panegyric on the Passage de l’Opéra, a nineteenth-century Parisian arcade slated for demolition to make way for a new access road to the Boulevard Haussmann. Reading the text in the present era of Sydney Metro works, the predicament of the disappearing Opera Arcade resonates with the fate of the threatened Art Deco tower at 7 Elizabeth Street, soon to be razed to build a new metro station. Critical of the media’s overall neglect of the redevelopment, Aragon’s text pays sympathetic attention to the plight of the arcade’s business owners, railing against the injustices of their imminent eviction whilst mourning the disappearance of one of the last vestiges of the more organic configuration of the city that preceded the Haussmann renovation of Paris:the great American passion for city planning, imported into Paris by a prefect of police during the Second Empire and now being applied to the task of redrawing the map of our capital in straight lines, will soon spell the doom of these human aquariums. (Aragon 14)In light of these concerns it is tempting to cast Paris Peasant as a classic anti-development polemic. However, closer interrogation of the narrator’s ambivalent stance points to a more complicated attitude towards urban renewal. For, as he casts a forensic eye across the arcade’s shops it becomes apparent that these threatened sites hold a certain lure of attraction for the Surrealist author. The explanatory genre of the guide-book is subverted in a highly imaginative inventory of the arcade interiors. Touring its baths, brothels and hair salon, shoe shine parlour, run-down theatre, and the Café Certa—meeting place of the Surrealists—the narrator’s perambulation provides a launching point for intoxicated reveries and effervescent flights of fancy. Finally, the narrator concedes: “I would never have thought of myself as an observer. I like to let the winds and the rain blow through me: chance is my only experience, hazard my sole experiment” (88). Neither a journalist nor an historian, Paris Peasant’s narrator is not concerned merely to document the Opera Arcade for posterity. Rather, his interest in the site resides in its liminal state. On the cusp of being transformed into something else, the ontological instability of the arcade provides a dramatic illustration of the myth of architecture’s permanency. Aragon’s novel is concerned then, Abigail Susik notes, with the “insatiable momentum of progress,” and how it “renders all the more visible what could be called the radical remainders of modernity: the recently ruined, lately depleted, presently-passé entities that, for better and for worse, multiply and accumulate in the wake of accelerated production and consumption in industrial society” (34). Drawing comparison with Walter Benjamin’s sprawling Arcades Project, a kaleidoscopic critique of commodity culture, Paris Vaclav similarly characterises Paris Peasant as manifesting a distinct form of “political affect: one of melancholy for the destruction of the arcades yet also of a decidedly non-conservative devotion to aesthetic innovation” (24).Sensitive to the contradictory nature of progress under late capitalist modernity, Paris Peasant thus recognises destruction as an underlying condition of change and innovation as was typical of avant-garde texts of the early twentieth century. Yet Aragon resists fatalism in his simultaneous alertness to the radical potential of the marvellous in the everyday, searching for the fault lines in ordinary reality beneath which poetic re-enchantment challenges the status quo of modern life. In this way, Aragon’s experimental novel sketches the textures and psychogeographies of the city, tracing its detours and shifts in ambience, the relationship of architecture to dreams, memory and fantasy; those composite layers of a city that official documents and masterplans rarely ascribe value to and which literary authors are uniquely placed to capture in their writings on cities. ConclusionUnable to respond within the swift publication timeframes of journalistic articles, the novelist is admittedly not well-placed to halt the demolition of buildings. In this article, I have sought to argue that the power and agency of the literary response resides, rather, in its long view and the subjective perspective of the author. At the time of writing, Sydney Metro is poised to involve a scale of demolition that has not been seen in Sydney for several decades and which will transform the city in a manner that, to date, has largely passed uncritiqued. The works of Iain Sinclair and Louis Aragon’s Paris Peasant point to the capacity of literary texts to deconstruct those broader forces that increasingly reshape the city without proper consideration; exposing the seductive ideology of urban renewal and the false promises of grand projects that transform multifaceted cityscapes into homogenous non-places. The literary text thus makes visible what is easily missed in the experience of everyday life, forcing us to consider the losses that haunt every gain in the building and rebuilding of the city.ReferencesAragon, Louis. Paris Peasant. Trans. Simon Taylor Watson. Boston: Exact Change, 1994. Aston, Heath. “We’ll Govern for All.” Sydney Morning Herald 27 Mar. 2011. 23 Feb. 2017 <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/state-election-2011/well-govern-for-all-20110326-1cbbf.html>. Bruno, Guiliana. “Modernist Ruins, Filmic Archaeologies.” Ruins. Ed. Brian Dillon. London: Whitechapel Gallery, 2011. 76-81.Huyssen, Andreas. Present Pasts: Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory. Stanford: Stanford UP, 2003.Museum of Sydney. Demolished Sydney Media Release. Sydney: Sydney Living Museums 20 Oct. 2016. 25 Feb. 2017 <http://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/2016/12/05/new-exhibition-demolished-sydney>.Paris, Vaclav. “Uncreative Influence: Louis Aragon’s Paysan de Paris and Walter Benjamin’s Passagen-Werk.” Journal of Modern Literature 37.1 (Autumn 2013): 21-39.Sinclair, Iain. Ghost Milk: Calling Time on the Grand Project. London: Penguin, 2012. ———. Hackney, That Rose Red Empire. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2009.———. London Overground: A Day’s Walk around the Ginger Line. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2015.Susik, Abigail. “Paris 1924: Aragon, Le Corbusier, and the Question of the Outmoded.” Wreck: Graduate Journal of Art History, Visual Art, and Theory 2.2 (2008): 29-44.Tan, Declan. “Review of Ghost Milk: Calling Time on the Grand Project by Iain Sinclair.” Huffington Post 15 Dec. 2011; updated 14 Feb. 2012. 21 Feb 2017 <http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/declan-tan/ghost-milk-ian-sinclair-review_b_1145692.html>. Transport for NSW, Chatswood to Sydenham: Environmental Impact Statement Summary. 25 Mar. 2017 <http://www.sydneymetro.info>. Sydney: NSW Government, May-June 2016.Weston, David. “Against the Grand Project: Iain Sinclair’s Local London.” Contemporary Literature 56.2 (Summer 2015): 255-79.

Ce numéro de Regards économiques se penche sur la situation économique et sociale en Wallonie. Il en dresse un large portrait, en souligne les points positifs et négatifs, et ébauche quelques pistes de réflexion sur les mesures propices à donner à l’économie wallonne un nouvel élan. Dans ce numéro, nous avons pris l’initiative de nous exprimer sur un sujet qui nous préoccupe : "le malaise économique wallon". Nous avons pour ce faire regroupé l’avis de spécialistes de la question dont la renommée est établie. Ces experts sont issus de différentes universités francophones. Nous leur avons demandé d’offrir aux citoyens un portrait nuancé mais sans concession de la situation wallonne. En "officialisant" la situation économique et sociale de la Wallonie, nous espérons obliger les acteurs sociaux et les partis politiques à "reconnaître" les points faibles de l’économie wallonne. Nous refusons cette stratégie qui consiste à dissimuler la situation réelle pour ne pas saper le moral des troupes. "Cachez ce sein que je ne saurais voir" disait déjà Tartuffe, avant d’ajouter quelques scènes plus loin : "le scandale du monde est ce qui fait l’offense et ce n’est pas pécher que pécher en silence". Ce "nominalisme" ‑ on veut bien de la chose mais à condition qu’on ne la nomme pas ‑ et ce double langage constituent l’une des manifestations les plus préoccupantes de la difficulté de nos politiciens à assumer la vérité et à sortir de la représentation complaisante qu’ils ont d’eux-mêmes. Fin mai 2005, le gouvernement wallon a enfin explicitement reconnu ce qu’il a appelé "le malaise économique wallon". L’étape suivante est de dresser un constat précis de la nature du malaise, de manière à pouvoir concevoir une stratégie de politique économique adaptée au problème. C’est dans cette perspective que se situe ce numéro de Regards économiques. Notre objectif est donc d’apprécier la situation économique et sociale en Wallonie sur base d’éléments objectifs, et de la comparer à la situation en Flandre et en Europe. Nous comprenons le risque qu’une comparaison avec la Flandre peut présenter. Cependant, sans vouloir alimenter les tensions communautaires, nous avons la conviction que cette comparaison entre les deux régions est vraiment utile étant donné que celles-ci partagent un environnement économique et un contexte institutionnel et culturel fort semblables. Cela s’inscrit aussi dans l’esprit de la "Méthode Ouverte de Coordination" de l’Union européenne, visant à créer une émulation entre régions au travers d’une concurrence par comparaison. Cette comparaison est surtout utile pour comprendre les sources éventuelles des dysfonctionnements et les pistes d’amélioration possibles. Ce numéro de Regards économiques comporte quatre contributions, sur les thèmes suivants : Bruxelles et: une lecture en termes de géographie économique (Jacques-François Thisse) PIB et PRB de la: des diagnostics contrastés (Michel Mignolet et Marie Eve Mulquin) Le portrait social de la Wallonie : responsabilités et gouvernance (Pierre Pestieau) Le marché du travail en: un tableau en clair-obscur (Béatrice Van Haeperen). Dans la suite de ce communiqué, nous résumons brièvement les éléments principaux de chaque contribution, en regroupant les points positifs et les points négatifs que chacune d’elles donne de la situation économique et sociale en Wallonie. 