The Oculus: The Virginia Journal of Undergraduate Research (Vol. 17)

The Oculus 2018-19 The Virginia Journal of Undergraduate Research

TheThe

Oculus Oculus 2018 -19

The Virginia Journal of Undergraduate Research Volume 17

Volume 17

The

Oculus 2018 -19

The Virginia Journal of Undergraduate Research Volume 17

The Oculus is published by the University of Virginia’s Undergraduate Research Network (URN) in conjunction with the University of Virginia’s Center for Undergraduate Excellence (CUE). All copyrights are retained by the authors; URN holds the rights to non-exclusive use in print and electronic formats for all pieces submitted for publication in The Oculus.

Letter from the Editor Dear Oculus Readers,

T

he imagination, charisma, and determination of the University of Virginia’s undergraduate researchers is on vivid display in this year’s edition of The Oculus: in the following pages, you will find original research on topics ranging from the empowerment of Tibetan nuns to the structure of a protein that may be involved in the development of cancer.

The consistent high quality of the submissions considered for Volume 17 indicates that undergraduate research at the University is flourishing. This year’s print journal received a record number of submissions, leading to a highly selective acceptance rate of 14.6 percent. In other words, the papers selected for this year’s undergraduate journal are truly superb: I hope they inspire you to conduct your own research or to go to our website, uvaurn.org, to learn more about our work.

The soul of this journal, however, can only be partially glimpsed through its written pages. This publication rests on thousands of unseen person-hours of effort: this is a testament to the seriousness and unselfishness of a small group of dedicated individuals.

It is with humility that I will attempt to recognize their contributions.

I would like to thank Brian Cullaty, Tim Raines, and Edith Conti for their trust: the Office of Undergraduate Research funds The Oculus unconditionally while simultaneously granting the editorial board complete discretion. This speaks to both the competency of the editorial staff and to OUR’s earnest desire to let us further develop that competency.

This freedom has allowed The Oculus to independently pursue several new initiatives this year: this volume is the first to feature open data, DOIs, accompanying online selections, an accelerated review track, the Art Editor and Copy Editor positions, and the release of copy edits to the author of every submission, regardless of paper acceptance.

These projects could only have been completed with the constant input and support of the editorial board. In particular, I would like to thank Sneha Ravi for her unflagging leadership; Avantika Mehra for her sharp instincts; Emily Puleo and Nora Pehrson for their exactness; and Aubrey Winger for her imagination and reliability. I would also like to recognize Anthara Gnanakumar and URN for their endless encouragement.

Finally, I would like to thank the authors of the seven articles featured in this volume.

It has been a pleasure to work with you and learn from you. I am grateful for your contributions, and I wish you the very best in your future endeavors.

Interacting with the UVA community as Editor-in-Chief has confirmed my belief that The Oculus is best understood not as a paper journal, but rather as a confluence of passionate individuals. Consider the following pages to be a snapshot of this vibrant interaction: it is with great joy that I present to you Volume 17 of The Oculus.

Sincerely,

Rob Schwartz Editor-in-Chief, The Oculus

Guest Letter: Allen Groves, Dean of Students Dear Oculus Readers,

T

he core mission of any university is the creation and dissemination of knowledge.

At its best, a university creates an ideal environment to attract outstanding scholars–both faculty and student–and then encourages them to test the existing boundaries of science, literature, mathematics and the arts. Only then does it fulfill its true potential.

This is particularly true of public institutions of higher education, given their special role in working to advance the lives of fellow citizens.

At UVA, we often speak of the unmatched opportunities we offer to students, most notably in our highly unusual system of empowerment through true student self-governance. This extends as well into the area of cutting-edge scholarly research. While many universities fairly pride themselves on the research opportunities afforded to graduate students, undergraduate research is often an afterthought, if considered at all. UVA seeks to attract undergraduate students who are self-motivated and driven to achieve great things even in the early stages of their advanced education.

This journal represents a manifestation of that opportunity and objective. As a true multidisciplinary journal of undergraduate research, The Oculus strives to be “the Commonwealth’s premier undergraduate research publication.” That’s a noble and lofty goal.

I invite you to review the scholarly work produced by our undergraduate students in this edition of The Oculus and judge for yourself. I believe you will come away with no small amount of respect for the intellectual gifts of the authors and the quality of their undergraduate research featured herein. Like me, you may find yourself asking, “Wait–these are undergraduates?” They are indeed.

Thank you for supporting undergraduate student research by reading this edition of The Oculus. I hope it will inspire you to explore other important subjects. Check back in each year to enjoy the next edition of this exceptional journal.

Sincerely,

Allen Groves Dean of Students, University of Virginia

Editorial Board

Back row (left to right): Daniel Ayoub, Aubrey Winger, Nora Pehrson, Rob Schwartz Middle row: Sneha Ravi, Sheena Kachru, Hania Abboud, Anna Nguyen Front row: Sara Kirmani, Annie An, Avantika Mehra, Emily Puleo FULL EDITORIAL STAFF Alexander Droesch, Anna Nguyen, Annie An, Aubrey Winger, Avantika Mehra, Daniel Ayoub, Nadia Elkholy, Elliana Given, Emily Puleo, Hania Abboud, Nora Pehrson, Rob Schwartz, Sara Kirmani, Sheena Kachru, Sneha Ravi EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Rob Schwartz SENIOR EDITOR Avantika Mehra EXECUTIVE EDITOR Sneha Ravi ART EDITOR Aubrey Winger COPY EDITORS Emily Puleo, Nora Pehrson GRAPHIC DESIGN Rabbit Joe Design PRINTED AT Bailey Printing Incorporated, Charlottesville, Virginia

The Oculus 2018 -19

The Virginia Journal of Undergraduate Research Volume 17

Table of Contents 4 Displaced Centers: Women’s Religious Practice in a Post-Monastic Tibet - Tsering Say 16 Lean on Me: An Investigation of Individual Differences in Social Regulation of Emotion - Rachel Dick 34 Aquarius Drink Filling Robot - Kay Hutchinson, Jon Gustafson, Brad Houska, Mansoor Syed 54 Because They’re There: Identifying and Addressing the Environmental Impacts of Mountaineering - Michael Bateman 72 Post Translational Modifications of the Signal Transduction Protein Copine - James Chung 86 Political Influence and the Federal Trade Commission: Did Reform Ever Happen? - Alexander Danel, Ben Thomas 110 The Significance of Painting in Murasaki Shikibu’s The Tale of Genji - Isabelle Burke

DISPLACED CENTERS: Women’s Religious Practice in a Post-Monastic Tibet Religious Studies

TSERING SAY

Tsering Say is a fourth year studying Political and Social Thought and Economics.

After graduation, she will continue her studies at Harvard Divinity School in pursuit of a Master of Divinity. While she was involved with the Tibet Center, Machik, the Minority Rights Coalition, and other organizations on Grounds, her greatest passion lies in the research she conducted on restorative justice and contemporary Tibetan affairs.

“In my exploration, I find that the unprecedented addition of esoteric knowledge to nuns’ education alters their status within religious communities, and to a smaller extent, within the lay communities of Khams, Tibet, generally.”

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Displaced Centers: Women’s Religious Practice in a Post-Monastic Tibet Tsering Say University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 I explored how modern monasteries in Khams, Tibet enable laywomen and nuns alike to receive unprecedented levels of religious education. Although the Chinese invasion in 1949 inadvertently led to a renaissance of Tibetan thought in exile, it reduced to rubble the monasteries and nunneries responsible for Tibetan scholasticism within Tibet itself. Today, most monks therein typically do not receive an education past roughly an eighth grade level, while many nuns hardly receive any formal schooling. Nuns may play an active role in the religious lives of their communities through religious praxis, but their contributions are rarely scholastic or expressly intellectual. Even on those occasions when they receive the esoteric ritual initiations foundational to Tibetan Buddhism, such initiations are rarely followed by the teachings or commentarial expositions that would allow a nun to meaningfully utilize such practices in her religious life past doing them for the practices’ sake. The monasteries I approach are emerging as exceptions to this rule; in defiance of Tibetan tradition, Larung Gar, Yarchen Gar, and Bha Lhagong Monastery are making available to women knowledge traditionally only entrusted to men. In my exploration, I find that the unprecedented addition of esoteric knowledge to nuns’ education alters their status within religious communities, and to a smaller extent, within the lay communities of Khams, Tibet, generally.

Keywords: Tibet, Tibetan Buddhism, Khenmo, nuns, Khams, Larung Gar, Yarchen Gar, Bha Lhagong

Introduction In April 2011, a German woman named Kelsang Wangmo became the first woman to receive the title of Geshe ma (dge bshes ma), the highest title in Tibetan Buddhism, historically conferred only to men as the Geshe.2 On December 22, 2016, the first cohort of Tibetan women graduated with the same degree. The Geshe title requires anywhere from ten to more than twenty years of study of the five main canons of Tibetan Buddhist scriptures, and the practice of rituals and prayers. The Dalai Lama himself conferred this title upon the Tibetan women, indicating institutional support from the highest levels of the Tibetan religious hierarchy for the opportunity of women in Buddhism.

The buzz around this conferment of degrees is warranted. Tibet is composed of a network of patriarchal societies, where nuns are generally not afforded the same level of respect as their male counterparts in their home villages. While monks are celebrated upon their return to their home village, a nun would not be given the same honors. A family keen on entering Tibetan politics would send their most favored son to become a monk, and their daughter, who cannot be married, to become a nun. Offering the Geshe ma degree to women signaled a significant step forward in gender equality in the Tibetan 1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/8gqa-6c32 2 Haas, Michaela. “2,500 Years After The Buddha, Tibetan Buddhists Acknowledge Women.” HuffPost. Last modified July 18, 2011. https://www. huffingtonpost.com/michaela-haas/buddhism-women_b_862798.html.

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diaspora community in India, and for Tibetan Buddhism more generally.

But with so little information coming out of Tibet, few outside of Tibetan and academic circles know that Larung Gar (bla rung sgar), a monastery in the Sertar valley in Western Sichuan, has defied Tibetan tradition by making its institutional and religious knowledge available to both men and women long before the 2011 Geshe ma conferment ceremony. Larung Gar, under the guidance of Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok, was founded in 1980 to “revive Buddhist scholarship and meditation.”3 Due to Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok’s fame and the size of Larung Gar, which housed in 2016 about 20,000 monastics, the monastery holds great sway over monasteries across Tibet.

Under the auspices of the Center for Undergraduate Excellence’s Double Hoo Award, Andrew Taylor and I traveled to Khams, the easternmost region of Tibet, to discern when, why, and how the first Khenmo and Geshe ma degrees were offered. Over the course of the summer of 2017, we traveled to six different monasteries, and found that while many monasteries claim to offer the Khenmo degree, in practice, the responsibilities and privileges afforded to Khenmo recipients varied substantially between monasteries. Many monasteries today across Tibet offer the Geshe ma degree, the highest degree bestowed by the Geluk school, and its equivalent in the Nyingma, Sakya, and Kagyu schools, the Khenmo degree.4 We concluded that the most relevant factor in the social and religious significance of the degree conferment to women was the ideology of the founder of the monastery.

Methods and Approach I conducted my research with Andrew Taylor, a Ph.D. candidate in Religious and Tibetan Studies at the University of Virginia, with the funding of a Double Hoo grant.

Andrew and I both speak some Chinese and the dialect of Tibetan spoken in Tibet’s only major metropolitan area. Since neither of us are fluent in the rural dialect of Khams, we hired a translator from the area, Tsering Nanmei, a graduate student living in Chengdu.5 Andrew and I used our joint expertise to devise a method for conducting our research.

We employed semi-structured interviews at our sites of research. In order to avoid politically insensitive questions, yet still uncover necessary information, we fashioned our questions to give our interviewees space to answer according to their comfort. For example, a question about what an interviewee’s parents do would generally segue into questions around their class and economic background. We generally asked about where our informants were from, their responsibilities, education, and receptions at their home villages. We recorded each interview, and typed up the transcripts.

Due to the Chinese government’s historic antagonism towards researchers in Tibet, we generally traveled incognito and only made our intentions as researchers known to a practitioner at a monastery once we had arrived. This practice was a necessity given that China has no research visas available for religionists. However, we always informed 3 Germano, David. “Re-membering the Dismembered Body of Tibet: Contemporary Tibetan Visionary Movements in the People’s Republic of China.” In Buddhism in Contemporary Tibet: Religious Revival and Cultural Identity, edited by Melvyn C. Goldstein and Matthew Kapstein, (University of California Press, 1998), 65.

4 Tibetan Buddhism is composed of many schools, each having grown as reactions to a school’s philosophy or new text translations.

5 Tsering wildly exceeded our already unrealistic expectations by translating dialects from all over Tibet, which can vary from each other to the extent to which Romance languages do. Though he fell ill midway through the trip, he would still translate from Tibetan and Chinese to English in days of research that would last over 18 hours.

Andrew and I being foreigners, we would have faced great difficulty in forging the local relationships so key to gathering information. Tsering, however, could secure us audiences immediately with important figures in the monasteries we visited.

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our subject-participants at the outset of the interview that we were researchers from the University of Virginia, and outlined the goal and parameters of our projects, as well as our interest in their lives. While this mode of traveling was necessary in that we avoided tricky questions from Chinese police and government officials, we were unable to schedule interviews prior to our visit. As a result, our interviews were primarily conducted with nuns and monks who were coincidentally available at the times we were present.

The abbots, called “Rinpoches” (rin po che) or “precious ones” in Tibetan, of the monasteries and nunneries chose the practitioners we were allowed to interview.6 Sometimes, a Rinpoche would sit in on an interview, which may have skewed the answers to be favorable to the monastery and the Rinpoche himself. Nevertheless, these interviews were our best chance to understand social dynamics within the monasteries and nunneries.

Over the course of the research trip, I noticed heavy Chinese surveillance of the Tibetan Buddhist monasteries we visited. Some were required to report the number of their practitioners every week to the local police—a finding that coincides with reports from the Human Rights Watch. In January of 2018, the Human Rights Watch reported that the Chinese government was coordinating a destructive takeover of the monastery of Larung Gar, an internationally influential center of Tibetan Buddhist practice. While the government claimed its goal was the safe “‘reconstruction’ of old buildings,” its surveillance and destruction of hundreds of homes fall in line with decades-old anti-religious policy.7 Especially with the recent horrific politically-motivated self-immolations of mainly religious practitioners in Tibet, there is reason to believe that the government is suspicious of Tibetan Buddhist institutions as fomenters of separatism.8 Due to state surveillance and the various exigencies of difficult travel and limited access to informants, our admittedly flawed method of data collection remains necessary for researchers seeking information in Tibetan monasteries. Furthermore, even if the Chinese state did not have a presence around our sites of study, it is highly unlikely that nuns or monks would have agreed to speak with foreigners in a formal capacity without their teachers’ permission, for fear of acting outside their teachers’ wishes.

We learned through our interviews that while many monasteries claim to offer the Khenmo degree, in practice the responsibilities and privileges accorded to those offered the degree vary substantially between monasteries. The most significant variable determining such responsibilities and privileges were the priorities of the founders. The cases of Bha Lhagong Monastery and Larung Gar provide a representative example.

Bha Lhagong’s Rinpoche had more interest in training the Khenmos of his institution to practice medicine and teach classes. However, at Larung Gar, under the guidance of Jigme Phuntsok, the curriculum emphasized gender equality and offered a more rigorous education to their female practitioners, one that also took substantially more time than the Khenmo program at Bha Lhagong.9

Relevant Literature Although there are no scholarly studies of Khenmo programs to date, one would be remiss not to mention the research of David Germano of the University of Virginia when discussing Larung Gar and monastic culture in Tibet.10 His article “Re-membering 6 An abbot is the head of a monastery, nunnery, or Gar. 7 Cimmino, Ryan. “Threat From Tibet? Systematic Repression of Tibetan Buddhism In China.” Harvard International Review, vol. 39, no. 4, 2018, pp. 6 - 7.

8 “Self-Immolations by Tibetans.” International Campaign for Tibet, https://www. savetibet.org/resources/fact-sheets/self-immolations-by-tibetans/. Accessed 25 Feb. 2019.

9 Bha Lagong Rinpoche, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Bha Lagong Monastery, July 2017.

10 Professor Germano also served as our advisor for the project.

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the Dismembered Body of Tibet” explains the rise to fame of Larung Gar’s charismatic founder, Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok, and was the first English-language article to discuss Larung at length. More recently, there have also been studies of Larung itself as an institution by Holly Gayley, who has written extensively on a tantric couple of the Nyingma Sect in her book “Love Letters from Golok.” She has also written various articles, like “Non-Violence As a Shifting Signifier On the Tibetan Plateau,”11 which describes the influence that Larung Gar wields over Tibetan Buddhists.12 Antonio Terrone also offered interesting and necessary scholarship on the interaction of Larung Gar with Chinese state forced.13 Although these articles were useful in providing background information on Larung’s history and gave us models to emulate when conducting fieldwork in sensitive areas, none of them treat gender or the Khenmos as their primary subjects.

The Degree The Khenmo degree is the female counterpart to the Khenpo degree, which is awarded to monks. The degrees are similar to the PhD, in that they require several years of rigorous study; in some monasteries, studying for the degree can take more than eleven years.14 Practitioners study the five textual traditions of Tibetan Buddhism and undergo an examination at the end of their studies. The traditions are the Prajñāpāramitā, Madhyamaka, Pramāṇa, Abhidharma, and the Vinaya.

Because the Khenpo degree was traditionally offered only to men, some may claim that allowing nuns to receive the Khenmo degree is a unilateral stride forward for female empowerment. However, the lack of a standardized curriculum for Khenmo degrees means that the title holds varying responsibilities and privileges across institutions. In the three monasteries and nunneries studied here, the significance of holding the Khenmo degree and the levels of power that Khenmos have differ according to the ideologies of the founders. Bha Lhagong Monastery’s Rinpoche expected his Khenmos to learn medicine and teach. Yarchen Gar’s Khenmos focused on ritual practice, prayer, and teaching, and Larung Gar’s Khenmos had an emphasis on study.15 The title of Khenmo is not always consistent across monasteries, but is rather a tool that, according to the founder’s ideology, allots education and power to women to varying degrees. As a result, it is imperative to individually analyze each center of Khenmo education in Khams before we can understand how women’s rights and religious practices are changing in Tibet more generally.

The Monasteries Although we visited a half-dozen monasteries, three sites are especially representative of the divergences in Khenmo education and practice: Larung Gar, Yarchen Gar, and the nunnery in Bha Lhagong. As Gars, Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar have different

11 Holly Gayley in “Non-Violence As a Shifting Signifier On the Tibetan Plateau” explains the influence that Larung Gar holds over Tibetan Buddhists with its issuing of the 10 Virtues (dge bcu) and its urging of Tibetans to wear an amulet signifying peace. The 10 Virtues combine non-violence towards animals and humans with parts of a temperance movement. These declarations are part of Larung Gar’s project to stem the tide of social disintegration and kick off an ethical reform movement.

12 Gayley, Holly. “Non-Violence As a Shifting Signifier On the Tibetan Plateau.” Contemporary Buddhism, vol. 17, no. 1, 2016, pp. 62 - 80.

13 Terrone, Antonio. “Responding to Modern Times: Khenpo Sodargyé’s View of Buddhism.” ATLA Newsletter, 20 Nov. 2017, newsletter.atla.com/2017/buddhism-khenpo.

14 Mukpo, Diana J., and Carolyn Rose. Gimian. Dragon Thunder: My Life with Chögyam Trungpa. Boston, MA: Shambhala, 2008.

15 Khenmo Lhamo (Khenmo at Yarchen Gar), interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Yarchen Gar, July 2017.

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operations from a monastery or nunnery. “Gar” (sgar) literally translates to “encampment,”16 or “a religious center that is not explicitly monastic in constitution.”17 Larung Gar I did not visit Larung Gar on this particular trip, since it was considered unsafe for foreigners. As a Tibetan-American born to Tibetan refugees, I was concerned that my identity would endanger my interviewees. My research partner, Andrew Taylor, and our translator, Tsering Nanmei, went without me.

Part of the unrest in Larung Gar is tied to the widespread protests Tibetans held against China in 2008. Since then, relationships between Tibetans and the Chinese government have been tense, and at times, violently authoritarian. Larung Gar, as an authority on religion and culture in Tibet, is under great suspicion from the Chinese government, which fears alternate sources of authority inside Tibet. While some estimates placed the population of the Gar at 20,000 in 2016, government-mandated demolition of the small, typically one-resident homes around the Gar seek to reduce it to 5,000, quartering its population in a bid to reduce its power and influence.18 Nevertheless, it is impossible to tell the story of Khenmo education in Khams without first giving the history of its center, Larung Gar, and its founder, Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok.19 forIn the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, Chinese forces reduced thousands of Tibetan monasteries and nunneries to rubble, and monastic religious education was scarce. Khenpo Phuntsok rose to eminence in the period after the Cultural Revolution. He was recognized as the reincarnation of Tertön Sogyal, a famous treasure-revealer (gter ston) and teacher of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama.

Khenpo Phuntsok gained reputation through his skill in a unique practice in Tibetan Buddhism, in which one finds ancient Buddhist scripture hidden long ago, called Terma (gter ma).20 Khenpo Phuntsok’s treasure revelations revitalized Tibetan Buddhism across the plateau, and re-enchanted the physical body of Tibet.21 Re-envisioning Tibet’s sacred landscape and history through Khenpo’s hagiographies repositions Buddhist masters “at 16 Germano, 62.

17 The deaths of Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok and Lama Akhyuk Rinpoche and the demolition of thousands of homes in Larung Gar led to many practitioners leaving Yarchen Gar and Larung Gar for other monasteries, one of which being Dzogchen Monastery. We asked our subjectparticipants in Dzogchen Monastery for their opinions on Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar, reasoning that their understanding would be different from that of those still studying at the Gars. As Tzvetan Todorov says in his essay “Bulgaria in France,” “it is the exile ... who stands the best chance” of understanding one’s culture. Todorov calls back to Thucydides, who was qualified to write about the Peloponnesian Wars because he was an Athenian twenty years in exile and had “learned, because of this exile, to know his own people and others, better.”

18 Wong, Edward. “China Takes a Chain Saw to a Center of Tibetan Buddhism.” The New York Times. Last modified November 28, 2016. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/28/ world/asia/china-takes-a-chain-saw-to-a-center-of-tibetan-buddhism.html?

19 Germano, 64.

20 Terma can be found in physical localities like rocks, waterfalls, and land, and can be mentally transmitted from the Buddhas through successive lineal masters to their disciples. Many schools in Tibetan Buddhism have a Terma tradition, but the richest is in the Nyingma school, in which Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok studied. He established himself as a prolific Tertön in his travels throughout Tibet by revealing scriptures hidden in the earth by semi-mythical figures like Guru Rinpoche and Yeshe Tsogyal, scriptures called “treasure,” or “terma,” (gter ma) by Tibetans.

21 As David Germano writes, “The role of treasure revelations in revivifying the sacred landscape and pilgrimage sites is fundamental to the reformation of Tibetan identity—not only is the uniquely Tibetan past again yielding its gifts, but the land itself is yielding concrete fruits intertwined with that past” (German 91).

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the center of society and as the main agents of Tibetan history,” as Holly Gayley writes.22 Partly due to the renewed importance of Buddhist masters as cultural and religious conduits to a rich history, some Buddhist practitioners recouped their traditional authority in a land that had just endured the ravages of the Cultural Revolution.

Interviewees across many monasteries spoke of Khenpo Phuntsok in tones of great respect, and even reverence. In our interviews, his students likened him to a “rising sun in a time in which the sun had set.”23 His reputation stemmed from his birthright and many accomplishment: he was a reincarnation of a famous eighth-century lama, found many hidden treasures as a Terton, a high-ranking figure in Tibetan Buddhism, and founded Larung Gar. Khenpo was incredibly significant in reviving Buddhism in post-Cultural Revolution Tibet — some argue that he is the most crucial figure in this spiritual renaissance of Tibet.24 In 1980, Khenpo began Larung Gar as an academy to train Tibetan Buddhist practitioners. Although the Larung valley had prophetic associations before Phuntsok began teaching in the area, “the main force behind the establishment’s development is found in the charismatic presence of Khenpo.”25 The wide, sprawling community of Larung Gar began in the then-desolate valley of Larung with a prophecy. When first the valley was empty but for his academy of six students, word of mouth and the charismatic presence of Khenpo drew waves of other religious practitioners, until the resident community grew to a peak size of over 40,000 monks and nuns.26 The Gar educational curriculum also draws interest, as it differentiates itself from that of many other institutions by emphasizing study and reading primary sources, rather than simply ritual and prayer.27 Larung Gar’s reputation was further augmented by its Khenpos distinguishing themselves from their peers of other institutions in their teachings. Practitioners and lay people from all over Tibet came to study at the Gar. Over time, its fame spread to Han Chinese individuals as well, and the Gar is now a major tourist and pilgrimage site.28 Today, Larung Gar boasts the most robust curriculum of the monastic institutions inside Tibet offering the Khenmo degree.29 How Larung Gar came to give women a more equal education than anywhere else is still not fully understood. Since offering gender-equal education represents a radical break from Tibetan tradition, it was very likely an intentional decision for gender equality made by its leaders, and not simply a decision made lightly out of convenience or coincidence. An interviewee in Hanna Havnevik’s “Tibetan Buddhist Nuns” claimed that nuns generally memorize prayers and learn meditation, and are barred from learning esoteric subjects like philosophy. Contrary to this tradition, a nun teacher of the 22 Gayley, Holly. Love Letters From Golok: A Tantric Couple In Modern Tibet. Columbia University Press, 2017.

23 Khenmo, interviewed by Andrew Taylor at Larung Gar, July 2017.

24 Germano 58.

25 Germano 62.

26 Williams, Amanda. “Little Boxes on the Hillside... Home to 40,000 Buddhist Monks: The Stunning Makeshift Town That Has Sprung Up Around a Tibetan Monastery.” Mail Online. Last modified June 27, 2013. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/ news/article-2349761/Little-boxes-hillside--home-40-000-Buddhist-monks-Thestunning-makeshift-town-sprung-Tibetan-monastery.html#ixzz2YTJn15X1.

27 Knobloch, Victoria. “The Wonders of Kham and Larung Gar, Part Two.” Buddhistdoor. Last modified August 28, 2015. https://www. buddhistdoor.net/features/kham-and-larung-gar-part-two.

28 “Han” is the most common ethnicity in China, comprising about 90% of China’s population.

29 Larung Gar Khenmo, interviewed by Andrew Taylor at Larung Gar, July 2017.

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interviewee’s relative had learned “higher religious practices” at Larung Gar.30 Nuns were welcome to learn beyond rote memorization at the Gar. In an interview with Andrew, one of the two main Khenmos in Larung Gar said that Khenpo Phuntsok was the first practitioner inside Tibet to push for women to be granted the Khenmo title. She claimed that Khenpo Phuntsok wanted to raise the social status of women, as traditionally women are considered inferior to men in Tibet.31 Khenpo Phuntsok’s encampment (sgar) and the monasteries and nunneries that follow its example seek to rebuild the collective identity for Tibetans and Tibetan Buddhism in a culture devastated by the Cultural Revolution and subsequent Chinese influence.

Tibetan youth are increasingly eschewing the monastic life to pursue a more materially profitable secular education. Some people across Tibet pretend to be Khenpos to scam others out of their money, diminishing the reputation of the institution of Tibetan Buddhism.32 As a result, the work of Larung Gar is highly significant in maintaining public trust in Tibetan Buddhist institutions. According to our sources, studying and receiving a title at Larung Gar is considered very prestigious. After the death of Jigme Phuntsok, many Khenpos and Khenmos of Larung Gar have published books in Chinese and English, and given lectures on dharma across the globe.33 Yarchen Gar The only monastic institution in Khams that can rival Larung Gar in the influence and fame of its founder is Yarchen Gar, which lies on the border between Sichuan Province and the Tibetan Autonomous Region. According to Liu Jianqiang, “Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok … and Yarchen [Gar’s] Lama Akhyuk Rinpoche [are] the outstanding masters of the Nyingma Sect.”34 During their lives, Lama Akhyuk Rinpoche and Khenpo Phuntsok were the most influential voices of the Nyingma sect in Tibet.

A key difference between the Gars, according to a nun at Yarchen Gar, is that Yarchen Gar focuses on the practice of Tibetan Buddhism through ritual and prayer, while disciples at Larung Gar are better versed in the study of Tibetan Buddhism, a sentiment echoed by almost everyone we interviewed, lay and monastic alike. Yarchen Gar is locally seen as the nunnery to Larung Gar’s university. Even though the majority of its sangha is female, the Gar has many male practitioners. It boasts a population of 300 Khenmos and over 4,000 nuns, the most impressive of any current monastery that we can recall.35 Yarchen Gar is also significant for its treatment of women in a generally patriarchal Tibet. According to one nun in Yarchen Gar, “In Tibetan society, equality between women and men is a hard thing … Usually in Tibetan society if you’re a woman, you need to cook … herd the sheep, yaks, you need to do these kinds of things. They don’t very much encourage you to study things.”36 Of all the nuns we spoke to, virtually all agreed that they had specifically come to Yarchen Gar to study because they heard that its Rinpoche extolled and practiced gender equity — “he treats men and women, nuns and 30 Havnevik, Hanna. Tibetan Buddhist Nuns: History, Cultural Norms and Social Reality. Oslo: Norwegian University Press : The Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture, 1989. Page 52.

31 Larung Gar Khenmo, interviewed by Andrew Taylor at Larung Gar, July 2017.

32 Bha Lhagong Rinpoche, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Bha Lhagong Monastery, July 2017.

33 See figures like Mume Yeshe Tsomo, niece of Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok and current leader of Larung Gar, and Khenpo Tsultrim Lodro.

34 Jianqiang, Liu, et al. Tibetan Environmentalists In China: The King of Dzi. Lexington Books, 2015, p. 284.

35 Jianqiang, Liu, et al. Tibetan Environmentalists In China: The King of Dzi. Lexington Books, 2015, p. 284.

36 Yarchen nun, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Yarchen Gar, July 2017.

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monks equally … he helps a lot with [the nuns’] lives and their study.” When asked, the nuns knew of no places, other than Larung Gar, that would also fairly treat their female disciples. To our interviewees, the relationship between women receiving Khenmo degrees and gender equity in broader Tibetan society is unclear. One nun said that it was common to see monks returning to their home villages to help with harvest being greeted with greater fanfare than nuns returning. Some Khenmos, or nuns who were training as Khenmos, who returned to their home villages for a spell said that they were welcomed more positively than when they were more junior practitioners.

The Process of Becoming a Khenmo While some enter Yarchen Gar with aspirations of becoming a Khenmo/Khenpo, the Gar’s teachers ultimately decide who will undertake the arduous process. Yarchen Gar has one exam a year in July which stretches from 4:30 AM until 12:30 AM the next day.

As there are too many students in the Gar for all to take the exam at the same time, the teachers choose 30 students from each of the thirteen classes to sit for it every year. The content includes culture, grammar, preliminary practices, medicine, the three codes of discipline, Thangka painting, and geography. Yarchen Gar was started by the Nyingma school of Tibetan Buddhism, but today has students from other schools, so students read texts from outside the Nyingma tradition.37 On top of the annual exam, students sit for an exam on the 29th of each month, which also covers some of the topics present in the annual exam. In addition to academic discipline, a practitioner must show compassion, courage, and knowledge. Their teachers decide whether they have adequately shown those qualities. One Khenmo said that learning these qualities was as important as learning the ten subjects.38 The nuns of Yarchen Gar were more forthcoming about their own ambitions at the nunnery than nuns elsewhere. Whereas nuns in other monasteries responded that they studied to become Khenmo with some variation of “my teacher told me to,” many of the Khenmos and nuns in training to become Khenmos at Yarchen Gar said that they had accepted their Rinpoche’s suggestion to become a Khenmo in order to teach others and to amass merit with their “current, precious human life.”39 Teaching, studying, and furthering their soteriological missions were motivations for the nuns to study for the degree. Several Khenmos to whom we spoke at Yarchen Gar had traveled hundreds of miles on their own in their youth to enroll at the Gar. Some explained that they had come because they had heard of Akhyuk Rinpoche, the founding head of Yarchen Gar, and his reputation for championing gender equality. Perhaps the nuns who congregated at Yarchen Gar were more likely to seek programs that would grant them more agency, having been attracted by Akhyuk Rinpoche’s reputation.

Responsibilities The Khenmos to whom we spoke work in a capacity akin to teaching assistants in Western universities. They would sit in on the lectures of more senior teachers, who taught to several nuns or monks at once. Afterwards, they would hold sessions with the students to elucidate the points of the teachers.

According to one of the two main Khenmos at Larung Gar, the level of rigor at Yarchen Gar has been increasing over time. Both at Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar, the nuns agree 37 Group Interview with Khenmos of Yarchen Gar, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Yarchen Gar, July 2017.

