Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Hassan Vally, Associate Professor, La Trobe University

Perth is the latest Australian city to head into a snap lockdown aimed at stamping out a coronavirus cluster resulting from another breach in CBD hotel quarantine.

The three-day lockdown, covering Perth and the Peel region south of the city, comes in response to news a 54-year-old man evidently contracted COVID-19 from guests in an adjoining room. After leaving quarantine he then visited several locations around the city and infected a friend — Perth’s first case of community transmission in more than a year — before boarding a plane to Melbourne with 257 passengers on April 21 and subsequently testing positive.

If we needed it, this incident is another reminder the COVID epidemic is not over, and we’re still vulnerable to outbreaks in Australia.

Until we get a large proportion of the population vaccinated — right across the world, as well as in Australia — we have to be vigilant to the very real threat the disease will re-enter our communities.

The latest lockdown prompts several questions. None of these questions are new, and none of them has a clear-cut answer, but we have to keep asking them as we strive to understand as much as we can from this type of situation.

Read more: Perth is the latest city to suffer a COVID quarantine breach. Why does this keep happening?

Is the lockdown in Perth necessary?

The question of whether a lockdown is warranted cannot be definitively answered. It’s a judgement call based on a complex cost-benefit analysis, which in turn is limited by a number of unknowns.

The key consideration is the level of risk the authorities are willing to accept regarding the possibility of further community transmission. WA Premier Mark McGowan, as he has clearly articulated previously and repeated in his press conference yesterday, is not willing to “take any chances with the virus”. So in this regard, his decision to implement a circuit-breaker lockdown is consistent with a well articulated philosophy.

The rationale here is clear: it is much better to pay a price now, than have bear much bigger costs further down the track.

Read more: Brisbane’s COVID lockdown has a crucial difference: it aims to squash an outbreak before it even starts

Given that the man at the centre of the cluster spent five days moving through the community while potentially infectious, there has conceivably been an opportunity for the virus to have been spread to others. However, somewhat reassuringly, he was asymptomatic right up to being tested in Melbourne, and so makes it less likely he has transmitted the disease to anyone in Perth, or while in transit to Melbourne or at Melbourne airport.

Regardless, the aim of the lockdown is to limit contact between people for a period of time, which limits any further spread of the virus and allows public health authorities to get ahead of the situation.

Will Melbourne need a lockdown too?

The exposure to risk of community transmission in Melbourne is quite different to the exposure in Perth and Peel. The threat posed by the case, even if he was shedding virus on the aircraft while asymptomatic, should be able to be contained.

The case, having been notified by authorities at the airport that he was a contact of a hotel case in Perth, went straight home and had no contact with others and upon testing positive went into quarantine.

His close contacts on the aircraft all went into isolation before they should have had a chance to become infectious, so even if they are infected they won’t have had a chance to pass it on. Melbourne Airport Terminal One between 6.30 and 7.30pm on Wednesday April 21 has also been declared a tier 2 exposure site, so anyone who was there at the same time is required to isolate, get tested, and remain isolated until they get a negative result.

This looks to be a really effective public health response with a very good chance of preventing community spread. You can never be definitive about anything to do with COVID, but I am confident this threat will be brought under control.

Is it time to reconsider hotel quarantine?

This is the most pressing question to come out of this event. Yet again we have an example of transmission of the virus within hotel quarantine, and yet again aerosol transmission is the most likely explanation.

The more these types of events happen, and the more costly lockdowns we have to endure, the louder will be the calls for purpose-built quarantine centres to be set up away from major cities’ CBDs.

Quarantining in city-centre hotels is a real-time experiment that, even if we’re being generous, has delivered mixed results.

Read more: Another day, another hotel quarantine fail. So what can Australia learn from other countries?

No doubt one of the barriers to purpose-built centres is the time they would take to set up, and the worry that by the time this is done they may not be needed, and would become expensive white elephants.

But if we accept we have years to run with the pandemic — that is, until transmission has been brought under control all around the world — and this will not be the last pandemic we face, we may soon reach a point where the case for this becomes overwhelming.

– ref. Here we go again — Perth’s snap lockdown raises familiar hotel quarantine questions – https://theconversation.com/here-we-go-again-perths-snap-lockdown-raises-familiar-hotel-quarantine-questions-159649

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Michael Walker, Adjunct Fellow, Centre for Workforce Futures, Macquarie University

“Working at an Amazon warehouse is no easy thing. The shifts are long. The pace is super-fast. You are constantly being watched and monitored. They seem to think you are just another machine.”

So testified Jennifer Bates before a US Senate Budget Committee hearing into income and wealth inequality on March 17. Less than a month later her co-workers at Amazon’s fulfilment centre in Bessemer, Alabama, voted 1,798 to 738 against allowing the Retail, Wholesale and Department Stores Union into their workplace to represent them.

That might seem a surprising outcome. But Bates’s testimony hinted at the odds of workers voting against the company’s wishes – which was heavily anti-union:

They track our every move – if your computer isn’t scanning, you get charged with being “time off task”. From the onset I learned that if I worked too slow or had too much time off task, I could be disciplined or even fired.

That is, employees at Amazon knew they were under constant surveillance, and also that the company had a history of sacking those who were pro-union.

A very high barrier

Bates, 48, got a job at the Bessemer facility in May 2020, two months after it opened. The warehouse is the size of 16 American football fields. About 5,800 people are employed there.

Shocked by the conditions, she and a few other coworkers finally contacted the union. From this grew the campaign to become the first Amazon workplace in the US to unionise.

Read more: What’s at stake in Amazon’s Bessemer, Alabama, union vote: 5 questions answered

The campaign ended in a resounding defeat for the union. But that’s because the US has unusual unionisation laws compared to the most other industrialised and democratic nations.

American law requires that more than 50% of workers at a workplace vote for a union for it to be recognised as their bargaining agent.

In other countries workers decide for themselves if they want to join a union. Nor are unions prevented from bargaining for members if they represent less than half the workforce.

In Italy, for example, union laws required Amazon to negotiate with the union (FILCAMS CGIL) regardless of the number of members at the company’s warehouse. In Australia, a union has the right to bargain with just a single member in a workplace.

The “all-in” union law dates from 1935 when President Franklin Roosevelt created the National Labor Relations Board as an umpire to oversee collective bargaining efforts. It wasn’t meant to impede unions, but over time employers have used their resources and advantages to turn it into a barrier to unions.

In Bessemer, blocking union officials from coming on site was just one of Amazon’s advantages.

Internally the company ran an incessant anti-union campaign. Anti-union messages were sent to workers’ mobile phones and were even fixed to the back of toilet stalls. Jennifer Bates again:

We were forced into what they call ‘union education’ meetings. We had no choice but to attend them, not given an opportunity to decline […] They would last for as much as an hour, and we’d have to go sometimes several times a week.

The company also has a long history of surveilling its workers. Any employee expressing union sympathies on social media risked being identified by the “spooks” the company pays to monitor their activities outside of work.

Political solution

In the early 1980s, 20% of American workers were union members; now just 11% are. But the percentage of non-unionised workers who would vote to join one if they could has grown from from 33% to 48%.

That means there’s more support for unions now than ever. There is a clear need for law reform to address the growing gap between the number of workers who want to be in a union and the number who actually are.

Read more: Algorithms workers can’t see are increasingly pulling the management strings

US President Joe Biden has signalled support for such reform. On March 1, his official Twitter account said of Amazon’s Alabama workers voting to unionise:

It’s a vitally important choice – one that should be made without intimidation or threats by employers. Every worker should have a free and fair choice to join a union.

A bill that would help level the playing field is awaiting a vote in the US Senate. Co-sponsored by Democrat Representative Robert Cortez Scott (California) and Senator Patty Murray (Washington), the Protecting the Right to Organize (PRO) Act would:

• allow unions to collect bargaining fees from non-members, thereby avoiding the need to win a majority in a workplace election in order to bargain

• ban company-sponsored meetings to discourage union organising

• prevent retaliatory firing of union activists.

If the bill passes the Senate, Biden has said he will sign it into law.

Biden also has the ability to alter union election regulations at the US Department of Labor once its new leadership is confirmed. On the campaign trail, he promised that employers overstepping the mark in opposing unions (as nearly half do) would be pursued and punished with multi-year debarment from receiving federal contracts.

These changes could mark a turning point for the union movement – and the millions of workers who, like Jennifer Bates, think there should be another way.

– ref. ‘They track our every move’: why the cards were stacked against a union at Amazon – https://theconversation.com/they-track-our-every-move-why-the-cards-were-stacked-against-a-union-at-amazon-159531

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Tim Tenbensel, Associate Professor, Health Policy, University of Auckland

This week’s announcement that all district health boards (DHBs) would be abolished and replaced with a centralised health agency took a lot of people by surprise.

Most key health sector interest groups appear to support the proposed agency, provisionally known as Health NZ. But the Labour government has created some very high expectations, and the hard work of making this new structure work now begins in earnest.

Running through the reform proposal is a strong emphasis on collaborative relationships between the various government and non-government organisations. New Zealand’s public sector reforms of the 1990s cultivated a culture of distrust in relationships between such organisations.

In the health sector, this was manifested in the deteriorating relationships between district health boards and non-government organisations, particularly in primary healthcare. Hard-wiring a collaborative ethos across the sector will not be easy.

What needed to change?

New Zealand currently has 20 DHBs. Each has responsibilities to provide healthcare within a defined geographical area. The COVID-19 pandemic highlighted the regional fragmentation when some DHBs were slow to adopt a national contact-tracing system.

The government’s restructure comes in response to the 2020 Health and Disability System review that left many sector leaders disappointed.

While the review’s final report acknowledged New Zealand’s health system was overly fragmented and complicated, it recommended a single, central health sector organisation to work alongside a reduced number of DHBs. This was not a recipe for reducing fragmentation.

It’s only 20 years ago that a previous Labour government led by Helen Clark ushered the DHB era. The 1990s – an era of competition and “contracting out” – had stimulated some significant innovations in the way health services were organised and delivered, most significantly the growth of hauora Māori providers.

But, overall, these reforms inspired by the notion of “public choice” were deeply unpopular with health professionals — and the public.

The fading promise of the DHB system

The big new idea in 2000 was that DHBs were to look after all publicly funded health services, not just hospitals. They were to plan on behalf of their regional populations and facilitate greater integration of hospital and community-based services. The Clark government re-introduced the elected local boards that the National-led government had abolished in the 1990s.

But the promise and appeal of regional governance began to fade for a number of reasons. DHBs came to the conclusion they really did not have that much discretionary power over the allocation of resources.