1. Les points positifs Les dynamiques de croissance entre régions se rapprochent progressivement. L’écart inter-régional de croissance annuelle moyenne diminue entre la Flandre et la : celui-ci ne s’élevait plus qu’à 0,80 % de 1975 à 1995, pour se replier encore plus à 0,54 % de 1995 à 2003. Le différentiel se réduit davantage si on ne considère que les dernières années, où il se chiffre à 0,37 % de 1999 à 2003. Si l’on mesure la croissance régionale sur base du lieu de résidence et non du lieu de production (pour prendre en compte l’activité croissante des wallons à Bruxelles), depuis 1999, la part de la Wallonie dans la production totale belge s’est légèrement redressée. Une analyse par branche de la structure de production ne permet pas de conclure à un manque de dynamisme généralisé de l’industrie en Wallonie. Le retard de croissance en Wallonie est imputable à une sous-représentation des secteurs les plus dynamiques et une moindre performance des secteurs les plus importants. Le Brabant wallon est la province belge qui a connu la croissance la plus forte de 1995 à 2002, avec une évolution de la production sur la période de 8 % au-dessus de la moyenne de l’UE 15 et de presque 10 % au-dessus de la moyenne belge. Le Brabant wallon est aussi la seule province wallonne dont le revenu par habitant est supérieur à la moyenne de l’UE 15. L’emploi salarié en Wallonie a augmenté de 9 % entre 1992 et 2002. Les croissances les plus fortes sont dans le Brabant wallon (28 %), les provinces de Luxembourg (16 %) et de Namur (13 %), à comparer à une croissance moyenne de l’emploi salarié en Flandre de 13 %. Depuis 1997, le rythme de progression de l’emploi privé est comparable dans les deux régions. A partir de 2000, le nombre d’emplois des secteurs à haute et moyenne technologies et des services à haute technologie et à haut niveau de savoir progresse en Wallonie mais régresse en Flandre. La proportion de personnes très qualifiées dans la population wallonne augmente et la proportion de peu qualifiés diminue. Le profil de qualification par catégorie d’âge en Wallonie en 2003 est très proche de la moyenne belge. Les dépenses intra-muros des entreprises en R&D progressent plus rapidement en Wallonie. Entre 2001 et 2002, le taux de croissance était de 11,% en Wallonie contre 3,6 % en Flandre. 2. Les points négatifs Un rapprochement des taux de croissance est insuffisant pour assurer un rattrapage des économies régionales. Etant donné son retard de développement, la Wallonie devrait enregistrer des taux de croissance supérieurs à la Flandre, ce qui est loin d’être le cas. La part de la Wallonie dans la production totale belge continue donc à diminuer, passant de plus de 30 % en 1995 à moins de 25 % en 2003. La productivité marginale du capital est plus faible en Wallonie qu’en Flandre, ce qui donne lieu à un taux d’investissement moindre en Wallonie. Sur la période 1995-2001, le rendement brut du capital est de 14,% en Wallonie contre 17,5 % en Flandre. Cela pose problème pour l’attractivité relative de la Wallonie pour l’investissement. Le revenu moyen par habitant en Wallonie est 25 % inférieur à celui de la Flandre en 2002 (équivalent à la moyenne de l’UE 15). Les disparités entre provinces wallonnes s’accentuent. Sur la période 1995-2002, le Brabant wallon enregistre une augmentation de 8 % de sa production par rapport à la moyenne de l’UE15 alors que les provinces de Liège, du Hainaut et du Luxembourg enregistrent chacune une baisse supérieure à 6 %. En 2003, le taux d’emploi en Wallonie de 55,4 % reste significativement inférieur à celui de la Flandre (62,9 %) et celui de l’UE15 (64,2 %). La Wallonie est donc encore loin de l’objectif de taux d’emploi de 70 %. La structure de l’emploi est aussi fort différente entre régions avec en 2002, 2/3 des emplois dans le secteur privé en Wallonie pour 3/4 des emplois dans le secteur privé en Flandre. Le taux de chômage est resté stable autour de% en Wallonie entre 1995 et 2002 du fait d’une augmentation de la population active égale à l’augmentation de l’emploi. En 2002, le taux de chômage en Flandre est passé en dessous de 5 %. Le taux de chômage des jeunes (15-24 ans) en Wallonie est le plus élevé d’Europe avec un taux de 26,5 % en 2002 contre 11,6 % en Flandre. Plus alarmant encore, plus de 40 % des chômeurs en Wallonie sont des chômeurs de longue durée (>2 ans) contre moins de 20 % en Flandre. Le pourcentage de la population de 18-24 ans sans diplôme de l’enseignement secondaire et qui ne suit ni enseignement, ni formation est de% en Wallonie contre 11,7 % en Flandre. En outre, selon la dernière enquête PISA, l’enseignement secondaire en Communauté française figure en 31e position sur 41 pays contre une 3e position pour la Flandre pour un budget équivalent sinon moindre. 3. Que faire ? Face à ce constat que pouvons-nous faire ? Quelques pistes de réflexion sont présentées dans ce numéro de Regards économiques. Parmi celles-ci, nous relevons la nécessité de cesser la politique de saupoudrage et de concentrer les efforts autour d’une grande métropole urbaine comme Bruxelles en reconnaissant que les échanges se développent de plus en plus entre régions urbaines. La Wallonie se doit de travailler en partenariat stratégique avec Bruxelles dans une perspective économique moderne. La zone d’influence de Bruxelles doit dépasser le Brabant wallon. Il faut aussi chercher à améliorer l’efficacité dans l’utilisation des fonds publics en évitant les doublons et en recourant systématiquement à des études d’efficacité rigoureuses et impartiales. Par exemple, on pourrait explorer ce que coûte l’existence des provinces, des multiples réseaux d’enseignement et des cabinets ministériels. On peut aussi s’interroger sur le grand nombre d’intercommunales et le manque de transparence de leur gestion. Il faut aussi s’attaquer de toute urgence au scandale du chômage des jeunes par une politique de remédiation volontariste. On doit investir massivement dans le système éducatif pour élever le niveau de qualification des jeunes et faciliter la transition enseignement et emploi. Il faut élargir la mission du FOREM au-delà de la diffusion des offres d’emploi pour lui confier la fonction critique de placement et d’accompagnement des demandeurs d’emploi. Il faut aussi mettre en place des outils d’évaluation des politiques de l’emploi. C’est inadmissible que depuis l’année 2004, la Wallonie est incapable de publier des statistiques sur les offres d’emploi satisfaites et insatisfaites (alors que Bruxelles et la Flandre continuent à publier ces chiffres). Nous poursuivrons notre analyse de la situation wallonne dans un prochain numéro de Regards économiques. Nous attendons aussi des hommes politiques qu’ils reconnaissent cette situation et le traduisent dans leurs actes en poursuivant une politique économique adaptée, cohérente et stable. Il n’y a pas de fatalité. Nous en voulons pour preuve l’expérience danoise qui en 10 ans a réduit son chômage de moitié par un système novateur de "flexicurité" (en partenariat avec les syndicats). Son marché du travail s’est fluidifié avec plus d’un danois sur trois changeant de travail au cours d’une année et un effort substantiel du gouvernement sur la formation, l’orientation et l’accompagnement des chômeurs. Un sondage récent montre que les travailleurs danois ne sont pas plus mécontents avec ce système que les travailleurs belges. L’Angleterre, avec un taux de syndicalisme plus élevé que chez nous, a aussi réussi par son "New Deal" à réduire de moitié le chômage des jeunes. Ces deux pays connaissent aujourd’hui un taux de chômage de 5 %, bien inférieur à la moyenne européenne. Comprendre pourquoi pourrait être fortement utile à la Wallonie.