38 Khenmo at Yarchen Gar, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Yarchen Gar, July 2017.

39 Khenmo at Yarchen Gar, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Yarchen Gar, July 2017.

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that Larung is for religious study and Yarchen is for practice and ritual. Though the education at Yarchen Gar is gradually improving, nuns at Larung Gar are apparently getting a better, more consistent education.40 Bha Lhagong Monastery In order to become a Khenmo at Bha Lhagong, a nun had to study somewhere between three and nine years, learn medicine, and be able to teach classes. However, the Rinpoche believed that it was most important that a Khenmo have the respect of her community.41 Through her teachings and manifesting the Buddha’s teachings in herself, she would gain the recognition of the community. Only after studying the above and establishing herself in the community could she be named a Khenmo. According to the Rinpoche, the reputation of a Khenmo and her social influence at Bha Lhagong were considered extremely important.

The Rinpoche had been the abbot of Bha Lhagong Monastery since he had founded it in 1999, and gave the first Khenmo title from Bha Lhagong about thirteen years ago.

The Rinpoche began the nunnery because he was inspired to do so by his teacher. The Rinpoche first began giving Khenmo degrees because of the influence of Jigme Phuntsok, the founder of Larung Gar.42 Since opening Bha Lhagong Monastery, the Rinpoche had given seven more nuns the Khenmo title. He admitted that they did not have a standardized education, however, and still needed to study further. He made an interesting point that was not echoed at Yarchen Gar, nor at other monasteries we visited: he believed that while monks have three levels in their curricula to become a Khenpo, nuns had four levels to become a Khenmo because women have “more vessels in their body,” or obstructions, that make it more difficult for women than men to find enlightenment. The Khenmos of Bha Lhagong Monastery did not echo this idea.

We spoke to three Khenmos at Bha Lhagong monastery: one of them was the first Khenmo at Bha Lhagong. All had wanted to become nuns themselves, and entered Bha Lhagong Monastery with the blessings of their parents.43 They taught classes on Tibetan culture and on how to keep the disciplines of Tibetan Buddhism, a crucial teaching to purify oneself according to the tenets of the religion.

Other responsibilities of the Khenmos at Bha Lagong Monastery varied from those at Yarchen Gar and Larung Gar. Whereas all sets of Khenmos had to teach and study, only the Khenmos at Bha Lhagong Monastery practiced medicine. The Rinpoche said it was because Tibetan society had an issue where many women felt uncomfortable about seeing male doctors—for example, a woman might skip an exam to avoid seeing a male gynecologist. The Rinpoche thought it was necessary that Tibet have more women trained in medicine. Furthermore, the Khenmos at Bha Lhagong claimed they did not understand why they had been chosen. According to them, the Rinpoche regularly holds meetings with the nuns and monks of Bha Lhagong Monastery. Periodically at these meetings, the Rinpoche calls out the names of practitioners who are to become Khenmos.

The method of selection and education of Khenmos is much less consistent than at the Gars. When we asked during our interview how the Khenmos personally conceptualized the idea of a “Khenmo,” one of them looked up the word in a dictionary. It seemed more 40 Khenmo at Larung Gar, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Yarchen Gar, July 2017.

41 Rinpoche of Bha Lhagong Monastery, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Bha Lhagong Monastery, July 2017.

42 Rinpoche of Bha Lhagong Monastery, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Bha Lhagong Monastery, July 2017.

43 Khenmos of Bha Lhagong Monastery, interviewed by Tsering Say and Andrew Taylor at Bha Lhagong Monastery, July 2017.

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likely that she needed to refresh her memory of the formal definition of her role, rather than that she didn’t know what it was. Regardless, while the method of selecting Khenmos at Bha Lhagong Monastery seemed relatively uncoordinated, the Khenmos still were responsible for demanding course loads, teaching classes, and fulfilling a medical need in the community for women.

Conclusion The influence of Khenpo Phuntsok and Larung Gar on monastic institutions across Tibet is likely a key reason behind the spread of the Khenmo title. While each of the three monasteries offered the Khenmo title, they all came with different responsibilities attached. In Yarchen Gar, the Khenmos and nuns focused on practice and rituals, whereas in Larung Gar, Khenmos and nuns also studied religious texts and primary sources. The Khenmos of Yarchen Gar and Larung Gar were respected across Khams for their expertise and education. All Khenmos taught classes at the monastic institutions we visited, but Khenmos at Bha Lhagong Monastery were also expected to learn and practice medicine.

Though the Khenmos at Bha Lhagong Monastery learned medicine, the standardized educations in Larung Gar and Yarchen Gar meant that Khenmos were better trained and more knowledgeable by the time they received their degrees than the Khenmos of Bha Lhagong were. This is likely due to the ideologies of their founders, Khenpo Phuntsok and Lama Akhyuk Rinpoche, who believed in gender equality and saw injustice in the relatively inferior status of women in Tibetan societies. The Rinpoche of Bha Lhagong Monastery was more concerned with the lack of medics for Tibetan women around whom they would feel comfortable. In essence, the guiding ideas of the abbots of each monastery and Gar determined the level of training and types of study that each institution would offer to their Khenmos in training.

It was clear that inside Tibet, women had already received the Khenmo title long before Kelsang Wangmo. However, the earliest that a Khenmo degree was conferred was apparently around the 1990s, in Khams. Some Khenmos returning to their home communities noticed a positive change in how their home communities greeted them, comparing their homecomings to those of monks. I found little information to suggest that laywomen and non-practicing women saw any change to their social statuses as a result of some women newly receiving the Khenmo degree. Nuns within monastic institutions that provided the degree saw the degree as a significant honor, and as a sign that they could practice and study as well as monks. Although there is still a long road to standardization, which is deeply threatened by the Chinese government’s destruction of Larung Gar, there is reason to hope for a more gender equitable future in Tibetan Buddhism.

Further Inquiry On our travels, we noticed that many monasteries were building new constructions: Dzongsar monastery was constructing new dormitories for their monks, Dzogchen monastery was building a retreat center, and Bha Lhagong monastery had recently built a hotel near to its monastery and nunnery. According to an article from the Sydney Morning Herald from 2015, Han Chinese money poured into Yarchen Gar “with relatively wealthy converts to Tibetan Buddhism bringing much-needed funds to the camps. Wealthy benefactors hoping to improve their karma for the next business deal, or through a “cover all bases” spiritual mentality, have sparked a huge construction boom on the far western Chinese frontier. A question for further study is whether the funding for these constructions is tied to the renewal of interest of Han Chinese in traditional religions like Buddhism, and to what extent Han money might influence the teachings of the monasteries.

LEAN ON ME: An Investigation of Individual Differences in Social Regulation of Emotion Psychology

RACHEL DICK Rachel Dick graduated from the University of Virginia in May 2018 with a distinguished major in Neuroscience and Spanish. During her time at UVA, she was a psychology research assistant, a four-year varsity rower, and a member of Gamma Phi Beta sorority. She is currently a research fellow at the National Institute of Mental Health in Bethesda, Maryland, where she studies the role of neuroinflammation in psychiatric and neurological disorders.

“In addition to providing suggestions for the design of future studies, the results of this thesis lay the initial groundwork for a more rigorous investigation of the factors affecting individual ability to engage in SRE.�

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Lean on Me: An Investigation of Individual Differences in Social Regulation of Emotion Rachel Dick University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 Emotion regulation is an essential component of managing the emotional and cognitive response to stress. Social regulation of emotion (SRE) is an emotion regulation strategy in which the presence of a loved one is used to mitigate negative emotions and increase positive affect. The experimental conditions under which SRE is best evoked and measured are not yet well understood; therefore, in this project, we developed and refined psychological paradigms to elicit SRE and investigate its impact upon emotional processing. In the first study, we attempted to induce and measure SRE using a classic evoked response potential (ERP) paradigm, wherein participants view aversive images and engage in a regulatory strategy. While we hypothesized that the presence of a partner would attenuate a neural affective response to the aversive stimuli, this manipulation was ultimately unsuccessful. Participants from this study reported in a follow-up questionnaire that the experimental conditions made it difficult to engage in SRE. This led us to evaluate the conditions under which SRE is most authentically facilitated. In the third study, participants were subjected to a socially facilitated cold pressor test and received either detailed or vague instructions about how to engage in social regulation. There was no significant difference between the two groups, although both displayed enhanced performance in comparison with solo participants, which may be due to either social facilitation effects or SRE. The overall conclusion of this work is that SRE is challenging to simulate in a laboratory setting due to a variety of confounding social and emotional factors. However, the accumulation of prior scientific evidence showing the benefits of SRE indicates that further careful study of this phenomenon may prove valuable for designing interventions to improve mental health.

Keywords: neuroscience, neuroimaging, social regulation of emotion, social support, social facilitation, EEG

The ability to regulate negative emotions is a fundamental component of human wellbeing. Stress, one of the main sources of negative emotions in people’s lives, is both physically and mentally taxing; an individual’s ability to cope with stress affects several aspects of their health, including cardiovascular and psychological wellbeing, and is an important predictor of future health outcomes. Individuals who are unable to control their emotional response may suffer from psychological disorders such as social anxiety and depression (Mennin, Holaway, Fresco, Moore, & Heimberg, 2007; Helbig-Lang, Rusch, & Lincoln, 2015). One psychological mechanism for dealing with stress and its associated negative emotions is social regulation of emotion (SRE), which occurs when people use the presence of loved ones to moderate their negative emotions and responses to stress (Reeck, Ames, & Ochsner, 2016). Preliminary evidence suggests that it is an effective strategy for reducing stress and therefore may be useful in treating anxiety disorders and helping individuals cope with negative emotions (Coan, Schaefer, & Davidson, 2006).

1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/7818-ze04

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In this work, we seek to examine how individual differences in personality impact people’s ability to engage in SRE versus emotional suppression. We used ERP analysis to evaluate the effects of attachment style, relationship closeness, and social regulation frequency upon emotional processing. In addition, we evaluate the experimental conditions under which social support is most naturally evoked between participants and partners for the purpose of creating more ecologically valid experimental paradigms in the future.

Literature Review Social Regulation of Emotion (SRE) Social interaction paradigms have often been used to test the effects of in-person social support upon emotional responsivity; for example, holding the hand of a romantic partner helps to reduce the neural threat response while receiving random shocks (Coan et al., 2006). Perceived social support across an extended social network predicts decreased emotional distress and may be attributed to early life factors such as childhood maternal support (Coan, Beckes, & Allen, 2014). Furthermore, SRE capability has been linked to improved mental and physical health outcomes in patients and improved social functioning in the broader population (Coan et al., 2017).

This investigation uses an ERP paradigm to measure the effect of SRE upon participants’ emotional response to visual stimuli. Our research also places greater emphasis upon the relationship between attachment style and SRE. Individual differences in attachment security may mediate long-term effects on self-esteem and anxiety, and are correlated with relationship strength (Fraley, Heffernan, Vicary, & Brumbaugh, 2011; Leondari & Kiosseoglou, 2000); therefore, attachment security is highly relevant to our discussion of how social relationships may be used to regulate emotions.

Attachment Security Adult attachment theory, as described by John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth, seeks to describe individual differences in the formation of social relationships (Bretherton, 1992). Attachment security is generally defined as feeling stable and confident in one’s ability to receive support from partners and one’s ability to connect with and depend upon partners. While initially conceived in the tradition of Freudian psychology, Bowlby and Ainsworth’s description of separation anxiety in the child-mother relationship has been expanded into a broader discussion about how adults interpret and create social connections (Fraley, Waller, & Brennan, 2000). Attachment security is often divided into two main traits, as per the Experiences in Close Relationships (ECR) questionnaire: anxious personalities, in which individuals fear losing their relationships with loved ones, and avoidant personalities, in which individuals feel unable to form connections with loved ones (Fraley et al., 2011). Our analysis focused on attachment security as an important personality factor that moderates individual differences in ability to use social support (Xie et al., 2016).

Emotional Suppression Suppression is another strategy that individuals use to regulate their emotional experience. Unlike SRE, this is a self-directed regulation strategy that aims to inhibit the expression of emotional behaviors. This requires greater cognitive resources and eventually leads to physical and emotional depletion (Cutuli, 2014). Suppression has been linked with increased stress-related physiological activation during social interaction and greater risk for depressive symptoms, possibly due to its increased cognitive demands in comparison with other emotion regulation strategies (Cutuli, 2014).

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Late Positive Potential (LPP)

Electroencephalography (EEG) is a neuroimaging technology that can be used to identify which areas of the brain are active during a specific task. Event-related potentials (ERPs) are stereotyped, evoked neural responses that are elicited in response to stimuli and measured using EEG. Unlike functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), ERPs have the advantage of directly reflecting neural activity because EEG measures the electrical signals produced by neuronal firing. In addition, the high temporal resolution of ERPs makes them ideal for measuring immediate neural responses to stimuli (Hajcak, Macnamara, & Olvet, 2010). Previous social neuroscience research has primarily used fMRI technology, which is expensive and requires specialized training. Our project is intended to explore the suitability of EEG and ERP analysis as a more accessible alternative for measuring SRE. The Late Positive Potential (LPP) is the ERP of interest in this study. It is a sustained positive deflection in the EEG waveform that reflects increased post-perceptual processing and attention to emotionally evocative visual stimuli (Richards, Holmes, Pell, & Bethell, 2013). LPP occurs 300-1500 ms after stimulus onset and is modulated by the emotional intensity of a stimulus – its amplitude increases when subjects are presented with positive or negative emotionally charged images in comparison to neutral images (Brown, van Steenbergen, Band, de Rover, & Nieuwenhuis, 2012; Hajcak et al., 2010).

Because LPP is an index of emotional intensity and valence, which are two key components of emotional experience, we chose to use it as a measure of participants’ emotional response to stressful or negative visual stimuli in this experiment. Furthermore, existing literature has reported that the LPP is sensitive to a variety of emotion regulation strategies, including cognitive reappraisal, attention manipulations, and self-guided emotion modulation (Hajcak et al., 2010). Therefore, we expect to see an effect of social regulation of emotion upon LPP amplitude.

Figure 1.

Experimental design and time course of stimulus presentation.

Study 1: Effects of Social Regulation of Emotion on Late Positive Potential In this study, we examined whether the presence of a partner in a stressful environment causes a decrease in negative emotional experience as measured by the amplitude of the Late Positive Potential. The purpose of this investigation was to understand the

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cognitive processes underlying social support. We expected to find that participants engaging in SRE would demonstrate a reduction in LPP amplitude, which would indicate that the presence of a partner had a direct effect upon affective response. This result would therefore support SRE’s efficacy as a valuable tool for emotion regulation. We compared within-subject neural responses to a series of threatening images in the presence of a partner or confederate, or alone (control condition). In addition, participants were asked questions about attachment style and general habits of emotional regulation in order for us to analyze the effect of individual difference upon ability to engage in social emotion regulation.

The expected outcome was that participants would demonstrate a reduced LPP when they engaged in SRE, in comparison with control trials in which no emotion regulation strategy was used. This would indicate a decreased emotional response to the negative stimuli and support the use of SRE as an effective emotion regulation tool. Furthermore, we expected to see greater LPP modulation when participants were in the presence of a partner versus a confederate because the partner would evoke a more authentic social connection to be used as support. We also predicted a strong correlation between individual attachment style and ability to use social support during the study. Participants who scored high on avoidant or anxious attachment measures were expected to be less adept at using SRE because this strategy relies upon close and secure attachment to another person.

Method Subjects Participants for this study were 47 University of Virginia undergraduate psychology students who were recruited from the UVA Department of Psychology participant pool. Each student was sent an email instructing him or her to bring another person that they “know and trust, whether that is a romantic partner, a friend, or your roommate.”

Participants who were unable or declined to bring a partner were automatically granted course credit and dismissed from the study. Partners were compensated $15 for their participation. Following data analysis, ten participants’ data were deemed unusable due to the high percent of artifacts (artifacts in more than 50% of trials in any block) and two participants were excluded for ERP values that were greater than two standard deviations from the mean, which reduced the final sample size to 35 individuals.

Procedure To simulate a stressful environment, participants were shown a series of unpleasant images from the Open Affective Standardized Image Set (OASIS), which have been scientifically validated to elicit emotional responses of varying intensity and emotional valence (Kurdi, Lozano, & Banaji, 2017). The 120 images that were rated as most emotionally negative and intense were incorporated in three blocks. The study consisted of three blocks of 40 trials, each showing a different OASIS image. This study design was adapted from Hajcak and Nieuwenhuis’ 2006 paper on electrophysiological correlates of emotion regulation. Each image was presented for 1 second, followed by a screen with emotion regulation instructions for 4.5 seconds and then a second presentation of the same image for 2 seconds. Participants were instructed to first view the image and then use an emotion regulation strategy to reduce their emotional response the second time that the image appeared. A single emotion regulation strategy was employed during each 40-trial block: SRE with a stranger (another researcher), SRE with their partner, or no strategy (view). There was a short break between each of the blocks. In the view block, participants were alone in the room and instructed to respond naturally to the

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stimulus without regulating their emotions. In the partner and stranger blocks, the participant’s friend or the confederate was seated beside and slightly behind the participant and instructed not to communicate with the participant during the task. The participant was told that the other person was present to help them reduce stress associated with viewing the negative images and instructed to focus on the other person as a source of comfort/social support. Prior to beginning the trials, participants were given a guided practice session using a set of images that do not appear in the experiment. They were also instructed to minimize blinking during image presentation in order to reduce the number of artifacts.

Questionnaires Immediately following each block of trials, participants were asked to respond to a brief paper survey about their experience. Participants used visual analog scales to answer the following questions: “How negative/distressing did you find the images during this set of trials?” [not at all negative = 0, extremely negative = 100], and “How much of your attention did you allocate towards the task?” [not much attention = 0, my full attention = 100]. Following collection of the ERP data and removal of the electrodes, the participants completed a series of online questionnaires intended to measure emotional regulation, overall health, emotional and psychological state, and attachment style.

Regulatory Strategy The Emotion Regulation Questionnaire (ERQ; Gross & John, 2003) and the Social Emotion Regulation Questionnaire (SERQ; Lancaster, 2018) were administered to assess individual differences in emotion regulation strategy use. Participants were asked to report how frequently they use cognitive reappraisal and expressive suppression in their everyday lives in the ERQ and how frequently they engage in social emotion regulation in the SERQ. Social Support Participants were asked to indicate how supported they feel across their entire social network.

Attachment The ECR-R questionnaire was used to measure attachment security, with a focus on differentiating between avoidant and anxious attachment personalities (Fraley et al., 2000).

Health The Perceived Stress Scale was used to assess mental health (Cohen, Kamarck, & Mermelstein, 1983).

Electrophysiological Data Collection and Analysis We collected EEG/ERP data using a BioSemi Active two system with 32 active Ag/ AgCl electrodes in a standard 10-20 configuration, referenced online to the left mastoid.

Electrooculogram (EOG) was recorded from the left eye: an electrode placed lateral to the external canthi was used to detect horizontal eye movements, while an electrode placed below the eye was used to detect eyeblinks and vertical eye movements. EEG data were epoched and processed using the ERPLab and EEGLab toolboxes in MATLAB (Lopez-Calderon and Luck, 2014; Delorme and Makeig, 2004). Data was re-referenced offline to the average of the left and right mastoids. EEG was sequentially high- and low-pass filtered at 0.1 and 30 Hz using a Butterworth impulse response function, 24 dB/oct roll-off, 60 Hz notch. Data event codes were shifted 50 ms in time to account for

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the delay in stimulus presentation in the LCD computer monitor, which was quantified using an oscilloscope. An epoch comprising 200 ms before and 2000 ms after stimulus onset was extracted for each participant, and baseline was corrected using the 200 ms pre-stimulus period. Artifactual trials were identified as those with an amplitude change exceeding 100 ÎźV between data points or within a moving 200 ms window, and were discarded from analysis. A remaining mean of 33.2 trials per condition were combined to create a single averaged waveform for each condition. All electrophysiological data analysis was performed by Katie Lancaster, PhD student in the University of Virginia Department of Psychology.

Quantifying LPP The electrode with the highest mean amplitude across time and condition was P8 (right parietal). This electrode also showed sensitivity to emotional modulation (i.e., a difference between conditions) of similar magnitude to midline parietoccipital electrodes, and thus our LPP was computed as an average signal across Pz, Oz, P3, P4, PO3, PO4, and P8, reported in ÎźV. This contrasts with prior work, which has focused primarily on a combination of electrodes surrounding PZ.

Figure 2.

Scalp topography map of LPP waveforms.

In these analyses, we concentrated on the time window spanning 300-1500 ms post-stimulus, since prior work has shown that the LPP can be manipulated through suppression and distraction as early as 250-300 ms after stimulus onset (Moser, Hajcak, Bukay, & Simons, 2006; Paul, Simon, Kniesche, Kathmann, & Endrass, 2013; Yuan et al., 2015). Figure 2 demonstrates the scalp topography of the signal in each condition over time. Since it appears that the scalp topography begins to diverge between conditions around 1000 ms, we analyzed LPP waveforms averaged across both a 300-1000 ms window and the full 300-1500 ms window. While the results of both sets of analyses were similar in direction and magnitude, the results of the 300-1000 ms window are presented here, unless otherwise specified.

Results Main Effect of Condition Previous research has indicated that instructing participants to use emotion regulation leads to significant reductions in LPP when faced with negative stimuli; however, our

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manipulation was subtler and had a greater focus on individual differences. Across all participants, we did not see a significant difference in participants’ self-reported negative arousal to the images by task condition, F(2, 33) = 1.70, p = 0.20, Mview = 50.33, SDview = 22.41, Mstranger = 45.18, SDstranger = 21.00, and Mpartner = 47.63, SDpartner = 23.81, nor did we see a difference in participants’ reported attention by task condition, F(2, 33) = 1.55, p = 0.22, Mview = 62.59, SDview = 20.79, Mstranger = 60.79, SDstranger = 21.82, Mpartner = 66.33, and SDpartner = 17.94.

Similarly, we did not find a significant difference in LPP by task condition. The stimulus-locked grand-averaged waveform for all contributing electrodes can be seen in Figure 3. Looking across the entire 300-1500 ms time-window, there was no significant difference of condition, F(2, 33) = 0.467, p = 0.49, Mview = 2.25, SDview = 2.71, Mstranger = 2.36, SDstranger = 2.84. However, the waveform between conditions can be seen to be diverging around 600 ms, and across all contributing electrodes there is a consistent pattern where the partner condition has the lowest amplitudes while the stranger condition has the highest amplitudes.

Figure 3.

Differences in LPP waveforms across parietal and occipital electrodes.

While we did not find a significant difference between conditions by looking across the entire time-series, we also tested the time period between 1400-1500 ms since this was the greatest observed difference between conditions. The repeated measures ANOVA was marginally significant, F(2,33) = 3.66 and p = 0.07, such that there was a trend-level difference between the stranger condition and the partner condition2, Mpartner = 1.69, SDpartner = 3.16, Mstranger = 2.79, SDstranger = 3.53.

Individual Differences Because no main effects of condition were detected, we analyzed whether individual differences in one of the other predictor variables were responsible for moderating LPP amplitude differences between conditions. The focus of our study is the difference 2 A difference between partner and stranger is not immediately interpretable as our hypotheses are directed towards the difference between partner & view. Amplitudes in the stranger condition may be elevated because the score distribution in this condition is significantly more positively skewed than in the other two conditions.

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between partner and view, and to a lesser extent stranger and view; therefore, we examined the association between our explanatory variables and these difference scores. A reduction in LPP in the partner condition relative to the view condition would indicate that participants were successfully able to reduce their emotional response to the images using SRE. View

Stranger

Partner

View-Stranger

View-Partner

Low Suppression

M= 2.41 SD= 4.87

M= 2.57 SD= 2.65

M= 3.34 SD= 2.68

M= -0.83 SD= 4.01

M= -0.93 SD= 3.83

High Suppression

M= 3.64 SD= 2.49

M= 2.75 SD= 2.32

M= 1.72 SD= 2.98

M= 0.04 SD= 1.86

M= 1.92 SD= 2.71

Table 1.

Mean differences between task conditions as related to expressive suppression.

Partner Closeness and Social Regulation Frequency We analyzed whether relationship closeness or self-reported social regulation frequency predicted a difference in LPP amplitude between the view and partner conditions. Contrary to expectation, we did not find an association with either variable, r(33) = 0.04, p = 0.84, r(33) = -0.25, p = 0.15, respectively. This indicates that participants were not more likely to engage in social regulation in this study if they were in the presence of a close other or if they are adept at using social regulation of emotion. While the relationship between social regulation frequency and LPP is not statistically significant, it is consistently in the opposite direction than expected across all contributing electrodes (r values range from -0.21 to -0.36), such that frequent social regulators have an increased LPP in the partner versus the view conditions.

Suppression The variable that most strongly predicts attenuated LPP in the partner condition is participants’ self-reported tendency to employ expressive suppression in a stressful situation instead of social emotion regulation. Participants were more likely to reduce their emotional responses in the presence of a partner if they typically use suppression, which contradicts our initial expectations. The same is true for the stranger, although the association is less significant; r(33) = 0.55 and p = 0.001 for partner versus view, and r(33) = 0.33, p = 0.06 for stranger versus view. This result is also apparent when looking at the mean differences between task conditions as a function of high or low suppression (Table 1). To test this relationship, a mixed-effects ANOVA was run with condition as a within-subjects factor and suppression (median split) as a between-subjects factor.

While there were no main effects of suppression or condition, the interaction was significant, F(1,33) = 6.38, p = 0.02. Figure 4 shows the disordinal interaction of suppression ability by task condition. Simple effects tests using Fisher’s LSD revealed that participants in the high suppression group showed a significant difference in LPP between the view and partner conditions, mean difference = 1.92, p = 0.02, 95% CI = [0.28, 3.57]. No other simple effects’ contrasts were significant.

Relationship Between Suppression and Other Variables As seen in Table 2, suppression was robustly inversely correlated with social regulation frequency, suggesting that participants who typically socially regulate do not use expressive suppression and vice versa. Furthermore, avoidant attachment was positively related to suppression, and negatively related to social regulation frequency. Finally, our analysis revealed a positive relationship between expressive suppression and the

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Perceived Stress Scale such that suppressors report higher levels of stress in their daily lives, r(33) = 0.33, p = 0.05.

Figure 4.

Interaction of self-reported expressive suppression by task condition.

Interim Discussion In this study, we had expected to see that participants would demonstrate a reduction in LPP in the presence of their partner. Instead, participants who reported having a close relationship with their partner or frequent experience with social emotion regulation showed a slightly elevated LPP, indicating an increased affective response to the task.

In contrast, participants who frequently used emotional suppression were best able to ‘socially regulate’ their emotional response to the stimuli and reduce LPP in the partner condition, which is unexpected since suppressors tend to be avoidantly attached and therefore should have greater difficulty utilizing the social presence of another person to reduce stress. This assertion is supported by a strong negative correlation between suppression and social regulation frequency. The most likely explanation is that participants who frequently suppress their emotions were indeed using suppression instead of SRE during this study. However, the initial questionnaire for this study only asked about general emotion regulation strategies, not which strategies the participant used during the Expressive Suppression Expressive Suppression Avoidant Attachment Social reg. frequency LPP: viewpartner LPP: viewstranger

r(33)=0.56 p=0.001 r(33)=-0.47 p=0.004 r(33)=0.55 p=0.001 r(33)=0.33 p=0.06

Avoidant Attachment

r(33)=-0.40 p=0.02 r(33)=0.32 p=0.06 r(33)=0.22 p=0.19

Social reg. frequency

r(33)=-0.25 p=0.15 r(33)=-0.19 p=0.029

LPP: viewpartner

LPP: viewstranger

r(33)= 0.50 p=0.002

Table 2.

Correlation between avoidant attachment, emotion regulation strategies, and LPP.

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actual study; therefore, we devised a follow-up study to assess whether this explanation was correct. This study is described in the next section.

Study 2: Emotion Regulation and Experience During EEG Task The purpose of this follow-up to Study 1 was to determine which emotion regulation strategy participants were actually using during the image-viewing task and investigate their experience of the experiment. We tested whether their general use of suppression was associated with their actual self-reported use of suppression within the ERP experiment. We also investigated why participants who frequently use social regulation demonstrated an increase in LPP while in the presence of their partner. Because the partners were also exposed to the aversive images, we reasoned that participants may have been concerned for the partner’s wellbeing, and therefore too distressed or distracted to engage in natural processes of social emotion regulation.

Method Subjects Approximately 6 weeks after the conclusion of the ERP study, eligible participants (those whose data were not excluded due to high number of artifacts; n = 35) were sent a follow-up questionnaire via email. Nineteen participants completed the questionnaire and were compensated $5 via Amazon e-gift card. All participants were given 3 reminders to complete the questionnaire before data collection was terminated.

Questions The survey asked participants about their use of emotion regulation strategies during the study and their overall experience during the task. Participants were asked to use a visual analog scale, scored 1-100, to respond to the following questions: “I didn’t know how to ‘make use of my partner’s support’, so I just suppressed an emotional response to the images as best I could,” “I was concerned about my partner’s reaction to viewing the negative images,” and “I found the images more threatening when my partner was next to me versus when I was alone.” We also asked participants to complete the Empathic Concern subscale from the Interpersonal Reactivity Index (Davis, 1983) and reflect on aspects of the experimental design which may have contributed to the null results we obtained: “The instructions I received during the task were confusing or didn’t make sense to me,” “I found the experimental conditions too inauthentic to be able to use social support to regulate my emotions,” and “The experiment wasn’t stressful to the point where I felt I needed my partner’s support.”

Results Nineteen of the original thirty-five participants completed the follow-up survey.

Although this is a limited number of respondents, they were representative of the overall ERP study population; those who participated in the follow-up were no different than the non-responders on all variables reported in the original study (all t values < 1.4). This indicates that selection effects are not a concern.

Suppression The primary goal of this study was to determine whether participants who tend to use expressive suppression in their daily life were also using suppression during the ERP paradigm. Participants’ endorsement of the statement “I didn’t know how to ‘make use of my partner’s support,’ so I just suppressed an emotional response to the images as best I could” was positively associated with participants’ suppression scores, r(17) = 0.45, p = 0.05 and also to the LPP attenuation from view-partner, r(17) = 0.45, p = 0.05, but not

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the LPP attenuation from view-stranger, r(17) = 0.03, p = 0.92.

Partner Concern Our secondary purpose was to investigate whether participants who frequently use social regulation of emotion were distressed or concerned about their partner’s experience during the image-viewing task to the extent that they were unable to benefit from the other person’s presence. We did not find support for this hypothesis. Social regulation frequency was not associated with endorsement of the item “I was concerned about my partner’s reaction to viewing the negative images,” r(12) = -0.23, p = 0.43, nor “I found the images more threatening when my partner was next to me versus when I was alone,” r(10) = -0.14, p = 0.67. It was also not associated with empathic concern, r(17) = -0.22, p = 0.37.

Experimental Validity

Lastly, we asked participants to reflect on how stressful and authentic the experimental conditions were and how clear the experiment instructions were in order to assess the study’s validity. While participants indicated that the instructions weren’t confusing [100 = very confusing], M = 12.69 SD = 15.14, and that the experiment was not overly inauthentic [100 = very much so], M = 59.69 SD = 23.29, participants strongly endorsed the item “The experiment was not stressful to the point where I felt I needed my partner’s support” [100 = very true], M = 85.47, SD = 18.68. Participants who were frequent social regulators were more likely to report that the experiment wasn’t stressful, r(15) = 0.49, p = 0.04, and also (marginally significantly) more likely to find the experimental conditions inauthentic, r(15) = 0.42, p = 0.09.

Interim Discussion The results of this questionnaire affirm that participants who tend to engage in emotional suppression were indeed using suppression instead of social regulation of emotion during the ERP study, which indicates that the effects of the partner’s presence on LPP were largely driven by suppression. Our theory that participants who are naturally inclined towards using SRE would be concerned about their partner’s wellbeing was not supported, and participants indicated that the experimental instructions did not prevent them from understanding the task; therefore, the primary issue appeared to be that the image viewing task was not stressful enough to induce the need for social support. The conclusions of this follow-up study are that the null results of Study 1 may have been caused by an insufficiently stressful experimental paradigm, and that emotionally suppressive participants’ use of suppression during the experiment was responsible for that group’s reduction in LPP. However, there are several other explanations to consider; for example, the detailed emotion regulation instructions given to participants may have caused them to overthink what may normally be an unconscious cognitive process, or participants may have felt too uncomfortable in the experimental setting to actively engage in SRE. We explore this first possibility in greater detail in Study 3, as described below.

Study 3: Effect of Emotion Regulation Instruction upon Subjective Pain Experience The purpose of this study was to evaluate whether detailed (explicit) or vague (implicit) experimental instructions would best allow participants to engage in authentic social support. In Study 1, participants were given very detailed instructions before beginning the task to ensure that the purpose of the experiment was clear; however, the null results made us suspect that this strategy backfired by causing participants to overthink the task and therefore prevented them from naturally benefitting from their partner’s

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presence, as evidenced by social regulators’ increased LPP and poor performance during the image-viewing task. Reeck et al.’s 2016 paper on the social regulatory cycle suggested that social emotion regulation may be most effective when targets do not realize that a partner is providing support, since this may cause them to feel that their own self-regulatory ability is being judged as insufficient. Previous studies have shown that participants demonstrate reduced emotional reactivity when provided with invisible support during a stressful task, such as an unplanned speech, whereas visible support actually increased participants’ distress relative to both the invisible support and control (non-support) conditions (Bolger & Amarel, 2007). This may be due to participants feeling “overbenefitted” by their partners or doubtful of their own capacity to handle stress, which lowers self-esteem (Bolger & Amarel, 2007). Therefore, in this study we created a condition in which participants were given minimal instruction about their partner’s role to decrease the visibility of the partner’s support, in comparison with a detailed instructions condition and a non-social control. We administered a cold pressor test to induce stress.