Read more: New authority could transform Māori health, but only if it’s a leader, not a partner

These dynamics were entrenched throughout the 2010s when there were no significant increases in per-capita health funding. Only a handful of DHBs took a creative approach to developing relationships with primary healthcare providers.

The Canterbury Clinical Network in Christchurch developed a “one system, one budget” approach to identifying service needs first, and then working out who would provide them and how they would be paid for. But few others followed their lead.

Nor were DHBs champions of local democracy. The scale of the districts and organisations, particularly in larger urban areas, made any democratic representation symbolic at best. Board members were primarily there to implement government policy.

Three big questions

How centralised will Health NZ really be? The answer is likely to vary significantly across health services. For hospitals, I anticipate the regional divisions of Health NZ will be most significant.

For primary care and services in the community, it is possible services may be organised and tailored more locally than they are now. That will depend on what happens with the proposed “population health and well-being networks”.

What will “local commissioning” look like? “Commissioning” is a widely used word in the reform proposals, as opposed to “contracting”. The latter is based on the idea that the principal (the government agency) knows best and the agent (the providers — mostly non-profit NGOs and for-profit primary care practices) are obliged to carry out the principal’s wishes.

Commissioning, on the other hand, entails a more relational, negotiated approach where local communities and service providers define what services would look like. This means those who deliver the services are part of the design.

Where does the health “consumer” come into it? Instead of elected members on DHBs, consumer and community input is to operate through all levels of the system. According to the cabinet paper, “entities will determine how best to engage people but will need to adhere to nationally set principles for consumer engagement”.

Read more: With closer ties to GPs, NZ’s new central health agency could revolutionise treatment of major diseases

Great expectations

Another major plank of the proposed health reforms is the creation of a public health agency to sit within the Ministry of Health. In the era of COVID-19, the marginalisation of public health advice that had occurred over the past decade became a fundamental weakness.

Post-COVID-19, public health’s star has arguably never been higher. So it will be interesting to see how much clout this agency has in influencing policy on alcohol, food and gambling.

The view of many public health advocates is that a separate and independent crown entity would be preferable. However, a unit within the ministry at least has the advantage of being at the top table. An independent agency may be more easily sidelined, and more easily dismantled after changes of government.

Producing a radical health system reform proposal that has widespread sector support is no mean feat for any government. With expectations so high, of course, the difficulty will be sustaining that momentum through to implementation.

– ref. No one is mourning the end of district health boards, but rebuilding trust in the system won’t be easy – https://theconversation.com/no-one-is-mourning-the-end-of-district-health-boards-but-rebuilding-trust-in-the-system-wont-be-easy-159545

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Rik Thompson, Professor of Breast Cancer Research, Institute of Health and Biomedical Innovation and School of Biomedical Sciences,, Queensland University of Technology

Australian women are being asked to think about the timing of breast cancer screening as they prepare to receive their COVID vaccine.

This is in light of US evidence that a normal consequence of COVID vaccination, temporary swelling of the lymph nodes in the armpit, may interfere with how doctors interpret mammograms.

So women have been advised to either have a mammogram first, or delay it until six weeks after vaccination, to avoid any confusion.

This advice is particularly relevant now we are preparing to vaccinate the over-50s, the key target age for routine breast cancer screening under Australia’s BreastScreen program.

What’s all this about lumps?

When people have vaccines in their upper arm, it’s normal for the lymph nodes in the armpit on that side of the body to be activated and swell. It’s your body preparing a protective immune response.

After their COVID shot, some people develop more severe swelling in the armpit than others. While estimates vary, only about one in ten people vaccinated can feel a lump there, and it’s not always painful.

It’s important to stress these lumps are not breast cancer, and are not harmful. They also disappear within one or two weeks of vaccination.

Read more: Explainer: how does the immune system work?

However, a swollen lymph node can affect imaging such as breast cancer screening by mammography or ultrasound. This is because it looks like breast cancer that has spread (metastasised) from the breast to the lymph node. This can have important consequences.

An enlarged lymph node may cause a woman to have further testing to confirm or rule out breast cancer. This can lead to further imaging, invasive procedures such as biopsies, and patient anxiety.

So it’s important to note this potential impact of COVID vaccination on mammography, ahead of Australia ramping up its vaccine rollout, especially in the over-50s.

So what’s behind the new advice?

Reports of COVID vaccine-related swollen lymph nodes emerged from the United States, where almost 90 million people have been vaccinated with the Pfizer or Moderna vaccines.

This led to swollen lymph nodes showing up on breast imaging, including mammography and ultrasound.

According to the Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Radiologists, this type of swelling has not been reported with the AstraZeneca vaccine. This is the vaccine earmarked for the over-50s in Australia from May.

However, as activating the immune system is how all vaccines work, we’ve seen similar swelling after vaccines other than COVID. So it’s likely we’ll also see it with other COVID vaccines. However, we have yet to see published data from the United Kingdom and other countries that have more experience administering the AstraZeneca vaccine to confirm this.

Nevertheless, the college has recommended women have their mammogram before their COVID vaccine, or six weeks after vaccination, without specifying any particular COVID vaccine.

Others have proposed a more pragmatic approach of monitoring any suspected case of a swollen lymph node in the armpit on the side of the injection, and only investigating further if the swelling doesn’t go down after six weeks.

Read more: Women should be told about their breast density when they have a mammogram

Why is this so important?

It’s essential for both COVID vaccination and mammography screening of women without symptoms to continue.

While it is important screening identifies women with breast cancer, it is also important not to over-investigate otherwise healthy women. So it makes sense to delay the screening of otherwise healthy non-symptomatic women for a short time, to not over-investigate women who do not have cancer.

It’s also important for women with breast cancer symptoms to seek medical advice immediately, and for the appropriate diagnostic imaging to take place.

However, in light of the recent advice, women should mention their COVID vaccination status to their health-care team — GP, radiographer and specialist doctor — so they can take this into account when interpreting imaging. That’s whether or not their mammograms are part of the breast cancer screening program.

Read more: What causes breast cancer in women? What we know, don’t know and suspect

– ref. COVID vaccine may lead to a harmless lump in your armpit, so women advised to delay mammograms for 6 weeks – https://theconversation.com/covid-vaccine-may-lead-to-a-harmless-lump-in-your-armpit-so-women-advised-to-delay-mammograms-for-6-weeks-159529

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Hassan Vally, Associate Professor, La Trobe University

On Thursday, national cabinet agreed to list India as a “high-risk” country and temporarily reduce the number of people returning to Australia from the country by 30%.

Prime Minister Scott Morrison said other countries would soon be added to the high-risk list, although only India has been included so far.

Being an Australian who is of Indian heritage but has lived in Australia his whole life, the images from India over the past few days have pulled at my heartstrings in a way that has surprised me — just when I thought I’d become somewhat desensitised to the destruction the COVID-19 pandemic can wreak.

India is in the midst of an unparalleled catastrophe, even by the devastating standards we have witnessed over the last year. On Thursday it reported the largest single-day increase of COVID cases for any country since the pandemic began, with 314,835 new cases. Many hospitals are running out of oxygen.

Read more: After early success, India’s daily COVID infections have surpassed the US and Brazil. Why?

It’s not necessarily surprising, given many substantial drivers of transmission are present in India: poverty, areas of very high population density, a lack of resources and limited lockdowns, to name a few. What’s also very clear is that, as alarming as the COVID numbers being reported are, they’re clearly an underestimation of the true level of spread.

With one in three tests coming up positive in some parts of the country, the real number may be several times higher than what’s being detected.

I have to admit I’m torn by the Australian government’s response to this situation. From a disease-control perspective, I understand the rationale. By limiting entry of people from high-risk countries, we certainly limit our exposure to risk in Australia.

As we have seen many times during the pandemic, hotel quarantine is not perfect and the risk of infection escaping these facilities is very real. Clearly, one of the triggers for this decision has been the hotel transmission of cases seen over the past few days in Perth.

But from a humanitarian perspective, I feel uneasy. One could argue those wishing to return from India need us to look after them more than ever right now. With transmission uncontrolled and lives at risk due to infection and a lack of hospital resources, we shouldn’t abandon people in India or any other country facing a similar situation.

As hard as it is to make a decision like this, it’s not without precedent. Limiting or preventing travel from high-risk countries to reduce the risk of importing disease has been a mainstay of the pandemic response in Australia and elsewhere. This policy of reducing traveller numbers from high-risk areas looks similar to the UK’s “red list”, which bans people travelling from certain countries (unless they’re British or Irish citizens, who can enter but have to quarantine at their own cost and test negative).

It does raise the question, however, of how we will define “high-risk” from now on. Expecting a rigid definition is probably unreasonable, given how many variables need to be considered, including which variants of the virus are circulating in other countries.

But despite this, I think it will be important for the government to communicate as much as it can about how these determinations will be made.

The more transparency and clarity we have on these decisions, the more confidence we can have in their fairness. If we understand the basis for these decisions, it may help us understand when and why a country is added to the list, and of course when and why it should come off again.

The response to this crisis in India speaks yet again to the complexity of public health decision-making. Although one has to listen to the science, the science cannot tell you what what your policy settings should be. In setting policy, one has to factor in fairness, consider the human perspective, and at the same time balance what’s acceptable to the wider community.

We’ve seen the challenge of balancing these various, and often competing, considerations in other difficult decisions that have been taken during the pandemic. This is just the latest example.

The federal government has probably landed on a pretty reasonable and pragmatic response to protect Australians by not closing the border to India completely, but instead reducing the risk of importing COVID by restricting the number of arrivals. Like many, however, I’m deeply concerned by the situation in India. The unfolding crisis highlights that until we bring virus transmission under control in all countries, we still have a long way to go for this pandemic to be behind us.

Read more: 3 ways to vaccinate the world and make sure everyone benefits, rich and poor

– ref. I understand the rationale to limit travellers from India, but I still feel uneasy – https://theconversation.com/i-understand-the-rationale-to-limit-travellers-from-india-but-i-still-feel-uneasy-159627

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By James Goldrick, Adjunct Professor in Naval and Maritime Strategy and Policy, Australian National University

In waters north of Bali, a frantic search is underway for the Indonesian submarine KRI Nanggala, missing with 53 crew since the boat failed to make a routine signal report on Wednesday morning.

How to hunt a submarine

There are two key challenges when a submarine goes missing. The first is finding it. A submarine is inherently covert. When the Nanggala dived as part of a routine exercise, it is unlikely the boat was being tracked. Even in a close-range exercise it can be very difficult to maintain sonar contact with a submarine.