Ce numéro de Regards économiques se penche sur la situation économique et sociale en Wallonie. Il en dresse un large portrait, en souligne les points positifs et négatifs, et ébauche quelques pistes de réflexion sur les mesures propices à donner à l’économie wallonne un nouvel élan. Dans ce numéro, nous avons pris l’initiative de nous exprimer sur un sujet qui nous préoccupe : "le malaise économique wallon". Nous avons pour ce faire regroupé l’avis de spécialistes de la question dont la renommée est établie. Ces experts sont issus de différentes universités francophones. Nous leur avons demandé d’offrir aux citoyens un portrait nuancé mais sans concession de la situation wallonne. En "officialisant" la situation économique et sociale de la Wallonie, nous espérons obliger les acteurs sociaux et les partis politiques à "reconnaître" les points faibles de l’économie wallonne. Nous refusons cette stratégie qui consiste à dissimuler la situation réelle pour ne pas saper le moral des troupes. "Cachez ce sein que je ne saurais voir" disait déjà Tartuffe, avant d’ajouter quelques scènes plus loin : "le scandale du monde est ce qui fait l’offense et ce n’est pas pécher que pécher en silence". Ce "nominalisme" ‑ on veut bien de la chose mais à condition qu’on ne la nomme pas ‑ et ce double langage constituent l’une des manifestations les plus préoccupantes de la difficulté de nos politiciens à assumer la vérité et à sortir de la représentation complaisante qu’ils ont d’eux-mêmes. Fin mai 2005, le gouvernement wallon a enfin explicitement reconnu ce qu’il a appelé "le malaise économique wallon". L’étape suivante est de dresser un constat précis de la nature du malaise, de manière à pouvoir concevoir une stratégie de politique économique adaptée au problème. C’est dans cette perspective que se situe ce numéro de Regards économiques. Notre objectif est donc d’apprécier la situation économique et sociale en Wallonie sur base d’éléments objectifs, et de la comparer à la situation en Flandre et en Europe. Nous comprenons le risque qu’une comparaison avec la Flandre peut présenter. Cependant, sans vouloir alimenter les tensions communautaires, nous avons la conviction que cette comparaison entre les deux régions est vraiment utile étant donné que celles-ci partagent un environnement économique et un contexte institutionnel et culturel fort semblables. Cela s’inscrit aussi dans l’esprit de la "Méthode Ouverte de Coordination" de l’Union européenne, visant à créer une émulation entre régions au travers d’une concurrence par comparaison. Cette comparaison est surtout utile pour comprendre les sources éventuelles des dysfonctionnements et les pistes d’amélioration possibles. Ce numéro de Regards économiques comporte quatre contributions, sur les thèmes suivants : Bruxelles et: une lecture en termes de géographie économique (Jacques-François Thisse) PIB et PRB de la: des diagnostics contrastés (Michel Mignolet et Marie Eve Mulquin) Le portrait social de la Wallonie : responsabilités et gouvernance (Pierre Pestieau) Le marché du travail en: un tableau en clair-obscur (Béatrice Van Haeperen). Dans la suite de ce communiqué, nous résumons brièvement les éléments principaux de chaque contribution, en regroupant les points positifs et les points négatifs que chacune d’elles donne de la situation économique et sociale en Wallonie. 1. Les points positifs Les dynamiques de croissance entre régions se rapprochent progressivement. L’écart inter-régional de croissance annuelle moyenne diminue entre la Flandre et la : celui-ci ne s’élevait plus qu’à 0,80 % de 1975 à 1995, pour se replier encore plus à 0,54 % de 1995 à 2003. Le différentiel se réduit davantage si on ne considère que les dernières années, où il se chiffre à 0,37 % de 1999 à 2003. Si l’on mesure la croissance régionale sur base du lieu de résidence et non du lieu de production (pour prendre en compte l’activité croissante des wallons à Bruxelles), depuis 1999, la part de la Wallonie dans la production totale belge s’est légèrement redressée. Une analyse par branche de la structure de production ne permet pas de conclure à un manque de dynamisme généralisé de l’industrie en Wallonie. Le retard de croissance en Wallonie est imputable à une sous-représentation des secteurs les plus dynamiques et une moindre performance des secteurs les plus importants. Le Brabant wallon est la province belge qui a connu la croissance la plus forte de 1995 à 2002, avec une évolution de la production sur la période de 8 % au-dessus de la moyenne de l’UE 15 et de presque 10 % au-dessus de la moyenne belge. Le Brabant wallon est aussi la seule province wallonne dont le revenu par habitant est supérieur à la moyenne de l’UE 15. L’emploi salarié en Wallonie a augmenté de 9 % entre 1992 et 2002. Les croissances les plus fortes sont dans le Brabant wallon (28 %), les provinces de Luxembourg (16 %) et de Namur (13 %), à comparer à une croissance moyenne de l’emploi salarié en Flandre de 13 %. Depuis 1997, le rythme de progression de l’emploi privé est comparable dans les deux régions. A partir de 2000, le nombre d’emplois des secteurs à haute et moyenne technologies et des services à haute technologie et à haut niveau de savoir progresse en Wallonie mais régresse en Flandre. La proportion de personnes très qualifiées dans la population wallonne augmente et la proportion de peu qualifiés diminue. Le profil de qualification par catégorie d’âge en Wallonie en 2003 est très proche de la moyenne belge. Les dépenses intra-muros des entreprises en R&D progressent plus rapidement en Wallonie. Entre 2001 et 2002, le taux de croissance était de 11,% en Wallonie contre 3,6 % en Flandre. 2. Les points négatifs Un rapprochement des taux de croissance est insuffisant pour assurer un rattrapage des économies régionales. Etant donné son retard de développement, la Wallonie devrait enregistrer des taux de croissance supérieurs à la Flandre, ce qui est loin d’être le cas. La part de la Wallonie dans la production totale belge continue donc à diminuer, passant de plus de 30 % en 1995 à moins de 25 % en 2003. La productivité marginale du capital est plus faible en Wallonie qu’en Flandre, ce qui donne lieu à un taux d’investissement moindre en Wallonie. Sur la période 1995-2001, le rendement brut du capital est de 14,% en Wallonie contre 17,5 % en Flandre. Cela pose problème pour l’attractivité relative de la Wallonie pour l’investissement. Le revenu moyen par habitant en Wallonie est 25 % inférieur à celui de la Flandre en 2002 (équivalent à la moyenne de l’UE 15). Les disparités entre provinces wallonnes s’accentuent. Sur la période 1995-2002, le Brabant wallon enregistre une augmentation de 8 % de sa production par rapport à la moyenne de l’UE15 alors que les provinces de Liège, du Hainaut et du Luxembourg enregistrent chacune une baisse supérieure à 6 %. En 2003, le taux d’emploi en Wallonie de 55,4 % reste significativement inférieur à celui de la Flandre (62,9 %) et celui de l’UE15 (64,2 %). La Wallonie est donc encore loin de l’objectif de taux d’emploi de 70 %. La structure de l’emploi est aussi fort différente entre régions avec en 2002, 2/3 des emplois dans le secteur privé en Wallonie pour 3/4 des emplois dans le secteur privé en Flandre. Le taux de chômage est resté stable autour de% en Wallonie entre 1995 et 2002 du fait d’une augmentation de la population active égale à l’augmentation de l’emploi. En 2002, le taux de chômage en Flandre est passé en dessous de 5 %. Le taux de chômage des jeunes (15-24 ans) en Wallonie est le plus élevé d’Europe avec un taux de 26,5 % en 2002 contre 11,6 % en Flandre. Plus alarmant encore, plus de 40 % des chômeurs en Wallonie sont des chômeurs de longue durée (>2 ans) contre moins de 20 % en Flandre. Le pourcentage de la population de 18-24 ans sans diplôme de l’enseignement secondaire et qui ne suit ni enseignement, ni formation est de% en Wallonie contre 11,7 % en Flandre. En outre, selon la dernière enquête PISA, l’enseignement secondaire en Communauté française figure en 31e position sur 41 pays contre une 3e position pour la Flandre pour un budget équivalent sinon moindre. 3. Que faire ? Face à ce constat que pouvons-nous faire ? Quelques pistes de réflexion sont présentées dans ce numéro de Regards économiques. Parmi celles-ci, nous relevons la nécessité de cesser la politique de saupoudrage et de concentrer les efforts autour d’une grande métropole urbaine comme Bruxelles en reconnaissant que les échanges se développent de plus en plus entre régions urbaines. La Wallonie se doit de travailler en partenariat stratégique avec Bruxelles dans une perspective économique moderne. La zone d’influence de Bruxelles doit dépasser le Brabant wallon. Il faut aussi chercher à améliorer l’efficacité dans l’utilisation des fonds publics en évitant les doublons et en recourant systématiquement à des études d’efficacité rigoureuses et impartiales. Par exemple, on pourrait explorer ce que coûte l’existence des provinces, des multiples réseaux d’enseignement et des cabinets ministériels. On peut aussi s’interroger sur le grand nombre d’intercommunales et le manque de transparence de leur gestion. Il faut aussi s’attaquer de toute urgence au scandale du chômage des jeunes par une politique de remédiation volontariste. On doit investir massivement dans le système éducatif pour élever le niveau de qualification des jeunes et faciliter la transition enseignement et emploi. Il faut élargir la mission du FOREM au-delà de la diffusion des offres d’emploi pour lui confier la fonction critique de placement et d’accompagnement des demandeurs d’emploi. Il faut aussi mettre en place des outils d’évaluation des politiques de l’emploi. C’est inadmissible que depuis l’année 2004, la Wallonie est incapable de publier des statistiques sur les offres d’emploi satisfaites et insatisfaites (alors que Bruxelles et la Flandre continuent à publier ces chiffres). Nous poursuivrons notre analyse de la situation wallonne dans un prochain numéro de Regards économiques. Nous attendons aussi des hommes politiques qu’ils reconnaissent cette situation et le traduisent dans leurs actes en poursuivant une politique économique adaptée, cohérente et stable. Il n’y a pas de fatalité. Nous en voulons pour preuve l’expérience danoise qui en 10 ans a réduit son chômage de moitié par un système novateur de "flexicurité" (en partenariat avec les syndicats). Son marché du travail s’est fluidifié avec plus d’un danois sur trois changeant de travail au cours d’une année et un effort substantiel du gouvernement sur la formation, l’orientation et l’accompagnement des chômeurs. Un sondage récent montre que les travailleurs danois ne sont pas plus mécontents avec ce système que les travailleurs belges. L’Angleterre, avec un taux de syndicalisme plus élevé que chez nous, a aussi réussi par son "New Deal" à réduire de moitié le chômage des jeunes. Ces deux pays connaissent aujourd’hui un taux de chômage de 5 %, bien inférieur à la moyenne européenne. Comprendre pourquoi pourrait être fortement utile à la Wallonie.