Methods Subjects Participants for this study were 160 University of Virginia undergraduate psychology students who were recruited from the UVA Department of Psychology participant pool.

Each student was assigned to be in one of the three experimental conditions: control, partner with explicit instructions, or partner with implicit instructions. Those in the partner conditions were sent an email instructing him or her to bring another person that they “know and trust, whether that is a romantic partner, a friend, or your roommate.”

Participants who were unable or declined to bring a partner were automatically granted course credit and dismissed from the study. In addition, participants with experience taking ice baths (such as varsity athletes) were discouraged from participating. Partners were compensated $5 for their participation. Following data analysis, six participants’ data were deemed unusable due to medical conditions such as Raynaud’s Syndrome or repeated experimentation of the partner/participant, which reduced the final sample size to 154 individuals (n = 50 for the control condition, n = 51 for explicit, and n = 53 for implicit).

Procedure At the beginning of the study, participants were told that the purpose of the experiment was to explore the factors that impact subjective pain experience. They were instructed to fully submerge their non-dominant hand in a bucket of ice water (1.4-1.6ºC) for as long as possible. Those who were assigned to one of the two partner conditions were instructed not to speak to or touch their partner during the study. Partners were seated next to the participants and slightly behind them so as to be in their peripheral vision but not their direct line of sight. During the cold pressor test, the researcher timed how long the participant’s hand was submerged in the water. If participants were able to keep their hand in for 3 minutes, which was the maximum time permitted for safety reasons, the experimenter would then instruct them to remove their hand. After the test was completed, participants completed a series of online questionnaires as described below.

Prior to beginning the cold pressor test, participants who were assigned to receive explicit instructions about social regulation of emotion were told to concentrate on their partner’s presence as a source of comfort/support in order to reduce stress. Participants in the implicit instructions condition were only told that researchers were examining the effects of a partner’s presence on subjective pain experience and did not receive further information regarding social regulation of emotion. Participants in the control

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(non-social) condition did not have a partner present. They completed an online visualization task in which they were asked to think about their daily routine for 2 minutes and provide a short written description for 4 minutes. The purpose of this online task was to encourage a non-social focus during the cold pressor test.

Questionnaires Following the cold pressor task, participants in all three conditions completed an online questionnaire.

Regulatory Strategy The SERQ was administered to assess individual differences in social emotion regulation use.

Experience Participants were asked to estimate how positive/negative their mood was. Participants in the two social conditions were also asked about the closeness of their relationship with their partner.

Figure 5.

Mean persistence time across conditions.

Results Persistence Times Comparing persistence times between conditions revealed a significant difference between groups, F(2,151) = 5.72, p=0.004. Figure 5 illustrates that contrary to our hypothesis, this difference is limited to the contrasts between the social conditions and the control condition. There was no significant difference in persistence times between the explicit and implicit instruction groups, p = 0.59. Male participants were largely responsible for the difference between the social conditions and the control condition: a two-way ANOVA assessing the effects of gender (male vs. female) and condition (social vs. control) on persistence times revealed a significant main effect of condition, F(1,150) = 14.58, p < 0.001, and a marginally significant interaction between gender and condition, F(1,150) = 3.79. p = 0.05. As demonstrated in Figure 6, males and females did not differ in their persistence times in the control condition, but malesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; persistence times were significantly increased when performing the task in the presence of a partner.

Participantsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; mood did not differ by experimental condition, F(2,149) = 0.72, p = 0.49, Mimplicit = 62.53, SDimplicit = 20.40, Mexplicit = 60.28, SDexplicit = 21.42, Mcontrol = 65.14, SDcontrol = 18.41, nor did it interact with gender, F(1,148) = 0.08, p = 0.78. In

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the two social conditions, persistence time was positively correlated with mood, r(103)= 0.24, p = 0.02, and strength of the relationship with their partner, r(99) = 0.20, p = 0.04.

Furthermore, strength of relationship with partner was marginally significantly related to positive mood r(96) = 0.17, p = 0.09.

Figure 6.

Mean persistence time across conditions, divided by gender.

Interim Discussion Whether participants were given explicit or implicit instructions about emotion regulation produced no significant difference in persistence times between the two groups.

This indicates that participants’ ability to engage in SRE is not strongly affected by the type of instructions given. The difference in cold pressor persistence times between the social and non-social groups may be due to social regulation; however, social facilitation, a psychological effect where individuals modify their behavior in response to being observed by another person, is the more likely explanation (Markus, 1978). Participants, especially males, persisted longer in the task when accompanied by a partner. However, there was no significant difference in mood between the experimental conditions, which indicates that participants are not necessarily feeling more positive during the task and may not be benefitting from the emotional support of a partner. In addition, in all three conditions, participants were explicitly told that the experimenter was not watching them, but participants in the presence of a partner may have felt social pressure to keep their hand in the ice water for a longer period of time since their partner was observing their performance. It is also possible that the partner’s presence served as a form of distraction from the pain of the ice water; although partners were seated out of participants’ direct line of sight, participants and partners often talked with each other prior to the task, and several participants turned around to look at their partner before being reminded by the experimenter to continue facing forward. The null results of this experiment indicate the complexity of creating an ecologically valid paradigm without incorporating confounding elements such as social facilitation or distraction.

Regardless of the main effect of condition, persistence times were predicted by individual differences. Participants who self-reported greater feelings of closeness to their partner performed better on the task and had (marginally significantly) more positive moods. Although this result may be overshadowed by the effect of social facilitation, it does indicate that there is some benefit of a supportive partner’s presence during a stressful situation. Therefore, the experimental paradigm might be improved by switching from a “performance” task, in which participants feel that their abilities are being judged, to a passive task in which they are simply responding to the environment. Eliminating the

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performance element of the task would prevent facilitation from affecting participants’ behavior and therefore enable a greater focus on their emotional response. Another option would be to remove the partner’s ability to oversee the participant’s performance by blindfolding them or placing them behind a one-way mirror. Reducing the effects of social facilitation would allow individual differences in social regulation capacity to become more readily apparent.

Conclusion This research provides an important step towards understanding the complexity of evoking social regulation of emotion in an experimental setting. The initial purpose of this work was to investigate whether SRE reduced participants’ emotional response to negative stimuli; however, the experimental paradigm failed to evoke social regulation and instead produced paradoxical results, which were later explained by the follow-up questionnaire. The most compelling result was that participants who reported frequent use of suppression demonstrated a reduction in LPP amplitude, while those who frequently engaged in SRE showed an increase in LPP amplitude. This led us to explore whether aspects of the experimental design prevented SRE-capable participants from authentically engaging in social support with their partners. Follow-up research revealed that individual differences in closeness of the participant’s relationship with their partner predicted performance on a cold pressor test and were associated with improved mood, which supports the role of SRE in reducing stress. However, the significant increase in test performance in the two social groups in comparison with the alone control group is likely due to social facilitation, especially in males. There was no difference in persistence time between participants given explicit versus vague instructions about using SRE. While Reeck had hypothesized that the visibility of social support affected participants’ ability to benefit from the presence of a partner, we did not find evidence to support this theory – making participants more aware of their partner’s support had no significant impact upon performance (Reeck et al., 2016). We intend to use the results of these studies to guide further inquiry into the role of individual differences in attachment and SRE capability, as well as provide recommendations for the study design for future investigations of SRE. In addition to providing suggestions for the design of future studies, the results of this thesis lay the groundwork for a more rigorous investigation of the factors affecting individual ability to engage in SRE. Previous research has supported the efficacy of SRE as a method for regulating emotional responses to stress. Therefore, it would be valuable to learn more about how positive mental health outcomes can be created through SRE. Our study indicates that individual attachment style and degree of closeness with a partner are some of the variables that predict whether participants are able to use SRE to reduce emotional responses to negative stimuli. It would be worthwhile to explore if other elements such as empathy and parental closeness similarly predict ability to use SRE, and whether psychological interventions to encourage social bonding can be designed to improve outcomes for individuals who score poorly on these predictive measures.

References Bolger, N., & Amarel, D. (2007). Effects of Social Support Visibility on Adjustment to Stress : Experimental Evidence, 92(3), 458–475. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.92.3.458 Bretherton, I. (1992). The origins of attachment theory: John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth.

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Functional significance of the emotion-related late positive potential. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 6(February), 1–12. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnhum.2012.00033 Coan, J. A., Beckes, L., & Allen, J. P. (2014). Regulatory Impact of Social Relationships in Adulthood, 88(3), 224–231. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ijpsycho.2013.04.006.Childhood

SOCIAL REGULATION OF EMOTION 31 Coan, J. A., Beckes, L., Gonzalez, M. Z., Maresh, E. L., Brown, C. L., & Hasselmo, K. (2017). Relationship status and perceived support in the social regulation of neural responses to threat.

Social Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience, 12(10), 1574–1583. https://doi.org/10.1093/ scan/nsx091 Coan, J. A., Schaefer, H. S., & Davidson, R. J. (2006). Lending a Hand Social Regulation of the Neural Response to Threat, 17(12), 1032–1040.

Cohen, S., Kamarck, T., & Mermelstein, R. (1983). A global measure of perceived stress. J Health Soc Behav, 24(4), 385–96.

Cutuli, D. (2014). Cognitive reappraisal and expressive suppression strategies role in the emotion regulation: an overview on their modulatory effects and neural correlates. Frontiers in Systems Neuroscience, 8(September), 1–6. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnsys.2014.00175 Davis, M. (1983). Measuring individual differences in empathy: Evidence for a multidimensional approach. J Pers Soc Psychol., 44, 113–126.

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Fraley, Heffernan, M. E., Vicary, A. M., & Brumbaugh, C. C. (2011). The Experiences in Close Relationships-Relationship Structures Questionnaire: A Method for Assessing Attachment Orientations Across Relationships. Psychological Assessment, 23(3), 615–625. https://doi. org/10.1037/a0022898 Fraley, Waller, N. G., & Brennan, K. A. (2000). An item-response theory analysis of self-report measures of adult attachment. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 78, 350–365.

Gross, J. J., & John, O. P. (2003). Individual differences in two emotion regulation processes: Implications for affect, relationships, and well-being. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 85, 348–362.

Hajcak, G., Macnamara, A., & Olvet, D. M. (2010). Event-related potentials, emotion, and emotion regulation: An integrative review. Developmental Neuropsychology, 35(2), 129–155. https://doi.org/10.1080/87565640903526504 Helbig-Lang, S., Rusch, S., & Lincoln, T. M. (2015). Emotion regulation difficulties in social anxiety disorder and their specific contributions to anxious responding. Journal of Clinical Psychology, 71(3), 241–249. https://doi.org/10.1002/jclp.22135 Kurdi, B., Lozano, S., & Banaji, M. R. (2017). Introducing the Open Affective Standardized Image Set (OASIS). Behavior Research Methods, 49(2), 457–470. https://doi.org/10.3758/ s13428-016-0715-3 Lancaster, K. (2018). The social regulation of emotion and its importance for human health.

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Moser, J. S., Hajcak, G., Bukay, E., & Simons, R. F. (2006). Intentional modulation of emotional responding to unpleasant pictures: An ERP study. Psychophysiology, 43(3), 292–296. https:// doi.org/10.1111/j.1469-8986.2006.00402.x Paul, S., Simon, D., Kniesche, R., Kathmann, N., & Endrass, T. (2013). Timing effects of antecedent- and response-focused emotion regulation strategies. Biological Psychology, 94(1), 136– 142. https://doi.org/10.1016/J.BIOPSYCHO.2013.05.019 Reeck, C., Ames, D. R., & Ochsner, K. N. (2016). The Social Regulation of Emotion : An Integrative , Cross-Disciplinary Model. Trends in Cognitive Sciences, 20(1), 47–63. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.tics.2015.09.003 Richards, A., Holmes, A., Pell, P., & Bethell, E. (2013). Adapting effects of emotional expression in anxiety: evidence for an enhanced Late Positive Potential. Soc Neurosci, 8(6), 650–64.

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AQUARIUS DRINK FILLING ROBOT Computer Engineering

KAY HUTCHINSON, JON GUSTAFSON, BRAD HOUSKA, MANSOOR SYED Kay Hutchinson graduated from UVA in December 2018 with a major in Electrical Engineering and a minor in Physics. She is a member of the IEEE Honor Society, Eta Kappa Nu (HKN), and enjoys building robots. Kay is now pursing her PhD in Electrical Engineering at UVA in surgical robotics.

Jon Gustafson will be graduating from the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences at UVA in May of 2019 with a Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering and a minor in Computer Science. He is a member of Tau Beta Pi and will be working for Northrop Grumman after graduation.

Brad Houska is graduating in May 2019 with a double major in Electrical Engineering and Physics (B.A.). He is a member of Club Running, Energy Working Group, IEEE Eta Kappa Nu, and enjoys climbing and mountain biking. Brad is pursuing a Masters in Electrical Engineering at Georgia Tech in GaN power devices.

Mansoor Syed is a Computer Engineering and Physics double major from the class of 2019. He has been involved in research projects in UVA’s Quantum Information Lab, and will be a software engineer in the DC metro area, aiming to be a part of the quantum computing industry in the future. In his free time, Mansoor enjoys hiking and playing squash.

“Aquarius performed reliably when the cup was placed at different locations and under a variety of lighting conditions.”

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Aquarius Drink Filling Robot Kay Hutchinson, Jon Gustafson, Brad Houska, Mansoor Syed University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 Aquarius Automated Drink Refilling Robot is a device to automate the process of refilling a drinking glass. This project involved the design and construction of a machine that used real-time machine vision to automatically locate a cup on a table, determine its fullness, deploy a robotic system to the cup’s position, and control a water pump to refill the cup. The most challenging parts of this project were the image processing, and control circuit and printed circuit board (PCB) design. The image processing routines were able to identify a cup using geometric pattern matching and determine the cup’s “real world” position through the use of fiduciary marks and a calibration file. Due to the time constraints present in this type of system, the image processing routines were run on a personal computer which allowed for rapid image processing. Once the cup’s fullness and position were ascertained by the computer system, instructions were sent through User Datagram Protocol (UDP) to an embedded system which controlled the robotic arm and water pump. The embedded system utilized in this project was a National Instruments myRIO and it was programmed using the LabVIEW language. To supplement this embedded controller, supporting circuitry was designed and a custom printed circuit board was manufactured. After integrating all components of the system together, the robot was fully functioning and operated as defined above. Aquarius makes significant advancements in the field of restaurant automation because it uses only a single camera to locate, direct movement to, and control the refilling of an empty drinking glass.

Keywords: robotics, fluid-level detection, hospitality industry, autonomous, computer vision geometry, image processing, machine vision

Background When restaurants get busy during the evening dinner rush, waiters and waitresses serve many tables simultaneously and may not be able to keep an eye on the levels of all of their guests’ drinks. As a result, guests may be displeased by the seemingly low quality of service indicated by their empty drinking glasses, and poor reviews are bad for business.

To increase profits and provide better service, the restaurant service industry is moving toward automating tasks by implementing pay-at-the-table devices [1] and burger-flipping robots [2], but the task of refilling drinks has not yet been addressed. Popular chains like Olive Garden and Panera Bread have begun implementing restaurant automation, so this project fits nicely into this emerging trend.

There have been several studies on automatic drink detection in academia. For example, the Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism funded a study in image recognition and water level detection for cups in restaurants using surveillance cameras [3]. The error rate of liquid level detection was below 3%, even while using a cup image of only 28 x 43 pixels with 72 ppi (points per inch). By comparison, the iPhone X has a resolution of 2436x1125 pixels with 458 ppi. Another study looked into embedding a vertical sensor in a cup with a radio module to detect liquid level and monitor hydration for the elderly [4].

1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/s10t-px27

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In the commercial realm, many patents have been filed for drink refill systems in manual drink dispensers [5], [6]. The closest the restaurant industry has come to automating drink service has been a robotic bartender called Monsieur that pours alcoholic beverages into a cup placed inside of it [7].

Besides the surveillance camera study, the authors have not found any other published paper that has used image processing to detect cups and their water level. In addition, the authors have not found a system in published literature that recognized cups, read their water level, and automatically dispensed water to them. Consequently, the authors believe that this project is unique in its scope.

Constraints Design Constraints There were many design constraints in this project. The entire system needed to fit on a tabletop with the drink-refilling range over a large portion of the table. Since the system was designed to be noninvasive, no special sensors in the cup for position and liquid level detection were allowed. Additionally, the water height detection algorithm needed to be quick enough to prevent the cup from overfilling.

Other logistical constraints throughout the development process included PCB manufacturing and part ordering times. A PCB took around a week to get back and another couple of days to populate, introducing a significant latency in development. Also, towards the end of the semester, shipping times started to increase due to inclement weather conditions. The availability of parts was another constraint, particularly for special components, such as the high power-rated resistors that were needed for the motor drivers.

Tools Employed To complete this project, many different tools were employed. To physically construct the robotic arm assembly of this project, saws, power drills, screwdrivers, Allen wrenches, and measuring tapes were used. In addition to these tools, SolidWorks was used to design a nozzle for the end of the water pumpâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hose. The CubePro 3D printer in the National Instruments Discovery Lab was used to create this nozzle. To complete the electrical side of the project, tools such as Multisim and Ultiboard were used to generate system schematics and to create printed circuit board layouts. In addition to these software packages, the Advanced Circuits FreeDFM tool was used to make sure there were no serious errors in the printed circuit board layout that would have prevented successful production. LabVIEW allowed for rapid prototyping of various image processing techniques as well as the creation of a state machine to control the armâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s movements. The Vision Acquisition, Vision Assistant, myRIO, and FPGA toolkits were used in LabVIEW. Health and Safety Constraints A major system requirement was that the drink dispensing system must be sanitary.

Germs, mold, or other harmful organisms could proliferate in the water residue in the pump or hose. Therefore, antimicrobial surfaces must be used on materials that come into contact with the water. The system must also be cleaned regularly to prevent the accumulation of dirt and germs. Furthermore, if chemicals leach into the water in the pipe or pump system, serious problems could result. Therefore, if this system was sold commercially, the design would need to be further tested and improved.

To address the water quality problem, the group chose food-grade tubing and a foodgrade water pump. One problem was that a 3D-printed water nozzle made of ABS plastic

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was used, which is not food-safe. To rectify this problem, a food safe alternative should be used in a final production model.

Another concern with such a device is the potential for water to spill onto electronic components causing shorting. To address this, the 120 VAC to 12 VDC power supply should be positioned in an enclosed box to prevent objects or water from shorting the power supply.

Intellectual Property Issues Three patents similar to this design were only concerned with dispensing beverages into cups placed inside or under these machines, whereas this robot moves to the cup.

For example, a patent for a robotic beverage dispenser lists as an independent claim that the controller of the robot “is configured to cause said robotic arm to pick a beverage container, to cause a first and a second beverage to be dispensed from said beverage supply into said container held by said robotic arm” [8]. This robot is fundamentally different from the robot created for this project—the robot in the patent picked up a cup from a known location and filled it with a beverage. Another patent for an automatic drink dispenser had an independent claim that discussed “automatically dispensing a beverage into containers of different sizes” but had a dependent claim that used flow rate and dispensing time to determine how much liquid to pump [9]. That is fundamentally different from this project because Aquarius depended on image processing feedback to determine how much fluid to pour into the cup. A third patent has a dependent claim that says it includes a “structural barrier to avoid a contact between the robotic arm and a user” [10]. However, the robot built in this project has to be able to move around people because it is not separated by a similar barrier that would prevent contact between diners and the robot.

Figure 1.

Front view of drink refilling robot.

Detailed Technical Description of Project Image Processing The main computational components of the drink refilling robot were the image processing programs. These programs were responsible for two primary tasks: identification of a cup on the table and fluid level detection.

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Figure 2.

Geometric cup matching in the saturation plane.

The first element of the image processing subsystem was the camera used to acquire all data for the robot to function effectively. The camera chosen for this project was a Microsoft LifeCam Studio camera. This camera was chosen for several reasons. Firstly, it had a built-in clip system that could be used to attach it to structures. This feature was beneficial because it allowed for the camera to be mounted in different configurations without the need for custom mechanical connections. Secondly, it was chosen for its USB compatibility so it could easily be integrated with a computer running Windows.

To maximize the camera’s utility, it was mounted on a vertical post on one side of the robot, as shown in Figure 1. When it was mounted, the camera was oriented on its side and panned down at an angle so that it could “see” the entire table surface. This particular mounting configuration was chosen because it allowed the camera to be mounted at a lower height and ensured that the camera would never be obstructed by the robotic arm.

The lower camera height was beneficial for the project because it allowed the camera to more easily detect cups that were placed close to the camera while maintaining the angled configuration needed to properly determine the fullness of a cup placed on the table.

After the mechanical considerations to image processing had been considered, algorithms were created to carry out the two primary tasks for this subsystem. One major design consideration made during the development of these algorithms was their resilience to noise. The resilience to noise was a necessary design consideration because otherwise different lighting and environmental conditions could cause the system to incorrectly identify a cup. In the event that a cup was incorrectly identified, the robotic arm could either not recognize the cup and thus never refill it, or could identify a non-existent cup and result in water spillage. This design consideration greatly impacted the final design of the image processing algorithms.

The first set of algorithms employed in this project were used to detect the cup’s position on a table as well as perform pre-processing techniques to aid in fluid level detection. The first step taken when an image was obtained by the camera was to extract the saturation plane of the image. Because the saturation plane essentially allows for the purity of a color to be tested, extracting the color plane made it very easy to identify cups, as shown in Figure 2. Therefore, the blue cups used in this project stood out in stark contrast to the dark background. The next step in the image processing algorithm was to identify a series of reference marks placed on the corners of the table. This detection was performed using basic template matching. Template matching was the chosen

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image processing technique for this particular step because it provided increased speed compared to other matching techniques and was able to consistently detect the reference marks on the table since they never changed shape or became distorted.

After the reference points were identified, the cup itself was located. Unlike the reference marks, the cup was identified using a geometric matching approach. Geometric matching was chosen for this application over regular template matching for several reasons. One reason was noise resistance. Since geometric matching is performed on the identified edges of an image, correctly setting the edge threshold resulted in greater matching fidelity and less erroneous matches. This improved result is in part due to the initial saturation plane extraction. Since the cup was much brighter than the background, the edge threshold could be set relatively high which prevented shadows and other lighting effects from greatly impacting the program’s ability to locate the cup in the image.

When a template of the cup’s edges was created, a “center point” was indicated. This indicated point did not actually correspond with the center of the template, but actually matched with the approximate center of the cup. This technique allowed the geometric matching system to generate an output where the pixel coordinates corresponded to the approximate center of the cup when looking at it from a top down perspective. The final stage of cup identification used the previously located reference marks to generate a calibration file. Since all the marks on the table were a known distance from each other, the system was able to observe where these points were in the image and generate a mathematical mapping between the set of pixel coordinates and the set of real world Cartesian coordinates. This calibration file and the previously mentioned geometric matched pixel coordinates were fed into a conversion stage that converted the pixel coordinates into their real world Cartesian equivalent. The origin for the Cartesian coordinate plane was the front edge of the robot on the side at which the arm rested when not in use.

After the cup had been successfully identified, the image processing subsystem began the work of preprocessing the image for the fluid level height detection. Since the camera was rotated 90° when mounted, the image first needed to be rotated. To accomplish this, the original image captured from the camera was cropped around the cup’s center point as detected by the geometric matching process. The cropped image was rotated according to an angle measurement that was also generated by the geometric matching step.

This crop and rotation created a smaller image where the cup was roughly centered and aligned so that the longitudinal axis of the cup was vertical in the image. This approach was taken because the cup appeared to be at different angles when placed at different locations on the table due to the position and orientation of the camera. Isolating the cup according to this methodology ensured that it would remain in a standardised position prior to fluid height detection. Before passing this image along, one more pre-processing step was taken. Since the cup was sometimes placed near the edges of the table, the crop mentioned above could sometimes include background clutter that may have interfered with height detection. To eliminate this source of noise, a second crop was performed.

This second crop was centered on the center point of the cup which was found through another geometric matching operation, creating a very thin slice along the longitudinal axis of the cup. Cropping the image in this manner ensured that very few outside objects were detected and allowed the fluid height detection to have the “cleanest” image possible.

To detect the fluid height level in the cup, the secondary cropped image, described above, had its red, green, and blue color planes manipulated. This manipulation was done by modifying each plane’s brightness, contrast, and gamma value. The gamma value describes the nonlinear relationship between numerical pixel values captured by a camera and the actual luminance that our eyes perceive. This process was done to allow the cup to stand out against the background as perceived by the computer. The green

AQUARIUS DRINK FILLING ROBOT

39

color plane was made very dark with a high contrast while the other two planes had both a very large contrast and a large brightness. The gamma values were then manipulated to account for camera non-linearities and remove some noise observed in the resultant image. This approach was taken instead of the saturation plane extraction previously discussed because a saturation plane extraction had the side effect of removing the color associated with the fluid in the cup which made the fluidâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge difficult to detect. Next, an intensity plane color extraction was performed. This extraction essentially converted the image into a grayscale representation of itself. After a grayscale image was obtained, Canny edge detection was performed. Canny edge detection was used in this algorithm because it has some inbuilt capability to suppress noise in the image unlike many other types of edge detection processes.

Figure 3.

Edge detection, horizontal line detection, and dilation.

Then, thresholding was done to convert the resultant image into a binary image.

Once a binary image was obtained, the binary morphological erosion operation was performed, as shown in the left photo in Figure 3. For this particular operation, a 1D structuring element consisting of 5 horizontal boxes was used. The purpose of this specific structuring element and operation was to remove all the non-horizontal lines in the image. Due to the methodology employed to detect the fullness of a cup, it was necessary to only consider horizontal edges. After the erosion operation was performed, it would occasionally reduce lines that were roughly horizontal, but not perfectly so, as shown in the middle picture in Figure 3. To remedy this, a dilation operation was performed using a 1D horizontal structuring element consisting of 15 pixels, as shown in the right photo of Figure 3. By performing these two operations, the noise in the image was greatly reduced and very clear distinctive horizontal lines were left.

Once the aforementioned steps were performed, the following procedure was followed to obtain a liquid level height. A line profile down the center of the image was taken. The value in this line was 0 if there was no horizontal edge and 1 if there was a horizontal edge at the pixel. Looking from the bottom of the image upwards, at least the following edges were detected: the bottom edge of the cup on the table, two edges at the bottom rim of the cup, one edge where the liquid met the inside of the cup (which may not appear if the liquid is low and obfuscated by the cup itself), and the top rim of the cup. There may have been additional edges above the top of the cup due to noise or other objects in the field of view of the camera. The liquid level value needed to be invariant to cup position. The metric that was developed that was least susceptible to variations in distance and angle from the camera was as follows: divide the distance between the liquid level and the bottom of the cup by the distance between the top rim of the cup and the bottom edge of the cup. A filled-to-the-brim cup has a height ratio of 1 and the threshold for fullness was set to about 0.8.

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High-Level Control of the Robot The above image processing steps had speed requirements in addition to noise resilience and accuracy requirements. The image processing was performed on a modern laptop computer in order to rapidly update the height ratio as the cup was being filled with water. Even with a fairly low camera resolution, the update rate was only around 1.5 frames per second. Filtering was also performed on the cup positions and especially the height ratio value. Noise would often add or remove one of the edges that were mentioned above. In order to ameliorate this problem, a rolling median filter of five height ratio values was used. In this way, large outliers created due to noise could be filtered out and not interfere negatively with the state machine. The desktop processing contained all the image processing and is summarized with 4 outputs: X position, Y position, cup match (true or false), and height ratio. These 4 values were packetized and sent over UDP to the myRIO which contained the state machine and hardware control. The actual operation of the robot was controlled by a state machine with four states: Initial, Premove, Move-Arm, Fill-Water.

Initial: arm to 0, stepper kept at 0, monitor cup position and liquid level

Initial to Premove: liquid level below threshold (0.75) Premove: monitor cup position and liquid level

Premove to Initial: cup moves more than 1.5 inches away or cup level above 0.75

Premove to Move-Arm: 5 seconds passed in this state Move-Arm: move stepper to recorded Y position

Goes to Fill-Water once stepper in position Fill-Water: hold arm at X position, pump water at .77 duty cycle

Fill-Water to Initial: liquid level > 0.77 then stop pump, purge, and return arm

to origin Refilling Sequence State Machine The program begins in the Initial state, with the arm kept at the origin. The cup position and liquid levels are constantly monitored. When a cup is found with a liquid level height ratio below 0.75, the program moves to the Premove state. The purpose of the Premove state is to ensure that the cup is actually stationary and to prevent the robot from trying to chase a moving cup. Only after five seconds pass with a stationary â&#x20AC;&#x153;non-fullâ&#x20AC;? cup will the program move into the Move-Arm stage where the robot moves directly above the cup. Once in position, the Fill-Water stage begins where the pump is running and the liquid level continues to be monitored. Once the threshold of 0.77 is reached, the pump is turned off. The arm is kept in position for a few seconds and the pump is pulsed to remove water left in the tube. Following this, the robot arm is moved back to the origin and the Initial state is re-entered.

Figure 4.

LMZ12008TZ DC to DC converter.

AQUARIUS DRINK FILLING ROBOT

41

Figure 5.

DC/DC converter board layout.

Power PCB The myRIO interfaced with the robotic arm through a printed circuit board (PCB) that included a power supply for the servos, a driver for the water pump motor, a buffer for the servo control signal lines, an optoisolator to isolate the limit switch signal, and a stepper motor driver chip to control the stepper motor.

To power the 6 V high-torque servo motors, the Texas Instruments LMZ12008TZ 12 V to 6 V switched-mode power supply was used. R10 and R11 were used to set the output voltage according to the equation Vout=0.795Ă&#x2014;(1+R11/R10).

The IC chip in Figure 4 powered two servo motors, which could draw a maximum of about 2 A if there was force against the motors. Therefore, a proper heat dissipation method was needed and several thermal vias were added underneath the chip, as shown in the layout in Figure 5.

Figure 6.

PWM voltage buffer for the servo motors.

In Figure 6, servo signals from the myRIO were buffered with a 74VHC125 quad buffer from Nexperia to prevent overdrawing current from the myRIO DIO pins.

In Figure 7, the LTV-817 optoisolator was used to isolate the limit switch signal. The typical input current was 5 mA, and it had a typical forward bias voltage of 1.2 V, so a 787 ohm resistor was used at the input.

In order to simplify sending commands to the stepper motor, an A3982 bipolar stepper

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HUTCHINSON, GUSTAFSON, HOUSKA, SYED

motor driver from Allegro MicroSystems LLC was used to control the stepper motor, shown in Figure 8. This chip required only five signal lines from the myRIO for enable, reset, step size, direction, and step. During operation, the direction was set and the step pin was toggled to make the stepper motor step. The stepper motor driver had internal overcurrent protections and the current to the stepper motors could be limited by the value of the sense resistors shown in the schematic for the stepper motor driver below.

The datasheet for the stepper motor driver had an equation used to calculate the value of the sense resistors: Itripmax=Vref/(8*rsense). Vref was the reference voltage on the REF pin of the chip which was set to 3 V using a simple voltage divider circuit. According to the specifications for the stepper motor, its maximum current per phase was 1.68 A, so a conservative trip current of 1.5 A was used to calculate the sense resistor value, which came out to 0.25 ohms. This trip current was chosen to protect the stepper motors because the stepper motor driver chip was capable of supplying up to 2 A per phase, which may have caused damage to the stepper motor if part of the circuit was accidentally shorted.

Figure 7.

LTV-817 Lite-On Inc Optoisolator for the Limit Switch.

The initial board design used components with power ratings that were too low which caused the sense resistors to fail and damaged several stepper motor driver chips. This problem was resolved in the final board revision for which components with much higher power ratings were chosen. This was especially important for the sense resistor because even with the maximum voltage of 0.5 V across the sense resistor, the resistor could see up to 1 W of power. Therefore, 2 W resistors with a much larger footprint were used in the final design to provide a safety margin so that the sense resistors would not fail and inhibit the stepper motor driver chipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s internal overcurrent cutoff. A large 1000 ÎźF bypass capacitor was also added to dampen noise from the stepper motor. Test points for three important signal lines and the outputs to the stepper motor were added for diagnostic purposes to facilitate testing the PCB and stepper motor system. Furthermore, 30 mil traces were calculated to be sufficient to supply the currents for the stepper motor coils and these were routed underneath the chip because they were unlikely to

Figure 8.

Allegro Microsystems A3982SLBTR-T stepper motor driver.

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43

affect the chipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s internal circuitry since the chip was already handling high currents.

An Infineon IRLB8721PBF-ND power MOSFET was used to drive the water pump, as shown in the schematic in Figure 9. This allowed a PWM signal to vary the speed of the pump motor.

Figure 9.

IRLB8721PBF-ND power MOSFET for controlling water pump.