While Nanggala may have had a known planned track, the only certainty is where the submarine was when it last reported on Wednesday. Typically, the first indication of a missing submarine, unless there has been an obvious collision with a surface vessel, is the absence of the routine “all is well” report.

Navies have pre-planned procedures for instituting checks and initiating searches if a submarine fails to call in. These are immediately activated when such a report is not received. They rapidly move from what have been termed “SUBLOOK” procedures (looking for a submarine) to “SUBMISS” (submarine is missing) and then, when hope has been lost or evidence of an accident comes in, the self-explanatory “SUBSUNK”.

A large area of uncertainty

However many searchers and however sophisticated their sensors, there will almost always be an area of uncertainty, and it can be very large. The faster the submarine has been moving and the longer the interval since its last check, the greater that area will be.

Submarines have emergency indicator buoys which can be released to mark their position in the event of an accident. That is provided, of course, the accident did not incapacitate the crew.

Read more: The difficulty of searching for MH370 in a giant rubbish patch

In shallow water, the buoys can remain tethered to the submarine. In deep water they become free-floating, so when the buoys are detected search units must calculate back to the estimated release position, with all the uncertainties that wind and currents bring. This is also the case for any debris or oil slicks on the sea surface – such as the one possibly detected by Indonesian units searching for the missing Nanggala.

Difficulties of deep water

The next problem is the ocean floor is rarely flat. Even if the waters are not deep enough to have collapsed the submarine hull under pressure – something that happened to the very similar Argentinian submarine San Juan in 2017 when it sank in 900 metres of water – it can be very hard to detect the vessel among seabed features.

The search for the San Juan, even though aided by triangulation of the seismic signature of its implosion at depth, took a whole year, with minute examination of the seabed using high-frequency sonar and underwater television cameras. It is conceivable the search for the Nanggala could take as long, or longer.

Once the submarine is found, there is no guarantee anyone aboard is still alive, even if the hull has not imploded. If one or more compartments have flooded, there may be survivors in other sections, but they will have limited air. And that is a key problem.

Too much depth, too little time

Time is not on survivors’ side. The problem is, as stated by the Indonesian Navy, that the 53 crewmembers of the Nanggala would have only about 72 hours of air once their submarine is disabled. This would mean air is likely to run out some time on Saturday morning.

It is possible to make individual free ascent escapes from a sunken submarine, but this inherently dangerous procedure becomes increasingly risky as water depth increases. Nanggala was operating in an area with depths of up to 700 metres. This is far, far too deep for such methods, although it is just possible the hull has not imploded.

Even if Nanggala is still intact, however, it is also likely 700 metres is too deep for rescue equipment. There are well-developed international procedures for providing help in the event of a submarine accident, and several rescue ships and systems are being activated by other nations as well as Indonesia.

Ideally, a deep-water rescue unit can be deployed to mate to a hatch on the submarine and embark the survivors – if the hatch is accessible and if the water is not too deep for the rescue unit concerned. But if the boat is near 700 metres, that may be too deep.

In any case, such a submersible has to travel to the scene. While systems such as the 24-person capacity American Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle (DSRV) can be flown into a region, they then need to be placed aboard a mother ship and sailed to the location of the wreck.

In the case of Nanggala, the Indian Navy has despatched a submarine rescue vessel to help the Indonesians, but this will take around six days to reach the area, and practically every other rescue system that can be made available would also likely arrive too late to help the crew.

And Nanggala has yet to be found.

Read more: Why does Australia need submarines at all?

– ref. Submarines are designed to hide – so what happens when one goes missing? – https://theconversation.com/submarines-are-designed-to-hide-so-what-happens-when-one-goes-missing-159634

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology Sydney

This weekend marks 50 years since the television premiere of Young Talent Time — a pastel-coloured, saccharine-sweet mix of talent competition, pop music tribute show and star factory.

Accordingly, the National Film and Sound Archive (NSFA) has curated a digital tribute to the program that is in turns nostalgic and cringe-worthy. There is also a 50th anniversary stage show in the works.

Young Talent Time (YTT) first aired April 24, 1971 and ran for 18 years. It was launched at a time when music television was still dominated by local performers doing covers of (or even just lip synching) hits from the American and British hit parades.

YTT was Saturday evening viewing for a generation of families. It helped shape not only its young stars but also viewers’ musical tastes.

Read more: Rewind, repeat: TV’s fame machine is oh-so retro

The real thing

Produced and created by Johnny Young, YTT was a play on his surname as well as the faces on screen. Young was a record producer, composer and pop star who had already appeared on music television as a young (sorry) performer and host of The Go Show and Club Seventeen.

He had a sweet face and voice, and was exactly what the teenagers of the day wanted, while still being clean-cut enough to avoid worrying their parents.

Perhaps Young’s biggest claim to fame (pre-YTT) was writing The Real Thing, Russell Morris’ hit song that still stands as the sound of a psychedelic generation and movement. The song is also remarkable for Young’s collaboration with another television icon, track producer and future Countdown host Ian “Molly” Meldrum.

Unlike Countdown (which hit screens a few years later) or Bandstand, YTT wasn’t necessarily about the stars of today but the stars of tomorrow. The idea drew some inspiration from The Mickey Mouse Club on US television and extended off screen with Johnny Young Talent Schools popping up (and still operating) around the country.

Sure, there were other talent quests around, but YTT was more of a celebration rather than a cut-throat competition.

The “musical family” feeling was built into each episode with its regular all-in finale singalong of The Beatles’ All My Loving. The host, who today goes by John Young, recalls, “People used to tune in, just to see that”, tempting us to imagine a whole nation apparently tuned in for wholesome entertainment. It was always followed by Young’s smiley send-off: “Goodnight Australia!”

Read more: Countdown – just nostalgia, or still breaking new ground?

Learning to love ourselves

Beyond the bright young things, catchy tunes and shiny sets were significant developments in the Australian entertainment industry. The show’s long run served as a bridge between old and new forms of music television.

When YTT began, radio was still king and Australian artists were largely dependent on international markets and trends to make their way. With the odd exception (like Young himself), the Australian music industry still prioritised songs and artists that had “made it” overseas.

By the end of YTT’s run, the tide was starting to turn. Local artists and audiences wanted to see and hear more of their own performing their own work.

The biggest stars from the show, including Debra Byrne, Danni Minogue (and sister Kylie Minogue who appeared as an occasional YTT sibling guest) and Tina Arena, all went on to have careers presenting work in their own distinctive voices.

There was a limited 2012 YTT reboot hosted by Rob Mills, but it didn’t really take. Music television today like The Set, which will start its new season on YYT’s anniversary, is dominated by original work by a diverse range of Australian artists.

Past viewers have often wondered: where the YTT stars are now? Some of its stars have returned to television talent quests to try their luck. Others have had the good grace to laugh at their younger selves (hello, Bevan the Musical).

But how many snapshots into the lives of “ordinary Australians” remain captured in the YTT archive? For every Tina, Danni, Bevan or Vince, there were thousands of kids in the audience at home or in the studio cheering them on and connecting through music.

The NFSA celebration is understandably chock full of Minogues and mini-epic feats of costuming, choreography and pizzazz. But somewhere in storage there might be the many audition tapes, one-off appearances, studio audience snippets and letters to the stars. Not to mention the DIY shows in backyards, bedrooms and playgrounds around the country, perhaps captured on cassette or VHS. What could we learn from those wonderful pieces?

Young Talent Time was significant for its national reach and accessibility — a way for audiences, especially young audiences, to connect through music. While there were many flashes in the pan that fizzled, others have continued to burn bright. The joy for the audience (then and now) is the glow of having a go.

Read more: Michael Gudinski: how a titan of the industry shaped Australian music for five decades

– ref. All my loving: Young Talent Time still glows, 50 years since first airing on Australian TV – https://theconversation.com/all-my-loving-young-talent-time-still-glows-50-years-since-first-airing-on-australian-tv-159533

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Michelle Grattan, Professorial Fellow, University of Canberra

Michelle Grattan discusses the week in politics with University of Canberra Associate Professor Caroline Fisher.

This week the pair discuss some of the developments in the Biden climate summit, which commenced Thursday night. They also discuss the federal government’s “tearing up” of Victoria’s belt and road agreement with China, the latest in the vaccine rollout, and the announcement that controversial LNP backbencher George Christensen will not be contesting his seat at the next election.

– ref. VIDEO: Michelle Grattan on Biden’s climate change summit, Australia’s climate policy, and George Christensen – https://theconversation.com/video-michelle-grattan-on-bidens-climate-change-summit-australias-climate-policy-and-george-christensen-159633

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Pradeep Taneja, Senior Lecturer in Asian Politics, School of Social and Political Sciences, The University of Melbourne

India reported 314,000 new cases of COVID-19 on April 22, the highest-ever infection tally recorded by any country on a single day.

Many hospitals across the country are unable to cope with the unprecedented demand for life-saving necessities. Family members are scrambling to buy oxygen cylinders and medication for their loved ones in hospitals, often paying exorbitant prices in the black market.

Around the world, several countries such as the UK, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Pakistan, have imposed new restrictions on travellers from India, including flight bans.

While many countries around the world have faced multiple waves of infections, what has led to this massive — and sudden — spike in India?

Read more: As India’s COVID crisis worsens, leaders play the blame game while the poor suffer once again

Complacency is certainly to blame. But so, too, is the government’s feckless handling of the crisis, particularly Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s ineffective leadership in recent weeks.

Perhaps nothing illustrates this more clearly than Modi’s televised address this week in response to the growing crisis, when he sought to use his personal appeal to encourage Indians to practice COVID-safe behaviour.

He offered little in the form of concrete measures to contain the surge in infections, and counselled the state governments against using lockdowns. Unlike Modi’s public addresses during last year’s first wave, there was little that appeared to resonate across society.

Pandemic fatigue sets in

India was one of the first countries to enforce a nationwide lockdown when infection rates started to rise in March 2020, and this response, along with public vigilance, appeared to be successful in bringing cases under control. New cases peaked at nearly 100,000 in mid-September to under 10,000 in early February.

As case numbers declined, Modi’s popularity soared. And since late last year, businesses, government offices and ordinary people have returned to their pre-COVID routines, with many defying guidelines on wearing masks or practising social distancing. Some did so out of necessity to enable them to work, while others simply flouted norms out of arrogance or sheer ignorance. It was as if COVID-19 was no longer a major concern.

Read more: After early success, India’s daily COVID infections have surpassed the US and Brazil. Why?

