Laurier Undergraduate Journal of the Arts by Roxanne Nicolussi

LUJA Laurier Undergraduate Journal of the Arts

ÂŠ 2015 by AUS Laurier. All rights reserved DAWB 5-109 75 University Avenue West Waterloo, ON N2L 3C5 No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of AUS Laurier.

Contributors

Management Board: Co-Editor-In-Chief: William Webb Co-Editor-In-Chief: Natalia Handzuik Chairperson of the Management Board: Connor Young Secretary and Treasurer: Kevin Gerlach Creative Director: Roxanne Nicolussi CommunicationsÂ Director: Sumaiya Moosa Member-at-Large: Esther Brockett Editors: Sam Cooper Victoria Newson Emily Roome Shanaya Vanhooren Duncan Williams Katherine Ziomek Reviewers: Esther Brockett Sam Cooper Shailyn Drukis Aaron Fehir Kevin Gerlach Victoria Newson Carly Quattrin Kaitlyn Rikley Emily Roome Shanaya Vanhooren Duncan Williams Connor Young Katherine Ziomek

Special Thanks: Dr. Michael Carroll Dr. Michel Desjardins Dr. Mercedes Rowinsky Dr. Boba Samuels Dr. Jordana Garbati Nick Balbiani Tom Ebeyer The HUB Laurier Library Funding Provided By: Arts Undergraduate Society

Table of Contents Introduction

Panic at the Drive-In: Affordance, Moral Panic, and Drive-In Theatres Maria Chatzifilalithis

Sugar for Sale: Constructions of Intimacy in the Sugar Bowl Emily Zimmermann

A Localized Approach to the Origins of Pottery in Upper Mesopotamia Elizabeth Gibbon

The Future of Farming in Capable and Small Hands: The Young Farmerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Movement in Waterloo Region 1907-1924 Morgan Williams

Private Military Contractors, Security Forces, and Mercenaries Naomi Pearson

Introduction From Sugar Daddies to private military contractors, the second volume of the Laurier Undergraduate Journal of the Arts showcases a wide range of social sciences and humanities research from Canadian undergraduates. It has been our privilege to work with talented researchers, board members, editors, and reviewers in order to complete this volume of the journal. Since our first volume, only one short year ago, we have experienced considerable growth; this year alone we received over 250 submissions from universities across Canada. We are proud of this year’s volume and grateful to have received funding from Wilfrid Laurier University’s Arts Undergraduate Society and The Dean of Arts Office; this publication would not be possible without their support. In what follows, we provide a glimpse of what you can look forward to in reading this volume. We hope that you enjoy the articles as much as we have. The first two articles in this volume use sociological theories and discourse methodologies to examine various constructions of sexual activity. In “Sugar for Sale”, Emily Zimmermann explores the construction of relationships between Sugar Babies and Sugar Daddies on the new ‘dating’ website Seeking Arrangement. Zimmermann argues that Sugar Babies are constructed as both beautiful and intelligent, which reflects the mainstreaming of the sex industry that now caters to specialized desires. She also uncovers the ways in which sugar relationships reinforce gender inequalities, reproduce whore stigma, and stifle discussions about personal safety. In the next article, Maria Chatzifilalithis explores moral panics surrounding the drivein theatre in 20th century America. Drawing from medium theory and moral panic theory, Chatzifilalithis highlights the role that the architecture of drive-in theatres played in panics about sex. In particular, she argues that the drive-in gave rise to a panic because its material elements afforded privacy, and thus increased the possibility for sexual activity. Other instances of panic arose partially due to the visibility of drive-in theatre’s screens and announcement boards, which allowed for unsuspecting and ‘innocent’ people to view racy films. The second set of articles use historical approaches to explore ceramic technology and farming practices, respectively. In “A Localized Approach to the Origins of Pottery in Upper Mesopotami”, Elizabeth Gibbon challenges scholarship that claims the earliest pottery identifieda in Upper Mesopotamia was the result of supra-regional influences. Her analysis of the stratigraphy at Tel Sabi Abyad II and the

ii chaîne opératoire of pottery production demonstrates pottery’s strong ties to indigenous symbolic and ritual practices. Gibbon situates her argument within prevailing theories about pottery origins and demonstrates that the emergence of pottery is best explained through a hybridization of the architecture hypothesis, the culinary hypothesis, and the resource intensification hypothesis. The following article, by Morgan Williams, looks at the pivotal role that rural youth played in the development of farming practices in Waterloo Region during the early 20th century. Using local and governmental publications, Williams investigates the Ontario government’s strategy to engage rural youth in innovative farming tactics. In particular, Williams argues that agricultural clubs and school fairs helped develop agricultural and business skills in youth, modernize existing agricultural processes, and strengthen community ties. In the final article of this volume, Naomi Pearson investigates the rapidly growing industry of private military contractors (PMCs). Pearson shows how PMCs have altered modern warfare through a case study of American PMC involvement in the Iraq and Afghan wars. By examining Blackwater Worldwide Co., Pearson highlights the detrimental effects that PMCs have on civilians and combat personnel. After identifying several challenges that PMCs present to International Humanitarian Law, Pearson urges for increased accountability from both contractors and governments.

William Webb Co-Editor-In-Chief Natalia Handziuk Co-Editor-In-Chief

Sugar for Sale: Constructions of Intimacy in the Sugar Bowl Emily Zimmermann

he capitalist grasp of western society infiltrates even the most intimate moments, shaping desires, relationships, and bodies in its relentless pursuit of profit. Sexuality is fashioned into commodities that range from pornography and sex toys to labiaplasty and performance enhancing pills (Fahs 281). These products not only involve a transfer of money, but also move the consumer towards an ‘ideal’ sexuality that is represented in the media through advertisements, movies, and music videos. In recent years, a new type of sexual commercialization has emerged. ‘Seeking Arrangement’ is a website that facilitates the search for a ‘mutually beneficial relationship’ between Sugar Babies and Sugar Daddies. These relationships typically involve younger women seeking the company of older, wealthy men who will provide them financial aid in return for ‘companionship.’ In order to survey this unexplored territory, it is pertinent to begin by examining the social climate surrounding the development of this phenomenon. A discussion of the experiences of sex workers and clients will be used to establish the place of emotional intimacy in sex work. This discussion will be supplemented by an examination of the ‘normalization’ of the sex industry and ‘new market morality.’ Following this, a discourse analysis of user comments on the website Seeking Arrangement is provided. The discourse analysis shows that the dominant construction of sugar relationships involves a personal and sexual connection that is facilitated by the commodification of emotional intimacy. This type of emotionally intimate relationship is viewed positively by users, but also succumbs to the reproduction of gender inequality and the stigmatization of sex work. I. Untangling Intimacy and Commodity in the Sex Industry The relationships facilitated by Seeking Arrangement typically involve two aspects: (1) intimacy in sex work, and (2) consumption of sexuality. Once a theoretical framework for these elements is established, they will be synthesized into an analytical framework that can be applied to the sugar phenomenon.

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I. Beyond Bodies The place of emotional intimacy in sex work is sociologically complex because it departs from the assumption that sex is the only part of sex work. Pheterson, Prasad, and Sanders explore the discourse surrounding sex work by examining the experiences of clients and sex workers, with a particular focus on ‘regular clients.’ Pheterson takes a comparative approach to the exploration of ‘the whore stigma’ in sex work by contrasting the experiences of female sex workers with popular assumptions from social, psychological, and legal perspectives. The comparisons reveal that stigma surrounding sex work not only emanates from the sale of a woman’s body, but also the way that the sale socially corrupts the woman’s identity (Pheterson 39-48). When examining the popular conception of male clients, a gendered distinction is revealed; male clients are stigmatized for their sexual actions, but their actions do not debase their identity (Pheterson 48). These differing perceptions show that while clients and workers participate in the same sexual act, the act is imbued with extra meaning that extends to the identity of sex workers. Part of this extra meaning comes from the necessity of sex workers to go beyond the sex act to engage in emotional pampering and ego boosting of men (Pheterson 55). The emotional pampering comes from being the vessels onto which men impart a “secret” part of themselves by sharing their fantasies, preferences, and even identities (Pheterson 55). The ego-boosting requirement takes place outside of sex, where sex workers must reassure a man of his masculinity both privately and publically should he be unsuccessful in intercourse; this is a phenomenon that sex workers call “playing the whore” (Pheterson 41). Another finding from Pheterson’s research is the dissatisfaction expressed by sex workers with legal regulations. Female sex workers reported that anti-pimping laws were used in racist and sexist ways against women and black men, while simultaneously allowing other abusive practices in sex work to go unaddressed (Pheterson 45). Sex workers claimed that a commercial regulation of sex work would allow for these problematic practices to be effectively targeted and allow them to organize in ways that they find to be safe (Pheterson 44-45). Discursive changes surrounding gift versus commodity exchange can be identified and applied to shifts in the experience of sex work. In market economies with increasing commercialization, commodity exchange involving set prices is beginning to hold a sense of sincerity comparable to the practice of giving gifts, such as buying a date a present or paying for a spouse’s dinner (Prasad 183-85) In this context, the experience of selling or purchasing a partner’s sexual services may become valued in similar ways to sex between partners. Being a ‘regular client’ holds the possibility that one would experience this commodity exchange as an intimate

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and desirable relationship. Client interviewees demonstrate this sentiment in their comparisons of the insincerity in marriage with the honesty in this form of sex work. Male and female clients expressed that once a transfer of money occurs, there is an unspoken sense of integrity between parties that can rid the encounter of possible hypocrisies found in marriage (Prasad 199, 204, 209). Marital hypocrisy is said to result from one partner trading love and sex, which may be insincere, for the money and security it brings (Prasad 200). Prasad’s study shows that, for some people, the free-market economy renders romantic love as unfavourable when compared to commercialized sex (205-06). Sanders investigates male heterosexual clients’ constructions of being a “regular” through qualitative interviews (Sanders 403). These relationships are characterized as involving “emotional labour”, and exhibit behaviour found in conventional relationships including contact in-between visits, public outings, trust, and prioritizing mutual sexual satisfaction (Sanders 403-09). Some men specifically seek “the girlfriend experience”, which can be conceptualized as a transformation of prostitution and a commercialization of emotional intimacy (Sanders 412-413). Sanders notes that the commercialization of “emotional labour” in the sex industry could be improved by the free market system in two ways (Sanders 411). First, as sex workers must often operate in secret, they are more exposed to abuse and exploitation; commercial regulation could allow this to be combated with legal protections offered by formal contracts (Sanders 412). Second, by keeping sex work stigmatized, stereotypes about male clients being abusive are perpetuated; commercial regulation could reveal and encourage the respectful way that many clients treat sex workers (Sanders 413). Sanders’ exploration into the experiences of sex workers and clients demonstrates a transformation in the sex industry in which emotional intimacy and respect are valued.

II. Business is Booming The commodification of sex is changing due to the normalization of sex work and importance of emotional intimacy. A review of recent economic and political changes can help identify how these shifts are contributing to the expansion of the sex industry. Brent and Sanders discuss the effect of mainstreaming, neoliberalism, and late capitalism on the growth of the sex industry in Las Vegas and Leeds (40-41). Mainstreaming refers to the expansion of the sex industry due to the use of conventional business models, increased visibility, and growth of middle-class clients and middle-class sex workers; in turn, these trends encourage the normalization of the sex industry (43-44). Mainstreaming has been facilitated by a shift in social institu-

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tions that regulate sexuality. Prior to the onset of industrialization, religion was the primary regulating force of sexuality. The declining influence of religion and rise of capitalism has led the free market to increasingly act as a regulating force (45). With the diminishing influence of religion, more liberal attitudes towards sexuality have gained traction; the market has fed on these changes through the expansion of the sex industry. Neoliberalism encourages these developments by making individual choice a “moral right”; responsibilization and individualization replace communal regulations of the past (46). One’s right to choose what they consume and how they live in regards to their sexuality is an element of the free market morality evidenced by the abandonment of sodomy and anti-pornography laws in favour of trusting the market’s regulation of sexuality (46). Freedom to choose is facilitated by the availability of new technologies, such as the Internet, which remain largely unregulated (46). Brent and Sanders note that the expansion of the sex industry is facilitated by a decrease in the availability of jobs and an increase in cost of living (45-46). The struggle to obtain a living wage coupled with increasing debt from post-secondary education has led to rising numbers of middle-class sex workers, many of whom are female students. Another factor that contributes to sex work being a viable option for these women is the permeation of sexualized job requirements in mainstream work, such as in the service industry where servers may be required to dress suggestively for male patrons (45).1 Post-industrial capitalism contributes to the normalization of the sex industry, which in turn transforms the meanings that sex consumers attribute to their own behaviour (Bernstein 392). The sex industry has become a multi-billion dollar business due to expansion, diversification, and the decrease in shame associated with participation. Bernstein’s research into client’s accounts of their experience with escorts demonstrates that they are “un-self-conscious” about their participation in these practices due to the act being viewed as consumption of a product rather than deviant behaviour (401). This points towards a noticeable shift in social attitudes; sex is now increasingly framed as a “recreational” activity rather than as an action for procreation (Bernstein 392-95). According to Bernstein, the free market facilitates recreational consumption of sex in three ways. First, expansion of the sex industry promoted by a free market system allows for the growth of “specialized” services, such as fetish clubs and escorts for niche sexualities like BDSM (392). Second, it allows for “bounded authenticity”, which denotes the genuineness client’s attribute to sexual encounters with sex 1 Despite the expansion of the sex industry, research shows that sex work is not completely acceptable; clients and workers deal with social stigma and are criminalized (Brent and Sanders 57, 60).

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workers (398). Genuineness comes from the act of purchasing, which rids the experience of the “messiness” of romantic relationships by clearly specifying expectations while still allowing for an emotional and sexual connection (402). These “bounded” and and “authentic” sexual encounters are starting to be valued over the quick and impersonal nature of encounters with “streetwalkers” (402). Third, the free market’s organization influences clients’ perception of themselves as consumers of sex. A client’s participation is not out of desperation, but is purely as a consumer with desires – a consumer who has the right to make purchases without shame (400). As long as one can afford it, these men feel entitled to access numerous beautiful partners who will satisfy their sexual and emotional desires (400). “authentic” sexual encounters are starting to be valued over the quick and impersonal nature of encounters with “streetwalkers” (402). Third, the free market’s organization influences clients’ perception of themselves as consumers of sex. A client’s participation is not out of desperation, but is purely as a consumer with desires – a consumer who has the right to make purchases without shame (400). As long as one can afford it, these men feel entitled to access numerous beautiful partners who will satisfy their sexual and emotional desires (400). The effects of free market neoliberalism on dating relationships provide a helpful point of comparison with interactions in the sex industry and in sugar relationships. Just as the neoliberal principle of individualization has opened up space in the market for growth of the sex industry, it has also transformed popular constructions of an ideal heterosexual dating relationship (Brent and Sanders 46). Relationships are increasingly based on emotional connections that foster love rather than being based on economic necessity as they were in the past (Eldén 5). Dating relationships are still premised on shared economic resources, yet this is secondary to romantic and emotional requirements (Ross and Mirowsky 67). Furthermore, due to processes of individualization, an ideal relationship requires “individual satisfaction” of both partners; each partner must get something from the relationship and has the choice to continue or end the relationship based on their level of satisfaction (Eldén 5). Ideal dating relationships are often constructed in therapeutic texts as involving “relationship work” such as communication with one’s partner about the relationship and respecting each other’s individuality (Eldén 7-8). II. The Sugar Bowl Founded in 2005 by Brandon Wade, Seeking Arrangement is an American-based website that has expanded internationally with over 3.6 million members worldwide. The Seeking Arrangement website works in a similar fashion to traditional dating websites where profiles are available to browse and include photos of users

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and a description of their interests. Users can contact each other by sending messages, ‘favouriting’ one another, and sharing private photos. The main feature that sets this dating site apart from others is its focus on ‘arrangements’ between Sugar Babies and Sugar Daddies or Sugar Mommas. Sugar Babies are defined on the website as “attractive people” who enjoy luxury and could use an “experienced mentor” to spoil them or provide financial security (“How it Works” 2013). Sugar babies are primarily young adults and are often students; 44% of Sugar Babies state on their profile that they are students (Bahadur 2013). Sugar Daddies or Mommas are described as “successful” and “generous” people; the average Sugar Daddy is 42 years old, single, has an income of $524,127 and spends an average of $5,692 a month on his Sugar Baby or Babies (Bahadur 2013). Sugar Daddies and Mommas seek the company of attractive people with whom they can foster their ideal relationship, whatever that may mean to them. Thus it is fitting that the site describes the arrangements between the two as “relationships on your terms (“How it Works” 2013). The site characterizes traditional dating relationships as selfish, messy, and insincere, offering arrangements as an ideal substitute. The site works to create arrangements between people that are honest, forthright, and goal-directed. This distinction reflects the notion of ‘bounded authenticity’ by suggesting that contractual and commercial relationships are more genuine than traditional dating. Sugar Babies are granted free access to the site while Sugar Daddies are required to pay a membership fee. The site facilitates arrangements through the organization of user’s profiles. Sugar Daddies must list their income, net worth, the amount they are willing to pay, and what it is they are looking to get in return, whereas Sugar Babies state a general amount they are hoping to be paid. From here, the two partners can use this information to negotiate a personalized arrangement through messaging one another.2 III. Methods I. Sample The Seeking Arrangement website includes a blog with an active comment section that the website claims should be used to engage in “…a civil discussion about all things sugar…” (“About the Seeking Arrangement Sugar Daddy Blog” 2013). This blog provides a public forum for Sugar Babies and Sugar Daddies to communicate. From this online forum, 748 comments were used for textual analysis. Comments chosen for analysis were posted by members of Seeking Arrangement and represent a wide range of experience levels with the website; comments chosen range from ‘newbies’ to experienced members. In the sampled comments, there was a roughly equal representation of Sugar Babies versus Sugar Daddies. All of the analysed 2 It is estimated that 80% of sugar arrangements include sex (Higgens 2013).