The initial PCB designs used 0805 footprint components, but the resistors did not have high enough maximum power ratings, and the capacitors did not have high enough voltage ratings, so larger footprint components were used for the final board. This was especially important for the current sense resistors for the stepper motor driver, which experienced a high current. Lastly, a 120 V AC to 12 V DC LRS-100-12 Mean Well switching power supply was used to power to the PCB, with a current rating of 8.5 A.

Figure 10.

Final PCB layout.

The final PCB layout and populated board are shown in Figures 10 and 11. Additional test points to +5 V, ground, and digital input/output pins were added for diagnostic purposes, and to provide access to more pins on the myRIO.

Robotic Arm The mechanical portion of this project consisted of a robotic arm and a set of rails that

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HUTCHINSON, GUSTAFSON, HOUSKA, SYED

allowed the arm to translate across the table. The robotic arm consisted of two segments of equal length positioned by a pair of servos. The servos moved together to extend the arm over the table at a constant height. They are shown extending towards the cup in Figure 12. The Hitec servos used to actuate the arm accepted commands for 0.9 ms to 2.1 ms of a 50 Hz (20 ms) square wave. This meant that the minimum position of the servos corresponded to a duty cycle of 4.5% and the maximum position of the servos corresponded to a duty cycle of 10.5% of the 50 Hz square wave. After receiving coordinates from the cup location program, the x-coordinate was converted into angles for each servo which were then converted into servo positions so that the appropriate duty cycles for each servo could be calculated. The tubing for the water pump was attached to the arm to hold it in place and the other end of the tubing went to the centrifugal pump in a large water reservoir behind the robotâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s frame.

The translational stage moved the robotic arm across the table using a stepper motor.

After receiving a coordinate from the cup location program, the y-coordinate in inches was used to calculate the number of steps the stepper motor needed to move. Then, this number was used to determine a reasonable number of steps during which to ramp the stepper motor up to a set maximum number of steps per second. This ramp function allowed the stepper motor to accelerate slowly so it would not slip or stall which could have occurred if the stepper motor was asked to accelerate too suddenly. A limit switch was also incorporated into the rail system at the home position so that the mechanical system would not damage itself if it miscounted or lost count of the number of steps it had traveled.

Figure 11.

Final assembled PCB.

Test Plan The first step of testing this project was to test the machine vision portion. To accomplish this, a cup was placed in front of the image processing system and the system output was manually inspected. If the cup was not detected properly or if the marked center of the cup was not appropriate, then the program was modified and the system re-tested.

This process was repeated for different cup positions on the table and varying states of

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45

fullness. By testing in this manner, the system was tuned to reliably detect a cup and its position on the table.

Figure 12.

Extended robotic arm.

Next, the same process was followed for the process of converting pixel coordinates into Cartesian coordinates. The cup was placed in known locations and the generated Cartesian coordinates were evaluated. If the produced coordinates did not match the cupâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s true position, then this portion of the program was revised and the tests were repeated.

After determining that the system could identify a cup and calculate its coordinates, the fullness detection program was tested. This testing was done by filling the cup to various levels and running the full program. At the end of this programâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s execution,

Figure 13.

PCB debug flowchart.

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HUTCHINSON, GUSTAFSON, HOUSKA, SYED

the signal to fill the cup was analyzed. Testing in this manner allowed the program to be modified and validated before it was physically connected to the water pump which minimized the risk of incorrectly pumping water.

The PCB testing (Figure 13) started with testing the continuity of traces on the unpopulated PCB. Next, the 12 V voltage input header was soldered and tested. Then, the main subcomponents were added to the board, starting with the Switched Mode Power Supply (SMPS), then the voltage buffer, and then the stepper motor driver. After soldering each subsystem, its functionality was tested. Functionality was defined as a 6 V output from the SMPS, working motor control for the servos, and working motor control for the stepper motor. If any of the subsystems did not work, they were tested and fixed before moving onto the next subsystem.

Figure 14.

The Aquarius robot refills the blue cup.

Next, the mechanical assembly was tested. The PCB was connected to the arm assembly and the system was told to move the arm to known positions. By observing the armâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s motion and determining its final position, it could be determined that the arm was functioning appropriately. If the arm did not move correctly, then the system was debugged to make sure that the motor was receiving appropriate commands and to ensure that the program was writing to the correct pins of the motor driver chips. After the mechanical assembly had been tested, the entire system was tested. This involved connecting all the subcomponents together and running the system while someone stood ready to disconnect the water pump. In the event that the system behaved incorrectly, power was disconnected from the water pump and the program was debugged to find the error. After the error was identified and corrected, the system was once again run until it consistently performed as expected and correctly identified and filled the cup.

Final Results The final results for this project were promising. The system was able to correctly locate a cup on the table, determine the cupâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s real-world location, determine how much fluid was in the cup, move the robotic arm to the correct position, and actuate the pump

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so that the cup was filled without overflowing. Since the system was able to perform these tasks, it met all the project’s original requirements. To further test the efficacy of the robot, data were taken to measure the accuracy of the cup positioning system and the consistency of cup filling.

Figure 14 shows the robot in operation just before the system determined the cup was “full”. The X and Y axis of the cup coordinate system are labeled. The arrows point in the direction of increasing X and Y. Aquarius performed reliably when the cup was placed at different locations and under a variety of lighting conditions. However, if the cup was placed outside of the target range, very far from the camera or very close to the camera, the robot occasionally detected an incorrect fluid level. This resulted in the cup not being filled to the specified threshold.

In addition, the state machine driving the robot’s actions had a couple of minor bugs, which could be fixed with a little more time. Overall, the system worked as expected and completed its intended task.

To test the accuracy of the cup finding system, the cup was placed in more than 50 locations around the ~2x2 foot table. The actual position of the cup was measured and then compared to the corresponding location the Aquarius system perceived. These results are placed in Figure 15. In Figures 16 and 17, it is shown that the Aquarius system determined the location with an error smaller than the cup rim diameter.

Figure 15 is an overhead view of the table. The black dots represent the real-world coordinates of the cup, the circles represent the rim of the cup, and the red squares represent where Aquarius perceived the center of the cup to be. Some points are omitted in order to prevent clutter. In Figure 16, the relative error of the Aquarius cup finding routine is also assessed. Each sample’s offset from the actual cup coordinate was plotted around the origin. The vast majority of Aquarius estimations were within 1 inch of the center of the cup, and all estimations were within the top radius of the cup, which was 1.875 inches.

Figure 15.

Cup positions on the table and accuracy of predictions.

Table 1 shows the accuracy and error of the actual vs. projected coordinates. Over 50 data points were used. The error is slightly larger for the Y rather than the X coordinate.

In Figure 16, the center represents the real-world center of the cup. Each blue dot is Aquarius’s estimation of the cup’s center. Figure 16 shows that Aquarius determined the

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Average Error (inches)

Average Percent Accuracy

X-Coordinate

0.40

97.23%

Y-Coordinate

0.51

93.25%

Table 1.

Average error and accuracy for X and Y coordinates.

location with an error smaller than the cup rim radius. To further assess the cup refilling accuracy, cups with varying initial levels of liquids (none of them full) were placed on the table and left for the robot to refill. After the robot filled each cup, Aquariusâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s estimated volume ratio was compared to the actual height ratio determined through measurement.

Volume ratio refers to the ratio of the water level height to the height of the cup. The max water height ratio was set to 77% but due to an approximately 1 second latency, this establishes a volume ratio typically above 80%. The desired level of fullness for this project was subjectively set to 82%. The cupâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s full capacity is 500 mL. Twenty-nine samples of this process were taken and the results are placed in Table 2.

Figure 16.

Relative error in Aquarius cup position measurements.

Both the actual volume ratio and the estimated volume ratio were around 82%, and there is no statistically significant difference between the actual volume ratio and the Aquarius estimated ratio. However, there is some variability in how much Aquarius actually fills up a cup. According to Aquarius, a cup is typically full between 80-85%, but this corresponds to an actual ratio between 75-90%. This is better illustrated in the graph below which shows that every cup is filled to an actual ratio between 70-90%, with most cups being filled to at least 80% but below 90%.

Below 300 mL, Aquarius is unable to determine exactly how full a cup is due to the angle the camera has with the table. However, even at 300 mL, Aquarius incorrectly

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AQUARIUS DRINK FILLING ROBOT

determines exactly how full the cup is. This disparity is unimportant, however, since any cup below a fullness of 77% is set to be filled by the Aquarius robot.

Comparing Tables 2 and 3, there is no statistically significant difference between the entire dataset and the dataset of final volume ratios when starting at 300 mL. However, the initial volume ratio for 300 mL was significantly off. Aquarius estimated the 300 mL water level to have a height ratio of 71.08%, but the actual fullness ratio was only 60%.

Therefore, Aquarius is accurate at determining the threshold water level of 77%, but is not as accurate below the threshold.

Figure 17.

Fullness of cup after refill.

Future Work If this project were to be expanded upon, there are several possible improvements that could be made. The state machine could be adapted to handle multiple cup matches and refill all cups on a table. For real world applications, the robot should be able to detect and avoid hitting people and obstacles with its robotic arm. Other aspects of software development that were not foreseen were collaboration and workflow difficulties using LabVIEW and parallel loop data transfer bugs residing in LabVIEW. Other areas of expansion for this project include using a machine learning approach to detect liquid level height. Such an approach could be more robust to different types of cups and even Actual Volume of Liquid in Cup (mL)

Actual Volume Ratio

Aquarius Estimated Volume Ratio

Average

413

82.55%

82.63%

Standard Deviation

25

4.96%

2.80%

Table 2.

Actual vs. estimated water volume ratio for all 29 samples

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clear liquids. A water pump was bought which required a fairly large tube; this tube was rated for 50 psi and was so large that water did not fall cleanly into the cup. This required us to use a 3D printed nozzle which was not food safe and could not be used on a commercial product. A smaller tube would have been more suitable. Another possible improvement could be to replace the current “purge” mechanism with a solenoid valve that prevents water from leaking from the tube.

Actual Volume of Liquid in Cup (mL)

Actual Volume Ratio

Aquarius Estimated Volume Ratio

Average

419

83.77%

83.28%

Standard Deviation

25

4.94%

2.44%

Table 3.

Actual vs. estimated water volume ratio for 14 samples starting with at least 300 mL.

References [1] “Why More Restaurants Are Using ‘Pay at the Table,’” Cayan, 10-May-2017. [Online]. Available: https://cayan.com/insights/2017/why-more-restaurants-are-using-pay-at-the-table.

[Accessed: 14-Sep-2018].

[2] J. Graham, “Hamburger-making robot Flippy is back at Calif. chain,” USA Today, 28-May2018. [Online]. Available: https://www.usatoday.com/story/tech/talkingtech/2018/05/28/ hamburger-making-robot-flippy-back-serving-300-burgers-day/649370002/.

[Accessed: 14-Sep-2018].

[3] M. Kim, J. Jang, K. Jeong, D. Kim and J. Paik, “Liquid-level estimation using region-based segmentation for automatic beverage refilling service,” 2015 International Symposium on Consumer Electronics (ISCE), Madrid, 2015, pp. 1-2.

[4] J. F. Kreutzer, S. Ramesberger, S. M. F. Reimer, K. Entsfellner and T. C. Lueth, “Automatically detecting fluid intake using conductivity measurements of beverages in a cup,” 2015 IEEE International Conference on Automation Science and Engineering (CASE), Gothenburg, 2015, pp. 1546-1551.

[5] P. L. Nelson, “Beverage dispenser with a reader for size indica on a serving container.”

[6] L. J. Brown, “Method and apparatus for vending a containerized liquid product utilizing an automatic self-service refill system.”

[7] T. Nguyen, “Cheers! Robot Bartender Mixes Drinks, Senses When You Need a Double Shot,” Smithsonian, 31-Dec-2013. [Online]. Available: https://www.smithsonianmag. com/innovation/cheers-robot-bartender-mixes-drinks-senses-when-you-need-a-doubleshot-180948283/. [Accessed: 14-Sep-2018].

[8] C. Jennings, M. Katchmar, W. Hickle, Z. A. Michael, and C. Traynor, “Robotic beverage server,” 02-Mar-2006.

[9] R. L. Rejret, W. C. Rantanen, M. G. Weimer, J. W. Parmley, L. G. Searing, and L. D. Powers, “Automatic Beverage Dispense,” 03-Oct-1995.

[10] C. F. Ratti, “Interactive Robotic Station for Beverage, in Particular Cocktail, Preparation and Dispensing,” 25-Feb-2016.

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BECAUSE THEYâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;RE THERE: Identifying and Addressing the Environmental Impacts of Mountaineering Environmental Science

MICHAEL BATEMAN

Michael Bateman graduated in 2018 with a Bachelors of Arts in Global Environments and Sustainability and a minor in Social Entrepreneurship and will graduate in 2019 with an M.S. in Commerce, concentrating in Finance. When not hiking or climbing, Michael helped found a nonprofit, Unsung People, and worked at the Charlottesville Climate Collaborative and High Tor Gear Exchange.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Mountaineering faces an environmental paradox: it depends upon the very resources that it degrades. The high physical demands of mountaineering make environmental concerns often difficult to address.â&#x20AC;?

54

Because They’re There: Identifying and Addressing the Environmental Impacts of Mountaineering Michael Bateman University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 Mountaineering, the sport of mountain climbing, creates a number of detrimental impacts on the environment. Mountain regions host many of the world’s biodiversity hotspots and are extremely important sources of fresh water for billions of people. Mountaineering pressures these resources, among others, through carbon emissions from travel, improper disposal of waste, including human waste, erosion, and infrastructure development. Mountaineering faces an environmental paradox: it depends upon the very resources that it degrades. In order to overcome this paradox, stakeholders (individual climbers, commercial outfitters, institutions, and governments) must cooperate to create and enforce effective policies that minimize the impact of these activities while maintaining the interests of the parties involved. There is a path forward where climbers can continue to enjoy recreation in the mountains in a sustainable manner.

Keywords: mountaineering, ecotourism, sustainable tourism, climbing, environmental impact

Introduction George Mallory, when asked why he wanted to climb Everest, famously replied with the wittily dismissive “Because it’s there.”2 Whatever the reason, mountaineering is becoming more popular around the world. According to the Outdoor Foundation’s 2017 report, mountaineering activities have seen an increase in participation by almost 50% in the past decade in the United States.3 Mountaineering clubs continue to swell in size around the world. Mountaineering “is the art of getting up and down mountains. The master of the art is he who can make his ascents in good style, with ease to himself, and safety to his companions.”4 It can involve many different activities: long-distance travel, hiking, trekking, backpacking, camping, rock climbing, ice climbing, rappelling, and skiing, among others. Mountaineering has a negative but manageable impact on the environments in which it occurs as it is especially vulnerable to the detrimental effects of climate change and ecological degradation. Therefore, mountaineers must mitigate their own impact to preserve the capacity for mountaineering’s continued existence, not to mention the necessity of protecting all of the other stakeholders impacted by these activities. Thus, the goal of this paper is to explore the effects of mountaineering activities on 1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/9eag-h387 2 New York Times. “Climbing Mount Everest is Work for Supermen.” 18 March 1923.

The New York Times. http://graphics8.nytimes.com/packages/pdf/arts/mallory1923.pdf 3 Outdoor Foundation. “Outdoor Recreation Participation Report.”

Outdoor Foundation (2017). https://outdoorindustry.org/wp-content/ uploads/2017/05/2017-Outdoor-Recreation-Participation-Report_FINAL.pdf 4 Raeburn, Harold. Mountaineering Art. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1920 pp. vii.

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the environments in which they occur and to examine how to minimize impacts.

Exploring the environmental impact of mountaineering and solutions to mitigate its impacts is important for a number of reasons. First, mountain regions are some of the most ecologically vulnerable environments on the planet.5 As Ralf Buckley noted, “In practice, the most fragile environments are wilderness areas with the least previous disturbance,”6 and mountain regions, especially mountain summits, are some of the most difficult areas to access in the world. Therefore, these environments are extremely susceptible to even the slightest impacts. Biodiversity abounds in mountain regions, where unique environmental pressures, vertical zonation, and extreme conditions create high habitat differentiation and isolation. For example, there are five or six distinct ecological zones on Mount Kilimanjaro that host plant and animal life unique to the mountain: the cultivated zone (2,600’—6,000’), the rainforest (6,000’—9,200’), the heath (9,200’— 11,000’), the moorlands (11,000’—13,200’), the alpine desert (13,200’—16,000’), and the arctic summit (16,000 ft+). Figure 1 below shows the different zones from above, which host hundreds of species of flora and fauna, some completely unique to the Kilimanjaro massif.7

Figure 1.

The vertical zonation of Mount Kilimanjaro.

Mountain regions provide value not only in terms of biodiversity but also in the form of ecosystem services and economic benefits. According to a study by Schimel and Braswell, 70% of the Western United States’ carbon sink occurs at elevations above 750 meters (an elevation considered mountainous), and areas of especially high carbon uptake are found in the Sierra Nevada and Rocky Mountains.8 As concerns about climate change and carbon emissions continue to grow, protecting these areas of high carbon 5 Buckley, Ralf. “Tourism in the Most Fragile Environments.” Tourism Recreation Research 25, no. 1 (2000): 31-40. doi:10.1080/02508281.2000.11014898.

6 Ibid.

7 EOS Project Science Office.

8 Schimel, D. and B. H. Braswell. “The Role of Mid-latitude Mountains in the Carbon Cycle: Global Perspective and a Western US Case Study.” In U. M Huber et al. (eds.), “Global Change and Mountain Regions.” (2005): 449-456. https:// link.springer.com/content/pdf/10.1007%2F1-4020-3508-X_45.pdf

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sequestration will increase in importance. Another important ecosystem service provided by mountain regions is their role in the water cycle. They capture moisture from air masses and store water in their glaciers and aquifers. Mountains provide 60-80% of the world’s fresh water, leading some to call mountains “water towers.”9 10 Thus, the degradation of mountain water resources, including glacial lakes, streams, and aquifers, leads to dire downstream consequences.

Mountain regions make up a large segment of the tourism market, representing 15-20% of the global tourism industry and generating between $209 and $278 billion annually in tourism receipts.11 12 The global adventure tourism market is worth an estimated $263 billion and annual expenditures on climbing equipment are at least $330 million.13 Detrimental environmental impacts to mountain regions threaten the value propositions of the tourist industry and therefore the stakeholders (commercial groups, climbers, governments), which all have interests in protecting the mountain environments.

Environmental Impacts of Mountaineering Travel Travel is inseparable from mountaineering. Mountaineering is dependent on location, and certain mountain ranges are extremely popular destinations for mountaineers (e.g. the Himalayas or the Swiss Alps). Frequently, the most popular ranges are far from population centers, in developing countries, or are otherwise remote, and mountaineers are most often Westerners from North America or Europe; thus, international long-distance air travel is often required to reach mountaineering destinations.14 According to the International Council on Clean Transportation, flying is the most fuel-intensive transportation option.15 As an illustrative example, an economy flight from Washington D.C. to Kilimanjaro National Airport in Tanzania produces around 3,445 pounds of CO2.16 For reference, that is almost 10% of the average American’s annual CO2 emissions in just one trip.17 In examining travelers to New Zealand, Simmons and Becken concluded “tourism in natural areas in New Zealand can be classified at most as nature tourism, 9 FAO [Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations]. “Mountains Under Pressure: Climate, Hunger, and Migration.” Rome, Italy: FAO (2017).

10 Palomo, Ignacio. “Climate Change Impacts on Ecosystem Services in High Mountain Areas : A Literature Review.” Mountain Research And Development no.

2 (2017): 179. JSTOR Journals, EBSCOhost (accessed February 11, 2018).

11 Monz, Christopher A., Jeffrey L. Marion, Kelly A. Goonan, Robert E. Manning, Jeremy Wimpey and Christopher Carr. “Assessment and Monitoring of Recreation Impacts and Resource Conditions On Mountain Summits: Examples From the Northern Forest, USA.” Mountain Research & Development, vol. 30, no. 4 (2010): 332 - 343.

12 World Bank. “International Tourism Receipts.” World Bank Group (2016). https:// data.worldbank.org/indicator/ST.INT.RCPT.CD?end=2016&start=2016&view=bar 13 Ewert and Taniguchi. “The motivations and satisfactions attendant to mountaineering.” In Higham, J., Musa, G. (Ed.), Thompson-Carr, A. (Ed.). (2015). Mountaineering Tourism. London: Routledge.

14 Simmons D. and S. Becken. “The Cost of Getting There: Impacts of Travel to Ecotourism Destinations.” In Buckley, R.. “Environmental Impacts of Ecotourism,” Ecotourism Book Series Volume 2. Wallingford: CABI, 2004. Accessed February 29, 2018. ProQuest Ebook Central.

15 Kwan, Irene. “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Counting Carbon.” The International Council on Clean Transportation. September 19, 2013. Accessed March 31, 2018. https:// www.theicct.org/blogs/staff/planes-trains-and-automobiles-counting-carbon.

16 ICAO [International Civil Aviation Organization]. “Carbon Emissions Calculator.” ICAO (2016). https://www.icao.int/environmental-protection/CarbonOffset/Pages/default.aspx 17 World Bank. “CO2 Emissions (Metric Tons Per Capita).” World Bank Group (2014). https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/EN.ATM.CO2E.PC?year_high_desc=false

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but not ecotourism, unless measures are taken to mitigate the impact of the long-distance flight.”18 This report suggests a similar conclusion; the impacts of air travel are too high to ignore and must be addressed in a transition to sustainable mountaineering.

Figure 2.

A Sherpa collects fuel canisters at an altitude of nearly 26,000 feet on Everest.

Waste As in most human activities, mountaineers produce material waste. With the increasing visitation numbers at most mountaineering sites, waste is becoming a serious problem. As early as 1963, camps along the routes to the summit of Everest were called by climbers “the world’s highest junk yard,” a title which has only become truer due to the hundreds of expeditions that have followed since.19 Human waste is also a significant issue along mountaineering routes due to a number of factors.

Corpses Deaths occur on mountaineering expeditions—on some mountains, quite often, such as on Annapurna I, where one in three attempts end in a fatality.20 Bodies that do not decompose are often so remote that extraction becomes all but impossible. The quest of a family to recover the bodies of two climbers who died on Everest in 2016 provides a macabre illustration of this issue: a team of Sherpas hauled two corpses from near Camp 4 (26,000 ft) to Camp 2 (21,000 ft) for 28 hours straight.21 The West Bengalese government paid $90,000 for the recovery. The Nepalese government estimates that more than 200 bodies remain on Everest.22 The visual impact of these bodies for other climbers is quite significant on mountains like Everest that claim numerous lives each year.

Garbage Material waste is a serious problem along many mountaineering routes. The Everest Summiteers Association, for instance, estimates that there are 10 tons of trash on Everest, even after various clean-up expeditions over the past 25 years have removed over a 18 Simmons and Becken, 2004. Pp. 19.

19 Bishop, Brent, and Chris Naumann. “Mount Everest: Reclamation of the World’s Highest Junk Yard.” Mountain Research and Development 16, no. 3 (1996): 323-27. doi:10.2307/3673958.

20 “Stairway to Heaven.” The Economist. May 29, 2013. Accessed April 05, 2018. https://www.economist.com/blogs/graphicdetail/2013/05/daily-chart-18.

21 Branch, John. “Deliverance From 27,000 Feet.” The New York Times. December 18, 2017. Accessed April 05, 2018. https://www. nytimes.com/interactive/2017/12/18/sports/everest-deaths.html.

22 Ibid.

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dozen tons of garbage.23 In 2006 on Mount Kilimanjaro, a highly trafficked mountain, 125 tons of waste were generated and 117 tons were collected by guides, porters, and park authorities, leaving 8 tons of waste still on the mountain just from that year.24 Mountaineers produce many types of waste; along high altitude routes, the most common articles include oxygen and propane canisters (Figure 2), discarded equipment such as tents, and food packaging/waste.25 26 Much of the waste is burned or left in landfills near water sources, leading to air and water pollution.27 Litter is one of the most visible impacts that climbers have on climbing routes even if it is not the most significant impact in terms of environmental degradation; a number of studies by Robert Manning have demonstrated that the sensitivity of visitors to litter in natural areas is high enough at some levels to completely deter visitors from visiting again. This “unacceptable level,” according to a photometric index developed by the researchers, is about twice the level at which visitors believed park management should take action to limit use.28 The accumulation of waste near high-altitude campsites and base camps is particularly likely compared to alongside of routes or at summits.29 Human Waste Human waste is perhaps the most troubling environmental impact caused by mountaineering. In the past 60 years, researchers estimate that mountaineers have left between 69 and 97 metric tons of feces on the most populated route to the summit of Mount Denali, the tallest peak in North America located in the Alaska Range.30 Climbers on Denali produce two metric tons of human waste annually, most of which is dumped into crevasses along the route and near camps. On Mount Everest, climbers leave behind more than 13 tons of human excrement each year.31 At Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in South America and the Western Hemisphere, Kreck, Guenter, and Kopczynski observed how “it is difficult to find rocks without fecal matter under them” and that “used toilet paper flew through the camps and disappeared in the horizon.”32 23 Stromberg, Joseph. “There Are Literally Tons of Human Poop on Mount Everest.” Vox. March 04, 2015. Accessed March 31, 2018. https:// www.vox.com/2015/3/4/8148059/mount-everest-feces-pollution.

24 Kaseva, M. E. and J. L. Moirana. “Problems of solid waste management on Mount Kilimanjaro: A challenge to tourism.” Waste Management and Research 28 (2010): 695-704. DOI: 10.1177/0734242X09337655 25 Bishop and Naumann, 1996.

26 Namgyal Sherpa. http://time.com/12144/nepal-tomount-everest-trekkers-pick-up-your-trash/.

27 Pickering, C. M. and Augstina Barros. “Environmental Impacts of Mountaineering.” In Higham, J., Musa, G. (Ed.), Thompson-Carr, A. (Ed.). (2015). Mountaineering Tourism. London: Routledge.

28 Manning, R. E., S. Lawson, P. Newman, M. Budruk, W. Valliere, D. Laven, and J. Bacon. “Visitor Perceptions of Recreation-related Resource Impacts.” In Buckley, R.. 2004. “Environmental Impacts of Ecotourism,” Ecotourism Book Series, Volume 2. Wallingford: CABI. Accessed April 3, 2018. ProQuest Ebook Central.

29 Pikering and Barros, 2015.

30 Goodwin, Katelyn, Michael G. Loso and Matthias Braun. “Glacial Transport of Human Waste and Survival of Fecal Bacteria On Mt. McKinley’s Kahiltna Glacier, Denali National Park, Alaska.” Arctic, Antarctic & Alpine Research, vol. 44, no. 4 (2012): 432 - 445.

31 Holley, Peter. “Decades of Human Waste Have Made Mount Everest a ‘fecal Time Bomb’.” The Washington Post. March 03, 2015. Accessed April 05, 2018. https:// www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2015/03/03/decades-of-humanwaste-have-made-mount-everest-a-fecal-time-bomb/?utm_term=.460c0e5564d0.

32 Kreck, L.A., H. Guenther and C. Kopczynski. “Saving Mt. Aconcagua: An Environmental Study-- A Continuation.” International Journal of Hospitality & Tourism Administration, Vol. 1(2) (2000): 51-64. Pp. 57

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Human waste is particularly problematic in high altitude environments for a number of reasons. First, excreta take longer to break down at high altitudes, if ever.33 Thus, the excreta of mountaineers from years past continues to accumulate over many years. To make matters worse, bacteria seem to be persistent in glacial conditions. Researchers found that after disposing of waste in crevasses at major camps on the route to the top of Mount Denali, the waste still poses a threat to human health when it emerges at the glacier’s surface even decades later.34 Mountaineers’ fecal matter can contaminate otherwise pristine mountain water resources and their aquatic environments. In glacial lakes near the base camps of Everest and Aconcagua, researchers have discovered higher levels of nitrate, phosphorous, and algal species tolerant of pollution compared to undisturbed lakes.35 The importance of mountain water resources to human populations make the impacts of human waste of particular interest for governments and land managers, as evidenced by efforts detailed in the Mitigation Strategies and Solutions section.

Improper disposal of human waste is deeply unpleasant for climbers; complaints about foul odors from human waste on Mount Rainier or comparisons between the south side of Everest and “minefields of human excrement” illustrate how climbers come faceto-face with this issue.36 The top layer of glacier snow, the water source for climbers, becomes contaminated with fecal matter due to high winds present in alpine regions that spread excreta. On Denali, a 2002 study conducted by the Alaska Section of Epidemiology found that 27% of climbers suffered from diarrhea on the mountain. The researchers tied this incidence to the human waste problem and predicted that the problem would only get worse as more people attempt to climb popular mountains such as Mount Rainier, Denali, and Everest.37 In an unfortunate feedback loop, climbers have been observed moving further and further away from established campsites to avoid the disgusting and unhygienic conditions, thereby expanding the overall impact.38 Impacts on Biota Due to the vertical zonation of mountains, many unique species of flora and fauna exist in mountain regions. Yet vegetation is subject to trampling around campsites, trails, and huts. Trampling can lessen biodiversity by changing plant composition, leading to relative increases in trampling-resistant species.39 Additionally, soil loss occurs on trampled or camped-on areas. Soil loss is especially ecologically deleterious in alpine environments due to slow rates of soil development and the necessity of soil for vegetation.40 The use of informal trails and campsites compounds this problem by expanding the areas under pressure by mountaineers. These informal infrastructure networks flourish even in areas where adequate infrastructure already exists. One study of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park found that the length of informal trails was 2.5 times the length of 33 Pikering and Barros, 2015. Also see Goodwin, Loso, and Braun, 2012.

34 Ibid.

35 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

36 Ells, Michael D.. “Impact of Human Waste Disposal On Surface Water Runoff: The Muir Snowfield, Mount Rainier.” Journal of Environmental Health; Impact of Human Waste Disposal On Surface Water Runoff: The Muir Snowfield, Mount Rainier, vol. 59, no. 8, 1997, pp. 6 - 12. Also see Bishop, 2015.

37 Joseph B. McLaughlin, Bradford D. Gessner, Ann Marie Bailey.

“Gastroenteritis Outbreak Among Mountaineers Climbing the West Buttress Route of Denali—Denali National Park, Alaska, June 2002.” Wilderness & Environmental Medicine Volume 16, Issue 2 (2005): 92-96, ISSN 1080-6032 38 Kreck, Guenter, and Kopczynski, 2000.

39 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

40 Monz et al, 2010.

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the existing formal trails.41 The ecological condition of the informal trails was poor, with substantial vegetation loss and soil erosion. Another study found that particularly sensitive mountain environments, such as the mountains in Tasmania, Australia, experience soil erosion and vegetation loss after fewer than 100 passes of climbers annually.42 Harvesting of vegetation for firewood is a major problem in many mountain regions.

In the area around Everest, it is estimated that 70,000 kg of alpine juniper is harvested annually for fuel for cooking, boiling water, and warmth.43 Collecting firewood in itself is a damaging activity. One study of the Great Smokey Mountains backcountry suggesting trampling and damage to trees can increase tenfold from control areas to the center of campsites. Removal of biomass from the forest floor for firewood or clearing campsites can harm the fertility of the soil and lead to negative long-term effects on soil formation.44

Figure 3.

Chalk on the “Heinous Cling” route at Smith Rock, Oregon.

Climbing activities pose a threat to vegetation on and around climbing faces. As mentioned above, informal trails leading to climbing routes have a large impact on biodiversity and soil quality. When establishing a route, climbers usually clean the route by removing vegetation and other debris from holds and cracks in the rock. This practice causes reduced biodiversity and plant populations in cracks, fissures, and crevices, especially on routes that see heavy use.45 Additionally, climbers can introduce invasive species, especially weeds, by carrying seeds on their clothing or equipment. These weeds outcompete the rare cliff flora climbers remove from microsites, like ledges and cracks, leading to an increase in weeds along climbing routes and an overall decrease in taxa and individuals.46 Although the research is limited, preliminary studies have suggested that the chalk used by climbers to increase their grip has a negative effect on cliff lichens.47 Route cleaning not only harms the vegetation, but also alters habitats and food sources 41 Ibid.

42 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

43 Ibid.

44 Bratton, Susan P., Linda L. Stromberg, and Mark E. Harmon. “Firewood-gathering impacts in backcountry campsites in Great Smoky Mountains national park.” Environmental Management. Volume 6, Issue 1 (1982): 63-71. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01866808 45 Rusterholz, Hans-Peter, Stefan W. Müller, and Bruno Baur. “Effects of Rock Climbing on Plant Communities on Exposed Limestone Cliffs in the Swiss Jura Mountains.” Applied Vegetation Science 7, no. 1 (2004): 3540. http://www.jstor.org.proxy01.its.virginia.edu/stable/1478965.

46 Pickering and Barros, 2015. Also see Camp, Richard J., and Richard L. Knight. “Effects of Rock Climbing on Cliff Plant Communities at Joshua Tree National Park, California.” Conservation Biology 12, no. 6 (1998): 1302306. http://www.jstor.org.proxy01.its.virginia.edu/stable/2989849.

