Journal articles: 'Arthur Hughes' – Grafiati (2024)

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Probably no one who has entered either federal or state Parliament in Australia departed from it as loathed and despised as Malcolm Arthur Colston. A Labor senator from Queensland between 1975 and 1996, he is remembered by that party as a ‘rat’ who betrayed it for the sake of personal advancement. Whereas many Labor parliamentarians – most notably Prime Minister ‘Billy’ Hughes in 1917 have left the party because they strongly disagreed with it over a major policy issue or a matter of principle, in the winter of 1996 Colston unashamedly left it to secure the deputy presidency of the Senate and the status, income and several other perquisites that went with it. Labor's bitterness towards Colston stems not merely from the fact that he showed extraordinary ingratitude towards a party that had allowed him a parliamentary career but more especially because, between his defection from the party in August 1996 and his retirement from Parliament in June 1999, his vote allowed the Liberal-National Party government led by John Howard to pass legislation through the Senate that might otherwise have been rejected.

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IntroductionGwendolyn Bennett (1902-81) is often mentioned in books that discuss the harlem renaissance, and some of her poems Occasionally appear in poetry anthologies; but much of her career has been overlooked. Along with many of her friends, including Jessie Redmond Fauset, Langston Hughes, and Countee Cullen, Bennett was featured at the National Urban League's Civic Club Dinner in March 1924, an event that would later be “widely hailed as a ‘coming out party’ for young black artists, writers, and intellectuals whose work would come to define the Harlem Renaissance” (McHenry 383n100). In the next five years Bennett published over forty poems, short stories, and reviews in leading African American magazines and anthologies, such as Cullen's Caroling Dusk (1927) and William Stanley Braithwaite's Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1927; she created magazine cover art that adorned two leading African American periodicals, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People's Crisis: A Record of the Darker Races and the National Urban League's Opportunity: Journal of Negro Life; she worked as an editor or assistant editor of several magazines, including Opportunity, Black Opals, and Fire!; and she wrote a renowned literary column, “The Ebony Flute.” Many scholars, such as Cary Wintz, Abby Arthur Johnson and Ronald Maberry Johnson, and Elizabeth McHenry, recognized the importance of Bennett's column to the Harlem Renaissance in their respective studies, but their emphasis on a larger Harlem Renaissance discussion did not afford a detailed examination of her column.

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In its anonymous reviewof Christina Rossetti'sSpeaking Likenesses(1874), theAcademynotes rather hopelessly: “this will probably be one of the most popular children's books this winter. We wish we could understand it” (606). The reviewer – who later dwells on the “uncomfortable feeling” generated by this children's tale and its accompanying images – still counts as the most generous among the largely puzzled and horrified readership of Rossetti's story about three sets of girls experiencing violence and failure in their respective fantasy worlds (606). While clearly such dystopic plots are not out of place in Victorian literature about children, something about Rossetti's unusual narrative bothered her contemporaries. John Ruskin, for instance, bluntly wondered how Rossetti and Arthur Hughes, who illustrated the story, together could “sink so low” (qtd. in Auerbach and Knoepflmacher 318). In any case, the book still sold on the Christmas market, and a few months later, Rossetti would publishAnnus Domini, a benign pocketbook of daily prayers that stands in stark contrast to the grim prose ofSpeaking Likenesses.It is therefore tempting to cast this work of children's fiction as a strange anomaly in Rossetti's oeuvre, which from the 1870s, beginning withAnnus Domini, to her death in 1894, became almost exclusively dominated by devotional prose and poetry. In contrast, I argue in the following essay thatSpeaking Likenessespoints to a widespread interest throughout Rossetti's writing – but especially in her most well-known poems fromGoblin Market and Other Poems(1862) andA Prince's Progress(1866) – in alternative modes of sociality that refract a conceptual preoccupation with likeness, rather than difference. Following traditions of critical thought that have paid increasing attention to relations that resist oppositional logic – Stephanie Engelstein and Eve Kosovsky Sedgwick's late work comes to mind here – I establish the primacy of a horizontal axis of similarity in bothSpeaking Likenessesand Rossetti's most canonical poem, “Goblin Market.” For Rossetti, the lure of similarity, or minimal difference, manifests itself most often in siblinghood and more specifically, sisterhood, the dominant kinship relation throughout her lyrics fromGoblin Market and Other Poems. Sisterhood anchors the title poem I will examine in this essay, as well as shorter verses such as “Noble Sisters” and “Sister Maude.” At issue in such relations of likeness is the discreteness of a (typically) feminine self. For Rossetti, shunning oppositional structures of desire and difference that typically produce individuation (exemplified in the heterosexual couple form and the titles of her uneasy lyrics “He and She” and “Wife to Husband”) allows for a new (albeit perilous) space to carve out one's particularity as a gendered being.

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Abstract Clinical data: Subject: Male, 45 years old, diagnosed in 2001 with Ph+ CMLCP (low Sokalrisk).From 2001 to 2005 he was treated with Hydrea and Interferon with low dose Cytarabine. In 2005 he was switched to imatinib 400 mg/day. Due to cytogenetic resistance Imatinib dose was escalated to 600mg/day in 2006 and 800mg/day in 2007. No cytogenetic response was obtained. In 2009 patient was switched to nilotinib. Nilotinib therapy was discontinued in 2012 due to loss of complete hematologic response. Patient refuses unrelated donor allo HSCT. INFa 3000 U/3 times a day was given with prolonged stable complete hematologic response. Myeloid blasts crisis was diagnosed in Jan 2013. (The time patient was hospitalized to Almazov medical research center). Dasatinib 140mg/day was started without rapid blast reduction.The response lost in a few weeks, followed by 2 couses of FLAG regimen. Patient died in Dec 2013. BCR-ABL KD mutations history: 2007- no mutations found; 2009- no mutations found, February 2013 -L248V mutation; July 2013 mutation analysis returns no result due to the poor sequence quality;T315I mutation revealed in samples obtained from October 2013. BCR-ABL mutation analysis: Bcr-Abl analysis performed as described before (Branford et al., 2002). KD sequence was amplified from cDNA using seminested PCR, PCR product extracted from gel and sequenced in the both directions on ABI 3130 genetic analyzer. For confirmation we used genomic DNA extracted from stored peripheral blood samples. Primers specifically amplifying exon 4 and 5 of ABL used for genomic DNA analysis. Analysis of the sequences was done using UGENE software. Results: We analyzed two sets of probes- one dated March 2011 and another dated October 2013. After performing semi-nested PCR on BCR-ABL KD sequence we found at least two bands in each of the samples. Sequencing of this bands revealed 81 bp deletion translated into absence of 27 aa position at 248-274. Genomic DNA analysis confirmed alternative splicing and appearance of the truncated form. We found SNP resulted in T315I mutation presented either in full or in short isoform of BCR-ABL in samples from October 2013. Also we confirmed L248V mutation presented in all analyzed samples. Conclusion: SNP that cause L248V mutation in BCR-ABL transcript known to activate cryptic promotor in ABL exon4 with subsequent appearance of alternative splicing form described before (Gruber et al., 2006). Truncated form known to be kinase dead and have no influence on disease course (Shebenou et al., 2008). On the other hand it disturbs the Sanger sequence quality, masking the appearance of the additional mutations. Extensive attention requires in obtain proper sequence quality: use genomic DNA for Sanger sequencing or alternative sequencing methods, e.g. single-molecule long-read sequencing for revealing mutations in multiple splice isoforms. References: Branford S, Rudzki Z, Walsh S, Grigg A, Arthur C, Taylor K, Herrmann R, Lynch KP, Hughes TP. High frequency of point mutations clustered within the adenosine triphosphate-binding region of BCR/ABL in patients with chronic myeloid leukemia or Ph-positive acute lymphoblastic leukemia who develop imatinib (STI571)resistance. Blood. 2002 May 1;99(9):3472-5. Gruber FX, Hjorth-Hansen H, Mikkola I, Stenke L, Johansen T. A novel Bcr-Abl splice isoform is associated with the L248V mutation in CML patients with acquired resistance to imatinib. Leukemia. 2006 Nov;20(11):2057-60. Sherbenou DW, Hantschel O, Turaga L, Kaupe I, Willis S, Bumm T, Press RD,Superti-Furga G, Druker BJ, Deininger MW. Characterization of BCR-ABL deletion mutants from patients with chronic myeloid leukemia.Leukemia. 2008, Jun;22(6):1184-90. Disclosures Lomaya: Novartis: Consultancy. Zaritskey:University of Heidelberg: Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy.

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Anthony Esler. The Human Venture. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1986. Volume I: The Great Enterprise, a World History to 1500. Pp. xii, 340. Volume II: The Globe Encompassed, A World History since 1500. Pp. xii, 399. Paper, $20.95 each. Review by Teddy J. Uldricks of the University of North Carolina at Asheville. H. Stuart Hughes and James Wilkinson. Contemporary Europe: A History. Englewood Clifffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1987. Sixth edition. Pp. xiii, 615. Cloth, $35.33. Review by Harry E. Wade of East Texas State University. Ellen K. Rothman. Hands and Hearts: A History of Courtship in America. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 1987. Pp. xi, 370. Paper, $8.95. Review by Mary Jane Capozzoli of Warren County Community College. Bernard Lewis, ed. Islam: from the Prophet Muhammad to the Capture of Constantinople. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1987. Volume I: Politics and War. Pp.xxxvii, 226. Paper, $9.95. Volume II: Religion and Society. Pp. xxxix, 310. Paper, $10.95. Review by Calvin H. Allen, Jr. of The School of the Ozarks. Michael Stanford. The Nature of Historical Knowledge. New York: Basil Blackwell, 1986. Pp. vii, 196. Cloth, $45.00; paper, $14.95. Review by Michael J. Salevouris of Webster University. David Stricklin and Rebecca Sharpless, eds. The Past Meets The Present: Essays On Oral History. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1988. Pp. 151. Paper, $11.50. Review by Jacob L. Susskind of The Pennsylvania State University. Peter N. Stearns. World History: Patterns of Change and Continuity. New York: Harper and row, 1987. Pp. viii, 598. Paper, $27.00; Theodore H. Von Laue. The World Revolution of Westernization: The Twentieth Century in Global Perspective. New York: Oxford University Press, 1987. Pp. xx, 396. Cloth, $24.95. Review by Jayme A. Sokolow of the National Endowment for the Humanities. Marilyn J. Boxer and Jean R Quataert, eds. Connecting Spheres: Women in the Western World, 1500 to the Present. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. Pp. xvii, 281. Cloth, $29.95; Paper, $10.95. Review by Samuel E. Dicks of Emporia State University. Dietrich Orlow. A History of Modern Germany: 1870 to Present. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1987. Pp. xi, 371. Paper, $24.33. Review by Gordon R. Mork of Purdue University. Gail Braybon and Penny Summerfield. Out of the Cage: Women's Experiences in Two World Wars. Pandora: London and New York, 1987. Pp. xiii, 330. Paper, $14.95. Review by Paul E. Fuller of Transylvania University. Moshe Lewin. The Gorbachev Phenomenon: A Historical Interpretation. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988. Pp. xii, 176. Cloth, $16.95; David A. Dyker, ed. The Soviet Union Under Gorbachev: Prospects for Reform. London & New York: Croom Helm, 1987. Pp. 227. Cloth, $35.00. Review by Elizabeth J. Wilcoxson of Northern Essex Community College. Charles D. Smith, Palestine and the Arab-Israeli Conflict. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1988. Pp. viii, 308. Cloth, $35.00. Review by Arthur Q. Larson of Westmar College. Stephen G. Rabe. Eisenhower and Latin America: The Foreign Policy of Anticommunism. Chapel Hill & London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1988. Pp. 237. Cloth $29.95; paper, $9.95. Review by Donald J. Mabry of Mississippi State University. Earl Black and Merle Black. Politics and Society in the South. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 1987. Pp. ix, 363. Cloth, $25.00. Review by Donn C. Neal of the Society of American Archivists. The Lessons of the Vietnam War: A Modular Textbook. Pittsburgh: Center for Social Studies Education, 1988. Teacher edition (includes 64-page Teacher's Manual and twelve curricular units of 31-32 pages each), $39.95; student edition, $34.95; individual units, $3.00 each. Order from Center for Social Studies Education, 115 Mayfair Drive, Pittsburgh, PA 15228. Review by Stephen S. Gosch of the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. Media Reviews Carol Kammen. On Doing Local History. Videotape (VIIS). 45 minutes. Presented at SUNY-Brockport's Institute of Local Studies First Annual Symposium, September 1987. $29.95 prepaid. (Order from: Dr. Ronald W. Herlan, Director, Institute of Local Studies, Room 180, Faculty Office Bldg., SUNY-Brockport. Brockport. NY 14420.) Review by Herbert Janick of Western Connecticut State University.

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Background:Ixekizumab (IXE), a high-affinity monoclonal antibody targeting IL-17A, has demonstrated superiority in achieving the combined endpoint of ACR50 and PASI100 at week (Wk) 24 compared to adalimumab (ADA) in the SPIRIT-H2H trial [1]. In this analysis, we looked at the efficacy responses at the individual patient (pt) level to assess consistency over time and at each visit.Objectives:To determine the American College of Rheumatology 50% (ACR50) response and Disease Activity in psoriatic arthritis (PsA) (DAPSA) response in pts treated with IXE and describe response consistency over time and at each visit from Wk 24 through Wk 52.Methods:This post-hoc analysis used data from SPIRIT-H2H (NCT03151551), a phase3b/4 randomised, open-label parallel-group study between IXE and ADA. Pts were randomised to receive either IXE 80 mg, every 4 Wks (IXE Q4W)) or ADA 40 mg, every 2 Wks (ADA Q2W)). The proportion (%) of pts in the intent-to-treat population who achieved each endpoint, either ACR50 or DAPSA≤14, at Wk 24 and at each post-baseline visit out to Wk 52 was assessed. Nine pts with active psoriasis and body surface area (BSA) ≥3% were assessed as PASI=0 at baseline, a medical inconsistency that was resolved using medical judgement. These pts were considered PASI100 responders if PASI=0 and BSA=0 at post baseline visits.Results:A total of 566 patients enrolled in the trial received either IXE (N=283) or ADA (N=283). Of the 143 pts treated with IXE who achieved ACR50 at Wk 24, 65% (N=93) maintained ACR50 at every visit. In total, 83% (N=118) of the ACR50 achievers at Wk 24 maintained ACR50 with some (18% (N=25)) fluctuations, between ACR50 and ACR20 (Figure 1). Of the 132 pts treated with ADA who achieved ACR50 at Wk 24, 55% (N=72) maintained ACR50 at every visit. In total, 80% (N=105) of ACR50 achievers maintained ACR50 with some (25% (N=33)) fluctuations between ACR50 and ACR20 (Table 1). Furthermore, of the174 pts treated with IXE who achieved low DA (DAPSA≤14) at Wk 24, 68% (N=119) maintained low DA at every visit. Of the low DA achievers at Wk 24, 82% (N=142) of pts maintained low DA with some (13% (N=23)) fluctuations between moderate and low DA (Figure 1B). Of the 171 pts treated with ADA who achieved low DA at Wk 24; 57% (N=97) maintained low DA at every visit. In total, 77% (N=131) of low DA achievers at Wk 24 maintained low DA with some (20% (N=34)) fluctuations between moderate and low DA (Table 1).Conclusion:This analysis demonstrates that a numerically higher proportion of pts treated with IXE versus ADA show consistency of response, as measured by ACR50 and DAPSA responses, over time and for each visit at the pt level.References:[1]Mease et al. Ann Rheum Dis. 2020;79(1):123-131Table 1.Consistency over time of the effect of ADA in pts with PsA.IXE Q4W(N=283)ADA Q2W(N=283)ACR50Response,% (n)DAPSA≤14low DA,% (n)ACR50Response,% (n)DAPSA≤14low DA,% (n)Patients who achieved the response at Wk 2451% (143)61% (174)47% (132)60% (171)Achieved endpoint at Wk 24 and maintained out to Wk 52 with some fluctuations*83% (N=118)82% (N=142)80% (105)77% (131)Maintained endpoint at every visit65% (N=93)68% (N=119)55% (72)57% (97)Had some fluctuations*18% (N=25)13% (N=23)25% (33)20% (34)* fluctuations between ACR50 and ACR20, or between low and moderate disease activity.Figure 1.Heatmap diagram describing consistency over time of the effect of IXE in pts with PsA who achieved DAPSA≤14 (low disease activity) at Wk 24.Acknowledgements :Edel Hughes, an employee of Eli Lilly and Company, provided editorial and writing support.Disclosure of Interests:Laura C Coates Speakers bureau: AbbVie, Amgen, Biogen, Celgene, Gilead, Eli Lilly, Janssen, Medac, Novartis, Pfizer, and UCB., Consultant of: AbbVie, Amgen, Boehringer Ingelheim, Bristol-Myers Squibb, Celgene, Eli Lilly, Gilead, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, and UCB, Grant/research support from: AbbVie, Amgen, Celgene, Eli Lilly, Pfizer, and Novartis, David Sandoval Shareholder of: Eli Lilly & Company, Employee of: Eli Lilly & Company, Rebecca Bolce Shareholder of: Eli Lilly & Company, Employee of: Eli Lilly & Company, Chen-Yen Lin Shareholder of: Eli Lilly & Company, Employee of: Eli Lilly & Company, Keri Stenger Shareholder of: Eli Lilly & Company, Employee of: Eli Lilly & Company, Aubrey Trevelin Sprabery Shareholder of: Eli Lilly and Company; Johnson and Johnson, Employee of: Eli Lilly and Company, Arthur Kavanaugh Consultant of: AbbVie, Amgen, Eli Lilly, BMS, Pfizer, Novartis, Janssen.