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commenters in this sample were interested in heterosexual relationships and were not Sugar Mommies or male Sugar Babies. Accordingly, the findings will be framed in terms of heterosexual relationships between older men and younger women. The Seeking Arrangement blogs are posted roughly once a week on topics related to sugar arrangements, ranging from how to make a successful profile to cultural differences. Members are invited to engage in casual discussion in the comment section. In order to obtain a range of recent responses, 3 blogs of a possible 500 from Seeking Arrangement’s archives were selected; one blog was chosen from September 2013, October 2013, and November 2013. After examining these blogs, it became clear that the sampled data was sufficient for the purposes of this study because (1) the data began to reflect recurrent themes, and (2) no new themes arose. This is characteristic of discourse analysis, which often combines the steps of data collection and analysis in order to engage in “theoretical sampling” rather than more mathematically based sampling methods (Meyer 18). With the massive amount of data available on Seeking Arrangement (over 100,000 comments), focusing in-depth on 750 comments allowed for a detailed and concise analysis. By choosing three blogs from one year, the comments offer a snapshot of the state of the Sugar Bowl as 2013 drew to a close. In general, commenters’ discussions did not solely revolve around the initial topic of the blog, thus comments were analyzed without reference to the blog itself. II. Analysis Textual discourse analysis was used to examine comments from the Seeking Arrangement blogs. Discourse analysis seeks to make the relationship between “language and power” salient through an examination of the discourse itself and the discourse’s theoretical and historical background (Meyer 15; Wodak 2-3). This type of analysis seeks to answer how the text that is being studied reproduces power relations, ideology, and systemic inequality (Wodak 2). Discourse analysis is applicable to the investigation of Seeking Arrangement because it is a way to access participant’s views on delicate and personal subjects. The data was approached with an initial open-coding process where it was read and re-read to begin to establish initial patterns and themes. Many comments were irrelevant for the current research, such as those that detailed party and travel plans or those involving private jokes. Both party and travel plans involved little to do with the constructions of sugar arrangements and merely offered locations, times, and travel preparations. Private jokes were inaccessible for analysis because personal background of the commenters appeared necessary to fully understand the jokes. Despite these outliers, several main themes emerged. One initial pattern was the abundance of discussions related to prostitution and the repeated insistence that

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sugar arrangements were incomparable. Using this and other initial themes such as discussions of honesty, relationships, and Sugar Baby and Sugar Daddy characteristics, the text was analysed again. Re-visiting data with theoretical and thematic considerations in mind is common for discourse analysis and is used to effectively group clusters of data together in meaningful and accurate ways. This final re-visiting of the data involved a closed structural analysis, which clearly established dominant themes and grouped together examples of the themes (Meyer 25). Through this process, it became clear that the initial themes branched-off of the core theme of emotional intimacy in arrangements. This finding was supported by a prevalence of comments regarding each of the subthemes. Prevalence was determined based on comments coming from a variety of commenters and from a variety of Sugar Daddies and Sugar Babies. These themes suggest that arrangements between Sugar Daddies and Babies are constructed as emotionally intimate relationships based on close personal connections as opposed to simply sexual and economic transactions. IV. Findings Arrangements are constructed as intimate relationships, thus drawing some parallels to traditional dating relationships. This is demonstrated in Sweetie and onxy_percula’s comments, “I look at a [Sugar Daddy] as a part-time boyfriend” and “the new [Sugar Baby] is the perfect part-time girlfriend.” While arrangements are similar to dating in terms of a preference for monogamy, going on dates, and the involvement of an emotional connection, there are also important differences. The key factor that distinguishes arrangements is the explicit negotiation of expectations about economic benefits and time spent together. Explicitness of this kind is not typically part of dating relationships, but the value of this negotiation can be understood in terms of bounded authenticity and the individualization processes. In what follows, the construction of arrangements as intimate relationships will be explored through three subthemes: the construction of Sugar Babies, the relationship between arrangements and prostitution, and conventional features of arrangements. I. Sugar Babies: ‘Smoking Hot’ Students The Sugar World constructs a desirable Sugar Baby as both physically attractive and smart. This is exemplified by a quote on the main page of Seeking Arrangement: “Goal Seeking Sugar Baby: Attractive, intelligent, ambitious and goal oriented. Sugar Babies are students, actresses, models or girls & guys next door.” These characteristics emphasize the importance of physical attractiveness, which excludes those who are not deemed attractive by men. In turn, members of the Sugar World

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construct a desirable Sugar Baby in a way that is consistent with the objectification of female bodies. Ricklad101 describes a Sugar Baby as “…above average and super hot” and onxy_percula adds that his sugar baby is “…hot enough that Playboy invited her to audition.” This notion is reinforced by the view of one sugar baby; SugarySpicey shares that “an SB should be smoking hot, why would an SD pursue her otherwise?” In addition to being ‘smoking hot’, Sugar Babies must also be unattainable and inaccessible in real life. For instance, FatBastardSD characterizes this in his description of using Seeking Arrangement to “…date SB’s out of his league.” A desirable Sugar Baby, however, must also be intelligent; intelligence is typically evidenced by the degree of education a Sugar Baby has achieved. Sugar Daddies agree with onyx_percula, who teases, “what is the sexiest part of a SB? It’s between her ears not her legs.” Similarly, Percy S states, “so many smart ladies on this site – intelligence is a turn on.” The way that desirable Sugar Babies are constructed shows the involvement of emotional and psychological intimacy in arrangements. Bernstein’s work on the sex industry shows that commodification and personal choice underlie why some men think they deserve “multiple attractive partners” if they can pay the price (400). Sugar Daddies partially express this perceived right through the value placed on the beauty of the Sugar Babies that they are ‘consuming.’ Yet, sugar arrangements are unique in that the consumption of an intelligent woman is of significant value. Implicit in this valuation of intelligence is the assumption that intelligent women can provide these men with more than just sex and beauty; they can offer humour, ambition to the relationship, and lively conversation. Sugar arrangements show that the sex industry is expanding to satisfy new desires, namely the desire for attractive women who are intelligent. On the surface, this implies a progressive image of women in which women are not only valued for their appearance. From the point of view of Sugar Daddies, the fact that Sugar Babies are intelligent signifies an element of free choice and desire because it suggests that the Sugar Baby is not doing this because she has no other options for work. The element of choice and desire appear crucial to the existence, or at least the illusion, of an emotionally intimate relationship that goes beyond sex. Moreover, Sugar Babies’ comments indicate that they are proud to be thought of as intelligent and are happy to capitalize off of this trait.

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II. Prostitution and Sugar The Sugar World is careful to constantly reiterate that Sugar Babies are not whores, escorts, or prostitutes. This construction has the effect of obscuring the money-for-sex transaction in arrangements and representing the relationship as more conventional. This disclaimer is explicit on the website under the terms of agreement for signing up: Please take note that we prohibit anyone from promoting illegal activities (such as prostitution) … we reserve the right to, amongst other things, remove you from our website and ban you permanently. If you are an escort, please do not join this website. Consistent with this disclaimer, Onxy_percula states, “a lot of newbie SDs seem to think the SBs are whores or … a notch above a whore. General misconception; that somehow this is a sleazy thing to be involved in.” SugarySpicey similarly expresses, “[h]ell, I respect whores. But just as I am not a plumber (though I use a toilet) I am not a whore.” Another way that those in the Sugar World separate their relationships from prostitution is through their insistence that arrangements are not explicitly about sex. Sugar Daddies and Babies emphasize that when sex is involved, the relationship also involves an emotionally intimate connection. Sugar Daddies like FatBastardSD and Ricklad 101 explain this kind of intimacy by noting that sugar arrangements are not simply about guaranteed sex. They claim that when sex is involved, it is “enhanced... [by] knowing each other.” Onxy_percula reinforces this conclusion by expressing that the “vast majority of time, effort and expense is spent outside the bedroom.” The denunciation of prostitution becomes more explicit when members express their negative views of ‘hobbying.’ In short, hobbying is a slang term used to describe the practice of frequenting escorts or paying for sex to a degree that it nears an addiction. As Onxy_percula says, “hobby…yuck is the word.” Sugar Babies share similar views, with SugarySpicey stating that “…these women charge $8 USD-BARF!!!!!...gross... revolting.” The construction of sugar arrangements as distinct from prostitution serves the interests of the website, Sugar Babies, and Sugar Daddies. It is important for those who control the website to allow discussions like these in order to distance themselves from legal problems that would accompany allowing prostitutes to be on the website. Distancing the website from prostitution reflects Brents and Sanders’ claim about the changing nature of the sex industry; the site has adopted a conventional business model (distancing its practices from prostitution and utilizing a dating web-

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site’s organizational model), and includes the participation of high-class users (i.e. Sugar Daddies). By criticizing prostitution, Sugar Babies distance themselves from whore stigma, which is typically associated with prostitution. Sugar Babies’ criticisms deflect condemnation of the Sugar World while also perpetuating the stigmatization of sex workers by characterizing them as cheap, dirty, and promiscuous. The line that separates Sugar Babies from prostitutes is made clear when users condemn Sugar Babies with multiple Sugar Daddies. Gentle(man)soul explains, “this kind of multi-pleasuring puts her in an escort category rather than a young girl wanting mentoring and some help.” Onyx_percula shares that “most SBs do not want more than one SD and I hear things like ‘I would feel like an escort if I did that.’” Sugar Babies construct this in much the same way, with Laura stating, “[a] woman with multiple SDs is seen as being promiscuous and ‘just after the money.’” Seeking Arrangement users, however, neither condemned the number of Sugar Babies with which a Sugar Daddy was in a relationship, nor the number of sexual exploits in which a Sugar Daddy had participated. Users on Seeking Arrangement are involved in reproducing dominant gender norms; users stigmatize women who have engaged in casual sex with numerous partners, but overlook the same quality in men (Beres 193; Shaw 353). III. Sugar Relationships: ‘White Knights’ and ‘Unicorns’ On Seeking Arrangement, relationships are constructed in a romanticised way akin to conventional dating in the sense that users wants to find ‘the one.’ This search is exemplified by JazzySB who says, “I really just want to find one good SD [emphasis in original].” Don Amore adds his approach to this and says, “…we should be helping each other find the right SD or SB for each other.” SugarysSpicey demonstrates the joy in finding ‘the one’ by applauding, “congrats! You found your unicorn!” This search for a soul mate differs in the Sugar World from finding ‘the one’ outside of the website. The ideal match for Seeking Arrangement users is based not only on finding someone with shared interests, mutual attraction, and sharing an emotional connection, but is also based on finding someone compatible in terms of finances and time spent together. This upfront way of finding ‘the one’ reflects the notion of bounded authenticity in that it is direct, satisfying, and induces genuine emotional responses (Bernstein 398). Sugar Daddies are known as ‘white knights’ in the sense that arrangements are romanticized in a way that resembles modern day love stories and childhood fairy tales. WCSD names the phenomenon, saying, “I know for many SD’s the ‘white knight syndrome’ is what they love.” Being a ‘white knight’ is explained by Flyr and Gentle(man)soul as helping a Sugar Baby succeed by being a “sounding board” to

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help her “achieve her goals.” The value attached to meaningful relationships is exemplified on the main page of Seeking Arrangement under the description of Sugar Daddies, “[y]ou are always respectful and generous. You only live once, and you want to date the best. Some call you a mentor, sponsor or benefactor.” When a Sugar Daddy or Baby finds ‘the one’, there is usually a mutual expectation that a certain level of monogamy will be part of the arrangement. Monogamy here sometimes carries the expectation that women will have no relationships outside of sugar arrangements. In other cases, it may only be expected that she will have no other Sugar Daddies. Expectations of monogamy are visible in Sugar Daddies’ comments like Gentle(man)soul who expresses that once he has fallen for a Sugar Baby, “other partners [then] become [an] impossibility.” When a Sugar Daddy or Baby is caught having more than one partner at the same time, the reaction is similar to reactions to cheating in dating relationships. Gtt_envy explains, “[m]y current SB who is (was) perfect in every way I just found out has 2 other SD’s and a boyfriend… but in all honesty if you are juggling that much. Why am I giving you so much?” JazzySB adds, “no one wants to feel like their being juggled.” Sugar Babies and Sugar Daddies both understand their arrangements in ways that run parallel to heterosexual dating relationships as their constructions contain idealized notions of romance and monogamy. In line with the construction of Sugar Daddies as ‘white knights’, comes a noticeable silence in discussions on Seeking Arrangement – there is no mention of safety issues for Sugar Babies. Even when flying abroad to meet a Sugar Daddy for the first time, the only concern is whether it will be worthwhile for the Sugar Daddy; DarkHorseSD says, “it’s a big risk from SD view.” Several studies have noted that sex workers are at a disproportionate risk of experiencing violence through rape, physical assault, and murder (Monto 161). While several factors cause these rates, including the notion of entitlement to sex in hegemonic masculinity, one factor is the commodification of sex (Monto 174). Studies show that men who view sex as a commodity are more likely to subscribe to rape myths and have violent sexual fantasies (Monto 174). The intertwining of sex and money on Seeking Arrangement imbues the purchaser (Sugar Daddies) with economic and gendered power over the purchased (Sugar Babies). The power difference in sugar relationships can make issues like consent problematic since Sugar Babies may feel compelled to engage in sex because of the gifts and money received. Despite this, Sugar Daddies overwhelmingly conceptualize their sugar relationships as involving emotional intimacy, and not as solely an economic exchange. While this suggests that Sugar Daddies may be less predisposed to violence against Sugar Babies, discussions that address this risk are noticeably absent from constructions of sugar relationships.

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V. Conclusion Seeking Arrangement is a dating website where sex, emotional intimacy, and commodification are intertwined in the expansion of the sex industry. The finding that Sugar Babies are constructed as both beautiful and intelligent reflects the mainstreaming of the sex industry which now caters to specialized needs (Brents and Sanders 43). Seeking Arrangement offers a specialized service that provides access to relationships that are premised on emotional and personal connections with smart and attractive women. This specialization is seen in the site’s use of a business model that is similar to that of other dating websites and the involvement of middle to high-class users. The specialized service offered by Seeking Arrangement results in the sale of relationships based in bounded authenticity. The ‘authenticity’ of sugar arrangements is evident in that they go beyond mere sex and towards emotional intimacy that involves dates, monogamy, and finding ‘the one’; all of these are perceived by users as genuine. These relationships are also ‘bounded’ since they involve direct and upfront agreements about that for which the Sugar Daddy will be paying and how much it will cost. This relates to the wider social shift of relationships requiring individual emotional and sexual satisfaction for both partners (Eldén 5). The Seeking Arrangement website exemplifies this trend by securing satisfaction through arrangements that are negotiated in advance. The findings of this study reveal gender inequality and the reproduction of stigma associated with sex work. User’s constructions of Sugar Babies as needing to avoid promiscuity reproduces a wider process of shaming women for having multiple and/or casual sexual partners. The condemnation of promiscuity contributes to the ongoing existence of ‘whore stigma’ and the user’s consistent attempts to remove themselves from any association with prostitution. In combination with the emphasis on emotional intimacy, attempts to break the association between prostitution and sugar arrangements implicitly work to silence discussions about safety concerns for Sugar Babies.