47 Michael Tessler, Theresa A. Clark. “The impact of bouldering on rock-associated vegetation.” Biological Conservation Volume 204, Part B (2016): 426-433. ISSN 0006-3207

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for other biota, as in the case of Baur et al.’s 2017 study of land snails in the Swiss Jura Mountains. The study found the species richness of land snails in climbed areas to be 37.8% of that in a control area and the number of snails in climbed areas to be only 28.4% of that in a control area. This study illustrates that rock climbing has a negative impact on both biodiversity and species populations on climbing routes.48 In Patagonia, Andean condors leave their roosts if climbers get too close, and guanacos (similar to llamas) abandon their preferred habitats and grazing areas if visitor use is high.49 Damage to Rock Rock faces take millions of years to form, but human impacts can damage or destroy them in much shorter a time. Climbing equipment causes permanent damage to rocks and certain pieces of equipment have caused rifts in the climbing community due to their damaging nature. One notable example involves protective devices. Pitons damage rock when hammered in and removed; fortunately, this equipment is rarely used in modern climbing.50 Bolting, however, has inspired a passionate debate within the climbing community. Bolts have a negative visual impact and critics also contend that they go against the “fundamental ethics of traditional climbing by unnecessarily damaging the rock and changing the original character of the route,” especially if bolts are added to routes previously climbed without them in order to reduce risk (a practice called retro-bolting).51 On the other hand, bolts make climbing safer and more accessible. This debate has raged since the 1950s and remains a philosophical issue within the community.52 Another visual impact comes from the use of chalk. Chalk is used by climbers to dry their hands and improve grip on miniscule holds; unfortunately, chalk leaves residue on holds and can form a film on the rock.53 Marking routes with too much chalk, considered bad climbing etiquette, can lead to heavy buildup. Figure 3 illustrates how chalk residues can visually pollute a climb.54 Finally, with increased adoption of mixed climbing (a combination of ice and rock climbing) and, more recently, the rise of dry-tooling (the use of ice axes and crampons to rock climb), damage to rock from tools has expanded.55 Crampons and ice tools leave scratches and can damage holds. As new climbing routes are established by climbers in pursuit of first ascents, these impacts will also expand.

Infrastructure Development Mountaineering has greatly matured since its early days, and with that maturation has come much more supporting infrastructure for the activity. In her ethnography of climbing culture, Bogardus noted, a “climber returned [to an old crag] in 2000, and said that in the 1970s, ‘it would take three days to get to the base. Today there’s hourly bus 48 Baur, Bruno, Anette Baur, and Dénes Schmera. “Impact assessment of intense sport climbing on limestone cliffs: Response of rock-dwelling land snails,” Ecological Indicators, Volume 72 (2017): 260-267, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecolind.2016.07.003 49 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

50 National Park Service. “Interim Climbing Management Plan.” U.S. Department of the Interior. https://www.nps.gov/blca/planyourvisit/upload/BLCA_climbing_plan.pdf 51 Bogardus, Lisa. “The Bolt Wars: A Social Worlds Perspective On Rock Climbing and Intragroup Conflict.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, vol. 41, no. 3, 2012, pp. 283 - 308.

52 Ibid.

53 Tesslar and Clark, 2016.

54 Reddit user DubJohnny. http://i.imgur.com/vCSfc2N.jpg 55 BMC [British Mountaineering Council]. “Lake District Winter Climbing and the Avoidance of Damage.” British Mountaineering Council (2014). https://www.thebmc.co.uk/lakeswinterethics

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service. I love [the place], but I need the adventure from the old days.’”56 Tourism infrastructure has matched the growth of mountaineering from its days as a niche lifestyle for adventurers to its current status as a global adventure tourism activity. All of the expanded infrastructure has a distinct visual impact in addition to the impact on the sense of adventure; the scars that roads, power lines, and other development leave on the landscape are easy to see from the side of a mountain.

Roads The expansion of roads in mountain regions over the past century has been nothing short of remarkable. Before the era of the automobile, mountainous regions like the Yosemite Valley “could only be reached by horseback or stage.”57 From 1927 onwards, however, automobiles brought 90% of visitors to Yosemite and the mileage of roads expanded from just 5 miles of auxiliary roads in 1913 to more than 230 miles of roads today.58 In total, there are more than 5,500 miles of roads in the American National Parks system.59 Even the path to Everest is now paved; while on the more popular Nepalese side of the mountain a ten-day trek is still required to reach Base Camp, the Chinese have built a road from Lhasa all the way to Everest Base Camp North.60 Roads have a number of environmental impacts. Roads fragment animal habitats and can impede species migrations, thus threatening biodiversity.61 Roads and traffic interfere with animal behaviors; in a natural park in Spain, for example, avian scavengers avoid roads based on their traffic levels and “regulation of traffic would be required to maintain scavenging processes.”62 Chemical runoff from roads, from both cars and de-icing processes, poses a threat to both plant and animal life as well as mountain water sources.63 Buildings and Other Infrastructure Commercial ventures and governments have constructed various facilities in mountain regions. In Yosemite, for instance, there are eight lodges and hotels located within the boundaries of the park and more than 1,100 buildings.64 The European Alps boast an extremely developed system of mountain huts which “represent almost the only source of local pollution in mountain areas.”65 Buildings have four main areas of impact: supply 56 Bogardus, 2012. Pp. 297-298.

57 Fitzsimmons, Allan K.. “The Automobile and the Roads of Yosemite Valley.” California Geographer, vol. 11, 1970, pp. 43 - 50. Pp. 43 58 Fitzsimmons, 1970. Also see National Parks Service. “Yosemite Statistics.” U.S. Department of the Interior (2018). https://www. nps.gov/yose/learn/management/statistics.htm 59 Davis, Timothy. “National Parks Roads: A Legacy in the American Landscape.” University of Virginia Press (2016).

60 McDougall, Dan. “Everest at Risk as New Road Conquers Roof of the World.” The Guardian. July 07, 2007. Accessed April 07, 2018. https://www. theguardian.com/environment/2007/jul/08/china.conservation.

61 Brodie, J., E. Post, and W. F. Laurance. “Climate change and tropical biodiversity: a new focus.” Trends in Ecology & Evolution 27 (2012):145-150. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.tree.2011.09.008 62 Donázar, José Antonio, Olga Ceballos and Ainara Cortés-Avizanda. “Tourism In Protected Areas: Disentangling Road and Traffic Effects On Intra-Guild Scavenging Processes.” Science of the Total Environment, vol. 630, 2018, pp. 600 - 608.

63 Marques, Jorge Espinha, et al. “Impact of Road De-icing on the Hydrogeochemistry of Groundwater from a Mountain Area (Serra da Estrela, Central Portugal).” Procedia Earth & Planetary Science 17, (April 2016): 964. Supplemental Index, EBSCOhost(accessed April 7, 2018).

64 National Park Service, 2018.

65 Bobovnik, Nejc. “Environmental Impacts of Mountain Huts In the High Mountain Range of Kamnik-Savinja Alps.” Dela, Vol

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and waste management, heating and electricity production, water supply and wastewater treatment, and the impacts of visitors. Wastewater treatment represents the largest potential impact; as the section on human waste established, contamination of water is a huge threat to climbers, downstream stakeholders, and the overall environment.66 The development of infrastructure in mountain regions, traditionally the poorest areas of many countries, is often beneficial; the economic benefits brought to popular mountaineering areas are often important in terms of development. When Sir Edmund Hillary first climbed Everest in 1953, he noted the abject poverty of the region surrounding the mountain. Now, “mountain tourism has brought not only many shops and lodges but also schools, sewerage treatment, healthcare, electricity and street lighting to places such as Namche Bazaar, the main settlement of the region.”67 The key to the development of these regions is for stakeholders to keep environmental impacts in mind while also considering the humanitarian benefits of increased infrastructure development.

Mitigation Strategies and Solutions The Environmental Paradox of Mountaineering Mountaineering, and ecotourism as a whole, suffers from what Williams and Ponsford call an “environmental paradox.” Mountaineering stresses the ecosystems in which it operates through the impacts discussed above, such as waste generation and erosion, even as it fundamentally requires the functioning environments for the tourism experience.68 The impacts of a few mountaineers on remote peaks would be negligible; the scale of tourism and mountaineering, however, has exploded in the past half-century and is therefore quite significant. For example, Nepal received just 6,000 foreign tourists in 1962; by 1975, however, the number had grown to 100,000, and in 2016 more than 700,000 tourists visited the country.69 Mount Everest, first climbed in 1953, is now trafficked by over a thousand climbers annually—in 2012, 234 climbers reached the summit in a single day (see Figure 4 for an illustration of the traffic on the mountain).70 71 Clearly, an increase in visitation of this magnitude engenders a similar expansion of impact.

To maintain the capacity for mountaineering around the world, mountaineering “should not compromise the integrity of the resources upon which it is based.”72 Having explored the effects of mountaineering on the environment in this first section, the following section will examine and evaluate some of the approaches to mitigate the negative impacts of mountaineering activities.

0, Iss 41, Pp 117-128 (2014), no. 41, 2014, pp. 117 - 128.

66 Ibid.

67 Carl Cater. “Management perspectives of mountaineering tourism.” In Higham, J., Musa, G. (Ed.), Thompson-Carr, A. (Ed.).

(2015). Mountaineering Tourism. London: Routledge. Pp. 314.

68 Peter W. Williams, Ian F. Ponsford, “Confronting tourism’s environmental paradox: Transitioning for sustainable tourism.” Futures, Volume 41, Issue 6 (2009): 396-404, ISSN 0016-3287, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.futures.2008.11.019 Pp. 396-397 69 Kreck, Guenther & Kopczynski, 2000. Also see Samiti, Rastriya Samachar.

“As Many as 729,550 Tourists Visited Nepal in 2016.” The Himalayan Times.

January 12, 2017. Accessed March 31, 2018. https://thehimalayantimes. com/nepal/as-many-as-729550-tourists-visited-nepal-in-2016/.

70 Kelly, Jon. “Everest Crowds: The World’s Highest Traffic Jam.” BBC News. May 28, 2013. Accessed March 31, 2018. http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-22680192.

71 Ralf Dujmovits. https://www.outsideonline.com/1915676/ photo-captured-2012-climbing-season 72 Addison, L., 1996. ‘An Approach to Community-Based Tourism Planning in the Baffein Region, Canada’s Far North,’ in Harrison, L.C. and W. Husbands, eds., Practicing Responsible Tourism. Ch. 15, New York: John Wiley & Sons, pp. 296-312

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Figure 4.

Long lines below Camp III, Mount Everest.

The Practical Context of Mitigation Strategies and Solutions The nature of mountaineering can make it difficult for climbers to entertain environmental considerations in the midst of a climb. Being at high altitudes clouds climbers’ judgement and mental abilities—for instance, I recall a poorly acclimated climber who, when questioned, could not even recall the name of the mountain he was climbing. Climbers are acutely aware of the dangers of mountaineering, especially since in some locations gravesites or dead bodies line climbing routes. Thus, “during perceived life-threatening storms climbers abandon tents, equipment and belongings to get down to lower camps” with little regard for the impact of their retreat from the mountain.73 The same problem extends to dealing with human waste; when suffering from altitude sickness and exhaustion or fighting for their life, the last thing a beleaguered climber is concerned with is proper waste disposal. Any realistic solutions have to take the above realities into mind: in any given life-or-death situation, a climber is going to choose their life over reducing their environmental impact. For better or worse, high-altitude ethics (as they stand, if they exist at all) push environmental considerations away from immediate concern during the climb, especially during dire situations.

Individual Climbers Climbing Ethics Leave No Trace (LNT) is a seven-principle outdoors philosophy developed by the USDA Forest Service in the 1960s: 1) plan ahead and prepare, 2) travel and camp on durable ground, 3) dispose of waste properly, 4) leave what you find, 5) minimize the effects of fire, 6) respect wildlife and farm animals, and 7) be considerate of others.74 Although simple, these seven principles have had a massive impact on the global outdoors movement and have served as an inspiration for other outdoor ethics systems.

According to a 2002 study, hikers are relatively well informed on minimum impact principles; 2000 sampled hikers on the Appalachian Trail scored an average of 82% on a 10-question quiz about minimum impact best practices.75 Although the scores were rising among hikers, certain areas of knowledge were weaker than others, notably regarding 73 Kreck, Guenter, and Kopczynski, 2000. Pp. 58.

74 Leave No Trace. “Seven Principles of Leave No Trace.” Leave No Trace (2012). https://lnt.org/learn/7-principles 75 Newman, Peter; Manning, Robert; Bacon, Jim; Graefe, Alan; Kyle, Gerard. “An evaluation of Appalachian Trail hikers’ knowledge of minimum impact skills and practices.” In: Todd, Sharon, comp., ed. 2002. Proceedings of the 2001 Northeastern Recreation Research Symposium. Gen. Tech. Rep. NE-289. Newtown Square, PA: U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Northeastern Research Station. 163-167.

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the best places to camp. An understanding of LNT is an effective and proven way to reduce easily preventable impacts by individuals—studies have shown that educational messages about LNT and other interpretation programs reduce impact by visitors.76 Mountaineers also need to know the particular rules of the locales where they are climbing. Policies vary regarding human waste disposal, for example. In remote, arid, low-use alpine settings, surface disposal (“smearing”) is sometimes allowed, while in areas like Denali National Park there exist strict pack-out systems.77 Pack-out systems involve climbers bringing their waste out of protected areas in containers.78 In order to avoid financial or legal penalties, climbers should be well-versed in these policies. Compliance will also minimize climbers’ impact, since different management approaches generally reflect the specific considerations managers have found to be important for each region.

In addition to formal systems of ethics, local climbing communities often hold climbers to strict standards. Individual communities/environments have different climbing conditions, which may impact the techniques or equipment that the community collectively deems acceptable. As mentioned previously, in regards to subjects like bolting there may not exist a collective understanding of acceptable behavior. Discussions about bolting are often passionate subjects within local communities, with purists sometimes “chopping” bolts placed by other climbers.79 Physical altercations have occurred when local climbing spots were damaged or disrespected—one climber noted how, “In England, you place a piton, you chip a hold, or you place a bolt, you get the shit beat outta you.”80 Thus, when climbers are in a new area they should be sure to inquire into the local culture to ensure compliance, safety, and respect for the local climbing community.

Carbon Offsets As discussed, travel has a high impact on the environment yet is an integral part of mountaineering. To minimize these impacts, climbers can purchase carbon offsets to make their mountaineering trips carbon neutral. Carbon offsetting refers to the practice of making a payment to an offsetting service, which then engages in some action (i.e. planting a tree) to offset the carbon impact of your action. There are a number of valid critiques to carbon offsets, one being that offsets do not necessarily help the areas which one most directly impacts with their emissions. However, reputable offsetting programs do have a positive effect on the world’s overall climate. The Centre for Effective Altruism and Giving What We Can, organizations promoting efficient resource use to benefit humanity through research and advocacy, found Cool Earth to be the most effective offsetting charity as of their last publication on the subject in 2016; with no more than $1.87, Cool Earth can reduce greenhouse gas emissions by one ton of CO2 equivalent.

Commercial Outfitters and Institutions Commercial Outfitters It is in the direct commercial interest for commercial groups involved with mountaineering to minimize their environmental impacts. Investments in mountain protection are investments in continued profitability for businesses. The “business as usual” approach is untenable. Companies can also promote their efforts toward restoring the mountains as a part of their brand. RMI Expeditions, which boasts that the company’s guides are 76 Littlefair, Carolyn and Ralf Buckley. “Interpretation Reduces Ecological Impacts of Visitors to World Heritage Site.” Ambio, vol. 37, no. 5, 2008, p. 338.

77 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

78 Ibid.

79 Bogardus, 2012.

80 Ibid. 302

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Certified Leave No Trace Trainers, buys carbon offsets to make their programs in Denali National Park and Mt. Rainier National Park carbon-neutral. One of the company goals is “To climb responsibly and to protect and preserve all natural and cultural resources in the places we travel.”81 RMI has successfully integrated these social and environmental goals into its company. In the 1990s, news coverage regarding the trash problems of Mount Everest increased. During those years, a number of expeditions made the first efforts to reclaim Mount Everest by removing garbage, notably the Sagarmatha Environmental Expedition (SEE) in 1994 and 1995. SEE ‘95 partnered with Alpine Ascents International and Adventure Consultants (two well-regarded international guide companies) to set a new standard by introducing an innovative incentive program in which the expedition paid Sherpas 100 rupees for every 10 kg of waste collected on the mountain. These efforts led to the removal of more than 2,300 kg of trash and 760 oxygen bottles over the period of the two expeditions at a cost of just $10,600—a paltry sum, when the expeditions’ combined budgets totaled more than $500,000. These expeditions were extremely successful, with five U.S. members and two Sherpas summiting in 1994, and Brent Bishop summiting nearby Lhotse in 1995.82 These efforts show that commercial outfitters can engage in low-cost, effective waste management programs while still mounting profitable and successful climbs of large peaks. This incentive system has spread to other mountains around the world, such as Mount Kilimanjaro.83 Guide services should ensure clients are skilled enough for the routes they are attempting. Skill requirements ensure clients are familiar with common climbing ethics, as discussed in the “Individual Climbers” section. Inexperienced climbers are more likely to damage climbing routes, for instance, with poor use of ice tools.84 Finally, guides face high risk when guiding clients up climbs above their skill level.

Entrepreneurship and technology can play a role in addressing some of the impacts of mountaineering. Improvements in solar and wind energy generation, for instance, will lessen the impacts of energy generation; a team of entrepreneurs in Nepal is even trying to build the world’s highest biogas plant at the foot of Everest to utilize the 12 metric tons of excreta brought down from the mountain each year. This solution would reduce Everest’s human waste problem, protect the local vegetation from harvesting for firewood, and provide high-quality infrastructure for a local community.85 Upgrading equipment also plays a role in the impact of companies: rather than continuing the use of firewood, companies should use gas/propane stoves which are far more efficient and do not impact the local vegetation.86 Institutions Mountaineering clubs, such as the American Alpine Club, the British Mountaineering Council (BMC), and the Austrian Alpine Club, represent powerful institutions with significant clout in the climbing community. As groups made up of dedicated climbers, mountaineering clubs and their members generally recognize some of the problems caused by mountaineering and possess an intuitive realization of the threats posed by 81 RMI Expeditions. “About RMI Expeditions.” RMI Guides. https://www.rmiguides.com/about-rmi.

82 Bishop and Naumann,1996.

83 Thomson Safaris. “A Green Trek (In More Ways Than One!).” (23 April 2014). https://www.thomsontreks.com/blog/green-energy-kilimanjaro/.

84 BMC, 2014.

85 Ferguson, Will. “On Mount Everest, Seeking Biogas Energy in a Mountain of Waste.” National Geographic. May 15, 2013. Accessed April 09, 2018. https://news. nationalgeographic.com/news/energy/2013/05/130515-mount-everest-biogas-energy/.

86 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

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mountaineering’s environmental paradox. The American Alpine Club, for example, published an article back in 1990 laying out a list of the “Ten Commandments of Sustainable Climbing.”87 The Austrian Alpine Club, in the spring 2018 edition of the quarterly magazine sent to members, published an article promoting the efforts of a sustainable tourism project regarding bergsteigerdörfer (mountain villages) in the Alps.88 These institutions should continue to promote LNT and other sustainable approaches to outdoor activities in their programming. Additionally, these groups can work with other stakeholders to address issues within climbing. The BMC has successfully partnered with the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds to impose climbing bans during breeding periods for rare birds, illustrating that diverse groups can work together to create effective policy.89

Governments Governments are the stewards of the majority of mountain areas. They have both a responsibility and an opportunity to protect these areas from harm. This ownership allows governments to potentially minimize impacts and maximize visitor experiences.

Permits and Fees Permits, widely used and wildly profitable, are the main way through which access to mountain areas is managed. Permits are especially popular in developing countries like Nepal, where climbing permits for Everest alone earn more than $3.3 million in revenues each year.90 Individual permits for some mountains are expensive—the permit to climb Everest is $11,000 from the Nepalese side.91 Because of the money involved, governments are typically good at enforcing permit systems; however, different countries and mountains have vastly different permit systems and enforcement mechanisms.92 An interesting policy exists for Aconcagua in Argentina, where authorities charge more for climbers guiding without locally certified guides in order to lower accident rates (and the subsequent high rescue costs) and to promote employment in the region.93 In some regions, like on Everest, climbers have to make additional deposits specifically for environmental concerns. In addition to the $11,000 permit mentioned above, climbers must pay a $4,000 environmental deposit that is refunded provided that climbers return from the mountain with about 18 pounds of garbage—the Nepalese officials’ estimate for the amount of waste produced by each climber while on the mountain.94 Unfortunately, it is unclear if this policy is effective—but in general guide companies comply with it.95 Fines can also discourage particular behavior, such as $200 fines for tourists going above 87 American Alpine Club. “Climbing Ethics.” American Alpine Club (1990). http:// publications.americanalpineclub.org/articles/12199007600/Climbing-Ethics 88 Cooper, Tony. “Mountaineering Villages (Bergsteigerdörfer).”

Austrian Alpine Club 217 (Spring 2018), pp. 4-5.

89 Cater, 2015.

90 Ibid.

91 Coldwell, Will. “Nepal Slashes Cost of Climbing Everest.” The Guardian.

February 14, 2014. Accessed April 09, 2018. https://www.theguardian.com/ world/2014/feb/14/nepal-slashes-cost-climbing-mount-everest.

92 Cater, 2015.

93 Ibid.

94 Holley, Peter. “Decades of Human Waste Have Made Mount Everest a ‘fecal Time Bomb’.” The Washington Post. March 03, 2015. Accessed April 05, 2018. https:// www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2015/03/03/decades-of-humanwaste-have-made-mount-everest-a-fecal-time-bomb/?utm_term=.460c0e5564d0.

95 Bishop, Brent. “How to Solve Everest’s Feces Problem.” Outside Online. 7 April, 2015. Accessed April 04, 2018. https://www.outsideonline. com/1965696/peak-poop-feces-problem-everest-needs-solution.

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Everest’s North Base Camp on the Tibetan side.96 Permits reduce mountain visitation but introduce an ethical dilemma: is it right for governments to restrict mountain access to only those who can afford it? Although outside of the scope of this report, it should be noted that governments can partially alleviate this problem through the use of tiered fee systems. In 2014, Nepal for the first time introduced a separate Everest permit fee for Nepalese climbers amounting to just $750—still a large sum, but considerably less compared to the $11,000 foreigners pay.97 Fee systems also introduce accountability issues. For instance, in Nepal it is unclear how much of the $3.3 million in permit fees goes toward the management of the mountain, whereas on mountains like Denali and Aconcagua there is generally more transparency.98 Reducing corruption and enforcing policies is crucial for effective management of mountain areas.

Managing Human Waste Many options exist for managing human waste, but some are more pragmatic than others. Certainly, the use of toilets minimizes detrimental impacts but at high elevations construction is expensive and difficult, if not impossible.99 Another potential solution—a barrel collection system—collects human waste in barrels that are then extracted via helicopter—a strategy that is highly effective at removing waste from the environment, yet prohibitively expensive (one paper estimated a cost of $3,500,000 for implementing helicopter retrieval on Everest in 1996).100

Figure 5.

Climbers showing off their clean mountain cans on Denali.

The U.S. National Park Service (NPS) has implemented a number of effective human waste disposal policies on Mount Denali. After the previously mentioned problems of illness among climbers, and as the public awareness of the tons of waste on the mountain 96 McDougall, 2018.

97 Coldwell, 2014.

98 Bishop, 2015.

99 Pickering and Barros, 2015.

100 Brent and Naumann, 1996.

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rose, the NPS took aggressive action. Beginning in 2007, the NPS designated specific crevasses into which climbers are allowed to jettison their waste. After recent research suggested these excreta could still be damaging water quality, the NPS proposed new regulations to limit disposal to one high crevasse; the rest of the waste must be packed out in Clean Mountain Cans, designed by a Denali Park Ranger in the early 2000s, or Wag Bags, disposable plastic bags (see Figure 6).101 102 Likewise on Aconcagua, bags have to be checked out and returned from rangers at the base camp or risk being fined.103

Conclusion Mountaineering—and its associated activities such as rock climbing, ice climbing, hiking, and camping—has a number of negative impacts on the environment. Travel to mountaineering destination produces large carbon emissions. Mountaineers leave behind garbage and equipment on mountains, as well as excrement, which poses problems for water quality and the enjoyment of the mountain. Erosion occurs on trails and around campsites, exacerbated by the collection of firewood and the existence of informal trails. Climbers harm vegetation by setting up routes, which in turn puts pressure on native flora and damages biodiversity by promoting weed growth. Climbers also damage rock with their equipment, leading to irreparable visible impacts. To support the climbing community, a wide variety of infrastructure has developed in mountain regions, such as roads and lodgings. Infrastructure development removes habitats and interferes with animal populations, while also visibly changing the landscape. Not all infrastructure is bad—monies from mountaineering have helped develop communities that were previously suffering in abject poverty. The wide variety and scope of impacts makes addressing them difficult, but not impossible.

Mountaineering faces an environmental paradox: it depends upon the very resources that it degrades. The high physical demands of mountaineering make environmental concerns often difficult to address. Through cooperation and collaboration, individual climbers, commercial outfitters, institutions, and governments can effectively minimize the impact of mountaineering. Individual climbers should inform themselves on climbing and outdoor ethics, most notably the Leave No Trace system. Companies, partnering with climbing institutions, should make investments in the mountain areas upon which they depend. Finally, governments, as the managers of many of the threatened mountain regions around the world, have an opportunity to implement policies to create change.

A number of avenues of further research would lead to a better understanding of these problems. First of all, the scientific data regarding a number of mountaineering impacts, such as the impact of rock climbing on biota, is quite scarce. Additional research on these impacts could illuminate areas where stakeholders should focus their efforts to lessen important impacts. There is also a lack of data regarding the efficacy of some of the policies enacted by governments and park authorities. An examination of the effect of Nepal’s $4,000 garbage deposit, for instance, would be useful in determining if other authorities should implement similar strategies. Finally, further research regarding how climate change impacts the capacity for mountaineering might promote more sustainable action within the mountaineering community. With continued effort and investigation, stakeholders can successfully acknowledge and address the environmental paradox of mountaineering.

101 Associated Press. “Peak Poop: Climbers of Tallest Mountain in US Told to Take Their Feces Home.” The Guardian. February 28, 2018. Accessed April 10, 2018. https:// www.theguardian.com/us-news/2018/feb/28/mountaineers-denali-poop-alaska.

102 US National Park Service. https://www.nps.gov/dena/planyourvisit/cleanclimb.htm 103 Bishop, 2015.

POST TRANSLATIONAL MODIFICATIONS OF THE SIGNAL TRANSDUCTION PROTEIN COPINE Pharmacology

JAMES CHUNG

James Chung graduated from UVA in May 2018, earning the BS in Biochemistry with High Distinction, ACS and ASBMB Certification. As an undergraduate, James performed research in the Creutz lab of UVA’s Pharmacology Department and also participated in NASA research internships. James also enjoyed playing trumpet in the Chamber Quintet and serving community with his Professional Chemistry Fraternity.

Aspiring to become a physician, James will attend EVMS August 2019.

“This study has revealed some of the cofactors that may mediate post-translational modifications on copine, including acetyl CoA, ADP, and phosphatidic acid. The fact that all of these compounds possess at least one phosphate group indicates that copine may have similar activity to kinases.”

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Post Translational Modifications of the Signal Transduction Protein Copine James Chung University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 In this study, we show the identification and analysis of post-translational modifications of signal transduction protein copine; these have shown that copine may be involved in cell signaling pathways involved in cancer and neurodegenerative disorders including Alzheimer’s Disease. Results taken from isoelectric focusing (IEF) gels show that copine has potential modifications with nucleotides including acetyl Coenzyme A (acetyl Co-A) and phospholipids including phosphatidic acid.

Analysis of the gels show that copine may be heat stable and retain its native form when interacting with these potential modifications. Furthermore, while acetyl Co-A interacts with copine in a calcium-dependent manner, phosphatidic acid may interact with copine in a calcium independent manner. This highlights the possibility of the presence of two different binding sites on copine, for these modifications. Analysis from mass spectrometry reveals phosphorylations on S264 and S349 of copine, when incubated with phosphatidic acid. This further confirms the presence of post translational modifications on copine and suggests that copine may have activity similar to kinases in cell division and ultimately cancer.

Keywords: copine, cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, calcium dependent phospholipid binding, calcium dependent nucleotide binding, signal transduction, isoelectric focusing gels, mass spectrometry sequencing

Introduction Copines comprise a family of proteins that are highly conserved among most animals, plants, and protists. While expressed everywhere in cells, copine has been shown to localize to the cell membrane in the presence of calcium and bind to phospholipids on the intracellular side of cell membranes [1]. In particular, the binding occurs with the use of copine’s two C2 domains near its N terminus. These domains resemble the calcium regulated binding domains found in protein kinase C (PKC) [2].

Copines are of particular interest for their seemingly ubiquitous involvement in a variety of cell signaling pathways in our bodies. One example points to copine’s involvement with the TNF-α regulated pathway, which activates inflammation in our bodies when we experience injuries such as cuts to the skin. Previous experiments in the Creutz lab have shown that when a dominant negative construct of copine was used to knock out copine, this served to down-regulate the activation of transcription factor NF-κB by TNF-α receptor. While calcium was shown to up-regulate TNF-α activity, the effects of calcium were completely blocked by the dominant negative construct of copine. The relative importance of copine in this signal transduction pathway served as an initial indicator of copine’s potential role in this cell signaling pathway [3].

In addition to this pathway, copine has been shown to bind many key enzymes and other proteins involved in pathways for cell growth and division. Yeast two hybrid experiments have also shown that the A domain of human copine I, II, and IV binds 1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/t60n-zj19

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Figure 1.

Model of copine [4]. The structure of copine consists of a monomer with two C2 domains and one A domain. The C2 domain is believed to be important in binding phospholipids near the membrane. The A domain is also believed to be important in binding of copine with its target proteins.

many protein targets, including MEK1 (MAP kinase kinase), protein phosphatase 5, and a NEDD8 conjugating enzyme, all of which are well known enzymes needed for activating and regulating cell division [5]. This presents multiple implications about copine’s role in cell signaling, one of which is that copine may have a role in regulating the activity of these cell signaling enzymes, much like copine’s regulation of the TNF-α pathway.

If copine were further studied, its role in pathways including cancer could be better deduced, providing further information on some of the mechanisms leading to disease in cancer as well as potential therapies. In prior studies, my lab (under Dr. Carl Creutz of the University of Virginia School of Medicine Pharmacology Department) has studied

Figure 2.

Sequence alignment of a portion of copine from Paramecium, Human, Nematode, and Arabidopsis (Top to bottom, respectively). Uncolored boxes indicate sites of conservation among the species analyzed. Red boxes highlight a potential catalytic triad, consisting of D324, S352, and H354 in Figure 2. The grey shaded region indicates part of the C2 domain. A portion of the A domain is labeled at A450.

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copine’s chemical structure to learn more about its role in these cellular processes.

As shown by Figure 1, the A domain of copine binds magnesium as well as manganese, which are known to function in the binding of integrin to extracellular matrix proteins [6]. This further highlights how copine may use its A domain as a site for recruitment of many cell-signaling proteins, as previously shown in this paper with the yeast two hybrid experiments.

In addition to these experiments, the Creutz lab also performed a sequence analysis of copine from various eukaryotic species to gain further information on copine’s native three-dimensional form and any potential enzymatic functions. Figure 2 shows the results of this analysis [7].

As shown by Figure 2, copine exhibits a region in between the C2 and A domains that is unique to copine. In this region, the amino acid residues D324, S352, and H354 are of particular interest. These amino acid residues appear to be conserved among all four species of copine and are common to the catalytic triad seen in many proteases and lipases (well-documented enzymes in our metabolism). This similarity between copine’s structure and these well documented enyzmes could serve to highlight one of copine’s catalytic roles. Additionally, copine has many sites of conserved glycines in its A domain.

These amino acids are known to be favorable in binding nucleotides, providing evidence for the potential Rossman fold in the A domain of copine (Rossman folds are documented for their ability to bind nucleotides) [8]. The Rossman fold and the other findings from Figure 2 are significant because these compounds may serve as post-translational modifications, meaning that copine’s structure and function could be chemically modified by smaller compounds like nucleotides or even sugar and lipid groups. These modifications are important because they could serve to regulate copine’s activity, much in the manner of turning on or off a light switch. This type of regulation is common in cancer pathways and has led the Creutz lab to further study the potential modifications of copine.

Fluorescence experiments, as shown by Figure 3, were performed by the Creutz lab to identify some of the other macromolecule compounds that may bind to copine.

Figure 3 shows that in the presence of both Bis-ANS and acetyl-CoA, emission by Bis-ANS is reduced (curve 2), indicating that acetyl-CoA binds to the same site on copine as Bis-ANS. With Bis-ANS alone and EGTA (chelates calcium, effectively knocking out any calcium present in the experiment), Bis-ANS emission is also reduced (curve 3). This shows that Bis-ANS binding is regulated by calcium. Overall, this experiment has shown that nucleotides may be a modification on copine that binds to copine in a calcium-regulated manner. Further fluorescence experiments showed that in addition to having a nucleotide functionality group, the presence of a 2’ or 3’ phosphate on ribose was necessary, as compounds like adenosine monophosphate (AMP) or nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide (NAD) did not show reduction in Bis-ANS fluorescence when added with copine [8]. The significance of this is further analyzed in the results of this paper.