The complacency and pandemic fatigue evident in society was echoed in the actions of the Modi government. The government dropped its guard and started to boast about its success at controlling infections and India’s low mortality rate compared to many other countries.

Following a win for his party in the elections in the populous state of Bihar in November, Modi claimed the

results have endorsed the way we have tackled the coronavirus crisis situation in the country.

However, the situation in the country now is looking increasingly grim. So, what did the government get wrong?

Conflicting messaging and a botched vaccine roll-out

First, the government did not prepare the country for the possibility of COVID-19 returning with a vengeance, as had happened in other parts of the world.

Despite rolling out a national vaccination drive, it did very little to shore up capacity in hospitals to handle a sudden surge of infections and hospitalisations. This has led many hospitals across the country to panic, struggling to meet the growing demand for oxygen.

Second, even as the virus spread like a wildfire, Modi and his cabinet ministers kept campaigning in state elections in five states, addressing massive rallies and praising the crowds for turning out in large numbers.

This resulted in conflicting messaging. It mattered little to the government that pandemic protocols were being flagrantly violated by those organising and attending the rallies. As cases continued to soar, Modi was forced finally to call off election rallies in the state of West Bengal.

Third, the second wave of infections has been fuelled by one of the world’s largest religious festivals, the Kumbh Mela, held in the holy city of Haridwar every 12 years. It became a super-spreader event.

From April 10–14, over 2,000 people who attended the festival tested positive for the virus. By the time Modi appealed to the religious leaders in a tweet on April 17 to keep the Kumbh Mela “symbolic” — meaning not to attend in person — the festival had already been going for more than two weeks. Two prominent Hindu seers had also died of COVID.

Finally, this week, religious leaders decided to wind down the festivities.

And the fourth misstep of the government has been in its handling of the vaccine rollout. While nearly 10% of India’s population has received the first dose, many vaccine distribution centres have in recent weeks run short on supplies.

This is partly a result of the Modi government prioritising its vaccine diplomacy initiatives rather than vaccinating its own people. According to the Indian Express, India had exported more vaccines (60 million doses to 76 countries) by late March than it had administered to its own citizens (52 million doses).

As India is one of the world’s largest manufacturers of vaccines, it could have used this as an opportunity to vaccinate a greater share of its population while simultaneously addressing the fault lines within the health system that have been exposed by the second wave of infections.

But the government didn’t take this approach — and now India is paying the consequences. Perhaps the Modi magic is finally beginning to wear off.

– ref. India’s staggering COVID crisis could have been avoided. But the government dropped its guard too soon – https://theconversation.com/indias-staggering-covid-crisis-could-have-been-avoided-but-the-government-dropped-its-guard-too-soon-159538

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Lesley Hughes, Professor, Department of Biological Sciences, Macquarie University

Prime Minister Scott Morrison overnight addressed a much anticipated virtual climate summit convened by US President Joe Biden, claiming future generations “will thank us not for what we have promised, but what we deliver”.

But what will his government actually deliver?

Morrison’s speech was notable for its stark lack of ambition and a defensive tone at odds with the urgent, front-footed approach of other world leaders. He resisted the peer pressure to enter the global fold on climate action by setting clear goals, saying Australia made only “bankable” emissions-reduction commitments.

Morrison instead pointed to Australia’s “transformative technology targets”. As we will explain below, those targets are small, vague and certainly not “bankable”. And the spending commitments pale in comparison to the past and future cost of extreme weather in Australia.

Expectations of Australia heading into the summit were low – a fact perhaps reflected in the summit’s agenda. Morrison’s address was way down in the running order – he was 21st of 27 speakers. Biden was reportedly not in the room when Morrison spoke. And in an unfortunate glitch, Morrison’s microphone was on mute at the start of his speech.

The summit did deliver some major gains. There was palpable relief as Biden brought the US back to the table on global climate efforts, committing to an emissions-reduction target twice the ambition of Australia’s. Other nations including Japan, Canada and Britain also outlined major new commitments.

But sadly for Australians, the summit revealed the stark contrast in climate policy leadership between Morrison and his international peers.

The world steps up

Biden opened the summit by emphasising the urgent need to keep global warming below 1.5℃ This century. Failing to do so, he said, would bring:

More frequent and intense fires, floods, droughts, heat waves, and hurricanes tearing through communities, ripping away lives and livelihoods, increasingly dire impacts to our public health […] We can’t resign ourselves to that future. We have to take action, all of us.

Biden committed the US to a 50-52% emissions reduction by 2030 compared with 2005 levels. Other notable emissions-reduction pledges included:

There were hopes Morrison would use the summit to announce Australia would finally join more than 100 countries to set an emissions target of net-zero by 2050. (Australia’s current emissions trajectory has us on track to get to net-zero in the year 2167).

But Morrison dashed those hopes early, telling world leaders: “For Australia, it is not a question of if or even by when for net-zero, but importantly how”.

He pointed to the government’s Technology Investment Roadmap, including A$20 billion to bring down the cost of clean hydrogen, green steel, energy storage and carbon capture. He also spoke of a goal to produce clean hydrogen for A$2 a kilogram, and his dream that Australia’s hydrogen industry would one day rival the scale of California’s Silicon Valley.

Read more: Scott Morrison can’t spin this one: Australia’s climate pledges at this week’s summit won’t convince the world we’re serious

Will technology save us? Not likely

Earlier this week, Morrison set the scene for his address by announcing a suite of technology funding commitments. Let’s take a closer look at them.

On Wednesday Morrison announced A$540 million for regional hydrogen hubs and carbon-capture and storage (CCS) projects. Some A$275 million will be committed to seven hydrogen hubs in regional areas over five years – that’s about A$7.8 million per hub each year.

It’s hard to see this buying much more than a plan on a piece of paper. Further, there’s little detail on how much will be spent on clean vs dirty hydrogen – that is, hydrogen generated from renewables vs fossil fuels. However the proposed location of some of these hubs in fossil-fuel rich areas, such as the Latrobe Valley and Hunter Valley, does not bode well.

A further A$263.7 million over ten years will fund CCS projects. Since 2003, the Australian government has spent more than A$1 billion on CCS projects, with very little to show for it.

Globally, CCS has been criticised as unproven and expensive, simply designed to extend the life of fossil fuel industries.

Read more: ‘Failure is not an option’: after a lost decade on climate action, the 2020s offer one last chance

The third tranche of funding, announced on Thursday, is A$566 million for research partnerships with other countries for new technology such as green steel, small modular nuclear reactors and soil carbon storage. There was little detail in the announcement, so for now it remains rather hypothetical.

In sum, the government will spend a relatively small amount on hydrogen production and CCS, spread wafer thin in various regional areas (and at least some of it subsidising fossil fuels), plus hypothetical funding for research.

Compare this to the A$35 billion cost of extreme weather disasters in Australia between 2010 and 2019, as detailed in this Climate Council report.

More recently, the New South Wales government estimated the potential cost of last month’s devastating floods at A$2 billion. A report by the NSW Treasury estimated by 2061, future economic costs of climate impacts in four key risk areas (bushfires, sea level rise, heatwaves and agricultural production) could reach up to A$17.2 billion a year – and this is just for NSW.

Read more: Cyclone Seroja just demolished parts of WA – and our warming world will bring more of the same

A tale of two leaders

Morrison told world leaders Australia would update its emissions-reduction target ahead of the Glasgow climate summit later this year. The current target – a 26-28% cut by 2030, based on 2005 levels – is broadly viewed as woefully inadequate.

Any increased ambition would be long overdue. However, more broadly, the contrast on climate policy between Morrison and Biden could not be clearer. Biden used the summit to tell world leaders:

Your leadership on this issue is a statement to the people of your nation and to the people of every nation, especially our young people, that we’re ready to meet this moment […] We really have no choice. We have to get this done.

Morrison, depressingly, showed little sign of hearing that message.

– ref. Spot the difference: As world leaders rose to the occasion at the Biden climate summit, Morrison faltered – https://theconversation.com/spot-the-difference-as-world-leaders-rose-to-the-occasion-at-the-biden-climate-summit-morrison-faltered-159295

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Verna Smith, Senior Lecturer in Public Policy, Te Herenga Waka — Victoria University of Wellington

It is rare to get excited about institutional reform, but the government’s announcement of wholesale changes to the health system has the potential to be transformative.

The restructure comes in response to last year’s Health and Disability System review. Among other changes, it will create a centralised organisation, Health NZ, which will replace 20 district health boards and take responsibility for the day-to-day running of the health system.

The new system will be akin to the UK’s National Health Service (NHS). My research suggests this could begin to reduce inequalities and improve how New Zealand tackles major health conditions.

History of public health

New Zealand’s national health service goes back to the vision of former Labour prime minister Michael Joseph Savage, best remembered for his landmark “cradle to grave” social welfare reforms, especially the Social Security Act 1938.

The health system was legislated a decade before the UK’s NHS. It provided for universal healthcare with publicly funded hospital treatment, free medicines, a maternity benefit and subsidised doctor’s visits. It sought to make healthcare free for all.

Fierce opposition by general practitioners at the time resulted in them being given the right to charge patients for their services. But over time, the level of user charges created a significant barrier to access to primary healthcare for poorer New Zealanders.

New Zealand now has a chance to finally develop a more constructive relationship with general practitioners and seek to resolve the problem of access, this time with a partner Māori health authority to honour obligations under the Treaty of Waitangi. This could begin to resolve health inequalities.

Read more: New authority could transform Māori health, but only if it’s a leader, not a partner

General practitioners have applauded the reform. If the new NHS-type crown entity and the Māori health authority can collaborate in a way that truly engages general practitioners, this could be revolutionary.

Comparison with England

My comparative research into health disparities and their many drivers compared GP services in New Zealand and England between 2004 and 2014, when both were responding to a new national pay-for-performance scheme designed to improve quality of care.

It was abundantly clear that the close partnership of general practice and the NHS in England, which reduced variations in care quality related to deprivation, was the secret weapon in reducing health inequalities in that country. There were continuous improvements in life expectancy until 2011, although progress has now stalled as a result of austerity-based policies.

By comparison, New Zealand’s pay-for-performance scheme made only small, albeit promising, progress towards reducing admissions to hospital for conditions that should have been treated in primary care, before it was abandoned in 2017.

This shows why New Zealand needs the kind of institutional reform the government has proposed.

Disease prevention

We can look at the prevention and care of diabetes as an example. In 2018, English academics reported on a successful trial of a prevention programme which delivered interventions compliant with best practice nationally to attack the onset of diabetes.

Through close partnership with its general practitioners, England has gone on to attack major health issues such as diabetes more effectively than New Zealand.