‘Complex(ity)’ is currently fashionable in the humanities. Fashions come and go, but in this article I argue that the interest in complexity connects with something deeper, an intellectual revolution that began before complexity became trendy, and will continue after the spotlight passes on. Yet to make this case, and understand and advance this revolution, we need a better take on ‘complexity’. ‘Complex’ is of course complex. In common use it refers to something ‘composed of many interrelated parts’, or problems ‘so complicated or intricate as to be hard to deal with’. I will call this popular meaning, with its positive and negative values, complexity-1. In science it has a more negative sense, complexity-2, referring to the presenting complexity of problems, which science will strip down to underlying simplicity. But recently it has developed positive meanings in both science and humanities. Complexity-3 marks a revolutionarily more positive attitude to complexity in science that does seek to be reductive. Humanities-style complexity-4, which acknowledges and celebrates the inherent complexity of texts and meanings, is basic in contemporary Media and Cultural studies (MaC for short). The underlying root of complex is plico bend or fold, plus con- together, via complector grasp (something), encompass an idea, or person. The double of ‘complex’ is ‘simple’, from Latin simplex, which less obviously also comes from plico, plus semel once, at the same time. ‘Simple’ and ‘complex’ are closer than people think: only a fold or two apart. A key idea is that these elements are interdependent, parts of a single underlying form. ‘Simple(x)’ is another modality of ‘complex’, dialectically related, different in degree not kind, not absolutely opposite. The idea of ‘holding together’ is stronger in Latin complex, the idea of difficulty more prominent in modern usage, yet the term still includes both. The concept ‘complex’ is untenable apart from ‘simple’. This figure maps the basic structures in ‘complexity’. This complexity contains both positive and negative values, science and non-science, academic and popular meanings, with folds/differences and relationships so dynamically related that no aspect is totally independent. This complex field is the minimum context in which to explore claims about a ‘complexity revolution’. Complexity in Science and Humanities In spite of the apparent similarities between Complexity-3 (sciences) and 4 (humanities), in practice a gulf separates them, policed from both sides. If these sides do not talk to each other, as they often do not, the result is not a complex meaning for ‘complex’, but a semantic war-zone. These two forms of complexity connect and collide because they reach into a new space where discourses of science and non-science are interacting more than they have for many years. For many, in both academic communities, a strong, taken-for-granted mindset declares the difference between them is absolute. They assume that if ‘complexity’ exists in science, it must mean something completely different from what it means in humanities or everyday discourse, so different as to be incomprehensible or unusable by humanists. This terrified defence of the traditional gulf between sciences and humanities is not the clinching argument these critics think. On the contrary, it symptomises what needs to be challenged, via the concept complex. One influential critic of this split was Lord Snow, who talked of ‘two cultures’. Writing in class-conscious post-war Britain he regretted the ignorance of humanities-trained ruling elites about basic science, and scientists’ ignorance of humanities. No-one then or now doubts there is a problem. Most MaC students have a science-light education, and feel vulnerable to critiques which say they do not need to know any science or maths, including complexity science, and could not understand it anyway. To understand how this has happened I go back to the 17th century rise of ‘modern science’. The Royal Society then included the poet Dryden as well as the scientist Newton, but already the fissure between science and humanities was emerging in the elite, re-enforcing existing gaps between both these and technology. The three forms of knowledge and their communities continued to develop over the next 400 years, producing the education system which formed most of us, the structure of academic knowledges in which culture, technology and science form distinct fields. Complexity has been implicated in this three-way split. Influenced by Newton’s wonderful achievement, explaining so much (movements of earthly and heavenly bodies) with so little (three elegant laws of motion, one brief formula), science defined itself as a reductive practice, in which complexity was a challenge. Simplicity was the sign of a successful solution, altering the older reciprocity between simplicity and complexity. The paradox was ignored that proof involved highly complex mathematics, as anyone who reads Newton knows. What science held onto was the outcome, a simplicity then retrospectively attributed to the universe itself, as its true nature. Simplicity became a core quality in the ontology of science, with complexity-2 the imperfection which challenged and provoked science to eliminate it. Humanities remained a refuge for a complexity ontology, in which both problems and solutions were irreducibly complex. Because of the dominance of science as a form of knowing, the social sciences developed a reductivist approach opposing traditional humanities. They also waged bitter struggles against anti-reductionists who emerged in what was called ‘social theory’. Complexity-4 in humanities is often associated with ‘post-structuralism’, as in Derrida, who emphasises the irreducible complexity of every text and process of meaning, or ‘postmodernism’, as in Lyotard’s controversial, influential polemic. Lyotard attempted to take the pulse of contemporary Western thought. Among trends he noted were new forms of science, new relationships between science and humanities, and a new kind of logic pervading all branches of knowledge. Not all Lyotard’s claims have worn well, but his claim that something really important is happening in the relationship between kinds and institutions of knowledge, especially between sciences and humanities, is worth serious attention. Even classic sociologists like Durkheim recognised that the modern world is highly complex. Contemporary sociologists agree that ‘globalisation’ introduces new levels of complexity in its root sense, interconnections on a scale never seen before. Urry argues that the hyper-complexity of the global world requires a complexity approach, combining complexity-3 and 4. Lyotard’s ‘postmodernism’ has too much baggage, including dogmatic hostility to science. Humanities complexity-4 has lost touch with the sceptical side of popular complexity-1, and lacks a dialectic relationship with simplicity. ‘Complexity’, incorporating Complexity-1 and 3, popular and scientific, made more complex by incorporating humanities complexity-4, may prove a better concept for thinking creatively and productively about these momentous changes. Only complex complexity in the approach, flexible and interdisciplinary, can comprehend these highly complex new objects of knowledge. Complexity and the New Condition of Science Some important changes in the way science is done are driven not from above, by new theories or discoveries, but by new developments in social contexts. Gibbons and Nowottny identify new forms of knowledge and practice, which they call ‘mode-2 knowledge’, emerging alongside older forms. Mode-1 is traditional academic knowledge, based in universities, organised in disciplines, relating to real-life problems at one remove, as experts to clients or consultants to employers. Mode-2 is orientated to real life problems, interdisciplinary and collaborative, producing provisional, emergent knowledge. Gibbons and Nowottny do not reference postmodernism but are looking at Lyotard’s trends as they were emerging in practice 10 years later. They do not emphasise complexity, but the new objects of knowledge they address are fluid, dynamic and highly complex. They emphasise a new scale of interdisciplinarity, in collaborations between academics across all disciplines, in science, technology, social sciences and humanities, though they do not see a strong role for humanities. This approach confronts and welcomes irreducible complexity in object and methods. It takes for granted that real-life problems will always be too complex (with too many factors, interrelated in too many ways) to be reduced to the sort of problem that isolated disciplines could handle. The complexity of objects requires equivalent complexity in responses; teamwork, using networks, drawing on relevant knowledge wherever it is to be found. Lyotard famously and foolishly predicted the death of the ‘grand narrative’ of science, but Gibbons and Nowottny offer a more complex picture in which modes-1 and 2 will continue alongside each other in productive dialectic. The linear form of science Lyotard attacked is stronger than ever in some ways, as ‘Big Science’, which delivers wealth and prestige to disciplinary scientists, accessing huge funds to solve highly complex problems with a reductionist mindset. But governments also like the idea of mode-2 knowledge, under whatever name, and try to fund it despite resistance from powerful mode-1 academics. Moreover, non-reductionist science in practice has always been more common than the dominant ideology allowed, whether or not its exponents, some of them eminent scientists, chose to call it ‘complexity’ science. Quantum physics, called ‘the new physics’, consciously departed from the linear, reductionist assumptions of Newtonian physics to project an irreducibly complex picture of the quantum world. Different movements, labelled ‘catastrophe theory’, ‘chaos theory’ and ‘complexity science’, emerged, not a single coherent movement replacing the older reductionist model, but loosely linked by new attitudes to complexity. Instead of seeing chaos and complexity as problems to be removed by analysis, chaos and complexity play a more ambiguous role, as ontologically primary. Disorder and complexity are not later regrettable lapses from underlying essential simplicity and order, but potentially creative resources, to be understood and harnessed, not feared, controlled, eliminated. As a taste of exciting ideas on complexity, barred from humanities MaC students by the general prohibition on ‘consorting with the enemy’ (science), I will outline three ideas, originally developed in complexity-3, which can be described in ways requiring no specialist knowledge or vocabulary, beyond a Mode-2 openness to dynamic, interdisciplinary engagement. Fractals, a term coined by mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, are so popular as striking shapes produced by