To provide more information on the potential activity of copine in cell signaling, my study picks up from these fluorescent studies and is focused on further identifying the compounds that modify copine. Learning about these modifications could firstly provide our group with more information on how copine’s normal functions are regulated and how it may regulate other proteins as well. This could provide more information about copine’s role in cell signaling pathways ranging from cancer to Alzheimer’s Disease and potential therapies to these diseases. As previously stated, the aims of this study were to first identify any compounds that could serve as post-translational modifications for copine. Once these modifications were identified, another goal of the study was to characterize the chemical nature of copine and its modification. This could provide further insight into the catalytic function of copine as well as its overall role in cell signaling.

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To implement this study, we used recombinant DNA technology to grow and harvest human copine in yeast. We then purified and isolated human copine from yeast using calcium-dependent lipid affinity and anion exchange fast protein liquid chromatography (FPLC). Isoelectric focusing (IEF) gels, which separate compounds based on differences in isoelectric point of the compounds, were used to analyze the modifications on copine.

Since data from the fluorescence show that the presence of a 2’ or 3’ phosphate is necessary, we hypothesize that a modification to copine due to some sort of binding will change copine’s inherent isoelectric point. We can observe this difference with the use of IEF analysis. By varying the types of reagents with copine, we can further determine the chemical nature of its interactions with these modifications, also using IEF analysis. Mass spectrometry is used to further specify the location and nature of these modifications.

Figure 3.

CAcetyl-CoA affects the fluorescence of the complex of copine and Bis-ANS. The figure shows steady state emission spectra of Bis-ANS bound to copine I (excitation at 296 nm) and how this emission is affected when copine is tested with other compounds; binding of Bis-ANS is required for emission to be observed in the spectrum and decreased emission indicates that the tested compounds may have the same binding site to copine as Bis-ANS. Curve 1: copine and Bis-ANS in the presence of calcium. Curve 2: copine and Bis-ANS in the presence of calcium and 400 µM acetyl-CoA. Curve 3: copine and Bis-ANS in the presence of EGTA. Curve 4: copine and Bis-ANS in the presence of EGTA and 400 µM acetyl-CoA.

Materials and Methods Preparation of Yeast Dropout Medium For one liter of culture 1.3 g of leu- dropout powder and 6.7 g of yeast nitrogen base were added to 900 mL of dH2O, with the pH adjusted to 7. This was autoclaved for 30 minutes. 100 mL of 20% galactose was autoclaved separately. This was added to the 900 mL of leu- medium in a 2 L flask after both had been autoclaved. Normally, four liters of culture were prepared for inoculation.

Preparation of Plates for Yeast Growth 20 g of bacto-Agar were added to 1 L of leu- medium containing 2% glucose for pouring plates.

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Expression of Copine in Yeast Precultures This section should be prepared at the same time as the large cultures from Preparation of Yeast Dropout Medium. For this section, four small culture tubes were prepared for initial expression growth of yeast. Each tube was to be paired with one of the 1 L flasks prepared from the Preparation of Yeast Dropout Medium section above. Four culture tubes were prepared, each with 4.5 mL of leu- medium without sugar and 0.5 mL 20% galactose. Each tube was inoculated with a few colonies of yeast expression cells from the plates prepared (see Preparation of Plates for Yeast Growth). After 2 to 4 days, cultures were checked with a microscope for growth and contamination, then the large cultures were inoculated (culture prepared from Preparation of Yeast Dropout Medium). The large culture flasks were then incubated for 24 hours at 28 degrees C and were harvested when the optical density (OD600) was about 1.8, measured using a spectrophotometer.

After incubation, the cultures were divided into 6 large centrifuge bottles and were centrifuged (3000 RPM (JS-42 rotor, 15 minutes, 40 degrees C), discarding the supernatant. Each pellet was re-suspended in 30 mL of yeast buffer A (YBA; 50 mM Hepes, pH 7.4, 10 mM EGTA, 150 mM NaCl). These were transferred to 6, 50 mL conical centrifuge tubes and centrifuged (3000 RPM, 15 minutes). The supernatant was discarded and the tubes were placed in an approximately -80 degree C freezer.

Calcium-Dependent, Lipid Binding Protein Preparation from Yeast Cells (stored in a -80 degree C freezer) were re-suspended in 20 mL YBA. The cells were then burst with a French press. The burst cells were brought to 55 mL of volume with YBA and Dounce homogenized ten times. After this, the cells were centrifuged (15K RPM, 20 minutes, in Sorvall SS34 rotor). The supernatant from this step was centrifuged for one hour at 58K RPM in a Beckman TY70 rotor to sediment cell walls and membranes. The supernatant from this step was added to 250 mg of a bovine brain lipid extract (Folch fraction I) that had been washed with yeast buffer B+ (YBB+, 50 mM Hepes, pH 7.4, 2 mM CaCl2, 150 mM NaCl). Calcium was added to the supernatant and lipid vesicle suspension to give a total calcium concentration of 15 mM (yielding a free calcium concentration of 5 mM), and the pH was adjusted from 7.0 to 7.4. The lipid vesicles were then sedimented from this suspension by centrifugation at 15K RPM in the SS-34 rotor. The collected pellet was resuspended with 35 mL YBB+ and centrifuged (15K, 20 minutes). This pellet was washed with 35 mL of YBB- (50 mM Hepes, pH 7.4, 2 mM CaCl2) and centrifuged (15K RPM, 20 minutes). The resulting pellet was extracted with 25 mL of YB10 (50 mM Hepes, pH 7.4, 10 mM EGTA) and centrifuged (58K RPM, 30 minutes, Ti70 rotor). The supernatant from this step was the initial copine extract (E1).

Purification and Quantification Anion exchange fast protein liquid chromatography (FPLC) on POROS Q anion exchange resin was used to purify copine from the E1 extract described above. This was done using a NaCl gradient. Normally, copine was found to elute at approximately 100 mM NaCl. Test tubes shown to contain copine (as indicated by UV absorption at 280 nm of the FPLC eluate) were analyzed for protein content by binding of Coomassie Blue in the Bradford protein assay. Specific absorbance at 595 nm was determined with a Beckman DU-70 Spectrophotometer, and compared to a protein standard of bovine serum albumin.

Preparation of Isoelectric Focusing Gels 10Ă&#x2014;10 cm vertical slab gels were assembled using 3.5 mL dH2O, 8 mL of 8M Urea, 2.25 mL acrylamide (40%), 0.8 mL 20% Triton X100, 0.4 mL 40% pH 3.0 to 10.0 ampholytes

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(2% final), 0.5 mL Temed and 1.12 mL ammonium persulfate (10 mg/mL). The gel was allowed to polymerize for approximately 75 minutes before use.

Samples were prepared with 200 μL of copine (~ 10 ug), 300 μL Hepes buffer (100 mM KCl, 50 mM Hepes, pH 7.4, 1 mM MgCl2) and any additional reagents (either 10 μL of 10 mM nucleotide or 40 μL of phosphatidic acid (2 mg/ml)). Unless otherwise stated, these samples were then incubated at 370 C for 3 minutes after adding 16 μL of 100 mM Ca2+ and then for 30 minutes after adding 15 μL 20 mM Zn2+. These were then centrifuged at 20,000 ×g in a microfuge for ten minutes. The supernatant was discarded to collect the pellet (sometimes invisible, although with the phospholipids, the pellet was visible).

Pellets were either stored at -20 degrees C or used immediately.

Figure 4.

CIEF of copine with various nucleotides. Lanes 2-9 contained copine, Hepes buffer (see Materials and Methods Section), and the stated reagent (e.g. CoA for lane 4) before incubation with Ca2+ and Zn2+ (concentrations are as stated in Materials and Methods section). Pellets were then heated with SDS buffer for 5 minutes and mixed with IEF buffer before loading onto the gel. Lane 2 shows the expected bands with copine alone. In the presence of CoA (lane 3) and OxCoA (lane 4), additional acidic charge variants of copine are produced. With phosphopantetheine (lane 8), the additional charge variants are absent, whereas these variants reappear with 3’,5’-ADP (lane 9).

Lane 1 contains protein isoelectric standards as described in the Methods section.

All pellets were brought to a volume of 50 μL in SDS gel starting buffer. A sample containing IEF standards was prepared by adding bovine serum albumin, ovalbumin, carbonic anhydrase, soybean trypsin inhibitor, and ribonuclease to SDS gel sample buffer. The samples were heated to 95 degrees C for 5 minutes.

50 μL of IEF buffer (750 μL of 8M Urea, 75 μL Triton X-100, 75 μL ampholytes) was added to each sample before loading onto the IEF gel.

The gel was then loaded with samples, with the top buffer reservoir containing the basic buffer (50 mM NaOH) and the bottom reservoir containing the acidic buffer (25 mM H3PO4). The gel was run at constant voltage at 150 V for 30 minutes, then at 200 V

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for 90 minutes, and then at 250 V for 30 minutes. The gel was then washed, fixed, and stained with Coomassie blue. Gels were imaged with a flatbed scanner.

Results and Discussion Identification of Nucleotide-Dependent Post-Translational Modifications Isoelectric focusing gel (IEF) analysis consistently showed that when incubated with nucleotide compounds containing either a 2’ or 3’ phosphate on the ribose sugar (oxidized CoA, CoA, 3’,5’-ADP), copine displayed additional negatively charged variants near the acidic end of the IEF gel. Figure 4 shows the result.

The acidic variants seen with CoA, OxCoA, and 3’,5’-ADP (lanes 4,5, and 9, respectively) are hypothesized to be caused by the negative charge from the 2’ or 3’ phosphate on these nucleotide groups. Additionally, comparison of lanes 8 and 9 highlights the importance of the nucleotide functionality in producing these charge variants. This provides further support for the significance of the 2’ or 3’ phosphates in the nucleotide groups tested in this IEF. Investigation of Phospholipids in Bovine Extract Yields Similar Charge Variants Phospholipids were also hypothesized to be potentially involved in post-translational modification of copine, due to their high affinity for copine (as shown in the lipid dependent extraction of human copine from yeast). Because of this, IEF analysis was run on copine incubated with phospholipids from bovine extract. To further determine which specific phospholipids may lead to modifications of copine, individual tests of copine with various phospholipid species were also analyzed with IEF gels. Figure 5 shows the results of these experiments.

Figure 5.

Charge variants of copine with phospholipids. Lanes 2-9 contain copine and Hepes buffer (see Materials and Methods Section). BE=Bovine extract, BE RE=Bovine extract that was re-extracted, PI=phosphoinositol, PS=phosphoserine, PC=phosphocholine, PA=phosphatidic acid, Chol.=cholesterol. Lanes 3 and 4 show that phospholipids taken from the bovine extract produce additional charge variants when compared to copine alone (lane 2). Lane 7 shows that a composition of PA/PC phospholipids produces similar additional variants to those seen in lanes 3 and 4.

Due to the similarity in location of charge variants produced with the various nucleotide compounds tested (see Figure 4), the acidic charge variants produced by the phospholipids in bovine extract provides evidence for additional potential post-translational modifications. Furthermore, analysis of Figure 5 shows that only the phospholipid composition of PA/PC (lane 7) produces similar charge variants to those seen with the

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phospholipids from bovine extract. Since these charge variants are not seen with any other phospholipid composition tested, we reasoned that PA in the bovine extract may be responsible for producing these acidic charge variants.

Additionally, while similar in location to the charge variants produced by nucleotide compounds, the variants produced by the phospholipids are more numerous. These additional charge variants indicate that copine may attach to the phospholipid at its phosphate group and either retain the lipid or cleave it off, leaving just the phosphate.

These variations in binding could explain the additional variants seen.

Figure 6.

IEF of carbonic anhydrase with PA. CA= carbonic anhydrase; PA=phosphatidic acid. For carbonic anhydrase, the addition or absence of PA does not affect the position of the band for carbonic anhydrase, indicating that the variants shown with nucleotide compounds and PA is not due to an alteration of the pH gradient in the IEF gel.

Control Experiments to Test the Stability of the pH Gradient in the Presence of Nucleotides and Phospholipids To confirm the presence of post-translational modifications observed with nucleotide and phospholipid compounds, control experiments were performed to determine if these agents perturb the pH gradient in the IEF gels. IEF analysis was performed with unrelated, standard proteins. Figure 6 shows the results when carbonic anhydrase, which is known not to bind phospholipids, was incubated with PA. Figure 6 shows that when incubated with PA, carbonic anhydrase does not produce a change in the position of its band. Similar negative results were seen with soybean trypsin inhibitor, and with oxidized CoA. This provides further evidence that the presence of the additional acidic variants shown with nucleotide compounds and phosphatidic acid are due to a change in the charge of copine.

Chemical Nature of Post-Translational Modifications Further IEF analysis was conducted to determine if these interactions between Copine and PA or nucleotides were due to an enzymatic reaction dependent upon the native three-dimensional structure of copine. To do this, we prepared pairs of copine samples that either added the post-translational modification cofactor (nucleotide or PA) before or after boiling copine with SDS. Boiling in SDS normally denatures proteins and adding the cofactor after boiling copine alone could determine whether or not the nature of the post-translational modifications depends on native protein structure. Figure 7 shows the results for this experiment.

As shown by Figure 7, the presence of the additional acidic variants was not affected by denaturing copine (as shown by lanes 4 and 6). The interaction is reasoned as a covalent interaction, since the bands that appear in lanes 4 and 6 are after the solution had been boiled with SDS; normally, boiling a protein is enough to denature it and dissociate any non-covalent interactions, including electrostatic attractions or hydrogen bonds.

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Figure 7.

IEF Gel of Copine with Nucleotides and PA. Lanes 2-6 ontain copine and Hepes buffer (see Materials and Methods Section) Stds=Standards; 2=Copine Alone; ADP’=3’,5’ ADP added after boiling copine with SDS for five minutes. PA’=PA added after boiling copine with SDS for 5 minutes. Lane 4 shows that adding ADP after boiling does not reduce the presence of the additional acidic variants (see the comparison to the acidic variants shown in lane 3 with ADP added before boiling). The same results are seen with PA added after boiling (lane 6).

One hypothesis for this experiment was that if copine’s interactions with the reagents tested (ADP, oxidized CoA, Phosphatidic Acid Vesicles) were enzymatic in nature, then there should be no additional bands for lanes containing reagents that were added after the boiling of the copine. As shown by Figure 7, copine with 3’,5’-ADP before and after boiling have no difference in bands (lanes 3 and 4). The same is true for the lanes comparing copine with phosphatidic acid (PA) before and after boiling the copine (lanes 5 and 6). These results provide evidence that the interactions with the copine and these reagents may be due to the primary rather than tertiary structure of copine.

Another interpretation is that the tertiary structure of copine may be stable to boiling, allowing the post-translational modifications to still be catalyzed by copine. Some proteins like lysosomal enzymes are highly resistant to non-physiological environments, Figure 8.

IEF testing calcium dependence.

Lanes 2-6 contain copine and Hepes buffer. Stds=Standards, PA=phosphatidic acid. Lane 4 shows that ADP binds to copine in a calcium dependent manner, as shown by the reduction of acidic variants when calcium is absent from the incubation. In contrast, phosphatidic acid binds to copine in a calciumindependent manner, as shown by the presence of the acidic variants in the absence of calcium (lane 6).

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including acidic pHâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (like the lysosome, where these enzymes are stored). Because of this, it is reasonable to assume that copine may exhibit similar properties for conditions like extreme temperature and be able to retain its catalytic form and generate these post-translational modifications. Hence, the copine may be heat stable.

Calcium Dependence of the Post-Translational Modifications In addition to this result, we performed experiments to test the initial question of whether the copine interacts with these reagents in a calcium-dependent manner. To test for this, another IEF gel was run, containing lanes that either contained the copine with reagent and calcium or the copine with reagent and no calcium. The result is shown and discussed below.

As shown by Figure 8, the acidic variants are reduced for ADP when calcium is omitted from the reaction lane (lane 4). By contrast, the acidic variants for phosphatidic acid still appear without calcium (lane 6) indicating that phosphatidic acid binds to copine in a calcium independent manner. This provides evidence for the fact that copine may have at least two types of binding (or modification) sites: one for the nucleotide and one for the phospholipid.

Mass Spectrometry Analysis of Post-Translational Modifications Isoelectric bands of copine alone and the acidic variants produced by copine and phosphatidic acid were isolated from isoelectric focusing gels for use with mass spectrometry.

Comparison of the results provided further information on the potential binding sites of the phosphatidic acid. Surprisingly, incubation of copine with phosphatidic acid led to the phosphorylation of serine residues on copine. This suggests the existence of a novel phosphorylating mechanism catalyzed by copine using phosphatidic acid as the phosphate donor rather than ATP as occurs with other known protein kinases. A figure of the phosphorylation sites identified by the mass spectrometry results is shown below.

The potential phosphorylation at S349 (or S348) is very close to the catalytic triad (D324, S352, and H354). Since this was detected only when phosphatidic acid was

Figure 9.

Sequence of copine with highlighted phosphorylation sites in the acidic variants produced by human copine and phosphatidic acid. The human sequence is in the second line. Red boxes indicate the location of the phosphorylation sites identified by mass spectrometry.

Phosphorylation was found at S349 (although the data could not rule out the possibility that phosphorylation was instead at S348). S349 is near the potential catalytic triad.

Phosphorylation was also found at S264 (possibly S261). S264 is in the second C2 domain of copine. Analysis was handled by Mass Spectrometry technicians in the Biomolecular Analysis Facility at the University of Virginia School ofMedicine. Bands taken from IEF gels of copine alone and copine with phosphatidic acid were provided for analysis.

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incubated with copine, this result indicates that phosphatidic acid may aid in the catalytic function of copine.

Additionally, the phosphorylation at S264 (or S261) indicates another potential binding site for phosphatidic acid of copine that was not inferred from IEF analysis. While the main finding of IEF analysis showed that phosphatidic acid binds to copine in a calcium independent manner, the phosphorylation at S264 (261) is within the C2 domain, which is theorized to be calcium regulated. This evidence serves to confirm the presence of the phosphatidic acid, as the C2 domain is known to bind phospholipids from the cell membranes in other proteins [7].

Conclusions and Future Studies This study has revealed some of the cofactors that may mediate post-translational modifications on copine, including acetyl CoA, ADP, and phosphatidic acid. The fact that all of these compounds possess at least one phosphate group indicates that copine may have similar activity to kinases. This similarity is important because kinases are both modified by and use phosphate to activate other proteins in cell signaling. Hence, this similarity suggests that copine may be another type of kinase and could be used for further studies in how to regulate cancer, since many current therapies (including chemotherapy and immunotherapy) aim at activating or de-activating kinases. After identifying these compounds, IEF analysis has also shown that while the nucleotide compounds may bind to copine in a calcium dependent manner, phosphatidic acid is able to bind copine in the absence of calcium. This provides some evidence for multiple binding sites for post-translational modifications of copine. Analysis by mass spectrometry indicates a potential phosphorylation occurring in the C2 domain of copine when copine is incubated with phosphatidic acid. This provides support for the role of the C2 domain as a potential site of phospholipid regulation. Additionally, the presence of phosphorylation near the catalytic triad of copine indicates a potential catalytic role for phosphatidic acid.

As a whole, this study has shown some of the post-translational modifications on copine.

These findings suggest how copine may be be able to “turn on and off” cancer-like pathways due to its similarity in activity with kinases.

In the future, the Creutz lab plans to use mass spectrometry to further probe copine’s similarity to kinases by analyzing the sites of modification of copine with other compounds besides the lipids used in this experiment (nucleotides). Furthermore, we plan to further analyze bands with phosphatidic acid and copine in order to obtain reproducibility of the findings with phosphatidic acid as well as to obtain the stoichiometry of this phosphorylation. This will be done using a radioactive phosphorous (p-32) probe to label the phosphates under IEF analysis.

In addition to gaining more information on how copine is modified, we also aim to learn if copine modifies its potential target proteins in a similar manner. This could further support how copine’s enzymatic activity may be similar to kinases. This will also be done using SDS and IEF analysis with copine and its potential target proteins.

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References 1. Creutz, C. E., Copine. Encyclopedia of Signaling Molecules. Image. https://link.springer.com/ referenceworkentry/10.1007%2F978-1-4419-0461-4_56 2. Tomsig, J. L., Snyder, S. L. and Creutz, C. E. (2003) Identification of targets for calcium signalling through the copine family of proteins. J. Biol. Chem. 278, 10048–10054.

3. Rizzo, J. and Sudhoff, T. (1998) C2-domains, structure and function of a universal Ca2+-binding domain J. Biol Chem. 273, 15879-15882.

4. Tomsig, J. L., Sohma, H, and Creutz, C. E. (2004) Calcium-dependent Regulation of Tumor Necrosis Factor-α receptor signaling by copine J. Biol Chem. 378, 1089-1094 5. Tomsig, J. L., Snyder, S., L., and Creutz, C. E. (2003) Identification of Targets for Calcium Signaling Through the Copine Family of Proteins J. Biol Chem. 278, 10048-10054.

6. Lee, J. O., Rieu, P., Arnaout, M. A., and Liddington, R. (1995) Cell 80, 631–638.

7. Creutz, C. E., Tomsig, J. L., Snyder, S. L., et al. The Copine, a Novel Class of C2 domain-containing, Calcium-dependent, Phsopholipid0binding Proteins Conserved from Paramecium to Humans J. Biol. Chem. 273, 1393-1402.

8. Creutz, C. E. NIH Proposal for Copine, January 7, 2018.

Acknowledgements I wish to thank Dr. Carl Creutz, PhD, of the University of Virginia Medical School Pharmacology Department for his mentorship and support in developing this thesis.

While performing research in his lab for the past 3 years, Dr. Creutz has contributed a significant part to my thesis, providing the background studies and inspiration for my current research, offering insight on results, and offering recommendations for future studies and experimentation. Observing his craft, I learned to utilize a variety of biochemical and biophysical lab techniques. In addition to this, Dr. Creutz’s experience and guidance enhanced my understanding of the critical analysis needed to make crucial inferences from data and developed my use of the required style for presenting scientific data to both my specific research community and the general public. I also wish to thank the University of Virginia for its research and study resources. In addition to earning my degree from this university, I enjoyed learning from and conversing with its many esteemed professors from whom I gained valuable knowledge and experience towards my studies and for the future phases of life. I would also like to specifically thank the University of Virginia Medical School Pharmacology Department for their support and resources.

POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND THE FEDERAL TRADE COMMISSION: Did Reform Ever Happen?

Economics

ALEXANDER DANEL & BEN THOMAS

Alexander Danel is graduating in May 2019 from the University of Virginia, double majoring in Economics and Statistics. During his time at UVA, Alexander has been a member of Club Tennis and Towards a Better Latin America, a research assistant for Professor Coppock, and an Undergraduate Teaching Fellow. Next year, he will be joining McKinsey & Company in Mexico City.

Ben Thomas is graduating from the University of Virginia in May, 2019 with a double-major in Economics and Mathematics. At UVA, Ben works as an Undergraduate Teaching Fellow and Research Assistant in economics. Ben also volunteers with Young Life and Special Olympics, and works as a teacher’s aide. This fall, he will join McKinsey & Company in Washington, DC.

“Our analysis indicates that FTC decision-making is biased in favor of firms located in congressional districts which are represented by members of Congress on key committees and subcommittees that oversee the FTC.”

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Political Influence and the Federal Trade Commission: Did Reform Ever Happen?

Alexander Danel, Ben Thomas University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 In this paper we extend the work of Roger Faith, Donald Leavens, and Robert Tollison, who in 1982 found systematic bias by the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) in favor of firms located in the congressional districts of members of Congress with oversight and budgetary power over the FTC. We test the congressional dominance model developed by Weingast and Moran (1983) by examining cases brought by the Commission from 1980 to 2008. Weingast and Moran argue that members of select subcommittees in Congress will use their budgetary and oversight powers to influence FTC behavior in search of preferable decisions. We collect data on every FTC filing from 1980 to 2008, and find evidence of systematic bias in FTC decision making. Our findings suggest that, while the FTC is not necessarily partisan, it remains politicized.

Keywords: public choice, antitrust, congressional dominance, capture theory, committee influence, regulation

“As a rule, regulation is acquired by the industry and is designed and operated primarily for its benefit.”

- George Stigler, 1982 Nobel Memorial Prize Laureate “Absolutely, in no circumstances, [have I] felt any political influence.”

- Former FTC Official, when asked about interactions with Congress

Background The Federal Trade Commission On September 26, 1914, in the midst of the Progressive Era, Congress – at the urging of President Woodrow Wilson – created the Federal Trade Commission as part of a process that Wilson dubbed “the emancipation of business.” Wilson believed that monopolies undermined not only the American economy, but the American spirit as well. By nature, a monopoly “always checks development, weighs down natural prosperity, [and] pulls against natural advance” (Wilson, 1913). In order to “bust the trusts” and free the economy from the shackles of monopolies, Wilson sought stricter regulation. But he did not want direct government regulation, as had been overlaid on the railroads by the Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC). Instead, the President’s objective was to create a self-disciplined economy “regulated by competition, that is to say, fair competition, competition that fights fair” (Wilson, 1913). To that end, the FTC was established as an independent agency designed to promote fair competition.

Today, the FTC shares antitrust authority with the Department of Justice (DOJ).

Over time, each agency has specialized. Though there are two antitrust agencies, the two 1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/awyx-na59

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complement rather than contradict each other. In addition to antitrust enforcement, the FTC also enforces consumer protection laws. The DOJ is a federal executive department, whereas the FTC is an independent commission. The FTC is led by five commissioners appointed by the president and confirmed by the Senate.2 Unlike most European antitrust agencies, neither the FTC nor the DOJ has the power to enforce decisions. Instead, the courts make the final ruling. In other words, “the agencies merely propose, and the courts dispose” (Posner, 1969). However, this restriction does not mean that the FTC is toothless. The FTC may enter into consent agreements with firms, which are mutual agreements meant to stop illicit behavior without further action. If violators do not comply, the FTC can issue cease and desist orders. The FTC can also initiate lawsuits. Additionally, in cases in which the FTC no longer views an agent’s actions as illegal, it can dismiss cases.

Congressional Dominance While the FTC is an independent commission, it remains subject to congressional oversight. Congress controls the FTC through budgetary decisions, committee oversight, and appointments. As a result, some scholars contend that “the ability of the FTC to promote the public interest is impaired by its dependence on Congress” (Posner, 1969). The regulatory capture view is that instead of being an independent agency, the FTC is a tool that the legislative branch uses for patronage and pork barrel spending.3 According to this view, instead of “protecting consumers” and “promoting competition,” the FTC may be merely a means by which certain members of Congress collect concentrated benefits among their constituents at the expense of dispersed costs across the economy.

In the late 1960s, Ralph Nader organized a study group that examined the economics and politics of antitrust enforcement at the DOJ and the FTC. The group surveyed the antitrust literature and conducted field interviews with enforcers, members of Congress and their staffs, lawyers, businessmen, and economists, concluding that “the FTC is in theory an independent agency, which means in fact that it has historically been sensitive to the whims of Congress.”4 The group cited numerous examples of congressional influence. For example, in 1952 Senator McCarran, the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, called the Antitrust Division head, urging the dismissal of cases against major oil firms.5 In 1970, Joe Evins, then the chairman of the House Appropriations Subcommittee, threatened to cut off $1 million from the FTC if the Commissioners did not promote Charlie Moore, a political ally. When Moore was later fired, the budget was slashed by $875,000. In a 1969 survey, chief executives in the Fortune 1,000 were asked: “Do you think political considerations are ever involved when the Government decides whom to sue and whom not to sue?”

77% of those surveyed responded “Yes” (Green, Moore and Wasserstein, 1972).

However, not all scholars believe that the FTC is influenced by congressional action.

Katzmann, Clarkson and Muris (1980) “analyze FTC behavior throughout the 1970s and conclude that Congress had little to do with FTC decision making.” These scholars cite the lack of congressional monitoring as evidence of agency independence. However, in their paper Bureaucratic Discretion or congressional Control?, Weingast and Moran (1983) conclude that the absence of monitoring does not imply a lack of control. In their 2 However, as of April 2018, there are only two commissioners.

3 “Pork barrel” is a derogatory term for government appropriations on local projects solely to bring money to a representative’s district.

4 See Green, Moore, and Wasserstein, page 323.

5 The exact quote is: “I’m telling you what to do,” the Senator shouted in reply; “dismiss those cases” (Green, Moore, and Wasserstein, p. 31).

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congressional dominance model, they hypothesize that particular congressmen–especially those in relevant subcommittees–possess ex-post rewards and sanctions, including funding, oversight, and appointment of department heads, which are sufficient to form and affect ex-ante behavior. The Weingast-Moran model implies that congressional monitoring is unnecessary because Congress already induced certain behavior by the FTC (or other bureaucratic agencies). In their view, the more effective the incentive system, the less we should see it in use.

In 1989, a special committee appointed by the Antitrust Law Section of the American Bar Association conducted an extensive study of the FTC. The committee sought to determine where the FTC fit in the government regulatory framework, rather than to critique the Commission. The report suggested that the FTC should not merely bring cases it knows are winnable, but that it “should consider the views of economists as well as attorneys in deciding whether to initiate action”6 (Kirkpatrick et al., 1989). If the commission believes that its actions are justified “in terms of its economic consequences,” then there are a number of laws under which the FTC may bring a complaint.7 Whether or not the FTC actually follows this unbiased, economic-impact driven procedure will be investigated in this paper.

In 1982, Roger Faith, Donald Leavens, and Robert Tollison worked to test these claims of congressional dominance. In their paper, Antitrust Pork Barrel, they “examine the case-bringing activity of the FTC in order to see if there is any bias in the results of this process in favor of firms that operate in the jurisdictions of members of congressional committees that have important budgetary and oversight powers with respect to the FTC” (Faith, Leavens, and Tollison, 1982). They tested this hypothesis by measuring the rate of dismissals in the electoral districts of congressional representatives on relevant subcommittees. They then compared those dismissal rates to the overall dismissal rate during the 1960s and 1970s.

The pork barrel hypothesis is that higher rates of dismissal should be found in districts in which a representative or senator is a member of a relevant subcommittee, as they will be more effective in influencing FTC decisions, leading to systematic bias in favor of firms in those districts. Faith, Leavens, and Tollison find significant bias, concluding that “congressional committee members who have important oversight and budgetary powers with respect to the FTC can deflect commission decisions in favor of firms in their jurisdictions.” Their study “lend[s] support to a private-interest theory of FTC behavior” (Faith, Leavens, and Tollison, 1982). Faith et al. find clear evidence of systematic bias throughout the two decades despite claims of significant reform in the 1970s.

The purpose of this paper is to expand on their work by analyzing FTC decision-making and case selection in the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s to assess what, if anything, has changed. We perform the same analysis as Faith, Leavens, and Tollison, and find consistent bias similar to their findings over a later thirty-year period. Additionally, we examine specific presidencies instead of overall decades, as that is when one would expect to see the greatest changes in FTC decision making. Finally, we expand upon previous work by studying party membership as an additional factor that could influence FTC decisions. We find systematic bias in favor of firms located in the jurisdictions of members of Congress who have significant budgetary or oversight powers over the FTC. However, we find no evidence that party membership affects this bias, indicating that although the FTC is not partisan, it is politicized.

6 See 1989 FTC Report, p. 81.

7 These statutes include Section 5 or Section 12 of the Federal Trade Commission Act, Section 7 of the Clayton Act, Section 1 or 2 of the Sherman Act, and the Truth in Lending Act (Title I of the Consumer Credit Protection Act).

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Methodology Our study entails the assembly of data from a number of different sources.8 Specifically, we require the case-bringing activity of the FTC, the congressional districts of respondents’ headquarters, the committee information of all congressional representatives and senators over the 28-year period, and a list of all members of relevant subcommittees necessary to the analysis. These data all come from distinct sources and had to be gathered and merged in order to perform our analysis. Each data source will be discussed in turn.

The FTC publishes almost all administrative documents produced semi-annually or annually in volumes titled Federal Trade Commission Decisions. These volumes include all Opinions, Final Orders, Initial Decisions, Complaints, and Consent Orders. Prior to 2006, these volumes were in print form at federal deposit libraries, but they have since been made available online as electronic documents (FTC, 2006). With a few exceptions, volumes 1-159 are available, representing the entire output of the Commission from 1915 – 2015. The present analysis covers the cases brought from January, 1980 through June, 2008. This time span covers the available data since the two decades studied by Faith, Leavens, and Tollison.

Each complaint in FTC Decisions contains voluminous information on the specific case. Importantly, it includes the outcome of the case (i.e., whether a cease and desist order was filed, the case was dismissed, or a consent order was agreed upon) as well as the nature of the case (i.e., consumer protection or some sort of antitrust violation), along with the names of the respondents and the location of the respondent firms’ headquarters. Unfortunately, it is not practical to automate the process of pulling these data from the decision volumes – the format of the complaints changes slightly over the years, and many of the older volumes are simply scanned and not digitized. Thus, it was necessary to record the desired data from the decision files by hand. The variables recorded were the volume number, the docket number and file number of the case, the date of the complaint, the date of the decision, the nature of the complaint, the result of the case, the names of the respondents, and the addresses of the respondent’s headquarters.