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Dans sa forme actuelle, le Département de psychiatrie de l’Université de Montréal a été créé en 1964. La première personne à l’avoir dirigé fut le Dr Gérard Beaudoin qui est véritablement entré en fonction le 1er janvier 1965. Puis, les directeurs du département ont été de 1951 à maintenant : Drs Fernand Côté, Camille Laurin, Gérard Beaudoin, Yvon Gauthier, Arthur Amyot, François Borgeat, Hugues Cormier, Sylvain Palardy, Jean Hébert et Emmanuel Stip. L’histoire du Département de psychiatrie de l’Université de Montréal est largement tributaire de celle de chacun des établissem*nts qui sont affiliés à l’Université, comme le pavillon Albert-Prévost de l’Hôpital du Sacré-Coeur de Montréal (HSCM), l’Institut universitaire en santé mentale de Montréal (IUSMM) ou le CHU Sainte-Justine. On doit également se remémorer que la découverte de la potentialisation du lithium par les antidépresseurs a été faite à l’Hôpital Louis-H. Lafontaine (aujourd’hui l’IUSMM) par l’équipe du Dr Claude De Montigny. Les avancées significatives liées à l’interaction entre le mouvement psychanalytique et la psychiatrie communautaire ont grandement été influencées par les travaux menés au pavillon Albert-Prévost et l’émergence des thérapies comportementales (Dr Yves Lamontagne) et cognitives par les études effectuées à l’Hôpital Louis-H. Lafontaine. Les grandes découvertes sur le sommeil ont été réalisées à l’Hôpital du Sacré-Coeur de Montréal par des équipes rassemblées autour du psychiatre Jacques Montplaisir. Deux ministres du gouvernement du Québec ayant des responsabilités politiques importantes ont été membres ou directeurs du Département de psychiatrie : Camille Laurin et Denis Lazure. De plus, le Département de psychiatrie est à l’origine d’un livre essentiel d’enseignement pour la psychiatrie francophone canadienne : Psychiatrie clinique : une approche biopsychosociale.

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Galectins (Gal) are β-galactoside-binding proteins that function in epithelial development and homeostasis. An overlapping role for Gal-3 and Gal-7 in wound repair was reported in stratified epithelia. Although Gal-7 was thought absent in simple epithelia, it was reported in a proteomic analysis of cilia isolated from cultured human airway, and we recently identified Gal-7 transcripts in Madin-Darby canine kidney (MDCK) cells (Poland PA, Rondanino C, Kinlough CL, Heimburg-Molinaro J, Arthur CM, Stowell SR, Smith DF, Hughey RP. J Biol Chem 286: 6780–6790, 2011). We now report that Gal-7 is localized exclusively on the primary cilium of MDCK, LLC-PK1 (pig kidney), and mpkCCDc14 (mouse kidney) cells as well as on cilia in the rat renal proximal tubule. Gal-7 is also present on most cilia of multiciliated cells in human airway epithelia primary cultures. Interestingly, exogenous glutathione S-transferase (GST)-Gal-7 bound the MDCK apical plasma membrane as well as the cilium, while the lectin Ulex europeaus agglutinin, with glycan preferences similar to Gal-7, bound the basolateral plasma membrane as well as the cilium. In pull-down assays, β1-integrin isolated from either the basolateral or apical/cilia membranes of MDCK cells was similarly bound by GST-Gal-7. Selective localization of Gal-7 to cilia despite the presence of binding sites on all cell surfaces suggests that intracellular Gal-7 is specifically delivered to cilia rather than simply binding to surface glycoconjugates after generalized secretion. Moreover, depletion of Gal-7 using tetracycline-induced short-hairpin RNA in mpkCCDc14 cells significantly reduced cilia length and slowed wound healing in a scratch assay. We conclude that Gal-7 is selectively targeted to cilia and plays a key role in surface stabilization of glycoconjugates responsible for integrating cilia function with epithelial repair.

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Le terme « ethnopsychiatrie » a été proposé pour la première fois, autour des années 1940, par le psychiatre et diplomate haïtien Louis Mars (1945). « Ethno-psych-iatrie » vient de ethnos qui en grec ancien, et à la suite d’une série de glissem*nts sémantiques signifie tour à tour famille, tribu, peuple, nation, race. Le terme psuche indique les idées d'âme et d'esprit et, enfin, celui de iatros réfère au médecin, au guérisseur, au soin et au médicament. La notion d’ethnopsychiatrie consiste donc en cette alliance complexe entre ethnos, psuche et iatros. Dans la présente rubrique, l’ethnopsychiatrie est sommairement abordée selon trois dimensions essentielles, à savoir : 1. l’ethnopsychiatrie comme ensemble de théories et de pratiques culturelles; 2. l’ethnopsychiatrie comme discipline anthropologique; et 3. l’ethnopsychiatrie comme pratique clinique. 1. En tant que théorie et pratique culturelle, l’ethnopsychiatrie se veut universelle. Pour Georges Devereux (1908-1985), considéré comme le fondateur de l’ethnopsychanalyse (variante fondatrice de l’ethnopsychiatrie) (Laplantine 2007), « il n’est pas de peuple sans ‘’ethnopsychiatrie’’, c’est-à-dire sans son propre repérage, sans ses modalités de prise en charge des désordres, de ce type de négativité que la science appelle ‘’psychopatologie’’ » (cité par Nathan 2011). L’alliance complexe entre ethnos, psuche et iatros (ethno-psych-iatrie), se décline cependant de multiples façons et par différents peuples pour construire des espaces d’expression du désordre, du mal, du malheur, du mal-être, de la maladie, de la souffrance sociale et de leur dimension cosmogonique. Ces espaces sont des ethnopsychiatries plurielles que chaque société humaine abrite comme dans les traditions ayurvédique, humorale, homéopathique, exorcistique, chamanistique qui s’ajoutent à une liste interminable de théories et d’actions au sujet de la maladie et de l’univers. L’ethnopsychiatrie inclut aussi des rituels tels que, parmi tant d’autres, Mpombo, Mizuka et Zebola qui déploient un répertoire de gestes, de signes et d’êtres mythiques, et qui permettent aux femmes congolaises de (re)négocier leur rôle social et de (re)prendre une parole singulière pour exprimer leur mal-être dans une société où la parole dominante est généralement collective. Loin du Congo, nous retrouvons en Afrique de l’Est et dans la Péninsule arabique, le Zar, un rite impliquant essentiellement des femmes et favorisant lui aussi la résolution de conflits par l’expression collective de ceux-ci. Dans l’ensemble, l’ethnopsychiatrie contribue à la saisie des désordres intrapsychiques, interpersonnels ou sociaux, et cosmogoniques menaçants (Mekki-Berrada 2013). L’ethnopsychiatrie peut être considérée comme un « fait culturel total » qui se décline dans toutes les cultures et dans toutes les sociétés à travers les cinq continents. Au-delà de tous les particularismes, l’ethnopsychiatrie demeure à chaque fois culturellement située et consiste idéalement à transformer un monde chaotique en un monde qui fait sens pour la personne souffrante et son entourage. La psychiatrie contemporaine, elle-même, peut être considérée comme étant une ethnopsychiatrie parce qu'elle est comme les autres culturellement ancrée et dotée d’un ensemble de théories et de pratiques qui lui sont propres (Mekki-Berrada, 2013). Le « fou » dans l’Europe du XVIIIe siècle était un être de « déraison », dans le sens foucaldien du terme, au même titre que tous les autres exclus de la « raison » dominante de l’époque mêlant valeurs religieuses chrétiennes et valeurs sociales aristocratiques et monarchiques; le « fou », « l’insensé » se retrouvait alors avec les mendiants, les hom*osexuels, les libertins, les prostituées, tous entassés dans les hôpitaux généraux à des fin de contrôle social (Foucault 1972). La psychiatrie moderne est née dans l’Europe de l’Ouest du XIXe siècle quand le fou cessa d’être délinquant, pour être considéré comme malade. Même si, partiellement libéré du regard inquisiteur de l’Église et de la Monarchie, le « déraisonnable » devient aujourd’hui tantôt proie, tantôt sujet, au regard de la psychiatrie contemporaine. 2. En tant que discipline, l’ethnopsychiatrie se propose d’étudier les ethnopsychiatries comme espaces culturels où convergent les savoirs nosologiques, étiologiques et thérapeutiques au sujet du « désordre » mental, social et cosmogonique. L’ethnopsychiatrie-discipline ne constitue pas un bloc théorique monolithique. Sans nous arrêter sur les particularismes régionaux ou nationaux de l’anthropologie (« américaine », « britannique », « française »), la tendance historique générale de l’ethnopsychiatrie veut que cette discipline étudie, à ses débuts, la geste thérapeutique « exotique », non-occidentale, non-biomédicale. Avec le tournant interprétatif inauguré en anthropologie dans les années 1970 par Clifford Geertz et ce que l’on nommera dans les années 1980, avec Arthur Kleinman et Byron Good, l’anthropologie médicale interprétative, l’ethnopsychiatrie va cesser de se limiter aux espaces ethnomédicaux non-occidentaux pour se pencher aussi sur les «traditions ethnomédicales occidentales» incluant la biomédecine et la psychiatrie (Mekki-Berrada 2013), tout en plongeant dans le foisonnement des symboles et des interprétations de la maladie, du mal et du malheur. L’anthropologie médicale interprétative utilisera la culture comme moteur explicatif et principal cheval de bataille théorique. Elle sera cependant vite soumise aux vives critiques de Soheir Morsy (1979) et d'Allan Young (1982). Pour ces auteurs, l'approche interprétative « surculturaliserait » la maladie car elle en privilégierait les significations culturelles et en évacuerait les dimensions sociales et politiques. Cette critique sera poursuivie par Baer et Singer (2003) au sein d’un nouveau paradigme qu’ils nommeront « anthropologie médicale critique », paradigme dans lequel l’économie politique de la santé mentale est le moteur explicatif de la maladie et de la souffrance. De ce point de vue la culture serait un outil idéologique au service de la classe dominante, un « réseau de significations autant que de mystifications » (Keesing 1987 cité par Good 1994) qui camouflerait les inégalités sociales. Généralement considérée comme radicale sur le plan théorique, l’anthropologie médicale critique finira par trouver un équilibre des plus constructifs avec un autre courant nommé « anthropologie médicale interprétative-critique » (Lock et Scheper-Hughes 1996) qui offre l’avantage conceptuel et méthodologique de n’évacuer ni le culturel ni le politique, mais articule ces éléments pour mieux cerner l’enchevêtrement complexe des dimensions tant culturelles et microsociales de la maladie mentale et de la souffrance sociale que leurs enjeux macrosociaux. 3. En tant que pratique clinique, l’ethnopsychiatrie est relativement récente. Si Devereux apparaît comme le fondateur incontesté de l’ethnopsychiatrie-discipline, ce sont ses étudiants, Tobie Nathan et Marie-Rose Moro, qui fonderont l’ethnopsychiatrie-clinique à partir des années 1980, tous trois Français « venus d’ailleurs », porteurs et bricoleurs d’identités métissées. L’ethnopsychiatrie-clinique est une pratique psychiatrique, mais aussi psychologique, dépendamment de l’orientation centrale du « thérapeute principal » qui est soit psychiatre (ex. : Moro), soit psychologue (ex. : Nathan). En Amérique du Nord, ce sont essentiellement des psychiatres qui pratiquent l’ethnopsychiatrie-clinique, ou plutôt l’une de ses variantes, la « psychiatrie transculturelle » (Kirmayer, Guzder, Rousseau 2013) dont les principaux chefs de file sont basés à Harvard Medical School (ex. : Arthur Kleinman) ou à McGill University (ex. : Laurence Kirmayer, Cécile Rousseau). Il est à noter que l’ethnopsychiatrie clinique est très peu en vogue en dehors de l’Amérique du Nord et de l’Europe de l’Ouest. Il existe un certain nombre de variantes du dispositif clinique, mais une consultation ethnopsychiatrique nécessite au minimum : 1. un groupe de thérapeutes issus de cultures et de disciplines diverses, dont un-e seul est responsable et en charge de la circulation de la parole ; 2. la langue maternelle des patients et la présence d’interprètes culturels, ainsi que le passage d’une langue à l’autre, sont des éléments centraux du dispositif clinique afin d’aider à l’identification de nuances, subtilités, connotations et catégories culturelles; 3. le patient est fortement invité à se présenter en consultation avec des personnes qui lui sont significatives dans son propre réseau social ; 4. le dispositif groupal et le passage d’une langue à l’autre posent un cadre multi-théorique et l’ethnopsychiatre peut ainsi établir « un cadre métissé dans lequel chaque élément du matériel [biographique] peut-être interprété selon l’une ou l’autre logique » (Nathan 1986:126). Un tel dispositif facilite la mise en place d’un « espace intermédiaire » qui fait intervenir la culture comme « levier thérapeutique » et permet de révéler des conflits interpersonnels et intrapsychiques (Laplantine 2007 ; Streit, Leblanc, Mekki-Berrada 1998). Les ethnopsychiatres cliniciens procèdent souvent eux-mêmes à des « mini ethnographies » (« mini ethnography » ; Kleinman et Benson 2006) en se mettant « à l’école des gens qui consultent, pas l’inverse » (Nathan 2007). Ces mini ethnographies ont pour outil les « modèles explicatifs de la maladie » (« Illness Explanatory Models » ; Kleinman 1988) qui ont pour but d’être à l’écoute des perspectives des patients pour mieux explorer leur culture ainsi que les dimensions sociales et culturelles de la maladie mentale. En plus d’explorer la dimension culturelle du désordre, l’ethnopsychiatrie cherche à mieux comprendre la dimension psychiatrique des cultures tout en évitant de sur-psychiatriser la culture et de sur-culturaliser la psychiatrie (Laplantine 2007). Dans tous les cas, dès le début de la discipline qu’il a fondée, Devereux (1977) proposait une perspective « complémentariste » encore très utilisée aujourd’hui. Celle-ci exige le recours à la psychanalyse et à l’anthropologie de façon non simultanée, en ce sens que l’ethnopsychiatre est appelée à d’abord épuiser son recours à l’une des deux disciplines avant de se référer à l’autre, et ce, de façon constante. La méthode complémentariste s’accompagne nécessairement de la « décentration » qui est une attitude ou un mécanisme incontournable, qui force le thérapeute à identifier et à minimiser, dans la rencontre clinique, l’impact de sa subjectivité "égocentrée" ou "sociocentrée". En somme l’ethnopsychiatrie, telle que sommairement abordée ici, est un espace culturel où convergent les savoirs nosologiques, étiologiques et thérapeutiques, tous culturellement situés, et qui prend pour objet le « désordre » mental, social et cosmogonique; elle est aussi une discipline anthropologique qui se propose d’étudier ces espaces culturels ; elle est enfin une pratique clinique. Il s’agit de trois pans indissociables et constitutifs d’un même trièdre.