computer-graphics, circulated on T-shirts, that they may seem superficial, unscientific, trendy. They exist at an intersection between science, media and culture, and their complexity includes transactions across that folded space. The name comes from Latin fractus, broken: irregular shapes like broken shards, which however have their own pattern. Mandelbrot claims that in nature, many such patterns partly repeat on different scales. When this happens, he says, objects on any one scale will have equivalent complexity. Part of this idea is contained in Blake’s famous line: ‘To see the world in a grain of sand’. The importance of the principle is that it fundamentally challenges reductiveness. Nor is it as unscientific as it may sound. Geologists indeed see grains of sand under a microscope as highly complex. In sociology, instead of individuals (literal meaning ‘cannot be divided’) being the minimally simple unit of analysis, individuals can be understood to be as complex (e.g. with multiple identities, linked with many other social beings) as groups, classes or nations. There is no level where complexity disappears. A second concept is ‘fuzzy logic’, invented by an engineer, Zadeh. The basic idea is not unlike the literary critic Empson’s ‘ambiguity’, the sometimes inexhaustible complexity of meanings in great literature. Zadeh’s contribution was to praise the inherent ambiguity and ambiguity of natural languages as a resource for scientists and engineers, making them better, not worse, for programming control systems. Across this apparently simple bridge have flowed many fuzzy machines, more effective than their over-precise brothers. Zadeh crystallised this wisdom in his ‘Principle of incompatibility’: As the complexity of a system increases, our ability to make precise and yet significant statements about its behaviour decreases until a threshold is reached beyond which precision and significance (or relevance) become almost mutually exclusive characteristics (28) Something along these lines is common wisdom in complexity-1. For instance, under the headline “Law is too complex for juries to understand, says judge” (Dick 4), the Chief Justice of Australia, Murray Gleeson, noted a paradox of complexity, that attempts to improve a system by increasing its complexity make it worse (meaningless or irrelevant, as Zadeh said). The system loses its complexity in another sense, that it no longer holds together. My third concept is the ‘Butterfly Effect’, a name coined by Lorenz. The butterfly was this scientist’s poetic fantasy, an imagined butterfly that flaps its wings somewhere on the Andes, and introduces a small change in the weather system that triggers a hurricane in Montana, or Beijing. This idea is another riff on the idea that complex situations are not reducible to component elements. Every cause is so complex that we can never know in advance just what factor will operate in a given situation, or what its effects might be across a highly complex system. Travels in Complexity I will now explore these issues with reference to a single example, or rather, a nested set of examples, each (as in fractal theory) equivalently complex, yet none identical at any scale. I was travelling in a train from Penrith to Sydney in New South Wales in early 2006 when I read a publicity text from NSW State Rail which asked me: ‘Did you know that delays at Sydenham affect trains to Parramatta? Or that a sick passenger on a train at Berowra can affect trains to Penrith?’ No, I did not know that. As a typical commuter I was impressed, and even more so as an untypical commuter who knows about complexity science. Without ostentatious reference to sources in popular science, NSW Rail was illustrating Lorenz’s ‘butterfly effect’. A sick passenger is prosaic, a realistic illustration of the basic point, that in a highly complex system, a small change in one part, so small that no-one could predict it would matter, can produce a massive, apparently unrelated change in another part. This text was part of a publicity campaign with a scientific complexity-3 subtext, which ran in a variety of forms, in their website, in notices in carriages, on the back of tickets. I will use a complexity framework to suggest different kinds of analysis and project which might interest MaC students, applicable to objects that may not refer to be complexity-3. The text does two distinct things. It describes a planning process, and is part of a publicity program. The first, simplifying movement of Mode-1 analysis would see this difference as projecting two separate objects for two different specialists: a transport expert for the planning, a MaC analyst for the publicity, including the image. Unfortunately, as Zadeh warned, in complex conditions simplification carries an explanatory cost, producing descriptions that are meaningless or irrelevant, even though common sense (complexity-1) says otherwise. What do MaC specialists know about rail systems? What do engineers know about publicity? But collaboration in a mode-2 framework does not need extensive specialist knowledge, only enough to communicate with others. MaC specialists have a fuzzy knowledge of their own and other areas of knowledge, attuned by Humanities complexity-4 to tolerate uncertainty. According to the butterfly principle it would be foolish to wish our University education had equipped us with the necessary other knowledges. We could never predict what precise items of knowledge would be handy from our formal and informal education. The complexity of most mode-2 problems is so great that we cannot predict in advance what we will need to know. MaC is already a complex field, in which ‘Media’ and ‘Culture’ are fuzzy terms which interact in different ways. Media and other organisations we might work with are often imbued with linear forms of thought (complexity-2), and want simple answers to simple questions about complex systems. For instance, MaC researchers might be asked as consultants to determine the effect of this message on typical commuters. That form of analysis is no longer respectable in complexity-4 MaC studies. Old-style (complexity-2) effects-research modelled Senders, Messages and Receivers to measure effects. Standard research methods of complexity-2 social sciences might test effects of the message by a survey instrument, with a large sample to allow statistically significant results. Using this, researchers could claim to know whether the publicity campaign had its desired effect on its targeted demographic: presumably inspiring confidence in NSW Rail. However, each of these elements is complex, and interactions between them, and others that don’t enter into the analysis, create further levels of complexity. To manage this complexity, MaC analysts often draw on Foucault’s authority to use ‘discourse’ to simplify analysis. This does not betray the principle of complexity. Complexity-4 needs a simplicity-complexity dialectic. In this case I propose a ‘complexity discourse’ to encapsulate the complex relations between Senders, Receivers and Messages into a single word, which can then be related to other such elements (e.g. ‘publicity discourse’). In this case complexity-3 can also be produced by attending to details of elements in the S-M-R chain, combining Derridean ‘deconstruction’ with expert knowledge of the situation. This Sender may be some combination of engineers and planners, managers who commissioned the advertisement, media professionals who carried it out. The message likewise loses its unity as its different parts decompose into separate messages, leaving the transaction a fraught, unpredictable encounter between multiple messages and many kinds of reader and sender. Alongside its celebration of complexity-3, this short text runs another message: ‘untangling our complex rail network’. This is complexity-2 from science and engineering, where complexity is only a problem to be removed. A fuller text on the web-site expands this second strand, using bullet points and other signals of a linear approach. In this text, there are 5 uses of ‘reliable’, 6 uses of words for problems of complexity (‘bottlenecks’, ‘delays’, ‘congestion’), and 6 uses of words for the new system (‘simpler’, ‘independent’). ‘Complex’ is used twice, both times negatively. In spite of the impression given by references to complexity-3, this text mostly has a reductionist attitude to complexity. Complexity is the enemy. Then there is the image. Each line is a different colour, and they loop in an attractive way, seeming to celebrate graceful complexity-2. Yet this part of the image is what is going to be eliminated by the new program’s complexity-2. The interesting complexity of the upper part of the image is what the text declares is the problem. What are commuters meant to think? And Railcorp? This media analysis identifies a fissure in the message, which reflects a fissure in the Sender-complex. It also throws up a problem in the culture that produced such interesting allusions to complexity science, but has linear, reductionist attitudes to complexity in its practice. We can ask: where does this cultural problem go, in the organisation, in the interconnected system and bureaucracy it manages? Is this culture implicated in the problems the program is meant to address? These questions are more productive if asked in a collaborative mode-2 framework, with an organisation open to such questions, with complex researchers able to move between different identities, as media analyst, cultural analyst, and commuter, interested in issues of organisation and logistics, engaged with complexity in all senses. I will continue my imaginary mode-2 collaboration with Railcorp by offering them another example of fractal analysis, looking at another instant, captured in a brief media text. On Wednesday 14 March, 2007, two weeks before a State government election, a very small cause triggered a systems failure in the Sydney network. A small carbon strip worth $44 which was not properly attached properly threw Sydney’s transport network into chaos on Wednesday night, causing thousands of commuters to be trapped in trains for hours. (Baker and Davies 7) This is an excellent example of a butterfly effect, but it is not labelled as such, nor regarded positively in this complexity-1 framework. ‘Chaos’ signifies something no-one wants in a transport system. This is popular not scientific reductionism. The article goes on to tell the story of one passenger, Mark MacCauley, a quadriplegic left without power or electricity in a train because the lift was not working. He rang City Rail, and was told that “someone would be in touch in 3 to 5 days” (Baker and Davies 7). He then rang emergency OOO, and was finally rescued by contractors “who happened to be installing a lift at North Sydney” (Baker and Davies 7). My new friends at NSW Rail would be very unhappy with this story. It would not help much to tell them that