Decolonizing education reader

THE AUDRE LORDE QUESTIONNAIRE TO ONESELF 1. What are the words you do not have yet? [Or, "for what do you not have words, yet?"]

2. What do you need to say? (List as many things as necessary]

3. What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? [List as many as necessary today. Then write a new list tomorrow. And the day after. ]

4. If we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language, ask yourself: "What's the worst that could happen to me ifl tell this truth?" [So, answer this today. And everyday.)

Cognitive repression in contemporary physics Evelyn Fox Keller State University of New York, Purchase, New York 10577 (Received 23 October 1978; accepted 5 January 1979)

After more than 50 years of unquestionable success as a theory, questions about the interpretation of quantum mechanics continue to plague both physicists and philosophers. It is argued here that discussions about the meaning of quantum mechanics remain stymied as a result of the failure of physicists to formulate a cognitive paradigm adequate to their theory. The conventional interpretations which they offer can be seen as inadequate in one of two ways - implicitly, they retain one or the other of the two basic tenets of classical physics, the objectivity or the knowability of nature. This, it is argued, can be viewed as a form of cognitive repression of knowledge acquired, but not yet assimilated. A psychological explanation for the persistence of classical beliefs is proposed.

Piaget has invited the comparison between the historical development of scientific thought and the cognitive development of the child. Both, it is suggested, proceed through the emergence of discrete stages of structural organization, each stage bringing with it new possibilities of conceptual integration, and, concurrently, the possibility of a verbal articulation of the new level of organization perceived. Prior to the establishment of a new conceptual structure, knowledge already present in nonverbal forms (in, e.g., sensorimotor rather than representation schemes) finds no avenue of expression, and, to the extent that it jars with earlier established structures, demands cognitive repression. Piaget 1 tells us that an action schema which "cannot be integrated into the system of conscious concepts is . eliminated ... (and) repressed from conscious territory before it has penetrated there in any conceptualized form."

Caught in a transition between stages, the child, when pressed to¡ articulate. perceptions requiring cognitive structures which are not yet available, displays confusion, denial and avoidance-a disequilibrium strikingly remi. niscent of the mechanism of affective repression.

In this paper, I want to suggest that the history of science exhibits similar transitional periods, and that a particularly notable instance is to be found in contemporary physics, Today, 70 years after the Newtonian world view received its first jolts, profound confusion remains about the implications of the revolution initiated first by relativity, and shortly after by quantum mechanics. This confusion is as evident among physicists as it is among the philosophical and lay public. Here, however, I want to focus on the confusion implicit in the minds of physicists, for it is they who have access to the knowlOOge necessitating this revolution, while philosophers and laymen are of necessity dependent upon the physicists to communicate what it is that they know. Even among physicists, a comfortable, stable representation of the new integration required, particularly by quantum mechanics, is yet to be achieved; its absence is marked by a remarkable array of interpretations and partial accommodations, thinly veiled by a token conformity and consensus.

This last point requires emphasis and elaboration.

Physicists display an extraordinary confidence in the status of quantum mechanics coupled with a general reluctance to discuss its implications. Confidence in the theoretical status of quantum mechanics is amply justified by more than 50 years -of empirical support; what is at issue is the 718

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juxtaposition between the confidence in the interpretability and "sense" of this theory and the simultaneous reluctance to discuss questions of interpretation. The ongoing, often intensely heated debates about how quantum mechanics is to be interpreted are generally confined to a small group of philosophically inclined physicists. For the rest, for the majority of physicists, questions about the meaning of quan'tum mechanics have been "taken care of' by what is loosely called the "Copenhagen Interpretation." Further inquiry is then discouraged by the implicit or explicit dual message that (i) the survival of such questions is evidence only of the inquirer's failure of understanding and (ii) such questions are "just" philosophy, and hence not legitimate.

If. however, one persists, and attempts to pursue an understanding of how the "Copenhagen Interpretation" resolves the thorny questions raised by quantum mechanics, either through discussion or through an examination of the literature, one finds that there is not one "Copenhagen Interpretation." Rather the term seems to consitute a kind of umbrella under which a host of different, often contradictory positions coreside. Such a recognition provides de facto evidence of defense and evasion; the particular substance of disagreement displayed illuminates what it is that is being evaded. In particular, that which is being evaded is the need for a cognitive structure radically different from the prior existing structure. The prior structure, which I call "classical objectivism," consists of a set of formulations about the world and our relation to it as knowers which has determined the character of science since its inception. The confusion surrounding the interpretation of quantum mechanics derives from errors which serve the function of retaining one or more components of the classical orientation.

Schrodinger has idenlified the two fundamental tenets of science as the beliefs that nature is (i) objectifiable and (ii) knowable. By the first is meant the assumption of an objective reality, split off from and having an existence totally independent of us as observers. This is the principle that embodies the radical dichotomy between subject and object characteristic of the classical stance. It contains within it the implicit assumption that that reality which exists outside of us is composed of objects-a rider which although not logically necessary, is in practice an almost inevitable concomitant, if not precursor, of the classical view. The reason for this conjunction is, no doubt, that a world composed of clearly delineated objects both invites

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and facilitates the schism in which the subject is severed from even its own corporeal, objective existence. It is the move which is usually held responsible for, in the words of Koyre, "the splitting of our world in two."

But a world view which posits a total separation between us as subject and reality as object is by itself of no interest to science since it permits no knowledge. Science is born out of the addition of Schrodinger's second tenet-out of the confidence that nature, so objectified, is indeed knowable.

Not only is a connection between us as knowers and the reality to be known here posited, but the connection posited is of an extraordinarily special nature. For most scientists, it implies a congruence between our scientific minds and the natural world which permits us to read the laws of reality without distortion, without error, and without omission. Belief in the knowability of nature is implicitly a belief in a one to one correspondence between theory and reality. What makes the resultant knowledge "objective" is, perhaps even more than the ostensible split between subject and object, the separation within ourselves on which it is based. Scientific knowledge is made objective first by being dissociated from other modes of knowledge which are affectively tinged and hence tainted, and second, by being transcendentally wedded to the objects of nature. This felicitous marriage between the scientific mind and nature is consummated, not by worldly intercourse, but by a form of direct communion with nature, or with God, for which the scientific mind is uniquely, and unquestionedly, equipped. 2 The loneliness which others might find in a world in which subject and object are split apart is compensated, for the scientist, by his special access to the transcendent link between the two. Impulses implicit in these two components of objectivism, however logically conflictual, finds exquisite resolution in the classical Newtonian world view. Their intermingling confounds our efforts at sorting out the dual aims of power and transcendence evident in the scientific endeavor; it leads simultaneously to the romantic view of the scientist as religious mystic-celibate, austere, and removed from the world of the senses, and to the technological view of science as dedicated to mastery, control, and the domination of nature. It would seem that an analysis of their primitive sources might permit an appreciation of the ways in which these impulses collaborate to produce the character-collectively and individually-of the scientific enterprise. The possibilities of such an analysis tease the imagination, and I will have a little more to say about this later. But first, however, I want to try to spell out the ways in which these two components have evolved under the impact of quantum mechanics.

Physical theory provides a description of reality by designating the state of the system, a system being a single particle or group of particles. In classical theory, the state of a system is a point in phase space, i.e., the position and momentum of the particle (or particles). Quantum mechanics precludes such a specification, and offers in its stead a vector in Hilbert space, or the wave function, which contains the maximal information possible about the state of the system. It is the character of this description which generates the familiar concepts of wave-particle duality, complementarity and uncertainty. The wave function is not a point in space, but rather a distribution of points. It does not in general prescribe a definite value for the position, momentum, or, for that matter, any observable of the system, but only a "probability amplitude." Furthermore, the 719

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more precise a specification provided by the wave function for one observable, e.g., position, the less precise its specification for the complementary observable, e.g., momentum. Questions of interpretation arise out of the need to articulate the relation between this description and the actual system. In classical theory, little difficulty arose from regarding the state of system as simultaneously and equally an attribute of the theoretical description and of the system itself. In quantum mechanics, however, the very character of the description provided by theory makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to maintain this identification.

In spite of the fact that the wave function of a system, prior to measurement, fails to prescribe a definite value of the observable being measured, any measurement invariably yields a definite value. That is, upon looking, the system is always found to have a definite position, momentum, spin, etc. The state of the system is quite definite after the measurement, with respect to the variable being measured, however indefinite it may have been before, The wave function is said to have "collapsed." It is the need to interpret this statement which generates the major problems and confusions that surround the debates over quantum mechanics.

One rather dramatic form in whi~h such problems find expression is that of Schrodinger's cat, whose hypothetical death is triggered, Rube Goldberg style, by the decay of a radioactive nucleus. The time of decay, and hence the time at which the cat is killed, is indeterminate; theory can provide no more than a "probability amplitude" for decay at any particular time. When enough time has elapsed to yield a probability of decay of one half, the wave function for the system will be a "superposition" of states in which the live cat and dead cat are mixed in equal proportions. The ostensible paradox emerges from the evident fact that any particular cat must be either alive or dead, while the wave function represents both. Schematically, one can point to two classes of errors which persist, in varying degrees and combinations, in the effort to resolve this paradox.

The first error resides in what can be called the statistical interpretation, in which it is asserted that the state of the system is a description only of a conceptual ensemble of similarly prepared systems; no knowledge about an individual system is claimed, or, indeed, is considered possible.

Any particular cat of Schrodinger's is, at any time, either alive or dead. The wave function, however, describes only an ensemble of such cats. Its "collapse" is viewed as being no different from the "collapse" of any probability distribution function in the face of new knowledge. This view, while avoiding many pitfalls which other views leave themselves open to, permits the retention of the classical view of the particle as having a well defined position and momentum (and hence a classical trajectory), albeit unknowable. That is, the objectifiability of the system is maintained, while its knowability is sacrificed.3 The particle is allowed to retain its objectlike, classical reality on the condition that our claim to the possibility of a one to one mapping of that reality onto our theoretical constructs is abandoned. The necessity of rooting the correspondence between theory and reality in the empirical, experiential process of observation is acknowledged, and results of that experience force us to give up our prior belief that the fit can be made perfect.

This is a radical posture insofar as it represents a decisive developmental step beyond the belief in the existence of a direct correspondence unmediated by actual experience-a Evelyn Fox Keller

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belief which I think ought properly be called magical. It is not radical enough insofar as it fails to give up the picture of reality which had emerged under the classical regime.

In this interpretation, the attribution of wavelike properties to the particles themselves is, quite correctly, understood to be a mistake. The wavelike properties are acknowledged to belong to, i.e., emerge from the process of observation.

To quote one physicist, 4 "Students should not be taught to doubt that electrons, protons, and the like are particles ... the wave cannot be observed in any way than by observing particles." What is not acknowledged here is that the same statement can be and must be made of its particlelike properties. They too emerge only from the process of observation. In giving up the comfortable belief that the wave function provides a theoretical description of an individual system, the adherence to the classical picture of that system leads to the extreme statement that quantum mechanics has nothing at all to say about the individual system (see, for example, Ref. 5). It is in this last statement that the inadequacy of the statistical interpretation specifically resides.

The wave function, or quantum-mechanical state represents a picture not of the individual system itself, but of the associated processes of preparation and detection of either an individual system or an ensemble of systems, and is capable of yielding quite definite statements about an individual system. This the statistical interpretation does not account for. 6 The second, and far more common, kind of error that permeates interpretations of quantum mechanics lies in attributing a kind of objective, material reality to the wave function itself. This mistake resides implicitly in all views which claim that the quantum-mechanical state constitutes a complete and sive exhaustive description of the system.

It expresses itself in statements which assert that a system "has state 'psi,' "or "there exists a state or wave function," implying that in determing that state, one is measuring something which is an intrinsic or objective property of the system rather than of the measurement process itself. This posture has a long history, dating from Schrooinger's most primitive view of the wave function as a kind of material distribution of the particle. It lies behind the conception of the particle or system as actually possessing wavelike properties, and leads to seeing the "collapse" of the wave function as a real paradox. Contained in the surprise that the wave function can "collapse" from a distribution of values to a particular value is the belief that a system itself undergoes, in the process, a similar collapse. If so, the question of how this is accomplished is indeed a difficult one, and has understandably plagued discussions of quantum mechanics since its inception.

Many authors have suggested that it is the act of observation which "causes" the collapse of the wave function, thus inviting further debate about what it is in the act of observation which triggers this reduction. Wigner has gone so far as to assert that it is the very act of knowing which exerts what is now perceived as a physical effect on the system, forcing it into a state with definite position, momentum, or spin. He argues that, since it is well known in physics that to every action there is a reaction, it would be unreasonable to suppose that phenomena can exert an influence on our consciousness without our consciousness in turn exerting an effect on the phenomena. Thus Schrodinger's cat would be induced into a state of being definitely alive or dead by the very act of knowing.

This is the most extreme of a range of positions which are 720

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sometimes called the "subjective" interpretations of quantum mechanics-all loosely associated with the "Copenhagen Interpretation." What is meant by the label "subjective" is that in these interpretations, the classical conviction in the independence of the object from the subject is given up. Experience demonstrates the failure of the classical dichotomy; subject and object are inevitably, however subtly, intertwined. So far so good. The difficulties arise however in the attempt to overestimate our capacity to describe that interaction. That is, being unwilling to acknowledge aspects of reality not contained in the theoretical description, it is the system itself, e.g., the electron, which must bend, twist, or collapse in response to our observation.

Such a system cannot be a classical particle; classical particles are neither "spread out," nor do they "collapse." We give up the classical picture, but impose on reality the picture of our theoretical description, saying, implicitly, that the system is this peculiar object, the wave function. In short, the subject-object dichotomy is relinquished, but the attachment to a one-to-one correspondence between reality and theory is not. In these interpretations, belief in the "knowability" of nature is retained, at the expense of its "objectifiability." Reality then, of necessity, takes on rather bizarre properties in this effort to make it conform to theory, leaving very few quite content.

In an effort out of this quagmire, more and more outlandish alternatives are proposed. As with the child caught between cognitive paradigms, the ingenuity which physicists have displayed is quite impressive. Thus, for example, a number of physicists have expressed enthusiasm for a resolution called "The Many Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics," in which the universe is seen as continually splitting into a multitude of mutually unobservable but equally real worlds. In each world, measurement yields a definite result. Schrodinger's cat is unequivocally alive in some, dead in others. All that remains equivocal is in which world we shall find ourselves. This interpretation demonstrates remarkable ingenuity in that it manages to retain both the confidence in the object reality of the system, and its literal correspondence with theory.

Of course, a price has been paid-namely the price of seriousness.

Finally, all of this confusion can be avoided by dismissing the questions altogether. The strong positivist ethos surrounding contemporary science makes it possible for some, perhaps most physicists, to limit the definition of reality to the body of theoretical and empirical knowledge at our disposal, and to declare as meaningless all questions about the actual nature of the systems being studied, and our relation to those systems. Without embarking on a critique of this position, I wish only to point out what is fairly obvious, namely that it provides an extraordinarily convenient cover under which all sorts of prior beliefs about the world and its relation to science can, and do, subterraneously reside. It is too bad that we do not permit the child similar license to respond to Piaget's telling questions-questions that cannot be handled within an existing cognitive paradigm-by saying simply, "Your questions are meaningless."

At this point it must be asked why the classical paradigm is so difficult to give up in toto. Piaget attributes cognitive repression to the familiarity and success of older, established structures, and no doubt he is at least partly right. Certainly, the classical tenets of science have proved extraordinarily successful, and continue, in most areas of science, to do so.

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It seems, however, that the confusion that has for so long been evidenced in discussions about quantum mechanics, and the intense emotion that such discussions can evoke, suggest that more is at stake than simply the comfort and success of an older paradigm. The great weakness of Piaget's developmental system is his failure to include any consideration of the impact of affective components on the developmental process. Egocentricity, omnipotence, and object permanence are all terms that have profound meaning in the domain of affective relations as well as cognitive relations. While some attempt has been made to integrate the psychoanalytic understanding of affective development with Piaget's understanding of cognitive development, particularly in the earliest stages of development, this remains a task largely undone. A few comments may nevertheless be in order.

We know from both Piaget and from psychoanalysis that the capacity for objective thought and perception is not inborn, but, rather, is acquired as part of the long and painful struggle for psychic autonomy-a state never entirely free from ambiguity and tension. The internal pressure to delineate self from other-a pressure exacerbated by the historical emphasis on ego autonomy-leaves us acutely vulnerable to anxiety about wishes or experiences which might threaten that delineation. We know further that such anxiety can sometimes be allayed by the imposition of an excessively delineated structure on one's emotional and cognitive environment. It would seem, therefore, that objectification in science may serve a related function-that the severance of subject from object, as well as the insistence on the premise that science is affect-free may derive in part from a heavily affect-laden motive for separateness and may serve to buttress a sense of autonomy.

If so, then the continuing adherence to the belief in the objectifiability of nature would be assisted by the emotional functions served by this belief.7 Similarly, the attachment to the premise that nature is "knowable" can also be viewed in psychological terms. The ideal of a perfect congruence between us as knowers and an objective reality to be known is an ideal that is strikingly reminiscent of other ideas-ubiquitous among childrenwhich we call magical. It represents a continuing belief in omniscience, now translated out of the domain of magic into the domain of science. Based on a vision of transcendent

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union with nature, it satisfies a primitive need for connection denied in another realm. As such, it mitigates against the acceptance of a more realistic, more mature, and more humble relation to the world in which the boundaries between subject and object are acknowledged to be never quite rigid, and in which knowledge, of any sort, is never quite total.

Quantum mechanics provides eloquent testimony for the need to relinquish both of these premises; however successful they have been in the past, they are no longer adequate. Yet even that testimony remains obscured by interpretations which implicitly attempt to retain some residue of the classical paradigm. Each of the two dominant schools of interpretation-the statistical and the Copenhagensuffers from inadequacies which are evident to proponents of the other, and debate between the two continues. The failure to reach a resolution of this debate reflects the difficulties even quantum physicists have in completely relinquishing some adherence to at least one of the two basic premises of classical physics-the objectifiability and knowability of nature. The vision implicit in quantum mechanics still awaits representation in a cognitive paradigm yet more radical than the conventional interpretations have offered us.

1

J. Piaget, J. Am. Psa. Assn. 21,249 (1973).

2

Newton, e.g., was sometimes quite explicit in articulating the consonance between scientific thought and God's "Sensorium": " ... there is a Being incorporeal, living, intelligent, omnipresent who in infinite space, as it were in his sensory, sees things intimately ... of which things the images only ... are there seen and beheld by that which in us perceives and thinks." (Opticks, 3rd ed. London 1921, p. 344.)

3 "0bjectifiable," here and elsewhere, means both objective, i.e. independent of our cognizance, and objectlike, hence having a well-defined position in space and time. As remarked earlier, these two meanings are almost always conjoined.

4 N. F. Mott, Contemp. Phys. 5, 401 (1964).

5A. Peres, Am. J. Phys. 42,886 (I 974).