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Works Cited “About the Seeking Arrangement Sugar Daddy Blog” Seeking Arrangement. N.d. Web. 10 Nov 2013. Bahadur, Nina. “Sugar Daddy Capitals Revealed By New Survey.” The Huffington Post 4 September 2013. Web. 10 Nov. 2013. Beres, Melanie. “‘It Just Happens’: Negotiating Casual Heterosexual Sex.” Canadian Perspectives in Sexualities Studies. Ed. Diane Naugler. Don Mills: Oxford, 2012. 168-179. Print. Bernstein, Elizabeth. “The Meaning of the Purchase: Desire, Demand and the Commerce of Sex.” Ethnography 2.3 (2001): 389-420. Print. Brents, Barbara G., and Teela Sanders. “Mainstreaming the Sex Industry: Economic Inclusion and Social Ambivalence.” Journal of Law and Society 37.1 (2010): 4060. Print. Edwards, Jim. “How This Never-Been-Kissed MIT Nerd Built A $10 Million ‘Sugar Baby’ Dating Empire” Business Insider 27 April 2012. Web. 10 Nov. 2013. Eldén, Sara. “Scripts for the ‘good couple’: Individualization and the Reproduction of Gender Inequality.” Acta Sociologica 55.1 (2012): 3-18. Print. Fahs, Breanne. “‘Freedom To’ and ‘Freedom From’: A New Vision for Sex-Positive Politics.” Sexualities 17.3 (2014): 267–290. Print. Higgens, Sean. “Report: 40,000 Public School Teachers Seeking ‘Sugar Daddies.’” The Washington Examiner 29 August 2013. Web. 10 Nov. 2013. “Hobbyist.” Urban Dictionary. 4 June 2003. Web. 10 May 2015. “How it Works.” Seeking Arrangement. n.d. Web. 10 Nov. 2013. Meyer, Michael. “Between Theory, Method and Politics: Positioning of the Approaches to CDA.” Methods of Critical Discourse Analysis. Ed. Ruth Wodak and Michael Meyer. London: Sage, 2001. 1-14. Print.

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Monto, Martin A. “Female Prostitution, Customers, and Violence.” Violence Against Women 10.2 (2004): 160-188. Print. Pheterson, Gail. “The Whore Stigma: Female Dishonour and Male Unworthiness.” Social Text 37 (1993): 39-64. Print. Prasad, Monica. “The Morality of the Market Exchange: Law, Money and Contractual Justice.” Sociological Perspectives 42.2 (1999): 181-213. Print. Ross, Catherine E., and John Mirowsky. “Theory and Modeling in the Study of Intimate Relationships and Health.” Journal of Health and Social Behavior 54.1 (2013): 67-71. Print. Salz, Allison. “Canadian University Students Resorting to ‘Sugar Daddies.’” Toronto Sun 25 Jan 2013. Web. 10 Nov. 2013. Sanders, Teela. “Male Sexual Scripts: Intimacy, Sexuality and Pleasure in the Purchase of Commercial Sex.” Sociology 42.30 (2008): 400-417. Print. Shaw, Anita. “Media Representations of Adolescent Pregnancy: The Problem With Choice.” Canadian Perspectives in Sexualities Studies. Ed. Diane Naugler. Don Mills: Oxford, 2012. 349-358. Print. Skykes, Gresham M and David Matza. “Techniques of Neutralization: A Theory of Delinquency.” American Sociological Review 22.6 (1957): 664-670. Print. Stossel, John, Catherine Brosseau and Andrew Kirell. “New Dating Web Sites Bring Sugar Daddies, Babies Together at Last.” ABC News 20 August 2009. Web. 10 Nov. 2013. “Terms of Use.” Seeking Arrangement. n.d. Web. 10 Nov 2013. Wade, Brandon. “NSA Meets the Sugar World.” Seeking Arrangement. 18 July 2014. Web. 12 May 2015. “What’s an Arrangement?” Seeking Arrangement. N.d. Web. 10 Nov. 2013.

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Wodak, Ruth. â&#x20AC;&#x153;What CDA is about - A summary of its history, important concepts and its developments.â&#x20AC;? Methods of Critical Discourse Analysis. Eds. Ruth Wodak and Michael Meyer. London: Sage, 2001. 1-14. Print.

Panic at the Drive-In: Affordance, Moral Panic, and Drive-In Theatres Maria Chatzifilalithis

n May of 1933, the drive-in theatre was born. Richard Hollingshead, inventor of the drive-in, describes his invention as an outdoor theatre in which a film “may be seen and heard from a series of automobiles so arranged in relation to the stage or screen, that the successive cars behind each other will not obstruct the view” (Segrave 203). The drive-in was a novelty during its early years, but began to thrive after World War II. While the drive-in has since declined in popularity, it has also been memorialised as a symbol of the 1950s, particularly as a symbol of teenage romance. Much like Nickelodeons, the drive-in theatre developed a reputation as a ‘site of sin’ during its early years (Aronson 159). By the 1940s, the drive-in’s sinful reputation had developed into a full-fledged moral panic; the panic subsided after the 1950s, only to reappear again in the 1970s. When examining a moral panic, it is apt to cite Stanley Cohen’s definition from his book Folk Devils and Moral Panics: Societies appear to be subject, every now and then, to periods of moral panic. A condition, episode, person or groups of persons emerges to become defined as a threat to societal values and interests; its nature is presented in a stylized and stereotypical fashion by the mass media; the moral barricades are manned by editors, bishops politicians and other right-thinking people; socially accredited experts pronounce their diagnoses and solutions; ways of coping are evolved (or more often) resorted to; the condition then disappears, submerges or deteriorates and becomes more visible. (9) Drawing from Cohen, I examine public discourse about drive-in theatres in the United States. The drive-in theatre emerged as a ‘folk devil’ that was defined as a threat to moral norms, such as abstinence from premarital sex. The drive-in was presented in the media as a ‘passion pit’ where adolescents took advantage of the privacy afforded by their automobiles and the nighttime sky. Panic ranged from concerns about the behaviour at the theatre to concerns about the appropriateness of the films being

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shown; these concerns were taken up in the Supreme Court by Senators and in religious institutions by pastors. The aim of this article is to explore concerns surrounding youth and romance at the drive-in. While similar to traditional theatres in its goal to entertain, the drive-in theatre is fundamentally different in design. Although moral panic about the drive-in was partially due to the cultural mores of 1940s and 1970s America, I argue that the panic was also dependent on structural characteristics of the drive-in theatre as a medium. I. Affordance and the Drive-in In his book The Design of Everyday Things, Donald Norman describes an issue that arose during the construction of train shelters for the British Rail. The problem was that local vandals would smash the glass panels that were part of the shelters. To combat this issue, plywood panels were substituted for glass panels. Instead of breaking the wood, which would not have taken much more force than breaking glass, vandals wrote on and carved into the wood. The purpose of this anecdote serves to explain that there is a “psychology of materials and things” that affords certain practices (Norman 9). There exists a cultural understanding that flat surfaces such as wood are for writing on, whereas glass is delicate and can be easily broken (Norman 9). While Norman’s example illustrates how cultural understandings of objects cause actors to engage with certain affordances, this is not to say that the wood could not have been broken or the glass written upon. Affordance has to do with the materiality of an object and what an object’s make-up permits. What we can further take from Norman’s example is that objects are often used in activities that are not prescribed; while the prescribed use of plywood was to offer shelter, vandals used it as a medium for writing. Affordance accounts for the fact that there are certain ways an object can be used; as long as an object affords it, humans can enact their will within the material boundaries of an object.. Affordance speaks to both the intended and non-intended uses of a medium. In the case of the drive-in, cultural responses to the medium as a site of moral panic were not prescribed, but significant nonetheless. Historian David Nye notes that designers of a technology often have a concentrated range of predicted uses for their technology. Once the technology enters the public sphere, however, the public’s desires and intentions often open up new possibilities for the technology (Nye 170). Nye suggests that technologies are not “‘things’ that came outside of society and had an ‘impact’; rather, each was an internal development shaped by its social context. No technology is a thing in isolation. Each is an open-ended set of problems and possibilities” (171). The social climate in which a technology is embedded is crucial to understanding the rise of the drive-in culture and why the meaning of the theatre changed from a place of wholesome family fun to a ‘passion-pit’. The prescribed use of the theatre was advertised and intended as a family environment for

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film watching. Young people, however, worked within the physical boundaries of the medium, created their own meanings, and transformed the drive-in into a space for adolescent romance. In his history of the drive-in, Kerry Segrave explores the culture out of which the drive-in grew. Segrave suggests that drive-ins, along with shopping malls, were pioneers in the post-WWII shift to the suburbs (vii). The drive-in provided a form of entertainment for suburban families that did not require driving to the city in the evening (Segrave vii). Moreover, the drive-in could not have been a success if people were not inclined to spend time in their cars. The drive-in boomed during the era of American car culture, which valued consumption and extravagance (Segrave x). While Segrave’s history is useful for a social history of the drive-in, he states “I have tried to strike a balance in this book between the technical aspects of the drive-in – which didn’t fuel its rise but did contribute to its decline – and the sociocultural ones” (vii). Segrave, however, overlooks the importance of the technical aspects of the drive-in that contributed to its popularity. Segrave claims that driveins rose in popularity due to the consumerism culture of 1950s America – a culture that had a love affair with their cars. The drive-in gave people the opportunity to be entertained in their cars. While this is a cultural understanding of drive-ins, it is also technical because cars function as seats at drive-in theatres. In this way, cars can be interpreted as reflective of American culture, but also as a distinct part of the materiality of the drive-in – a materiality around which cultural discourses about sexuality would develop. It is the materiality of the theatre, or the “technical aspects” to use Segrave’s words, that fuelled the rise of drive-ins for the adolescent audience. While it is important to highlight the technical aspect of the drive-in, it is equally important not to fall into the trap of technological determinism. Nye argues that the adoption of a technology is not easy to predict because a technology does not enter culture from the outside. Instead, the development of a technology largely depends on social context. While Nye’s theory is relevant to the discourse of the drive-in, it is just as easy to adopt a cultural determinist view and assume that certain cultures necessarily produce certain technologies. The problem with attributing causality in this way is that it primarily shines the spotlight on either technology or culture and “in so doing, it deflects vision away from the interdependent relations among the living and nonliving within which these things are given form” (Slack and Wise 96). In an attempt to avoid determinism of either kind, this article looks at the interplay between the physicality of the drive-in as a medium and the discourse of the culture in which it grew. Literature concerning drive-in theatres tends to offer a social history of the medium. With respect to youth romance, drive-in histories explain the moral panic

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of the ‘passion-pits’ with cultural reasons. For instance, Films Media Group claims that while the 1940s-1950s were a time when sexuality was not discussed in public, the introduction of foreign films into the American market began to challenge this norm. The drive-in represented a deep-rooted fear that American culture had towards ‘risky’ teenage behaviours and the fear of losing wholesome mores. In the 1940s, indoor theatres were not subject to the same controversy as their outdoor counterpart. I argue that while moral panics surrounding the drive-in are rooted in American sexual norms, these fears could not have been realized without the specific architectural elements of the drive-in. II. Methodology In his work on moral panics, Stanley Cohen states that he is concerned “with the way in which the [panic] was initially interpreted and presented by the mass media, because it is in this form that most people receive their pictures of both deviance and disasters” (24). Following Cohen’s model, I looked at newspaper articles from the 1930s-1970s as evidence for the way that drive-in theatres were represented in print media. In conducting my discourse analysis, I used purposive sampling and preformed keyword searches in both entertainment-based publications and popular newspapers, namely Variety, Motion Picture Herald, and The New York Times. In order to conduct my searches I narrowed my results to the aforementioned decades and used keywords such as “passion-pit”, “drive-in”, “theatre”, “ozoner” (a term used to describe the manager or owner of a drive-in), “pix”, “motor theatre”, and “outdoor theatre.” III. Roadside Architecture The architecture of the drive-in was crucial to the moral panic surrounding the drive-in theatre. The drive-in belongs to a class of architecture called “roadside architecture,” which also includes motels and some restaurants (Bell 216). The goal of roadside architecture is to capture the attention of nearby motorists and passers-by in order to gain their business (Bell 215). Drive-ins borrowed many architectural elements from indoor theatres, such as the screen and theatre rows, but ultimately recreated them into a different medium. The screen was situated at the front of the theatre and its enormous size, usually 50 feet or more in height, grabbed the attention of both the audience and passing motorists (Bell 216). The screen became a symbol of the drive-in and could be recognized from a distance. In keeping with the aims of roadside architecture, a large attraction board (similar to a billboard) was erected by the roadside. These boards were adorned with lights and often used colourful displays and lettering that was decisively larger than the surrounding urban signage

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(Bell 217). The purpose of these boards was to inform passers-by of the films playing and any other attractions the theatre was offering. One of the most important differences between indoor theatres and drive-ins is the seating arrangement. Although there was a limited amount of space reserved for â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;walk-insâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; near the front of the screen, most people would sit in their cars at the drive-in. The drive-in was set up in a series of lanes that created a number of semicircles, each slightly longer than the one in front of it, and all of which faced the screen. Patrons were able to enter directly from the road, and after paying admission, they would choose a lane to park their cars. It did not take long before an unofficial understanding took place that the front section of drive-ins was for families, while the back rows were for teenagers or couples who wanted privacy (Bell 223).

Fig. 1. Example of a standard drive-in site plan from 1940 (Bell 2003, Fig. 14.1.).

The drive-in theatre operated outside, which meant that business depended on natural lighting. In contrast to indoor theatres, which could dim the lights and offer matinees, a film could only be shown in the evening once it was dark enough for the image to be seen on-screen. Accordingly, films at the drive-in were shown late at night. Both the late hours and the ambience of the nighttime sky were central conditions for moral panics about the drive-in.

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IV. Racy Behaviour at the Drive-In Panic surrounding drive-in theatres was primarily concerned with two types of ‘inappropriate’ sexual activities: (1) concern about behaviour taking place in the parking lot, and (2) concern about what was taking place on screen. The drive-in almost instantly gained the reputation of being a ‘passion-pit.’ After only a few weeks of operation, a news article in the Motion Picture Herald stated that: Some characteristics (of the drive-in) even offer opportunities for levity that one preparing for a serious report wishes he not forego. Perhaps it will occur readily enough to the reader what fun a Young America could have in a coupe under the added simulation of a sophisticated Hollywood romance! (“A Motor Age Experiment” 15) The journalist of this article makes a prediction as to how the theatre will be appropriated by younger audiences based on a material aspect of the theatre, namely that the drive-in offers the privacy of being in one’s own car. In 1938, after drive-in theatres had been around for a few years and were rising in popularity, Variety published an article explaining why the drive-in may eventually become a serious threat to indoor theatres. The article cites the fact that outdoor theatres cost significantly less to open because “all the drive-in operator needs is a vacant lot” (“Spread of DriveIn” 21). The article also outlines how cooling systems are irrelevant since the theatre is outside, and seating is brought with the patrons as they arrive in their cars. All of these ‘threats’ are directly related to the physical nature of the theatre in comparison to the indoor theatre. The article concludes that another significant advantage of the drive-in “is the fact that patrons may spoon in their cars as they watch a picture. Or spoon without watching it” (“Spread of Drive-In” 21). The Variety article places emphasis on the car as a fundamentally different material aspect of the drive-in theatre and contrasts it with indoor theatres. The connection between sexual behaviour and the drive-in theatre continued into the 1940s. In 1945, Variety ran an article entitled “Could It Be Necking Has Something to Do with It?” The article outlines the story of a New York Ozoner who drove to his theatre during the “worst May snowstorm in 50 years” to perform a “routine inspection and head back for his fireside” (“Necking” 7). Instead, what he found was a line up of 50 cars waiting to be let into the theatre, all of which stayed for the entire duration of the film “despite the chilly, miserable weather” (“Necking” 7). Although the body of the story does not explicitly suggest any sexual activity, the journalist implies that “necking” was the reason the patrons braved the snowstorm in their cars.