Read more: New Zealand needs urgent action to tackle the frightening rise and cost of type 2 diabetes

Through a single central contract with all general practitioners, NHS England provides financial incentives to deliver best practice diabetes diagnosis, prevention and care (along with incentives linked to many other conditions).

General practitioners are rewarded with additional payments where their care of patients meets these nationally agreed quality standards and their practice data provides evidence for this.

New Zealand could build similar partnerships with general practitioners to tackle our most costly and debilitating health conditions through a centralised approach. This has the potential to bring better healthcare to every New Zealander — and this is worth getting excited about.

– ref. With closer ties to GPs, NZ’s new central health agency could revolutionise treatment of major diseases – https://theconversation.com/with-closer-ties-to-gps-nzs-new-central-health-agency-could-revolutionise-treatment-of-major-diseases-159434

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Erin Harrington, Senior Lecturer in English and Cultural Studies, University of Canterbury

This review contains spoilers for the first three episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale season four.

Dystopian drama The Handmaid’s Tale is at a crossroads. Four years on from its critically acclaimed debut, and well past the bounds of its literary source material, the series faces challenges that relate to violence, representation and narrative.

Earlier seasons posed questions about the conditions under which political extremism and misogyny might thrive — and how and why individual women might support such endeavours.

They showed everyday sexism and religious fundamentalism metastasising into a full-blown political movement.

This found particular resonance with Donald Trump’s ascendancy, the erosion of reproductive rights in the US, and the emergence of the alt-right.

But the audience has also always been complicit in this violence. The series’ much-celebrated beauty is a trap.

The painterly, geometrical aesthetic of totalitarian Gilead combines claustrophobia with an uncomfortable appreciation for the sleek aesthetics of fascism.

This allure has been a strength of the series, and its core tension. How can something so awful be so pretty?

But watching season four, I now find myself asking: to what extent are we meant to be enjoying all this atrocity?

Bureaucracy and ghoulish violence

Season four picks up where we left off: in crisis. More than 80 children have been smuggled out of Gilead by renegade Handmaid June (Elisabeth Moss) and the guerrilla organisation Mayday, and war looms.

In Canada, the imprisoned Waterfords are trapped within a chiaroscuro film noir, with chain-smoking Serena (Yvonne Strahovski) playing the part of the elegant femme fatale who’s been caught out in the final act.

Gilead refugees and their supporters seem stuck in a bleak legal drama: battling bureaucracy, compassion fatigue and PTSD.

These storylines struggle to achieve the momentum of the action we are shown back in Gilead, where we dance between two modes of horror.

The first is the rape-revenge genre, whose somewhat tawdry pedigree has been increasingly appropriated by female filmmakers to interrogate trauma, power and agency.

Read more: ‘Rape-revenge’ films are changing: they now focus on the women, instead of their dads

In episode one, “Pigs”, June and the other escaped Handmaids find respite at a farm overseen by a 14-year-old wife, the unpredictable Mrs Keyes (Mckenna Grace), who dreams of retribution against her many abusers.

The show is more didactic now than in earlier seasons. It explicitly discusses rape, but it also takes an almost ghoulish interest in disclosures of victimisation.

June and Mrs Keyes develop a fractious mother/daughter relationship. “Good girl — make me proud” whispers June, before Mrs Keyes butchers a Guardian — one of her abusers — like one of the farm’s pigs.

The Handmaids look on, their faces bright with ferocious hunger. The girl, her teal dress coat blackened with blood, then joins June for a cuddle in bed to one of the show’s many on-the-nose musical cues: “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman”.

In Canada, ex-Martha Rita (Amanda Brugel) speaks at a fundraising event: “Gilead has a way of bringing out the worst in people, but in June it brought out the best”.

The irony is weighty.

Again, we must ask how and when violence is justified — but also when we, the increasingly numb audience, might be encouraged to get the popcorn out and enjoy it.

But we know this period of relative freedom can’t last. After inspiring another satisfying terrorist act, June is recaptured.

A world without God

The opening of season four also draws from the aesthetics of so-called “torture porn”, a contentious sub-genre of horror that became prominent in the 2000s, particularly in the wake of 9/11. These films combined extreme violence, nihilism and a sensationalist love for the grotesque.

Earlier seasons, although shocking, toyed with the balance between violence and restraint. Now, it’s all gritty cinematography, screams and clanking chains.

There are muzzles and stainless steel benches, red-lit concrete corridors, cheery torturers, and punishments so baroque they almost stray into parody.

Aunt Lydia (Ann Dowd) has become a mad-eyed harpy torn between punitive action and finishing her needlework.

There is no God in Gilead, just power-hungry monsters.

Read more: Women in horror: Victims no more

In these sequences, the series is in danger of collapsing under the weight of its own excess. Mid-interrogation, June is “treated” to a meal with turncoat ally Commander Lawrence (Bradley Whitford). They sit at a lavish candlelit table while a Chopin nocturne plays in the background.

It’s like a scene out of Hannibal, but without the irony.

Later, as she is washed down with hoses, the camera lingers on her naked, injured back. We are forced, once more, to look at — to relish in — this degradation.

Bonds of shared trauma

The Handmaid’s Tale remains suspenseful, beautifully shot and impeccably acted, but it’s a frustrating watch. Escalating narrative stakes have produced increasingly graphic violence. Yes, Gilead is horrific, but the show’s approach to violence is so gleeful in parts it can feel exploitative.

The show is also trapped in an intensifying hurt/comfort cycle. Despite the horrors and injuries she has experienced, June is effectively invincible. She fights, doubts herself, rallies, is viciously punished, then starts over.

Over the seasons she has become a cipher, pulled between wrathful freedom fighter, devoted mother and traumatised victim so much that her characterisation and motives have become muddy.

But episode three, “The Crossing”, concludes with a series of unexpected transitions that might help break this Groundhog Day-like narrative cycle and allow for a less indulgent focus as season four develops.

A heartfelt flashback to the Handmaids’ “training” revisits the bonds formed by shared trauma. Their arms cross the gaps between their cots, hands clasped in solidarity above the Gilead seals on the floor. It’s a reminder of the humanity of the women at the centre of the story, and the way sisterhood can offer solace and redemption.

The episode’s punishing conclusion, although devastating, offers real hope for June, Mayday and the fall of Gilead — but also for the development of a show that can’t always decide if it is critiquing violence against women, or luxuriating in it.

The Handmaid’s Tale season four begins April 29 on SBS in Australia and Neon in New Zealand.

– ref. Gory or glory? The Handmaid’s Tale season 4 walks a fine line between dystopia and torture porn – https://theconversation.com/gory-or-glory-the-handmaids-tale-season-4-walks-a-fine-line-between-dystopia-and-torture-porn-159336

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Rowan Light, Lecturer / Project Curator – University of Auckland / Auckland Museum, University of Auckland

While economists and politicians have celebrated the opening of the trans-Tasman bubble and its promised relief for struggling businesses, it’s also a reminder of something we’ve missed for more than a year now due to the pandemic: the ability to gather and collectively remember the past.

In recent weeks, Muslim New Zealanders have come together to mourn the victims of the March 15 shootings, iwi and hapū have held commemorative services at various New Zealand Wars battle sites, and churches were able to observe Easter.

This Sunday also marks the full return of the country’s most prominent day of remembrance. After widespread cancellations in 2019 due to the Christchurch terror attacks, and in 2020 because of the COVID-19 lockdown, many of this year’s Anzac ceremonies will be the first in over two years.

The revival of these commemorations points to a paradox. Shared memories connect us and our families to collective identities. But they are also a chance to interrogate and adapt. On commemorative days and festivals, we ask ourselves: ko wai tātou? Who are we all together?

Potent acts of belonging

The theme of Māori Television’s 2021 Anzac programming – Te Rongo Toa, The Victory of Peace – seems appropriate for the national mood, even as the pandemic continues to thrash the international community.

My research on Māori Television’s remembrance programs since its inaugural, all-day broadcast in 2006 – Nā Rātou, Mō Tātou, Let’s Honour Them, Together – shows how the broadcaster has reflected the way diverse New Zealanders experience commemoration, neither glorifying military violence nor fixating on an enemy “other” from which to construct our own national identity.

Read more: Anzac Day is also about the right to democratic dissent and those who fought for it

Instead, the laying of a parekawakawa (mourning wreath) by individuals and groups has been one of our most potent acts of belonging. Many participants in the dawn service will wear the medals of their grandparents, a link to a shared past.

And the recent gifting of medals to Māori Battalion whānau points to the ways these small, factory-produced pieces of metal become, through the invocation of collective memory, powerful signs of mana. The importance of Anzac commemoration extends far beyond the rituals of April 25.

Waves of change

The disruption of the pandemic arrived just after the WWI centenary, which saw the largest, most expensive commemorative project ever organised by the New Zealand government. Bumper crowds attended at Anzac Cove in Turkey, dawn services and RSA celebrations across New Zealand and Australia.

But as Australian historian Romain Fathi has pointed out, this high point was swiftly followed by a decline in Anzac Day attendance. Fathi asks whether this lull is an opportunity to rethink the tightly coiled focus of Anzac nationhood, noting the day itself has undergone waves of change in the past century.

Read more: Crowds at dawn services have plummeted in recent years. It’s time to reinvent Anzac Day

New Zealand’s Anzac history shows this, too. To mark the first anniversary of the Gallipoli landing in 1916, for example, the Maunsell family raised the Tīnui cross in the Wairarapa. One of New Zealand’s earliest WWI memorials, it provided a focal point to make sense of the ongoing violence, but also to signal this was a sacrifice that would echo in the landscape itself.

When returned service groups lobbied for post-war reparations, their members thought of themselves not as victims but as citizen-soldiers, with all the rights and obligations that came with that status.

Nowadays, Anzac Day speeches tend to downplay the imperial loyalty that defined New Zealand society’s commitment to the wars. Instead, the focus is on the physical and psychological wounds – communal and personal – left by mass violence.

War and protest

While the commemoration still retains some of its global resonance, we are more likely to hear about the Anzac “friendship” with our Tasman neighbours than the military alliances of empire.

What remains are the ways in which remembrance represents public sentiment. What we choose as the focus of collective memory is what we hold to be important — an emphasis that can change over time.

During the 1970s and 1980s, for example, protests by anti-war, feminist and Māori rights groups used Anzac Day – with its focus on what protesters saw as the glorification of war and misguided focus on heroism and sacrifice – as a platform to advance wider social criticism.