6 Aithough not generally realized, it is in fact possible to formulate quantum mechanics entirely in terms of yes-no judgements, without ever making reference to probabilities [see, e.g., D. Finkelstein, Trans. N.Y. Acad.

Sci. 621 (1964)).

7 For further elaboration of this point, see E. F. Keller, Psychoanal. Contemp. Thought I, 409 (1978).

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Copyright © 2011 by the author(s). Published here under license by the Resilience Alliance.

Bohensky, E. L., and Y. Maru. 2011. Indigenous knowledge, science, and resilience: what have we learned from a decade of international literature on “integration”? Ecology and Society 16(4): 6. http://dx.doi.org/10.5751/ES-04342-160406

Synthesis, part of a Special Feature on Integrating Indigenous Ecological Knowledge and Science in Natural Resource Management: Perspectives from Australia

Indigenous Knowledge, Science, and Resilience: What Have We Learned from a Decade of International Literature on “Integration”?

Erin L. Bohensky 1 and Yiheyis Maru 1 ABSTRACT. Despite the increasing trend worldwide of integrating indigenous and scientific knowledge in natural resource management, there has been little stock-taking of literature on lessons learned from bringing indigenous knowledge and science together and the implications for maintaining and building social-ecological system resilience. In this paper we investigate: (1) themes, questions, or problems encountered for integration of indigenous knowledge and science; (2) the relationship between knowledge integration and social-ecological system resilience; and (3) critical features of knowledge integration practice needed to foster productive and mutually beneficial relationships between indigenous knowledge and science. We examine these questions through content analyses of three special journal issues and an edited book published in the past decade on indigenous, local, and traditional knowledge and its interface with science. We identified broad themes in the literature related to: (1) similarities and differences between knowledge systems; (2) methods and processes of integration; (3) social contexts of integration; and (4) evaluation of knowledge. A minority of papers discuss a relationship between knowledge integration and social-ecological system resilience, but there remains a lack of clarity and empirical evidence for such a relationship that can help distinguish how indigenous knowledge and knowledge integration contribute most to resilience. Four critical features of knowledge integration are likely to enable a more productive and mutually beneficial relationship between indigenous and scientific knowledge: new frames for integration, greater cognizance of the social contexts of integration, expanded modes of knowledge evaluation, and involvement of inter-cultural “knowledge bridgers.”

Key Words: ecological; indigenous; integration; knowledge; resilience; science; social INTRODUCTION More than a decade ago, Nadasdy (1999) lambasted the “project of integration” of traditional knowledge and science for what he saw as its flawed central assumption: the cultural beliefs and practices referred to as traditional knowledge conform to western conceptions about knowledge.

Integration, Nadasdy elaborated, is too often viewed mainly as a technical problem, ignoring the role of power relations between indigenous people and the state and ultimately creating products that serve scientists and the state rather than indigenous knowledge holders. More recently, other scholars have resisted integration on the grounds that the conceptual models and ontologies of traditional knowledge and science are sufficiently distinct to make these knowledge systems incommensurable (Atran 2001, Verran 2001, Cruikshank 2005), and that some forms of integration can have unintended and undesired consequences (Fox et al. 2005).

“Knowledge integration” is defined on Wikipedia as “the process of synthesizing multiple knowledge models (or representations) into a common model (representation)” and “the process of incorporating new information into a body of existing knowledge.” This requires “determining how the new information and the existing knowledge interact, how existing knowledge should be modified to accommodate the new information, and how the new information should be modified in light of the existing knowledge” (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kn

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owledge_integration). This definition, simple though it may appear, encapsulates the very dilemma knowledge integration faces in the arena of indigenous knowledge and science: whose knowledge is “new,” whose is “existing,” and who decides?

Nevertheless, interest in integrating indigenous, local, or traditional knowledge and science is steadily growing along several lines of argument (Rist and Dahdouh-Guebas 2006, Houde 2007). One is that these forms of knowledge are essential for maintaining global cultural diversity and the biological diversity with which it is intricately connected (Maffi 2001, Maffi and Woodley 2010), and will only be appropriately valued and protected through integration that brings benefits to both scientists and local people interested in maintaining that diversity (Edwards and Heinrich 2006). A second argument is that these types of knowledge contribute invaluable information for science and natural resource management; indeed, they often fill gaps in understanding that science cannot (Baker and Mutitjulu Community 1992, Johannes 1998). A third argument is that recognition of traditional knowledge in natural resource management has importance beyond scientific or broader societal merit: it is tantamount to social justice, sovereignty, autonomy, and identity of indigenous peoples (e.g., Agrawal 1995, Nelson 2005, Aikenhead and Ogawa 2007). These different motivations for integrating knowledge are neither mutually exclusive nor entirely harmonious.

Ecology and Society 16(4): 6 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol16/iss4/art6/

Arguments for knowledge integration also revolve around resilience, the ability of a social-ecological system to withstand disturbance without changing structure, function, feedbacks, and identity (Walker et al. 2006), and to remain flexible in response to changing environmental and social contexts (Redman and Kinzig 2003). The resilience view holds that management of complexity and uncertainty in socialecological systems can benefit when diverse types of knowledge are combined (Folke et al. 2005). Furthermore, comanagement arrangements that allow knowledge to be integrated through collaboration can build social as well as ecological resilience (Plummer and Armitage 2007).

Despite criticisms that the resilience basis for knowledge integration, like other western epistemologies, may entrench already unequal power relations (e.g., Nadasdy 2007), it merits further consideration at least for the reason that resilience theory emphasizes new ways to address longstanding as well as emerging complex social-ecological challenges. Modern problems cannot be consistently solved with singular, mechanistic, science-centered solutions. Although this plea has been articulated for some time (Agrawal 1995, Holling and Meffe 1996), it remains ignored in much natural resource management, and is virtually unheard where most indigenous policy is concerned (Moran 2009). Moreover, a resilience view of knowledge integration recognizes opportunity in complexity: the constant shifting and flux of worldviews that breed complexity can in fact offer a chance to revisit old problems and paradigms, and collectively construct new models of how the world works (Houde 2007).

The practice of knowledge integration continues to present a number of challenges. Some of these are undoubtedly due to the tensions posed by competing, or even unclear objectives of integration processes. Scientific research, natural resource management, conservation, development, self-determination, and advocacy for indigenous rights have all been legitimate drivers of efforts to integrate knowledge. In some cases, however, knowledge integration has merely become a fashionable trend in natural resource management (Wohling 2009) that amounts to little more than a box-ticking exercise.

At present, the broad picture is one of a knowledge integrationin-practice that has not benefitted from extensive academic debate on the subject (Castillo 2009).

This paper aims to contribute to developing more meaningful and appropriate knowledge integration processes for research with indigenous communities. We examine three questions that we believe can contribute to a better understanding of indigenous knowledge, its integration with scientific knowledge, and its relationship to social-ecological system resilience: 1. What themes, questions, or problems are encountered for integration of indigenous knowledge and science?

2. What is the relationship between knowledge integration and social-ecological system resilience?

3. What critical features of knowledge integration practice need greater emphasis to foster productive and mutually beneficial relationships between indigenous knowledge and science?

We examine these questions through inductive and deductive content analyses of a sample of international literature.

METHODS Selection of literature and terminology It was important to keep the scope of our investigation manageable for in-depth analysis, i.e., approximately 50 papers. We chose to analyze collected works, i.e., special journal issues or edited books, because these would benefit from specific editorial oversight on the topic, and would be likely to reflect on the state of knowledge integration and lessons learned. Our criteria for selecting these were: (1) a focus either on indigenous knowledge (IK), local knowledge (LK), or traditional knowledge (TK); (2) relevance to the concept of social-ecological system resilience in relation to knowledge integration; and (3) publication in the decade following Nadasdy’s 1999 assessment, i.e., 2000-2009. We thus selected three special journal issues and one edited book, comprising 47 papers or chapters, as the basis for our analysis (Table 1). We found that although each of the four bodies of work meets these criteria, they differ considerably from one another and collectively present a wide range of views, allowing for a rich analysis.

Our selection of literature differs from studies such as Davis and Ruddle (2010) that investigated conceptualizations of indigenous and other knowledge in the most frequently cited literature indexed in the ISI Web of Knowledge and Google Scholar. We found these search engines inadequate for identifying literature for an analysis of knowledge integration and resilience, because they returned very few papers on these topics in the context of indigenous knowledge.

We recognize that we have excluded a wealth of literature from our analysis, for example, the special issue edited by Stephenson and Moller (2009) that was published after our analysis was underway. In discussing our analysis, we do relate our findings to other literature with which we are familiar.

However, it would be impossible to canvass the entire literature on IK, much less the entire sum of field experience with IK, to obtain a perspective on its integration with scientific knowledge.

Distinct meanings of IK, LK, and TK have been discussed at length elsewhere (Usher 2000, Howden 2001, Nelson 2005, Aikenhead and Ogawa 2007, Houde 2007). Although in many instances the term Indigenous Ecological Knowledge (IEK) or Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) is used, IK is

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broader than ecological knowledge and better reflects the holistic worldviews that often underpin indigenous knowledge systems (Rotarangi and Russell 2009). We will therefore use the term IK in discussing our analysis, except where citing literature that specifically uses other terms.

Table 1. Contents of literature review.

Journal/ Publisher

Year Editor(s)

Ecological 2000 Ford and Martinez Applications

Ecology 2004 Folke and Society Millennium 2006 Reid, Berkes, Ecosystem Assessment Wilbanks, and and Island Capistrano Press

Futures

2009 Turnbull

Title

Traditional Ecological Knowledge, Ecosystem Science, and Environmental Management Traditional Knowledge in Social-ecological systems Bridging Scales and Knowledge Systems: Concepts and Applications in Ecosystem Assessment Futures of Indigenous Knowledges

Number of articles/ chapters 11

12

17

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Content analysis We used content analysis to guide our literature review, focusing on our three questions. In content analysis, written material is coded by the use of terms or phrases (Ekstrom and Young 2009), enabling a systematic analysis of text to interpret data about human thought and behavior (Bernard and Ryan 1998). Content or text analysis is increasingly used to identify patterns in written material, and has several advantages: it tends to be more systematic and objective, and therefore quicker, than qualitative case study analysis, and can rapidly identify co-occurrences of different concepts (Ekstrom and Young 2009). A total of 47 papers or chapters were analyzed inductively and deductively using NVivo software (QSR 2009). An inductive analysis was conducted to explore themes in the literature, whereas a deductive analysis was used to examine the question above about integration and resilience.

Inductive analysis Themes were identified for each paper that described as succinctly as possible the major focus or foci of the paper.

Introductory papers or chapters and the synthesis chapter in Reid et al. 2006 were excluded to avoid double-counting of

themes. We identified themes largely from our interpretation of the stated objective and motivation for each paper. To verify our theme identification we also performed text searches on key words where possible (e.g., “culture”). Text searches were less useful for concepts like “similarities and differences” and “institutions,” so manual verification was needed in these cases. Where more than one theme appeared to be important, up to three additional themes were selected, but were not ranked. Similar themes were then grouped, resulting in a total of nine themes. Each of the papers was assigned to one or more of these nine grouped themes (see Appendix 1).

Deductive analysis We performed a text search on all forms of the word “integration” in each paper, excluding paper or chapter headers. We also performed text searches for related words such as “blend,” “bridge,” “combine,” and “interact,” but found that these were generally not good proxies for integration. Although “bridge” usually implied integration in the Reid et al. (2006) chapters, it was used in this way in only about half of the other papers. We inspected the NVivo results and excluded those in which integration was not used in reference to IK and science. A second search was performed on all forms of the word “resilience.” We then conducted a combined word search to identify instances in which the terms “integration” and “resilience” appeared in the same paper.

We found the method of content analysis to be useful as a filter of material and to identify cases warranting further inspection.

However, our results for the combined usage of the terms “integration” and “resilience” show that this method was insufficient in identifying links between the two concepts, despite being a reliable method for assessing relationships between concepts in other studies (Ekstrom and Young 2009).

We therefore manually cross-checked results to ensure that all papers that discussed integration and resilience were identified. We recorded the number of papers in each of the four publications with at least one occurrence of each term, the word count, i.e., the number of times that the word appeared within the publication, and coverage, i.e., the frequency of the word relative to the total words in the publication.

THEMES IN KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATION Our thematic analysis addresses the first question we pose in this paper: What themes, questions, or problems are encountered for integration of indigenous knowledge and science?

The number of papers featuring each of the themes is shown in Figure 1. The most frequently-identified themes are “similarities, differences, and linkages between IK and science” (43%), “methods for using and integrating knowledge” (26%), “institutions, processes, and partnerships for maintaining and integrating IK” (21%), and “culture and IK” (21%).

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Fig. 1. Themes identified in the reviewed literature. Introductions and synthesis chapter of Reid et al. (2006) were excluded from analysis. IK = indigenous knowledge.

The dominant theme in Ecological Applications (2000) and Ecology and Society (2004) papers is “similarities, differences, and linkages” (60% and 73%, respectively), followed by “culture” (30% and 36%, respectively). The most frequently appearing themes in the Reid et al. (2006) chapters are “scale and IK” (47%), “methods for using and integrating knowledge” (40%), and “institutions, processes, and partnerships” and “politics of IK” (each 27%). The most frequently appearing themes in Futures (2009) papers are “politics of IK” (50%) followed by “similarities, differences, and linkages,” “methods,” “benefits and challenges of using and integrating IK,” and “evaluation of IK and integration” (each 33%).

We organize our discussion of these themes into four categories, and draw out key lessons learned for each (Table 2): (1) understanding similarities and differences between IK and science, and benefits and challenges of using and integrating IK; (2) methods for using and integrating IK, and institutions, processes, and partnerships for maintenance and integration of IK; (3) the social contexts of IK; and (4) evaluation of IK and integration.

Understanding similarities and differences between IK and science, and benefits and challenges of using and integrating IK An understanding of similarities and differences between IK and scientific knowledge, and the benefits and challenges of integrating these different knowledge systems, is considered by some to be a prerequisite to knowledge integration (Moller et al. 2004, Davis 2006). Berkes et al. (2000) maintain that TEK is used to manage complex systems through practices that bear many similarities to Western adaptive management systems, and many of these traditional practices are founded on important social mechanisms. Pierotti and Wildcat (2000) suggest that TEK converges on Western science disciplines like community ecology, emphasizing connectedness and relatedness between human and nonhuman components of ecological systems, and as the basis for indigenous concepts of nature, politics, and ethics, TEK is inherently interdisciplinary. However, compared with science, Pierotti and Wildcat (2000) argue that TEK is place-based and fundamentally “space-based,” focusing on spatial relationships in nature. Berkes and Berkes (2009) liken practices of the Inuit and other northern indigenous people to fuzzy logic, whereby environmental change is monitored using rules of thumb and qualitative indicators.

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Table 2. Summarized themes, their significance for knowledge integration, and key lessons identified in reviewed literature.

Introductions and synthesis chapter of Reid et al. (2006) were excluded from analysis. IK = indigenous knowledge.

Theme(s)

Significance

Similarities and differences between IK and science, and benefits and challenges of using and integrating IK.

An understanding of similarities and differences between IK and scientific knowledge, and the benefits and challenges of integrating these different knowledge systems, is a prerequisite to knowledge integration.

Key Lessons

- IK and Western knowledge systems are complementary or parallel rather than fundamentally incommensurable.

- Differences between IK and science can be resolved through collaborative approaches and by finding common ground.

- Some IK-based practices resemble Western science but former tend to be based on important social mechanisms.

- Science is better equipped to detect causal links, and to evolve quickly enough to accommodate new information.

- Tensions between IK and science persist: some IK holders reject Western philosophy’s focus on truth, belief, and worldview.

- Difficulties of including IK in ecological research may outweigh the benefits.

- The methodological toolkit is expanding beyond collection of IK to Methods for using and Advances in methods and methods for bringing different sources and forms of knowledge integrating IK, and processes are essential to join knowledge integration theory and together, i.e., scenarios, mapping, community theater. institutions, processes, and - A sophisticated array of institutions, processes, and partnerships to partnerships for maintenance practice. and integration of IK. integrate knowledge exist as well as reflection on their success.

IK and culture, scale, Culture, scale, politics, law, and - Knowledge integration needs to be cognizant of the culturepolitics, law, and policy. policy all form the social context knowledge link, and its evolution in response to global and regional of knowledge integration. change.

- Choice of scale can influence the agendas or contexts in which knowledge is organized and decisions made, and whose knowledge is relevant.

- How knowledge holders position their knowledge in political arenas is important.

- Scientists who engage with IK need to understand the international law and policy contexts in which IK is situated, and implications for access to knowledge.

- National laws and policies need to make space for indigenous forms of cultural practice.

Evaluation of IK and Need to assess different types of - Much evaluation of integrated knowledge has largely concerned the integration. knowledge, the combined credibility of IK in the eyes of science. products of integration, and the - Recent initiatives recognize a need for a broader set of evaluative process by which they are criteria to assess knowledge. combined.

- IK has its own rules about processes of knowing, which diverge from the rules of science.

- Evaluation processes need to distribute power more equally across knowledge producers.

- IK has a crucial role for evaluation of science: through integration, IK holders can scrutinize scientific predictions themselves, increasing the potential for science to be trusted.

Some authors acknowledge differences between IK and science. In her case study of Mongolian pastoralists, Fernandez-Gimenez (2000) distinguishes pastoralists’ perceptions from science, noting that science is better equipped to detect a causal link between land use change and threats to pastoralists’ livelihoods. Fabricius et al. (2006) recognize the value of local knowledge to science assessments, as a source of fine-grained, detailed information about local ecosystem services in areas where little formal knowledge exists. They also articulate several shortcomings of local

knowledge, such as its inability to evolve quickly enough to accommodate change in social-ecological systems, and its tendency to lack relevance outside local context.

Tensions between IK and science are evident: Klubnikin et al.

(2000) suggest that indigenous knowledge is essentially scientific because it is gathered through methods that are empirical, experimental, and systematic, whereas Western science, by contrast, may be seen as narrow and naïve in the way it considers and defines questions. Turner et al. (2000) and Long et al. (2003) stress the importance of wisdom and

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“showing respect” as distinctive features of traditional ecological knowledge. Maffie (2009) notes the tendency of IK holders to reject what they view as Western philosophy’s obsession with truth, belief, and worldview. What matters most to indigenous North Americans, he asserts, is how one lives, not what one believes. However, he acknowledges that much of the perceived incompatibility between science and other knowledge systems also arises from treating Western science or IK as a singular entity when in fact both have multiple forms and dimensions.