this is a standard ‘human interest’ article, nor that it is more complex than it looks. For instance, MacCauley is not typical of standard passengers who usually concern complexity-2 planners of rail networks. He is another butterfly, whose specific needs would be hard to predict or cater for. His rescue is similarly unpredictable. Who would have predicted that these contractors, with their specialist equipment, would be in the right place at the right time to rescue him? Complexity provided both problem and solution. The media’s double attitude to complexity, positive and negative, complexity-1 with a touch of complexity-3, is a resource which NSW Rail might learn to use, even though it is presented with such hostility here. One lesson of the complexity is that a tight, linear framing of systems and problems creates or exacerbates problems, and closes off possible solutions. In the problem, different systems didn’t connect: social and material systems, road and rail, which are all ‘media’ in McLuhan’s highly fuzzy sense. NSW Rail communication systems were cumbrously linear, slow (3 to 5 days) and narrow. In the solution, communication cut across institutional divisions, mediated by responsive, fuzzy complex humans. If the problem came from a highly complex system, the solution is a complex response on many fronts: planning, engineering, social and communication systems open to unpredictable input from other surrounding systems. As NSW Rail would have been well aware, the story responded to another context. The page was headed ‘Battle for NSW’, referring to an election in 2 weeks, in which this newspaper editorialised that the incumbent government should be thrown out. This political context is clearly part of the complexity of the newspaper message, which tries to link not just the carbon strip and ‘chaos’, but science and politics, this strip and the government’s credibility. Yet the government was returned with a substantial though reduced majority, not the swingeing defeat that might have been predicted by linear logic (rail chaos = electoral defeat) or by some interpretations of the butterfly effect. But complexity-3 does not say that every small cause produces catastrophic effects. On the contrary, it says that causal situations can be so complex that we can never be entirely sure what effects will follow from any given case. The political situation in all its complexity is an inseparable part of the minimal complex situation which NSW Rail must take into account as it considers how to reform its operations. It must make complexity in all its senses a friend and ally, not just a source of nasty surprises. My relationship with NSW Rail at the moment is purely imaginary, but illustrates positive and negative aspects of complexity as an organising principle for MaC researchers today. The unlimited complexity of Humanities’ complexity-4, Derridean and Foucauldian, can be liberating alongside the sometimes excessive scepticism of Complexity-2, but needs to keep in touch with the ambivalence of popular complexity-1. Complexity-3 connects with complexity-2 and 4 to hold the bundle together, in a more complex, cohesive, yet still unstable dynamic structure. It is this total sprawling, inchoate, contradictory (‘complex’) brand of complexity that I believe will play a key role in the up-coming intellectual revolution. But only time will tell. References Baker, Jordan, and Anne Davies. “Carbon Strip Caused Train Chaos.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Mar. 2007: 7. Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1976. Dick, Tim. “Law Is Now Too Complex for Juries to Understand, Says Judge.” Sydney Morning Herald 26 Mar. 2007: 4. Empson, William. Seven Types of Ambiguity. London: Chatto and Windus, 1930. Foucault, Michel. “The Order of Discourse.” In Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M Sheridan Smith. London: Tavistock, 1972. Gibbons, Michael. The New Production of Knowledge. London: Sage, 1994. Lorenz, Edward. The Essence of Chaos. London: University College, 1993. Lyotard, Jean-Francois. The Postmodern Condition. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1984. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media. London: Routledge, 1964. Mandelbrot, Benoit. “The Fractal Geometry of Nature.” In Nina Hall, ed. The New Scientist Guide to Chaos. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963. Nowottny, Henry. Rethinking Science. London: Polity, 2001. Snow, Charles Percy. The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution. London: Faber 1959. Urry, John. Global Complexity. London: Sage, 2003. Zadeh, Lotfi Asker. “Outline of a New Approach to the Analysis of Complex Systems and Decision Processes.” ILEE Transactions on Systems, Man, and Cybernetics 3.1 (1973): 28-44. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Hodge, Bob. "The Complexity Revolution." M/C Journal 10.3 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/01-hodge.php>. APA Style Hodge, B. (Jun. 2007) "The Complexity Revolution," M/C Journal, 10(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/01-hodge.php>.

As a specialist in culture and communication studies, teaching in a school of business, I realised that the notion of interdisciplinarity is usually explored in the comfort of one's own discipline. Meanwhile, the practice of interdisciplinarity is something else. The very notion of disciplinarity implies a regime of discursive practices, but in the zone between disciplines, there is often no adequate language. This piece of writing is a brief analysis of an example of the language of business studies when business studies thinks about culture. It looks at how business studies approaches cultural difference in context of intercultural contact. Geert Hofstede's Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind (1991) This article is a brief and very selective critique of Geert Hofstede's notion of culture in Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind. Hofstede has been publishing his work on cross-cultural management since the 1960s. His work is routinely used in reference to cross/multi/intercultural issues in business studies (a term I use to include commerce, finance, management, and marketing). Before I begin, I must insist that Hofstede's Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind is a very useful text for business studies students, as it introduces them to useful concepts in relation to culture, like culture shock, acculturation (not enculturation -- I suppose managers are repatriated before that happens), and training for successful cross-cultural communication. It is worth including here a brief note on the subtitle of Cultures and Organizations: Software of the Mind. This "software of the mind" is clearly analogous to computer programming. However, Hofstede disavows the analogy, which is central to his thesis, saying that people are not programmed the way computers are. So they are, but not really. Hofstede claims that in order to learn something different, one "must unlearn ... (the) ... patterns of thinking, feeling, and potential acting which were learned throughout (one's) lifetime". And it is this thinking/feeling/acting function he calls the "software of the mind" (4). So, is the body the hardware? Thinking and feeling are abstract and could, with a flight of fancy, be seen as "software". However, acting is visible, tangible, and often visceral. I am suggesting that "acting" either represents or is just about all we have as culture. Acting (in the fullest sense, including speech, gesture, manners, textual production, etc.) is not evidence of culture, it is culture. Also, computer technology, like every other technology, is part of culture, as evident in this journal. Culture I share Clifford Geertz's concept of culture as a semiotic one, where interpretation is a search for meaning, and where meaning lies in social relations. Geertz writes that to claim that culture consists in brute patterns of behaviour in some identifiable community is to reduce it (the community and the notion of culture). Human behaviour is symbolic action. Culture is not just patterned conduct, a frame of mind which points to some sort of ontological status. Culture is public, social, relational, and contextual. To quote Geertz: "culture is not a power, something to which social events, behaviours, institutions, or processes can be causally attributed; it is a context" (14). Culture is not an ontological essence or set of behaviours. Culture is made up of webs of relationships. That Hofstede locates culture in the mind is probably the most problematic aspect of his writing. Culture is difficult for any discipline to describe because different disciplines have their own view of social reality. They operate in their own paradigms. Hofstede uses a behaviourist psychological approach to culture, which looks at what he calls national character and typical behaviours. Even though Hofstede is aware of being, as an observer of human behaviour, an integral part of his object of analysis (other cultures), he nevertheless continuously equates the observed behaviour to particular kinds of national thinking and feeling where national is often collapsed into cultural. Hofstede uses an empirical behaviourist paradigm which measures certain behaviours, as if the observer is outside the cultural significance attributed to behaviours, and attributes them to culture. Hofstede's Notion of Culture Hofstede's work is based on quantitative data gathered from questionnaires administered to IBM corporation employees in various countries. He looked at 72 national subsidiaries, 38 occupations, 20 languages, and at two points in time (1968 and 1972), and continued his commentary on that data into the 1990s. He claims that because the entire sample has a common corporate culture, the only thing that can account for systematic and consistent differences between national groups within a homogeneous multinational organisation is nationality itself. It is as if corporate culture is outside, has nothing to do with, national culture (itself a complex and dynamic concept). Hofstede's work does not account for the fact that IBM is an American multinational corporation and, as such, whatever attributes are used to measure cultural difference, those found in American corporate culture will set the benchmark for whatever other cultures are measured. This view is supported in business studies in general where American management practices are seen as universal and normal, even when they are described as 'Western'. The areas Hofstede's IBM survey looked at are: 1. Social inequality, including the relationship with authority (also described as power distance); 2. The relationship between the individual and the group (also described as individualism versus collectivism); 3. Concepts of masculinity and femininity: the social implications of having been born as a boy or a girl (also