There are a number of laws under which the FTC may bring a complaint, including Section 5 or Section 12 of the Federal Trade Commission Act, Section 7 of the Clayton Act, Section 1 or 2 of the Sherman Act, and the Truth in Lending Act (Title I of the Consumer Credit Protection Act). Each complaint states at the beginning of the document the law under which the alleged or determined violation occurred. At the beginning of each complaint there is also a brief, one-paragraph description of the nature of the case.

These two pieces of information together are sufficient to determine whether a given case involves antitrust or consumer protection.

Complaints were coded into one of four categories: prospective violations of consumer protection or other non-antitrust cases, violations of the Clayton Act, antitrust violations of Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act, and violations of the Sherman Act. Cases in any of the latter three categories are considered “antitrust” during the analysis.

Violations of the Clayton Act are typically merger cases or attempts to monopolize that the FTC sought to block (or let through). Antitrust violations of the FTC are typically price-fixing, collusion, or other anticompetitive behavior. Sherman Act violations are also price fixing or other anti-competitive efforts.9 8 Open data for this article are provided through UVA’s LibraData program, and can be found at https://doi.org/10.18130/V3/DYVQ4C. 9 There is much legislative overlap between Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act and the Sherman Act – cases brought under the Sherman Act are a small subset of the overall cases.

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The result of the case is determined from the information given in the title and in the short description at the beginning of the complaint. The result is recorded as falling into one of four categories: a consent order, a final order, a dismissal, or a dismissal due to the merger being canceled. Files that are only interlocutory orders or other administrative documents such as a “Response to Petition to Quash” are ignored and not recorded in the data, so that only final, complete cases are included. After the FTC files a complaint, the respondent has an opportunity to come to a consensus with the Commission to cease the alleged violation and enter into a “consent agreement.”

The use of consent orders has risen substantially over time. A consent agreement may be more or less favorable to the respondent based on whether the FTC decides to accept or not. If the respondent decides not to enter, or fails to enter, a consent agreement, then the FTC may issue a “final order” requiring the respondent to cease and desist the conduct complained of. The respondent may appeal this decision to the Circuit Court of Appeals, but at that point the case is outside the jurisdiction of the FTC. It is also possible that the FTC will decide to dismiss the case entirely. If a consent agreement is not reached, then either the case is dismissed, or a final order is given.

While the ideal scenario for any firm is to not have any case brought against it, if the FTC decides to bring up a case, the best possible outcome for the firm would be for the case to be dismissed entirely. A consent order may be more beneficial to the respondent than the FTC because it allows some anti-competitive behavior to continue while restricting some actions. A final order is presumed to be more favorable to the FTC. Thus, under a model of congressional influence, we would expect to see a greater rate of dismissals for firms that have some sway over the relevant congressmen.

The name of the respondent and the respondent’s address are also recorded. If there are multiple respondents in a complaint, the complaint is recorded as if there were separate cases.10 It is necessary to record the respondents separately, because they may be located in different states or congressional districts. This procedure may slightly bias the results towards cases that include multiple respondents; however, there are instances of cases with multiple respondents in every category of case (i.e., consumer protection, mergers, price fixing, etc.). The name of the responding firm and the address of its headquarters are typically located on the first or second page of the complaint. In more recent years, addresses are typically listed in full, including a zip code. Earlier complaints may not have the zip code, but it is still possible to match the address to a congressional district.

There is one important caveat for using a firm’s headquarters as a proxy of its main location: the address of the headquarters of a firm may not be the best measure of the congressional district where the firm should be placed.11 A firm may be headquartered in one city but do equal or greater amounts of business in many other places. For example, a firm under investigation by the FTC may have a facility in another location that is important to the congressperson there as well. However, the headquarters address is the best information available, and it is consistent with the literature on congressional pork barrel that the location of the profits is the most important. Consequently, this address is the proxy for where a firm is “located.”

The date the complaint was filed and the date the decision was recorded are both available. We always used the date of the decision (the later date) to determine which decade, year, or congressional district to which the case belongs. The majority of consent orders are filed and finished on the same day or within weeks, but dismissals and final orders 10 We keep the docket and file numbers the same so that the joint respondents may be identified later. A control number is added to identify each entry uniquely.

11 Note that the address provided is actually the headquarters address – a firm may be chartered in a different state for tax purposes but that is not recorded.

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may take years to complete. It is necessary to choose a single date to categorize the cases.

After recording all of the completed cases for 1980-2008, the address of each respondent must be matched to its congressional district. It is important to match the address to the congressional district that existed in that year, as redistricting typically occurs every ten years following the national census. Faith, Leavens, and Tollison accomplished this by plotting addresses against the maps from the Rand McNally Road Atlas (1980). We benefit from technology not available to them. Voteview.com12 allows users to enter an address and see information on the current and historical congresspersons and senators for that address, all the way back to the first Congress. The boundaries are based on highly reliable historical digital boundary definitions produced by Jeffrey B. Lewis et al.13 We enter each respondent address into the search function on Voteview and record the two-letter state abbreviation and district number combination for that year (i.e. VA-05).

The next step is to match the cases to the correct congressperson based on the year and the state-district combination. We use publicly available data from Garrison Nelson (Vermont), and Charles Stewart III and Jonathan Woon (MIT) for the 80th â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 102nd and 103rd to 115th Congresses, respectively.14 These two datasets are in almost identical formats, so few modifications were necessary. For a handful of Congresses (103rd to 105th) the committee information of representatives is separate from their membership information (i.e., state and congressional district), so it was necessary to merge these files together.15 The resulting dataset has multiple entries per congressperson in each year, one for each committee assignment. So, it was necessary to combine observations that were for the same person for the same year. The result is two datasets, one for the House and one for the Senate, containing the full committee information of every congressperson in every Congress from the 80th-115th. The information available in these datasets includes the full name of the representatives, their party, whether they are in party leadership in that Congress, whether their party is in the majority or minority, their rank on the respective committee, the date appointed to the committee, their period of service on the committee, the status of that committee at the end of the Congress, as well as a number code corresponding to that committee and the name of the committee.16 At this stage we appended relevant subcommittee information. The above datasets are limited to information at the full committee level. We investigated seven subcommittees: The Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights, of the Senate Committee on the Judiciary; the Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies, of the Senate Appropriations Committee; the Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies, of the House Appropriations Committee; the House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection (previously the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Manufacturing, and Trade), of the House Committee on Energy and Commerce; the Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness, of the Senate Finance Committee; the Subcommittee on Trade, of the House Ways and Means Committee, and the Subcommittee on 12 This project is the work of Royce Carroll (Rice), James Lo (UCLA), Jeff Lewis (UCLA), Nolan McCarty (Princeton), Keith Poole (UCSD), and Howard Rosenthal (NYU).

13 Jeffrey B. Lewis, Brandon DeVine, and Lincoln Pritcher with Kenneth C. Martis.

14 Accessible at http://web.mit.edu/17.251/www/data_page.html.

15 A data entry error was initially made that did not match the congresspersons to the correct state and district. When these incorrect data were merged with the FTC cases, forty percent of the cases in the 1990s were missing the correct congressperson. As a result, there was no bias found for that decade. When this error was corrected, we found significant bias in the 90s. This mistake offers further evidence that the results are not merely by chance.

16 Although much of this information is not used in our present analysis, it is retained for future use.

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Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit, of the House Financial Services Committee.

The choice of subcommittees is based on those having regulatory or budgetary oversight over the FTC based on their jurisdiction. These subcommittees are different from those investigated by Faith, Leavens, and Tollison because several of those subcommittees have been disbanded, broken up, renamed, or otherwise altered. We also investigated bias in favor of the Appropriations and Judiciary Committees of the House and Senate.

The data on subcommittee information come from the congressional Directory, published for each Congress by the U.S. Government Publishing Office. Directories for the 105th to 114th Congress are available online.17 For earlier years, it was necessary to obtain copies of the printed version. We recorded the names of every member of those seven subcommittees, and then used last names to match that information to representatives and senators in the full datasets.

The last step was to merge the congressional information with the data on FTC cases.

Since we have cases spanning thirty years, the data were merged on the Congress number, state, and congressional district. The resulting dataset contains all of the cases brought by the FTC from 1980-2008, and the congressional information, including full committee information and status in the subcommittees chosen, of both the representative and the two senators for the district/state where the respondentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s headquarters is located.

After collecting these data, we compared the proportion of dismissals to total orders being brought between the entire United States to those in districts with representatives in relevant subcommittees. We derived a p-value as a measure of significance by using the probability given from the cumulative density function. That is, the probability that a variable originating from a random binomial distribution takes a value equal to or greater than our observation. Therefore, if we observe a p-value of .03, it would mean that there is a 3% chance that a random sample from a given random binomial population would yield a value equal to or greater than our observation. With a p-value of .03, it would mean that there is a 97% chance that this rate of dismissals is statistically different from the overall dismissal rate. We choose a cutoff of .10 to designate our results as statistically significant.

Results Summary Statistics In total, the dataset contains 1,894 different entries which are derived from 1,094 unique cases. There are more entries than unique cases because some cases involve more than one respondent. For example, in the case with docket number 9189, filed on October 30th, 1993, eighteen different parties were involved. Of the 1,894 entries, 1,079 of them were antitrust related and the rest were consumer protection or other non-antitrust violations. In the 1980s, 278 out of the 494 entries were antitrust cases; in the 1990s, 533 out of the 1,012 entries were antitrust cases, and in the 2000s, 268 out of the 388 entries were antitrust cases.

Categorizing the types of decisions issued during that time period (Table I, at end of document), we observe that 10.5% of the cases overall were non-consent orders. However, if we examine each decade individually, the rate of non-consent decisions drops from 19% in the 1980s to 7% in the 1990s and finally to 3% in the 2000s. This trend is consistent with Faith, Leavens, and Tollison, who hypothesize that â&#x20AC;&#x153;perhaps the reduction in formal actions is the true result of the FTC reformsâ&#x20AC;? (Faith, Leavens, Tollison 342). This trend is also present in antitrust cases. While the non-consent ratio in the 1980s was 17 Accessible at https://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/browse/ collection.action?collectionCode=CDIR.

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27%, it dropped to 13% in the 1990s and to 5% in the 2000s.

Another noteworthy trend is the number of dismissals throughout the time period. In the 1980s, there were 62 dismissals (13% of all cases), in the 1990s there were 49 (5% of all cases) and in the 2000s only 5 (1% of all cases), accounting for 7% of all the entries. What stands out is that 104 out of the 129 total dismissals (80%) were antitrust. In fact, every dismissal in the 2000s was an antitrust dismissal. This outcome is one Posner would have predicted, because while consumer protection cases are largely superficial, antitrust cases have far more money at stake, and thus greater incentives for pork-barreling.

Bias Within Subcommittees We examined the subcommittee data by looking at the dismissal rates by subcommitteeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;the same way Faith, Leavens and Tollison did in 1982â&#x20AC;&#x201D;and found similar results for the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s. During the 1980s (Table II), we found statistically significant bias in the House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection and both the Senate and the House Appropriations Committee for both all cases, and for only antitrust cases. In the 1990s (Table III), we observe a statistically significant bias in the Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness, and the House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit for all cases as well as specifically antitrust cases. When we limit the analysis to specifically antitrust cases, we also find bias in the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies. From 2000 to 2008 (Table IV), we observe statistically significant bias from the Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights, the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies, the House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit, and both the House and Senate Judiciary Committees for all cases as well as specifically antitrust cases.

Table V presents comparable results for full committees, studying the Appropriations and Judiciary committees of the House and Senate. We again observe statistically significant bias in certain full committees. Both the House and Senate Appropriations Committees show a statistically significant bias in the 1980s. This was true for all types of FTC cases and for antitrust specific cases. In the 1990s we found no evidence of bias, but in the 2000s there was convincing evidence of bias in the House Judiciary Committee for all cases and for specifically antitrust cases.

Our findings support the conclusions reached in Antitrust Pork Barrel. In that paper, Faith, Leavens, and Tollison found statistically significant bias in the Senate Committee on Commerce, Science and Transportation, the Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust and Monopoly of the Senate Judiciary Committee, the House Subcommittee on Independent Offices, and the Department of Housing and Urban Development of the House Appropriations Committee and the House Subcommittee on Monopolies and Commercial Law of the House Judiciary Committee during the 1960s. During the 1970s, they found statistically significant bias in the House Subcommittee on Independent Offices and the Department of Housing and Urban Development of the House Appropriations Committee, and the House Subcommittee on Monopolies and Commercial Law of the House Judiciary Committee. While our analysis does not cover the exact same subcommittees, evidence indicates that certain subcommittees or committees with oversight or appropriations power over the FTC are able to leverage their positions to pursue favorable decisions for their corporate constituents.

Bias Across Presidencies Because our dataset is so comprehensive, we also are able to segment the data into presidential eras and assess any potential bias during each presidency from Ronald Reagan to George W. Bush. Although this time frame does not represent legislative

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changes in antitrust law, it corresponds to the period when members of Congress are reelected, and when the administrative goals may change. Additionally, we do not have a clear policy shock like Faith, Leavens, and Tollison with the purported reforms of the FTC at the beginning of the 1970s.18 We focus on summary statistics to gain a better understanding of general trends in FTC decision-making across presidencies. For example, during the Reagan administration, there were a total of 123 unique antitrust cases, under HW Bush 96, with Clinton 228, and with George W. Bush 149. At first, because there were more antitrust cases brought under Clinton, it might seem like the Democratic president may have been stricter against antitrust cases. However, if we look at the proportion of antitrust cases to the total number of cases, that claim falls flat. Clinton’s proportion of antitrust to total unique cases was 40%, while during Reagan the proportion was 45%, HW Bush 50%, and for George W. Bush 60%. With these proportions, one might argue that Democrats overcompensate for their public perception of being tough on big business. It would be erroneous to conclude anything from these figures without looking deeper into the FTC policies and other factors. For this reason, we will not try to understand which party has stricter, or laxer, antitrust policies, but rather look for the presence of bias in FTC decision-making throughout different presidencies.

Beginning with President Reagan (1981-1988), presented in Table VI, we find statistically significant bias in the House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection and the House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit.

We also find bias in both the House and Senate Appropriations Committees. Moving on to President HW Bush (1989-1992), with the results presented in Table VII, we find statistically significant bias in the Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies for all cases as well as specifically antitrust cases, and the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies for specifically antitrust cases. With HW Bush, there was no clear bias when we looked at the committees.

During President Clinton’s administration (1993-2000), there is statistically significant evidence of bias in the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies, the House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit, and the Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness for all the cases, and for when we look only at antitrust cases. In addition, we can see in Table VII that there is also evidence of bias in the House Appropriations Committee when we look solely at antitrust cases.

Lastly, under President George Bush (2001-2008), we observe statistically significant bias in four of the seven subcommittees, presented in Table VIII: The House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies, the House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit, and the Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights. The House Judiciary Committee exhibited bias as well.

Party Majority Another hypothesis under the congressional dominance model worth exploring is whether influence on regulators by congresspersons in the majority party is more effective than congresspersons in the minority party. The idea here is that members of the majority party are more easily able to wield political pressure than members of the minority party, simply by being in control of Congress. To test this hypothesis, we determine, for each case in the dataset, whether the representative for that respondent is in 18 There were a number of reforms to the FTC at this time to better “promote the public interest” (Faith, et al.).

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the majority or minority party of the House, as well as whether the Senators representing that respondentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s state are both in the majority party, both in the minority party, or split.

The cases are then divided by each presidential administration, rather than each decade, as we might expect congressional influence to be even stronger if one political party controls both the legislative and executive branches.

This method is imperfect for testing whether party control of Congress affects the ability of congresspersons to influence the FTC. The party in control of Congress may change in the middle of an administration as a result of a midterm election. This method does not distinguish between whether a respondentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s representative and senators are of the same party or not, nor does it account for which party controls the White House other than separating the cases by the administration. Although imperfect, if the hypothesis is true that congressional majority matters, we would expect to see a greater proportion of cases dismissed when the representatives or the senators corresponding to that respondent are in the majority party.

Table X provides the results of this analysis. There appears to be no systematic bias in either direction. Sometimes cases falling under the majority party are dismissed at a higher rate, and sometimes cases falling under the minority party are dismissed at a higher rate. The only consistent result seems to be that cases in which the respondent is represented by a senator from both parties are dismissed at a higher rate than the mean across the board. Perhaps congressional dominance is a rare bipartisan issue.

Discussion Our results support the same conclusion reached by Faith, Leavens, and Tollison: that congressional influence over the FTC systematically biases the decision-making of the Commission. Cases involving firms located in the congressional districts of congresspersons on relevant subcommittees and committees or having budgetary or regulatory oversight over the FTC are systematically dismissed at a higher rate than the mean. By dividing the data in different ways, whether by subcommittees, committees, presidents, and decades, we conclude that the likelihood of political influence being a statistical anomaly is near zero. The level of bias in our results is consistent across the thirty-year period studied. Putting these results next to those of previous studies suggests systematic bias by the FTC over a fifty-year period.

Faith, Leavens, and Tollison found strong evidence on a greater number of subcommittees than we did, perhaps suggesting a declining trend in congressional influence.

That said, it is also possible that this trend is only because our chosen list of subcommittees is different than theirs. It is possible that there are subcommittees other than those we studied with just as much influence over the FTC. One difficulty in attaining subcommittee information is that the names and jurisdictions often change between sessions of congress, making it difficult to carefully trace the same subcommittees over a period as long as thirty years. A topic for future research would be to examine a greater variety of subcommittees, and to follow subcommittees over time.

We make no claims about the mechanisms through which congressional influence of this type occurs. There are many ways that congresspersons with vested interests could attempt to sway FTC decision-makingâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;possibly at the highest level, with the nomination and confirmation of Senators, at the middle range of the bureaucracy, by influencing the director or deputy directors of the Bureau of Competition, or at a lower level by pressuring attorneys. Additionally, we make no claims about the means by which firms obtain congressional favor. It is possible that congresspersons acting independently of firms pressure favorable decisions simply to keep jobs or tax dollars in their district. It is also possible that firms obtain favor through campaign contributions and lobbying.

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Further research could investigate the relationship between campaign contributions and FTC decision-making.

Another aspect of the system of influence that our analysis does not reach is looking at individual members of Congress. It is possible that our results are driven particularly by a handful of congresspersons who recognize their ability to influence the FTC. However, this would not account for the trend of consistent bias over time, unless there is always a group of especially influential members of Congress. Further research could investigate if certain members of Congress are involved in a large number of cases, or if seniority of members of Congress makes any difference in the process of congressional influence.

The data make clear that the use of the consent order has increased substantially over the last few years. There are far fewer dismissals or final orders in the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s than in the 1960s or 1970s, even though there does not appear to be a clear declining trend in the total number of cases. This declining rate is due to the increased use of the consent order. Although the consent order may be a practical policy tool, it makes an analysis of congressional influence more challenging. A consent order is likely never as beneficial to a firm as a dismissal, but not all consent orders are equal. Because a consent agreement must be affirmed by both the respondents and the FTC, some consent orders may be more favorable to the respondent, and some may be more favorable to the FTC. For instance, in a merger case, a consent order may allow the merger to occur but require the acquiring company to divest 10% of the acquired assets. Or, it may require the acquiring firm to divest 50% of assets. Clearly, some of these decisions are more favorable than others. A more preferable consent order would be a means of favoring firms in certain congressional districts without using an outright dismissal. Because of this potential, the increased use of consent orders and the decline in dismissals does not mean that congressional influence is waning. Rather, a consent order may be a more efficient means of pleasing multiple parties without raising suspicion of bias. Unfortunately, we cannot easily distinguish between favorable and unfavorable consent orders.

Anecdotally, we encountered a wide range of consent agreements throughout the data collection process. For example, the case with Docket No. C-4209 is a 2008 consent agreement regarding the acquisition by The Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company (A&P) of Pathmark Stores.19 Although the value of this acquisition is $1.3 billion, A&P was only required to divest five Staten Island supermarkets, and one in Long Island. At the time, Pathmark operated 141 U.S. supermarkets and A&P operated 316 U.S. supermarkets (FTC, 2008). This consent agreement appears to greatly favor the merging companies.

Alternatively, consider the complaint with Docket No. C-3113.20 This consent agreement was entered into in August, 1983 by The Coca-Cola Company and the FTC. It required Coca-Cola to divest the entirety of Doric Foods Corporation and also barred Coca-Cola from acquiring any firm engaged in the soft drink industry for ten years without approval from the Commission (FTC, 1983). In contrast, this consent agreement seems about as favorable to the respondent firm as a direct cease and desist order. Clearly, consent agreements cover a wide range of outcomes, and some are better for respondents. Yet it is difficult to have an objective measure of the severity of a consent order.

It may be possible, after a careful reading of a complaint, to rate a consent order on, say, a scale of one to ten, but that would require far more investment in the data. Given the increased use of the consent order in recent years, our method of measuring the bias of 19 See Commission Decisions Volume 145, pg. 27, available at https://www.ftc.gov/ system/files/documents/commission_decision_volumes/volume-145/vol145.pdf.

20 See Commission Decisions Volume 102, pg. 1102, available at https://www. ftc.gov/sites/default/files/documents/commission_decision_volumes.volume-102/ ftc_volume_decision_102_july_-_december_1983pages_1092-1175-2.pdf

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FTC decision-making by comparing dismissal rates is likely to be ineffective in the near future, absent some preferable means of evaluating the severity of consent orders.

Lastly, we do not consider aspects of a firm besides its headquarters location. The FTC decision volumes contain far more information that we did not record, simply for the sake of time. Typically, the market value of the firm is included, especially in merger cases. The industry in which respondents are involved, the relevant market definition, the structure of the market, and the proposed effects of anticompetitive behavior are all included. Even the names and firms of the lawyers for both sides are in the volumes, as well as the commissioners who participated or recused themselves. Future research could use these data to build upon previous analysis. A particularly interesting hypothesis would be whether the FTC treats firms with larger market capitalizations differently.

We have recorded the docket number, the case volume, and the name of respondent for every entry, making it easy to uniquely identify each respondent. In addition to adding to the literature on congressional influence, our project contributes to further research because we have compiled the data on every single decision the FTC made for a thirty-year period. Future students may use this dataset to study other aspects of FTC decision-making, or even to search by firm name for specific cases to study.

Conclusion Our analysis indicates that FTC decision-making is biased in favor of firms located in congressional districts which are represented by members of Congress on key committees and subcommittees that oversee the FTC. These results are consistent with the previous literature and do not suggest that the bias has disappeared in recent years. The results do show that the use of the consent order has risen substantially over the last thirty years. This trend does not mean that the bias is declining, as consent orders may be quite favorable to the respondent, but we are unable to measure that in our data. To be clear, we do not mean to disparage the economists and lawyers who work at the FTC. However, the evidence suggests that, as a whole, the FTC is not completely impartial in its proceedings nor does the Agency function independently of congressional influence.

References “About the FTC.” 21 Aug. 2017. <www.ftc.gov/about-ftc> Charles Stewart III and Jonathan Woon. Congressional Committee Assignments, 103rd to 115th Congresses, 1993--2017: [House], [8/9/17].

Faith, R., Leavens, D., & Tollison, R. 1982. Antitrust Pork Barrel. The Journal of Law & Economics, 25(2), 329-342. Retrieved from <http://www.jstor.org/stable/725262> Federal Trade Commission. “Commission Decision Volumes.” <www.ftc.gov/enforcement/ cases-proceedings/commission-decision-volumes>. Volumes 95 – 145. 1980-2008.

“FTC Decisions Since 1969 Now Available Online.” 15 Nov. 2006. <www.ftc.gov/news- events/press-releases/2006/11/ftc-decisions-1969-now-available-online> Garrison Nelson, Committees in the U.S. Congress, 1947-1992, [House/80th-97th], [9/15/05].

Committees in the U.S. Congress, 1947-1992, [House/98th-102nd], [9/15/05].

Committees in the U.S. Congress, 1947-1992, [Senate/80th-102nd], [9/15/05].

Green, Mark J., & Ralph Nader. with Beverly C. Moore, Jr. and Bruce Wasserstein. 1972. The Closed Enterprise System: Ralph Nader’s Study Group Report on Antitrust Enforcement.

New York: Grossman.

Jeffrey, Lewis, et al. “Description.” U.S. congressional District Shapefiles, UCLA, 2013, <cdmaps.polisci.ucla.edu/> Katzmann, Robert A. 1980. Regulatory Bureaucracy: The Federal Trade Comission and Antitrust Policy. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press Kirkpatrick, Miles W. 1989. “Report Of The American Bar Association Section Of Antitrust Law Special Committee To Study The Role Of The Federal Trade Commission.”

Antitrust Law Journal 58, no. 1: 43-178. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40841199.

Lewis, Jeffrey B., Keith Poole, Howard Rosenthal, Adam Boche, Aaron Rudkin, and Luke Sonnet (2017). Voteview: congressional Roll-Call Votes Database. <https://voteview.com/>

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Posner, Richard A. 1969. “The Federal Trade Commission,” 37 University of Chicago Law Review 47.

Stigler, George J. 1971. “The Theory of Economic Regulation.” The Bell Journal of Economics and Management Science, vol. 2, no. 1, pp. 3–21. JSTOR, <www.jstor.org/stable/3003160.> United States Congress. Directory of the U.S. Congress. 1980-2008. Washington, D.C. Print.

Weingast, B., & Moran, M. (1983). Bureaucratic Discretion or Congressional Control? Regulatory Policymaking by the Federal Trade Commission. Journal of Political Economy, 91(5), 765-800. Retrieved from <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1837369> Wilson, W., & Hale, W. B. (1913). The New Freedom: A Call for the Emancipation of the Generous Energies of a People. New York, Garden City: Doubleday, Page & Company.

Table I Summary Statistics Decade

1980-1989

1990-1999

2000-2008

Total

Type of Case: Cases Unique Cases Antitrust Clayton Act FTC S5 Sherman Act Consumer Protection

494 362 278 142 100 36 216

1,012 490 533 350 141 42 479

388 252 268 180 67 20 121

1,894 1,094 1,079 672 308 98 816

398 33 62 1

933 14 49 16

375 2 5 6

1,695 55 129 15

202 21 55 0

465 8 44 16

254 2 5 6

921 31 104 22

Type of Result: Consent Orders Cease and Desist Dismissal Dismissal due to Dropped Merger Type of Result – Antitrust Only: Consent Orders Cease and Desist Dismissal Dismissal due to Dropped Merger

Ratios: Non-Consent Ratio (NCR) 0.194 0.078 0.034 NCR AT 0.273 0.128 0.049 NCR Clayton 0.218 0.140 0.056 NCR FTC S5 0.380 0.078 0.030 NCR Sherman 0.194 0.190 0.050 NCR Consumer Protection 0.093 0.023 0.00 Notes: Cases involving more than one firm are recorded as multiple entries – one for each respondent. The total number of cases is the number of entries. The number of unique cases refers to the number of unique docket numbers in the dataset.

The number of unique cases for the three decades does not sum to the number of unique cases in total because there are handful of cases which are dismissed that are listed as a cease and desist and a dismissal in two different decades.

The Non-Consent Ratio is the sum of the number of cases which are dismissals or cease and desists, divided by the total number of cases. This statistic measures the overall shift towards an increased use of consent orders.

0.105 0.146 0.134 0.166 0.163 0.038

99

POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND THE FTC Table II Empirical Results for Subcommittees by Decade: 1980 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 1989 Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints Within Congressional Subcommittee Congressional Districts All Cases: Overall Dismissal Rate: 62/494 (.126) Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection* Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness House Subcommittee on Trade House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit

Outside congressional Districts

P-Value

0/30 (0)

36/276 (.130)

0.560

5/39 (.128)

57/455 (.125)

0.364

0/6 (0)

62/488 (.127)

0.553

7/36 (.194)

55/458 (.120)

0.074*

16/130 (.123)

46/364 (.126)

0.467

0/6 (.127)

62/488 (.127)

0.553

2/19 (.105)

60/475 (.126)

0.433

0/17 (0)

55/261 (.211)

0.976

5/24 (.208)

50/254 (.197)

0.334

0/3 (0)

55/275 (.200)

0.484

7/20 (.350)

48/258 (.186)

0.030*

12/78 (.154)

43/200 (.215)

0.795

0/4 (0)

55/274 (.200)

0.49

Antitrust Cases Only: Overall Dismissal Rate: 55/278 (.198) Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection* Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness House Subcommittee on Trade

House Subcommittee on Financial 1/8 (.125) 54/270 (.199) Institutions and Consumer Credit Notes: * previously the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Manufacturing, and Trade The entries are of the form: number of dismissals / number of complaints (decimal value of ratio) The p-value is the probability that the dismissal rate is different from the mean.

0.454

100

DANEL & THOMAS

Table III Empirical Results for Subcommittees by Decade: 1990-1999 Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints Within Congressional Subcommittee Congressional Districts All Cases: Overall Dismissal Rate: 49/1,012 (.048) Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy 1/135 (.007) and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, 11/213 (.052) Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Commerce, 2/26 (.077) Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and 0/66 (0) Consumer Protection* Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, 25/308 (.081) and Global Competitiveness House Subcommittee on Trade 1/25 (.040) House Subcommittee on Financial 13/111 (.117) Institutions and Consumer Credit

Outside congressional Districts

P-Value

48/877 (.055)

0.999

38/799 (.048)

0.337

47/986 (.048)

0.129

49/946 (.052)

0.962

24/704 (.034)

0.005*

48/987 (.049)

0.343

36/901 (.040)

0.001*

1/60 (.072)

43/473 (.091)

0.964

7/114 (.061)

37/419 (.088)

0.733

2/11 (.182)

42/522 (.080)

0.056*

0/37 (0)

44/496 (.089)

0.959

25/186 (.134)

19/347 (.055)

0.006*

1/13 (.077)

43/520 (.083)

0.292

Antitrust Cases Only: Overall Dismissal Rate: 44/533 (.083) Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection* Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness House Subcommittee on Trade

House Subcommittee on Financial 12/62 (.179) 32/466 (.069) 0.003* Institutions and Consumer Credit Notes: * previously the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Manufacturing, and Trade The entries are of the form: # dismissals / # complaints (decimal value of ratio) The p-value is the probability that the dismissal rate is different from the mean.

101

POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND THE FTC Table IV Empirical Results for Subcommittees by Decade: 2000-2008 Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints Within Outside Congressional Subcommittee Congressional congressional Districts Districts All Cases: Overall Dismissal Rate: 5/388 (.013) Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection* Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness House Subcommittee on Trade House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit

P-Value

2/81 (.025)

3/307 (.010)

0.087*

1/95 (.011)

4/293 (.014)

0.347

2/32 (.063)

3/356 (.008)

0.008*

0/45 (0)

5/343 (.015)

0.442

0/56 (0)

5/332 (.015)

0.516

0/19 (0)

5/369 (.014)

0.218

3/67 (.045)

2/321 (.006)

0.011*

2/53 (.038)

3/214 (.014)

0.077*

1/70 (.014)

4/197 (.020)

0.378

2/25 (.080)

3/242 (.012)

0.011*

0/25 (0)

5/242 (.021)

0.377

0/43 (0)

5/224 (.022)

0.556

0/11 (0)

5/256 (.020)

0.188

Antitrust Cases Only: Overall Dismissal Rate: 5/267 (.019) Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection* Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness House Subcommittee on Trade

House Subcommittee on Financial 3/45 (.067) 2/222 (.009) 0.010* Institutions and Consumer Credit Notes: * previously the House Subcommittee on Commerce, Manufacturing, and Trade The entries are of the form: number of dismissals / number of complaints (decimal value of ratio) The p-value is the probability that the dismissal rate is different from the mean.

102

DANEL & THOMAS

Table V Empirical Results for Full Committees by Decade Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints 1980s Congressional Committee All Cases: Overall Dismissal Rate: House Appropriations Committee House Judiciary Committee Senate Appropriations Committee Senate Judiciary Committee

1990s

Within Within Congressional P-Value Congressional Districts Districts 62/494 (.123)

2000s Within P-Value Congressional P-Value Districts

49/1,012 (.048)

5/388 (.013)

14/71 (.197)

0.029*

4/102 (039)

0.553

0/59 (0)

0.535

4/46 (.087)

0.701

7/114 (.061)

0.188

3/36 (.083)

0.001*

26/162 (.160)

0.076*

16/447 (.036)

0.874

3/202 (.015)

0.264

8/99 (.081)

0.887

7/429 (.016)

1.00

3/196 (.015)

0.247

Antitrust Cases Only: Overall 55/278 (.198) 44/533 (.083) Dismissal Rate: House Appropriations 13/39 (.333) 0.014* 4/53 (.075) Committee House Judiciary 4/20 (.200) 0.361 6/58 (.103) Committee Senate Appropriations 24/93 (.258) 0.06* 12/224 (.054) Committee Senate Judiciary 8/57 (.140) 0.821 7/180 (.039) Committee Notes: The overall dismissal rate is for all cases for that decade, not for only those within the relevant congressional districts.