Such differences do not necessarily impede integration. Moller et al. (2004) suggest that population monitoring that embraces differences between traditional methods and scientific methods is potentially more effective for managing customary harvests than monitoring that ignores these differences. These methods are in fact complementary, in five respects (Table 2 in Moller et al. 2004): (1) science is diachronic, i.e., tends to collect short-term data over large areas, whereas TK is synchronic, i.e., tends to collect information over long time periods; (2) foci on averages (science) and extremes (TK); (3) quantitative (science) and qualitative (TK) information; (4) improved tests of mechanisms (science) and improved hypotheses (TK); and (5) objectivity (science) and subjectivity (TK). Davis (2006) agrees that IK and Western science are complementary or parallel rather than fundamentally incommensurable. Differences between them, he suggests, can be resolved through collective approaches such as Australia’s “caring for country” to nurture and maintain ecosystems, by blending conventional fire management regimes and Aboriginal systems of burning.

Becker and Ghimire (2003) propose that TEK and Western conservation science can collectively support forest preservation in Ecuador, as they have common ground: both rely on direct observation, experience, experimentation, and interpretation. Western science offers broader appreciation of context beyond the local level that may actually favor local sustainability and, thus, cultural survival, whereas TEK offers depth of experience in a local, culture-specific context.

Ishizawa (2006) stresses the importance of institutional diversity in collaborations with campesino communities in the central Andes of Peru for in situ conservation. Bridging epistemologies, he suggests, may be viable if the underlying worldviews are considered and made explicit, and if problem identification happens at the contact zone and is reformulated as a global concern.

Huntington (2000) explores reasons for inertia to acceptance and use of TEK. These include unfamiliarity and lack of comfort among ecologists in using social science methodologies and engaging in cross-cultural interactions, and fear of diluting scientific rigor in favor of political correctness. He notes that in some cases, the difficulties of including TEK in ecological research outweigh the benefits,

and there is a danger of inappropriate knowledge integration in which treatment of TEK is superficial.

Methods for using and integrating IK, and institutions, processes, and partnerships for maintenance and integration of IK Advances in methods and processes are essential to join theory and practice of knowledge integration. The literature suggests that the methodological toolkit is expanding beyond ethnographic and ethnobotanical approaches of collecting IK to methods for actually bringing different sources and forms of knowledge together. Huntington (2000) reviews tools for incorporating IK in ecological studies, while others explore a broad realm of methods to share and deliberate over multiple sets of knowledge of multifaceted change processes. These include future scenarios (Bennett and Zurek 2006), mapping and GIS (Bryan 2009, Palmer 2009), and theater performance to communicate scientific knowledge to communities (Fabricius et al. 2006).

There is also evidence of a sophisticated array of institutions, processes, and partnerships in action, as well as reflection on how well these have worked in real-world integration examples. Fabricius et al. (2006) discuss challenges related to the technical and social processes of amalgamating different types of knowledge across spatial scales and epistemologies.

They describe how in the Southern African Millennium Ecosystem Assessment, creative tension emerged between scientists operating at different scales and thus using different theories and methods, a situation not often acknowledged openly as a challenge to integration. Dialogue and debate were valuable in building mutual trust among team members, while also highlighting areas of scientific uncertainty. Eamer (2006) describes how joint problem-solving in the Arctic Borderlands Ecological Knowledge Co-op helped indigenous knowledge holders operate as equals with scientists by engaging in longterm collaborative management of the environment.

Gadgil et al. (2000) and Gokhale et al. (2006) describe India’s People’s Biodiversity Registers Program (PBR) to maintain the practice of folk ecological knowledge and wisdom into the future. In their review of 52 PBR cases, Gadgil et al. (2000) found two self-organized management systems in which biodiversity has been protected, but more frequently observed trends of ecological degradation as well as erosion of ecological knowledge and sustainable use traditions. They therefore assert a need for community-based systems, supported by and collaborating with government and other institutions. Gokhale et al. (2006) discuss how PBR and other frameworks and approaches are used to reward people’s knowledge and protect intellectual property rights in India, thereby linking local oral knowledge with global science.

There are also calls for the formation of institutions underpinned by new epistemological paradigms. Maffie (2009) proposes a “polycentric global epistemology” (PGE),

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which both requires and strives for the survival and selfdetermination of indigenous peoples and their knowledge.

PGE does not presume there is a single best way for all humans to live or know nature or to realize their own conception of human well-being. He suggests that real-world examples of PGE already exist in a collaborative salmon protection program in British Columbia and numerous medical systems.

Social context of knowledge integration Culture, scale, politics, law, and policy all form the social context of knowledge integration. Some authors argue that knowledge integration processes and practices need to be cognizant of culture. Garibaldi and Turner (2004) present the idea of “cultural keystone species” that feature prominently in a culture because of their value for food, material, or medicine. They describe how cultural keystones such as the Western red-cedar (Thuja plicata) are important to coastal First Peoples of British Columbia as a vehicle for conservation and restoration as well as treaty and land rights negotiations.

Long et al.’s (2003) interviews with cultural advisors in the White Mountain Apache community about their views on wetland restoration suggest that cultural traditions can guide ecological restoration efforts. Watson et al. (2003) investigate how global and regional change affect the culture-knowledge link regarding wilderness protection and restoration in the Circumpolar North, arguing that evolution of culture and TEK values related to pristine ecosystems must be considered in Western systems of wilderness management.

The scale of scientific inquiry shapes the social and political dimensions of knowledge integration. Wilbanks (2006) contends that scale is important to our understanding of how the world works, to agency and structure of our responses, and to learning. The choice of scale in science assessments can influence the agendas by which knowledge is organized and stakeholders identified, and hence, whose knowledge is relevant (Lebel 2006). Roth’s (2004) analysis of the spatial organization of knowledge at state and local levels in northern Thailand illuminates the challenge of knowledge integration across multiple spatial scales. She suggests that the location of knowledge production is the main driver of differences between communities’ TEK and state environmental knowledge and consequently, understanding relationships between knowledge and space is key to conflict resolution.

Implicit in the scale of IK are its politics, including how IK is translated and communicated. Brosius (2006) asserts that there is the need for clearer definition of “local,” arguing that much local knowledge is mediated by those who are delegated to speak on the behalf of local people in national and international fora. He shows how scientists have focused overwhelmingly on environmental knowledge and ignored other relevant domains of knowledge, such as knowledge and perceptions of the political world that are so critical to natural resource management. Rather than serving merely as reservoirs of local

or indigenous knowledge, knowledge holders are in fact political agents with their own ideas about the salience and legitimacy of various forms of knowledge. What matters, Brosius contends, is not so much what Penan hunter-gatherers in Sarawak, for example, know about their landscape but how they position that knowledge in political arenas.

There are opportunities and risks for IK when integrated into politically charged international science arenas. Global environmental assessments, for example, aim to synthesize knowledge but may also seek to change the constitutional foundations of global order (Miller and Erickson 2006). On the other hand, the potential of IK may be constrained when set within current development ideologies that are heavily influenced by politically dominant Western nations’ agendas (Sillitoe and Marzano 2009). This hints that a fundamental problem for IK is that the structures in which IK is used and applied are determined by science, and these structures inevitably will change IK in the process of its use and application.

Bryan (2009) and Palmer (2009) both note the colonizing tendencies inherent in standardization of cartographic and digital technologies that are used to map indigenous territories and knowledge. Indigenous peoples have a choice to “map or be mapped,” Bryan (2009:24) argues, and indigenous mapping should strive to change the profoundly colonial geographical understanding of the world. Changing power relations cannot be done by maps alone, but by frameworks for negotiating different kinds of knowledge which can “put the map in its place” (Bryan 2009:31).

Mauro and Hardison (2000) stress that scientists who engage with IK need to understand the international law and policy contexts in which IK and associated rights are situated, and how they affect access to knowledge. Davis (2006), however, notes that the ways IK is defined in law and policy are derived from Western intellectual worldviews and presuppositions, not from indigenous ways of understanding and articulating the world. Space needs to be created within national laws and policies for inscribing indigenous forms of cultural practice and through pluralistic approaches to legislative and policy development.

Boyd (2006) discusses both the reasons for and implications of excluding local knowledge from policy processes. Global discourses on land management in relation to the Clean Development Mechanism (CDM), for example, have tended to ignore local knowledge because local perspectives conflict with the narratives perpetuated by global institutions that oversimplify the complexity of nature. This makes genuine knowledge integration difficult if not impossible.

Evaluation of IK and integration Some authors note the need to evaluate different types of knowledge as well as combined products and processes of

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Table 3. Occurrences of “integration” and “resilience” in the reviewed literature.

All papers (n = 47) “Integration” Number of articles with at least one occurrence (% of total) Word count Coverage “Resilience” Number of articles with at least one occurrence (% of total) Word count Coverage “Integration” AND “Resilience” Number of articles with at least one occurrence (% of total)

Ecological Applications Ecology and Society 2000 2004 (n = 11) (n = 12)

Reid et al. 2006 (n = 17)

Futures 2009 (n=7)

38 (81)

6 (55)

12 (100)

14 (82)

6 (86)

245 5.55

16 0.35

67 1.19

140 3.63

22 0.38

22 (47)

1 (9)

10 (83)

9 (53)

2 (29)

186 3.18

43 0.63

118 1.98

20 0.41

5 0.16

21 (44)

1 (09)

10 (83)

9 (53)

1 (14)

Search terms were “integrat*” and “resilien*”. Text searched include the entire paper or chapter, including titles, abstracts, reference lists, and acknowledgements, but not paper or chapter headers. Word count is the number of times that the word appeared within the item searched. Coverage is the frequency of the word relative to the total words counted in the item searched.

integration. Evaluation of scientific knowledge has been largely through the process of peer review, but this has shifted with initiatives such as the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment that recognize a need for inclusion of other forms of knowledge and hence, a broader set of evaluative criteria to assess this knowledge (Reid et al. 2006). Even so, much of the evaluation of integrated knowledge has largely concerned the credibility of IK in the eyes of science.

Watson et al. (2003) contend that IK has its own rules about processes of knowing, which diverge from the rules of science regarding evidence, repeatability, and quantification. Green (2009) suggests there is a need for social and cultural critique of scientific knowledge that is neither deferential to nor cynical about natural sciences, and is cooperative rather than competitive. Drawing on an example of astronomical understanding by Palikur communities in Brazil, she argues for a need to widen understanding of “what it means to know,” and employ a wider range of tools to evaluate and recognize the contributions of diverse assemblages of knowledge.

The Millennium Ecosystem Assessment used the criteria of salience, credibility, and legitimacy to reflect the interests of the different stakeholder groups it served (Reid et al. 2006).

Yet evaluation processes also need to distribute evaluative power more equally across all knowledge producers. Moller

et al. (2004) note that TEK has a crucial role for evaluation of science. They suggest that by combining scientific and traditional monitoring methods, indigenous wildlife users can scrutinize scientific predictions on their own terms, increasing the likelihood that they will trust and respond to science.

KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATION AND RESILIENCE Our second question probes the relationship between knowledge integration and social-ecological resilience. Table 3 presents a summary of occurrences of the words “integration” and “resilience” in the reviewed literature.

“Integration” appears in 81% of the papers reviewed. Ecology and Society contains the highest percentage (100% of all papers in the issue) and Ecological Applications the lowest (55% of all papers in the issue). Reid et al. (2006) has the highest coverage (3.63%), Ecological Applications the lowest (0.35%). “Resilience” appears in almost half (47%) of the papers reviewed. It is most prominent in Ecology and Society (83% of all papers in the issue; 1.98% coverage), and least prominent in Ecological Applications in terms of percentage of papers (9% of all papers in the issue) and in Futures in terms of coverage (0.16%). Both terms appear in the same paper or chapter in 44% of the reviewed literature. Ecology and Society has the highest percentage of papers with at least one occurrence of each term, and Reid et al. (2006) has the highest

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coverage. Our manual search identified 14 (30%) papers that discuss the relationship between integration and resilience (Table 4). In the 14 papers that include a substantive discussion of knowledge integration and resilience, we note several questions for further research: Table 4. Number of papers in reviewed literature that discuss relationship between knowledge integration and resilience, identified by manual search. (% of total) All papers Ecological Ecology Reid et al. (n= 47) Applications and Society 2006 2000 2004 (n = 17) (n = 11) (n = 12) 14 (30)

2 (18)

9 (75)

2 (12)

Futures 2009 (n = 7) 1 (14)

Papers are: Berkes et al. (2000), Salmón (2000), Becker and Ghimire (2003), Davidson-Hunt and Berkes (2003), Long et al. (2003), Milestad and Hadatsch (2003), Donovan and Puri (2004), Folke (2004), Garibaldi and Turner (2004), Roth (2004), Tengö and Belfrage (2004), Boyd (2006), Lebel (2006), and Turnbull (2009).

When is IK itself, and when is IK’s integration with other knowledge systems, a source of social-ecological resilience?

We found two relevant premises of resilience theory in the literature we reviewed, but neither adequately answers this question. One premise is that IK can enhance resilience of social-ecological systems because this knowledge, accumulated through experience, learning, and intergenerational transmission, has demonstrated the ability to deal with complexity and uncertainty (Berkes et al. 2000). We interpret this to mean that IK is a source of resilience. The second premise is that a diversity of knowledge systems can enhance resilience because the management of social-ecological systems improves when it can draw from a combination of different knowledge systems (Folke 2004). We interpret this to mean that the integration of knowledge, which may include IK, contributes to resilience. However, Folke (2004) also notes that there is a lack of consensus among scientists on whether IK can be brought into the realm of science.

Our thematic analysis highlights similarities, differences, and linkages between different knowledge systems, but there is not a clear message about how these affect resilience. Berkes et al. (2000), Milestad and Hadatsch (2003), and Tengö and Belfrage (2004) describe how traditional management practices in different societies confer resilience, and other papers discuss how resilience benefits from the complementarity of different knowledge systems (e.g., Berkes

et al. 2000, Long et al. 2003). A question follows as to whether distinct sets of diverse, but complementary, knowledge may be preferable to a single set of integrated knowledge for addressing some natural resource management issues.

Literature outside our sample shows that social diversity, which presumably involves knowledge diversity, has both costs and benefits in enhancing resilience at different times in a society’s trajectory (Nelson et al. 2011).

What empirical evidence is there for a relationship between IK or knowledge integration and resilience?

In our analysis, references to resilience are mostly theoretical or hypothetical rather than empirical, and the link between knowledge integration and resilience concepts is often tenuous. In addition, the few papers that discuss how knowledge integration builds resilience in theory offer little explanation of how different knowledge is actually or could potentially be brought together. For example Milestad and Hadatsch (2003) acknowledge the theory that integration of knowledge can build resilience, but the focus of their research is on comparing knowledge systems, rather than on integration. Claims in these papers that either IK or integration practices lead to enhanced resilience do not tend to distinguish aspects of the practices that seem most influential, and the extent to which the practices themselves or other factors, such as institutions or culture, are the major contributors to enhanced resilience. Exceptions are Berkes et al. (2000) who acknowledge the roles of various social mechanisms in maintaining traditional resource management practices, and Fernandez-Gimenez (2000) who notes the importance of local natural resource management institutions that regulate pasture use for sustaining shared norms.

Some authors discuss concepts that are similar to resilience but do not explicitly discuss a relationship between resilience and IK or integration. For example, Salmón’s (2000) kincentric ecology shares ideas with resilience theory about social-ecological coupling and adaptive management.

Although Roth (2004) does not mention “resilience” in her paper, but cites several resilience-related works, her argument resonates with the social-ecological resilience basis for knowledge integration that we have noted. Some authors focus on the role of knowledge integration in enhancing ecological resilience (Donovan and Puri 2004) but not social resilience, whereas others discuss resilience in a social but not ecological context (Turnbull 2009).

Is there evidence that IK, or integration, builds resilience, and not just that a loss of IK, or lack of integration, erodes resilience?

Papers in our analysis found evidence of declining resilience due to development policies (Becker and Ghimire 2003) and externally-driven ecological restoration (Long et al. 2003) that have negatively influenced knowledge integration. Boyd (2006) and Lebel (2006) describe a positive feedback loop in

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which resilience is lost because of the entrenchment of powerful global institutions that hinders meaningful crossscale knowledge integration. Milestad and Hadatsch (2003) observe that resilience of farms has been lost because of erosion of TEK alongside other factors, such as structural changes in agriculture and societal transformation. However, we did not encounter empirical evidence that resilience has been built through the maintenance or revitalization of IK, or its integration with other knowledge. This is symptomatic of a problem that afflicts resilience studies more widely, in that much of the current understanding of resilience comes from systems that have lost resilience and have crossed a threshold (Walker and Myers 2004).

CRITICAL FEATURES OF KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATION Our third question seeks to identify critical features of knowledge integration practice that need greater emphasis to foster productive and mutually beneficial relationships between IK and science. We identified these features in reflecting on our findings from the analyses of themes and resilience. The thematic analysis allowed us to inductively gauge patterns in the reviewed literature, whereas the resilience analysis enabled us to explore trends in IK and knowledge integration from a particular angle, of interest for the reasons stated in our introduction. Four critical features appear important: New frames The word “integration” remains problematic, invoking past power imbalances and assimilation of IK by science such that the distinct identities of IKs are no longer recognizable. Other terms, such as bridging or blending, have different meanings from integration and thus may not be universally appropriate substitutes. We suggest reframing integration as a process in which the originality and core identity of each individual knowledge system remains valuable in itself, and is not diluted through its combination with other types of knowledge.

Collective approaches, such as “caring for country” (Davis 2006) and the Arctic Borderlands co-op (Eamer 2006), and other examples, such as collaborative ethnobiological databasing (Edwards and Heinrich 2006) point to what this reframed integration might look like. Alternatively, integration might begin from the perspective of IK and seek relevant scientific knowledge. Roth (2004) calls on global science to view itself as complementary to local knowledge, and not a replacement for it. Ishizawa (2006) suggests identifying problems locally, in the geographic location in which they occur, and subsequently identifying their global relevance. In bridging knowledge systems to solve real-world problems, there is a need to ensure that the issues addressed and contexts in which knowledge is applied are those important to indigenous peoples, not just to science. This may mean engaging communities as much about their social and

political knowledge as their ecological knowledge, and enabling them to position that knowledge, as Brosius (2006) stresses.

Cognizance of social context, including politics and power Our thematic analysis reveals that the social context of IK is receiving more attention with time; the politics of IK is clearly a prominent theme in Reid et al. (2006) and Futures.

Indigenous peoples and their rights are increasingly acknowledged as the ultimate drivers of IK and of integration processes. Turnbull (2009) in particular emphasizes that a future for indigenous knowledge can only be ensured by ensuring the survival, resilience, and flourishing of indigenous peoples. In efforts to integrate scientific knowledge with IK, there is an imperative to acknowledge and even address the destructive forces that impinge upon IK holders. As well, there is a need to appreciate how, given a particular social context, IK and science each can contribute to natural resource management and where there may be limitations (Gagnon and Berteaux 2009, Wohling 2009). In some cases, it may not be appropriate to support any such process, but to rather enable IK to be applied instead of science, and vice versa, if that is the most relevant form of knowledge for the situation.