described as masculinity versus femininity); 4. Ways of dealing with uncertainty, relating to the control of aggression and the expression of emotions (also described as uncertainty avoidance). These concepts are in themselves culturally specific and have become structurally embedded in organisational theory. Hofstede writes that these four dimensions of culture are aspects of culture that can be measured relative to other cultures. What these four dimensions actually do is not to combine to give us a four-dimensional (complex?) appreciation of culture. Rather, they map onto each other and reinforce a politically conservative, Eurocentric view of culture. Hofstede does admit to having had "a 'Western' way of thinking", but he inevitably goes back to "the mind" as a place or goal. He refers to a questionnaire composted by "Eastern', in this case Chinese minds ... [which] ... are programmed according to their own particular cultural framework" (171). So there is this constant reference to culturally programmed minds that determine certain behaviours. In his justification of using typologies to categorise people and their behaviour (minds?) Hofstede also admits that most people / cultures are hybrids. And he admits that rules are made arbitrarily in order to classify people / cultures (minds?). However, he insists that the statistical clusters he ends up with are an empirical typology. Such a reduction of "culture" to this kind of radical realism is absolutely anatomical and enumerative. And, the more Hofstede is quoted as an authority on doing business across cultures, the more truth value his work accrues. The sort of language Hofstede uses to describe culture attributes intrinsic meanings and, as a result, points to difference rather than diversity. Languages of difference are based on binaristic notions of masculine/feminine, East/West, active/passive, collective/individual, and so on. In this opposition of activity and passivity, the East (feminine, collectivist) is the weaker partner of the West (masculine, individualist). There is a nexus of knowledge and power that constructs cultural difference along such binaristic lines. While a language of diversity take multiplicity as a starting point, or the norm, Hofstede's hegemonic and instrumentalist language of difference sees multiplicity as problematic. This problem is flagged at the very start of Cultures and Organizations. 12 Angry Men: Hofstede Interprets Culture and Ignores Gender In the opening page of Cultures and Organizations there is a brief passage from Reginald Rose's play 12 Angry Men (1955). (For a good review of the film see http://www.film.u- net.com/Movies/Reviews/Twelve_Angry.html. The film was recently remade.) Hofstede uses it as an example of how twelve different people with different cultural backgrounds "think, feel and act differently". The passage describes a confrontation between what Hofstede refers as "a garage owner" and "a European-born, probably Austrian, watchmaker". Such a comparison flags, right from the start, a particular way of categorising and distinguishing between two people, in terms of visible and audible signs and symbols. Both parties are described in terms of their occupation. But then the added qualification of one of the parties as being "European-born, probably Austrian" clearly indicates that the unqualified party places him in the broad category "American". In other words, the garage owner's apparently neutral ethnicity implies a normative "American", against which all markers of cultural difference are measured. Hofstede is aware of this problem. He writes that "cultural relativism does not imply normlessness for oneself, nor for one's society" (7). However, he still uses the syntax of binaristic classification which repeats and perpetuates the very problems he is apparently addressing. One of the main factors that makes 12 Angry Men such a powerful drama is that each man carries / inscribes different aspects of American culture. And American culture is idealised in the justice system, where rationality and consensus overcomes prejudice and social pressure. Each man has a unique make-up, which includes class, occupation, ethnicity, personality, intelligence, style and experience. But 12 Angry Men is also an interesting exploration of masculinity. Because Hofstede has included a category of "masculine/feminine" in his study of national culture, it is an interesting oversight that he does not comment on this powerful element of the drama. People identify along various lines, in terms of ethnicities, languages, histories, sexuality, politics and nationalism. Most people do have multiple and varied aspects to their identity. However, Hofstede sees multiple lines of identification as causing "conflicting mental programs". Hofstede claims that identification on the gender level of his hierarchy is determined "according to whether a person was born as a girl or as a boy" (10). Hofstede misses the crucial point that whilst whether one is born female or male determines one's sex, whether one is enculturated as and identifies as feminine or masculine indicates one's gender. Sex and gender are not the same thing. Sex is biological (natural) and gender is ideological (socially constructed and naturalised). This sort of blindness to the ideological component of identity is a fundamental flaw in Hofstede's thesis. Hofstede takes ideological constructions as given, as natural. For example, in endnote 1 of Chapter 4, "He, she, and (s)he", he writes "My choice of the terms (soft feminine and hard masculine) is based on what is in virtually all societies, not on what anybody thinks should be (107, his italics). He reinforces the notion of gendered essences, or essences which constitute national identity. Indeed, the world is not made up of entities or essences that are masculine or feminine, Western or Eastern, active or passive. And the question is not so much about empirical accuracy along such lines, but rather what are the effects of always reinscribing cultures as Western or Eastern, masculine or feminine, collectivist or individualist. In an era of globalism and mass, interconnected communication, identities are multiple, and terms like East and West, masculine and feminine, active and passive, should be used as undecidable codes that, at the most, flag fragments of histories and ideologies. Identity East and West are concepts that did not come out of a political or cultural vacuum. They are categories, or concepts, that originated and flourished with European expansionism from the 17th century. They underwrote imperialism and colonisation. They are not inert labels that merely point to something "out there". East and West, like masculine and feminine or any other binary pair, indicate an imaginary relationship that prioritises one of the pair over the other. People and cultures cannot be separated into static Western and Eastern essences. Culture itself is always diverse and dynamic. It is marked by migration, diaspora, and exile, not to mention historical change. There are no "original" cultures. The sort of discourse Hofstede uses to describe cultures is based on an ontological and epistemological distinction made between East and West. Culture is not something invisible or intangible. Culture is not something obscure that is in the mind (whatever or wherever that is) which manifests itself in peculiar behaviours. Culture is what and how we communicate, whether that takes the form of speech, gestures, novels, plays, architecture, style, or art. And, as such, communication includes the objects we produce and exchange and the symbols to which we give meaning. So, when Hofstede writes that the Austrian watchmaker acts the way he does because he cannot behave otherwise. After many years in his new home country, he still behaves the way he was raised. He carries within himself an indelible pattern of behaviour he is attributing a whole range of qualities which are frequently given by dominant cultures to their cultural "others" (1). Hofstede attributes politeness, tradition, and, above all, stasis, to the European-Austrian watchmaker. The phrase "after many years in his new home country" is contradictory. If so many years have passed, why is "home" still "new"? And, indeed, the watchmaker might still behave the way he was raised, but it would be safe to assume that the garage owner also behaves the way he was raised. One of the main points made in 12 Angry Men is that twelve American men are all very different to each other in terms of values and behaviour. All this is represented in the dialogue and behaviour of twelve men in a closed room. If we are concerned with different kinds of social behaviour, and we are not concerned with pathological behaviour, then how can we know what anyone carries within themselves? Why do we want to know what anyone carries within themselves? From a cultural studies perspective, the last question is political. However, from a business studies perspective, that question is naïve. The radical economic rationalist would want to know as much as possible about cultural differences so that we can better target consumer groups and be more successful in cross-cultural negotiations. In colonial days, foreigners often wielded absolute power in other societies and they could impose their rules on it [sic]. In these postcolonial days, foreigners who want to change something in another society will have to negotiate their interventions. (7) Those who wielded absolute power in the colonies were the non-indigenous colonisers. It was precisely the self-legitimating step of making a place a colony that ensured an ongoing presence of the colonising power. The impetus behind learning about the Other in the colonial times was a combination of spiritual salvation (as in the "mission civilisatrice") and economic exploitation (colonies were seen as resources for the benefit of the European and later American centres). And now, the impetus behind learning about cultural difference is that "negotiation is more likely to succeed when the parties concerned understand the reasons for the differences in viewpoints" (7). Culture as Commerce What, in fact, happens, is that business studies simultaneously wants to "do" components of cross-cultural studies, as it is clearly profitable, while shunning the theoretical discipline of cultural studies. A fundamental flaw in a business studies perspective, which is based on Hofstede's work, is a blindness to the ideological and historical component of identity. Business studies has picked up just enough orientalism, feminism, marxism, deconstruction and postcolonialism to thinly disavow any complicity with dominant (and dominating) discourses, while getting on with business-as-usual. Multiculturalism and gender are seen as modern categories to which one must pay lip service, only to be able to get on with business-as-usual. Negotiation, compromise and consensus are