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By the early 1950s, the drive-in was no longer a novelty. After two decades, drive-ins began to decline in popularity in part due to the expanding presence of large indoor theatres. In response to these losses, many theatres adopted ‘dusk-todawn hours’, which resulted in an increase in public concern about sexual activity at the theatre. The public reacted strongly to ‘all night hours’, and media outlets were virtually unanimous in their claim that ‘all night hours’ meant one thing – more teenage sex. In 1953, an organised group of churchmen in San Antonio complained that “young people attending the shows stayed out so late they could not attend Sunday school or other Sunday morning church services” (“Dusk-to-dawn Ozoners” 1). The churchmen argued that since the same film is shown twice after midnight “teenagers are not interested in seeing the same picture twice just for the sake of seeing a movie” (“Dusk-to-dawn Ozoners” 1). The men suggested that not only were their children staying out all night at the drive-in, but they were also being exposed to an “in the flesh stripper” that some drive-ins would reportedly hire (“Dusk-to-dawn Ozoners” 1). Another Variety article from 1953 states that dusk-to dawn operations were “putting back the bad-label drive-ins [had] fought to get rid of ” (“Passion Pits with Pix” 1). The article goes on to claim that because of this new operation, drive-ins garnered unfavourable publicity “in the way of raids, the public going to authorities to have restrictive laws put on drive-ins, and many other complaints” (“Passion Pits with Pix” 1). One instance of the public going to authorities occurred in 1957 when two Montgomery County delegates introduced a bill to the Ohio General Assembly. The bill proposed a ban on unmarried persons less than eighteen years of age from attending drive-in theatres after midnight unless accompanied by their parents. As the delegates explained to the committee, “people are disturbed by the goings-on in drive-in theatres after midnight” (“Greater Dayton Drive-In” 1). Harold LeCrone, the assistant prosecutor for the trial, argued that “there are many juvenile ‘passion pits’ existing under the pretence of cinema art” and that “art is playing second fiddle to sex orgies in some dusk-to-dawn theatres” (“Check Motels” 19). LeCrone furthered his claim by stating “there was a definite increase in illegitimate births in his county as a direct tie-in with dusk-to-dawn movies” (“Check Motels” 19). LeCrone’s (unsubstantiated) claim about birth rates was backed by the reasons that drive-ins were “cheaper than motels” and becoming “hang-outs for teenage gangs” (“Check Motels” 19). Concerns about all night hours at drive-in theatres arose due to the darkness and privacy afforded by the nighttime sky and seating arrangements. By the 1960s, however, some ozoners began to implement new tactics to change the reputation of the drive-in away from being associated with illicit sexual activity. In a Variety

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article from 1964, the reporter notes that drive-ins began to transform their ‘passion pit’ reputation by altering the physicality of the medium: “the stigma of the ‘passion pit’ era has now been greatly erased by patrolling… security police and increased lighting” (Providence’s Quality Bookings 1). This statement shows that when ozoners were faced with the task of transforming the reputation of the drive-in, they aimed their efforts at the procedural and architectural aspects of the medium. These changes parallel many of the features present within traditional theatres that discourage illicit sexual activity. Ozoners hired security to patrol the drive-in and undermine the privacy that patrons had within their cars; this parallels the use of ushers in indoor theatres who would patrol aisles with flashlights. Likewise, just as lighting in traditional theatres reduces privacy, so too does increased lighting in drive-in theatres. Privacy and darkness afforded sexual behaviour, but when the drive-in was equipped with additional security and light, non-prescribed sexual uses of the medium were no longer afforded. V. Controversy on Screen Another central part of the drive-in moral panic was the sexual nature of films being shown on screen. Most of these types of concerns arose between the late 1960s and 1970s, but there is evidence of public anxiety before this period. Here we are reminded of Cohen’s claim that during moral panics, there are times when a panic emerges, and then seems to disappear from public discourse only to remerge again. In 1951, a drive-in theatre in Detroit was nearing the end of its season, so the ozoner decided to play a selection of films that involved sexual themes and drug use; the films had already been shown in indoor theatres. In a Boxoffice article, H. F. Reves covered the controversy, stating: a study of current billings indicated that, while a number of drive-ins have been booking pictures on narcotics and sex education, the films themselves generally are accepted for regular theatre showing, and in some instances, have won substantial acclaim for their educational value. (Reves 14) When these films were shown at the drive-in, a number of requests for censorship were sent to the sheriff ’s office. In this case, a film that was initially praised for its educational value at indoor theatres was later labelled inappropriate and targeted for censorship. Reves sums up the issue well, stating “reaction of the public indicates that people are quicker to suspect trouble on film content at a drive-in because of the reputation flamboyantly given to the outdoor houses by some newspaper and magazine stories” (14).

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The issue of what constitutes appropriate content to show at drive-in theatres became a central issue during a 1970 re-election campaign of Nebraska Senator, Roman Hruska. During the campaign Hruska, who owned a number of drive-ins, was challenged by his opponent Frank Morrison on the grounds that the types of films he showed at his theatres were pornographic in nature. Morrison questioned Hruska’s ability to “sermonize against loose sex and low morals while displaying filthy situations upon the public screen for money” (Drummond 64). Morrison, however, was challenging films that fit within the accepted culture of the indoor theatre. For instance, he listed the films “The Blood Drinker, which is in the Frankenstein tradition and Catch 22, which was widely acclaimed despite some nudity” (Drummond 64). The films in these examples were the same in content when they were shown at drive-ins and indoor theatres; what changed was the medium of dissemination. Since the drive-in was already riddled with sexual associations, the public was quicker to reject films that used the drive-in as a platform. Not only did preconceived notions about the drive-in allow for the panic about what was being shown, but the screen itself became a crucial element of the moral panic. In 1971, the Supreme Court agreed to a trial that would decide if drivein theatres violate obscenity laws when they show racy films, even if those same films were already being played in indoor theatres. Ozoner William Rabe was fined 600 dollars for showing the film Carmen Baby “on the grounds that the context of its exhibition” made it obscene (Graham 32). The “context of exhibition” this article refers to is the fact that “there was evidence that motorists and children outside the fence could see the film, and the Oregon court found that it violated the privacy of residents of nearby homes” (Graham 32). The problem here was not the content of the film, but the fact that people who were not in the theatre could see the sexually explicit material. The drive-in theatre is a type of roadside architecture, the purpose of which is to attract attention from the surrounding community; the height of the screen was the issue in question because people could see it from a distance. Even after the Supreme Court ruled against the charges of obscenity, there was the public belief that it should be a crime for a theatre “to show a film that illuminates the nighttime sky of a residential area with a vivid portrayal of erotic sexual scenes” (Graham 31), and that even though “drive-ins are no longer ‘passion pits’ there should not be too much passion on the screen” (“Passion Pits No More” 6). This aspect of the panic centred around the fact that nudity, gore, sexuality and other ‘inappropriate’ material were being shown in a way that was deemed as too accessible. There were no walls to conceal the content, the films that were projected onto a screen could be seen beyond the limits of the theatre, and films were advertised on roadside billboards for any passing motorist, child, or community member

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to see. Indoor theatres allowed for a culture that was uncomfortable with sexuality to hide the illicit content away in a building for intended viewers. Due to the architectural elements of the drive-in, it was difficult to control who was exposed to images on screen. The structural aspects of the drive-in theatre allowed for concerns to develop, namely that the drive-in was corrupting the youth and sexual mores. VI. Conclusion The notion of affordance is crucial to understanding the moral panic surrounding sexuality at the drive-in. The drive-in theatre afforded a moral panic because the material elements of the theatre, such as the night sky, lack of lighting, and use of automobiles all afforded privacy, and thus the possibility of sexual activity. The screen and the announcement board of the drive-ins afforded a panic surrounding the appropriateness of films because they could be seen over the fence of the theatre; people could unwillingly be exposed to both the images of and advertisements for racy films. In both these instances, examining the material features of the drive-in and the way in which they were culturally interpreted provides a more complete understanding of the moral panics surrounding the drive-in theatre.

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Works Cited Aronson, Michael. Nickelodeon City: Pittsburgh at the Movies. Pittsburgh: U of Pittsburgh, 2008. Print. Bell, Shannon. “From Ticket Booth to Screen Tower: An Architectural Study of Drive-in Theaters in the Baltimore-Washington, D.C.-Richmond Corridor.” Perspectives in Vernacular Architecture 9 (2003): 215-27. Print. Cohen, Stanley. Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation of the Mods and Rockers. London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1972. Print. “Could it Be Necking Has Something to Do with It?” Variety 158.11 (1945): 7. Print. Dalton, Curt. Greater Dayton Drive-In Movie Theaters. Dayton: Curt Dalton, 1998. Print. Drummond, A. “Rival Charges Hruska Peddles Smut.” New York Times 1 November 1970. Print. “Dusk-to-Dawn Ozoners (‘Passion Pits with Pix’) K.O.d by San Antone Clergy.” Variety 190.4 (1953): 95. Print. Graham F. “Justices Rebuff Pontiac on Busing.” New York Times 1 October 1971. Print. “Hit ‘Passion Pits’; Wile Suggests ‘Check Motels’.” Variety 206.8 (1957): 19. Print. “NATO Convention: Passion Pits no More.” Variety 260.12 (1970): 6. Print. Norman, Donald A. The Design of Everyday Things. New York: Basic, 1988. Print. Nye, D. E. “Technological Prediction: A Promethean Problem”. Technological Visions: The Hopes and Fears that Shape New Technologies. Eds. M. Sturken, D. Thomas, and S. Ball-Rokeach. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2004. Print. “‘Passion Pits with Pix’ in Danger of Revival Via all-Nite Drive-Ins.” Variety 192.9 (1953): 1. Print.

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“Providence’s Quality Bookings Kayo Onus of ‘Passion Pits with Pix’.” Variety 235.1 (1964): 1. Print. Reves, H. F. “Trouble for Drive-Ins on Late-Season Bills.” Boxoffice 59.26 (1951): 14. Print. Segrave, Kerry. Drive-In Theatres: A History from Their Inception in 1933. North Carolina: McFarland, 1992. Print. Sex, Censorship, and the Silver Screen: The 1950s and ‘60s. Films for the Humanities and Sciences, 2008. Film. Slack, Jennifer Daryl, and J. Macgregor Wise. Culture Technology: A Primer. New York: Peter Lang, 2005. Print. “Spread of Drive-in Cinemas may Become a Worry to Regular Ops; Dixie Belt can Stay Open all Year.” Variety 131.4 (1938): 21. Print. “The Drive-In Theatre: A Motor Age Experiment.” Motion Picture Herald 112 (1993): 15. Print.

A Localized Approach to the Origins of Pottery in Upper Mesopotamia Elizabeth Gibbon

ottery was one of the first synthetic materials created by humans. It is an artificial stone that heavily impacted social, political, economic, and technological innovation since its inception over ten thousand years ago (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 2). In archaeology, the term pottery is applied to artefacts fabricated through the manipulation of silicate material (typically clay) and then hardened through the application of heat. This process results in the creation of a strong and sturdy construction material that proves to be remarkably durable over time and under a number of environmental conditions (Rice, Pottery Analysis 7). In addition to its ready availability, the versatility and physical properties of clay – its malleability when wet and its capacity to harden when dried or heated – made it an attractive resource with many applications (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 3). Pottery, as a tool and technology, represents a sophisticated merging of previously separate realms of human knowledge and experience: resources, technological processes, and need. More specifically, this relates to the combination of clay resources and firing technology to meet the human need for the containment of materials through the creation of the pottery vessel (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 4). Discovery of the chemical changes produced in clay when exposed to fire has been recognized as a significant technological leap in human history. But when and how did such an understanding lead to the production of fired clay containers? Was the intended function of the first pottery container entirely practical, or was its inception tied to a more symbolic or ritualistic purpose? How and why did pottery come to be present in the material assemblages of ancient cultures? The use of clay to make pottery containers does not seem to have originated at any single time or place. Instead, clay pottery appears to have been independently invented in a number of areas across the world, and over a wide frame of time (approximately 8500 to 2500 BCE) (Rice, Pottery Analysis 8). In Mesopotamia, archaeologists have documented a continuous record of pottery production stretching almost nine millennia. The issue of when and why Near Eastern communities first adopted ceramic containers, however, remains highly debated (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 71).

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Approaches to the initial introduction of Mesopotamian pottery tend toward a more functionalist perspective. It is often assumed that Neolithic communities invented pottery primarily for its use in culinary contexts and to store agricultural surplus (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 71). It has been the prevailing notion that the evolution of pottery tends to move in a linear fashion from coarse and plain to carefully finished and stylistically elaborate. Though this ‘progression’ may be the case when a long-term, supra-regional perspective is considered, it will be demonstrated that the progression from the Pre-Pottery to Early Pottery Neolithic in Upper Mesopotamia is considerably more complex. The site of Tell Sabi Abyad II in Syria provides a stratified sequence of continuous occupation from the Pre-Pottery to Late Neolithic periods (Nieuwenhuyse 114). However, the earliest pottery discovered at the site (dated to the seventh millennium BCE) is of higher technological and stylistic quality than its immediate successor. This has led some scholars to suggest that the earliest pottery in Upper Mesopotamia may have been introduced from outside the region (Nieuwenhuyse 119). However, through the technological and typological comparison of Pre-Pottery Neolithic ‘software’ technologies and the Early Neolithic pottery assemblages located at Tell Sabi Abyad II, it will be demonstrated that the earliest pottery in Upper Mesopotamia was a local invention that originated from symbolic and ritual practices. I. Theories on the Origins of Pottery In the Near East, for several millennia before the production of fired clay containers, clay was used to construct mud-brick architecture and to create stamp seals, spindle whorls, figurines, tokens, beads, and other ornaments. Many of these items were recovered from Pre-Pottery Neolithic contexts and include examples of cups, jugs, and dishes made from untempered and unfired or lightly baked clay (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 16). Scholars have suggested that these early, unfired clay objects held symbolic significance for their makers and played less of a utilitarian role (Moore 46). This epoch of dried or sun-baked pottery is referred to as the “software horizon” and marks a transitional stage between the use of clay to primarily construct “prestige” items (such as tokens and figurines) to the manipulation of clay and fire to construct “practical” items, namely pottery containers (Hayden, “Evolution of Material Systems” 28). The question still remains as to why humans considered fired ceramic vessels more satisfactory containers than readily available objects exploited in pre-ceramic periods, such as animal skins, gourds, wood, and stone. Scholars have postulated numerous, but not necessarily mutually exclusive or conclusive, theories as to the origins of pottery production. The most comprehensive and salient of these theories are outlined below.

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The ‘architecture hypothesis’ of pottery origins is based on parallels between the construction of buildings and pots. Vandiver proposes this theory on the basis of her analysis of the composition and forming techniques of early vegetal and chaff tempered coarse ware dated to the seventh millennium BCE from sites in Western Asia (29). This fibre-tempered pottery was manufactured by sequential slab construction. Vandiver notes that sequential slab construction is closely related to contemporaneous architectural construction methods, which use mixtures of clay and straw in daub and mud brick. Thus Vandiver argues that pottery technology likely developed out of or alongside Pre-Pottery Neolithic plaster or architectural production. Apart from the similarities in the forming processes of early pottery containers and architecture, there are also technological links between clay and plaster and the use of fire. Others suggest that the firing of clay containers in the Near East may represent a transference of prior pyrotechnical knowledge required for the processing of lime or gypsum to make plaster (Kingery, Vandiver, and Prickett 240). The evidence to support such a hypothesis can be seen in the earliest manufactured containers in the Near East. Referred to as ‘White Ware’, these containers were made out of plaster and often took the form of small bowls or trays and larger storage jars (Nilhamn, Astruc, and Gaulon 66). White Ware forms suggest that an increase in the demand for food processing and storage containers was a possible reason for the adoption of pottery. The ‘culinary hypothesis’ proposes that the origins of pottery are strictly related to its function as a kitchen-based tool. Proponents of this theory suggest that pottery may have been invented after the discovery that sun-baked clay could be used to create a rigid container amenable for the storage and processing of food items (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 6). The culinary origin of fired pottery is generally seen by scholars to be interwoven in the processes of food production and sedentarization that accompanied the large-scale lifestyle transformations at the beginning of the Holocene during the “Neolithic transition” (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 8). Advocates of the culinary hypothesis argue that the creation of pottery represented an improved technology, an adaption or evolution that allowed a new range of foods to be processed and stored in a more efficient manner (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 6). At present, there is a great deal of scepticism regarding the legitimacy of this theory since it presents an entirely functionalist perspective of pottery origins (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 10). From this perspective, pottery was developed solely because its advantages were wholly apparent to prehistoric people. However, the apparent advantages of pottery containers may not have been entirely self-evident to early humans and the role of pottery production may not have been as closely entangled with the processes of food production and sedentarization as was previously assumed.

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A third explanation for the origins of pottery is the ‘resource intensification’ model. This theory is based on concepts of intensification observed among hunter-gatherer groups such as resource abundance, distribution, and seasonality. Hayden argues that intensified exploitation of selected, highly productive resources by semi-sedentary groups was accompanied by the emergence of socioeconomic competition on the part of “aggrandizing” individuals with “accumulative personalities” (“Emergence of Food Production” 58). These individuals competed for power, prestige, and wealth by staging competitive feasts featuring rare and highly desirable foods. Further, Hayden claims that container technology would have played an important role as a part of communal display on feasting occasions, primarily as vessels for holding and serving the desired food items (“Emergence of Food Production” 60). The origin of pottery vessels for use in feasting events was primarily tied to group mobility and interaction. In a population with high mobility, a large number of interactions occur through marriage and exchange with individuals of another group. A population with restricted mobility will have a reduced number of influential individuals capable of controlling intergroup relations; such relations are controlled through marriage alliances and feasting using stored resources (Hayden, “Emergence of Food Production” 58). Thus, in such conditions it would be expected that the use and decoration of pottery would become increasingly significant for asserting social identities and boundaries. Furthermore, instances of increasing complexity and/or seasonal aggregation of hunter-gatherer groups may have been accompanied by exchanges of exotic goods resulting in the emergence of prestige technologies, including specialized pottery production (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 13).

Fig. 1. Location of Tell Sabi Abyad II (van As, Jacobs, and Nieuwenhuyse 98).

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II. Tell Sabi Abyad II: A Short Site History Tell Sabi Abyad is situated in the plain of the Balikh River, a perennial tributary of the Euphrates, about 30km south of the Syro-Turkish border (see fig. 1). The site is composed of four prehistoric mounds between 1 and 5 ha in size, situated in a roughly linear north-south orientation within close proximity to each other (see fig. 2). They were occupied from the late eighth to early sixth millennium BCE, although not all of the mounds were occupied contemporaneously. Initial habitation of the site originally included all four mounds, but by 6800 BCE occupation had concentrated to the main mound of Tell Sabi Abyad I (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 75).