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L’anthropologie médicale est un sous-champ de l’anthropologie socioculturelle qui s’intéresse à la pluralité des systèmes médicaux ainsi qu’à l’étude des facteurs économiques, politiques et socioculturels ayant un impact sur la santé des individus et des populations. Plus spécifiquement, elle s’intéresse aux relations sociales, aux expériences vécues, aux pratiques impliquées dans la gestion et le traitement des maladies par rapport aux normes culturelles et aux institutions sociales. Plusieurs généalogies de l’anthropologie médicale peuvent être retracées. Toutefois, les monographies de W.H.R. Rivers et d’Edward Evans-Pritchard (1937), dans lesquelles les représentations, les connaissances et les pratiques en lien avec la santé et la maladie étaient considérées comme faisant intégralement partie des systèmes socioculturels, sont généralement considérées comme des travaux fondateurs de l’anthropologie médicale. Les années 1950 ont marqué la professionnalisation de l’anthropologie médicale. Des financements publics ont été alloués à la discipline pour contribuer aux objectifs de santé publique et d’amélioration de la santé dans les communautés économiquement pauvres (Good 1994). Dans les décennies qui suivent, les bases de l’anthropologie médicale sont posées avec l’apparition de nombreuses revues professionnelles (Social Science & Medicine, Medical Anthropology, Medical Anthropology Quarterly), de manuels spécialisés (e.g. MacElroy et Townsend 1979) et la formation du sous-groupe de la Society for Medical Anthropology au sein de l’American Anthropological Association (AAA) en 1971, qui sont encore des points de références centraux pour le champ. À cette époque, sous l’influence des théories des normes et du pouvoir proposées par Michel Foucault et Pierre Bourdieu, la biomédecine est vue comme un système structurel de rapports de pouvoir et devient ainsi un objet d’étude devant être traité symétriquement aux autres systèmes médicaux (Gaines 1992). L’attention portée aux théories du biopouvoir et de la gouvernementalité a permis à l’anthropologie médicale de formuler une critique de l’hégémonie du regard médical qui réduit la santé à ses dimensions biologiques et physiologiques (Saillant et Genest 2007 : xxii). Ces considérations ont permis d’enrichir, de redonner une visibilité et de l’influence aux études des rationalités des systèmes médicaux entrepris par Evans-Pritchard, et ainsi permettre la prise en compte des possibilités qu’ont les individus de naviguer entre différents systèmes médicaux (Leslie 1980; Lock et Nguyen 2010 : 62). L’aspect réducteur du discours biomédical avait déjà été soulevé dans les modèles explicatifs de la maladie développés par Arthur Kleinman, Leon Eisenberg et Byron Good (1978) qui ont introduit une distinction importante entre « disease » (éléments médicalement observables de la maladie), « illness » (expériences vécues de la maladie) et « sickness » (aspects sociaux holistes entourant la maladie). Cette distinction entre disease, illness et sickness a joué un rôle clé dans le développement rapide des perspectives analytiques de l’anthropologie médicale de l’époque, mais certaines critiques ont également été formulées à son égard. En premier lieu, Allan Young (1981) formule une critique des modèles explicatifs de la maladie en réfutant l'idée que la rationalité soit un model auquel les individus adhèrent spontanément. Selon Young, ce modèle suggère qu’il y aurait un équivalant de structures cognitives qui guiderait le développement des modèles de causalité et des systèmes de classification adoptées par les personnes. Au contraire, il propose que les connaissances soient basées sur des actions, des relations sociales, des ressources matérielles, avec plusieurs sources influençant le raisonnement des individus qui peuvent, de plusieurs manières, diverger de ce qui est généralement entendu comme « rationnel ». Ces critiques, ainsi que les études centrées sur l’expérience des patients et des pluralismes médicaux, ont permis de constater que les stratégies adoptées pour obtenir des soins sont multiples, font appel à plusieurs types de pratiques, et que les raisons de ces choix doivent être compris à la lumière des contextes historiques, locaux et matériaux (Lock et Nguyen 2010 : 63). Deuxièmement, les approches de Kleinman, Eisenberger et Good ont été critiquées pour leur séparation artificielle du corps et de l’esprit qui représentait un postulat fondamental dans les études de la rationalité. Les anthropologues Nancy Scheper-Hughes et Margeret Lock (1987) ont proposé que le corps doit plutôt être abordé selon trois niveaux analytiques distincts, soit le corps politique, social et individuel. Le corps politique est présenté comme étant un lieu où s’exerce la régulation, la surveillance et le contrôle de la différence humaine (Scheper-Hughes et Lock 1987 : 78). Cela a permis aux approches féministes d’aborder le corps comme étant un espace de pouvoir, en examinant comment les discours sur le genre rendent possible l’exercice d’un contrôle sur le corps des femmes (Manderson, Cartwright et Hardon 2016). Les premiers travaux dans cette perspective ont proposé des analyses socioculturelles de différents contextes entourant la reproduction pour contrecarrer le modèle dominant de prise en charge médicale de la santé reproductive des femmes (Martin 1987). Pour sa part, le corps social renvoie à l’idée selon laquelle le corps ne peut pas être abordé simplement comme une entité naturelle, mais qu’il doit être compris en le contextualisant historiquement et socialement (Lupton 2000 : 50). Finalement, considérer le corps individuel a permis de privilégier l’étude de l’expérience subjective de la maladie à travers ses variations autant au niveau individuel que culturel. Les études de l’expérience de la santé et la maladie axées sur l’étude des « phénomènes tels qu’ils apparaissent à la conscience des individus et des groupes d’individus » (Desjarlais et Throop 2011 : 88) se sont avérées pertinentes pour mieux saisir la multitude des expériences vécues des états altérés du corps (Hofmann et Svenaeus 2018). En somme, les propositions de ces auteurs s’inscrivent dans une anthropologie médicale critique qui s’efforce d’étudier les inégalités socio-économiques (Scheper-Hughes 1992), l’accès aux institutions et aux savoirs qu’elles produisent, ainsi qu’à la répartition des ressources matérielles à une échelle mondiale (Manderson, Cartwright et Hardon 2016). Depuis ses débuts, l’anthropologie médicale a abordé la santé globale et épidémiologique dans le but de faciliter les interventions sur les populations désignées comme « à risque ». Certains anthropologues ont développé une perspective appliquée en épidémiologie sociale pour contribuer à l’identification de déterminants sociaux de la santé (Kawachi et Subramanian 2018). Plusieurs de ces travaux ont été critiqués pour la culturalisation des pathologies touchant certaines populations désignées comme étant à risque à partir de critères basés sur la stigmatisation et la marginalisation de ces populations (Trostle et Sommerfeld 1996 : 261). Au-delà des débats dans ce champ de recherche, ces études ont contribué à la compréhension des dynamiques de santé et de maladie autant à l’échelle globale, dans la gestion des pandémies par l’Organisation Mondiale de la Santé (OMS), qu’aux échelles locales avec la mise en place de campagnes de santé publique pour faciliter l’implantation de mesures sanitaires, telles que la vaccination (Dubé, Vivion et Macdonald 2015). L’anthropologie a contribué à ces discussions en se penchant sur les contextes locaux des zoonoses qui sont des maladies transmissibles des animaux vertébrés aux humains (Porter 2013), sur la résistance aux antibiotiques (Landecker 2016), comme dans le cas de la rage et de l’influenza (Wolf 2012), sur les dispositifs de prévention mis en place à une échelle mondiale pour éviter l’apparition et la prolifération d’épidémies (Lakoff 2010), mais aussi sur les styles de raisonnement qui sous-tendent la gestion des pandémies (Caduff 2014). Par ailleurs, certains auteur.e.s ont utilisé le concept de violence structurelle pour analyser les inégalités socio-économiques dans le contexte des pandémies de maladies infectieuses comme le sida, la tuberculose ou, plus récemment, l’Ébola (Fassin 2015). Au-delà de cet aspect socio-économique, Aditya Bharadwaj (2013) parle d’une inégalité épistémique pour caractériser des rapports inégaux dans la production et la circulation globale des savoirs et des individus dans le domaine de la santé. Il décrit certaines situations comme des « biologies subalternes », c’est à dire des états de santé qui ne sont pas reconnus par le système biomédical hégémonique et qui sont donc invisibles et vulnérables. Ces « biologies subalternes » sont le revers de citoyennetés biologiques, ces dernières étant des citoyennetés qui donnes accès à une forme de sécurité sociale basée sur des critères médicaux, scientifiques et légaux qui reconnaissent les dommages biologiques et cherche à les indemniser (Petryna 2002 : 6). La citoyenneté biologique étant une forme d’organisation qui gravite autour de conditions de santé et d’enjeux liés à des maladies génétiques rares ou orphelines (Heath, Rapp et Taussig 2008), ces revendications mobilisent des acteurs incluant les institutions médicales, l’État, les experts ou encore les pharmaceutiques. Ces études partagent une attention à la circulation globale des savoirs, des pratiques et des soins dans la translation — ou la résistance à la translation — d’un contexte à un autre, dans lesquels les patients sont souvent positionnés entre des facteurs sociaux, économiques et politiques complexes et parfois conflictuels. L’industrie pharmaceutique et le développement des technologies biomédicales se sont présentés comme terrain important et propice pour l’analyse anthropologique des dynamiques sociales et économiques entourant la production des appareils, des méthodes thérapeutiques et des produits biologiques de la biomédecine depuis les années 1980 (Greenhalgh 1987). La perspective biographique des pharmaceutiques (Whyte, Geest et Hardon 2002) a consolidé les intérêts et les approches dans les premières études sur les produits pharmaceutiques. Ces recherches ont proposé de suivre la trajectoire sociale des médicaments pour étudier les contextes d’échanges et les déplacements dans la nature symbolique qu’ont les médicaments pour les consommateurs : « En tant que choses, les médicaments peuvent être échangés entre les acteurs sociaux, ils objectivent les significations, ils se déplacent d’un cadre de signification à un autre. Ce sont des marchandises dotées d’une importance économique et de ressources recelant une valeur politique » (traduit de Whyte, Geest et Hardon 2002). D’autres ont davantage tourné leur regard vers les rapports institutionnels, les impacts et le fonctionnement de « Big Pharma ». Ils se sont intéressés aux processus de recherche et de distribution employés par les grandes pharmaceutiques à travers les études de marché et les pratiques de vente (Oldani 2014), l’accès aux médicaments (Ecks 2008), la consommation des produits pharmaceutiques (Dumit 2012) et la production de sujets d’essais cliniques globalisés (Petryna, Lakoff et Kleinman 2006), ainsi qu’aux enjeux entourant les réglementations des brevets et du respect des droits politiques et sociaux (Ecks 2008). L’accent est mis ici sur le pouvoir des produits pharmaceutiques de modifier et de changer les subjectivités contemporaines, les relations familiales (Collin 2016), de même que la compréhensions du genre et de la notion de bien-être (Sanabria 2014). Les nouvelles technologies biomédicales — entre autres génétiques — ont permis de repenser la notion de normes du corps en santé, d'en redéfinir les frontières et d’intervenir sur le corps de manière « incorporée » (embodied) (Haraway 1991). Les avancées technologiques en génomique qui se sont développées au cours des trois dernières décennies ont soulevé des enjeux tels que la généticisation, la désignation de populations/personnes « à risque », l’identification de biomarqueurs actionnables et de l’identité génétique (TallBear 2013 ; Lloyd et Raikhel 2018). Au départ, le modèle dominant en génétique cherchait à identifier les gènes spécifiques déterminant chacun des traits biologiques des organismes (Lock et Nguyen 2010 : 332). Cependant, face au constat que la plupart des gènes ne codaient par les protéines responsables de l’expression phénotypique, les modèles génétiques se sont depuis complexifiés. L’attention s’est tournée vers l’analyse de la régulation des gènes et de l’interaction entre gènes et maladies en termes de probabilités (Saukko 2017). Cela a permis l’émergence de la médecine personnalisée, dont les interventions se basent sur l’identification de biomarqueurs personnels (génétiques, sanguins, etc.) avec l’objectif de prévenir l’avènement de pathologies ou ralentir la progression de maladies chroniques (Billaud et Guchet 2015). Les anthropologues de la médecine ont investi ces enjeux en soulevant les conséquences de cette forme de médecine, comme la responsabilisation croissante des individus face à leur santé (Saukko 2017), l’utilisation de ces données dans l’accès aux assurances (Hoyweghen 2006), le déterminisme génétique (Landecker 2011) ou encore l’affaiblissem*nt entre les frontières de la bonne santé et de la maladie (Timmermans et Buchbinder 2010). Ces enjeux ont été étudiés sous un angle féministe avec un intérêt particulier pour les effets du dépistage prénatal sur la responsabilité parentale (Rapp 1999), l’expérience de la grossesse (Rezende 2011) et les gestions de l’infertilité (Inhorn et Van Balen 2002). Les changements dans la compréhension du modèle génomique invitent à prendre en considération plusieurs variables en interaction, impliquant l’environnement proche ou lointain, qui interagissent avec l’expression du génome (Keller 2014). Dans ce contexte, l’anthropologie médicale a développé un intérêt envers de nouveaux champs d’études tels que l’épigénétique (Landecker 2011), la neuroscience (Choudhury et Slaby 2016), le microbiome (Benezra, DeStefano et Gordon 2012) et les données massives (Leonelli 2016). Dans le cas du champ de l’épigénétique, qui consiste à comprendre le rôle de l’environnement social, économique et politique comme un facteur pouvant modifier l’expression des gènes et mener au développement de certaines maladies, les anthropologues se sont intéressés aux manières dont les violences structurelles ancrées historiquement se matérialisent dans les corps et ont des impacts sur les disparités de santé entre les populations (Pickersgill, Niewöhner, Müller, Martin et Cunningham-Burley 2013). Ainsi, la notion du traumatisme historique (Kirmayer, Gone et Moses 2014) a permis d’examiner comment des événements historiques, tels que l’expérience des pensionnats autochtones, ont eu des effets psychosociaux collectifs, cumulatifs et intergénérationnels qui se sont maintenus jusqu’à aujourd’hui. L’étude de ces articulations entre conditions biologiques et sociales dans l’ère « post-génomique » prolonge les travaux sur le concept de biosocialité, qui est défini comme « [...] un réseau en circulation de termes d'identié et de points de restriction autour et à travers desquels un véritable nouveau type d'autoproduction va émerger » (Traduit de Rabinow 1996:186). La catégorie du « biologique » se voit alors problématisée à travers l’historicisation de la « nature », une nature non plus conçue comme une entité immuable, mais comme une entité en état de transformation perpétuelle imbriquée dans des processus humains et/ou non-humains (Ingold et Pálsson 2013). Ce raisonnement a également été appliqué à l’examen des catégories médicales, conçues comme étant abstraites, fixes et standardisées. Néanmoins, ces catégories permettent d'identifier différents états de la santé et de la maladie, qui doivent être compris à la lumière des contextes historiques et individuels (Lock et Nguyen 2010). Ainsi, la prise en compte simultanée du biologique et du social mène à une synthèse qui, selon Peter Guarnaccia, implique une « compréhension du corps comme étant à la fois un système biologique et le produit de processus sociaux et culturels, c’est-à-dire, en acceptant que le corps soit en même temps totalement biologique et totalement culturel » (traduit de Guarnaccia 2001 : 424). Le concept de « biologies locales » a d’abord été proposé par Margaret Lock, dans son analyse des variations de la ménopause au Japon (Lock 1993), pour rendre compte de ces articulations entre le matériel et le social dans des contextes particuliers. Plus récemment, Niewöhner et Lock (2018) ont proposé le concept de biologies situées pour davantage contextualiser les conditions d’interaction entre les biologies locales et la production de savoirs et de discours sur celles-ci. Tout au long de l’histoire de la discipline, les anthropologues s’intéressant à la médecine et aux approches de la santé ont profité des avantages de s’inscrire dans l’interdisciplinarité : « En anthropologie médical, nous trouvons qu'écrire pour des audiences interdisciplinaires sert un objectif important : élaborer une analyse minutieuse de la culture et de la santé (Dressler 2012; Singer, Dressler, George et Panel 2016), s'engager sérieusem*nt avec la diversité globale (Manderson, Catwright et Hardon 2016), et mener les combats nécessaires contre le raccourcies des explications culturelles qui sont souvent déployées dans la littérature sur la santé (Viruell-Fuentes, Miranda et Abdulrahim 2012) » (traduit de Panter-Brick et Eggerman 2018 : 236). L’anthropologie médicale s’est constituée à la fois comme un sous champ de l’anthropologie socioculturelle et comme un champ interdisciplinaire dont les thèmes de recherche sont grandement variés, et excèdent les exemples qui ont été exposés dans cette courte présentation.