desired not for the sake of success in civil processes, but for the material value of global market presence, acceptance and share. However, civil process and commercial interests are not easily separable. To refer to a cultural economy is not just to use a metaphor. The materiality of business, in the various forms of commercial transactions, is itself part of one's culture. That is, culture is the production, consumption and circulation of objects (including less easily definable objects, like performance, language, style and manners). Also, culture is produced and consumed socially (in the realm of the civil) and circulates through official and unofficial social and commercial mechanisms. Culture is a material and social phenomenon. It's not something hidden from view that only reveals itself in behaviours. Hofstede rightly asserts that culture is learned and not inherited. Human nature is inherited. However, it is very difficult to determine exactly what human nature is. Most of what we consider to be human nature turns out to be, upon close inspection, ideological, naturalised. Hofstede writes that what one does with one's human nature is "modified by culture" (5). I would argue that whatever one does is cultural. And this includes taking part in commercial transactions. Even though commercial transactions (including the buying and selling of services) are material, they are also highly ritualistic and highly symbolic, involving complex forms of communication (verbal and nonverbal language). Culture as Mental Programming Hofstede's insistent ontological reference to 'the sources of one's mental programs' is problematic for many reasons. There is the constant ontological as well as epistemological distinction being made between cultures, as if there is a static core to each culture and that we can identify it, know what it is, and deal with it. It is as if culture itself is a knowable essence. Even though Hofstede pays lip service to culture as a social phenomenon, saying that "the sources of one's mental programs lie within the social environments in which one grew up and collected one's life experiences" (4), and that past theories of race have been largely responsible for massive genocides, he nevertheless implies a kind of biologism simply by turning the mind (a radical abstraction) into something as crude as computer software, where data can be stored, erased or reconfigured. In explaining how culture is socially constructed and not biologically determined, Hofstede says that one's mental programming starts with the family and goes on through the neighbourhood, school, social groups, the work place, and the community. He says that "mental programs vary as much as the social environments in which they were acquired", which is nothing whatsoever like computer software (4-5). But he carries on to claim that "a customary term for such mental software is culture" (4, my italics). Before the large-scale changes which took place in the second half of the twentieth century in disciplines like anthropology, history, linguistics, and psychology, culture was seen to be a recognisable, determined, contained, consistent way of living which had deep psychic roots. Today, any link between mental processes and culture (formerly referred to as "race") cannot be sustained. We must be cautious against presuming to understand the relationship between mental process and social life and also against concluding that the content of the mind in each racial (or, if you like, ethnic or cultural) group is of a peculiar kind, because it is this kind of reductionism that feeds stereotypes. And it is the accumulation of knowledge about cultural types that implies power over the very types that are thus created. Conclusion A genuinely interdisciplinary approach to communication, commerce and culture would make business studies more theoretical and more challenging. And it would make cultural studies take commerce more seriously, beyond a mere celebration of shopping. This article has attempted to reveal some of the cracks in how business studies accounts for cultural diversity in an age of global commercial ambitions. It has also looked at how Hofstede's writings, as exemplary of the business studies perspective, papers over those cracks with a very thin layer of pluralist cultural relativism. This article is an invitation to open up a critical dialogue which dares to go beyond disciplinary traditionalisms in order to examine how meaning, communication, culture, language and commerce are embedded in each other. References Carothers, J.C. Mind of Man in Africa. London: Tom Stacey, 1972. Degabriele, Maria. Postorientalism: Orientalism since "Orientalism". Ph.D. Thesis. Perth: Murdoch University, 1997. Geertz, Clifford. The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books, 1973. Hofstede, Geert. Cultures and Organisations: Software of the Mind. Sydney: McGraw-Hill, 1991. Moore, Charles A., ed. The Japanese Mind: Essentials of Japanese Philosophy and Culture. Honolulu: East-West Centre, U of Hawaii, 1967. Patai, Raphael. The Arab Mind. New York: Scribner, 1983. Toffler, Alvin. Future Shock: A Study of Mass Bewildernment in the Face of Accelerating Change. Sydney: Bodley Head, 1970. 12 Angry Men. Dir. Sidney Lumet. Orion-Nova, USA. 1957. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Maria Degabriele. "Business as Usual: How Business Studies Thinks Culture." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.2 (2000). [your date of access] Chicago style: Maria Degabriele, "Business as Usual: How Business Studies Thinks Culture," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 2 (2000), ([your date of access]). APA style: Maria Degabriele. (2000) Business as usual: how business studies thinks culture. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(2). ([your date of access]).

L’enrichissement en azote (N) et phosphore (P) des milieux aquatiques provoque leur eutrophisation et impacte le cycle du carbone (C). Dans les bassins versants agricoles, l’essentiel du flux hydrique de N et P provient des surfaces agricoles. La forte variabilité spatio-temporelle des flux de C-N-P à l’échelle de la tête de bassin versant (<15 km²) complique la gestion et la protection de la ressource en eau, mais offre des opportunités d’optimisation pour la localisation de mesures agro-environnementales. Un suivi bimensuel pendant 17 mois (Mars 2018-juillet 2019) des concentrations en C-N-P en 32 points dont 23 têtes de bassin versant a permis de capter cette variabilité spatio-temporelle dans un bassin versant agricole (L’Yvel, 375 km² - Bretagne, France). La persistance des motifs spatiaux de la qualité d’eau a été montrée : un échantillonnage synoptique permet de hiérarchiser les sous bassins versants selon leurs exports hydriques de N et P. Le lien entre l’organisation spatiale et les flux de C-N-P est ensuite fait pour deux niveaux d’organisation. Il est montré, via une approche stochastique, que la proportion et le type des surfaces agricoles dans les versants influence les exports de N, tandis que la configuration spatiale de celles-ci est critique pour ceux de P. Le signal hydrochimique C-N-P issus des versants est modulé dans le réseau hydrographique. Un bilan de masse entre les flux issus des versants et ceux à l’exutoire de méso-échelle a montré que ces modulations influencent la variabilité temporelle des concentrations à la méso-échelle, mais que l’impact sur les flux annuels est faible
Nitrogen (N) and phosphorus (P) enrichment of aquatic ecosystems results in their eutrophication and impacts the carbon (C) cycle. In agricultural catchments, most of the hydrologic flux of N and P originates from agricultural areas. The high spatial and temporal variability of C-N-P fluxes in headwaters (<15 km2) complicates the management and protection of water resources, but offers opportunities for optimisation of localised agro-environmental measures. A fortnightly monitoring conducted over 17 months (March 2018-July 2019) of C-N-P concentrations at 32 points, including 23 headwaters, captured this spatio-temporal variability in an agricultural catchment (Yvel River, 375 km2 - Brittany, France). The persistence of spatial patterns of water quality was demonstrated: occasional sampling allowed the ranking of sub-catchments according to their hydric exports of N and P. The link between the landscape spatial organisation and C-N-P fluxes was then investigated across two levels of organisation. Using a stochastic approach, it was shown that the proportion and type of agricultural areas on hillslopes influence N water exports, while the spatial configuration of agricultural areas is critical for P exports. The C-N-P hydrochemical signal from the hillslope is modulated in the river network. A mass balance between modelled hillslope fluxes and the measured mesoscale outlet fluxes showed that these modulations influence the temporal variability of mesoscale concentrations, but have little impact on annual fluxes

Les fonctions hydrologiques de captage, stockage et rejet d’eau ont des signatures géochimiques dans les cours d'eau reflétant énormément celles trouvées dans les compartiments de la zone critique. Ces signatures sont fortement contrôlées par des processus bio-géophysico-chimiques produits dans l'interface régolite-plante. Jusqu'à présent, les recherches sur régolithes et processus hydrologiques sont restées largement découplées - conduisant à une utilisation généralisée de traceurs non conservateurs d'origines multiples, bloquant ainsi notre capacité à identifier les sources et les voies d'écoulement d’eau. Nous étudions ici le mélange d'eau dans la subsurface à travers un portefeuille unique de traceurs (éléments traces et isotopes O-H-Sr-Nd-Pb-U) permettant d'étudier les processus d'évolution du régolithe et le transport des solutés dans la zone critique. Nous signalons l'intérêt de cette approche pour renforcer la caractérisation des sources et voies d'écoulement d’eau
Catchment hydrological functions of water collection, storage and release have geochemical signatures in stream water largely mirroring those found in critical zone compartments. These signatures are strongly controlled by the different bio-geo-physico-chemical processes that occur within the regolith-plant interface. Until now, investigations into the critical zone’s regolith and hydrological processes research have largely remained uncoupled –leading to a widespread use of non-conservative tracers with multiple origins and thereby stymieing our capability for identifying water pools and flow paths. Here we study the mixing of water in the subsurface through a unique portfolio of complementary groups of tracers (trace elements O-Hand Sr-Nd-Pb-U isotopes) which enables investigating regolith evolution processes and solutes transport within the critical zone. We report the interest of this approach to strengthen water flowpaths and end-members characterization