Fig. 2. Topographic plan of the cluster of mounds at Tell Sabi Abyad. (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 76)

Extensive excavations have been carried out on three of the four mounds (Tell Sabi Abyad I, II and III), each of which exposed layers of very early pottery and date to the very beginnings of the seventh millennium BCE (Akkermans et al. 127). All of the excavated mounds are characterized by successive occupation layers of freestanding rectangular buildings consisting of many small rooms surrounded by extensive open courtyards. The architecture is regularly typified by the use of very

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large mud slabs for structural purposes, the application of white plaster to the floors and walls, and the construction of extensive mud-brick platforms, which primarily served as foundations (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 76). The structures had been frequently rebuilt in the same place and on roughly the same alignment, suggesting a long, continuous occupation of the space over several generations (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 76). According to a series of radiocarbon dates taken from Tell Sabi Abyad II, occupation of the mound occurred between ca. 7550 and 6850 BCE. The bottommost layers of the site have been identified as belonging to the late Pre-Pottery Neolithic B sequence (terminating ca. 7000 BCE) while the topmost layers are part of the early Pottery Neolithic sequence (Verhoeven 179). Stratigraphic profiles of Tell Sabi Abyad II indicate that the mound was continuously inhabited from its initial occupation to its eventual desertion, with no evidence for periods of prolonged abandonment in between occupation layers (Verhoeven 211-12). In addition to the architectural remains described above, a copious amount of material culture was also recovered from each occupation level. The Pre-Pottery Neolithic assemblages were composed of an extensive ground stone industry (including grinding slabs, grinders, a mortar, hammer-stones, celts, and stone vessels), beads and pendants made from stone, anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines, clay tokens, White Ware, bone tools, and flint and obsidian industries (Verhoeven 203). The earliest pottery located at Tell Sabi Abyad II dates to the beginning of the Initial Pottery Neolithic in the seventh millennium BCE. This pottery, referred to as Early Mineral Ware (EMW), was found to occur in extremely low densities and was characterized by clay containing a high concentration (20-25% volume, occasionally reaching 45%) of dark mineral inclusions, which was added as a tempering agent. This pottery is further distinguished by the noticeable care with which the vessels were shaped and finished. In stark contrast to the subsequent coarsely made, plant tempered pottery of the Early Pottery Neolithic, the earliest pottery displays regular wall profiles and rims and an even wall thickness (see fig. 3). Intensive smoothing and burnishing produced a somewhat glossy surface on a number of the EMW sherds which also removed any trace of the primary forming technique; however, handmade techniques are the most probable (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 78). Primary vessel shapes include simple bowls with rounded bottoms and shapes with straight edges. Lug handles are present on a few of the vessels. Surface decoration included the use of red slip and paint (see fig. 4). The slip appears to have been applied with the use of a brush (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 80) and the painted design motifs include parallel diagonal lines, diagonal lines in alternating directions, cross-hatching, and diagonal waves. There appears to be an

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uneven discolouration across the surface of a number of the EMW sherds, which indicates that these vessels may have been created through the use of an open-firing technique. In some instances, the darker colour may have been caused by the use of the vessel over a fire (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 79). In addition to the earliest ceramic assemblage, the Initial Pottery Neolithic occupation layers produced evidence for the continued use of White Ware and stone vessels (albeit in significantly reduced numbers) (Nieuwenhuyse 115).

Fig. 3. Early Mineral Ware; earliest pottery from Tell Sabi Abyad; Initial Neolithic; ca. 7th millennium BCE (Nieuwenhuyse 117).

Following the culmination of the Initial Pottery Neolithic stage (ca. 6700 BCE), in which carefully-shaped, well-finished, and sometimes decorated ceramic vessels prevailed, pottery production shifted to plain, Coarsely-Made Plant Tempered Ware (CMPT Ware) (Nieuwenhuyse 111). CMPT Ware is characterized by its plant tempered and roughly shaped vessels with thick, uneven walls and rims (see fig. 5). Primary vessel shapes include simple bowls with convex sides and large holemouth jars. One characteristic shape is a tall pot with vertical walls and a thick, coarse loop handle (see fig. 6). The primary forming techniques included pinching and coiling, after which the vessels were scraped and roughly smoothed (van As, Jacobs, and Nieuwenhuyse 104). The excavation of ash filled pits within CMPT Ware occupation layers at Sabi Abyad suggest that this pottery may also have been produced with an open-fire technique (van As, Jacobs, and Nieuwenhuyse 105).

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Fig. 4. Early Mineral Ware; earliest pottery from Tell Sabi Abyad; Initial Neolithic; ca. 7th millennium BCE (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 81).

Fig. 5. Coarsely-Made, Plant Tempered Ware; Early Pottery Neolithic; ca. 6700 BCE (Akkermans et al. 139)

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Evolutionist models generally chart the long-term development of ceramic production from simple to complex (Nieuwenhuyse 119). However, the ceramic assemblages of Tell Sabi Abyad II distinctly show that the development of a coarse, plain ware was a secondary stage in the evolution of pottery technology in Upper Mesopotamia. It appears that after an initial stage in which carefully shaped, well-finished and sometimes decorated EMW vessels prevailed, pottery production shifted to roughly-made, plain CMPT Ware. The dichotomy between these two ceramic assemblages has led some scholars to speculate that the earliest pottery in Upper Mesopotamia was imported from outside the region, specifically southeastern Turkey where technologically similar pottery was excavated (Nieuwenhuyse 119). However, the material culture produced during the Initial Pottery Neolithic displays a high degree of continuity from its predecessor in the Pre-Pottery Neolithic B (PPNB), which suggests that the earlier, finely-made ware was in fact a local development. The extremely low occurrence of EMW suggests that the initial introduction of pottery at Tell Sabi Abyad II was a small-scale event. Thus the use of EMW would likely have been associated with special occasions or ritual events. These points will be further developed in the following section through typological and technological comparison between PPNB and Initial Pottery Neolithic assemblages.

Fig. 6. Coarsely-Made, Plant Tempered Ware; Characteristic tall pot with loop handles; Early Pottery Neolithic; ca. 6700 BC (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 75).

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III. The Ceramic Chaîne Opératoire: An Analysis The typological and technological continuity between PPNB material culture and the production of Early Mineral Ware during the Initial Pottery Neolithic (ca. 7000 BCE) will be demonstrated through the analysis of PPNB clay objects, White Ware, and stone vessels. These artefacts of PPNB material culture each represent basic aspects of the ceramic chaîne opératoire1 necessary for the eventual development of fired clay technology. These aspects include: knowledge of the plasticity of clay, knowledge of the effects of pyrotechnology, and knowledge of the advantages and uses of portable containers, specifically in a symbolic or ritualistic capacity. The presence of this material immediately preceding the appearance of EMW suggests that even by the PPNB, early humans had the ability to produce finely shaped and decorated vessels without the need for a prolonged period of ‘trial and error’ through the production of coarsely-made, plain vessels. Furthermore, due to EMW’s low volume of production (Nieuwenhuyse 120), any preceding ‘trial and error’ stage may be rendered archaeologically invisible due to low vessel output and the reduced quality of the product, making it extremely vulnerable to taphonomic processes. Excavation of securely dated PPNB contexts from Tell Sabi Abyad II resulted in the discovery of numerous unbaked clay objects, including anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines and tokens (Varhoeven 193-94). The figurine assemblage consists of small representations of bulls, human heads and sitting women, while the token assemblage is characterized by small, geometrically shaped balls of unfired clay (Varhoeven 193-94). These artefacts are clear examples of early clay manipulation by ancient people for the purpose of creating material representations of abstract principles or ideas. The appearance of these objects in a PPNB context suggests that even before the invention of pottery, the people of Tell Sabi Abyad II understood one of the fundamental properties of clay: that it is plastic and thus it can be shaped and retain that shape when dried. The skill of the PPNB craftsman is conveyed through the ability to shape clay into recognizable forms. This suggests that the capacity to craft the finely-shaped EMW of the Initial Pottery Neolithic was within the realm of possibility for the early inhabitants of Tell Sabi Abyad II. Furthermore, it has been proposed that these early clay objects represented “prestige” technologies and their use may have been primarily in ritual contexts, or to convey social identity or group membership during feasting events (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 38). As previously stated, the creation of EMW during the Initial Pottery Neolithic was a highly skilled operation with limited production. EMW may then represent a continuation from 1 The chaîne opératoire is all of the social and technological aspects involved in the step-by-step production, use, and discard of a material or object.

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the previous PPNB occupation of the use of clay to represent abstract principles such as group identity. White Ware has been located in both the Pre-Pottery Neolithic and Initial Pottery Neolithic occupational sequences at Tell Sabi Abyad II. White Ware is composed of plaster, a composite of either lime or gypsum tempered with organic or mineral inclusions (Nilhamn, Astruc, and Gaulon 64). Lime plaster is made by heating limestone until it decomposes to calcium carbonate and calcium oxide. This process, which is called ‘calcination’, requires many days of heating at temperatures between 750º and 900ºC and reduces a solid rock of limestone to malleable powder. Before usage, water and organic or mineral temper are added to the powdered blend to increase the strength and plasticity of the product. It is at this stage that objects such as containers can be formed from the plaster matrix before the material hardens through interaction with air (CO2) (Kingery, Vandiver, and Prickett 221). The primary forming techniques employed in the processing of White Ware are similar to some of the techniques used in ceramic technology. These include slab construction, coiling, and moulding. In addition, burnishing the surface of “leather hard” White Ware was a common technique used to create a denser, smoother, stronger, and more water-resistant surface (Kingery, Vandiver, and Prickett 222). At Tell Sabi Abyad II, White Ware is present in both PPNB and Early Pottery Neolithic sequences with no significant change in vessel form. The continuity in vessel form and technology between these two periods also implies cultural continuity. Primary vessel shapes consisted of open and closed bowls and plates with thin, smoothed walls as well as larger storage containers (see fig. 7). Evidence for an extensive White Ware industry in the PPNB sequences at Tell Sabi Abyad II suggests that even before the introduction of EMW, the ancient inhabitants of Upper Mesopotamia were aware of many of the innovative requirements necessary for ceramic production. This included the use of controlled fire to chemically alter the properties of a material, the use of mineral temper to increase the strength of a material, and the use of slips and burnishing to decrease vessel porosity (Kingery, Vandiver, and Prickett 240). The preparation and use of plaster by early humans was a highly skilled, energy and labour intensive activity. The fact that the earliest pottery from Tell Sabi Abyad II incorporates many more aspects of the White Ware chaîne opératoire (longer firing times at higher temperatures, the use of mineral tempers, and burnishing) than the later coarse ware suggests that the highly skilled techniques first employed for the fabrication of plaster may have directly influenced the production of an earlier, technologically more advanced ceramic industry before the methods were later adopted and simplified to produce coarser wares.

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Fig. 7. Common White Ware forms at Tell Sabi Abyad from the Early Neolithic sequence (Nilhamn, Astruc, and Gaulon 66).

Stone vessels represented the most numerous categories of small artefact finds from the PPNB and Early Pottery Neolithic sequences (Verhoeven 192). All vessels were made of limestone, alabaster, or gypsum, varying in colour from white to pink, beige, brown, and grey. In all cases, the exterior of the vessel was smoothed and polished (Verhoeven 192). The main types of stone vessels included open bowls, closed bowls, wide open bowls, and miniature bowls (see fig. 8). Though stone vessels and Early Mineral Ware differ in shape and size, they share the properties of being rare, conspicuous, generally small sized containers that were probably not used for the every-day consumption of food and drink. Both categories of vessel have very even, glossy surfaces (Nieuwenhuyse 123). Additionally, the diffuse and often irregular manner in which many of the painted motifs are applied to the ceramics resembles the coloured and banded types of rock used for the production of stone vessels (see fig. 3 and fig. 7). The visually conspicuous nature of the decoration employed for both stone vessels and EMW contributed to the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;markingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; of each individual container, which allowed for the encoding and transference of social memory. Vessels could potentially be attributed to specific people, groups, or occasions depending on the nature of their decoration. Furthermore, as durable, portable, and relatively lightweight containers, stone vessels and EMW could be transported, exchanged, and displayed with ease. This would have enabled PPNB and Early Neolithic communities to use these vessels as tools to convey social identity and establish networks beyond their local environment (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 83). Although the specific function of the earliest pottery may have differed from that of stone vessels, they both figured within the sphere of ritual, display, or the consump-

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tion of food and drink at special occasions due to their rare and conspicuous nature. The EMW pottery vessel eventually replaced the stone vessel in this capacity at Tell Sabi Abyad II, possibly because it was easier and less time consuming to construct.

Fig.8. Stone vessels from Tell Sabi Abyad II (Akkermans et al. 141).

It remains to be investigated as to what exactly these Early Mineral Ware vessels were used for in practice. It seems highly unlikely that the earliest pottery was used for long-term storage since the vessels were not of a substantial size or quality amenable to undertake such a task. Cooking may have been among the uses of early mineral-tempered ceramics (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 27). Traces of soot on some of the EMW sherds (Nieuwenhuyse, Akkermans, and van der Plicht 83) suggest that at least some of the early vessels from Sabi Abyad were used over a fire. The placement of lug handles on some of these vessels certainly would have made this task easier. However, the small numbers of these EMW vessels in daily use at this stage suggest that a large scale ‘culinary revolution’ was not a likely scenario. Instead, this pottery may have been reserved for special occasions, such as feasting events, or for the preparation of rare or seasonally available food items. The transition from decorated, mineral-tempered pottery to plain coarsely-made and plant tempered pottery was likely the result of a number of factors. One of these factors could include a change in religious practice or ideology, though this seems unlikely since there is no associated change in architecture or other material culture between these periods. Alternatively, this shift could be a result of the fact that plant-tempered pottery was easier and faster to manufacture and lighter in weight (Rice, “Origins of Pottery” 27). More expedient manufacture and ease of portability may have been emphasized due to a

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widespread shift in culinary practice, which was rapidly turning pottery production into a practical technology. Given these considerations, it is clear that the early inhabitants of Tell Sabi Abyad II had the necessary knowledge, skill, and desire to create technologically advanced pottery forms without an archaeologically visible phase of â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;trial and errorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. IV. Conclusion Through the technological and typological comparison of Pre-Pottery Neolithic software technologies and the earliest Neolithic pottery assemblages located at Tell Sabi Abyad II, it is apparent that the earliest pottery in Upper Mesopotamia was a local production originating through significant ties to symbolic and ritual practices. With reference to the theories on pottery origins previously outlined, the origins of the earliest pottery at Tell Sabi Abyad II can be described in terms of a synthesis of these ideas. The reason for the initial production of fired clay containers can be explained using aspects of the resource intensification hypothesis. This theory suggests that the use and decoration of pottery would become increasingly significant for asserting social identities and/or boundaries during communal feasting events. This is witnessed at Tell Sabi Abyad II through the eventual replacement of the stone vessel with EMW (possibly due to increased ease of manufacture), a form that due to its limited production and highly conspicuous decoration undoubtedly was used as a way to convey social identity or memory during the consumption of specialized food or drink. How the initial production of pottery vessels came to manifest itself can be explained using aspects of the architecture hypothesis. This theory suggests that pottery technology developed out of or alongside Pre-Pottery Neolithic plaster or architectural production. Technological links between clay and plaster and the use of fire are readily apparent at Tell Sabi Abyad II since the production of White Ware required advanced pyrotechnical knowledge that was essential for the development of ceramics. Furthermore, the creation of unbaked clay objects preceding the advent of fired clay technology suggests a prior understanding of the fundamental properties of clay that were crucial for the creation of pottery. Explanation for the ultimate abandonment of EMW and the widespread adoption of Coarsely-Made Plant Tempered Ware can be clarified with reference to the culinary hypothesis. Advocates of the culinary hypothesis argue that the creation of pottery represented an improved technology, an adaption or evolution that allowed a new range of foods to be processed and stored in a more efficient manner. The technological composition of CMPT ware was such that it increased production efficiency and portability, possibly in response to a shift in food processing and storage practices. The analysis of Pre-Pottery Neolithic material culture, Early Mineral Ware

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and Coarsely-Made Plant Tempered Ware at the site of Tell Sabi Abyad II demonstrates that the origins of pottery at any given location is an incredibly complex process that cannot be described within the framework of a single over-arching supra-regional model. A localized approach must be adopted to effectively characterize the particular circumstances that lead to the initial production of pottery at a certain location. It is only through this local perspective that archaeologists will be able to understand the widespread adoption of ceramic technology.