Expanded modes of evaluation The evaluation of IK needs to go beyond scientific processes of validation to ensure evaluation does not involve only scientists and scientific paradigms (Gratani et al. 2011).

Science and IK do sometimes disagree, as noted by Huntington (2000) and elsewhere (Foale 2006, Chalmers and Fabricius 2007), and cannot always be easily reconciled. Evaluation processes must recognize that this apparent incommensurability may have deep roots in different worldviews, and in theoretical and methodological approaches to understanding the world.

Intercultural knowledge bridgers Though cultural differences need to be openly acknowledged, it is also suggested that they need not be fully resolved for productive collaboration to occur (O’Flaherty et al. 2008).

Science, as many of the papers in this analysis argue, can address forces of change that are beyond local control and which impinge on values and aspirations of local communities.

The key to ensuring that these values and aspirations are recognized seems to be in the deep involvement of IK holders in relevant science processes (Eamer 2006). Hence, indigenous scientists who span both knowledge systems and appreciate the significance of culture to IK (Rotarangi and Russell 2009) can play a key role as “bridgers” in knowledge integration.

CONCLUSION Has the “project of integration” evolved since Nadasdy (1999)? Our stock-taking of the literature reveals a picture of knowledge integration that, like knowledge itself, is

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multifaceted and complex, and encompasses far more than the dualism between technical and political agendas that Nadasdy presented. Perhaps above all, the literature we analyzed indicates that it is important to comprehend the nuanced meanings of the language used to discuss processes of bringing knowledge together. Greater attention needs to be paid to what various terms imply for how this can be done, and consideration given to changing the ways that knowledge integration has been framed, communicated, and understood.

Little of the knowledge integration literature engages substantively with resilience, and where it does the relationship between IK, integration, and resilience is not particularly clear: can IK itself and its integration with other knowledge both confer resilience in social-ecological systems? Untangling this relationship is a key research frontier for the theory and practice of knowledge integration. There has been a strong theoretical basis, supported by limited empirical studies, for the arguments that IK and knowledge integration contribute to social-ecological system resilience, but our analysis points to a need to further confront these with real-world evidence.

Viewing knowledge integration through a resilience lens does not come without caveats. The idea that multiple knowledge systems are needed to achieve or enhance social-ecological system resilience reflects a perspective that is focused on satisfying the many facets of a system, e.g., societies and ecosystems, as a whole, in line with indigenous views of holism (Rotarangi and Russell 2009). However, this focus on social-ecological systems as the unit of management implies that there will invariably be stakeholders other than IK holders, who may very well wield power to privilege other types of knowledge over IK, precisely what concerned Nadasdy (1999, 2003, 2007). On the other hand, Maffie’s (2009) suggestion to deliberately privilege IK over science may compromise the role science can play in system-level understanding. The notion that IK and its integration with science can build resilience invites a fundamental question that must be continually revisited: which social-ecological systems are these integration processes building the resilience of, for whom, and on which scales in time and space?

Resilience theory may not necessarily offer the most useful perspective on knowledge integration, but it does stress the need for novelty and innovation in human interactions with the world, based on different knowledge systems (Moller et al. 2004, Roth 2004, Berkes and Berkes 2009). It is this emphasis on novelty and innovation that we suggest has something significant to offer to the practice of knowledge integration as it further evolves in decades to come, and in this spirit that we reiterate the need to reframe the concept as one in which knowledge identities are maintained, but enriched through interaction with one another.

Responses to this article can be read online at: http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol16/iss4/art6/responses/ Acknowledgments: Ian Nigh, Ursula King, and other members of the Knowledge Integration Working Group are thanked for contributing ideas to earlier versions of this paper. Fiona Walsh, Anne Leitch, and James Butler made helpful comments on the draft manuscript, and Jocelyn Davies provided guidance on both the draft and revision. The Indigenous Livelihoods Stream in CSIRO’s Sustainable Agriculture Flagship contributed funding for this research.

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In: Mark Gibney, Rhoda E. Howard-Hassmann and Jean-Marc Coicaud (eds.), The Age of Apology: Facing Up to the Past, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008, pp. 229240.

COLONIALISM, SLAVERY, AND THE SLAVE TRADE: A DUTCH PERSPECTIVE Peter Baehr *

“[I]t is always dangerous to judge a previous age by later standards.”1 “Past injustice cannot be undone.”2 1. Introduction Each national society has certain matters in its history of which it is either not proud or about which in the course of time views have hanged from positive to less positive or even negative. In the city of Amsterdam stands a monument, erected in 1935, to the memory of General Van Heutz, a governor-general of the Netherlands East Indies, who at the end of the 19th century subjected by harsh military measures the population of the province of Aceh in Northern Sumatra to Dutch rule. Since then, views about the accomplishments of this public servant have changed and it was recently decided to rename the monument and to dedicate it to the whole of the colonial period.3 In modern times, such changes of view may lead to calls for public apologies. These calls are part of a much wider pattern of techniques of dealing with past violations of human rights. Such

1

techniques include: acts of revenge, denial, adjudication, truth and reconciliation commissions, compensation of victims or their next of kin as well as state apologies.4 This chapter deals with two cases involving the Netherlands, a small Western European democracy.

The cases deal with important events in the country’s history that are nowadays looked upon with less than pride: colonialism in Indonesia, and the slave trade and slavery. In these cases requests for official apologies on the part of the Dutch Government have repeatedly been made – but not granted.

2. Colonialism in Indonesia For hundreds of years, colonialism was seen as “business as usual”. Great Britain, France, Spain, Portugal, Belgium and the Netherlands ruled over vast colonial empires in Asia, Africa and Latin America. As Barkan reminds us: “[C]olonialism and imperialism were the accepted political system of the time, and, like other government actions, were legal.”5 Since the beginning of the 19th century6, the Netherlands ruled over a vast colonial empire, which towards the end included the Netherlands East Indies, Surinam and the Netherlands Antilles.7 During its history, repeatedly calls were made in the Netherlands for a more lenient and humanitarian way of dealing with the colonies, if not granting them self-determination or independence. The latter calls were not granted and became only successful after the Japanese occupation of the Indies, through the efforts of Indonesian nationalists and because of considerable pressure exerted by the United Nations. The Netherlands parted in 1949 with (the greater part of) the Indies only with considerable reluctance. It held on to the western part of the island of New Guinea (Papua) until 1962, when it was forced to give that up as well. Surinam gained independence in 1975, while the Netherlands Antilles (and Aruba) retain until today the status of autonomous self-governing entities.

The first activities by Dutch traders in the East Indies date from the beginning of the 17th century, when Jan Pieterszoon Coen founded the city of Batavia8 in 1619. But it is only during the 19th century that the greatest expansion took place. Central Java was conquered during the Java War (1825-1830), in which some 200,000 Javanese perished, largely by starvation and diseases9 The

2

longest colonial war took place in the province of Aceh in Sumatra (1873-1904), which the Dutch only with considerable effort managed to conquer. Some 70,000 Acenese died in combat and an unknown number perished by starvation and disease.10 The Dutch historian Van Goor has made the point that the Dutch acquired their colonies almost against their will. He speaks of a “reluctant imperialism” and points to the fact that the Dutch were by far too few in numbers to establish large human settlements in their colonies.11 However, one should add that, from an economic point of view, the Dutch were quite enthusiastic colonialists. For a long time, the East Indies was treated as an exploitation colony.12 During the 19th century, a Cultivation System (“Cultuurstelsel”) – an adaption of an existing feudal system was set up, which compelled Indonesian farmers to cultivate crops for the benefit of the Dutch. In the beginning of the 19th century, profits from the Indies made up 20-30 percent of the national income of the Netherlands.13 It was only towards the end of the 19th century, that voices began to be heard in the Netherlands that the country had a debt of honour (“ereschuld”) towards the people of Java, who had been ruthlessly exploited by the Dutch colonizers. Though not going so far as arguing in favour of self-determination, this debt of honour was expressed in both ethical and financial terms, asking for a restitution of colonial surpluses to the people of Java.14 As early as 1901, Queen Wilhelmina said in a speech that “the Netherlands, as a Christian nation, ha[d] a moral duty to fulfil towards the population of the East Indies.”15 Exactly one hundred years later, a Dutch writer argued in favour of paying damages for works of art stolen from the colonies.16 However, as much as the Dutch may have profited from their colonies, it went together with a somewhat guilty conscience. According to the Dutch sociologist Van Doorn, none of the colonial countries may have suffered as much as the Netherlands from “(…) the incompatibility of colonial profit and colonial idealism”.17 This meant by no means that self-determination, let alone independence, was under consideration. As late as February 1942, the Dutch minister of Foreign Affairs, Eelco van Kleffens rejected the idea of independence for the Indonesians, citing their “lack of governing gifts (…) as well as the necessity to protect them from deep-rooted deficiencies such as their love of gambling and nepotism, which made, at least for the Netherlands Indies, a guiding hand indispensable.”18 There was also a feeling of pride toward

3

what had been achieved in the colonies, as expressed by a Dutch cabinet minister, when sovereignty was transferred to the Republic of Indonesia in 1949: “The Indies were our pride. We had governed the Indies in a way that caused admiration everywhere and we had brought prosperity to the Indies, we had brought them the blessings of Christian civilization and Christian charity, we had trained the youth of the Indies in our schools and universities, we had sent them our best scientific and technical personnel and we were convinced that the Indies could not do without our leadership. We thought that we could count on the gratitude of the Indonesian people.”19

The Indonesian fight for independence after 1945 was seen as a rebellion that had to be suppressed as quickly as possible. The declaration of independence by the Indonesian nationalist leaders Soekarno and Hatta on 17 December 1945 came as an unwelcome surprise to the Dutch.

An expeditionary force of some 120,000 men was sent overseas. The two Dutch military actions of 1947 and 1948 were called “police actions”, meant to restore law and order in the colony.20 The Dutch military were sent there, not as oppressors, but supposedly as liberators.21 The Dutch gradually even favoured some form of decolonisation – on their terms. It is fair to speak of a “trauma of decolonisation”, a deeply felt sentiment of frustration about the loss of the Indies.22 In such an atmosphere there was little room for offering apologies.

Until very recently, the events of the years 1945-1949 remained a controversial issue in the Netherlands. Only a few years ago, proposals were launched (and subsequently rejected) to hold a "national debate" to come to terms with the issue. The immediate cause for the controversy was the granting of a visitor's visa to a former Dutch soldier, Poncke Prinsen, who had defected to the Indonesian forces back in 1948, subsequently had adopted Indonesian nationality and become a well-known human rights activist in Indonesia.23 In 1969, another former Dutch military officer revealed in a television interview that, during the war of 1945-1949, Dutch military – like US soldiers then serving in Vietnam – had committed atrocities against Indonesian civilians.24 The discussions on these issues and the emotions they entailed demonstrated that for the Netherlands the relationship with Indonesia had remained a very "special" one.

The debates in the Netherlands on the issue of Indonesia had several different aspects. Basic were the views people held on whether or not the Netherlands had taken the right position by trying to

4

hold on to its colony in the period 1945-1949. Of a secondary nature were the debates about the position of Western New Guinea, a part of the colony that had been mostly ignored in the past, but gained prominence after it had been excluded from the transfer of sovereignty in 1949, supposedly because of the different ethnic origin of its population, the Papuas. The real reason for the exclusion was that it made it possible to gain the required two-thirds majority in Parliament for the change of the Constitution to allow a transfer of sovereignty.25 Next, there were important Dutch interests that wanted to continue or to re-establish close business contacts with their Indonesian counterparts.

These clashed with representatives of non-governmental organizations that criticized the violations of human rights committed by the Suharto-regime.26 The latter did not necessarily agree with development experts who wanted to use Dutch aid to further develop the Indonesian economy.27 All of this was overshadowed by the actions of Moluccan nationalists who undertook what now would be called “terrorist actions”, whereby some Dutch civilians were killed in 1970, 1975, 1977 and 1978 in their struggle for the creation of an independent Republic of the South Moluccans.28 It was against this background that a call for apologies came up on the eve of the official state visit

by Queen Beatrix to Indonesia. This call was only expressed in the Netherlands. Nothing of the sort was heard from the Indonesian side. That is why the whole issue should be seen in terms of an internal debate within the Netherlands (with the Indonesians as undoubtedly interested and perhaps somewhat bemused observers). The Dutch Government was not in favour of letting the Queen offer apologies to the people of Indonesia as had been suggested. Apologies for what? For three hundred years of colonial domination? The bloody subjection of Aceh by Dutch troops at the beginning of the 20th century? The two military actions of 1947 and 1948? And apologies to whom? To the Government of President Suharto that was known for being responsible of a wide spectrum of human rights violations? To the Indonesian people as a whole? These questions were raised, but never satisfactorily answered. In the eyes of many observers, the Dutch Government added insult to injury, when Queen Beatrix did not begin her official visit to Indonesia on 17 August 1995, the day when Indonesia celebrated the 50th anniversary of its independence, but three days later, after having taken a ”rest” in Singapore. The reason was that the Dutch Government gave in to organizations of veterans and people of mixed Dutch-Indonesian parentage, who viewed Indonesia as having gained its independence not in 1945, but on 29 December 1949, when sovereignty was formally transferred.29 The Queen is said to have received a polite, but somewhat cool reception. The hoped

5

for business deals that her entourage of Dutch business leaders were supposed to conclude, did not come off the ground. During an official dinner, on 21 August 1995, she said: “The separation between our countries has become (…) a long time process, that has cost much pain and bitter struggle. When looking back to that time, which now lies almost fifty years behind us, it makes us extremely sad that so many perished in that struggle or bear its scars during their entire life.”30 The “sadness” referred to both parties. No apologies were offered. Commentators expressed their disappointment over what they considered a missed opportunity to finally come to terms with the past.31 It was only five years later, in 2000, that calls for offering formal apologies to Indonesia came really off the ground. It became known that prime minister Wim Kok during an official visit to Japan, intended to ask the Japanese Government for apologies for invading the Netherlands Indies in 1941 and for the suffering of Dutch subjects in Japanese camps.32 According to editorial comments in the Dutch quality newspaper NRC Handelsblad, this meant that Kok for his part should offer his apologies for Dutch wrongdoings in its former colony. It would also offer an opportunity for the Netherlands to recognize that the Republic of Indonesia in fact had already existed since 17 December 1945.33 The debate was continued by the historian Ido de Haan, who referred to the fact that Dutch troops serving as occupation forces in Indonesia had destroyed people and their possessions for the maintenance of Dutch power. If the Japanese Government was asked to apologize to the Dutch, then there was even more reason for the Dutch to apologize to the Indonesians for their own “imperialist past”: “After the [Indonesian] declaration of independence, the Netherlands has for a number of years denied the sovereignty of the Indonesian state and tried by the use of force to restore its colonial power. That [was] a violation of the principle of national sovereignty. For this the Netherlands might as well offer its apologies.”34

On 25 February, 2000, prime minister Wim Kok announced in a television interview that he was willing, during a future visit to Indonesia35, to publicly apologize for Dutch activities during the colonial period. He said that he would have no problem to make clear to [then] President Wahid that what had happened under Dutch responsibility was regrettable. He did not clarify whether such apologies would refer to the entire period of Dutch colonialism, to the war in Aceh, to the Cultivation System or only to the “police actions” in the period 1947-1949. According to Kok, the

6

Netherlands could express its regrets “in the same wordings” as Japan had apologized a week before: “We must not apply double standards.”36 However, a few days later, faced with criticisms from veterans’ organizations, Kok mitigated his wordings: “What should absolutely not happen is that many people, who through their presence [in Indonesia] have done their work in a sound and correct way and who often look back at that time with great problems, now would be indirectly told that there was some criticism about their presence.” He did not want that such people “who, posted by the Netherlands, have assumed the responsibility, would now after, so many years, be confronted with their guilt complexes.”37

Kok’s announcement met with mixed reactions. The Indonesian Government let it be known that it was not in need of such expressions of regret. Poncke Prinsen, on the other hand, showed himself satisfied: “For this we have always waited. I would be very happy, if it would now really happen.”38 But others were less happy. Leiden University professor Cees Fasseur, who had been secretary of a commission that had looked into possible excesses committed by Dutch military in the period 1947-1949, commented that the Dutch had never behaved as badly as the Japanese: “The Japs have carried on much worse. There are gradations to be distinguished in bad behaviour. The Dutch have never been guilty of committing genocide.”39 He thought that the Indonesians were not waiting for apologies by the Dutch. Nor were the former veterans interested in expressions of regret. The chairman of the Veterans Platform thought that apologies would mean that thousands of military men buried in Indonesia would be treated with contempt. He also considered apologies injurious to living veterans, because they had only participated in a war that had been decided [by higher authorities].40 The widow of the Dutch commanding general during the “police actions”, Mrs. Spoor, wrote an open letter to prime minister Kok, in which she protested against expressions of regret towards Indonesia, which she considered as “misplaced”: “With a declaration of regret, you show that you have little knowledge of what was built up in Indonesia by the Dutch, before and after the Second World War and the sufferings of the Dutch, Indonesians and Chinese who wanted to cooperate with us (…) We try to think as little as possible about the disasters of those years and remember the good things of the country and the population which we loved. You and many young people (…) open up old wounds with those who still remember – a group that is dying out.”41

An editor of the Amsterdam quality paper, de Volkskrant, devoted a full page towards the problem of offering apologies. He concluded:

7

“Apologies are an aspect of the much broader problem of how a society must look at its past. In the case of crimes against humanity, adjudication of the guilty ones under international law is of far greater importance than offering apologies. Furthermore, paying damages is of more avail to the victims than offering cheap apologies – cheap in a literal as well as figurative sense.”42

With this discussion, the public debate about offering apologies to Indonesia came to an end. It has not been revived since then. Neither prime minister Wim Kok nor his successor Jan Peter Balkenende, have paid an official visit to Indonesia, nor have they offered formal apologies.

3. Slavery and the Slave Trade Slavery and the slave trade are nowadays considered as among the worst violations of basic human rights. The idea that one person owns another person flouts the fundamental principle of human dignity. Nevertheless, present-day society has found it difficult to come to terms with this heritage of the past or to decide on any form of reparation.43 Why is that so? Barkan has well summarized some of the reasons: “Among the issues is the dilemma concerning the nature of the groups involved. Who are the victims and who ought to be compensated – descendants of slaves? All blacks? What of those of mixed race? In addition, who are the perpetrators: descendants of slave owners? All whites? The society in general? 44

In the Netherlands, mainly persons of Surinamese or Antillean origin – the descendants of former slaves -- have repeatedly brought the issue of offering apologies and/or compensation to the fore.