Read more: Women have been neglected by the Anzac tradition, and it’s time that changed

That history of protest has been largely submerged by the enormous popular appeal of the commemoration, especially among young people, since the 1990s. Thousands of young Australians and New Zealanders have flocked to Gallipoli as part of their “overseas experience”.

This form of “remembrance tourism” was encouraged by the Turkish government, which saw the economic and diplomatic benefits of welcoming Australasian pilgrims to Anzac Cove every year.

The blood we share

In Aotearoa, Anzac commemoration now looks like it’s changing yet again, though not without its tensions. When the Titahi Bay RSA in Wellington attempted to broaden its commemoration to remember the Christchurch mosque victims with a prayer from the Quran, it was scrapped amid complaints and even online threats of violence.

One could argue the links between anti-fascism and Anzac Day make such an accommodation possible in the future. But this contested nature of commemoration reminds us of how community remembrance, as the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks argued, can be a source of difference and solidarity:

We need direct encounters with other human beings. We have to be in their presence, open to their otherness, alert to their hopes and fears, engaged in the minuet of conversation, the delicate back-and-forth of speaking and listening.

Days of commemoration provide these kinds of vital encounters, days when we reflect on the meaning of truth and justice and re-enact the relationships of the past.

And despite trans-Tasman animosity over the deportation of New Zealand-born Australians, for better or worse we have a deeply traumatic shared experience in the form of Anzac. As another theme of Māori Television’s programming emphasises: nō tātou te toto, the blood we share.

As borders open again, it’s the collective practices of our communities, as much as consumption through shopping malls and tourism, that are our lifeblood and which are so crucial in the face of global catastrophe — past, present and future.

– ref. Solidarity and difference — how Anzac Day reflects an ever-changing New Zealand – https://theconversation.com/solidarity-and-difference-how-anzac-day-reflects-an-ever-changing-new-zealand-159210

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Georgia McWhinney, Honorary Postdoctoral Associate, Macquarie University

We think we know a lot about Australian and New Zealand soldiers’ health in the first world war. Many books, novels and television programs speak of wounds and war doctors, documenting the work of both Anzac nations’ medical corps.

Often these histories begin with front-line doctors — known as regimental medical officers — who first reached wounded men in the field. The same histories often end in the hospital or at home.

Yet, much of first world war medicine began and ended with the soldiers themselves. Australian and New Zealand soldiers (alongside their British and Canadian counterparts) cared for their own health in the trenches of the Western Front and along the cliffs of Gallipoli.

This “vernacular” medicine spread from solider to soldier by word of mouth, which they then recorded in diaries and letters home. It spread through written texts, such as trench newspapers and magazines, and through constant experimentation.

Soldiers presented a unique understanding of their experiences of illness, developed their own health practices, and formed their own medical networks. This formed a unique type of medical system.

Read more: Flies, filth and bully beef: life at Gallipoli in 1915

What was this type of medicine like?

Soldiers’ vernacular medicine becomes clear when looking at one significant example of war diseases — infestation with body lice — which caused trench fever and typhus.

The men’s understandings of the effect of lice on the body often contrasted to that of medical professionals.

Soldiers described lice as a daily nuisance rather than vectors of disease. The men sitting in the trenches were preoccupied with addressing the immediate and constant discomfort caused by lice, whereas medical researchers and doctors were more concerned with losing manpower from lice-borne disease.

Read more: Life on Us: a close-up look at the bugs that call us home

Many men focused on the endless itching, which some said drove them almost mad.

Corporal George Bollinger, a New Zealand bank clerk from Hastings, said: “the frightful pest ‘lice’ is our chief worry now”.

Australian Private Arthur Giles shuddered when he wrote home about the lice, noting it: “makes me scratch to think of them”.

Soldiers experimented

Soldiers’ reactions to lice, as a shared community, inspired them to experiment and share practical ideas of how to manage their itchy burdens. This included developing their own method of bathing.

When New Zealand Corporal Charles Saunders descended the cliffs to the beaches around Anzac Cove, he would “dive down and nudge a handful of sand from the bottom and rub it over [his] skin”, letting “the saltwater dry on one in the sun”. He also rubbed the sand across his uniform hoping to kill some of the lice eggs in the seams of his shirt and pants.

In some locations, fresh water was scarce and reserved for drinking. Without access to water, soldiers’ extermination methods became more offbeat, creative and original.

Men sourced lice-exterminating powders, such as Keating’s and Harrison’s, from patent providers — retail pharmaceutical sellers in the UK or back home in Australia and New Zealand — and rubbed various oils over their bodies.

Yet, one of the most popular extermination methods was “chatting” — popping the louse between the thumbnails.

An Australian bootmaker, Lieutenant Allan McMaster, told his family in Newcastle it was “amusing indeed to see all the boys at the first minute they have to spare, to strip off altogether and have what we call a chating [sic] parade”.

Corporal Bert Jackson, an orchardist from Upper Hawthorn in Melbourne, took his “shirt off and had a hunt, and then put it on inside out”. He said that if he “missed any, the beggars will have a job to get to the skin again”.

Soldiers shared their knowledge

These soldiers shared their practices via their own medical networks, such as trench newspapers.

For instance, soldiers wrote humorous poems that also educated their fellow men. Australian Lance Corporal TA Saxon joked about lice-exterminating powders in his poem A Dug-Out Lament:

[…] They’re in our tunics, and in our shirts,

They take a power of beating,

So for goodness sake, if you’re sending us cake, Send also a tin of Keating.

One image from the trench newspaper “Aussie: the Australian soldiers’ magazine” came with the caption “Chatting by the Wayside” that drew on the well-trod joke about the double meaning of the word chatting.

What can we learn?

Reflecting on these often-overlooked aspects of the past helps us rethink medicine today.

For marginal groups in particular, access to professional health care can, and has often been, an expensive, alienating, or culturally foreign and abrasive task. So even in today’s globalised world, networks of non-professional medicine are as active as ever.

With many people isolated and at the mercy of much conflicting information, informal medical networks (often found on social media) present an opportunity to allay fears and swap information in a similar manner to how Anzac soldiers communicated via trench newspapers.

Perhaps some forms of vernacular medicine are occurring right under our noses.

Read more: The comfort of reading in WWI: the bibliotherapy of trench and hospital magazines

– ref. Endless itching: how Anzacs treated lice in the trenches with poetry and their own brand of medicine – https://theconversation.com/endless-itching-how-anzacs-treated-lice-in-the-trenches-with-poetry-and-their-own-brand-of-medicine-155140

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Navid Constantinou, Research Fellow, Australian National University

Scientists already know the oceans are rapidly warming and sea levels are rising. But that’s not all. Now, thanks to satellite observations, we have three decades’ worth of data on how the speeds of ocean surface currents are also changing over time.

In research published today in the journal Nature Climate Change we detail our findings on how ocean currents have become more energetic over large parts of the ocean.

What are ocean eddies?

If you looked down at the ocean from a bird’s eye view, you would see some mesmerising circular motions in the water. These features are called “ocean eddies”. They give the ocean an artistic flavour, reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Eddies span somewhere between 10 and 100 kilometres across. They’re found all over the oceans. Certain regions, however, are particularly rich in eddies.

These include the Gulf Stream in the North Atlantic, the Kuroshio Current in the North Pacific, the Southern Ocean which surrounds Antarctica and, closer to Australia, the East Australian Current — made famous by the film Finding Nemo.

Ocean eddies are an integral part of ocean circulation. They move warm and cold waters from one location to others. They mix heat, carbon, salt and nutrients, and affect ocean conditions both regionally and globally.

Read more: An ocean like no other: the Southern Ocean’s ecological richness and significance for global climate

Satellites constantly watch the ocean

One way we monitor movement on the ocean’s surface is by using specialised, powerful satellites orbiting Earth. Although these satellites are thousands of kilometres above us, they can detect even just a few centimetres of change in the sea’s surface elevation.

Then, through data analysis, we can take the change in sea surface elevation and translate it into ocean flow speeds. This can then tell us how “energetic” an ocean eddy is.

By carefully analysing satellite observations, our team discovered clear changes in the distribution and strength of ocean eddies. And these changes have never been detected before.

How eddies have been changing

Using available data from 1993 until 2020, we analysed changes in the strength of eddies across the globe. We found regions already rich in eddies are getting even richer! And on average, eddies are becoming up to 5% more energetic each decade.

One of the regions we found with the biggest change is the Southern Ocean, where a massive 5% increase per decade was detected in eddy activity. The Southern Ocean is known to be a hotspot for ocean heat uptake and carbon storage.

Until recently, scientists could only observe changes in ocean eddies by using either sparse ocean measurements or the limited satellite record. The satellite record has only just become long enough for experts to draw robust conclusions about the likely longer-term trends of eddy behaviour.

Why is this important?

Ocean eddies play a profound role in the climate by regulating the mixing and transport of heat, carbon, biota and nutrients in the oceans. Thus, our research may have far-reaching implications for future climate.

Scientists have known for decades that eddies in the Southern Ocean affect the overturning circulation of the ocean. As such, changes of the magnitude observed for eddies could impact the rate at which the ocean draws down heat and carbon.

But eddies are often not taken into account in climate predictions of a warming world. Since they are relatively small, they remain practically “invisible” in current models used to project future climate.

The impact of eddies is therefore either not resolved in climate projections, or is severely underestimated. This is particularly concerning in light of our discovery eddies are becoming more energetic.

Our research emphasises how crucial it is to incorporate ocean eddies into future climate projections. If we don’t, we could be overlooking a critical detail.

Read more: How an alien seaweed invasion spawned an Antarctic mystery

– ref. Satellites reveal ocean currents are getting stronger, with potentially significant implications for climate change – https://theconversation.com/satellites-reveal-ocean-currents-are-getting-stronger-with-potentially-significant-implications-for-climate-change-159461

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Robert Norman, Professor of Reproductive and Periconceptual Medicine, The Robinson Institute, University of Adelaide

An expensive IVF technique, routinely offered in fertility clinics around the world, offers no extra benefits to standard IVF in the vast majority of cases, our new research shows.

The technique, known as intracytoplasmic sperm injection or ICSI, was developed to help couples where the man has a low sperm count. But it is now the main fertilisation method clinics use in Australia and New Zealand, even when sperm counts are normal.

In an article published today in The Lancet we show that when there’s a normal sperm count, ICSI does not improve the chance of a baby when compared with standard IVF. So why do clinics routinely offer it?

Read more: Considering using IVF to have a baby? Here’s what you need to know

What is ICSI?

In IVF, several thousand sperm compete to be the one to fertilise an egg. However, for the small percentage of couples with what doctors call severe male-factor infertility — for instance, where there is a very low sperm count or the sperm doesn’t look or move normally — IVF is not an option.