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Works Cited Akkermans, Peter M.M.G, Rene Cappers, Chiara Cavallo, and Oliver Nieuwenhuyse. “Investigating the Early Pottery Neolithic of Northern Syria: New Evidence from Tell Sabi Abyad.” American Journal of Archaeology 110 (2006): 123-156. Print. Hayden, B. “Nimrods, Piscators, Pluckers, and Planters: The Emergence of Food Production.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 9 (1990): 31-69. Print. Hayden, B. “Practical and Prestige Technologies: The Evolution of Material Systems.” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 5 (1998): 1-55. Print. Kingery, David, Pamela B. Vandiver, and Martha Prickett. “The Beginnings of Pyrotechnology, Part II: Production and Use of Lime and Gypsum Plaster in the Pre-Pottery Neolithic Near East.” Journal of Field Archaeology 15 (1988): 219-244. Print. Moore, A. M. T. “The Emergence of Pottery, Technology and Innovation in Ancient Societies.” The Inception of Potting in Western Asia and Its Impact on Economy and Society. Eds. W.K. Barnett and J.W. Hoopes. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995. 39-53. Print. Nieuwenhuyse, Oliver, Peter M.M.G. Akkermans and Johannes van der Plicht. “Not So Coarse, Nor Always Plain – Earliest Pottery of Syria.” Antiquity 84 (2010): 7185. Print. Nieuwenhuyse, Oliver P. “The Earliest Ceramics From Tell Sabi Abyad, Syria.” Leiden Journal of Pottery Studies 22 (2006): 111-128. Print. Nilhamn, Bonnie, Laurence Astruc and Alain Gaulon. “White Ware – Near Eastern Plaster Container.” Méthodes D’Approche des Premières Productions Céramiques: Étude de cas dans les Balkans et au Levant. Table-Rond de la Maison de l’Archéologie et de l’Ethnologie. Eds. Laurence Astruc, Alain Gaulon, and Laure Salanova. Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf GmbH, 2009. Print. Rice, Prudence M. “On the Origins of Pottery.” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 6.1 (1999): 1-54. Print.

45 Rice, Prudence M. Pottery Analysis: A Sourcebook. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1987. Print. van As, Abraham, Loe Jacobs, and Olivier P. Nieuwenhuyse. “Early PotteryFrom Late Neolithic Tell Sabi Abyad II, Syria.” Leiden Journal of Pottery Studies 20 (2004): 97-110. Print. Vandiver, P. B. “Sequential Slab Construction: A Conservative Southwest Asiatic Ceramic Tradition, ca. 7000-3000 B. C.” Paleorient 13 (1987): 9-35. Print. Verhoeven, Marc. “Tell Sabi Abyad II – A Late Pre-Pottery Neolithic B Village In Northern Syria. Report on Architecture and Related Finds of the 2001Campaign.” Anatolica 30 (2004): 179-218. Print.

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The Future of Farming in Capable and Small Hands: The Young Farmer’s Movement in Waterloo Region 1907-1924 Morgan Williams

t the turn of the twentieth century, Canadian agricultural practices changed along with the arrival of new technologies, increased global commerce, and a sentiment for progress. In order to keep the agricultural sector competitive, Canada was forced to maintain pace with these changes. One of the ways that Ontario’s Agricultural Department achieved this was by organizing rural youth into young farmer’s clubs in order to promote new farming ideas. Agricultural clubs, such as 4-H, the Junior Farmer’s Association, and the Farmer’s Institutes, were important vehicles to encourage higher grades of produce and livestock as well as progressive farming practices and technologies. These clubs were fundamentally the same in kind, but had different names depending on the year and location. Most agricultural clubs were organized at the school level and instructed students in new farming techniques, and then gave them small projects so they could practice what they had learned. These clubs were also instrumental as extracurricular forms of education that provided leadership training in the form of public speaking and debate instruction. Such opportunities for practical farming education and public speaking lessons were intended to strengthen rural youths’ sense of confidence and interest in not only the future of farming, but community involvement as well. Youth were an important catalyst for change in Ontario’s farming practices because they were impressionable and thus more easily influenced by government officials and teachers. This article will argue that the young farmer’s movement was important to Waterloo Region’s agricultural development because it inspired young children to take an interest in farming and aided in the modernization of agricultural processes. The effects of these early efforts can be seen across Canada today as it continues to implement innovative farming initiatives and retains its position as a world leader in the agricultural sector (Foreign Affairs, Trade and Development Canada). Moreover, the sense of community in small rural areas was strengthened by young farmer’s clubs, which connected to life at school and home. This article will examine club publications between 1907 and 1924, focusing on the objectives and implementation of club programs. The first Agricultural Representatives were sent out to Ontario counties in 1907, signalling the beginning of rural agricultural

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education classes and school fairs that would spark the growth of the young farmer’s movement. In 1924, the railways sponsored 4-H clubs, and thus the clubs grew dramatically. These events defined a new era in young farming groups. The phrase ‘young farmer’s movement’ was used to encapsulate a growing trend of youth interest in farming not only in Waterloo, but also across the Western world. One of these clubs still exists in Canada today – the 4-H club. The 4-H club is a group for youth that offers opportunities to learn agriculture-oriented skills. Children are given the chance to test their newly acquired skills in the form of a personal project. 4-H clubs were not the first examples of young farmer’s clubs in Canada, but are important because they survive today and were widespread (especially after the 1920s). The first 4-H clubs appear to have started in the United States. In Canada, the first 4-H club was created in Roland, Manitoba in 1913; the club quickly spread across the country with the help of Agricultural Departments (“4-H Clubs” 13). Government involvement was important to the rise and sustainability of clubs such as the 4-H and the Junior Farmer’s Institutes. In Ontario, the Department of Agriculture sent out six recent graduates of the Ontario Agricultural College to counties across the province in 1907. The representatives taught agricultural classes in high schools, organized school fairs, and took on secretary and supervisor positions in Junior Farmer’s Associations. The government’s role in these early clubs was to provide leadership through Agricultural Representatives. Ontario’s provincial government also provided resources for these clubs such as pamphlets, instructional material, and seeds for school fairs. The history of young farmer’s clubs has been documented in several club publications. Various national and provincial histories produced by these organizations provide historical background to the clubs. This article differs from those sources because it concentrates on Waterloo Region and offers a third party perspective. In addition, other historians have written on the subject of children and farming in Canada. In her book Heavy Burdens on Small Shoulders, Sandra Rollings-Magnusson argues that children played an important role in running farms in the Canadian prairies. In Fashioning Farmers, Jeffery Taylor discusses rural schools in Manitoba and the role of agricultural classes and clubs. Neil Sutherland also discusses changes in education in his book Children in English-Canadian Society. In particular, Sutherland outlines the clashes between conservative thinking and educational reform. Sharon Wall’s book The Nature of Nurture discusses the growth of summer camps in Ontario. The Nature of Nurture is relevant to this study because it offers a cultural analysis of early twentieth century anti-modernism and the appreciation of rural areas and nature. These books support the position of this article, namely that youth have been an integral part of agricultural development and the running of farms.

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The main source of evidence for this article is club publications, including both club histories and primary documents. The stories from I Want to Join your Club and the diary of Will Barrie will be used as evidence from youth themselves to support the analysis of club documents. The sources examined in this article reveal the objectives of the government and leaders of agricultural groups, and shed light on how effectively their objectives were accomplished. It must be remembered that these sources are, for the most part, the opinions of adults regarding youth groups and activities. In many cases, these documents are intended to celebrate the clubs’ history, and thus they typically stress positive aspects of the clubs. This being said, several of the club publications mention their shaky beginnings, including discussions of low enrolment rates during the First World War and heavy dependence on government support. The climate of international affairs is important for understanding Ontario’s motivation to pursue an aggressive agricultural policy. In the decade following the turn of the twentieth century, the provincial government was strongly convinced that Ontario farms needed to cater more towards British markets. One reason for this decision was the Mckinley Tariff of 1870, which virtually shut off the American market to Canadian farmers (Biesenthal 15). Farmers also had to meet demands of the rising urban population in Ontario; for the first time, Ontario was seeing large urban populations demanding food. The urbanites, along with the British market, came with preferences for higher quality butter, lean pork, and well-finished beef (Biesenthal 16). It was under these demands that government officials felt an increasing pressure to ensure that farms met the needs of Ontario. As will be discussed, Ontario’s youth proved to be an effective vehicle for initiating agricultural reform. To understand the importance of such clubs, what they did and how they operated must first be explained. One of the most important aspects of these young farmer’s clubs was the school fair. School fairs were the culmination of youths’ work in growing produce or raising livestock. The provincial government often provided young girls and boys with seed or chicken eggs and instructions on how to tend to them; children were told to keep a record of their work throughout the year. The end project would then be displayed at the school fair and prizes would be given out for the strongest submission in each category. For older farming boys, the Junior Farmer’s Association and the Farmer’s Institute offered different opportunities. These boys took classes in agriculture and later formed clubs that would hold annual meetings to discuss the latest in farming technology and occasionally go on outings to experimental farms. Young members of these clubs would experiment with better quality seed and livestock and report their results. These activities were arranged by age and gender. School-aged children would participate in school fairs. Boys and girls’ agri-

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cultural clubs were organized for 12 to 18 year olds and Junior Farmerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Improvement Associations were organized for men between the ages of 16 and 30 (Biesenthal 55). The origin of school fairs and later clubs can be traced back to the appointment of District Agricultural Representatives that were dispersed across Ontario. The first representative for Waterloo was Frank C. Hart who served from 1907 to 1914 and pioneered the rural school movement (Lee 117). In 1909, at Riverside School in Galt, Hart organized the first rural school fair, where 58 students displayed their produce. The event was the beginning of a tradition in the community and would come to represent the quality of agricultural excellence in Waterloo (Lee 117). According to the official 4-H history, the objectives of the school fair were fourfold: to interest children in what is grown on the farm, encourage better quality produce, train pupils in friendly competition, and provide a link between home and school (Cormack 6). In this way, the provincial government used this extracurricular activity to provide hands-on career training for farmers. In addition to the benefits that children gained from participating in school fairs, there was the broader aim of improving the quality and effectiveness of agricultural production (Jones 137). One of the main reasons for school fairs was so that the provincial government could effectively disseminate improved seed stock to rural communities. School fairs were a part of the broader rural school movement. This movement was an initiative to bring practical instruction to students in rural areas so that they could learn skills related to farming, mechanics, and domestic sciences. While there was historical precedent for agricultural curriculum because it had been attempted in the 1870s, agriculture being taught in schools was a contentious issue. In the late nineteenth century, the superintendent of Education, Egerton Ryerson, attempted to add agricultural classes to the curriculum of rural schools. Ryerson had studied European schools and planned to introduce a similar educational model, which would offer more hands-on courses (Biesenthal 19). In 1871, the Education Act passed and led to the implementation of a new, more practical curriculum; however, the Education Act was short-lived and the classes were quickly dropped. Parents opposed the classes because they believed that farming could only be taught on the farm, not in a classroom. One of the main issues with this early attempt at agricultural classes was the lack of capable teachers. Since many rural schools had young village girls as teachers, these courses were initially taught by those who held little authority over farm boys and had limited knowledge of farming (Biesenthal 17). The Agricultural Representatives would remedy this issue with their extensive knowledge of farming. In some schools where there was no Agricultural Representative, it was up to dedicated teachers to instigate school plots and fairs. These teachers often faced resistance if they were seen as inexperienced. Nevertheless, some teachers became

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involved in nurturing the growth of farming clubs. Between Agricultural Representatives and inspiring teachers, the rural school movement was able to flourish in the early twentieth century. Other young farmer’s clubs were born out of what was called the ‘short course.’ Starting in 1912, the Department of Agriculture offered one-month courses for young aspiring farmers (Lee 117). These courses were extended to three months in 1921 because of initial success and enthusiasm for more material. It was from these courses that the Junior Farmer’s and Junior Association clubs came about. These courses were offered at the Ontario Agricultural College in Guelph and provided practical and theoretical instruction on farming (Biesenthal 3). The Department of Agriculture encouraged teachers of these courses to form clubs so that students would maintain enthusiasm and keep up to date with farming practices after the course had ended. Teachers were instructed to hand out pamphlets for the Junior Farmer’s Association and explain the club’s constitution; regardless of how many people signed up, teachers were expected to set up a club (“Letter from Minister”). In one such letter the Agricultural Representative stated, “I am thoroughly convinced that the most effective work can be done through young farmers of the Province and I just want to impress upon you the importance of fostering this movement” (“Letter from Supervisor”). Clearly, this initiative was thought to be an effective method for the well being of farming in Ontario. Another reason for the creation of these clubs is evident in the 1918 constitution of the Junior Farmer’s Association. The 1918 constitution states that the association should “create a deeper and more permanent interest in the agricultural life of the district” (“Constitution 1918”). The Junior Farmer’s Association was to do this by disseminating agricultural knowledge, holding competitions, conducting experiments (such as fertilizing, spraying, and apiculture), and introducing better quality crops (“Constitution 1918”). The provincial government felt that Ontario was falling behind in global standards and farming technology; if Ontario was not able to change stubborn, older farmers, then they would have better luck targeting their sons (Biesenthal 6). This proved to be an effective method because the young farmers were able to show the rest of the community their success in growing higher quality crops. Children would also perform demonstrations, such as spraying pesticides on crops, and hold competitions where they would have a chance to display their agricultural achievements (Biesenthal 12). One example of this can be seen in the farming diaries of Will Barrie, who was an active member of the Junior Farmer’s Institute and the son of a farmer in North Dumfries Township. In 1912, the Barrie farm was selected as one of eight “illustration farms” in Ontario (“Diaries of Will Barrie”). Farmers were able to look at the Barrie farm and see their success with new farming techniques.

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The Junior Farmerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Institute also provided Will Barrie with the opportunity to observe and learn from other experimental farms (â&#x20AC;&#x153;Diaries of Will Barrieâ&#x20AC;?). Farmers were more inclined to embrace new farming techniques and invest in better seed when they could see the beneficial results firsthand.

Fig. 1. Agricultural Representative and farmer inspecting crops (Biesenthal 1981, Front Cover).

Although Agricultural Representatives eventually concentrated their efforts on youth, reaching out to younger people was not their initial focus. In 1907 when Agricultural Representatives were first sent out, they had no clear instruction on how to accomplish their goal. Agricultural Representatives only knew that they had to educate rural farmers about new scientific farming practices and persuade them to adapt to a new market. Older farmers were often stubborn and did not readily welcome the advice of a young graduate outsider. One Agricultural Representative re-

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called that, on multiple occasions, farmers told him “farmers here don’t much hold with your teaching their boys a lot of highfalutin book-farming” (Biesenthal 21). While Representatives were not welcomed with open arms into rural communities, they had a sort of ‘missionary zeal’ and persisted until they gained the trust of rural farmers. It was their work with young people that helped change attitudes; “the idea of working with young people and, through them, capturing the interest and enthusiasm of parents proved to be a winning combination” (Biesenthal 8). Through Agricultural Representatives, the provincial government was able to educate young people in farming and start an agricultural reformation. Peter McArthur, a popular contributor to the Farmer’s Advocate, provides an example of young people who instigated change in agricultural practices. In his article “Our First Sheep”, McArthur told the story of how his young boys had bought a few sheep. McArthur reflects an opinion that was popular among older farmers regarding animals when he claimed that if he had bought sheep, he would have chosen the old pioneer variety that was thought to be reliable. Instead, on the advice of scientists, the boys opted for “properly registered, pedigreed sheep from a prize-winning flock” (McArthur 83). It is evident here that the children were open to the advice of experts and would spend their money following expert advice. In the end, the sheep that the boy’s had bought impressed McArthur; in this way, the children provided an opportunity to influence the way an old farmer thought about breed quality. The non-agricultural aspect of these young farmer’s clubs should also be noted. In addition to agricultural projects, many of the clubs placed a heavy focus on public speaking and debating in their early years. For instance, in the Junior Farmer’s Improvement Association of Wellington’s minute book, the first few years of the association are primarily concerned with the organization of debate and public speaking contests rather than agricultural contests or demonstrations. The Wellington Junior Farmer’s Improvement Association held their first debate in New Hamburg in 1920 and recorded 120 people in attendance (Leslie 12). In such contests, contestants were judged on content, choice of words, delivery, and appearance (“Minute Book”). These contests were often organized in collaboration with other community organizations and offered prizes such as medals. By 1923, the club aimed to organize contests in debating, public speaking, dramatics, music, and hockey (“Minute Book”). The Department of Agriculture had an agenda for agricultural clubs that was structured around debating and public speaking; they wanted boys who participated to become leaders in their communities. By developing their argumentation skills, these boys would be better respected and more equipped to convince a board of older farmers about the benefits of new farming practices (Biesenthal 19). It was not enough to convince the young farmers of the benefits of more scientific farming; if

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The Department of Agriculture wanted to transform provincial farming, they would have to ensure that these young farmers were ready to take the lead in their communities. While the club offered young people a chance to develop and test their skills outside of agriculture, they nonetheless organized an agricultural fair where participants were judged on heavy horses, beef cattle, dairy cattle, sheep, and bacon hogs (“Minute Book”). The boys were used as judges in this fair so that they could develop an eye for livestock. Debating, public speaking, and judging were all parts of a program that was intended to groom young men into becoming agricultural leaders and extensions of the Department of Agriculture. The young farmer’s clubs enjoyed success in their first decade in Waterloo county and Ontario as a whole. In 1914 there were three Junior Farmer’s Association clubs with a total of 95 members in Ontario. By 1924, there were 124 clubs and 3,693 members (“Membership Book”). The first club in Waterloo was the Elmira branch that began in 1915 with 30 members. Every subsequent year another branch was added to Waterloo Region until 1921 when there were a total of eight branches (“Membership Book”). Precursors to the 4-H Clubs, the Boys and Girls Clubs, also flourished in Waterloo Region at this time. Clubs, such as the 4-H Clubs and the Boys and Girls Clubs, spread across Canada during these years, indicating that rural youth were interested in becoming more involved in agriculture. School fairs were often the first events in which newly established clubs participated. Accordingly, fairs provide a starting point for examining the significance that agricultural clubs had on the lives of youth and the rural community in Waterloo. The 4-H motto was to learn by doing, and that is exactly what youth did by working on their projects for the school fair. Aside from allowing youth to learn the importance of using better quality seed, school fairs gave young people a sense of pride in their own work. In Heavy Burdens on Small Shoulders, Rollings-Magnusson argues that rural children were an integral part of the farm and had many farm-related responsibilities (133). It is unlikely that farm children needed a school fair project to teach them how to raise crops or livestock. Instead, school fairs provided the unique opportunity for children to work on and take pride in their own project. Fairs also introduced young people to a new breed of animal or seed stock that they would be able to compare to their parents’ livestock or produce. This project motivated students who were not interested in learning about agriculture itself. In addition, unlike older generations, younger students were more enthusiastic to try new things. As Frank Hart recalls in his memoirs, “the children showed none of the indifference or wariness of their parents” (Biesenthal 28). Hart also noted that the yields from children’s school fair plots would often convince farmers to invest in better quality seed (Biesenthal 29).