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This article explores resilience as it is experienced by refugees in the context of a relational community, visiting the notions of trauma, a thicker description of resilience and the trajectory toward positive growth through community. It calls for going beyond a Western biomedical therapeutic approach of exploration and adopting more of an emic perspective incorporating the worldview of the refugees. The challenge is for service providers working with refugees (who have experienced trauma) to move forward from a ‘harm minimisation’ model of care to recognition of a facilitative, productive community of people who are in a transitional phase between homelands. Contextualising Trauma Prior to the 1980s, the term ‘trauma’ was not widely used in literature on refugees and refugee mental health, hardly existing as a topic of inquiry until the mid-1980’s (Summerfield 422). It first gained prominence in relation to soldiers who had returned from Vietnam and in need of medical attention after being traumatised by war. The term then expanded to include victims of wars and those who had witnessed traumatic events. Seahorn and Seahorn outline that severe trauma “paralyses you with numbness and uses denial, avoidance, isolation as coping mechanisms so you don’t have to deal with your memories”, impacting a person‘s ability to risk being connected to others, detaching and withdrawing; resulting in extreme loneliness, emptiness, sadness, anxiety and depression (6). During the Civil War in the USA the impact of trauma was referred to as Irritable Heart and then World War I and II referred to it as Shell Shock, Neurosis, Combat Fatigue, or Combat Exhaustion (Seahorn & Seahorn 66, 67). During the twenty-five years following the Vietnam War, the medicalisation of trauma intensified and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) became recognised as a medical-psychiatric disorder in 1980 in the American Psychiatric Association international diagnostic tool Diagnostic Statistical Manual (DSM–III). An expanded description and diagnosis of PTSD appears in the DSM-IV, influenced by the writings of Harvard psychologist and scholar, Judith Herman (Scheper-Hughes 38) The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-IV) of Mental Disorders (American Psychiatric Association, 2000) outlines that experiencing the threat of death, injury to oneself or another or finding out about an unexpected or violent death, serious harm, or threat of the same kind to a family member or close person are considered traumatic events (Chung 11); including domestic violence, incest and rape (Scheper-Hughes 38). Another significant development in the medicalisation of trauma occurred in 1998 when the Victorian Foundation for Survivors of Torture (VFST) released an influential report titled ‘Rebuilding Shattered Lives’. This then gave clinical practice a clearer direction in helping people who had experienced war, trauma and forced migration by providing a framework for therapeutic work. The emphasis became strongly linked to personal recovery of individuals suffering trauma, using case management as the preferred intervention strategy. A whole industry soon developed around medical intervention treating people suffering from trauma related problems (Eyber). Though there was increased recognition for the medicalised discourse of trauma and post-traumatic stress, there was critique of an over-reliance of psychiatric models of trauma (Bracken, et al. 15, Summerfield 421, 423). There was also expressed concern that an overemphasis on individual recovery overlooked the socio-political aspects that amplify trauma (Bracken et al. 8). The DSM-IV criteria for PTSD model began to be questioned regarding the category of symptoms being culturally defined from a Western perspective. Weiss et al. assert that large numbers of traumatized people also did not meet the DSM-III-R criteria for PTSD (366). To categorize refugees’ experiences into recognizable, generalisable psychological conditions overlooked a more localized culturally specific understanding of trauma. The meanings given to collective experience and the healing strategies vary across different socio-cultural groupings (Eyber). For example, some people interpret suffering as a normal part of life in bringing them closer to God and in helping gain a better understanding of the level of trauma in the lives of others. Scheper-Hughes raise concern that the PTSD model is “based on a conception of human nature and human life as fundamentally vulnerable, frail, and humans as endowed with few and faulty defence mechanisms”, and underestimates the human capacity to not only survive but to thrive during and following adversity (37, 42). As a helping modality, biomedical intervention may have limitations through its lack of focus regarding people’s agency, coping strategies and local cultural understandings of distress (Eyber). The benefits of a Western therapeutic model might be minimal when some may have their own culturally relevant coping strategies that may vary to Western models. Bracken et al. document case studies where the burial rituals in Mozambique, obligations to the dead in Cambodia, shared solidarity in prison and the mending of relationships after rape in Uganda all contributed to the healing process of distress (8). Orosa et al. (1) asserts that belief systems have contributed in helping refugees deal with trauma; Brune et al. (1) points to belief systems being a protective factor against post-traumatic disorders; and Peres et al. highlight that a religious worldview gives hope, purpose and meaning within suffering. Adopting a Thicker Description of Resilience Service providers working with refugees often talk of refugees as ‘vulnerable’ or ‘at risk’ populations and strive for ‘harm minimisation’ among the population within their care. This follows a critical psychological tradition, what (Ungar, Constructionist) refers to as a positivist mode of inquiry that emphasises the predictable relationship between risk and protective factors (risk and coping strategies) being based on a ‘deficient’ outlook rather than a ‘future potential’ viewpoint and lacking reference to notions of resilience or self-empowerment (342). At-risk discourses tend to focus upon antisocial behaviours and appropriate treatment for relieving suffering rather than cultural competencies that may be developing in the midst of challenging circ*mstances. Mares and Newman document how the lives of many refugee advocates have been changed through the relational contribution asylum seekers have made personally to them in an Australian context (159). Individuals may find meaning in communal obligations, contributing to the lives of others and a heightened solidarity (Wilson 42, 44) in contrast to an individual striving for happiness and self-fulfilment. Early naturalistic accounts of mental health, influenced by the traditions of Western psychology, presented thin descriptions of resilience as a quality innate to individuals that made them invulnerable or strong, despite exposure to substantial risk (Ungar, Thicker 91). The interest then moved towards a non-naturalistic contextually relevant understanding of resilience viewed in the social context of people’s lives. Authors such as Benson, Tricket and Birman (qtd. in Ungar, Thicker) started focusing upon community resilience, community capacity and asset-building communities; looking at areas such as - “spending time with friends, exercising control over aspects of their lives, seeking meaningful involvement in their community, attaching to others and avoiding threats to self-esteem” (91). In so doing far more emphasis was given in developing what Ungar (Thicker) refers to as ‘a thicker description of resilience’ as it relates to the lives of refugees that considers more than an ability to survive and thrive or an internal psychological state of wellbeing (89). Ungar (Thicker) describes a thicker description of resilience as revealing “a seamless set of negotiations between individuals who take initiative, and an environment with crisscrossing resources that impact one on the other in endless and unpredictable combinations” (95). A thicker description of resilience means adopting more of what Eyber proposes as an emic approach, taking on an ‘insider perspective’, incorporating the worldview of the people experiencing the distress; in contrast to an etic perspective using a Western biomedical understanding of distress, examined from a position outside the social or cultural system in which it takes place. Drawing on a more anthropological tradition, intervention is able to be built with local resources and strategies that people can utilize with attention being given to cultural traditions within a socio-cultural understanding. Developing an emic approach is to engage in intercultural dialogue, raise dilemmas, test assumptions, document hopes and beliefs and explore their implications. Under this approach, healing is more about developing intelligibility through one’s own cultural and social matrix (Bracken, qtd. in Westoby and Ingamells 1767). This then moves beyond using a Western therapeutic approach of exploration which may draw on the rhetoric of resilience, but the coping strategies of the vulnerable are often disempowered through adopting a ‘therapy culture’ (Furedi, qtd. in Westoby and Ingamells 1769). Westoby and Ingamells point out that the danger is by using a “therapeutic gaze that interprets emotions through the prism of disease and pathology”, it then “replaces a socio-political interpretation of situations” (1769). This is not to dismiss the importance of restoring individual well-being, but to broaden the approach adopted in contextualising it within a socio-cultural frame. The Relational Aspect of Resilience Previously, the concept of the ‘resilient individual’ has been of interest within the psychological and self-help literature (Garmezy, qtd. in Wilson) giving weight to the aspect of it being an innate trait that individuals possess or harness (258). Yet there is a need to explore the relational aspect of resilience as it is embedded in the network of relationships within social settings. A person’s identity and well-being is better understood in observing their capacity to manage their responses to adverse circ*mstances in an interpersonal community through the networks of relationships. Brison, highlights the collective strength of individuals in social networks and the importance of social support in the process of recovery from trauma, that the self is vulnerable to be affected by violence but resilient to be reconstructed through the help of others (qtd. in Wilson 125). This calls for what Wilson refers to as a more interdisciplinary perspective drawing on cultural studies and sociology (2). It also acknowledges that although individual traits influence the action of resilience, it can be learned and developed in adverse situations through social interactions. To date, within sociology and cultural studies, there is not a well-developed perspective on the topic of resilience. Resilience involves a complex ongoing interaction between individuals and their social worlds (Wilson 16) that helps them make sense of their world and adjust to the context of resettlement. It includes developing a perspective of people drawing upon negative experiences as productive cultural resources for growth, which involves seeing themselves as agents of their own future rather than suffering from a sense of victimhood (Wilson 46, 258). Wilson further outlines the display of a resilience-related capacity to positively interpret and derive meaning from what might have been otherwise negative migration experiences (Wilson 47). Wu refers to ‘imagineering’ alternative futures, for people to see beyond the current adverse circ*mstances and to imagine other possibilities. People respond to and navigate their experience of trauma in unique, unexpected and productive ways (Wilson 29). Trauma can cripple individual potential and yet individuals can also learn to turn such an experience into a positive, productive resource for personal growth. Grief, despair and powerlessness can be channelled into hope for improved life opportunities. Social networks can act as protection against adversity and trauma; meaningful interpersonal relationships and a sense of belonging assist individuals in recovering from emotional strain. Wilson asserts that social capabilities assist people in turning what would otherwise be negative experiences into productive cultural resources (13). Graybeal (238) and Saleeby (297) explore resilience as a strength-based practice, where individuals, families and communities are seen in relation to their capacities, talents, competencies, possibilities, visions, values and hopes; rather than through their deficiencies, pathologies or disorders. This does not present an idea of invulnerability to adversity but points to resources for navigating adversity. Resilience is not merely an individual trait or a set of intrinsic behaviours that can be displayed in ‘resilient individuals’. Resilience, rather than being an unchanging attribute, is a complex socio-cultural phenomenon, a relational concept of a dynamic nature that is situated in interpersonal relations (Wilson 258). Positive Growth through a Community Based Approach Through migrating to another country (in the context of refugees), Falicov, points out that people often experience a profound loss of their social network and cultural roots, resulting in a sense of homelessness between two worlds, belonging to neither (qtd. in Walsh 220). In the ideological narratives of refugee movements and diasporas, the exile present may be collectively portrayed as a liminality, outside normal time and place, a passage between past and future (Eastmond 255). The concept of the ‘liminal’ was popularised by Victor Turner, who proposed that different kinds of marginalised people and communities go through phases of separation, ‘liminali’ (state of limbo) and reincorporation (qtd. in Tofighian 101). Difficulties arise when there is no closure of the liminal period (fleeing their former country and yet not being able to integrate in the country of destination). If there is no reincorporation into mainstream society then people become unsettled and feel displaced. This has implications for their sense of identity as they suffer from possible cultural destabilisation, not being able to integrate into the host society. The loss of social supports may be especially severe and long-lasting in the context of displacement. In gaining an understanding of resilience in the context of displacement, it is important to consider social settings and person-environment transactions as displaced people seek to experience a sense of community in alternative ways. Mays proposed that alternative forms of community are central to community survival and resilience. Community is a source of wellbeing for building and strengthening positive relations and networks (Mays 590). Cottrell, uses the concept of ‘community competence’, where a community provides opportunities and conditions that enable groups to navigate their problems and develop capacity and resourcefulness to cope positively with adversity (qtd. in Sonn and Fisher 4, 5). Chaskin, sees community as a resilient entity, countering adversity and promoting the well-being of its members (qtd. in Canavan 6). As a point of departure from the concept of community in the conventional sense, I am interested in what Ahmed and Fortier state as moments or sites of connection between people who would normally not have such connection (254). The participants may come together without any presumptions of ‘being in common’ or ‘being uncommon’ (Ahmed and Fortier 254). This community shows little differentiation between those who are welcome and those who are not in the demarcation of the boundaries of community. The community I refer to presents the idea as ‘common ground’ rather than commonality. Ahmed and Fortier make reference to a ‘moral community’, a “community of care and