5/267 (.019) 0.447

0/46 (0)

0.581

0.2

3/23 (.013)

0.001*

0.933

3/143 (.021)

0.280

0.984

3/135 (.022)

0.247

103

POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND THE FTC Table VI Empirical Results for Committees by President â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Ronald Reagan (1981-1988) Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints All Cases

Antitrust Cases Only

Within Congressional Districts

Within P-Value Congressional Districts

Overall Dismissal Rate:

58/450 (.129)

53/246 (.215)

House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection

0/6 (0)

0.546

0/3 (0)

0.551

7/34 (.206)

0.100*

7/18 (.389)

0.040*

House Subcommittee on Trade

0/4 (0)

0.458

0/2 (0)

0.414

House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit

2/8 (.250)

0.092*

1/6 (.167)

0.429

Any House Subcommittee

13/81 (.160)

0.256

10/40 (.250)

0.328

0/12 (0)

0.841

0/5 (0)

0.737

3/28 (.107)

0.577

3/14 (.214)

0.424

12/106 (.113)

0.757

9/58 (.155)

0.902

Any Senate Subcommittee

27/240 (0.1125)

1.00

20/133 (.150)

0.988

House Appropriations Committee

13/60 (.217)

0.039*

12/30 (.400)

0.013*

House Judiciary Committee

4/31 (.129)

0.273

4/13 (.308)

0.169

Senate Appropriations Committee

23/124 (.185)

0.040*

21/67 (.323)

0.051*

Senate Judiciary Committee

7/70 (.100)

0.989

7/37 (.189)

0.665

Congressional Committee

Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness

Notes: Any subcommittee refers to any of the subcommittees listed above

P-Value

104

DANEL & THOMAS

Table VII Empirical Results for Committees by President â&#x20AC;&#x201C; George HW Bush (1989-1992) Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints All Cases

Antitrust Cases Only

Congressional Committee

Within Congressional Districts

Overall Dismissal Rate:

15/252 (.060)

House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection

0/6 (0)

0.308

0/1 (0)

0.088

0/6 (0)

0.308

0/4 (0)

0.308

House Subcommittee on Trade

0/2 (0)

0.116

0/2 (0)

0.168

House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit

1/26 (.038)

0.464

1/18 (.056)

0.478

Any House Subcommittee

4/55 (.073)

0.001*

3/39 (.077)

0.451

1/51 (.020)

0.815

1/30 (.033)

0.753

5/51 (.098)

0.081*

5/36 (.139)

0.092*

4/94 (.043)

0.665

3/63 (.048)

0.815

Any Senate Subcommittee

16/224 (.071)

0.183

13/150 (.087)

0.447

House Appropriations Committee

1/51 (.020)

0.815

1/29 (.034)

0.736

House Judiciary Committee

1/25 (.040)

0.443

1/9 (.111)

0.184

Senate Appropriations Committee

6/16 (.052)

0.54

6/73 (.082)

0.463

Senate Judiciary Committee

1/61 (.016)

0.885

1/34 (.029)

0.812

Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness

P-Value

Within Congressional Districts

P-Value

13/148 (.088)

Notes: Any subcommittee refers to any of the subcommittees listed above

105

POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND THE FTC Table VIII Empirical Results for Committees by President â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Bill Clinton (1993-2000) Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints All Cases

Antitrust Cases Only

Congressional Committee

Within Congressional P-Value Districts

Within Congressional Districts

Overall Dismissal Rate:

38/804 (.047)

33/417 (.079)

House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection

2/11 (.182)

0.013*

2/5 (.400)

0.004*

0/57 (0)

0.937

0/32 (0)

0.929

1/18 (.056)

0.208

1/7 (.143)

0.101

0.001*

11/50 (.220

0.001*

16/216 (.074)

0.029*

14/125 (.112)

0.070*

Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness

0/95 (0)

0.990

0/37 (0)

0.886

7/166 (.042)

0.528

1/85 (.012)

0.958

34/278 (.122)

0.001*

34/169 (.201)

0.001*

Any Senate Subcommittee

41/583

0.005*

37/326 (.113)

0.001*

House Appropriations Committee

1/12 (.083)

0.108

1/2 (.500)

0.006*

House Judiciary Committee

1/12 (.083)

0.108

0/3 (0)

0.219

Senate Appropriations Committee

11/352 (.031)

0.907

11/168 (.065)

0.685

Senate Judiciary Committee

6/381 (.016)

0.998

6/154 (.039)

0.964

House Subcommittee on Trade

House Subcommittee on Financial 12/83 Institutions and Consumer Credit (.145) Any House Subcommittee

Notes: Any subcommittee refers to any of the subcommittees listed above

P-Value

106

DANEL & THOMAS

Table IX Empirical Results for Committees by President â&#x20AC;&#x201C; George W. Bush (2001-2008) Ratio of Dismissals to Complaints All Cases

Antitrust Cases Only

Congressional Committee

Within Congressional Districts

Overall Dismissal Rate:

5/388 (.013)

House Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies House Subcommittee on Digital Commerce and Consumer Protection

2/19 (.105)

0.025*

2/15 (.133)

0.003*

0/25 (0)

0.277

0/17 (0)

0.275

House Subcommittee on Trade

0/12 (0)

0.144

0/7 (0)

0.124

House Subcommittee on Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit

3/67 (.045)

0.011*

3/45 (.067)

0.010*

Any House Subcommittee

5/144 (.035)

0.011*

7/346 (.020

0.324

2/81 (.025)

0.087

2/53 (.038)

0.077*

1/110 (.009)

0.415

1/81 (.012)

0.449

0/53 (0)

0.497

0/41 (0)

0.539

Any Senate Subcommittee

3/220 (.014)

0.316

3/188 (.156)

0.469

House Appropriations Committee

0/59 (0)

0.535

0/46 (0)

0.581

House Judiciary Committee

3/36 (.083)

0.001*

3/23 (.130)

0.001*

Senate Appropriations Committee

3/202 (.015)

0.264

3/143 (.021)

0.280

Senate Judiciary Committee

3/1916 (.015)

0.247

3/135 (.022)

0.247

Senate Subcommittee on Antitrust, Competition Policy and Consumer Rights Senate Subcommittee on Commerce, Justice, Science, and Related Agencies Senate Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness

P-Value

Within Congressional Districts

P-Value

5/267 (.019)

Notes: Any subcommittee refers to any of the subcommittees listed above

107

POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND THE FTC Table X Empirical Results for Party Control of Congress by Administration (1980-2008)

Majority/ Minority Status All Cases: Overall Dismissal Rate: House Majority House Minority Senate Majority Senate Minority Senate Split

Ronald Reagan

George HW Bush

Bill Clinton

George W. Bush

Dismissal P-Val. Ratio

Dismissal Ratio

Dismissal P-Val. Ratio

Dismissal Ratio

58/450 (.129)

15/252 (.060)

38/804 (.047)

5/388 (.013)

P-Val.

37/258 5/128 15/411 5/188 0.212 0.780 0.818 (.143) (.039) (.036) (.027) 16/163 7/109 22/372 0/182 0.855 0.323 0.117 (.098) (.064) (.059) (0) 8/92 7/90 10/278 0/179 0.853 0.883 0.766 (.087) (.078) (.036) (0) 13/96 0/30 4/214 1/122 0.353 0.841 0.975 (.135) (0) (.019) (.008) 35/247 5/122 24/302 4/70 0.239 0.740 0.005* (.142) (.041) (.079) (.057) Antitrust Cases Only: Overall 53/246 13/148 33/417 5/267 Dismissal (.215) (.088) (.079) (.019) Rate: 35/146 5/78 15/209 5/132 House 0.206 0.691 0.592 Majority (.240) (.064) (.072) (.038) 0/118 18/189 6/56 15/83 House 0.169 0.219 0.732 Minority (.181) (0) (.095) (.107) 7/140 6/54 7/47 Senate 0.872 0/116 0.193 0.823 Majority (.149) (.050) (.111) 1/83 3/85 0/19 13/60 Senate 0.912 0.826 0.417 Minority (.217) (.012) (.035) (0) 4/52 23/182 5/66 32/129 Senate 0.010* 0.527 0.157 Split (.077) (.126 (.076) (.248) Notes: House Majority/Minority means that the representative for that respondent is in the majority/minority of that Congress, and likewise for Senate Majority/Minority.

Senate split means that the Senators for that state are in opposite parties.

P-Val.

.036* .906 .902 .467 .002*

0.039* 0.893 0.888 0.462 0.003*

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PAINTING IN MURASAKI SHIKIBUâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S THE TALE OF GENJI Japanese Literature

ISABELLE BURKE

Isabelle Burke will graduate from UVA in May 2020 with a double major in Japanese Language & Literature and Public Policy from the Frank Batten School of Leadership and Public Policy. She spent the summer of 2018 studying at the Hokkaido International Foundationâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s summer language school in Hakodate, Hokkaido. Currently, she serves as the Chair of the student docent program at the Fralin Museum of Art in Charlottesville, VA.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;By acknowledging the influential role of painting and the visual arts in the cultivation of Heian era aesthetics, one can gain a better understanding of how The Tale of Genji is remarkable not only as a work of fiction, but also as a testament to the supremely important role visual beauty played in influencing the development of literature during this period.

110

The Significance of Painting in Murasaki Shikibu’s The Tale of Genji Isabelle Burke University of Virginia Charlottesville, Virginia, United States of America1 The Heian Era, spanning from 794 AD to 1185,2 represents a period of Japanese history marked by great material opulence, artistic splendor, and cultural innovation among members of the elite ruling class. The royal court, housed in the capital of Heian-kyō (present-day Kyōto), offered a fertile environment for artists to gather and produce works of poetry, prose, music, and painting for consumption by the elites who populated the court’s ranks. The vast majority of these compositions are united by a shared interest in aesthetics, which convey a sophisticated appreciation of the natural world and its inherent ephemerality. The Yamato-e (大和絵) style of painting in particular stands out as an example of how new modes of expression were adopted to facilitate the development of a uniquely “Japanese” aesthetic in the visual arts. The Yamato-e style originated from Japanese painters’ desire to expand from traditionally Chinese narrative elements and motifs in their work and instead depict native architectures and landscapes in a distinctly Japanese style.3 The development of this painting style occurred alongside similarly profound experimentation in the realm of literature. It was during this period when Lady Murasaki Shikibu (975-1014) composed her magnum opus, The Tale of Genji (源氏 物語), which was released in a serialized format over the course of multiple years in the early 11th century.4 In addition to containing significant allusions to painting in various chapters, the fact that the tale was published in installments made it conducive to being translated into visual art forms, such as painted scrolls. In this sense, The Tale of Genji is significant not only for its achievements as a pioneering work of fiction, but also for how it preserves the aesthetic traditions developed during the Heian Era. Keywords: Japanese painting, Heian era, The Tale of Genji (源氏物語), picture scrolls, Yamato-e (大和絵)

Lady Murasaki Shikibu’s seminal work The Tale of Genji (源氏物語) has often been referred to as “the world’s first novel”5—a designation which successfully conveys the tale’s prestige within the global literary canon, yet fails to accurately describe the true manner in which the Genji was composed and disseminated in its early years. The construct of the modern Western novel which this anachronism references is considered by modern scholars to be a subcategory of the broader genre known as “fictional narrative.”

6 However, the two terms are often conflated, which in the case of the Genji results in a far more restrictive framework for analyzing the tale’s original form and function. Perhaps 1 Published April 28, 2019. https://doi.org/10.25893/uvaurn/aade-n761 2 Shirane, Haruo. Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginning to 1600. Columbia University Press, 2007. Print. p.110.

3 Soper, Alexander C. The Rise of Yamato-e. The Art Bulletin, Vol. 24, No. 4, 1942. Online. p.350.

4 Shirane, p.293.

5 Washburn, Dennis. Introduction. The Tale of Genji, by Murasaki Shikibu, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2015. Online. p.47.

6 McKeon, Michael, editor. Theory of the Novel: A Historical Approach. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000. Online. p.xiv.

PAINTING IN THE TALE OF GENJI

111

the most egregious fault in classifying the tale as a “novel” is that this modern label does not acknowledge the uniquely fluid and mutually-influential relationship between the literary and visual arts in the Heian era. The relationship between these two art forms was not merely a result of similarities in content; while Heian paintings and literature certainly did contain many of the same thematic elements, they also enjoyed a uniquely symbiotic relationship in which both art forms were often collaboratively employed for the purposes of storytelling. Lady Murasaki’s frequent allusions to paintings within the tale, as well as her decision to structure the narrative in serialized chapters which are extremely conducive to being translated into individual paintings (see Figure 1), are testaments to the significance of painting as a means of conveying and preserving stories in the Heian era. It is not surprising, then, that modern authors refer to the Genji in imagistic terms. Tayama Katai captures their sentiments splendidly in his statement that the tale is “all depiction” which reads like “a series of word pictures.”7

Figure 1.

Unidentified Artist, 源氏物 語浮舟帖 Booklet of “A Boat Cast Adrift” (Ukifune). 13th Century, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

In this way, it seems that the success of Lady Murasaki’s work is partly on account of her ability to compose vignettes in a manner similar to how a painter composes elements on a canvas. For the purposes of this essay, this peculiar style of composition will be referred to as “picturesque” writing, in accordance with its functional similarities to picture-drawing. This picturesque style is not only appreciated by modern readers of the Genji; it also made the tale more accessible to Lady Murasaki’s audience of affluent Heian court members, who placed high value on aestheticism and visual splendor. By acknowledging the influential role of painting and the visual arts in the cultivation of Heian era aesthetics, one can gain a better understanding of how The Tale of Genji is remarkable not only as a work of fiction, but also as a testament to the supremely important role visual beauty played in influencing the development of literature during this period.

Figure 2.

Studio of Tawaraya Sōtatsu, Scene from “The Ivy” (Yadorigi), Chapter 49 of the Tale of Genji. Early 17th century, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

7 Emmerich, Michael. The Tale of Genji: Translation, Canonization, and World Literature. Columbia University Press, 2013. Print. p.44.

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ISABELLE BURKE

Heian Era Painting: Functions and Forms Before delving into the text, it is important to look at how painting was regarded within Heian courtly society in order to fully appreciate the significance of its inclusion in the tale. One of the most noteworthy artistic changes to occur during the Heian era was the development of Yamato-e, a painting style which expanded from traditionally Chinese narrative elements and motifs to focus on depicting native landscapes and architecture in a distinctly Japanese style.8 The Yamato-e style is indirectly referenced in the Broom Tree chapter, when the Chief Equerry praises the skilled artists who are capable of depicting “quite commonplace mountains and streams, the everyday shapes of houses… [and] welcoming forms mingling in harmony with gently sloping hills,” all of which were quite popular subjects in the Yamato-e style (see Figure 2).9 This style of painting commonly took the form of handscrolls called Emakimono (絵巻物), which combined text and images to convey narrative stories.10 Even before the inception of these picture scrolls, the processes guiding the development of painting and literature were incredibly interdependent. Indeed, as Miyeko Murase notes, contemporary historians believe that “paintings served as a kind of memory bank in the days when narrative tales were not yet written but were transmitted orally.”11 This comment is particularly important in relation to the cultivation of romantic tales (such as those “old tales” frequently referenced in Lady Murasaki’s work).12 Murase states that during the early to mid-Heian period, “the genre of romantic tales seems to have been in a state of flux, evolving as paintings inspired poems that were then incorporated into the plot, altering it and providing a new theme for yet another painting.”13 Murase’s comment suggests a sort of symbiotic relationship between literature and painting in which each art form mutually influenced the development of the other.

Murase further argues that the mutualistic growth of painting and literature is evidenced in earlier works, particularly in the development of “extended tales” such as the Tale of Sumiyoshi. This process would begin with the original tale and then later incorporate paintings and poems to form a sort of individual anthology for the story of the tale.14 If this process is in fact accurate, then it is believable that “the Sumiyoshi story evolved step-by-step, as paintings were executed and the poems added…[and] the poems would then be incorporated into the text, thus creating a new recension.”15 This manner of producing tales would certainly suggest the existence of an interconnected, mutually-influential relationship between the visual and literary arts in the Heian era.

Applications in The Tale of Genji To return to The Tale of Genji, Lady Murasaki’s frequent references to painting within the text reveal her awareness of the significance of painting and visual arts in the development of artistic aesthetics in the Heian court. The first explicit reference to paintings occurs as early as the Paulownia Pavilion chapter, in which the Emperor (Genji’s father) 8 Murase, Miyeko. Iconography of the Tale of Genji (Genji Monogatari Ekotoba). Weatherhill, 1983. Print. p.8.

9 Murasaki Shikibu. The Tale of Genji. Translated by Royall Tyler, Penguin Books, 2001. Print. p.27.

10 Jakuchō, Setouchi. “Painting and The Tale of Genji.” The Tale of Genji: Scenes from the World’s First Novel. H. Mack Horton, Donald Keene, Kodansha International, 2001, 7-16. Print. p.7.

11 Murase, p.8-9.

12 Murasaki, p.462.

13 Murase, p.9.

14 Ibid, p.10.

15 Ibid.

PAINTING IN THE TALE OF GENJI

113

is described as “spending all his time examining illustrations of ‘The Song of Unending Sorrow’ commissioned by Emperor Uda, with poems by Ise and Tsurayuki.”16 Translator Royall Tyler notes that these paintings would have likely been on screens with poems running along the sides of the pictures.17 By referencing the Emperor’s fascination with viewing and appreciating these painted works, Lady Murasaki immediately establishes painting as a respected and refined art form which would have been held to great esteem by members of the court.

Figure 3.

Tosa Mitsunobu, The Twilight Beauty (Yūgao), Illustration to Chapter 4 of the Tale of Genji. 1509-1510, Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

This concept is reinforced later on in the Picture Contest (Eawase) chapter, wherein readers learn that the Emperor Reizei is an enthusiastic patron of painting. The Emperor Reizei’s fascination with the visual arts is stated quite explicitly, as Lady Murasaki writes, “His Majesty loved painting above all… [and] he was also extremely good at it.”18 As in the previously cited example, this association with the Emperor Reizei resolutely confirms painting’s legitimation as a fine art form. In his analysis of this chapter, Thomas Harper, who has translated a number of critical essays on various topics in The Tale of Genji, refers to the Eawase as “an intensely political chapter of Genji,” since its primary plot point— the picture contest— is in fact a spectacle contrived by Genji to try and make his adopted daughter Akikonomu appear like a more desirable marriage partner to the young Emperor.19 In this chapter readers bear witness to how “just as in the real world described by Murasaki Shikibu in her diary… seduction is accomplished by means of art and literature, lavishly patronized by the backers of both ladies.”20 Harper’s comments draw attention to the tangible power of painting which exists beneath the veneer of its purely aesthetic value. Based on the similarities Harper draws between this chapter’s events and information pulled from Lady Murasaki’s own diary entries, readers can 16 Ibid.

17 Ibid.

18 Murasaki, p.323.

19 Harper, Thomas & Haruo Shirane. Reading the Tale of Genji: Sources from the First Millennium. Columbia University Press, 2015. Print. p.18.

20 Harper, p.19.

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ISABELLE BURKE

presume that this political power is attributable to painting both within the tale, and in the actual court of the Heian period.

In addition, there are many instances throughout the text where painting is referenced more subtly. Scattered throughout the tale, readers encounter phrases such as: “One would have liked to paint the scene,”21 “It all looks just like a painting,”22 and “No painting could ever have done them justice.”23 Based on textual evidence, there seem to be three distinct functions which these references to painting serve in the tale. Firstly, they help readers establish a mental image of the setting or moment being described in the text. Secondly, paintings can also serve as a standard for idealized or romanticized beauty. Finally, comparisons to paintings allow Lady Murasaki to highlight the ephemeral beauty of things which cannot be transmitted through paintings (or, by extension, literature).

Paintings as a Tool for Visualization Lady Murasaki frequently makes explicit references to painting at thematically significant or emotionally poignant moments over the course of the tale. In doing so, she induces her readers to recall the beauty of luxuriously detailed and serenely composed Heian era paintings, which would have been a familiar sight to her early readership of well-ranking courtesans. This recollection contributes an additional layer of descriptive richness to the text. For instance, there is one passage in the Twilight Beauty chapter in which Ukon surveys a pleasing view of a garden which strongly evokes the picturesque style (see Figure 3). The scene is laid out as follows: “While peaceful twilight dimmed to evening beneath a lovely sky, a cricket sang falteringly from the fading garden, and here and there the autumn colors glowed… the scene [was] so like a painting.”24 What is interesting about this passage is that one of the three descriptive elements is an auditory detail (the cricket’s “faltering” song). Thus, the mention of painting is extremely important here, because it helps to fill in the descriptive gaps in Lady Murasaki’s own writing. Elements such as the colors of the scenery become more poignant with reference to painting, while other features such as composition (the balance of objects within a scene) are given an implied significance which would be incredibly difficult to convey through writing alone.

This formula is repeated again in chapters such as Young Murasaki and The Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi. In the first instance, Genji looks on from a hidden perch at the young girl Murasaki’s rustic residence in the Northern Hills (see Figure 4), where “mist veiled the landscape into the distance, and the budding trees everywhere were as though swathed in smoke.”25 This prompts an awe-struck response from Genji, who exclaims, “It all looks just like a painting… no one living here could wish for more!”26 In this instance, Genji’s comment could be referring to the picturesque qualities of this rustic, natural environment. The exclamation itself seems to suggest that painted images possess a fullness or completeness which makes them beautiful; thus, by including this language Lady Murasaki is able to insinuate the same connotations in her writing by proxy. This scene is also notably reminiscent of the earlier Broom Tree chapter, which explicitly includes “gently sloping hills, thickly wooded” as a common subject for Yamato-e painting.27 21 Murasaki, p.60.

22 Ibid, p.84.

23 Ibid, p.438.

24 Ibid, p.76.

25 Ibid, p.84.

26 Ibid.

27 Ibid, p.27.

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Figure 4.

Manner of Tosa Mitsuyoshi, Young Murasaki (Wakamurasaki), Illustration to Chapter 5 of the Tale of Genji. Mid-17th century, Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

In the Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi chapter, the Rokujo Haven is depicted in a manner that is also especially suggestive of a painted image. When Genji enters the Haven’s quarters, he finds her in repose, “her short hair very handsome and striking, leaning on an armrest and looking piercingly beautiful, just like a painting.”28 This description gives the impression of a highly composed image, in which the figure (the Rokujo Haven) is situated in a very specific posture amidst her attractive surroundings, almost as if under the direction of a painter who intends to copy the scene. This kind of compositional detail is a quality normally attributed to paintings, but Lady Murasaki also utilizes it to great effect in her writing.

Paintings as an Idealization of Beauty Painting also serves an important function as the distillation of idealized beauty within the tale. The beautification of reality is frequently exhibited in representational painting, which by nature of being a representation of reality requires the artist to engage in some creative interpretation of the subject. Readers can witness this process at work in the Young Murasaki chapter. After encountering Genji for the first time, the young girl Murasaki becomes so in awe of his image that “whenever she played with a doll or painted a picture, she pretended that the figure was Lord Genji.”29 The fact that Murasaki’s act of childish imagination takes the form of painting is no coincidence. In this manner, the young girl has the power to craft an even grander image of Genji which is idealized and romanticized.

In this same chapter, there is another instance in which painting is used as an indicator of idealized beauty; this is when Genji visits his wife, Aoi, who is reluctant to see him after his long absence. Upon entering her quarters, Genji finds his wife “precisely where her gentlewomen placed her, as still and as perfect as a lady in a painting.”30 In this instance, Aoi’s cool composure is highlighted by her likeness to a figure who is perfectly situated 28 Ibid, p.294.

29 Ibid, p.94.

30 Ibid.

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within a painted image. Unlike the previous example, which carries the implication of an artist directing the composition of the elements in the scene, in this instance Aoi is explicitly described as being situated “precisely” by her own gentlewomen. It is almost as if these women, anticipating Genji’s arrival, framed Aoi perfectly within her surroundings to cleverly insinuate her likeness to a painted figure. From Genji’s perspective, this elevates his feelings of detachment and distance from his wife, who is as inaccessible to him as the idealized image of a woman who exists only in painted form.

Figure 5.

Utagawa Hiroshige, Cherryblossom Viewing at Asuka Hill (Asukayama hanami). 1832-1834, Museum of Fine Arts Boston.

Painting as a Limited Medium While the aforementioned examples seem to suggest that painting is an art form fully capable of capturing and producing beauty, there are other sections of The Tale of Genji which suggest otherwise. Lady Murasaki acknowledges that there are limitations to what can be painted, as well as the degree to which paintings are capable of reflecting reality. This idea is realized in the discussion which occurs after the painting contest of the Eawase chapter. When Genji’s painted Suma scrolls are showed off during the contest, they are met with high praise from all of the participants, who resoundingly agree that his work, “done at undisturbed leisure by a genius at the art, was beyond anything…

Genji’s paintings revealed with perfect immediacy… all that had passed through his mind, and all that he had witnessed.”31 Despite this uncontested praise, Genji himself finds flaws in his paintings, claiming, “I remain dissatisfied, since there is a limit to what the brush can convey.”32 This acknowledgement of the inadequacy of painting points to a strange contradiction that exists within the art form: by “capturing” a particular moment in time through the act of painting, the subject loses its ephemerality, or its quality of transient beauty. In the example that Genji cites, his own Suma paintings cannot convey the long, slow passage of time, which was a crucial part of how he experienced his period of exile.

The images are stagnant and thus unable to contain the subtle changes which occurred at Suma to indicate the passing of time. The importance of ephemeral beauty was also recognized in Heian society at large, wherein aesthetic preferences developed with a particular admiration for things which possess a fleeting, impermanent kind of beauty. A prime example would be the sakura blossom. In addition to being a revered and oft-cited motif in poetry, textiles, and paintings throughout the Heian period, in the 9th century these short-lived yet exquisite blossoms inspired the cultural phenomenon of hanami (花見), or “flower viewing,” which was practiced by Heian courtesans and continued throughout later periods (see Figure 5).33 31 Ibid, p.328.

32 Ibid, p.329.

33 McClellan, Ann. The Cherry Blossom Festival: Sakura Celebration. Bunker Hill Publishing, 2005. Online. p.9.

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The inadequacy of painting is reinforced in other instances, such as in the Twilight Beauty and Akashi chapters. In the former chapter, Lady Murasaki describes a scene in which “a pretty page boy, handsome in trousers that might have been made for this very moment and that now were wet with dew, wandered out among the flowers and brought [Genji] a bluebell.”34 She finishes the depiction with the phrase, “one would have liked to paint the scene.”35 The phrase “trousers that might have been made for this very moment,” as well as the inclusion of other fine details specific to this scene, together hint at a kind of ephemeral beauty which exists only in the moment. Lady Murasaki’s desire to “paint the scene” is tinged with longing and wistfulness, as a painter would not be capable of perfectly capturing the full beauty of the scene as it existed in that moment.

There is also an instance in the Warbler’s First Song chapter where Lady Murasaki once again acknowledges the shortcomings of painting as an art form. During the New Year’s festivities, readers are presented with a lovely image of professional dancers and entertainers who “swayed as one, singing ‘Bamboo River’ in sweet voices.”36 The narrator goes on to remark, “what a shame it is that no painting could ever have done them justice!”

37 There are many components to this scene which obviously could not be captured in a painting. The melodious singing, the sensation of the chill winter breeze, the kinetic beauty of the dancers in motion; each of these elements cannot be captured in the static medium of painting. Paradoxically, while this acknowledgement is meant to convey the limitations of one type of art form, it simultaneously imbues Lady Murasaki’s written prose with rich emotional overtones. The narrator’s assertion that the events could not possibly have been captured in a painting imparts a sense of wistful sentimentality which demonstrates Lady Murasaki’s masterful awareness of this scene’s ephemeral beauty.

While it may seem that Lady Murasaki’s criticisms are primarily directed at the medium of painting, she occasionally suggests that literature is itself similarly flawed.

She accomplishes this by scattering throughout the tale phrases such as “I wonder what happened… in the end,” which casually hint at the limited perspective of the story’s narrator.38 Lady Murasaki’s acknowledgement of the limitations of her work is a testament to both her keen sense of wit as an author and her profound understanding of ongoing developments in the fine arts and aesthetic trends during the Heian era. Thus, it is not surprising that readers of Lady Murasaki’s tale were compelled to produce their own works of art as an homage to the skillful interweaving of visual and literary components in her storytelling. The most famous of these artistic works are undoubtedly the Genji Emakimono picture scrolls, of which there were originally believed to be 54 sections (one corresponding to each chapter of the tale).39 Each scroll section contained its own unique painting depicting a memorable moment from one of the tale’s chapters; these paintings were accompanied by calligraphic excerpts from the text which provided contextual details to enrich the viewer’s understanding of the scene. These picture scrolls were produced as a collaborative effort by many different kinds of artisans, and were ultimately very time- and labor-intensive to make. They required a skillful head artist to draw the underlying linework, assistant painters who added pigmentation to the scene,

34 Murasaki, p.60.

35 Ibid, p.60.

36 Ibid, p.438.

37 Ibid.

38 Ibid, p.131.

39 Jackson, Reginald. “Scripting the Moribund: The Genji Scrolls’ Aesthetics of Decomposition.” Reading the Tale of Genji: Its Picture Scrolls, Texts and Romance, edited by Richard Stanley-Baker, Global Oriental, 2009. Online. p.7.

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Figure 6.

Utagawa Kunisada. Prince Genji Visits the Gankirō Tea House.

1860, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

as well as artists specializing in calligraphy to add the textual annotations.40 Even before the painting process began, there were papermakers who used natural dyes and overlays of powdered minerals and precious metals to produce the richly embellished backdrops which contributed to the visual splendor of these scrolls.41 Figure 7.

Yamato Waki. 大和和紀作『 源氏物語 あさきゆめみし』 The death of Lady Murasaki, Genji’s beloved, over whom he mourns for an entire year preceding his own death, from the manga series The Tale of Genji: Dreams at Dawn. 1860, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

The legacy of the Genji Emakimono is nearly as impressive as the tale itself. Their influence can be seen in the Ukiyo-e woodblock prints of the Tokugawa era (1600-1868 AD), which often drew from the Genji’s aesthetic motifs and even employed characters from the tale as subjects for prints which were collectively known as Genji-e or “Genji pictures” (see Figure 6).42 In an even more recent example, the current 2,000 yen bill features a painted scene from The Bell Cricket chapter as it was originally depicted in the Genji Emakimono.43 Even more interestingly, in recent decades there have been at least 40 Ibid, p.7.

41 Ibid, p.8.

42 Harris, Frederick. Ukiyo-e: The Art of the Japanese Print. Tuttle Publishing, 2010. Online. p.148.

43 National Printing Bureau (国立印刷局). “Banknotes Currently

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twenty different adaptations of The Tale of Genji into manga comics (see Figure 7), an art form which bears a striking number of similarities to the Emakimono which so brilliantly combine visual and literary elements for the purposes of storytelling.44 In a sense, it is as if The Tale of Genji has come full circle in the present day, as readers now once again have the ability to enjoy the tale’s spectacular visuals and masterful narration in a manner very similar to how Lady Murasaki’s early readership would have consumed it.

References Emmerich, Michael. The Tale of Genji: Translation, Canonization, and World Literature. Columbia University Press, 2013. Print.

Harper, Thomas & Haruo Shirane. Reading the Tale of Genji: Sources from the First Millennium.

Columbia University Press, 2015. Print.

Harris, Frederick. Ukiyo-e: The Art of the Japanese Print. Tuttle Publishing, 2010. Online.

Jackson, Reginald. “Scripting the Moribund: The Genji Scrolls’ Aesthetics of Decomposition.”

Reading the Tale of Genji: Its Picture Scrolls, Texts and Romance, edited by Richard Stanley-Baker, Global Oriental, 2009. Online.

Jakuchō, Setouchi. “Painting and The Tale of Genji.” The Tale of Genji: Scenes from the World’s First Novel. H. Mack Horton, Donald Keene, Kodansha International, 2001, 7-16. Print.

McClellan, Ann. The Cherry Blossom Festival: Sakura Celebration. Bunker Hill Publishing, 2005.

Online.

McKeon, Michael, editor. Theory of the Novel: A Historical Approach. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000. Online.

Miyake, Lynne K. “Graphically Speaking: Manga Versions of ‘The Tale of Genji.’” Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 63, No. 2, 2008. Online. Pages 359–392.

Murasaki Shikibu. The Tale of Genji. Translated by Royall Tyler, Penguin Books, 2001. Print.

Murase, Miyeko. Iconography of the Tale of Genji (Genji Monogatari Ekotoba). Weatherhill, 1983.

Print.

National Printing Bureau (国立印刷局). “Banknotes Currently Issued.” The Bank of Japan (日本 銀行), 2019. Online. [https://www.npb.go.jp/en/intro/kihon/genzai.html] Shirane, Haruo. Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginning to 1600. Columbia University Press, 2007. Print.

Soper, Alexander C. “The Rise of Yamato-e”. The Art Bulletin, Vol. 24, No. 4, 1942. Online.

Washburn, Dennis. Introduction. The Tale of Genji, by Murasaki Shikibu, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2015. Online.

Issued.” The Bank of Japan (日本銀行), 2019. Online.

44 Miyake, Lynne K. “Graphically Speaking: Manga Versions of ‘The Tale of Genji.’” Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 63, No. 2, 2008. p.359.

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