In 1769 a Dutch ship’s doctor wrote in the introduction to his handbook on the slave trade: “I just want to observe that there are many companies, who would seem to be not permitted, if there was not a particular advantage to be gained. Witness the slave trade, which because of the advantage it brings to the traders, can be absolved from illegality.”45 Profits from the slave trade were sufficient to set aside any moral objections. The Constituent Assembly of 1798 opposed abolition on pragmatic grounds, in particular lack of finances.46 When the Netherlands finally abolished the slave trade in 1807, this was not of its own free will, but under strong pressure from Britain,

8

which during the Napoleonic wars had occupied Surinam and Curaçao47. Slavery itself was abolished by the Netherlands only as late as 1863, long after Britain (1834) and France (1848).48 That late date was due to the lack of a strong movement for abolition plus a considerable degree of stinginess.49 More than hundred years later, after Surinam had acquired its independence, sentiments to come to terms with the past were widely expressed. A call for paying damages to former slaves was heard: “In the case of slavery -- the greatest colonial crime -- there is the burden that slaves were never offered any form of compensation for their suffering. And that, while the Dutch state did pay compensation to the slave owners[!] (…)

There has never been a beau geste versus the victims of Dutch crimes against humanity, while these descendants sit daily with the Dutch at their tables. It has never been said: sorry. There have never been consistent efforts to compensate the caused arrears of the population.”50

Others pleaded for apologies and for erecting a monument for the victims of slavery: “Erecting a monument to the memory of slavery should not be restricted to a one time ‘erecting event’, but must be the starting point for a wide discussion and integral approach, directed towards schooling, training and education of the Afro-Surinamese. But also autochthonous Dutch must know this black page in their history. The monument must be the recognition that the slave trade and slavery are an integral part of Dutch history in the period of the Golden Age [17th century]. The Dutch must be made sensitive to what has happened, in order to understand something of the problems of the Afro-Surinamese in the Netherlands.”51

The discussion about offering apologies and/or compensation to the descendants of the slaves received a renewed impetus with the approach of the UN World Conference against Racism and the Right to Reparation, held in Durban, South Africa, 31 August-7 September 2001.52 At the request of the Government, the (official) Advisory Council on International Affairs submitted an advisory report.53 The Council considered, mainly for practical reasons, that reparation payments of the kind used in the past to settle accounts between States, were “not suitable ways of compensation” for historical practices of slavery and colonialism: “[S]uch an approach would present considerable practical and legal difficulties. First of all, there is the concern that this kind of reparation payments, which are awarded to States and governments, would not benefit the actual victims

9

or their descendants. Yet even if the compensatory measures were to be victim-oriented, there would still be questions about who is and who is not entitled to compensation for injustices committed in the past, and which States or other legal entities should be obliged to contribute to the compensatory measures.”54

Instead, it recommended policy measures aimed at achieving a more just distribution of wealth and natural resources at both the national and international levels for the benefit of the descendants of slaves, particularly through the realization of equal rights in the socio-economic field, such as education, employment and health care.55 The Government had not asked about the possibility of offering apologies to the victims and their descendants, and the Council, for its part, did not mention that possibility.

Four organizations56 of Surinamese and Antilleans reacted negatively to the report. In a statement called “Reflection of the Black Community” they rejected the report, because the Council had consulted none of them and had “perhaps for political reasons” leaned too much towards views held by the European Community without taking into account the views of the black community.

They asked the Government not to sign in Durban any “restrictive agreements” with regard to the problems of slavery and to begin talks, immediately after the Durban conference, with that community and with the governments of Surinam, and the Antilles and Aruba. The chair of one of the four organizations, the National Platform Slavery Past, added somewhat cynically (as well as erroneously) that the Advisory Council consisted of the descendants of slave owners, white civil servants: “We don’t want personal financial compensations for the victims (…) We think rather of a fund for historical research into slavery, in order to correct Dutch history books.”57 The Government decided, as did the other Western European governments, not to take up the matter of compensation in Durban. At the Durban conference, a Dutch cabinet minister expressed his “deep remorse” about slavery and the slave trade, without explicitly mentioning the Netherlands. He recognized that in the past “great mistakes” had been made and expressed the hope that revised historiography would provide new generations with more objective information.58 He then paid a five days visit to Surinam “to be informed about the slavery past and to invite the Surinamese President to attend the unveiling of the national monument to the memory of slavery in Amsterdam.” According to a newspaper report, there was little interest expressed in the subject in Surinam.59

10

The national monument was unveiled in Amsterdam on 1 July 2002, in the presence of the Surinamese ambassador to the Netherlands.60. It is intended as a symbol of recognition of the Dutch slavery past and as a monument of honour to the struggle for freedom of the slaves in the Dutch colonies.61 A local citizens committee that organizes a yearly commemoration distanced itself from the monument, which it considered “(…) too much an initiative of the Dutch Government”. It demanded that the Government and the parliament should send Queen Beatrix to Surinam and the Netherlands Antilles “to ask for forgiveness for all the suffering that the state had inflicted on the Surinamese and Antillean nations.” A Surinamese cabinet minister, speaking at a “gathering of reflection” in The Hague, saw a direct link between the period of slavery and the present economic underdevelopment of Suriname. For that reason he put a financial claim to the Dutch Government.62 At the Durban conference, compensation was sought for colonialism and slavery as crimes against humanity.63 According to a spokesman for the European Union, the final declaration agreed at Durban “amounted to an apology”.64 Theo van Boven, in commenting on the final declaration adopted at Durban, referred to subtle and hair-splitting distinctions between “expressing remorse” or “presenting apologies”, it being felt by legalistic minds that the latter term might open the door for compensatory demands.65 The Netherlands Government did not go farther than expressing its “remorse”. It has never offered its apologies for the slavery past.

4. Conclusions In the words of the sociologist Van Doorn: “The Indies were the sun in which the Dutch nation basked. The loss of the Indies could only be experienced as the definitive sunset.” 66 That is one of the reasons why the Netherlands found it difficult to part with the greater segment of its colonial empire. Another reason was that it meant the definitive end of Dutch aspirations of being a major power in international relations. What remained was a relatively small country in Western Europe – economically wealthy, but politically powerless. For many Dutch people that recognition was difficult to accept, the more so as many of them saw the Indonesian nationalist

11

leaders, Soekarno and Hatta, as traitors, having chosen the Japanese side during the Second World War. At the same time, there was also a widely felt sentiment of responsibility in the Netherlands to what was happening in the former colony. A sizable amount of development aid was directed towards Indonesia: “The paternalism of ethical policy [was] replaced by the paternalism of development policy “67 The Dutch nation remained strongly divided on the issue of Indonesia until the end of the 20th century. Those on the left of the political spectrum felt embarrassed about the colonial past and showed themselves in favour of offering apologies for what had happened. Those on the right were proud of what had been achieved and saw no need whatsoever for apologies. Faced with these antagonistic views, the Government tried to steer a middle course -- without great success. This middle course limited the Government’s freedom of action and resulted in not offering formal apologies, though it had that intention – some fifty years after Indonesia gained its political independence.

The presence in the Netherlands of almost 300,000 persons of Surinamese and some 125,000 persons of Antillean origin serves as a daily reminder of both the colonial as well as the slavery past.

The subject of offering apologies and/or paying compensation has been brought up by some of the descendants of these slaves. The issue has, however, never received the impact it has, for instance, in the United States. 68. In the Netherlands, it has caught the interest of only a relatively small group of people and so far, not become a hot political issue. Interest increased somewhat at the time of the preparation of the Durban conference, but since then it has again lost its impact. The reason for this is probably that most people seem to be aware of the considerable practical problems of paying compensation after so many years have gone by. The offering of “empty” apologies – that is apologies without financial compensation – seems to hold little attraction to anybody.

12

The Netherlands’ position was not unique in the cases dealt with in this chapter. Colonialism in general, and the slave trade and slavery have occurred in many West European countries.

The cases deal with events that many people now tend to consider “historical wrongs”. Yet, they were not seen so at the time they occurred. The question remains whether and to what extent present generations should apologize or even pay compensation for such events. In the cases of colonialism in Indonesia and the slave trade/slavery, the Dutch were themselves among the main perpetrators.

If there is such a thing as doing “historical justice” and if that means offering apologies by the State for past misdeeds, this is not what has happened in the cases dealt with in this chapter. Why not?

In the case of the relations with Indonesia, the possibility of offering of apologies was entirely a domestic Dutch political affair. No apologies were expressed, as many of the Dutch people that could still remember the colonial past, were of the opinion that the Dutch had been wronged and that the Netherlands had been unjustly forced to part with its colonial empire. The Indonesians had shown little appreciation for all that had supposedly been accomplished on their behalf by the Dutch during the colonial period. For others, it was all a matter of long time ago that they could hardly remember. Moreover, many people felt there was little reason to offer apologies to the Suharto regime that was itself guilty of systematic human rights violations.

The time of slavery and the slave trade was even longer ago than most Dutchmen were able or willing to remember. The proponents of the idea of offering apologies were Surinamese and

13

Antillean descendants of the slaves, amounting to a minority of the Dutch population.

Furthermore, there were the practical problems of offering apologies to whom, with what financial consequences.

* 1

I thank Fred Grünfeld and Joop de Jong for their comments.

2

Schonberg, Harold C. (1967) The Great Conductors, New York: Simon and Schuster, p. 134.

German Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer as cited in Ulrich, George (2003), “Introduction: Human Rights with a

View to History,” in: George Ulrich and Louise Krabbe Boserup (eds.), Human Rights in Development Yearbook 2001: Reparations: Redressing Past Wrongs, The Hague/London/New York: Kluwer Law International/Oslo: Northern Human Rights Publications, p. 1.

3

Amsterdam was one of the last cities in Western Europe to retain a street named after Marshall Stalin in honour of

the contribution by the Soviet Union to the war effort. In 1956, after the Soviet suppression of the Hungarian revolt, the street was renamed “Liberty Avenue”.

4

See: Baehr, Peter R. (2004), “How to Come to Terms with the Past,” paper delivered at the international

conference “Accountability for Atrocity”, organized by United Nations University and the Irish Centre for Human Rights, Galway, Ireland, 15-16 July.

5

Barkan, Elazar (2000), The Guilt of Nations: Restitution and Negotiating Historical Injustices, Baltimore and

London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, p. 416.

6

During the 17th and 18th century, the Dutch limited themselves to participate, as did their European competitors, in

the existing Asian trading network. See Jong, J.J.P. de (1998), De Waaier van het Fortuin: De Geschiedenis van de Nederlanders in Azië en de Indonesische Archipel 1595-1950 [“The Fan of Fortune: The History of the Dutch in Asia and the Indonesian Archipelago 1595-1950”], The Hague: SDU. 7

At the founding conference of the United Nations in 1945, the Netherlands at one point argued in favour of being

granted a permanent seat on the Security Council in view of its large population: 9 million in Europe and over 90 million in the colonies.

8

Now known as Jakarta.

9

Kuitenbrouwer, Maarten (2003), “Colonialism and Human Rights: Indonesia and the Netherlands in Comparative

Perspective,” Netherlands Quarterly of Human Rights 21( 2), 206.

14

10

Kuitenbrouwer, supra note 9, p. 207. To this very day, the central Indonesian authorities have great difficulties in

controlling the area. In 1999, then Indonesian President B.J. Habibie offered his apologies “(…) for what has been done by the security forces, by accident or deliberately to all the people of Aceh.” (“Habibie Says ‘Sorry’ for Rights Abuses,” International Herald Tribune, 27/28 March 1999). In 1998, he had offered his apologies to all who had suffered from a lack of respect for human rights in Indonesia (“Habibie Biedt Volk Indonesië Excuses Aan” [“Habibie Offers Apologies to Indonesian People”], NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 17 August 1998).

11

Goor, J. van, (1994) De Nederlandse Koloniën. Geschiedenis van de Nederlandse Expansie, 1600-1975 [“The

Dutch Colonies. History of Dutch Expansionism 1600-1975”], Den Haag: SDU, pp. 12 and 101.

12

Doorn, J.J.A. van (1995), Indische Lessen: Nederland en de Koloniale Ervaring [“Lessons from the Indies: the

Netherlands and the Colonial Experience”], Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, p. 18.

13

As late as 1938, this was still almost 8% of Dutch national income (Van Doorn, supra note 12, p. 19).

14

This was accompanied by an “ethical policy” that was directed towards the conquest of the entire archipelago by

the Dutch and the development of the country and its people in the direction of self-government under Dutch leadership and according to a western model. See: Locher-Scholten, Elsbeth (1981), Ethiek in Fragmenten: Vijf Studies over Koloniaal Denken en Doen van Nederlanders in de Indonesische Archipel 1877-1942 [“Ethics in Fragments: Five Studies about Colonial Thinking and Acting by the Dutch in the Indonesian Archipelago 18771942”], Utrecht: HES, pp. 51 and 201.

15

Ibid., pp. 209-210.

16

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 9 January 2001.

17

Van Doorn, supra, note 12, p. 24..

18

Kersten A.E. and A.F. Manning (eds.) (1984), Documenten betreffende de Buitenlandse Politiek van Nederland,

1919-1945, [“Documents Concering the Foreign Policy of the Netherlands, 1919-1945”], Periode C, dl. IV, The Hague, p. 263, as cited by Fasseur, C. “Het Verleden tot Last: Nederland, de Tweede Wereldoorlog en de Dekolonisatie van Indonesië,” [“The Past as a Burden: the Netherlands, the Second World War and the Decolonization of Indonesia”] in: Barnouw, David et al. eds. ( 1985), 1940-1945 Onverwerkt Verleden?, Utrecht: HES, p. 142; translated from the original Dutch.

19

Speech by minister van Maarseveen in parliament, as cited by Fasseur, supra note 18, p. 138; translated from the

original Dutch.

15

20

Van Goor supra note 11, p. 339: “By using the term ‘police action’ the Netherlands “(…) wanted to indicate that it

was an internal, Dutch matter.” ; translated from the original Dutch.

21

Fasseur, supra note 18, p. 144.

22

Jong, J.J.P. de (1986), “De Nederlands-Indonesische Betrekkingen, 1963-1985” [“Dutch-Indonesian Relations,

1963-1985”], Internationale Spectator 40(2), 130. Lijphart has used the term for the title of his book about the transfer of sovereignty over Western New Guinea (Lijphart, Arend 1966, The Trauma of Decolonization, New Haven: Yale University Press).

23

Jong, Joop de (1997), “’Een Inktzwarte Bladzijde in de Geschiedenis: Nederland en de Indonesische Kwestie

1945-1950,” [“An Ink-Black Page in History: The Netherlands and the Indonesian Question 1945-1950”], Oorlogsdocumentatie ’40-’45: Achtste Jaarboek van het Rijksinstituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie, Amsterdam: Rijksinstituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie , p. 93: “Princen became a symbol for the media and was generally seen as an example of a person who had made the right choice by choosing in favour of the Republic of Indonesia (…) For or against the admission of Princen became (…) in the eyes of the media a choice for or against Indonesian independence.” ; translated from the original Dutch.

24

See De Jong, supra note 23, p.79. Cf. Wesseling, H.L. (1988), Indië Verloren, Rampspoed Geboren [“The Indies

Lost, Disaster Born”], Amsterdam; Bert Bakker: “[A] former soldier, the psychologist Hueting, revealed excesses that were supposed to have been committed by Dutch soldiers in the Indies. The [television] broadcast came as a bombshell. War veterans reacted with pertinent denials. Others were shocked and asked for an enquiry and wanted the guilty ones to be tried (…) In some of the polemics Dutch soldiers were compared to SS-men.” ; translated from the original Dutch.

25

See Lijphart, supra note 22.

26

See: Baehr, Peter R. (2002) “On an Equal Footing? The Netherlands and Indonesia,” in: Baehr, Peter R., Monique

C. Castermans-Holleman and Fred Grünfeld, Human Rights in the Foreign Policy of the Netherlands, Antwerpen/Oxford/New York: Intersentia, pp. 173-194.

27

The latter received a heavy blow, when in 1992, the Indonesian Government announced that it would henceforth

refrain from receiving Dutch development aid, in view of the criticism of its human rights record as expressed by Dutch public officials..

16

28

In 1950, a group of 4,000 former Ambonese soldiers, serving with the Dutch colonial forces in Indonesia, with

their families – all in all some 12,000 persons -- had received (temporary) admittance to the Netherlands by a court order. It was their descendants who carried out the violent actions in the seventies.

29

In a letter to Parliament the prime minister and the minister of Foreign Affairs had said that the Netherlands

recognized the declaration of independence of 17 August 1945 “as an historically definite fact”. Letter to Parliament of 30 January 1995; translated from the original Dutch. I thank Dr. Joop de Jong for bringing this document to my attention.

30

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 26 February 2000; translated from the original Dutch.

31

De Jong, supra note 23, p. 66.

32

On 21 February 2000, the Japanese prime minister, Keizo Obuchi, offered his “sincere apologies” to the Dutch war

victims for their suffering during World War II (“Excuses Japan Slachtoffers WO II” [“Apologies Japan Victims WW II”], NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 21 February 2000).

33

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 16 February and 22 February, 2000.

34

Haan, Ido de (2000), “Eis van Excuses aan Japan is Misplaatst,” [“Demand to Japan for Apologies is Misplaced”],

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 22 February; translated from the original Dutch.

35

Such a visit came never off the ground.

36

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 26 February 2000; translated from the original Dutch.

37

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 2 March 2000; translated from the original Dutch.

38

“Poncke Prinsen Blij met Excuus aan Indonesië” [“Poncke Prinsen Happy about Apology to Indonesia”], de

Volkskrant (Amsterdam), 28 February 2000; translated from the original Dutch.

39

Ibid.; translated from the original Dutch.

40

Ibid. The discussion in the Netherlands was somewhat interrupted by the Indonesia President, Wahid, who offered

his apologies for the violence committed by Indonesian forces in East Timor: “Wahid Vraagt Excuus voor Geweld Timor” [“Wahid Offers Apologies for Violence on Timor”], de Volkskrant (Amsterdam), 1 March 2000.

41

“Spijtbetuiging jegens Indonesië is Misplaatst,” [“Expression of Regret Versus Indonesia is Misplaced”], de

Volkskrant (Amsterdam), 2 March 2000; translated from the original Dutch..

17

42

Bruin, Willem de (2000), “Excuus!” [“Apology!”] de Volkskrant (Amsterdam), 4 March; translated from the

original Dutch. See also the more than one page article that same day in the other quality paper: Bommeljé, Bastiaan (2000) “Oprecht of Opportuun” [“Sincere or Opportunistic”], NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 4 March.

43

Plessis, Max du (2003), “Historical Injustice and International Law: An Exploratory Discussion of Reparation for

Slavery,” Human Rights Quarterly, 25(3), 624-659.

44

Barkan, supra note 5, p. 97.

45

Cited in Oostindië, Gert, ed., (1999), Het Verleden onder Ogen [“Facing Up to the Past”], Den Haag: Uitgeverij

Arena/Prins Claus Fonds, p. 10; translated from the original Dutch..

46

Kuitenbrouwer, supra note 9, p. 205.

47

Oostindië, supra note 45, p. 8. See also: Emmer, P.C. (2000),De Nederlandse Slavenhandel 1500-1850 [“Dutch

Slave Trade 1500-1850”], Amsterdam/Antwerpen: De Arbeiderspers.