responsibility, where members readily acknowledge the ‘social obligations’ and willingness to assist the other” (Home office, qtd. in Ahmed and Fortier 253). Ahmed and Fortier note that strong communities produce caring citizens who ensure the future of caring communities (253). Community can also be referred to as the ‘soul’, something that stems out of the struggle that creates a sense of solidarity and cohesion among group members (Keil, qtd. in Sonn and Fisher 17). Often shared experiences of despair can intensify connections between people. These settings modify the impact of oppression through people maintaining positive experiences of belonging and develop a positive sense of identity. This has enabled people to hold onto and reconstruct the sociocultural supplies that have come under threat (Sonn and Fisher 17). People are able to feel valued as human beings, form positive attachments, experience community, a sense of belonging, reconstruct group identities and develop skills to cope with the outside world (Sonn and Fisher, 20). Community networks are significant in contributing to personal transformation. Walsh states that “community networks can be essential resources in trauma recovery when their strengths and potential are mobilised” (208). Walsh also points out that the suffering and struggle to recover after a traumatic experience often results in remarkable transformation and positive growth (208). Studies in post-traumatic growth (Calhoun & Tedeschi) have found positive changes such as: the emergence of new opportunities, the formation of deeper relationships and compassion for others, feelings strengthened to meet future life challenges, reordered priorities, fuller appreciation of life and a deepening spirituality (in Walsh 208). As Walsh explains “The effects of trauma depend greatly on whether those wounded can seek comfort, reassurance and safety with others. Strong connections with trust that others will be there for them when needed, counteract feelings of insecurity, hopelessness, and meaninglessness” (208). Wilson (256) developed a new paradigm in shifting the focus from an individualised approach to trauma recovery, to a community-based approach in his research of young Sudanese refugees. Rutter and Walsh, stress that mental health professionals can best foster trauma recovery by shifting from a predominantly individual pathology focus to other treatment approaches, utilising communities as a capacity for healing and resilience (qtd. in Walsh 208). Walsh highlights that “coming to terms with traumatic loss involves making meaning of the trauma experience, putting it in perspective, and weaving the experience of loss and recovery into the fabric of individual and collective identity and life passage” (210). Landau and Saul, have found that community resilience involves building community and enhancing social connectedness by strengthening the system of social support, coalition building and information and resource sharing, collective storytelling, and re-establishing the rhythms and routines of life (qtd. in Walsh 219). Bracken et al. suggest that one of the fundamental principles in recovery over time is intrinsically linked to reconstruction of social networks (15). This is not expecting resolution in some complete ‘once and for all’ getting over it, getting closure of something, or simply recovering and moving on, but tapping into a collective recovery approach, being a gradual process over time. Conclusion A focus on biomedical intervention using a biomedical understanding of distress may be limiting as a helping modality for refugees. Such an approach can undermine peoples’ agency, coping strategies and local cultural understandings of distress. Drawing on sociology and cultural studies, utilising a more emic approach, brings new insights to understanding resilience and how people respond to trauma in unique, unexpected and productive ways for positive personal growth while navigating the experience. This includes considering social settings and person-environment transactions in gaining an understanding of resilience. Although individual traits influence the action of resilience, it can be learned and developed in adverse situations through social interactions. Social networks and capabilities can act as a protection against adversity and trauma, assisting people to turn what would otherwise be negative experiences into productive cultural resources (Wilson 13) for improved life opportunities. The promotion of social competence is viewed as a preventative intervention to promote resilient outcomes, as social skill facilitates social integration (Nettles and Mason 363). As Wilson (258) asserts that resilience is not merely an individual trait or a set of intrinsic behaviours that ‘resilient individuals’ display; it is a complex, socio-cultural phenomenon that is situated in interpersonal relations within a community setting. References Ahmed, Sara, and Anne-Marie Fortier. “Re-Imagining Communities.” International of Cultural Studies 6.3 (2003): 251-59. Bracken, Patrick. J., Joan E. Giller, and Derek Summerfield. Psychological Response to War and Atrocity: The Limitations of Current Concepts. Elsevier Science, 1995. 8 Aug, 2013 ‹http://www.freedomfromtorture.org/sites/default/files/documents/Summerfield-PsychologicalResponses.pdf>. Brune, Michael, Christian Haasen, Michael Krausz, Oktay Yagdiran, Enrique Bustos and David Eisenman. “Belief Systems as Coping Factors for Traumatized Refugees: A Pilot Study.” Eur Psychiatry 17 (2002): 451-58. Canavan, John. “Resilience: Cautiously Welcoming a Contested Concept.” Child Care in Practice 14.1 (2008): 1-7. Chung, Juna. Refugee and Immigrant Survivors of Trauma: A Curriculum for Social Workers. Master’s Thesis for California State University. Long Beach, 2010. 1-29. Eastmond, Maria. “Stories of Lived Experience: Narratives in Forced Migration Research.” Journal of Refugee Studies 20.2 (2007): 248-64. Eyber, Carola “Cultural and Anthropological Studies.” In Forced Migration Online, 2002. 8 Aug, 2013. ‹http://www.forcedmigration.org/research-resources/expert-guides/psychosocial- issues/cultural-and-anthropological-studies>. Graybeal, Clay. “Strengths-Based Social Work Assessment: Transforming the Dominant Paradigm.” Families in Society 82.3 (2001): 233-42. Kleinman, Arthur. “Triumph or Pyrrhic Victory? The Inclusion of Culture in DSM-IV.” Harvard Rev Psychiatry 4 (1997): 343-44. Mares, Sarah, and Louise Newman, eds. Acting from the Heart- Australian Advocates for Asylum Seekers Tell Their Stories. Sydney: Finch Publishing, 2007. Mays, Vicki M. “Identity Development of Black Americans: The Role of History and the Importance of Ethnicity.” American Journal of Psychotherapy 40.4 (1986): 582-93. Nettles, Saundra Murray, and Michael J. Mason. “Zones of Narrative Safety: Promoting Psychosocial Resilience in Young People.” The Journal of Primary Prevention 25.3 (2004): 359-73. Orosa, Francisco J.E., Michael Brune, Katrin Julia Fischer-Ortman, and Christian Haasen. “Belief Systems as Coping Factors in Traumatized Refugees: A Prospective Study.” Traumatology 17.1 (2011); 1-7. Peres, Julio F.P., Alexander Moreira-Almeida, Antonia, G. Nasello, and Harold, G. Koenig. “Spirituality and Resilience in Trauma Victims.” J Relig Health (2006): 1-8. Saleebey, Dennis. “The Strengths Perspective in Social Work Practice: Extensions and Cautions.” Social Work 41.3 (1996): 296-305. Scheper-Hughes, Nancy. “A Talent for Life: Reflections on Human Vulnerability and Resilience.” Ethnos 73.1 (2008): 25-56. Seahorn, Janet, J. and Anthony E. Seahorn. Tears of a Warrior. Ft Collins, USA: Team Pursuits, 2008. Sonn, Christopher, and Adrian Fisher. “Sense of Community: Community Resilient Responses to Oppression and Change.” Unpublished article. Curtin University of Technology & Victoria University of Technology: undated. Summerfield, Derek. “Childhood, War, Refugeedom and ‘Trauma’: Three Core Questions for Medical Health Professionals.” Transcultural Psychiatry 37.3 (2000): 417-433. Tofighian, Omid. “Prolonged Liminality and Comparative Examples of Rioting Down Under”. Fear and Hope: The Art of Asylum Seekers in Australian Detention Centres Literature and Aesthetics (Special Edition) 21 (2011): 97-103. Ungar, Michael. “A Constructionist Discourse on Resilience: Multiple Contexts, Multiple Realities Among at-Risk Children and Youth.” Youth Society 35.3 (2004): 341-365. Ungar, Michael. “A Thicker Description of Resilience.” The International Journal of Narrative Therapy and Community Work 3 & 4 (2005): 85-96. Walsh, Froma. “Traumatic Loss and Major Disasters: Strengthening Family and Community Resilience.” Family Process 46.2 (2007): 207-227. Weiss, Daniel. S., Charles R. Marmar, William. E. Schlenger, John. A. Fairbank, Kathleen Jordon, Richard L. Hough, and Richard A. Kulka. “The Prevalence of Lifetime and Partial Post- Traumatic Stress Disorder in Vietnam Theater Veterans.” Journal of Traumatic Stress 5.3 (1992):365-76. Westoby, Peter, and Ann Ingamells. “A Critically Informed Perspective of Working with Resettling Refugee Groups in Australia.” British Journal of Social Work 40 (2010): 1759-76. Wilson, Michael. “Accumulating Resilience: An Investigation of the Migration and Resettlement Experiences of Young Sudanese People in the Western Sydney Area.” PHD Thesis. University of Western Sydney ( 2012): 1-297. Wu, K. M. “Hope and World Survival.” Philosophy Forum 12.1-2 (1972): 131-48.

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Abstract:

IntroductionIn 1802 George Howe (1769-1821), the recently appointed Government Printer, published Australia’s first book. The following year he established Australia’s first newspaper; an enterprise that ran counter to all the environmental factors of the day, including: 1) issues of logistics and a lack of appropriate equipment and basic materials to produce a regularly issued newspaper; 2) issues resulting from the very close supervision of production and the routine censorship by the Governor; and 3) issues associated with the colony’s primary purposes as a military outpost and as a penal settlement, creating conflicts between very different readerships. The Sydney Gazette was, critically for Howe, the only newspaper in the infant city for over two decades. Alternative voices would not enter the field of printed media until the 1820s and 1830s. This article briefly explores the birth of an Australian industry and looks at how a very modest newspaper overcame a range of serious challenges to ignite imaginations and lay a foundation for media empires.Government Printer The first book published in Australia was the New South Wales General Standing Orders and General Orders (1802), authorised by Governor Philip Gidley King for the purposes of providing a convenient, single-volume compilation of all Government Orders, issued in New South Wales, between 1791 and 1802. (As the Australian character has been described as “egalitarian, anti-authoritarian and irreverent” [D. Jones 690], it is fascinating that the nation’s first published book was a set of rules.) Prescribing law, order and regulation for the colony the index reveals the desires of those charged with the colony’s care and development, to contain various types of activities. The rules for convicts were, predictably, many. There were also multiple orders surrounding administration, animal husbandry as well as food stuffs and other stores. Some of the most striking headings in the index relate to crime. For example, in addition to headings pertaining to courts there are also headings for a broad range of offences from: “BAD Characters” to “OFFENSIVE Weapons – Again[s]t concealing” (i-xii). The young colony, still in its teenage years, was, for the short-term, very much working on survival and for the long-term developing ambitious plans for expansion and trade. It was clear though, through this volume, that there was no forgetting the colony of New South Wales was first, and foremost, a penal settlement which also served as a military outpost. Clear, too, was the fact that not all of those who were shipped out to the new colony were prepared to abandon their criminal careers which “did not necessarily stop with transportation” (Foyster 10). Containment and recidivism were matters of constant concern for the colony’s authorities. Colonial priorities could be seen in the fact that, when “Governor Arthur Phillip brought the first convicts (548 males and 188 females) to Port Jackson on 26 January 1788, he also brought a small press for printing orders, rules, and regulations” (Goff 103). The device lay dormant on arrival, a result of more immediate concerns to feed and house all those who made up the First Fleet. It would be several years before the press was pushed into sporadic service by the convict George Hughes for printing miscellaneous items including broadsides and playbills as well as for Government Orders (“Hughes, George” online). It was another convict (another man named George), convicted at the Warwick Assizes on March 1799 (Ferguson vi) then imprisoned and ultimately transported for shoplifting (Robb 15), who would transform the small hand press into an industry. Once under the hand of George Howe, who had served as a printer with several London newspapers including The Times (Sydney Gazette, “Never” 2) – the printing press was put to much more regular use. In these very humble circ*mstances, Australia’s great media tradition was born. Howe, as the Government Printer, transformed the press from a device dedicated to ephemera as well as various administrative matters into a crucial piece of equipment that produced the new colony’s first newspaper. Logistical Challenges Governor King, in the year following the appearance of the Standing Orders, authorised the publishing of Australia’s first newspaper, The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser. The publication history of The Sydney Gazette, in a reflection of some of the challenges faced by the printer, is erratic. First published on a Saturday from 5 March 1803, it quickly changed to a Sunday paper from 10 April 1803. Interestingly, Sunday “was not an approved day for the publication of newspapers, and although some English publishers had been doing so since about 1789, Sunday papers were generally frowned upon” (Robb 58). Yet, as argued by Howe a Sunday print run allowed for the inclusion of “the whole of the Ship News, and other Incidental Matter, for the preceeding week” (Sydney Gazette, “To the Public” 1).The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser Vol. 1, No. 1, 5 March 1803 (Front Page)Call Number DL F8/50, Digital ID a345001, State Library of New South WalesPublished weekly until 1825, then bi-weekly until 1827 before coming out tri-weekly until 20 October 1842 (Holden 14) there were some notable pauses in production. These included one in 1807 (Issue 214, 19 April-Issue 215, 7 June) and one in 1808-1809 (Issue 227, 30 August-Issue 228, 15 May) due to a lack of paper, with the latter pause coinciding with the Rum Rebellion and the end of William Bligh’s term as Governor of New South Wales (see: Karskens 186-88; Mundle 323-37). There was, too, a brief attempt at publishing as a daily from 1 January 1827 which lasted only until 10 February of that year when the title began to appear tri-weekly (Kirkpatrick online; Holden 14). There would be other pauses, including one of two weeks, shortly before the final issue was produced on 20 October 1842. There were many problems that beset The Sydney Gazette with paper shortages being especially challenging. Howe regularly advertised for: “any quantity” of Spanish paper (e.g.: Sydney Gazette, “Wanted to Purchase” 4) and needing to be satisfied “with a variety of size and colour” (P.M. Jones 39). In addition, the procurement of ink was so difficult in the colony, that Howe often resorted to making his own out of “charcoal, gum and shark oil” (P.M. Jones 39).The work itself was physically demanding and papers printed during this period, by hand, required a great deal of effort with approximately “250 sheets per hour … [the maximum] produced by a printer and his assistant” (Robb 