In 1992, ICSI was introduced, where a single sperm was injected into the egg using a glass needle. This allowed the expansion of IVF to people where low sperm counts or poor sperm quality was an issue.

Its introduction across the world has helped thousands of couples have biologically related children, who otherwise would have needed donor sperm or remained childless.

How common is it?

ICSI was expected to be used only where male infertility was an issue, but over time it has become the most used method of fertilisation even when it isn’t.

In the United States, between 1996 and 2012, ICSI use increased from 15% to 67% of couples where the male has a normal sperm count; in Europe about 70% of cycles use ICSI.

In Australia around 60% of cycles used ICSI in 2018. This is even though only 30% of infertile couples have male infertility and 15% severe male infertility.

Clinics in Australia use ICSI to different extents. For instance, in Victoria in 2019-20, ICSI was used between 34% and 89% of the time, depending on the clinic.

Read more: Sperm: why these secretive swimmers are the key to the future of fertility – and contraception

What we did and what we found

Today we report, with our collaborators in Vietnam, the results of a large study in which more than 1,000 infertile couples with a normal sperm count were randomly allocated to ICSI or IVF. We found couples in either group were just as likely to have a baby.

This adds to evidence from other large observational studies in as many as 15,000 women that the widespread use of the more expensive and technically demanding ICSI does not offer any benefit to couples where the man has a normal sperm count.

Excellent clinics internationally and in Australia perform ICSI in fewer than 35% of their treatments, while achieving success rates equal to or better than clinics using ICSI more commonly.

Read more: Fertility miracle or fake news? Understanding which IVF ‘add-ons’ really work

How did ICSI become so popular?

There are a growing number of fertility treatments that aren’t backed by reasonable evidence.

Some are relatively cheap, such as vitamins and antioxidants. Others are invasive or expensive. These include endometrial scratching (where the lining of the uterus is scraped with a thin tube, which is said to improve the chance of an embryo implanting), video microscopy of embryos, and pre-implantation genetic diagnosis for potential chromosome abnormalities (where an embryo is tested for genetic disease before being implanted).

In fact, ICSI is about A$500 more expensive than standard IVF, although costs vary between clinics, and some costs can be claimed on Medicare under specific circumstances.

So why are these so-called “add-ons” or “adjuvants” so common?

Fertility treatment, especially IVF and ICSI, is overwhelmingly practised in the private sector in Australia and New Zealand. It is strongly marketed to the public and promoted in social media by individual doctors, clinics and corporations. Doctors and clinics also compete for patients, often offering unproven therapies.

Read more: The business of IVF: how human eggs went from simple cells to a valuable commodity

Couples may overlook a doctor seeking to practise fertility medicine based solely on evidence, and instead find a nearby clinic or doctor prepared to offer add-ons they believe will improve their chance of a baby.

In the case of ICSI, doctors may recommend it for fear of patients’ reactions if the eggs don’t fertilise, even if ICSI doesn’t improve the ultimate chance of a baby for those with a normal sperm count.

What can we do about it?

Infertility is distressing and, in most cases, can be easily treated with good advice, simple drugs and, if needed, quality assisted reproductive procedures such as IVF.

However, unrestrained, unnecessary use of ICSI is a salutary example of why we need to act on widely accepted evidence.

Until now, the fertility industry has promoted self-regulation over being made to follow government-imposed, evidence-based guidelines of which fertility treatments are needed. And there’s a growing concern the industry is not doing enough to combat unproven and expensive treatments.

Couples with infertility belong to a very vulnerable group who will do almost anything to achieve a pregnancy. They deserve our dedicated care and evidence-based treatment.

– ref. Standard IVF is fine for most people. So why are so many offered an expensive sperm injection they don’t need? – https://theconversation.com/standard-ivf-is-fine-for-most-people-so-why-are-so-many-offered-an-expensive-sperm-injection-they-dont-need-158227

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Fiona McLeod, PhD Candidate, The University of Queensland

The revival of interest in Anzac since the 1980s has depended in part on the repositioning of soldiers as victims. We rarely celebrate their martial virtues, and instead note their resilience, fortitude and suffering.

This shift in emphasis opens up more promising space for the inclusion of women. Nurses were not warriors – they were caregivers. But they too suffered trauma as a result of their service.

In what must be regarded as something of a miracle, no Australian nurses were killed. But like the men they devoted themselves to, they were worn down and in some cases shattered by the horrors they witnessed.

From 1916, Australian nurses served in Casualty Clearing Stations (CCS), almost on the front line, often under fire and always under immense pressure. This was the most dangerous and intense working environment in which they could serve. It was far removed from the hospital ship environment at Gallipoli, or the hospitals further from the lines, where there was at least the prospect of regular respite.

The CCS was a 1915 innovation designed to provide treatment to men as soon as possible after they were injured. They operated close to the front lines, and so took nurses into the danger zone. CCS nurses were assailed by the realities of trench warfare and the demands of treating damaged men. Soldiers came to the CCS within hours of wounding, bloody and dying, needing urgent surgery for their shattered limbs and mangled bodies, or blistered and blinded from gas attacks.

The sight of the battle front was terrifying and compelling — Sister Elsie Tranter, for one, was captivated. She wrote in her diary that on her first night at a CCS near Grevillers, in March 1918 she:

[…] had the flaps on the tent fastened back and spent most of the night watching the flashes in the sky from the guns […] everything seemed so surreal.

For Sister May Tilton, it was the industrial sounds of battle that impressed. She wrote that the Third Battle of Ypres (also known as the Battle of Passchendaele) started with:

[…] a continuous rumble and roar, as of an immense factory of vibrating machinery filled the night. The pulsing sounds and vibration worked into our bodies and brains; the screech of the big shells, and the awful crash when they burst at no great distance, kept our nerves on edge.

Shrapnel falling to the ground, the thrilling sight of aerial dog fights, damp and dirty dugouts, sandbagged tents, constant artillery fire, the smell of gas, the tremble of the earth — this was the landscape of the CCS.

Sister Connie Keys did not expect they would come through safely, and later confided to her mother that now “I’m only afraid of being afraid”. She had experienced terror beyond measure.

CCSs struggled to cope at the height of battle, and staff worked extremely long hours to deal with the flood of casualties. One of them, 2nd Australian CCS, had a nursing staff of 20 and put through 2,800 patients in the first 18 hours of the “Messines push”.

May Tilton recalled in her memoir that she often “went on duty at 8pm, worked continuously during a ‘stunt’[a minor military operation], until the following midday, with ten minutes for supper at midnight, and half an hour for breakfast at 8am”.

The experience of nurses attests to the aphorism of war as long periods of boredom interspersed with brief periods of terror.

Static attrition warfare, conducted through artillery bombardment, gassing and close fighting, produced fighting conditions and wounds that appalled both the victims and those who cared for them.

The resuscitation wards were the greatest test for nurses. Tilton recalled that:

[…] only the worst cases could we possibly hope to attend to. The work in the resuscitation ward was indescribable. The butchery of these precious lives […] To watch them dying was ghastly.

The night sister confessed

I cannot speak of it […] I want to scream and scream.

Nurses were brought to despair – not because they were unable to save lives, for nurses were accustomed to death, but because they were unable to care for patients as they would have done “at home”. They had been trained to fashion order out of chaos, to bring a patient through the days and nights of a health crisis with patience, gentleness and watchful vigilance, and in some cases to ease their path to a painless and tranquil death.

But in war, they wrestled with the irresolvable conflict between duty and fear, and between their compassion and the realities of conflict. Death on the Western Front was ugly, chaotic and painful, so much so that some “ministering angels” came to doubt their Christian faith. “I can’t believe there is a God,” wrote Sister Alice Ross King after the Ypres Offensive, “it is too awful for words”.

Nurses, like soldiers, knew when they were at breaking point, and feared being unable to fulfil their duties. Tilton confessed:

[…] the privacy of our tents was a welcome relief for the weakness we dared not show before our brave, suffering boys.

Even the Armistice, when it eventually came on November 11 1918, brought little comfort. Anne Donnell became terribly depressed and, like many, found joy impossible when she contemplated the sadness of empty homes and hearts.

Nurses carried the burden of putting back together the victims of conflict, yet struggled to maintain their own physical and mental health. For many, their return to Australia was marred by ill-health, and what we would now call post-traumatic stress disorder.

But they also displayed courage and resilience. The experiences of Australian Army nurses on the Western Front can be a starting point, reaching through all Australia’s wars, for discussion of the response to extreme physical and psychological stress borne by those who treat the casualties of war. They too were war’s victims.

– ref. ‘I want to scream and scream’: Australian nurses on the Western Front were also victims of war – https://theconversation.com/i-want-to-scream-and-scream-australian-nurses-on-the-western-front-were-also-victims-of-war-158624

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Gregory Moore, Doctor of Botany, The University of Melbourne

On Anzac Day each year, Australians remember those who served and died in wars and conflicts. We may attend a dawn service, go to a march or lay a wreath at a war memorial. But across Australia lie living war commemorations you may pass every day, without realising their significance.

Dating back more than a century, Avenues of Honour exist to remind us of the sacrifice and suffering of our servicemen and women. They might comprise sentinel trees lining one or both sides of a street, or a path through a park. These trees might also form a grove, or consist of a magnificent lone specimen.

The earliest recorded Avenues of Honour were created in response to colonial Australia’s participation in the Boer War, but most were established during and after World War I. In some cases, each tree was planted in memory of a specific fallen soldier – a tangible way for grieving loved ones to remember their dead.

Sadly over time, some memorial trees have died or been uprooted. Others have survived but are neglected. The race is on to ensure the remaining trees are documented, preserved and restored.

They shall not grow old

Avenues of Honour became common in Australia during and after World War I. At one point, 325 existed in Victoria alone.

More than 60,000 Australians were killed in World War I and the Australian government did not repatriate their bodies. So a tree in an Avenue of Honour, close to the family home, became an important physical memorial. It also respected the wishes of returned servicemen who wanted a fitting tribute to all those who died and served in the war.

The plantings were often organised by women or close family members of a dead soldier.

Some avenues consisted of native species such as eucalypts and kurrajongs – in fact, some represent the first major use of native vegetation in civic landscapes. Some avenues were planted with conifers such as pines and cypresses, walnut trees, mangoes and even palms. Many consisted of exotic deciduous species such as elms and oaks.

For example, in 1918 an Avenue of Honour was planted at Woodend, in Victoria’s Macedon Ranges. According to the National Trust it initially consisted of 162 English and Algerian oak trees planted each side of the Calder Highway.