48

Oostindië, ibid. p. 8.

49

Ibid., p. 9.

50

Arion, Frank Martinus (1999), “Een ‘Beau Geste’” [“A ‘Beau Geste’”], in: Oostindië, supra note 45, p. 20 and 23;

translated from the original Dutch.

51

Marshall, Edwin (1999), “Een Nederlands Monument voor de Slachtoffers van Slavernij,” [“A Dutch Monument

for the Victims of Slavery”], in Oostindië, supra note 45, p. 40; translated from the original Dutch.

52

The issue “(…) almost derailed the Conference once it got underway.” (Du Plessis, supra note 43, p. 625.

53

Advisory Council on International Affairs, The World Conference against Racism and the Right to Reparation,

advisory report no. 22, The Hague: Ministry of Foreign Affairs, June 2001, official English version. The author of this chapter served as a member of the drafting committee that prepared the report.

54

Ibid, p. 18.

55

Ibid.

56

The Caribbean-African Institute of the Netherlands (CARAFIN), the National Platform Slavery Past (LPS),

Organize Pressure Upwards (OPO), and the Platform Surinamese Politicians (PSP).

57

“Hollandse Slavenbezitters Waren Extreem Wreed” [“Dutch Slave Owners Were Extremely Cruel”] Leids

Dagblad (Leiden), 24 August, 2001; translated from the original Dutch.

18

58

Letter by the minister of Foreign Affairs to the Second Chamber of Parliament, 5 February 2002. In this letter, the

following was said about slavery and colonialism: “[The Government] recognizes and deplores past suffering, caused by slavery and colonialism, and keeping alive the memory of that suffering by erecting monuments and paying attention to objective historiography. Expressions of remorse must not lead to obligations in the form of financial claims.”; translated from the original Dutch.

59

“Suriname Matig Geïnteresseerd in Slavernij,” [“Surinam Little Interested in Slavery”], NRC Handelsblad

(Rotterdam), 19 September 2001.

60

The ceremony itself created somewhat of a controversy, as it was mainly attended by officially invited guests,

while people of lesser standing were kept away by security guards.

61

The text on the monument runs as follows: “Gedeeld Verleden, Gezamenlijke Toekomst” (“Divided Past,

Common Future”).

62

NRC Handelsblad (Rotterdam), 1 July 2002.

63

Chakma, Suhas (2003), “The Issue of Compensation for Colonialism and Slavery at the World Conference Against

Racism: A Fine Balance Between Rhetoric and Legality,” in: Ulrich and Krabbe Boserup, supra note 2, p. 64.

64

“In Durban EU Agrees to Apology for Slavery,” International Herald Tribune, 8/9 September 2001.

65

Boven, Theo van (2001), “World Conference Against Racism: An Historic Event?” Netherlands Quarterly of

Human Rights, 19(4) 380.

66

Doorn, J.A.A. van, supra, note 12, p. 5; translated from the original Dutch.

67

Ibid. pp. 39-40; translated from the original Dutch..

68

US News & World Report, 6 April, 1998, p. 7 in: Brooks, Roy L. ed. (1999), When Sorry Isn’t Enough; The

Controversy over Apologies and Reparations for Human Injustice, New York & London: New York University Press, p. 352.

19

Toward Postcolonial Openings: Rereading Sir Banister Fletcher's "History of Architecture" Author(s): Gülsüm Baydar and Nalbantoḡlu Source: Assemblage, No. 35 (Apr., 1998), pp. 6-17 Published by: MIT Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3171235 Accessed: 04-03-2016 16:22 UTC

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1. "Tree of Architecture," frontispiece of Sir Banister Fletcher, A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method for the Student Craftsman, and Amateur, sixteenth edition, 1954

Gi.ilsi.im Baydar Nalbantoglu Toward Postcolonial Openings: Rereading Sir Banister Fletcher's History of Architecture Gi.ilsi.im Baydar Nalbantoglu teaches history and design at Bilkent University, Ankara, Turkey. She is the coeditor of Postcolonial Space(s) (Princeton Architectural Press, 1997).

And this world takes place neither simply inside you nor outside you. It passes from inside to outside, from outside to inside your being. In which should be based the very possibility of dwelling.

Luce lrigaray, Elemental Passions 1

The twentieth edition of Sir Banister Fletcher's monumental A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method for

the Student Craftsman , and Amateur appeared in 1996 and marked the book's one hundredth year of publication. By all standards, History of Architecture has been a canonical text that has played a formative role in the history education of generations of architects in English-speaking institutions. There is something uniquely remarkable about Fletcher's text: unlike other monumental histories (for example, those by Fisher von Erlach or James Fergusson) that now lend themselves predominantly to historiographical analysis, it has been continuously "updated" to preserve its "original" purpose to be one of the most comprehensive surveys of world architecture. The preface to the twentieth edition reads: T he central aim beh ind this edition reflects and continues certain of the key directions established in the nineteenth edition.

T he scope has been widened to include more coverage of architecture from non-European regions and to contain more information abo ut vernacular buildings and engineered structures and works by architect/engineers such as bridges and for-

Assemblage 35:6-17 Š 1998 by the Massachusetts Institute ofTechno1ogy

7

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assemblage 35

tifications. There is also more attention paid, in the part dealing with the twentieth century, to urban design.Z

More non-European coverage, more vernacular buildings, more engineering structures, and more attention to contemporary design: Had it not been for the omission of more women architects, the twentieth edition of Fletcher's book would have been considered most appropriately reformed based on the concerns of the late twentieth century. The final edition bears testimony to the fact that, at least for a considerable fraction of architectural historians, the book's canonical status survives - not surprising given the comprehensiveness achieved by A History of Architecture. 1 As I trace various editorial changes to Fletcher's original text, however, I discover that although the latest edition marks only a quantitative expansion in geographical coverage compared to the previous one, the book had seen a number of significant structural changes prior to that.

Until the fourth edition of 190 I, A History of Architecture had been a relatively modest survey of European styles. The fourth edition, however, appeared with an important difference: This time the book was divided into two sections, "The Historical Styles," which covered all the material from earlier editions, and "The Non-Historical Styles," which included Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Central American, and Saracenic architecture. Curiously, in the posthumously published seventeenth edition of 1961, the two parts were renamed "Ancient Architecture and the Western Succession" and "Architecture in the East," respectively. The nineteenth edition of 1987, on the other hand, consisted of seven parts based on chronology and geographical location. Cultures outside of Europe included "The Architecture of the PreColonial Cultures outside Europe" and "The Architecture of the Colonial and Post-Colonial Periods outside Europe."

Why the restless change in names? What is so (dis)comforting about naming the other? As I work through these

questions, my initial reaction against Fletcher's original categorization of "nonhistorical styles" takes a different turn. As I discover the text(s), I begin to see that what is at stake here is not merely the boundary between Western architecture and its outside, but also between architecture and its outside; between architecture and nonarchitecture. The latter issue has also been addressed by Karen Burns and others in the context of Western architectural thought. 4 In "Architecture: That Dangetotts Useless Supplement," Burns focuses on how the category of building is constituted as "a space continually invoked as outside architecture's own internal space." 5 She surfaces the tenuous nature of the inside/outside boundary of architecture by thinking architecture as an identity category and signification rather than a stable and secure autonomous entity. I argue that historical constructions of the non-West figure at the precarious boundary of (Western) architecture's presumed inside. Moreover, as Fletcher's text discloses, they are reminders of the precarious nature of that very boundary.

My questions multiply: What are the mechanisms that define the inside and the outside of architecture and how do they operate? How are architectural boundaries constructed and on what basis? These are large questions that continuously define and redefine Fletcher's, his successors' and my spaces of writing. Architecture, as a fixed category, becomes a burden. I discover how, through Fletcher's and his successors' work, the boundary between the inner and outer worlds of architecture is carefully maintained for the purposes of disciplinary regulation and control. Working with and through Fletcher's text, I discover that he knew the need to construct a seamless boundary to retain the distinct nature of the inner and outer realms of the discipline.

As I trace Fletcher's world history, I recognize instances that gesture toward something different than Western architecture's tired insistence on constituting the norm; the so-called canon. These isolated instances, I shall argue,

8

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Nalbantoglu

suggest strategies to postcolonial discourses in architecture

proper history desire its lack? The frontispiece of Fletcher's

based on negotiations of incommensurable differences be-

book depicts a tree that "shows the main growth or evolution

tween architectural cultures - an entirely different end that is far beyond Fletcher's aims and scope. Stephen

of the various styles." The "Tree of Architecture" has a very solid upright trunk that is inscribed with the names of Euro-

Cairns makes a similar suggestion in his historiographical analysis of the Javanese house. Based on the historian Wolff Schoemaker's denial of architectural status to the Javanese

pean styles and that branches out to hold various cultural/geographical locations. The nonhistorical styles, which unlike

house, Cairns points to the possibility of reconceiving an

of the tree with no room to grow beyond the seventh-century

architecture of radical difference.6 Fletcher's and his successors' texts mobilize further questions by the ways they incorporate non-Western architectures into their own textual

mark. European architecture is the visible support for

frameworks: How does the inner/outer binary of architectural discourse articulate with the cultural/geographical binary of West/non-West? How do disciplinary boundaries negotiate with geographical, cultural, and political ones?

And, as you wanted words other than those already uttered, words never yet imagined, unique in your tongue, to name you and you alone, you kept on prying me open, further and fmth er open.

Honing and sharpening your instrument, till it was almost imperceptible, pie rcing further into my sile nce. lrigaray, Elemental Passions'

Let me work closer with Fletcher. Coined in his fourth edition of A History of Architecture, the term "Non-Historical Styles" referred to those oth er styles - Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Central Ame rican , and Saracenic - which rema ined detached from Western Art and exercised little direct influence on it.... These nonhistorical styles can scarcely be as interesting from a n architect's point of view as those of Europe, which have progressed by the successive solution of construction proble ms, resolutely met a nd overcome; for in th e East decorative sch emes seem generally to have outweighed all othe r considerations, and in this wo uld appea r to lie the main essential differe nces between Historical a nd Non-Historical Architectures

Why, I ask, should "A History of Architecture" include "nonhistorical architecture" in the first place? Why would

others remain undated, are supported by the "Western" trunk

nonhistorical styles. Nonhistorical styles, grouped together, are decorative additions, they supplement the proper history of architecture that is based on the logic of construction.

It seems strange that Fletcher valorizes and disqualifies non-European styles at the same time. "A history of world's architecture would be incomplete," he says, if he did not review "those other styles." Yet a history of Western architecture, which ought to lack nothing at all in itself, should not require to be supplemented. It seems paradoxical that the desire to be comprehensive and complete carries in itself the destiny of its non-satisfaction. Let me return to the notion of the supplement, in the sense that Jacques Derrida exploits the term . According to him, the supplement is both an addition, an excess, and a substitute that points to a lack in the original e ntity. "Whether it adds or substitutes itself," contends Derrida, "the supplement is exterior, outside of the positivity to which it is super-added, alien to that which, in order to be replaced by it, must be other than it."9 For Fletcher, nonhistorical styles are at once in excess of the conditions of Western history and point to a lack in the essentially complete history of Western architecture.

When they are added on, architectural history becomes both better (complete) and worse (impure).

Like all identities, "Western architecture" and "historical styles" are constructs constituted through the force of excl usion. These are terms that produce a constitutive outside as

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the condition of their existence. The "non" of nonhistorical styles bears the mark of externality. Their reentry into the history of architecture then, points to their role as supplement. "Nonhistorical styles" are signs that are allowed entry to fill up a void. They point to a deficiency in the originary space and yet they are alien to that which they replace.

Fletcher's narrative inadvertently complicates the plenitude that is constructed by the precarious alliance of the terms "architecture" and "Western architecture."

Fletcher superimposes the historical!nonhistorical and West/East dichotomies with another familiar binary categorization of the architectural discipline: structure/ornament.

He opposes the "successive resolution of constructive problems," which characterized Western architectural history, to the "decorative schemes" of the East, which "outweighed all other considerations." Familiar indeed, for at least since Alberti's De re aedificatoria ornament has been relegated an inferior status in Western architecture. It has been associated with dishonesty, impurity, and excessiveness as opposed to the essential nature of structure. My argument is that in Fletcher's discourse, the seemingly cultural basis of the East/West categorization represses an ambivalence about the definition and limits of the architectural discipline. Fletcher states in an unexpectedly apologetic introduction to the nonhistorical styles: Eastern art presents many features to which Europeans are unaccustomed, and which therefore often strike them as unpleasing or bizarre; but it must be remembered that use is second nature, and, in considering the many forms which to us verge on the grotesque we must make allowance for that essential difference between East and West. Ill

It seems interesting that Fletcher momentarily suspends his authorial position in these statements. It is the Europeans who are unaccustomed to Eastern art, which strikes them as unpleasing and bizarre. The potential critical distancing dissolves, however, when he goes on to his analysis of the

nonhistorical styles. He then readily concurs that ornament is acceptable only when it is subordinate to, or in the service of, structure. Overly elaborate decoration, excessive ornamentation is to be relegated to the grotesque. 11 In a strikingly vivid account of Saracenic ornament, for example, Fletcher explains: The craftsman who added the typically Saracenic detail had an almost limitless scope in the combination and permutation of lines and curves, which crossed and recrossed and were laid one over the other, till nothing of the underlying framework was recognisable. There was a restlessness, too, in their decorative style, a striving after excess which is in contrast to the Greek spirit that recognised perfection in simplicity and was content to let a fine line tell its own tale. Thus we find everywhere intricacy instead of simplicity: there are brackets of such tortured forms as to be constructively useless and of such elaborate decoration as to be grotesque.IZ

On Jaina architecture: Sculptured ornament of grotesque and symbolic design, bewildering in its richness, covers the whole structure, leaving little plain wall surface and differing essentially from European art. 11

Then again, on Hindu architecture: This varies in its three local styles, but all have the small 'vimana' or shrine-cell and entrance porch, with the excessive carving and sculpture .... The grandeur of their IBrahman temples! imposing mass produces an impression of majestic beauty, but the effect depends almost wholly on elaboration of surface ornament, rather than on abstract beauty of form, in strong contrast to Greek architecture.!+

I am interested in Fletcher's simultaneous fascination and disdain for non-Western architectures. In his narrative construction, Western architecture is faced with what-it-is-not; non-Western architecture is the symptom of Western architecture. I use the term "symptom" as it is explained by Slavoj Zizek: "If ... we conceive the symptom as it was articulated in the late Lacan - namely, as a particular signifying formation which confers on the subject its very on-

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Nalbantoglu

TABLE OP THI

COMPARATIVE SYSTEM FOR EACH STYLE

t. Influences.

tological consistency, enabling it to structure its basic, con-

I. GEOGRAPHICAL.

stitutive relationship towards fouissance - then the entire

II. GEOLOGICAL.

relationship [between subject and symptom] is reversed : if the symptom is dissolved, the subject itself loses the ground

Ill . CLIMATIC. IV. RELIGIOUS. V. SOCIAL.

under its feet, disintegrates." 11 W hat is important for me he re is the dimension of enjoyment (iouissance) in the

\'1.

symptom. And indeed, Fletcher exposes a momentary

HISTORICAL.

2. Architectural Character.

enjoyme nt in su ch expressions as the "bewildering rich-

3. Examples.

ness" of Jaina architecture and the "majestic beauty" of the Brah man temples. He cannot recover full pleasure from th ese as that would mean to admit the loss of W este rn architecture's self-identification. Hence he reverts to other

4. Comparative Analysis.

Plana, or general arrangement of buildings.

Walls, their construction and treatment. c. Openinca, their character and shape.

1.>. Roofs, their treatment and development.

E. Columna, their position , structure, and decoration.

P. Mouldinc•. their form and decoration.

G. Ornament, as applied in general to any buildinc.

A.

B.

terms that complicate his argument in interesting ways .

"Excessive" and "grotesque" are terms that appear again and again in Fletche r's analysis to indicate undesirable exaggeration . He is equally excited and disturbed at the sight of the lines and curves in Saracenic decoration that cross and re-

5. Reference Books.

cross till the underlying framework is totally written over.

Structure, what gives life to Fletcher's history, is devoured by ornament. T he visible boundary that separates structure from ornament has disappeared and has given rise to the unacceptable, the grotesque. 16 Fletcher's eyes are troubled since they cannot peel off the ornament to reveal what is behind. W hat causes his unease, I would argue, is not the reversion of the structure/ornament pair whereby, in his non-Western examples, the second takes the dominant role: it is the inseparability of the two. M ikhail Bakhtin suggests that in the grotesque, displeasure is caused by the impossible and improbable nature of the image. 17 In architecture, the negation of structure is unimaginable. Yet in the grotesque imagery, the architectural object, defined by structure, transgresses its own confi nes, ceases to be itself. T he demarcation between structure and ornament is dissolved. Reason is threatened.

Beauty becomes unacceptable when it cannot be ordered by reason. Bakhtin's point, however, is that there is a productive ambivalence in the grotesque and hence it cannot be seen

2. "Comparative system for each style"

merely as a negation. In the grotesque, he maintains, the life of one is born from the death of another: "The grotesque body ... is a body in the act of becoming. It is never finished, never completed; it is continually built, created, and builds and creates another body."'x Is it possible, then, that nonhistorical styles create possibilities of another architecture/architectural history that glares at us from the cracks that Fletcher inadvertently exposes in his own analysis?

O n the relatio n between architectural texts and buildi ngs, Mark W igley argues that "the role of the text is to provide the rules with which the building can be controlled, regulations which define the place of every part and control every surface." 19 So far, I have focused on aspects of Fletcher's text that surface a desire that exceeds the bounds of regula-

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assemblage 35

tion and control. As I read it, his discourse is caught up in the tension between the desire for pleasure and the demand

surround, enclose. Excising, cutting out. What is your fear? That you might lose your property. What remains is an empty frame.