8). The printing press itself was inadequate and the subject of occasional repairs (Sydney Gazette, “We Have” 2). Type was also a difficulty. As Gwenda Robb explains, traditionally six sets of an alphabet were supplied to a printer with extras for ‘a’, ‘e’, ‘r’ and ‘t’ as well as ‘s’. Without ample type Howe was required to improvise as can be seen in using a double ‘v’ to create a ‘w’ and an inverted ‘V’ to represent a capital ‘A’ (50, 106). These quirky work arounds, combined with the use of the long-form ‘s’ (‘∫’) for almost a full decade, can make The Sydney Gazette a difficult publication for modern readers to consume. Howe also “carried the financial burden” of the paper, dependent, as were London papers of the late eighteenth century, on advertising (Robb 68, 8). Howe also relied upon subscriptions for survival, with the collection of payments often difficult as seen in some subscribers being two years, or more, in arrears (e.g.: Sydney Gazette, “Sydney Gazette” 1; Ferguson viii; P.M. Jones 38). Governor Lachlan Macquarie granted Howe an annual salary, in 1811, of £60 (Byrnes 557-559) offering some relief, and stability, for the beleaguered printer.Gubernatorial Supervision Governor King wrote to Lord Hobart (then Secretary of State for War and the Colonies), on 9 May 1803: it being desirable that the settlers and inhabitants at large should be benefitted by useful information being dispersed among them, I considered that a weekly publication would greatly facilitate that design, for which purpose I gave permission to an ingenious man, who manages the Government printing press, to collect materials weekly, which, being inspected by an officer, is published in the form of a weekly newspaper, copies of which, as far as they have been published, I have the honor to enclose. (85)In the same letter, King wrote: “to the list of wants I have added a new fount of letters which may be procured for eight or ten pounds, sufficient for our purpose, if approved of” (85). King’s motivations were not purely altruistic. The population of the colony was growing in Sydney Cove and in the outlying districts, thus: “there was an increasing administrative need for information to be disseminated in a more accessible form than the printed handbills of government orders” (Robb 49). There was, however, a need for the administration to maintain control and the words “Published By Authority”, appearing on the paper’s masthead, were a constant reminder to the printer that The Sydney Gazette was “under the censorship of the Secretary to the Governor, who examined all proofs” (Ferguson viii). The high level of supervision, worked in concert with the logistical difficulties described above, ensured the newspaper was a source of great strain and stress. All for the meagre reward of “6d per copy” (Ferguson viii). This does not diminish Howe’s achievement in establishing a newspaper, an accomplishment outlined, with some pride, in an address printed on the first page of the first issue:innumerable as the Obstacles were which threatened to oppose our Undertaking, yet we are happy to affirm that they were not insurmountable, however difficult the task before us.The utility of a PAPER in the COLONY, as it must open a source of solid information, will, we hope, be universally felt and acknowledged. (Sydney Gazette, “Address” 1)Howe carefully kept his word and he “wrote nothing like a signature editorial column, nor did he venture his personal opinions, conscious always of the powers of colonial officials” (Robb 72). An approach to reportage he passed to his eldest son and long-term assistant, Robert (1795-1829), who later claimed The Sydney Gazette “reconciled in one sheet the merits of the London Gazette in upholding the Government and the London Times in defending the people” (Walker 10). The censorship imposed on The Sydney Gazette, by the Governor, was lifted in 1824 (P.M. Jones 40), when the Australian was first published without permission: Governor Thomas Brisbane did not intervene in the new enterprise. The appearance of unauthorised competition allowed Robert Howe to lobby for the removal of all censorship restrictions on The Sydney Gazette, though he was careful to cite “greater dispatch and earlier publication, not greater freedom of expression, as the expected benefit” (Walker 6). The sudden freedom was celebrated, and still appreciated many years after it was given:the Freedom of the Press has now been in existence amongst us on the verge of four years. In October 1824, we addressed a letter to the Colonial Government, fervently entreating that those shackles, under which the Press had long laboured, might be removed. Our prayer was attended to, and the Sydney Gazette, feeling itself suddenly introduced to a new state of existence, demonstrated to the Colonists the capabilities that ever must flow from the spontaneous exertions of Constitutional Liberty. (Sydney Gazette, “Freedom” 2)Early Readerships From the outset, George Howe presented a professional publication. The Sydney Gazette was formatted into three columns with the front page displaying a formal masthead featuring a scene of Sydney and the motto “Thus We Hope to Prosper”. Gwenda Robb argues the woodcut, the first produced in the colony, was carved by John W. Lewin who “had plenty of engraving skills” and had “returned to Sydney [from a voyage to Tahiti] in December 1802” (51) while Roger Butler has suggested that “circ*mstances point to John Austin who arrived in Sydney in 1800” as being the engraver (91). The printed text was as vital as the visual supports and every effort was made to present full accounts of colonial activities. “As well as shipping and court news, there were agricultural reports, religious homilies, literary extracts and even original poetry written by Howe himself” (Blair 450). These items, of course, sitting alongside key Government communications including General Orders and Proclamations.Howe’s language has been referred to as “florid” (Robb 52), “authoritative and yet filled with deference for all authority, pompous in a stiff, affected eighteenth century fashion” (Green 10) and so “some of Howe’s readers found the Sydney Gazette rather dull” (Blair 450). Regardless of any feelings towards authorial style, circulation – without an alternative – steadily increased with the first print run in 1802 being around 100 copies but by “the early 1820s, the newspaper’s production had grown to 300 or 400 copies” (Blair 450).In a reflection of the increasing sophistication of the Sydney-based reader, George Howe, and Robert Howe, would also publish some significant, stand-alone, texts. These included several firsts: the first natural history book printed in the colony, Birds of New South Wales with their Natural History (1813) by John W. Lewin (praised as a text “printed with an elegant and classical simplicity which makes it the highest typographical achievement of George Howe” [Wantrup 278]); the first collection of poetry published in the colony First Fruits of Australian Poetry (1819) by Barron Field; the first collection of poetry written by a Australian-born author, Wild Notes from the Lyre of a Native Minstrel (1826) by Charles Tompson; and the first children’s book A Mother’s Offering to Her Children: By a Lady, Long Resident in New South Wales (1841) by Charlotte Barton. The small concern also published mundane items such as almanacs and receipt books for the Bank of New South Wales (Robb 63, 72). All against the backdrop of printing a newspaper.New Voices The Sydney Gazette was Australia’s first newspaper and, critically for Howe, the only newspaper for over two decades. (A second paper appeared in 1810 but the Derwent Star and Van Diemen’s Land Intelligencer, which only managed twelve issues, presented no threat to The Sydney Gazette.) No genuine, local rival entered the field until 1824, when the Australian was founded by barristers William Charles Wentworth and Robert Wardell. The Monitor debuted in 1826, followed the Sydney Herald in 1831 and the Colonist in 1835 (P.M. Jones 38). It was the second title, the Australian, with a policy that asserted articles to be: “Independent, yet consistent – free, yet not licentious – equally unmoved by favours and by fear” (Walker 6), radically changed the newspaper landscape. The new paper made “a strong point of its independence from government control” triggering a period in which colonial newspapers “became enmeshed with local politics” (Blair 451). This new age of opinion reflected how fast the colony was evolving from an antipodean gaol into a complex society. Also, two papers, without censorship restrictions, without registration, stamp duties or advertisem*nt duties meant, as pointed out by R.B. Walker, that “in point of law the Press in the remote gaol of exile was now freer than in the country of origin” (6). An outcome George Howe could not have predicted as he made the long journey, as a convict, to New South Wales. Of the early competitors, the only one that survives is the Sydney Herald (The Sydney Morning Herald from 1842), which – founded by immigrants Alfred Stephens, Frederick Stokes and William McGarvie – claims the title of Australia’s oldest continuously published newspaper (Isaacs and Kirkpatrick 4-5). That such a small population, with so many pressing issues, factions and political machinations, could support a first newspaper, then competitors, is a testament to the high regard, with which newspaper reportage was held. Another intruder would be The Government Gazette. Containing only orders and notices in the style of the London Gazette (McLeay 1), lacking any news items or private advertisem*nts (Walker 19), it was first issued on 7 March 1832 (and continues, in an online format, today). Of course, Government orders and other notices had news value and newspaper proprietors could bid for exclusive rights to produce these notices until a new Government Printer was appointed in 1841 (Walker 20).Conclusion George Howe, an advocate of “reason and common sense” died in 1821 placing The Sydney Gazette in the hands of his son who “fostered religion” (Byrnes 557-559). Robert Howe, served as editor, experiencing firsthand the perils and stresses of publishing, until he drowned in a boating accident in Sydney Harbour, in 1829 leaving the paper to his widow Ann Howe (Blair 450-51). The newspaper would become increasingly political leading to controversy and financial instability; after more changes in ownership and in editorial responsibility, The Sydney Gazette, after almost four decades of delivering the news – as a sole voice and then as one of several alternative voices – ceased publication in 1842. During a life littered with personal tragedy, George Howe laid the foundation stone for Australia’s media empires. His efforts, in extraordinary circ*mstances and against all environmental indicators, serve as inspiration to newspapers editors, proprietors and readers across the country. He established the Australian press, an institution that has been described asa profession, an art, a craft, a business, a quasi-public, privately owned institution. It is full of grandeurs and faults, sublimities and pettinesses. It is courageous and timid. It is fallible. It is indispensable to the successful on-going of a free people. (Holden 15)George Howe also created an artefact of great beauty. The attributes of The Sydney Gazette are listed, in a perfunctory manner, in most discussions of the newspaper’s history. The size of the paper. The number of columns. The masthead. The changes seen across 4,503 issues. Yet, consistently overlooked, is how, as an object, the newspaper is an exquisite example of the printed word. There is a physicality to the paper that is in sharp contrast to contemporary examples of broadsides, tabloids and online publications. Concurrently fragile and robust: its translucent sheets and mottled print revealing, starkly, the problems with paper and ink; yet it survives, in several collections, over two centuries since the first issue was produced. The elegant layout, the glow of the paper, the subtle crackling sound as the pages are turned. The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser is an astonishing example of innovation and perseverance. It provides essential insights into Australia’s colonial era. It is a metonym for making words matter. AcknowledgementsThe author offers her sincere thanks to Geoff Barker, Simon Dwyer and Peter Kirkpatrick for their comments on an early draft of this paper. The author is also grateful to Bridget Griffen-Foley for engaging in many conversations about Australian newspapers. ReferencesBlair, S.J. “Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser.” A Companion to the Australian Media. Ed. Bridget Griffen-Foley. North Melbourne: Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2014.Butler, Roger. Printed Images in Colonial Australia 1801-1901. Canberra: National Gallery of Australia, 2007.Byrnes, J.V. “Howe, George (1769–1821).” Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography: 1788–1850, A–H. Canberra: Australian National University, 1966. 557-559. Ferguson, J.A. “Introduction.” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser: A Facsimile Reproduction of Volume One, March 5, 1803 to February 26, 1804. Sydney: The Trustees of the Public Library of New South Wales in Association with Angus & Robertson, 1963. v-x. Foyster, Elizabeth. “Introduction: Newspaper Reporting of Crime and Justice.” Continuity and Change 22.1 (2007): 9-12.Goff, Victoria. “Convicts and Clerics: Their Roles in the Infancy of the Press in Sydney, 1803-1840.” Media History 4.2 (1998): 101-120.Green, H.M. “Australia’s First Newspaper.” Sydney Morning Herald, 11 Apr. 1935: 10.Holden, W. Sprague. Australia Goes to Press. Detroit: Wayne State UP, 1961. “Hughes, George (?–?).” Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography: 1788–1850, A–H. Canberra: Australian National University, 1966. 562. Isaacs, Victor, and Rod Kirkpatrick. Two Hundred Years of Sydney Newspapers. Richmond: Rural Press, 2003. Jones, Dorothy. “Humour and Satire (Australia).” Encyclopedia of Post-Colonial Literatures in English. 2nd ed. Eds. Eugene Benson and L.W. Conolly. London: Routledge, 2005. 690-692.Jones, Phyllis Mander. “Australia’s First Newspaper.” Meanjin 12.1 (1953): 35-46. Karskens, Grace. The Colony: A History of Early Sydney. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2010. King, Philip Gidley. “Letter to Lord Hobart, 9 May 1803.” Historical Records of Australia, Series 1, Governors’ Despatches to and from England, Volume IV, 1803-1804. Ed. Frederick Watson. Sydney: Library Committee of the Commonwealth Parliament, 1915.Kirkpatrick, Rod. Press Timeline: 1802 – 1850. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 2011. 6 Jan. 2017 <https://www.nla.gov.au/content/press-timeline-1802-1850>. McLeay, Alexander. “Government Notice.” The New South Wales Government Gazette 1 (1832): 1. Mundle, R. Bligh: Master Mariner. Sydney: Hachette, 2016.New South Wales General Standing Orders and General Orders: Selected from the General Orders Issued by Former Governors, from the 16th of February, 1791, to the 6th of September, 1800. Also, General Orders Issued by Governor King, from the 28th of September, 1800, to the 30th of September, 1802. Sydney: Government Press, 1802. Robb, Gwenda. George Howe: Australia’s First Publisher. Kew: Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2003.Spalding, D.A. Collecting Australian Books: Notes for Beginners. 1981. Mawson: D.A. Spalding, 1982. The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser. “Address.” 5 Mar. 1803: 1.———. “To the Public.” 2 Apr. 1803: 1.———. “Wanted to Purchase.” 26 June 1803: 4.———. “We Have the Satisfaction to Inform Our Readers.” 3 Nov. 1810: 2. ———. “Sydney Gazette.” 25 Dec. 1819: 1. ———. “The Freedom of the Press.” 29 Feb. 1828: 2.———. “Never Did a More Painful Task Devolve upon a Public Writer.” 3 Feb. 1829: 2. Walker, R.B. The Newspaper Press in New South Wales, 1803-1920. Sydney: Sydney UP, 1976.Wantrup, Johnathan. Australian Rare Books: 1788-1900. Sydney: Hordern House, 1987.