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School fairs achieved the goal of introducing better quality seed and livestock to farms. In her composition for a school fair, one thirteen year old girl stated that the objective of youth projects was to stimulate the interest of boys and girls about pure-bred fowl and higher grade produce (Lewis 116). In the same essay the girl said: There is a rumor that the club will not be continued, but even if that is so, in a sense it will never be discontinued, because we have a start on purebred fowl and seed potatoes and corn and our motto is ‘I will never give up until I succeed.’ (Lewis 117) In a similar type of essay, another girl noted that it “is very beneficial to the boys and girls, as it has the effect of making them more interested in their work” (Lewis 70). School fairs offered rural youth the chance to develop their skills and interests, and met the provincial government’s goal to raise the quality of Ontario’s crops and livestock. School fairs were a community event that brought school and home life closer together. The first school fair in Waterloo Region took place in 1909 and attracted 250 people (Lee 117). Fairs brought learning home in a concrete sense because youth learned about farming in a hands-on manner. This type of learning was useful because many young people would grow up to become farmers or farmer’s wives. Fairs also brought ‘home to school’ as parents were able to witness their children’s work. Furthermore, the school fair provided a place for rural connectivity in that it was often one of the largest annual community events. At a fair in 1911, one of the parents thanked Frank Hart by saying, “let it be an inspiration for us to keep in touch with our children’s school life and someday we’ll rise up and call that man blessed who instigated the School Fair” (Biesenthal 30). This type of education was an instantiation of the contemporary pedagogical theory that stressed both practical and scientific schooling. Social or progressive education was the answer to what sociologists viewed as ‘the rural education problem’ (Taylor 63). Sociologists of the early twentieth century believed that rural education needed to be more vocational and relevant to the daily lives of rural children. Therefore, it was in the context of a movement towards practical education that young farmer’s clubs and school fairs enjoyed success. Young farmers clubs strengthened community ties in rural Waterloo. These clubs provided new opportunities for socializing and matchmaking. Aside from church, boys and girls clubs offered an acceptable context in which young men and women could interact. While school fairs and other social events were a mixture of both boys and girls, Junior Farmer’s Associations only mention male members

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during this time period; young women participated in Junior Women’s Institutes and other similar groups. The Wellington Junior Farmer’s Association memoirs indicate that the club, in collaboration with the women’s club, occasionally put on banquets, lawn socials, garden parties, and joint meetings that ended with a dance (Leslie 13). In 1913, Will Barrie notes in his diary that he held a Farmer’s Institute picnic at his farm with 140 people in attendance. The next year the number rose to an astounding 300 people (“Diary of Will Barrie”). Aside from hosting such events, Will Barrie also attended regular meetings, excursions, and conventions related to the Farmer’s Institute. In 1912, he noted eight such meetings and in 1914 he noted nine, more than any other social gathering or club that he attended (“Diary of Will Barrie”). These excursions offered young farmers a break from their heavy workload and the chance to socialize. Young farmer’s clubs were a force for agricultural change in their communities. An article in The Farmer’s Advocate, a popular rural periodical, notes that neighbours and relatives were more inclined to use new farming techniques when they saw the success of these methods firsthand (“Farmer’s Advocate”). One of the new technologies that young farmers endorsed was the use of pesticides on fruit trees. As early as 1910, there is photographic evidence of farmers in Waterloo County preparing for an apple spraying demonstration (Biesenthal 7). Young farmers also promoted specialization. At the beginning of the twentieth century, most farms in Waterloo were mixed; they grew various crops and raised different animals such as pigs, cattle, sheep, and poultry. Specializing in one type of animal or crop, however, was quickly becoming one of the best ways to keep a farm profitable (Biesenthal 6). It was difficult for families who had farmed the same way for generations to trust new methods, which, to them, would mean risking their livelihood. Young farmers, however, were able to show their fathers and neighbours that adapting to new agricultural practices could ultimately benefit their farms (Biesenthal 9). Furthermore, Junior Farmer’s Associations emphasized the business side of farming (Biesenthal 12). The importance of business is evident in the amount of energy that these associations put into developing business-related skills such as debating and public speaking. In post-war years, Junior Farmer’s branches were included in the Department of Agriculture’s marketing initiatives; for example, in 1921, Agricultural Representatives began conducting swine marketing courses (Biesenthal 67). Emphasizing the importance of business was especially important to Waterloo Region where many farmers were Mennonites and reluctant to discuss such matters publically. In 1919, almost 83,000 young people in Ontario were involved in the Department of Agriculture’s rural youth program (Biesenthal 56). School children had also cultivated 50,000 home plots, which amounted to a quarter of all farms in Ontario (Biesenthal 56). It was said, “the future of agriculture in the province was in remark-

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ably capable, and sometimes remarkably small, hands” (Biesenthal 6). By 1919, a full-fledged young farmer’s movement was sweeping Ontario. In one of their club histories that discusses the growth of the young farmers movement, 4-H stated: It was inspired by energetic and idealistic agricultural officials, dedicated school teachers and interested and cooperative parents and friends. From this it grew into an outstandingly successful youth group, with its influence switched almost imperceptibly from the development of agricultural produce to the development of the youth himself and with him, the community in which he lives. (Cormack 1) The young farmers movement continued to grow; by 1922, there were 104 Junior Farmer’s Improvement Associations, 37 Boys’ and Girls’ Clubs, and 490 Rural School Fairs (Biesenthal 67). While children and youth are sometimes overlooked in community histories, they play an important role in community development. In Waterloo Region, school fairs provided an opportunity for children and farmers to learn about the latest breeds, crops, and farming technologies. School fairs were also a way to connect home life with school, and for Agricultural Representatives to become integrated into rural communities. For pre-adolescents and teenagers, Boys’ Clubs and Girls’ Clubs presented an opportunity not only to gain experience with new farming methods, but also to develop business skills such as public speaking. For older boys and young men, Junior Farmer’s Improvement Associations provided a way to showcase what they learned from provincial government initiatives. Young men, such as Will Barrie, were able to demonstrate that new agricultural techniques and technologies could result in a flourishing farm. In these ways, youth in Waterloo Region helped usher farming into a new era in their community.

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Works Cited Biesenthal, Linda. A Rural Legacy: The History of the Junior Farmers’ Association of Ontario. Toronto: Junior Farmers’ Association of Ontario, 1981. Print. Biesenthal, Linda. Ontario’s Ag Reps: The Story of the Agricultural Representative Extension Branches 1907-1982. Toronto: The Agricultural Representatives Branch, 1991. Print. Golden Anniversary Year Report. Ottawa: Canadian Council on 4-H Clubs, 1963. Print. “Canada Joins WEF as Founding Partner of the Global Challenge on Food Security and Agriculture.” Foreign Affairs, Trade and Development Canada. 23 January 2015. Web 10 May 2015. Cormack, Barbara Villy. Learn To Do By Doing: The History of 4-H in Canada. Ottawa: Canadian 4-H Council, 1982. Print. Excerpts from Farming Diaries of Will Barrie: Cedar Creek Road, North Dumfries Township 1912, 1913, 1914. Doon Heritage Crossroads Library. Print. Jones, Keith L. 4-H and Alberta: 75 Years of Growing Together. Alberta: Alberta 4-H Council, 1992. Print. Lee, John B. Head, Heart, Hands, Health: A History of 4-H in Ontario. Thornloe: Ontario 4-H Council, 1995. Print. Leslie, George. Wellco Memoirs: 40th anniversary, Wellington County Junior Farmers 1918-1960. Guelph: Wellington County Junior Farmers’ Association, 1960. Print. Lewis, Norah L. Ed. “I want to join your club”: Letters from Rural Children 19001920. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1996. Print. McArthur, Peter. The Red Cow and Her Friends. Toronto: J.M. Dent, 1919. Print.

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Rollings-Magnusson, Sandra. Heavy Burdens on Small Shoulders: The Labour of Pioneer Children on the Canadian Prairies. Edmonton: U of Alberta P, 2009. Print. Rural Heritage Collection, University of Guelph LibraryÂ Guelph McLaughlin Archives. Photographs, constitution, correspondence and archival material of the Junior Farmersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Association of Ontario, including newsletters, meeting minutes and Provincial Leadership Camp photographs. Box 17, File 1 and 2. Print. Taylor, Jeffery. Fashioning Farmers: Ideology, Agricultural Knowledge and the Manitoba Farm Movement 1890-1925. Regina: Canadian Plains Research Center, 1988. Print. Wellington County Museum and Archives. Minute Book - Wellington County Junior Farmers Improvement Association. A1990.22. MU 184. Print.

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Private Military Contractors, Security Forces, and Mercenaries Naomi Pearson

The art of war is of vital importance to the state. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected. - Sun Tzu, The Art of War

arfare changes as the result of advances in technology and weaponry, revisions to the concept of national sovereignty, and the development of human rights law. In recent years, billions of dollars in the global economy have been funnelled into the production of new war technologies such as machine guns, light armoured vehicles, missiles, and drones. In fact, $1,776,000,0001 of the global economy was spent on military expenditure in 2014 alone (SIPRI 1-8). Changes in warfare, however, do not reside simply in the advancement of steel, gunpowder, and pressure switches; war can be shaped by the organization and classification of those individuals fighting it. The recruitment and hiring of private military contractors (PMCs) by governments, powerful companies, and wealthy individuals is one recent shift in the dynamics of warfare (Scahill 42-48). Private military contracting has increased the danger to civilians within conflicts through the ambiguity in which PMCs operate, the lack of traditional military discipline within their ranks, and the manipulation of the jurisdictional holes that currently exist in International Humanitarian Law (IHL). Focusing on the United States’ implementation of American contracting companies in the Iraq and Afghan wars, this article will investigate international treaties and laws that limit the use of PMCs. I. The Ambiguous Armed-Force PMCs are companies that perform tasks that have traditionally been executed by the military of a sovereign nation (Singer, “Superpower for Hire”). Contracts are granted to companies that specialize in a range of areas, including information technologies, food services, language and speech translation, construction, and pro1 All dollar figures in this article refer to American currency.

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viding security and operational support for combat missions. This article will focus on those who are employed in and around combat roles. PMCs often work outside of the protected safe zone of a military instillation in order to perform duties as bodyguards and escorts for high-ranking political officials and wealthy CEOs. PMCs also frequently assist in combat operations by providing operational and logistical support, gathering intelligence, and training military and civilian personnel (DCAF 1-7). The private military industry experienced a boost from the interest of the United States Department of Defence in the late 1990s. This unprecedented growth had ties to the so-called Rumsfeld Doctrine – a doctrine that re-envisioned the use of the American military and its budget (Klein 283-298). The Rumsfeld Doctrine was intended to counter the Powell Doctrine which called for the American military to operate as an overwhelming force of operational ‘boots on the ground’ soldiers. The Powell Doctrine asserted a view of military strength that relied on numbers, whereas Rumsfeld’s approach stressed that the United States’ military prowess came from its elite technology. The Rumsfeld Doctrine was novel because it required (at least theoretically) significantly fewer foot soldiers to achieve victory (Korb, “Rumsfeld’s Folly”). The Rumsfeld Doctrine was created in connection with a neoliberal push for privatization and outsourcing within the American government, and was supported by the economics of Milton Friedman. While less American soldiers were enlisted in this neoliberal economy, privatized military positions would soon be in high demand (Klein 283-298). In many ways, the outsourcing of military roles to PMCs in Iraq was what distinguished contracting companies from mercenaries. Fitting PMC contracts into Friedman’s model of privatization legitimized an otherwise illegal practice by officially aligning it with the economic and defence policies of the United States (Ettinger 744-745). While the scope and magnitude of subcontracting in Iraq was substantial, it was largely unreported to the American public. By 2007, there were more PMCs hired by the United States than there were government soldiers serving in Iraq. Though hired by the United States, these contractors came from numerous countries all over the world; it is estimated that contractors in Iraq came from as many as 100 different countries and over 630 different contracting companies (Scahill 48). This diversity is a potential source for concern in combat situations because it calls into question the allegiances of those engaged in combat. In a national army, soldiers fight for their state: their loyalties are to their government, monarch, or country. With PMCs, which often include members from several different sovereign nations, soldiers are primarily concerned with monetary gain (Kidane 361-365).

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Over the past two decades, the United States government has spent the most of any nation on the PMC industry. During the Iraq war, spending on contracts grew from $50 million in 2003 to $613 million in 2006 – an increase of $563 million in just three years (Scahill 45). The private military industry is also a growing sector that continues to see increased revenues and investment. Current estimates place the global value of private military contracts in 2014 to be roughly $218 billion (Thomas, “Superpower for Hire”2). Despite these large expenditures, many nations are not required to report on their activities with PMCs. For instance, the United States kept their involvement with PMCs in Iraq quiet due to the fact that no one government body was legally required to report the deaths of contractors during the war (Isenberg, “Undercounting”). It still remains unclear just how many civilian contractors were killed during the War in Iraq, though it is estimated to be over 400 casualties. The reason for the lack of accountability is that no central agency was responsible for recording PMC casualties, whether American or foreign national (Isenberg, “Undercounting”). Therefore, it still remains difficult to determine the exact number of PMC casualties. II. The Dangers of Indiscipline Discipline is essential for the control of military personnel and attaining victory on the battlefield. During war, commanders find it necessary that their soldiers are disciplined enough to stand their ground and defend those fighting alongside them. Otherwise, the military cannot function as a cohesive unit; the chain of command will break down and disorder will ensue (Tzu 86). French philosopher and historian Michel Foucault offers a discussion of the concept ‘discipline’ in his analysis of seventeenth and eighteenth century European warfare. He argues that the construction of military and state power transformed what it meant to be a soldier. According to Foucault, the seventeenth century soldier was brightly dressed, recognizable for ‘traditional’ battlefield combat, and carried himself with a sense of individualistic identity (Godfrey, Lilley, and Brewis 553-554). In contrast with the seventeenth century soldier, Foucault claims that: [b]y the late eighteenth century, the soldier has become something that can be made; out of a formless clay, an inapt body, the machine required can be constructed; posture is gradually corrected; a calculated constraint runs slowly through each part of the body, mastering it, making it pliable, ready

2 Since there are few restrictive regulations or methods that monitor PMC contracts, it should be noted that these figures are only a rough approximation.