You cling to it, dead.

to control for self-preservation. The latter appears in very explicit terms. Fletcher's text is structured by what he calls a "comparative system for each style." This is an astoundingly

lrigaray, Elemental Passions" In 1961 R. A. Cordingley, who revised Fletcher's book for

comprehensive system that controls and regulates every sec-

its seventeenth edition, made a fundamental change in the

tion in the book. What I find interesting is how Fletcher

outline of the book by, as noted above, renaming the two main sections "Ancient Architecture and the Western Suc-

exposes the disciplinary power of his system:

cession" and "Architecture in the East." The scandal of nonhistoricity is erased. East and West are turned into

In considering the many forms which to us verge on the grotesque we must make allowance for that essential difference between East and West which is further accentuated in purely Eastern architecture by those religious observances and social customs of which, in accordance with our usual method, we shall take due cognizance.2o

seemingly neutral geographical categories. Cordingley explains: "The former general heading [The Non-Historical Styles) for Part II was anomalous; the architectures of the

Fletcher recognizes that what appears "unpleasing or bi-

seems to be the most obviously proper statement from a his-

zarre" to European eyes can be made comprehensible by a

torian unexpectedly violates the hidden ambivalence of Fletcher's premises. In revising the book, Cordingley com-

East are just as historical as those of the West." 2+ Yet what

particular method of analysis. The self-consciously distanced grip of Fletcher's method tames the nonhistorical styles by submitting them to the same framework of archi-

pletely rewrote the introduction to the second part and turned it into a brief historical account of the geography of

tectural analysis as the Western ones. Not only East and West but also Indian and Chinese and Renaissance and

Eastern styles. All references to the grotesque, to the exces-

modern turn into conveniently commensurable and hence

siveness of ornamentation, to impropriety, to the unaccustomed Europeans, and the qualifications of unpleasing and

comparable categories. Fletcher's text is clearly marked by the nineteenth-century interest in the non-West, which

bizarre are erased. I would argue that in trying to eliminate Fletcher's seemingly negative qualifications for the East,

carries the double burden of curiosity and control.2 1 His

Cordingley erased all traces of potentially critical openings

totalizing history, however, bears the mark of its own impos-

in the earlier version.

sibility; his gaze witnesses its own historiographical violence prior to his appropriation of the non-West into his comparative method. 22 What I am interested in here is not the criticism of Fletcher's method per se, but his momentary recognition of how his framework violates difference; how the writing of history makes history.

Could it be that what you have is just the frame, not the property?

Not a bond with the earth but merely this fence that you set up, implant wherever you can? You mark out boundaries, draw lines,

The two succeeding editions introduced further changes.

In 1975 James Palmes eliminated all broad classifications and provided a straight run of forty chapters. 2s Following the first chapter on Egyptian architecture, eight chapters cover all the non-Western sections. The "pure" continuity of Western styles from ancient Greece to the twentieth century is preserved. Non-Western sections are almost relegated a "pre-Western" status. Yet this is not the result of a chronological logic to the outline, since, for example, the section on India and Pakistan stretches to the eighteenth

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century. Palmes gives no explanations for his changes how-

cultures can be aligned on the same plane of reference;

ever, and the format was again changed in 1984, when John

compared and contrasted by the tools of the historian. This

Musgrove publishe d the nineteenth edition of the book. 26

multiculturalist approach comes from well-intentioned posi-

Musgrove's sections are strictly chronological. Three of the

tions against prejudice and stereotype. It covers over, how-

seven parts cover non-Western architectures: parts three,

ever, issues of incommensurable difference and problems of

four, and seven, entitled, respectively, "The Architecture of

representation that prevail at every cultural encounter.

Islam and Early Russia," "The Architecture of the Pre-Colonial Cultures outside Europe," and "The Architecture of the Colonial and Post-Colonial Periods outside Europe." 27 For the first time, "The Architecture of the Twentieth Century" covers Africa, China, Japan, and South and South-East Asia together with Western Europe.

Fletcher's text is multilayered and complex. At first sight, it displays arrogant colonialism by naming non-Western architectural cultures "nonhistorical. " This is the level by which his successors engage with Fletcher, to correct his prejudiced approach. At another level, by including non-Western architectures in his "comparative approach" he adopts a

Both Palmes's and Musgrove's revisions of A History of Ar-

multiculturalist perspective, with all its inherent problems.

chitecture consolidate Cordingley's response to Fletcher's

This is the level where his successors collaborate with him.

classification 28 All attempts to rename Fletcher's historical!

They expand on Fletcher's text and make additions based on

nonhistorical categories in the later editions of his book are

latest archaeological and historical findings, but do not chal-

attempts to overcome a fundamental difficulty that Fletcher

lenge his comparative framework. I argue that there remains

had discovered and had quickly covered over. The seem-

another way of engaging with Fletcher's text, capturing the

ingly innocent categories of West/East (geographical ) and

brief moment that makes it possible to think cultural/architec-

precolonial/postcolonial (chronological) do not disclose the

tural difference. Fletcher offers this moment when he displays

ambiguities inherent in the loaded terms historical and

his unease with his own approach ; when he shows both fasci-

nonhistorical. Cordingley, Palmes, and Musgrove normalize

nation and disdain for the nonhistorical styles; when he speaks

what Fletcher had found problematic but had failed to

ambivalently of the excess, the grotesque, the bizarre. The first

problematize. Their premises are based on cultural diversity

and second historiographical instances, of arrogant denial and

rather than cultural difference. Cultural diversity, according to Homi Bhabha, is a category of comparative ethics and aes-

tamed equality, violate difference: the first in a blatantly obvious way; the second with the best liberal intentions. T he com-

thetics that emphasizes liberal notions of multiculturalism

plicity between these two seemingly very different approaches

and cultural exchange. Cultural difference, on the other

cannot be overlooked, however. This is made strikingly obvi-

hand, "focuses on the problem of the ambivalence of cul-

ous in the library copy of Fletcher's sixteenth edition that I

tural authority: the attempt to dominate in the name of a cultural supremacy which is itself produced only in the moment of differentiation."29 Cordingley, Palmes, and

have been working on, not by Fletcher, but by an imprudent previous reader. As a mark of apparent impatience with the derogatory implications of the term "nonhistorical styles," a blue

Musgrove consolidate Fletcher's framework, which, to be

mark has crossed out the term "non" from the title of the sec-

sure, is also predominantly based on cultural diversity but

ond section - a crude replication, one might say, of what

offers momentary possibilities to think cultural difference.

The underlying premise in all four versions of the text is that

Cordingley and his successors had done in a scholarly manner. But here violence takes a further step. I was astonished to

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assemblage 35

As the title of my article suggests, and as I have implied throughout my analysis, a certain reading of Fletcher's text surfaces strategies to postcolonial discourse by way of recognizing the impossibility of containing the other in one's own terms of reference. Fletcher gestures toward a discourse that involves the staging of his positionality and that marks discontinuities among knowledges. He gestures toward questions about the validity of taking Western history as the necessary norm and the measure of architectural judgment. I want to emphasize, however, that my reading of Fletcher has been intentionally partial. I have only looked at one aspect of the work that, I think, has critical significance in cultural representations in architecture. I have not, for example, dealt with Fletcher's premises based on assumptions of an autonomous, formal, linear, and progressive history of Western architecture.

Then again, my analysis is based on a particular reading of the term "architecture," not as an a priori and self-evident

3. Anonymous reader's marks

category but as a signification. 12 Only then could I begin to question the underlying claims that have supported see the same blue mark appearing on the facing page, on top of the map of India, this time crossing out the word "Tibet" to replace it with "China." The page stares at me as a marker of a continuing question of inclusions and exclusions, representation and naming. It also reminds me of the importance of Derrida's proposal that the problem is not to show the interiority of what had been believed as the exterior, but rather "to speculate upon the power of exteriority as constitutive of interiority." 10

An opening of openness. An encounter of countries and of clearings laying out an other, others, which create air, light, time.

There is always more place, more places, unless they are immediately appropriated. lrigaray, Elemental Passions 11

architecture's self-proclaimed autonomy - its presumed "inside." Fletcher's survey does not, in any way, provide

the paradigm for Western historiography's treatment of non-Western architectures. No work can take on such a charge. It does, however, contain a number of threads that can be productively woven into larger issues that address postcoloniality. Let me retrace these points with reference to Fletcher and from a broader perspective.

At one level, Fletcher's text contains traces of awareness of its own textuality. It shows that only a particular methodological rigor of thought, a textual framework, can contain his version of a history of world architecture; but only at a cost of interpretive violence. This framework is a representational tool that consolidates all reference and meaning in one's (in this case, nineteenth-century Western historiography's) own terms; it refuses to recognize the irreducibility

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of the other to the terms of the self. Cordingley, Palmes, and

theory? And, then again, is it possible to speak of an inside

Musgrove do exactly this by erasing all traces of ambivalence

and an outside to architecture? Or do these categories con-

from the earlier text. They subject an entire world history of architecture into a singular machinery that eventually re-

sist of historically constituted relational terms made in and through language? My reading of the story of Fletcher's

duces all difference to chronology and geography. In his analysis of non-Western architectures, Fletcher introduces

book attempts to understand how the category of the nonWest is produced and restrained by a particular thread in

his readers to such terms as nonhistorical and grotesque,

Western historiography. The same category operates in very

which disturb the logos of his text. He exposes what exceeds

different ways in other historiographical approaches or, say,

and cannot be contained by his framework. He uses terms that are impossible to assimilate in his logic but that are necessary for it to function. Non-Western architectures exert an

ences of Africa, Asia, and South and Central America have not h eld the same position in relation to any given center.';

unsettling force on the apparent claims and concerns of Fletcher's enterprise. In doing so, they enable him to surface

And architecture has not had a clearly demarcated inside and outside. I am not making the impossible suggestion of

regionalist discourses. Similarly, the (post)colonial experi-

enjoyment and desire; elements customarily suppressed by

simply ignoring these categories and binary constructs. The

disciplinary regulations and control. Furthermore, Fletcher straightforwardly declares his subject position - as a West-

boundaries that demarcate them , however, "are much more porous and less fixed and rigid than is commonly un-

erner and as a scholar - in naming non-Western architec-

derstood , and one side of the border is always already in-

tural cultures. Awareness is a necessary but not sufficient

fected by the other. Binarized categories offer possibilities

condition of critique, however. As Gayatri Spivak argues, "if

of reconnections and realignment in different systems." 16

you make it your task not only to learn what is going on there [outside the Western centers] through language, through spe-

The task, then , is to work with these possibilities toward those positive moments that disrupt the categorical bound-

cific programs of study, but also at the same time through a historical critique of your position as the investigating person,

aries imposed on other cultures, to listen and attend to what is silenced by and expelled from them .

then you will see that you have earned the right to criticize, and you will be heard."" The question here is not, who is entitled to write about what? The issue of cultural representation cannot simply be reduced to that of Western or nonWestern scholars writing their own history. Ethical positions

of enunciation are irreducible to nationality, ethnicity, or race. Yet representing others, speaking in the name of others, is a problem, and as Spivak reminds us, "it has to be kept alive as a problem."H What I find interesting in Fletcher is that he "points to" the problem in explicit ways.

Working through various editions of A History of Architecture, m y premise has been that writing postcoloniality in architecture does not merely entail an engagement with previously colonized cultures; it is but one of the many practices that make it possible to engage with the boundaries that guard architecture's cultural and disciplinary presuppositions; boundaries that remain intact through certain exclusionary practices that remain unquestioned once the institutional structure of the discipline is established. Writ-

Lastly, on categorization: Is it at all possible to speak of the

ing postcoloniality in a rc hitecture questions architecture's intolerance to difference, to the unthought, to its outside.

non-West as a category as opposed to the West? Is it possible to speak of a postcolonial experience, approach,

For it embraces the premise that "when the other speaks, it is in other terms."' ~

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assemblage 35

Notes I would like to thank Mirjana Lozanovska , Karen Burns, and Stephen Cairns for th e ir inspiring comments during the final stages of my work on this arti cle. An ea rli er and slightly different version of the article appeared in the Journal of Southeast Asian Architecture I (Septembe r 1996): 3-11. The argument here was presented at th e Society of Architectural Historian's meeting in Baltimore , 16-20 Aprill997, in the session entitled "Confronting the Canon," chaired by Robe rta M. Moudry and Christian F. Otto.

I . Luce lrigaray, Elemental Passio ns, trans. joanne Collie and judith Still (London: Athlone Press, 1992 ), 47.

2. Dan Cruickshank, ed. , Sir Banister Fletcher's A History of Architecture (Oxford: Architectural Press, 1996), xx iii.

3. The disciplin e of architectural history seems to have re main ed ambivalent about th e status of Fl etcher's history. In 1970, for example, Bruce Allshop was highly critical of th e book's methodology and declared that it "reflects th e decline of architectural historical thinking. " In 1980 David Watkin , who apparently me rited the book on its "antiquarian" va lue , wrote that "probably it is in the end unfair to cavil at a book which generations of architectural students have evidently found so helpful ," a nd credited its importance in "th e recognition of th e study of the history of architecture as an essential part of a liberal education ." See Bruce Allshop, Th e Study of Architectural History (London: Studio Vista, 1970), 67, a nd David Watkin, The Rise of Architectural History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 87.

4. See Karen Burns, "Architecture: That Dangeiom Useless Supplement," in the proceedings of the conferenc e Accessory/ Architecture, held in Auckland, New Zealand, july 1995, 49-56.

Eliza beth Grosz, following th e Deleuzian notion of th e outside as th e unthought, questions whether it is possibl e for architecture to ask what is different from and beyond it; see "Architecture from the Outside," in Space, Time, and Perver-

sion: Essays on the Politics of Bodies (New York: Routledge, 1995 ), 125-37. See also judith Butler, Gender Trouble (New York: Routl edge, 1990 ), 128-41 , where she addresses the instability of th e inner/outer binary in the construction of sexed identities.

5. Burns, "Architecture: That fhm-. gerom Useless Supplement," 54.

6. Stephen Cairns, "Resurfac ing: Architecture, Wa ya ng , and the Javan ese House," in Postcolonial Space(s), ed. Giilslim Baydar Nalbantoglu and Wong Chong Thai (New York: Princ eton Architectural Press, 1997) , 73- 88.

7. lrigaray, Elemental Passions, 9.

8. Sir Banister Fletch er, A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method for the Student Craftsman, and Amateur, 16th ed.

(London: B. T. Batsford Ltd., 1954 ), 888. Henceforth, all quotations from Fletcher will be taken from this edition.

9. Jacques D e rrida , Of Grammatology, tran s. Cayatri Chakravorty Spivak (London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976), 145.

I 0. Fletche r, A History of Architecture , 888 (e mphases mine ).

II. Fletch er uses th e term "grotesque" som etimes in a strictly art-

historical sense, referrin g to th e kind of classical ornament that consists of medallions, sphinxes, foliage, and the like. At other times, he reve rts to its nontec hnical use, impl ying incongruity, strangeness, preposterousness , and irrationality. Here I am interested in the latter instances.

12 . Fletcher, A History of Architecture, 961 (e mphases mine ).

13. Ibid , 893.

14. Ibid . (e mphasis min e).

15 . Sl avoj Zizek, "Symptom," in

Feminism and Psychoanalysis: A Critical Dictionary, ed. Elizabeth Wright (Oxford: Basil Blackwell , 1992 ), 426. Ray Chow, too , uses this explanation in term s of the relation betwee n the native and th e white man , but not in terms of enjoyme nt and desire; see Writing

Diaspora: Tactics o{Intervention in Contemporary Studies (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 30-31.

16. The structure/ornament distinction in W estern architectural disco urse has bee n studied by a numbe r of contemporary th eorists.

Mark Wigley, for exampl e, discusses Alberti's desc ription of a building skin made up of coats of plaster, which cover the building elements.

Wigl ey argues that this white skin mainta ins a visible line between stru cture and deco ration. His focu s is on the production of gender in architectural texts: "The feminin e materiality of the building is given a masc ulin e order and then masked off by a white skin .. .. The white surface both produces gender and masks th e sce ne of that production, literally subordinating the feminine by drawing a line, placing the ornament just as the walls place the possess ions in th e house. The ornament becomes a possess ion of th e structure, subj ec t to its order" (" Untitled:

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The Housing of Gender," in Sexuality and Space, eel. Beatriz Colomina [New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1992 ], 354 ).

17. Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, trans. Helene lswolsky (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984 ), 303-67.

18. Ibid, 317.

19. Wigl ey, "Untitl ed ," 353.

20. Fletcher, A History of Architecture , 888 (emphases mine ).

21. This point has been brought to my attention by Mirjana Loza novska.

22. In a different context, Ray Chow writes about "a mode of und erstanding th e native in which th e native's existence i. e., an existence before beco ming ' native' - preced es the arrival of the colonizer." She argues that, feeling "looked at" by th e native's gaze, th e colonizer becomes "consc ious" of himse lf, which produces him as subj ect and the native as image . See Chow, Writing Diaspora, 51.

23. lriga ray, Elemental Passions, 25.

24. R. A. Cordingley, ed., preface to A History of Architecture on the Co mparative Method [by Sir Banister Fletcher], 17th ed. (London: Athlone Press, 1961 ), ix .

25. Jam es C. Palmes, ed. , A History of Architecture [by Sir Banister Fletcher], 18th ed. (London: Athlone Press, 1975 ).

26. John Musgrove, eel. , Sir Banister Fletcher's History of Architecture, 19th eel. (London : Butte rworths, 1987).

27. Musgrove's use of th e term "post-co lonial " is strictl y historical and does not th eo riz e the

Nalbantoglu

(post)colonial architecture of the non-Western world. In th e related chapter, it refers spec ifically to Latin America after Spanish and Portuguese rule.

28. At some level, all three authors' changes to Fletcher's text can be related to th e post-1950s historiographical commitments of relating architecture to larger societal phenomena ; reactions against the exclusion of anonymous urban and rural environments from architectural history; and th e em erging disappointment with mod ern Western architecture. As Dell Upton has informed me, for example, Corclingley was a leading figure in studies on English vernacular architecture. T he analysis of th e prec ise nature of these links falls bevond th e scope of th e present essay.

29. Homi Bhabha, "The Commitm e nt to Theory," in The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994), 34.

30. Derrida, OfGrammatology, 313.

31. lrigaray, Elemental Passions, 59.

32. Again, se e Burns, "Architecture: That Dangttotts Useless Supplement."

nations , stating that "the concept of th e 'post-coloni al' must be interroga ted and contextualized historically, geopolitically, and culturally. . .. Flexibl e yet critical usage which can address the politics of location is important not only for pointing out historical and geographical contradictions and differences but al so for reaffirming historical and geographical Iinks, structural analogies, and openings for agency and resi stance. " I find much of her criticism verv pertinent to architectural studies.

36. Elizabeth Grosz, "Architecture from the Outside," in Anyplace, eel. Cynthia C. Davidson (Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1995 ), 19.

37. Jennife r Bloomer, "D'or," in

Sexua lity and Space, 168.

Figure Credits 1-3. Sir Ban ister Fletcher, A History of Architecture 011 the Comparative Method for the Student Craftsman , and Amateur, 16th eel.

(Londo n: B. T. Batsford Ltd., 1954).

33. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, "Questions of Multi-culturalism," interview with Sneja Gunev, in The Post-Colonial Critic, eel. Sarah Harasym (New York: Routl edge, 1990), 62 .