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IntroductionThe common origin of the adjective “corporeal” and the noun “corpse” in the Latin root corpus points to the value of mortuary practices for investigating how the human body is objectified. In post-mortem rituals, the body—formerly the manipulator of objects—becomes itself the object that is manipulated. Thus, these funerary rituals provide a type of double reflexivity, where the object and subject of manipulation can be used to reciprocally illuminate one another. To this extent, any consideration of corporeality can only benefit from a discussion of how the body is objectified through mortuary practices. This paper offers just such a discussion with respect to a selection of two contrasting mortuary practices, in the context of the prehistoric past and the Classical Era respectively. At the most general level, we are motivated by the same intellectual impulse that has stimulated expositions on corporeality, materiality, and incarnation in areas like phenomenology (Merleau-Ponty 77–234), Marxism (Adorno 112–119), gender studies (Grosz vii–xvi), history (Laqueur 193–244), and theology (Henry 33–53). That is to say, our goal is to show that the body, far from being a transparent frame through which we encounter the world, is in fact a locus where historical, social, cultural, and psychological forces intersect. On this view, “the body vanishes as a biological entity and becomes an infinitely malleable and highly unstable culturally constructed product” (Shilling 78). However, for all that the cited paradigms offer culturally situated appreciations of corporeality; our particular intellectual framework will be provided by cognitive science. Two reasons impel us towards this methodological choice.In the first instance, the study of ritual has, after several decades of stagnation, been rewarded—even revolutionised—by the application of insights from the new sciences of the mind (Whitehouse 1–12; McCauley and Lawson 1–37). Thus, there are good reasons to think that ritual treatments of the body will refract historical and social forces through empirically attested tendencies in human cognition. In the present connection, this means that knowledge of these tendencies will reward any attempt to theorise the objectification of the body in mortuary rituals.In the second instance, because beliefs concerning the afterlife can never be definitively judged to be true or false, they give free expression to tendencies in cognition that are otherwise constrained by the need to reflect external realities accurately. To this extent, they grant direct access to the intuitive ideas and biases that shape how we think about the world. Already, this idea has been exploited to good effect in areas like the cognitive anthropology of religion, which explores how counterfactual beings like ghosts, spirits, and gods conform to (and deviate from) pre-reflective cognitive patterns (Atran 83–112; Barrett and Keil 219–224; Barrett and Reed 252–255; Boyer 876–886). Necessarily, this implies that targeting post-mortem treatments of the body will offer unmediated access to some of the conceptual schemes that inform thinking about human corporeality.At a more detailed level, the specific methodology we propose to use will be provided by conceptual blending theory—a framework developed by Gilles Fauconnier, Mark Turner, and others to describe how structures from different areas of experience are creatively blended to form a new conceptual frame. In this system, a generic space provides the ground for coordinating two or more input spaces into a blended space that synthesises them into a single output. Here this would entail using natural or technological processes to structure mortuary practices in a way that satisfies various psychological needs.Take, for instance, W.B. Yeats’s famous claim that “Too long a sacrifice / Can make a stone of the heart” (“Easter 1916” in Yeats 57-8). Here, the poet exploits a generic space—that of everyday objects and the effort involved in manipulating them—to coordinate an organic input from that taxonomy (the heart) with an inorganic input (a stone) to create the blended idea that too energetic a pursuit of an abstract ideal turns a person into an unfeeling object (the heart-as-stone). Although this particular example corresponds to a familiar rhetorical figure (the metaphor), the value of conceptual blending theory is that it cuts across distinctions of genre, media, language, and discourse level to provide a versatile framework for expressing how one area of human experience is related to another.As indicated, we will exploit this versatility to investigate two ways of objectifying the body through the examination of two contrasting mortuary practices—cremation and inhumation—against different cultural horizons. The first of these is the conceptualisation of the body as an object of a technical process, where the post-mortem cremation of the corpse is analogically correlated with the metallurgical refining of ore into base metal. Our area of focus here will be Bronze Age cremation practices. The second conceptual scheme we will investigate focuses on treatments of the body as a vegetable object; here, the relevant analogy likens the inhumation of the corpse to the planting of a seed in the soil from which future growth will come. This discussion will centre on the Classical Era. Burning: The Body as Manufactured ObjectThe Early and Middle Bronze Age in Western Europe (2500-1200 BCE) represented a period of change in funerary practices relative to the preceding Neolithic, exemplified by a move away from the use of Megalithic monuments, a proliferation of grave goods, and an increase in the use of cremation (Barrett 38-9; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Brück, Material Metaphors 308; Waddell, Bronze Age 141-149). Moreover, the Western European Bronze Age is characterised by a shift away from communal burial towards single interment (Barrett 32; Bradley 158-168). Equally, the Bronze Age in Western Europe provides us with evidence of an increased use of cist and pit cremation burials concentrated in low-lying areas (Woodman 254; Waddell, Prehistoric 16; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Bettencourt 103). This greater preference for lower-lying location appears to reflect a distinctive change in comparison to the distribution patterns of the Neolithic burials; these are often located on prominent, visible aspects of a landscape (Cooney and Grogan 53-61). These new Bronze Age burial practices appear to reflect a distancing in relation to the territories of the “old ancestors” typified by Megalithic monuments (Bettencourt 101-103). Crucially, the Bronze Age archaeological record provides us with evidence that indicates that cremation was becoming the dominant form of deposition of human remains throughout Central and Western Europe (Sørensen and Rebay 59-60).The activities associated with Bronze Age cremations such as the burning of the body and the fragmentation of the remains have often been considered as corporeal equivalents (or expressions) of the activities involved in metal (bronze) production (Brück, Death 84-86; Sørensen and Rebay 60–1; Rebay-Salisbury, Cremations 66-67). There are unequivocal similarities between the practices of cremation and contemporary bronze production technologies—particularly as both processes involve the transformation of material through the application of fire at temperatures between 700 ºC to 1000 ºC (Musgrove 272-276; Walker et al. 132; de Becdelievre et al. 222-223).We assert that the technologies that define the European Bronze Age—those involved in alloying copper and tin to produce bronze—offered a new conceptual frame that enabled the body to be objectified in new ways. The fundamental idea explored here is that the displacement of inhumation by cremation in the European Bronze Age was motivated by a cognitive shift, where new smelting technologies provided novel conceptual metaphors for thinking about age-old problems concerning human mortality and post-mortem survival. The increased use of cremation in the European Bronze Age contrasts with the archaeological record of the Near Eastern—where, despite the earlier emergence of metallurgy (3300–3000 BCE), we do not see a notable proliferation in the use of cremation in this region. Thus, mortuary practices (i.e. cremation) provide us with an insight into how Western European Bronze Age cultures mediated the body through changes in technological objects and processes.In the terminology of conceptual blending, the generic space in question centres on the technical manipulation of the material world. The first input space is associated with the anxiety attending mortality—specifically, the cessation of personal identity and the extinction of interpersonal relationships. The second input space represents the technical knowledge associated with bronze production; in particular, the extraction of ore from source material and its mixing with other metals to form an alloy. The blended space coordinates these inputs to objectify the human body as an object that is ritually transformed into a new but more durable substance via the cremation process. In this contention we use the archaeological record to draw a conceptual parallel between the emergence of bronze production technology—centring on transition of naturally occurring material to a new subsistence (bronze)—and the transitional nature of the cremation process.In this theoretical framework, treating the body as a mixture of substances that can be reduced to its constituents and transformed through technologies of cremation enabled Western European Bronze Age society to intervene in the natural process of putrefaction and transform the organic matter into something more permanent. This transformative aspect of the cremation is seen in the evidence we have for secondary burial practices involving the curation and circulation of cremated bones of deceased members of a group (Brück, Death 87-93). This evidence allows us to assert that cremated human remains and objects were considered products of the same transformation into a more permanent state via burning, fragmentation, dispersal, and curation. Sofaer (62-69) states that the living body is regarded as a person, but as soon as the transition to death is made, the body becomes an object; this is an “ontological shift in the perception of the body that assumes a sudden change in its qualities” (62).Moreover, some authors have proposed that the exchange of fragmented human remains was central to mortuary practices and was central in establishing and maintaining social relations (Brück, Death 76-88). It is suggested that in the Early Bronze Age the perceptions of the human body mirrored the perceptions of objects associated with the arrival of the new bronze technology (Brück, Death 88-92). This idea is more pronounced if we consider the emergence of bronze technology as the beginning of a period of capital intensification of natural resources. Through this connection, the Bronze Age can be regarded as the point at which a particular natural resource—in this case, copper—went through myriad intensive manufacturing stages, which are still present today (intensive extraction, production/manufacturing, and distribution). Unlike stone tool production, bronze production had the addition of fire as the explicit method of transformation (Brück, Death 88-92). Thus, such views maintain that the transition achieved by cremation—i.e. reducing the human remains to objects or tokens that could be exchanged and curated relatively soon after the death of the individual—is equivalent to the framework of commodification connected with bronze production.A sample of cremated remains from Castlehyde in County Cork, Ireland, provides us with an example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in a Western European context (McCarthy). This is chosen because it is a typical example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in the context of Western Europe; also, one of the authors (MG) has first-hand experience in the analysis of its associated remains. The Castlehyde cremation burial consisted of a rectangular, stone-lined cist (McCarthy). The cist contained cremated, calcined human remains, with the fragments generally ranging from a greyish white to white in colour; this indicates that the bones were subject to a temperature range of 700-900ºC. The organic content of bone was destroyed during the cremation process, leaving only the inorganic matrix (brittle bone which is, often, described as metallic in consistency—e.g. Gejvall 470-475). There is evidence that remains may have been circulated in a manner akin to valuable metal objects. First of all, the absence of long bones indicates that there may have been a practice of removing salient remains as curatable records of ancestral ties. Secondly, remains show traces of metal staining from objects that are no longer extant, which suggests that graves were subject to secondary burial practices involving the removal of metal objects and/or human bone. To this extent, we can discern that human remains were being processed, curated, and circulated in a similar manner to metal objects.Thus, there are remarkable similarities between the treatment of the human body in cremation and bronze metal production technologies in the European Bronze Age. On the one hand, the parallel between smelting and cremation allowed death to be understood as a process of transformation in which the individual was removed from processes of organic decay. On the other hand, the circulation of the transformed remains conferred a type of post-mortem survival on the deceased. In this way, cremation practices may have enabled Bronze Age society to symbolically overcome the existential anxiety concerning the loss of personhood and the breaking of human relationships through death. In relation to the former point, the resurgence of cremation in nineteenth century Europe provides us with an example of how the disposal of a human body can be contextualised in relation to socio-technological advancements. The (re)emergence of cremation in this period reflects the post-Enlightenment shift from an understanding of the world through religious beliefs to the use of rational, scientific approaches to examine the natural world, including the human body (and death). The controlled use of fire in the cremation process, as well as the architecture of crematories, reflected the industrial context of the period (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 16).With respect to the circulation of cremated remains, Smith suggests that Early Medieval Christian relics of individual bones or bone fragments reflect a reconceptualised continuation of pre-Christian practices (beginning in Christian areas of the Roman Empire). In this context, it is claimed, firstly, that the curation of bone relics and the use of mobile bone relics of important, saintly individuals provided an embodied connection between the sacred sphere and the earthly world; and secondly, that the use of individual bones or fragments of bone made the Christian message something portable, which could be used to reinforce individual or collective adherence to Christianity (Smith 143-167). Using the example of the Christian bone relics, we can thus propose that the curation and circulation of Bronze Age cremated material may have served a role similar to tools for focusing religiously oriented cognition. Burying: The Body as a Vegetable ObjectGiven that the designation “the Classical Era” nominates the entirety of the Graeco-Roman world (including the Near East and North Africa) from about 800 BCE to 600 CE, there were obviously no mortuary practices common to all cultures. Nevertheless, in both classical Greece and Rome, we have examples of periods when either cremation or inhumation was the principal funerary custom (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21).For instance, the ancient Homeric texts inform us that the ancient Greeks believed that “the spirit of the departed was sentient and still in the world of the living as long as the flesh was in existence […] and would rather have the body devoured by purifying fire than by dogs or worms” (Mylonas 484). However, the primary sources and archaeological record indicate that cremation practices declined in Athens circa 400 BCE (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 20). With respect to the Roman Empire, scholarly opinion argues that inhumation was the dominant funerary rite in the eastern part of the Empire (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 17-21; Morris 52). Complementing this, the archaeological and historical record indicates that inhumation became the primary rite throughout the Roman Empire in the first century CE. Inhumation was considered to be an essential rite in the context of an emerging belief that a peaceful afterlife was reflected by a peaceful burial in which bodily integrity was maintained (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21; Morris 52; Toynbee 41). The question that this poses is how these beliefs were framed in the broader discourses of Classical culture.In this regard, our claim is that the growth in inhumation was driven (at least in part) by the spread of a conceptual scheme, implicit in Greek fertility myths that objectify the body as a seed. The conceptual logic here is that the post-mortem continuation of personal identity is (symbolically) achieved by objectifying the body as a vegetable object that will re-grow from its own physical remains. Although the dominant metaphor here is vegetable, there is no doubt that the motivating concern of this mythological fabulation is human mortality. As Jon Davies notes, “the myths of Hades, Persephone and Demeter, of Orpheus and Eurydice, of Adonis and Aphrodite, of Selene and Endymion, of Herakles and Dionysus, are myths of death and rebirth, of journeys into and out of the underworld, of transactions and transformations between gods and humans” (128). Thus, such myths reveal important patterns in how the post-mortem fate of the body was conceptualised.In the terminology of mental mapping, the generic space relevant to inhumation contains knowledge pertaining to folk biology—specifically, pre-theoretical ideas concerning regeneration, survival, and mortality. The first input space attaches to human mortality; it departs from the anxiety associated with the seeming cessation of personal identity and dissolution of kin relationships subsequent to death. The second input space is the subset of knowledge concerning vegetable life, and how the immersion of seeds in the soil produces a new generation of plants with the passage of time. The blended space combines the two input spaces by way of the funerary script, which involves depositing the body in the soil with a view to securing its eventual rebirth by analogy with the sprouting of a planted seed.As indicated, the most important illustration of this conceptual pattern can be found in the fertility myths of ancient Greece. The Homeric Hymns, in particular, provide a number of narratives that trace out correspondences between vegetation cycles, human mortality, and inhumation, which inform ritual practice (Frazer 223–404; Carney 355–65; Sowa 121–44). The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, for instance, charts how Persephone is abducted by Hades, god of the dead, and taken to his underground kingdom. While searching for her missing daughter, Demeter, goddess of fertility, neglects the earth, causing widespread devastation. Matters are resolved when Zeus intervenes to restore Persephone to Demeter. However, having ingested part of Hades’s kingdom (a pomegranate seed), Persephone is obliged to spend half the year below ground with her captor and the other half above ground with her mother.The objectification of Persephone as both a seed and a corpse in this narrative is clearly signalled by her seasonal inhumation in Hades’ chthonic realm, which is at once both the soil and the grave. And, just as the planting of seeds in autumn ensures rebirth in spring, Persephone’s seasonal passage from the Kingdom of the Dead nominates the individual human life as just one season in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. A further signifying element is added by the ingestion of the pomegranate seed. This is evocative of her being inseminated by Hades; thus, the coordination of vegetation cycles with life and death is correlated with secondary transition—that from childhood to adulthood (Kerényi 119–183).In the examples given, we can see how the Homeric Hymn objectifies both the mortal and sexual destiny of the body in terms of thresholds derived from the vegetable world. Moreover, this mapping is not merely an intellectual exercise. Its emotional and social appeal is visible in the fact that the Eleusinian mysteries—which offered the ritual hom*ologue to the Homeric Hymn to Demeter—persisted from the Mycenaean period to 396 CE, one of the longest recorded durations for any ritual (Ferguson 254–9; Cosmopoulos 1–24). In sum, then, classical myth provided a precedent for treating the body as a vegetable object—most often, a seed—that would, in turn, have driven the move towards inhumation as an important mortuary practice. The result is to create a ritual form that makes key aspects of human experience intelligible by connecting them with cyclical processes like the seasons of the year, the harvesting of crops, and the intergenerational oscillation between the roles of parent and child. Indeed, this pattern remains visible in the germination metaphors and burial practices of contemporary religions such as Christianity, which draw heavily on the symbolism associated with mystery cults like that at Eleusis (Nock 177–213).ConclusionWe acknowledge that our examples offer a limited reflection of the ethnographic and archaeological data, and that they need to be expanded to a much greater degree if they are to be more than merely suggestive. Nevertheless, suggestiveness has its value, too, and we submit that the speculations explored here may well offer a useful starting point for a larger survey. In particular, they showcase how a recurring existential anxiety concerning death—involving the fear of loss of personal identity and kinship relations—is addressed by different ways of objectifying the body. Given that the body is not reducible to the objects with which it is identified, these objectifications can never be entirely successful in negotiating the boundary between life and death. In the words of Jon Davies, “there is simply no let-up in the efforts by human beings to transcend this boundary, no matter how poignantly each failure seemed to reinforce it” (128). For this reason, we can expect that the record will be replete with conceptual and cognitive schemes that mediate the experience of death.At a more general level, it should also be clear that our understanding of human corporeality is rewarded by the study of mortuary practices. No less than having a body is coextensive with being human, so too is dying, with the consequence that investigating the intersection of both areas is likely to reveal insights into issues of universal cultural concern. For this reason, we advocate the study of mortuary practices as an evolving record of how various cultures understand human corporeality by way of external objects.ReferencesAdorno, Theodor W. Metaphysics: Concept and Problems. Trans. Rolf Tiedemann. Stanford: Stanford UP, 2002.Atran, Scott. In Gods We Trust: The Evolutionary Landscape of Religion. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002.Barrett, John C. “The Living, the Dead and the Ancestors: Neolithic and Bronze Age Mortuary Practices.” The Archaeology of Context in the Neolithic and Bronze Age: Recent Trends. Eds. John. C. Barrett and Ian. A. Kinnes. 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Introduction Contrary to popular understandings of academia, the work of academics is intrinsically community driven, because scholarly inquiry is invariably about social life. Therefore, what occupies academic scholarship is in the interest of the broader populace, and we rely on the public to inform our work. The findings of academic work are simultaneously a reflection of the researcher, and the public. The research interests of contemporary cultural and social researchers inevitably, and often necessarily, reflect issues and activities that they encounter in their everyday lives. My own doctoral research into contemporary cultural discourses informing the expectations, and experiences of motherhood in regional Western Australia, reflects an academic, personal and community interest. The doctoral research drawn on in this paper, stresses the relevance of cultural research projects to the concerns and behaviours of the wider public. The enthusiasm with which participants responded to this project, and reported back about their feelings and actions following the interview was unexpected. The immediacy of the impact this project has had on assisting women to create and consider alternate discourses demonstrates the capacity of this work to inform and direct contemporary social, political and cultural debates surrounding the bodily expectations, and experiences of motherhood. The feminist inspired methodology adopted in this project facilitated my speaking to other women negotiating cultural ideals about what constitutes a "good mother" in contemporary regional Western Australia. It has the potential to open up conversations between women, and between women and men, as evidenced by subsequent responses from participants. By examining the impact of these cultural ideals with everyday women, this project provides a means for women, and men, to reflect, engage critically and ultimately re-shape these discourses to more accurately reveal the desires and aspirations of everyday Australian women. From my perspective, three discourses in particular, the Good Mother, the Superwoman, and the Yummy Mummy, inform the expectations and experiences of motherhood. The orthodox discourse of the 'Good Mother' understands motherhood as a natural feminine desire and it describes characteristics such as enduring love, care, patience and selflessness that are often presented as synonymous with motherhood. Women who can successfully juggle the expectations of being a 'good mother' and a dedicated professional worker, are 'superwomen'. Increasingly dominant is the expectation that following maternity, women should not look as if they have had a child at all; the discourse of the Yummy Mummy focused on in this paper. The relationships between these discourses are complex; "failure to perform" them adequately can result in women being labelled "bad mothers", either by themselves or others. Although these discourses are Western and globalising, they have a tangible effect locally. The cultural scripts they proscribe to are often contradictory; resulting in many women feeling conflicted. Despite some levels of critical engagement with these competing cultural agendas, the women in this study reflected, to differing degrees, their internalisation of the expectations that accompany these cultural scripts. The outcome of this work, and the process of producing it, has the capacity to influence the direction of current debates in Australia. Amongst others, the debate surrounding the contemporary cultural "presentation" of postnatal bodies, including what women should look like as mothers. The role of the media in shaping the current expectations surrounding the postnatal body, including the recently raised proposal that glossy magazines, and other forms of media, should have to declare incidences of Photoshopping, or other forms of photo enhancement, is one agenda that this project can influence. I explore the potential of this work to influence these debates through an examination of the impact of popularised fantasies on women's subjectivity, and feelings towards their postnatal bodies. An examination of the ways that some aspects of mothering are excluded from popular media sources highlights the capacity of this work to provide a practical means of sharing contemporary expectations and experiences of motherhood amongst women, those already mothering, and those intending to mother, and men. These debates have an impact on, and relevance for, the everyday lives of Australian women and men. Feminist Methodologies: Opportunities to Foster Mutual Understanding and Recognition of Shared Experience The motivating emphasis of feminist research is "women's lives and the questions they have about their own experiences" (Bloom 112). Consequently, a feminist methodology includes a concern with transformation and empowerment through the research practice (McRobbie, "Politics" 52). For Luff this reminds feminist researchers that their first duty is to "deal respectively with women's subjectivity, and indeed the inter-subjectivities of researcher and participants" (692). Olesen, in her account of feminist qualitative research, articulates that: the researcher too, has attributes, characteristics, a history, and gender, class, race and social attributes that enter the researcher interaction … in light of the multiple positions, selves, and identities at play in the research process, the subjectivity of the researcher, as much as that of the researched, became foregrounded. (226-7) This signifies for Olesen the indistinct boundary between researchers and researched (227), and for myself, signals the potential that feminist research praxis has for uniting the academic and broader, communities. According to Reinharz the interview has historically been the principle way in which feminists have pursued the active contribution of their participants in the construction of their research projects (Heyl 374). The research findings of this doctoral project are based on a series of interviews with nine intending to mother women, and twenty one already mothering women. The research questions were open-ended to allow participants to answer "in their own terms" (Jones 48). Participants were also encouraged to reflect on aspects of mothering, or plans to mother, that were most significant to them. Following Oakley (49) and others (Bloom 11) argument that there can be no intimacy between researcher and participant without reciprocity, while I chose not to express my personal disagreement to any statements made by participants, I self-consciously chose to answer any questions that participants directed to me. I did not attempt to hide my personal empathy with many of their accounts, and allowed for email follow up. By doing my upmost to position myself as a "validating listener" rather than a scrutinising judge, I allowed the women to reflect on the fact that their feelings were not necessarily unusual or "abnormal", and did not make them "bad mothers". In this way, both the process, and the final product of this work can provide a practical means for women to share some of their feelings, which are often excluded, or in some cases, vilified (Arendell 1196; O'Donohoe 14), in popular media outlets. The outcome of this work can contribute to an alternate space for everyday women to "be real" with both other mothers, and intending to mother women, and contribute to discourses of motherhood. Unreal Imagery and the Postnatal Body: Possibilities for Communication and Alteration Drawing on the principal example of the impact of unreal imagery, specifically images of airbrushed supermodels and celebrities, on the real experiences of motherhood by everyday Australian women, I propose that this project can foster further communications between intending to mother, and already mothering women, and their partners, about the realities, and misconceptions of motherhood; particularly, to share aspects of mothering that are excluded or marginalised in popular media representations. Through this process of validating the experiences of "real" everyday women, women, and men, can affect a break from, or at least critique, dominant discourses surrounding motherhood, and appreciate that there are a multiplicity of opinions, information, and ways of mothering. A dominant aspect of the "unreal" surrounding motherhood concerns the body and what women are led to believe their bodies can, and indeed, should, look like, postnatal. Unsurprisingly, the women in my study associated this "unreal" with Hollywood representations, and the increasing plethora of celebrity mums they encounter in the media. As McRobbie has suggested, a popular front page image for various celebrity chasing weekly magazines is the Yummy Mummy, "who can squeeze into size six jeans a couple of weeks after giving birth, with the help of a personal trainer", an image that has provided the perfect foundation for marketing companies to promote the arena of maternity as the next central cultural performance in terms of femininity, in which "high maintenance pampering techniques, as well as a designer wardrobe" ("Yummy") are essential. The majority of women in my study spoke about these images, and the messages they send. With few exceptions, the participants identified popular images surrounding mothering, and the expectations that accompany them, as unrealistic, and inaccurate. Several women reflected on the way that some aspects of their experience, which, in many cases, turned out to be shared experience, of mothering are excluded, or "hidden away", in popular media forms. For Rachel, popular media representations do not capture the "realness" of everyday experiences of motherhood: I was looking at all these not so real people … Miranda Kerr like breast feeding with her red stiletto's on and her red lipstick and I'm just like right you've got your slippers on and your pyjamas on and you're lucky to brush your teeth by lunchtime … I don't think they want to keep it real … It's not all giggles and smiles; there is uncontrollable crying in the middle of the night because you don't know what's wrong with them and you find out the next day that they've got an ear infection. You know where's all that, they miss out all that, it's all about the beautiful sleeping babies and you know the glam mums. (Rachel, aged 33, mother of one) The individual women involved in this study were personally implicated to differing degrees in these unreal images. For Penelope, these types of representations influenced her bodily expectations, and she identified this disjunction as the most significant in her mothering experience: I expected to pop straight back into my pre-maternity size, that for me was the hugest thing actually, like you see these ladies who six weeks after they've had their baby, look as good as before sort of thing, no stretch marks or anything like and then I thought if they can do it, I can do it sort of thing and it didn't work like that. (Penelope, aged 36, mother of four) Penelope's experience was not an unusual one, with the majority of women reporting similar feelings. The findings of this study concur with the outcomes reported by a recent United Kingdom survey of 2000 women, which found that 82 per cent were unhappy with their postnatal bodies, 77 per cent were "shocked by the changes to their body", and, more than nine out of ten agreed that "celebrity mothers' dramatic weight loss 'puts immense and unwelcome pressure on ordinary mums" (O'Donohoe 9). This suggests that celebrity images, and the expectations that accompany them, are having a widespread effect in the Western world, resulting in many women experiencing a sense of loss when it comes to their bodies. They must "get their bodies back", and may experience shame over the unattainability of this goal, which appears to be readily achievable for other women. To appreciate the implications of these images, and the power relations involved, these effects need to be examined on the local, everyday level. O'Donohoe discusses the role of magazines in funding this unreal imagery, and their fixation on high-profile Yummy Mummies, describing their coverage as "hyper-hypocritical" (9-10). On one hand, they play a leading role in the proliferation, promotion and reinforcement of the Yummy Mummy ideal, and the significant pressure this discourse places on women in the wider community. Whilst on the other hand they denigrate and vilify celebrity mums who are also increasingly pressured into this performance, labelling them as "weigh too thin" (cover of Famous magazine, Jan. 2011) and "too stressed to eat" (cover of OK magazine, June 2011). Gill and Arthurs observe how: the female celebrity body is under constant surveillance, policed for being too fat, too thin, having wrinkles or 'ugly hands' … 'ordinary' women's bodies are under similar scrutiny when they participate in the growing number of reality make-over shows in which … female participants are frequently humiliated and vilified. (444) An observation by one of my participants suggests the implications of these media trends on the lives of everyday women, and suggests that everyday women are inscrutably aware of the lack of alternative discourses: It's kind of like fashionable to talk about your body and what's wrong with it, it's not really, I don't know. You don't really say, check out, like god I've got good boobs and look at me, look how good I look. It's almost like, my boobs are sagging, or my bums too big, it's never anything really positive. (Daisy, aged 36, mother of two) The "fashionable" nature of body surveillance is further supported by the vast majority of women in this study who reported such behaviour. A preoccupation with the body as a source of identity that emphasises self-surveillance, self-monitoring, and self-discipline (Gill 155) is a central component to neoliberalism, and the Yummy Mummy phenomenon. As O'Donohoe surmises, maternity now requires high maintenance (3). O'Donohoe comments on the concern this generates amongst some women regarding their weight gain, leading to some cases of infant malnutrition as a consequence of dieting whilst pregnant (9). Whilst this is an extreme example, mothering women's anxiety over body image is a widespread concern as reflected in this study. This trend towards body surveillance suggests that the type of sexualisation Attwood describes as taking place in Western cultures, is present and influential amongst the women in this study. I concur with Attwood that this trend is supplementary to the intensification of neoliberalism, in which "the individual becomes a self-regulating unit in society" (xxiii). The body as a key site for identity construction, acts as a canvas, on which the cultural trend towards increasing sexualisation, is printed, and has implications for both feminine and maternal identities. The women in this study reported high incidences of body self-surveillance, with an emphasis on the monitoring of "weight". For many women, the disjuncture between the popularised "unreal", and the reality of their postnatal bodies resulted in feelings of shock and disappointment. For Teal, positive feelings and self-esteem were connected to her weight, and she discussed how she had to restrict weighing herself to once a week, at a particular time of day, to avoid distress: I'm trying to make it that I don't go on the scales, just once and week and like in the morning, because like I go at different times and like your weight does change a little bit during the day and your oh my goodness I've put on kilo! And feel awful and then next morning you weigh yourself and go good its back. (Teal, aged 25, mother of one) According to Foucault (Sawicki, Disciplining 68), the practice of self-surveillance teaches individuals to monitor themselves, and is one of the key normative operations of biopower, a process that attaches individuals to their identities. The habitual approach to weight monitoring by many of the women in this study suggests that the Yummy Mummy discourse is becoming incorporated into the identities of everyday mothering women, as a recognisable and dominant cultural script to perform, to differing degrees, and to varying grades of consciousness. A number of participants in this study worked in the fitness industry, and whilst I expected them to be more concerned about their bodies postnatal, because of the pressures they face in their workplaces to "look the part", the education they receive about their bodies gave them a realistic idea of what individual women can achieve, and they were among the most critical of weight monitoring practices. As several feminist and poststructuralist theorists suggest, disciplinary practices, such as self-surveillance, both underscore, and contribute to, contemporary cultural definitions of femininity. From a Foucauldian perspective, a woman in this context becomes "a self-policing subject, self-committed to a relentless self-surveillance" (Hekman 275). However, although for Foucault, total liberation is impossible, some parts of social life are more vulnerable to criticism than others, and we can change particular normalising practices (165). Creating alternate mothering discourses is one way to achieve this, and some women did reflect critically on these types of self-policing behaviours. A minority of women in this study recognised their body as "different" to before they had children. Rather than agonise over these changes, they accepted them as part of where they are in their lives right now: I'm not the same person that I was then, its different, I like I just sort of feel that change is good, it's okay to be different, it's okay for me look different, it's okay for my body to kind of wear my motherhood badges that's okay I feel happy about that. So I don't want it to look exactly the same, no I don't actually. (Corinne, aged 33, mother of four) As many of the women who have been in email contact with me since their interviews have expressed, the questions I asked have prompted them to reflect more consciously on many of these issues, and for some, to have conversations with loved ones. For me, this demonstrates that this project has assisted women, and the process of taking part has elicited conversations between more women, and importantly, between women and men, about these types of media representations, and the expectations they create. In response to a growing body of research into the effects of unrealistic imagery on women, particularly young women and the increasing rates of eating disorders amongst women (see for example Hudson et al.; Taylor et al.; Treasure) in Western communities, there has been debate in a number of Western countries, including the United Kingdom, France and Australia, over whether the practice of digitally altering photos in the media, should be legislated so that media outlets are required to declare when and how images have been altered. The media has not greeted this suggestion warmly. In response to calls for legislative action Jill Wanless, an associate editor at Look magazine, suggested that "sometimes readers want hyper-reality in a way—they want to be taken out of their own situation". The justification for "perfected" images, in this case, is the inferred distinction they create between the unreal and reality. However, the responses from the everyday women involved in this study suggest that their desire is not for "hyper reality", but rather for "realness" to be represented. As Corinne explains: Where's the mother on the front page of the magazine that says I took 11 months to lose my baby weight…I hate this fantasy world, where's the reality, where's our real mums, our real women who are out there going I agonise over dropping my kid in day care everyday when they cry, I hate it. That's real. Performativity, as an inextricable aspect of hyper reality, may be ignored by those with a vested interest in media production, but the roles that discourses such as the Yummy Mummy have in proliferating and creating the expectation of these performances, is of interest to both the community and cultural theorists. Conclusion The capacity to influence current cultural, political and social debates surrounding what women should look like as mothers in contemporary Western Australian society is important to explore. Using feminist methodologies in such work provides an opportunity to unite the academic and broader communities. By disassembling the boundary between researcher and researched, it is possible to encourage mutual understanding and the recognition of mutual experience amongst researcher, participants' and the wider community. Taking part in this research has elicited conversations between women, and men concerning their expectations, and experiences of parenthood. Most importantly, the outcome of this work has reflected a desire by local everyday women for the media to include their stories in the broader presentation of motherhood. 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