The trees were dedicated to individuals, 38 of whom were killed in war. Attached to each tree was a plaque bearing the names of those remembered. But many of these plaques were lost or damaged over time.

Read more: Crowds at dawn services have plummeted in recent years. It’s time to reinvent Anzac Day

Age has wearied them

As the years wore on, many Avenues of Honour aged and declined or disappeared completely. Some lost so many trees they were no longer avenues.

An Avenue of Honour planted in 1917 at the Melbourne beachside suburb of Sandringham once consisted of 171 red flowering gums. Each represented a lost soldier or nurse. But by 2013, just 32 trees remained.

In 2000, fewer than 200 Avenues of Honour were recorded across Australia – most in Victoria. However, data were scarce and many more unrecorded and forgotten avenues were thought to exist. Work began around this time to uncover them.

In 2004, non-profit organisation TREENET launched its Avenues of Honours program. It aimed to honour, with a tree, the memory of every Australian who had died in war. Original avenues would be documented, preserved and reinstated. Where necessary, new avenues would be established.

By late 2006, 567 avenues had been identified – three times more than originally known. They were estimated to contain more than 100,000 trees, however many were depleted or in poor condition. It was also clear other avenues remained elusive.

By now, the centenary of World War I was approaching, and work to revive Avenues of Honour picked up.

The Soldiers Memorial Avenue in Hobart was restored. In Willunga, South Australia, a consortium of industry and community groups established a new avenue consisting of 100 Algerian oaks.

But the future of other avenues is not assured. Ballarat, for example, is home to Australia’s longest Avenue of Honour. It runs for 22km and comprises 3,771 trees, each bearing a plaque dedicated to men and women who served in World War I. But the avenue is under constant threat from roadworks.

Read more: Telling the forgotten stories of Indigenous servicemen in the first world war

We will remember them

Over the years, efforts to identify and restore Avenues of Honour have struggled to attract government funding. But this has not deterred many dedicated local custodians, community groups, RSL members, historians and others from continuing the work.

Some avenues have been restored or are now better managed. And the Avenues of Honour project is now in its 17th year, made possible by private donations.

As of 2020, the project had identified 605 Avenues of Honour, spread across most states and territories as follows:

• ACT: 3
• NSW: 77
• QLD: 57
• SA: 54
• TAS: 70
• VIC: 317
• WA: 27

Despite all the good work, there has been no large-scale replacement of lost trees and avenues. Nor is there a national strategy to manage and replace these iconic elements of the Australian urban and rural landscape.

For many avenues, nature will take its course as the trees age. Soon, there will inevitably be fewer trees left. But this Anzac Day provides a chance to consider how to preserve the trees that remain, and restore those lost.

Do you know of an Avenue of Honour in your area? If so, please take a photo and send it, along with a description, to editorial@theconversation.edu.au. Or click here to find your local Avenue of Honour, identify a new one, provide information about an existing avenue or donate to the preservation effort.

– ref. The years condemn: Australia is forgetting the sacred trees planted to remember our war dead – https://theconversation.com/the-years-condemn-australia-is-forgetting-the-sacred-trees-planted-to-remember-our-war-dead-159426

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Philip Adams, Professor at the Centre of Policy Studie, Victoria University

The European Union has committed to very significant emission cuts — 55% on 1990 levels by 2030, and zero net emissions by 2050.

To help it get there without too much disruption, the president of the European Commission proposed a carbon tariff – known as the carbon border adjustment mechanism, or CBAM.

The details will be tabled in the European Parliament later this year.

A carbon tariff is a tax on imports based on the carbon dioxide emissions involved in making them. Its purpose is to level the playing field with the domestic producers who will be made to pay a carbon price based on their emissions.

At the Victoria University Centre of Policy Studies we have modelled the effect on Australia’s economy.

Initially, we find it will reduce demand for Australian exports of coal, and steel and other emissions-intensive commodities, lowering both export prices and volumes.

But then a range of second round effects will kick in.

Less coal, lower dollar

Lower export income will lower the Australian dollar, pushing up prices for Australian households, particularly the price of imports.

The lower dollar will also make exporters not directly affected by CBAM more attractive to customers overseas.

How big will these effects be?

We have used simulations from the Victoria University Regional Model to run the numbers taking into account emissions intensities, the importance of the EU as a destination for individual Australian exports and the extent to which Australian producers are able to divert each export from the EU to other markets.

Increase in price of exports to EU under carbon border adjustment mechanism

We find that some of the price effects are big (especially for coal) but, with a few exceptions, the EU isn’t an important market for Australian exports.

The exceptions are steel, alumina and aluminium where the EU accounts for between 10% and 20% of Australia’s exports.

Our simulations suggest that for the most part that the projected impacts on the Australian economy are small.

A week’s worth of economic growth

The long-run projected loss in gross domestic product is 0.05%, which is equivalent to a fall in weekly income of less than $1 per person or about one weeks’ worth of normal growth.

At an industry level, most industries slightly increase production, the fall in EU demand being more than compensated for by the weaker exchange rate.

Following a temporary increase in unemployment, job losses in declining industries are offset by expansion in other industries.

Change in industry output under carbon border adjustment mechanism

The main loser is coal mining. The carbon border adjustment mechanism has the potential to increase the landed duty-paid price of Australian-produced coal in the EU by more than half, effectively excluding it from the EU market.

Overall, it is projected to cut Australian coal production by 3.8% relative to where it would have been with the loss of about 3,000 jobs.

Jobs lost, jobs gained

The mechanism is projected to increase the buying price of iron and steel in the EU by almost 10%. While the EU is an important export market for Australian iron and steel, most of it is sold within Australia, meaning total production should fall by only 0.6%.

The decline in production should be relatively small, costing around 200 jobs.

Read more: The EU is considering carbon tariffs on Australian exports. Is that legal?

The job losses in mining and metal industries would be offset by the gains in the other industries which are able to take advantage of the lower exchange rate, including agriculture, some parts of manufacturing, tourism and education.

A temporary increase in unemployment as workers transition out of affected industries could be eased by training and other support for displaced workers.

– ref. Australia’s economy can withstand the proposed European Union carbon tariff — here’s what we find – https://theconversation.com/australias-economy-can-withstand-the-proposed-european-union-carbon-tariff-heres-what-we-find-159062

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Richard Holden, Professor of Economics, UNSW

Breaking down the old boys’ club in business, government and other organisations is intrinsically important. Ensuring greater diversity in organisations – on gender, racial, ethnic and other lines – is, simply put, the right thing to do.

But some advocates of greater diversity make an extra claim: that it improves the quality of decisions, and hence an organisation’s performance. Do the right thing and increase profits or effectiveness. What’s not to like?

Robust empirical evidence to support this claim – that more diverse organisations perform better – is tricky to provide. One can look at more diverse organisations and compare them to less diverse ones. Suppose that more diverse organisations do, in fact, perform better. What does one conclude?

Well, what one should definitely not conclude is that greater diversity causes better performance.

Read more: Religion, race and nationality – what are our prejudices and how can we overcome them?

Correlation doesn’t prove causation

Those things may be correlated. But that could easily be because higher quality organisations want to or can afford to be more diverse. Or it could be some other factor correlated with diversity is the true driver of superior performance.

Economists call these “endogeneity problems” – challenges to interpreting a mere correlation between two variables (A and B, say) as evidence that A causes B.

Yet the causal effect of diversity on the performance of organisations is a deeply important question. Ideally one would like to run an experiment where diversity within teams in an organisation is randomly assigned.

Just as pharmaceutical trials randomly assign some patients medication and others a placebo, economists in recent decades have performed field experiments to measure the impacts of all manner of interventions.

The quintessential example of this paradigm are the experiments that led to development economists Abhijit Banerjee, Esther Duflo and Michael Kremer winning the 2019 Nobel Prize in economic sciences.

A pharmaceutical trial of, say, heart medication can determine its causal effect by looking at the average number of cardiac events in the group taking the medication compared with the control group (those on the placebo). Field experiments in economics can determine the causal effect of all manner of social and economic interventions.

That is why a research paper by three economists – Benjamin Marx, Vincent Pons and Tavneet Suri – released this month is both interesting and important. It is about just such a field experiment centred on diversity and team performance.

A diversity experiment

Their experiment involved people working as canvassers for a non-profit organisation in Kenya. The work involved going door to door to promote voter registration. Workers were randomly assigned a teammate, a supervisor and a bunch of people to canvass.

Diversity within the teams was along ethnic lines. This led to:

“random variation within teams in the degree of horizontal diversity (between teammates), vertical diversity (between teammates and their supervisor) and external diversity (between teams and the individuals they canvassed)”.

Measuring team-level performance, the authors conclude that “horizontal ethnic diversity decreases performance, while vertical diversity often improves performance, and external diversity has no effect”.

Specifically, teams that were ethnically homogeneous were 20% more efficient in completing their visits than diverse teams. But teams with a manager of the same ethnicity as one of the teammates were about 7.5% less efficient.

Horizontal versus vertical

There may be a potential trade-off between different horizontal and vertical effects of diversity in organisations.

Diversity within teams might increase “communication costs” due to lack of shared experience or common understanding of how to perform tasks together. Or it might be that people prefer working with people most similar to themselves.

On the other hand, homogeneity throughout an organisation hierarchy may well lead to managers favouring subordinates they more easily relate to.

This is a simple theory, but the authors’ experiment bears it out. Vertical diversity increases performance, perhaps by reducing favouritism. Horizontal diversity decreases performance, perhaps by increasing communication costs.

Read more: Reality check: more women on boards doesn’t guarantee diversity

Not all benefits are automatic

As with all experiments, how well the results translate to other contexts is an open question – what is known as “external validity”.

It is possible the results apply only to ethnic diversity among non-profit organisations doing voter registration in Kenya.

Or perhaps there are broader lessons. One might be that vertical diversity is particularly important for breaking down inefficient favouritism. This might be as true in Australia or Japan as in Kenya.

But to know for sure we’d need to see a randomised controlled trial in those exact environments.

The other lesson is that perhaps the downsides of horizontal diversity might be mitigated or overcome through improving training or communication protocols. It might be the “diversity cost” goes away as people get to know each other better.

Diversity is inherently important. Creating more diverse organisation across society is the right thing to do. It can also lead organisations to perform better.

But the latter isn’t automatic. It depends on how the organisation is structured and managed.

– ref. Vital Signs: the pros and cons of diversity in organisations – https://theconversation.com/vital-signs-the-pros-and-cons-of-diversity-in-organisations-159524