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Foucault’s commentary on discipline speaks to the changing nature of modern military structures. Without effective discipline, the United States military is not able to function effectively. It is through discipline that the United States is able to turn out highly skilled soldiers who are loyal to their state and who identify with a common brotherhood, rather than focusing on their own individual needs (54). During the war in Iraq, however, a breakdown of discipline occurred in many areas when private contractors were hired to do the work of the military. Though many privately contracted soldiers were previously enlisted in the military, they were no longer forced to subscribe to the chain of command. Military discipline and ethical codes were no longer explicitly forced upon privately contracted soldiers on the battlefield or while off duty. There are several occasions where lack of discipline proved fatal, both for PMCs and local civilian populations. In 2004, a group of civilian contractors working for Blackwater Worldwide Co. was killed when the plane they were flying crashed into the Afghan mountains (Wald, “2004 Crash”). Though they were contracted by the United States government to deliver mortar shells from Bagram Air base, the craft they were flying was not military grade – it was a standard civilian air taxi. A 2005 investigative report conducted by the United States military notes that the accident occurred due to a lack of proper in-country training by Blackwater. Moreover, the flight recorder revealed that the pilots were unfamiliar with their flight path. It was later found that neither military, nor Federal Aviation Administration standards were observed during the flight. No one onboard was wearing the required oxygen masks for the plane’s unpressurized cabin. The victims’ families and numerous review boards argued that the accident would not have occurred if the military been in control of the flight (Wald, “2004 Crash”). They claimed that the strict safety standards under which government military pilots and flight crews are forced to operate could have reduced the likelihood of this tragedy. That same year, international news headlines were made when four Blackwater PMCs were killed while on contract in Fallujah, Iraq. In March of 2004, Blackwater contractors were sent to escort a culinary convoy through the city of Fallujah during a tense period in the city’s diplomatic relations between the local Iraqis and American troops. Coalition forces were sent into Fallujah in an attempt to root out opposition forces that had developed a well-defended stronghold in the city. Tensions continued to rise as coalition forces experienced little success at clearing Fallujah (Scahill 114-124). Despite these conditions, Blackwater officials sent contractors

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into the city without armoured vehicles or the use of rear gunners. Blackwater also failed to provide its contractors with equipment, such as maps of the city, which were essential for safe navigation. Without the protection of rear gunners, the convoy was attacked by an angry mob (presumably roused by militants) and quickly overrun. As a result, four PMCs were killed; their bodies were stripped of clothing, burned, and hung from a bridge. The city quickly devolved into a state of chaos and violence, the magnitude of which required United States forces in the area to engage in heavy street fighting (Parker, “What Exactly Happened”). The families of the four contractors filed a lawsuit against Blackwater, stating that the company sent their employees into a dangerous situation with inadequate protection. While Blackwater Co. refused to provide the families of the victims with a detailed account of those events, the information that was released through the lawsuit demonstrated a lack of foresight and responsibility from Blackwater leaders (Neff, “Memos”). A congressional investigation agreed with the survivors of the attack in Fallujah that Blackwater had ordered its employees into the city without the necessary military equipment. The investigation branded Blackwater as “unprepared and disorderly” (Dalesio, “Blackwater Suit Ends”). In 2010-2011, seven years after the massacre, Blackwater was sold and the company rebranded itself as Academi Xe. The judge moved to dismiss the lawsuit because of the families’ lack of resources to fund their case. The lawsuit was then closed, thus ending any hope the victims’ families had for answers (Baker, “Blackwater Suit Tossed”). These are only two of many cases in which a disregard for safety standards and negligence on behalf of private military companies has endangered the safety of contracted staff. Herein lies one of the most problematic issues with the introduction of contractors into combat roles: the lack of discipline. Michel Foucault refers to the military as part of what he calls ‘the disciplinary society.’ This type of society has common techniques for ensuring that power relationships properly functioned among their members, even in complex and demanding situations (Bogard 325-346). The lack of discipline, which is pragmatically necessary to organizations that operate under complex power relationships and in stressful environments, can result in the degeneration of the morality of war. III. International Humanitarian Law and Private Military Contractors The purpose of IHL is to safeguard those who would otherwise be left unprotected in warfare. Since its inception, IHL has evolved to match prevailing military attitudes, new technologies, and gaps in law during times of war. The development of these principles and treaties is continuous process and remains far from perfect. At present, there are few Humanitarian Laws governing the actions of PMCs. Given the

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aforementioned concerns with PMCs, it is essential that states collaborate to develop appropriate laws for companies who contravene existing regulations and codes of conduct. Human rights workers and legal experts must act within existing treaties and laws in order to protect civilians from the rampant abuses caused by the private military industry (Gomez del Prado, “Privatization of War”). Tracing these treaties and laws against questionable PMC activities will illustrate how some of the largest PMCs contracted by the United States have manipulated IHL in order to avoid prosecution. The first example of IHL relevant to the operations of PMCs is the St. Petersburg Declaration of 1868. The St. Petersburg Declaration was the first formal written declaration prohibiting the use of certain types of weapons during war. The weapon in question was a Russian munition that was invented in 1863. The Russian munition was designed to explode when it came into contact with a hard substance such as a wall or horse cart. The Russian shell’s tactical value was in the destruction of munitions wagons; after impact, the fracturing nature of the shell would subsequently destroy all other ordnance on the wagon. The munition was later modified to explode on contact with softer materials such as the human body. After informed of this, the Russian government sought to ban the weapon internationally. Any “civilized nation” that wished to take part in the treaty was welcomed to prohibit what had been deemed an inhumane weapon of warfare (ICRC). That is, the St. Petersburg Declaration of 1868 prohibited the use of weapons and projectiles that would cause unnecessary human suffering. The 1868 Declaration’s mission was to set the “technical limits at which the necessity of war ought to yield to the requirements of humanity” (ICRC). The St. Petersburg Declaration set the basis for IHL treaties and declarations that would soon follow. After two World Wars and several million casualties, the Geneva Conventions were established. 1949 was the last year that the Geneva Conventions were revisited in their entirety; however, additional articles and three new protocols were added in 1977 and 2005. The Geneva Conventions recognised the fact that before 1945, laws regarding warfare only applied to armed forces (specifically those who were able-bodied). Consequently, the Geneva Conventions were established to protect those who were not shielded under previous laws, such as wounded soldiers, prisoners of war, victims of shipwrecks, civilians, and other vulnerable persons. The document defines what comprises a ‘captured person’ and details the rights they have to proper treatment, medical aid, religious practices, and communication with their families (ICRC). The Geneva Conventions are vital to IHL, but article four is most applicable to PMCs. Article four of the Geneva Conventions “affords protection to civilians, even in occupied territory and defines what constitutes a civilian within

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conflict” (ICRC). Article four is the first document that clearly defines and protects civilians within armed conflict. The document also defines categories of civilians in both belligerent states and occupied states. While 196 countries have ratified the Geneva Conventions as of 2014, the treaty only binds nations who have signed it. That being said, several acts committed by PMCs clearly violate the Geneva Convention (ICRC, “Commentary”). The International Convention against the Recruitment, Use, Financing and Training of Mercenaries (ICRUFTM) was opened for ratification in 1989, but did not enter into force until 2001 (United Nations Human Rights). Only thirty-three states were party to the convention and of those a mere ten signed the original convention.3 The 1989 Mercenary Convention defines a mercenary as any person who: 4 (a) Is specially recruited locally or abroad in order to fight in an armed conflict; (b) Is motivated to take part in the hostilities essentially by the desire for private gain and, in fact, is promised, by or on behalf of a party to the conflict, material compensation substantially in excess of that promised or paid to combatants of similar rank and functions in the armed forces of that party; (c) Is neither a national of a party to the conflict nor a resident of territory controlled by a party to the conflict; (d) Is not a member of the armed forces of a party to the conflict; and (e) Has not been sent by a State which is not a party to the conflict on official duty as a member of its armed forces. (United Nations Human Rights) The ICRUFTM also bans a nation from hiring, recruiting, financially funding, and training mercenary forces (ICRC). While this document had little legal power at the time, it addressed a growing issue in warfare that has become a major concern. The fact that few countries signed the treaty speaks to the complex nature of banning PMCs. One of the most complicated aspects of attempting to gain support for this convention has to do with its implications for the United States; the ICRUFTM would effectively require the United States government to stop using one of its most powerful military tools – PMCs. The United States government has gone to great lengths to keep PMCs operating in Iraq and Afghanistan. In Iraq during the early 2000s, Paul Bremer was an American diplomat in command of the Coalition Provisional Authority. Bremer 3 State signatories to The 1989 ICRUFTMwere Angola, Congo, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Germany, Montenegro, Morocco, Nigeria, Poland, Romania, and Serbia. 4 While the ICRUFTM includes a more extensive definition of ‘mercenary’, the provided definition is sufficient for the purposes of this article.

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often used Blackwater’s services for his personal protection while travelling through Iraq on diplomatic and military missions (Engelhart, “Order 17”). Before handing full control back to Iraqi authorities, Bremer and the United States government created Order 17, which effectively gave contractors diplomatic immunity from any kind of Iraqi prosecution (Coalition Provisional Authority Order Number 17). This kind of immunity had severe repercussions for the Iraqi population. On September 16, 2007, Blackwater Worldwide Co., a company who obtained one of the largest contracts during the Iraq war, was driving a convoy through the Iraqi city of Baghdad. Many civilian witnesses reported seeing Blackwater contractors fire what Blackwater would later claim were self-protecting ‘warning shots’ while city driving. If a civilian vehicle came too close to a Blackwater convoy, contractors would fire live rounds in front of the vehicle to get the driver to move. Blackwater guards claimed that these kinds of defensive measures were used in an altercation in Nisour Square; the altercation with Blackwater guards led to the deaths of seventeen civilians and wounding of thirteen more (Scahill 3-9). The contractors in question were quickly flown out of the country and protected from Iraqi courts under Paul Bremer’s Order 17. In a case launched in the Federal District Court, Blackwater guards, Paul Slough, Evan Liberty, Dustin Heard, and Nicholas Slatten, claimed that they acted in self-defence against a small car that allegedly opened fire on their convoy. However, there was no evidence at the crime scene, nor in witness statements that anyone in the square had fired at the contractors. Instead, witnesses claimed that the Blackwater convoy randomly fired their high-powered weapons at indiscriminate civilians without provocation. On October 22, 2014 all four Blackwater guards were found guilty, on three counts of voluntary manslaughter, one charge of murder, and numerous weapons infractions (Apuzzo, “Blackwater Guards Guilty”). The Nisour Square incident is one example where PMCs have been brought to trial and convicted of criminal charges. For several years, there has been a sense of ambiguity among the American legal community about how PMCs guilty of infractions abroad should be tried for their crimes. In 2006, the U.S Congress amended article 2 (a) (10) of the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) as an attempt to remedy the situation (Isenberg, “JAGs”). Under these modifications, civilian contractors working for the United States government would theoretically be subject to military law and the United States’ Court Marshall for overseas crimes. While changing the UCMJ appeared to achieve greater scope in terms of prosecuting PMCs, in reality the United States Armed Forces had little constitutional authority to do so. There was a lack of legal precedent under the UCMJ of military tribunals convicting civilian personnel for war crimes. When alterations to the UCMJ were proposed to Congress in 2006, there was very little debate or discussion. The lack of discussion was likely due to the known limits of the UCMJ’s jurisdictional authority. The proposed amendments may also have been seen as a political tactic to alleviate the fears of

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the American public towards reckless PMC behaviour (Isenberg, “JAGs”). Civilian judges and the United States Supreme Court have listed strong objections to the constitutional authority of American military tribunals to try civilians. Accordingly, few cases prosecuting civilian contractors, including the Nisour Square incident, have been brought before military courts since the enactment of the UCMJ. Therefore, the Nisour Square incident is a confirming instance of the lack of jurisdictional reach by the UCMJ (Isenberg, “JAGs”). The Blackwater case in Nisour is just one example of how contractors have violated IHL by ignoring rights afforded in the Geneva Convention. PMCs have also violated IHL through the use of torture. In 2003 and 2004, PMCs directed and assisted in torturing individuals at the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, notably L-3 Communications and Titan CACI (Gomez del Prado, “Privatization of War”). This too violates the Geneva Convention under the rights of ‘captured persons’ (ICRC). As previously discussed, Order 17 issued by Paul Bremer and the Provisional Authority provided immunity to all of these individuals from prosecution in Iraq. IHL needs to be strengthened in order to address legal loopholes that are currently exploited by contractors, their CEOs, and governments who employ PMCs (Engelhart, “Order 17”). IV. Conclusion Although existing laws attempt to restrict the contracting of mercenaries in some ways, much still needs to be done. The ambiguous nature of the PMC industry presents a challenge to IHL since it leaves the public largely uninformed and lawbreakers unaccountable (Kidane 361-365). Greater awareness and accountability from in-country contractors and the governments employing them is also needed. Moreover, the lack of military discipline within PMCs presents a serious question as to whether or not contractors are able to properly follow orders, impose restraint, and follow safety standards in combat. Finally, there remains the question of effectively implementing IHL. In particular, questionable relationships between the American government and contracting companies hired during the Iraq war, such as Blackwater Worldwide Co, have enabled PMCs to evade IHL (Engelhart, “Order 17”).

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Works Cited Apuzzo, Matt. “Blackwater Guards Found Guilty in 2007 Iraq Killings.” The New York Times 24 October 2014. Print. Baker, Mike. “Blackwater Suit Tossed 7 Years After Grisly Deaths.” The Huffington Post 25 January 2011. Web. 10 Oct. 2014. Bogard, William “Discipline and deterrence: Rethinking Foucault on the Question of Power in Contemporary Society.” The Social Science Journal 28.3 (1991): 325-346. Print. “Status of the Coalition Provisional Authority, MNF – Iraq, Certain Missions and Personnel in Iraq.” Coalition Provisional Authority Order Number 17 (revised), 2004. 27 June 2004. Coalition Provisional Authority. Web. 11 Nov. 2015. “Commentary - Art. 4. Part I: General provisions.” International Committee of the Red Cross. Web. 30 Oct. 2014. “Convention (IV) relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War.” 12 August 1949. International Committee of the Red Cross. Web. 25 Oct. 2014. Dalesio, Emery P. “Blackwater Suit Ends 7 Years After Fallujah Deaths.” Boston.com 6 January 2012. Web. 1 Dec. 2014. DCAF. “Private Military Companies.” 2006. Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces. Web. 5 Oct. 2014. “Declaration Renouncing the Use, in Time of War, of Explosive Projectiles Under 400 Grammes Weight.” 29 November / 11 December 1868. International Committee of the Red Cross. Web. 7 Oct. 2014. Engelhardt, Tom. “Order 17: A Free Pass in Iraq.” CBS News 27 September 2007. Print. Epps, Kenneth. “Canada’s Arms Exports: New Report Reflects Old Habits that Fall Short of the Transparency Standards of the Arms Trade Treaty.” Project Ploughshares Monitor 35.2 (2014). Web. 5 Nov. 2014.

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Ettinger, Aaron. “Neoliberalism and the Rise of the Private Military Industry.” International Journal 66.3 (2011): 743-764. Print. Gagliardi, Alessandro. “Private Military Companies: The Future of Conflict Management”. The NATO Council of Canada. 3 Feb. 2014. Web. 11 Nov. 2014. Godfrey, Richard, Simon Lilley, and Joanna Brewis. “Biceps, Bitches and Borgs: Reading Jarhead’s Representation of the Construction of the (Masculine) Military Body.” Organization Studies 33.4 (2012): 541-62. Print. Gomez del Prado, Jose L. “The Privatization of War: Mercenaries, Private Military and Security Companies (PMSC) Beyond the WikiLeaks Files.” UN Working Group on Mercenaries and Global Research. 7 Nov. 2010. Web. 2 Nov. 2014. ICRC. “Treaties and State Parties to Such Treaties: St Petersburg Declaration of 1868.” International Committee of the Red Cross. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. “International Convention Against the Recruitment, Use, Financing and Training of Mercenaries, 4 December 1989.” International Committee of the Red Cross. Web. 7 Nov. 2014. Isenberg, David. “Undercounting Contractor Casualties in Iraq.” Huffington Post Business 29 September 2012. Web. 10 Oct. 2014. Isenberg, David. “Why JAGs Won’t Be Prosecuting PMCs.” Huffington Post Business 27 December 2011. Web. 4 May 2015. Kidane, W. “The Status of Private Military Contractors Under International Humanitarian Law.” Denver Journal of International Law and Policy 38 (2010): 361. Web. 20 Sept. 2014. Klein, Naomi. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. New York: Metropolitan Books, 2007. Print. Korb, Lawrence. “Rumsfeld’s Folly.” The American Prospect (2003). Web. 27 Oct. 2014. Leung, Rebecca. “Abuse of Iraqi POWs By GIs Probed.” 60 Minutes (2004). Web. 8 Oct. 2014.

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Neff, Joseph. “Memos Blame Manager for Contractors’ Deaths in Fallujah.” McClatchy Papers 7 July 2007. Web. 15 Jan. 2015. Parker, Laura. “What Exactly Happened That Day in Fallujah?” USA Today 10 June 2007. Web. 5 Jan. 2015. Scahill, Jeremy. Blackwater: The Rise of the World’s Most Powerful Mercenary Army. New York: Nation Books, 2007. Print. Singer. P.W. (Interviewee). “Superpower for Hire: Rise of the Private Military.” Canada: VICE. [Documentary] (2014) Web. 29 Sept. 2014. Thomas, Jedd. (Reporter). “Superpower for Hire: Rise of the Private Military.” Canada: VICE. [Documentary] (2014) Canada: VICE. Web. 29 Sept. 2014. Tzu, Sun, and Lionel Giles. The Art of War: With Commentary. San Diego: Canterbury Classics, 2014. United Nations Human Rights. “International Convention against the Recruitment, Use, Financing and Training of Mercenaries Adopted and opened for signature and ratification by General Assembly resolution 44/34 of 4 December 1989 Entry into force: 20 October 2001, in accordance with article 19.” Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights. Web. 11 May 2015. Wald. Matthew L. “2004 Crash in Afghanistan Highlights Gaps in U.S. Control Over Flights.” The New York Times 28 May 2007. Web. 1 Oct. 2014.

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