34. Ibid., 63.

35. Som e of the problems with the use of "postcolonial" are addressed in Ella Shohat, "Notes on the PostColonial," Social Text !0 ( 1992): 99- I 13. Shohat questions the ahistorical and unive rsalizing deployments of the term a nd its problematic spatiote mporal clesig-

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The Teaching of Architectural History and Theory in Belgium and the Netherlands HILDE HEYNEN AND KRISTA DEJONGE Katholieke U niversiteit Leuven

Belgium and the Netherlands shared a common history up to the late sixteenth century, and together they were known as the Low Countries. Since the Reformation, however, they developed as separate entities and the results of that separation are quite visible. Although they still share a language (Dutch is spoken in the northern half of Belgium as well as in the Netherlands), there are remarkable differences in terms of culture and architecture. The differences in the education of architects are so strong that we can speak of two educational models. Both countries are internationally oriented and rapidly pick up new trends, but the Belgian culture has a sort of inertia, which ensures that changes in the educational system occur less quickly but in a well-considered manner. Both countries also had colonies- Belgian Congo, and Dutch Indonesia and Surinam-and both are still in the process of coming to terms with their, again very different, experiences in colonial planning and architecture.

The Institutional Landscape Historically the schools of architecture in Belgium and the Netherlands have quite different backgrounds, which have produced very distinct teaching philosophies and curricula.

In both countries, we find architecture departments in universities as well as non-university architecture schools. In the Netherlands, university architecture students are concentrated in two huge departments in so-called technical universities, one of which (Delft) grew out of a former polytechnical school, whereas the other (Eindhoven) is rather new. 1 The technical universities educate engineer-architects as well as other engineers, but they do not offer separate curricula in the humanities or sciences. In Belgium, by contrast, there are numerous small engineering faculties, which belong to universities that comprise all disciplines. 2 Both countries also have a tradition of non-university architecture schools. In the Netherlands, these schools are called "academies" and offer part-time education for people who are already working in architectural offices. In a period of five years, students can obtain an architecture degree by taking courses and studios for about two days a week. This part-time model is unknown in Belgium, where there are

many day schools that offer a five-year curriculum leading to the degree of architect. Some of these architecture schools were established in the late nineteenth century as part of the Catholic neo-Gothic movement (these are the so-called St. Luke schools),3 and others developed out of Beaux-Arts academies (such as the Hoger Instituut voor Architectuurwetenschappen Henry van de Velde [Higher Institute of Architectural Sciences Henry van de Velde] in Antwerp, which traces its origins back to the foundation of the Koninklijke Academie voor Schone Kunsten van Antwerpen on July 16, 1663), or have a more recent history (for example, the Institut La Cambre, established in 192 8 by Henry van de Velde as a new school offering a modernist curriculum). 4 Apart from these architecture schools, both Belgium and the Netherlands have art history departments in the major universities, where courses in architectural history are taught. There is one such department in the Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, which offers a complete curriculum leading to the degree of architectural historian; the Universiteit Utrecht and the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam both offer a specialization in architectural history following basic training in art history within the art history department, and the degree awarded is in art history. The other art history departments in both countries deal with architectural history as part of a broader curriculum that focuses on the fine arts. In most universities, the art history departments and the architecture departments function quite separately from one another, apart from an occasional sharing of elective courses. Notwithstanding some interesting exceptions, the professors teaching architectural history in the art history departments typically tend to be art historians, whereas those teaching in the architecture departments and in the non-university schools of architecture most often are architects with a supplementary degree or a Ph.D. in architectural history.

The Bologna declaration of 1999 has caused turmoil in the landscape of higher education all over Europe. Due to their very different historical backgrounds, the systems of higher education in countries such as Great Britain, France, Germany, and Italy are organized in fundamentally diverTEACHING TH E HISTOR Y OF ARC HITECTUR E

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gent ways and lead to degrees that are not comparable among countries. In order to equalize the degree system, the countries of the European Union agreed in Bologna to impose the bachelor-master's format for all curricula in institutions of higher education in the member states. Most schools are now in the process of transforming their curricula according to the new exigencies. Whereas most architecture programs until now were organized on a 2 + 3 year basis and expected their students to remain in the same institute for the full five years of their education, they now have to revise their offerings into a 3 + 2 year scheme. After three years of study, students should earn a bachelor's degree, which they can supplement with a master's degree, to be obtained from the same or another school or university. This new condition is meant to enhance national and international mobility among students and to stimulate more exchange among institutes. It will be fully implemented by 2009.

Two Educational Models In comparing the educational programs of Belgian and Dutch architecture schools and art history departments, two facts immediately come to the fore. 5 First, the curricula in architectural history in the Belgian architecture schools usually are quite elaborate and more or less independent from studio teachings, whereas the technical universities in the Netherlands offer a less extensive program in terms of separate courses but tend to integrate their history teaching with the studio teaching. 6 A second striking difference is the presence in the Belgian programs of series of courses called "Architectural Theory" (or something similar), whereas these offerings are conspicuously absent from the Dutch programs. Both observations are historically grounded.

The first tendency-integrated history and studio teaching in the Netherlands versus separate courses in Belgium-has to do with the special formula of "project education," which was created in D elft in the aftermath of 1968. Instead of the conventional program in which the content of the different courses is established independent from that of the studios, project education is organized as a series of separate study periods in which students focus on a particular project that has to do with a concrete societal issue. All coursework, reading, and studio work is designed with this specific issue in mind. Delft has gradually exchanged its socially oriented project education for "problem-based learning," which focuses less on societal issues but has a similar setup in terms of "modules," in which courses, seminars, and studio are meant to form an integrated whole. The Delft model of problem-based learning 336

has been influential in the Dutch academies, but Eindhoven has explicitly decided not to follow it. Although Eindhoven also organizes studio work in terms of modules, it has retained the more conventional model of offering separate, systematically developed courses within different disciplines. 7 The general emphasis in Eindhoven is on technical and functional aspects of building, and this tendency only intensified after the retirement in 1993 of Geert Bekaert, the greatly respected historian and eminence grise of architectural criticism in Belgium and the Netherlands. For this reason, the present group of history professors in Eindhoven has aimed at strategically reinforcing the position of architectural history by linking it rather closely to the design studios, which has resulted in a situation not that different from Delft.

As a result of the options selected in developing the programs at Delft and Eindhoven, Dutch architecture students have seriously suffered in terms of the completeness and thoroughness of their education in architectural history. Most of their history professors are not very happy with the current results (some even state that recently graduated Dutch architects lack all historical awareness). Thus, they are working hard to remedy the situation in the present transition toward the bachelor-master format by reintroducing more survey courses, which are separate from the studio teaching. This trend can be observed in Delft and Eindhoven. In the Dutch academies, architectural history will probably retain its position as a "supporting" discipline, meaning that no complete coverage is intended and that the main focus is on how architectural history can be informative or even instrumental in design.

Most Belgian schools did not comply with the radical transformation of the educational model in terms of either project education or problem-based learning, and adhered to the older idea of teaching different domains as separate trajectories that hopefully, at some point, will come together in the heads of the students. Consequently, they have continued to make extensive room for courses in architectural history, which can be estimated to carry at least twice (or even three times) the weight granted them in the Dutch curricula. The Universite Catholique de Louvain, Belgium, is the only one that has recently revised its program to conform explicitly to the trend of problem-based learning, combining studios with seminars where knowledge of the past must be applied to design practice. A much greater variety of separate (and sometimes optional) courses on history of architecture and urbanism nevertheless continues to be offered than in the Dutch schools.

The second tendency- the presence in Belgium versus the absence in the Netherlands of"theory"-emerges from

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the same phenomenon of inertia in Belgium versus more rapid transformation in the Netherlands. In the old BeauxArts architecture program, there was a course known as "Architectonic Composition" or "Elements of Architecture." It survived in most Belgian schools either as straightforward architectural theory, design theory, or "actualia" (an introductory course dealing with topical themes from the ongoing architectural debate). The concrete understanding of what theory is all about might differ from school to school, but usually it means an approach to architecture based on a discussion of texts and buildings, which are presented in a thematically coherent way rather than in a strict chronology. For instance, in many schools it is in the theory courses that students are confronted with recent phenomena such as postmodernism or deconstructivism, or that they learn about the different understandings of the city by Aldo Rossi and Rem Koolhaas.

In the Netherlands, this official differentiation between history and theory is not made, which usually means that the history courses are also supposed to cover theoretical themes. The result is a curriculum of architectural history that tends to give considerably more importance to the twentieth century than to earlier periods in history. This is not only true of the architecture schools, but also, to some extent, of the art historical department in Groningen, which proudly claims to be the only one-that is, in the field of art history in the Netherlands-to specialize in the architecture and urbanism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (a specialization that is nevertheless based on a broad overview of Western architecture from classical antiquity to the present). This specialization is largely due to the impact of Ed Taverne, who in the 1990s almost single-handedly revitalized the waning architectural debate in the Netherlands by introducing many important themes and approaches, such as the Italian discourse on urbanism by Bernardo Secchi and Stephana Boeri.

ing programs in architectural history. While a great variety can be noted on the levels of methodological focus, scope, and subject matter between individual institutions and even within them, between individual courses there does seem to be a common ground, possibly due to the survival oflatenineteemh-century educational ideals. Naturally, since in most university towns architectural history is very visibly present in the form of a considerable number of historical buildings and monuments, this common ground has to do with the attempt to teach a canon that is in tune with the local history.

Reconstructing the Canon At first glance, the concept of the standardized canon does not enjoy great popularity, in spite of the fact that most, if not all, schools we examined orient themselves primarily toward the common Western European (and for the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, also the North American) tradition. It is rather the ideal of the encyclopedia that underlies most basic courses in the history of (Western) architecture. Such overviews share an emphasis on broad stylistic movements, with all the methodological pitfalls the use of stylistic concepts such as "Romanesque," "Gothic," "Renaissance," "Baroque," "Classicism," and the neo-styles entails. As we can deduct from many syllabi, these courses do not aim mainly at the presentation of a canon; the overview- often deprecatingly called "thematic" instead of "complete"- does not seem normative on the surface. Nevertheless, the core list of examples, which illustrates each movement or period, seems fairly standard and often recurs from one school to another. 8 Many schools use D avid Watkin's A History of Western Architecture (London, 1986), which is available in a good Dutch translation at a low price; these facts might explain some of the similarities among lists. Other "best-sellers" are Jean Castex's Renaissance, Baroque et Classicisme: Histoire de !'architecture, 1420-1720

Tendencies In this section, we will focus primarily on the architects' curriculum. This is not just because of the abundance of material these institutions made available to us, but mainly because they dominate the current debate on architectural history, especially in Belgium. T here, the center of gravity for research in the field lies without doubt with the chairs of architectural history in the engineering faculties at the universities, and in the non-university schools of architecture.

In the N etherlands, an important part of the research is concentrated in the departments of art history of Groningen, Utrecht, and Amsterdam, which have important teach-

(Paris, 1990), which favors a typological approach to the early modern period, and Kenneth Frampton's Modern Architecture: A Critical History (London, 1980), both of which have also been translated into Dutch. While most schools and universities in both countries start with broad, chronological overviews in the first semester of the curriculum, some have abandoned this traditional ordering of knowledge in favor of a stronger emphasis, at the beginning, on a more recent past, that is, the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.9 The variety and scope of the subfields within this encyclopedia can also differ greatly from one school to another.

The Belgian universities and schools tend to treat the hisTE AC HIN G THE HISTOR Y OF AR C HITE CTURE

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Figure 1 True-scale models of architect ural

details, used by Joris Helleputte in teaching architecture at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven and the Universite Catholique de Louvain from 1873 to 1911

tory of architecture (on the scale of the individual building) and the history of urbanism separately, in some cases from antiquity through today, and in others up to the nineteenth century. In the non-university schools, the encyclopedia is usually completed by excursions into the realms of art history, interior and furniture design, and garden history. 10 T he university curriculum, which is heavier on the hard sciences and engineering, does not always seem to have room for all these different aspects. 11 Instructive comparisons may be made with the architectural history curricula in the Belgian and Dutch art history departments. Most of them build upon the general knowledge of art and architecture the students have already acquired (during introductory courses for one year at Gronin gen and two years elsewhere). T he program offered to undergraduate art historians at Utrecht, Groningen, and Amsterdam as a specialization in architectural history explicitly covers several topics: architecture, urbanism, interior design and garden design, as well as building history (linked to the field of heritage conservation) and history of architectural theory. In Leiden, Leuven, Gent, Brussels, and Louvain, the courses are more limited, since there is no separate specialization in architectural history, and many of them are elective.

There is also a difference in terms of the teaching personnel. Generally speaking, the current rule seems to be that art historians teach architectural history to future art historians, and architects to future architects. T here are, however, interesting crossovers, one of them-at the universities of Leuven/Louvain-even of long institutional standing. U ntil a few decades ago, the Dutch-speaking Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (KULeuven) and its French-speaking sister, the U niversite Catholique de Louvain, shared many characteristics, a fact explained by their common origin.12 However, while in Leuven all teachers of architectural history are architects, as was the case in the late nineteenth century, during the tenure of the famous 338

neo-Gothic architect ]oris Helleputte, 13 and separate courses are offered by the same professors to art historians and to architects, in Louvain, the architects join the art historians and the archaeologists for a basic, encyclopedic overview of Western architecture. However, the architecture of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, covered from different angles-Belgian architecture, Western architecture-and urban history-which focuses on the cities of the West- are seen exclusively as architects' specialties.

Variations on a Theme The additions to the core list betray individual preferences within the general framework of the encyclopedia. Overall, the available surveys, which are translations of books originally published in London or Paris, show a very uneven geographic distribution of examples. The particular biases of these volumes thus have to be compensated for by the teacher, in accordance with his or her particular interest. 14 Such local "accents" are usually closely linked to research programs in the school, and as such, they reflect the scholarly interests of those groups. T hese focuses naturally become even more evident in the specialized (elective) courses and seminars, which build upon the basic encyclopedia and are usually thematic.

In many Belgian schools today, an area of particular interest is Belgian architecture of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, which is the subject of a variety of courses.

The universities of Leuven, Gent, and Brussels see the fields of architectural history, architectural theory, history of urbanism, and architectural criticism as distinct disciplines, which means that the twentieth century is covered, variously, in the historical encyclopedia, both architectural and urban, in theoretical discourse, and in the courses on architectural criticism (actualia). Interest in the architecture of the Low Countries before 1800 is, on the contrary, rare and

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Figure 2 Louis de Koninck, house in Uccle, 1929,

as published in Emulation 49, no. 2 (1929), 22.

Belgian modernism is the focus of general and specialized courses in many Belgian schools.

in practice largely limited to Groningen (architectural history program), Utrecht (art history program, specialization in architectural history), and Leuven (art history and architecture programs).

Shifting Paradigms This shift toward the present explains the gradual convergence, which is evident on closer analysis of recent program changes, of the syllabi of architectural history in Belgian and Dutch schools, for example, the programs at the Universiteit Gent and at Eindhoven. Generally speaking, however, courses on twentieth-century architecture in Belgian schools remain more firmly embedded in a historical perspective and are seen as quite distinct from criticism of present-day architecture and theory, while this frontier seems more fluid and permeable in Dutch schools. The specific background of the situation in the Netherlands, where history courses are thought of as "support" for design, accounts for the shifts in emphasis from history proper toward theory. These changes are clearly indicated in the syllabi from Eindhoven and Delft. At both schools, theoretical issues are often embedded in courses titled "history."

At Eindhoven, for example, an overview from antiquity to the present is followed by a more detailed survey of modem architecture in the twentieth century, and is complemented by two courses on the relationship between fine art and architecture, mainly of the past fifty years, by courses on the relationship between design, theory, and history, and by an exercise on writing about architecture. The general pref-

erence for concentrating on twentieth-century topics is now almost universally present in Dutch as well as in Belgian schools of architecture, with the notable exception of Mons.

Some of the conclusions about the Belgian research tradition in architectural history formulated by Luc Verpoest in 1986 can still be applied to the curricula in that field, most notably a dearth of interest in questions of historical methodology, as evidenced by the absence of courses and seminars explicitly devoted to that subject. 15 The Leuven program includes a course with such a title, but it is intended for art historians only. In the Netherlands, too, methodological and historiographical issues are only addressed as such in the art history departments, and neatly ignored in the architecture schools. Generally speaking, in most departments of architecture the questioning of historical paradigms seems reserved for courses on modernism-which then mostly situate themselves in the field of architectural theory-in the wake of Manfredo Tafuri and other writers who exposed the underlying assumptions of historians such as Sigfried Giedion and Nikolaus Pevsner.

The emergence of the postmodemist discussion in the late 1970s and early 1980s gave rise to a new historical consciousness, which often played out as a reconsideration of the modernist heritage, in both buildings and teaching methods. Students are told that there is not one but rather many traditions, and that there is not one way of looking at history, but many. A serious discussion of the implications of this understanding for the methodology of architectural history, however, is dealt with only in advanced courses.

In the art history departments, methodological issues TEACHING T HE HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE

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are usually introduced not through a postmodernist theoretical awareness, but in the courses on building archaeology. The method of the architectural historian is thus identified with the archaeological method only, following the nineteenth-century tenets, which underlaid the older Belgian and Dutch historiography. On this point, the new tendencies in the field of history have not yet completed their crossover to the teaching of architectural history, especially not for the pre-nineteenth-century period.

Broadening the View None of the institutions examined here systematically offer courses on non-Western (European and North American) architecture as part of the basic package. The canon, hidden or not, does not comprise "world" architecture. Depending on the personal bent of the teacher, an excursion into the matter or an optional course might be offered. An interest in colonial architecture has given rise to remarkable research programs and doctoral dissertations. Some researchers in Leiden and Delft are studying colonial architecture in Indonesia, mostly in terms of its value as cultural heritage, whereas recent dissertations in Gent and Leuven have focused on the export of Belgian modernism to Congo, where architects and planners encountered fewer constraints on and greater challenges to their talents.16 The results of these explorations have not yet penetrated into the basic curricula, but are treated as specialized knowledge to be dealt with in advanced courses. In Leiden, for instance, future art historians can opt for a module dealing with colonial issues, whereas such research also underlies some of the courses offered at the Postgraduate Center Human Settlements of KULeuven (a program that addresses an international group of students at the postgraduate level). In the PGCHS, some attention is paid to methodological issues inspired by postcolonial theories, but, again, the impact of such initiatives is far from being strong enough to influence the setup of the basic curriculum. The new COMWAS (COMparative World Architecture Studies) master program, offered jointly by the Universiteit Leiden and TU Eindhoven and planned to start in 2002, explicitly focuses on "World Architecture" in a comparative perspective oriented toward an iconographic approach (the latter is in fact a Lei den specialty). It is not clear yet to what degree issues of colonialism and postcolonial theory will be fundamental to this new program.

Feminist and gender studies have made their entrance in some of the schools under consideration, but usually only on the level of elective courses. In Delft, there is an active group called Women Studies, which organizes a six-week 340

module combining individual project work, seminars, and workshops. Within this module, there might be, for example, a history seminar concentrating on gender issues as apparent in the history of housing in the Netherlands. In Leuven, the gender approach is dealt with in the courses on architectural theory and forms the core topic of the most advanced elective course, which focuses on "architecture, gender, domesticity." Related to this course, some thesis work is being done that examines the role of women in Belgian architecture. In general, it can be stated that gender studies has made its impact on the formulation of research topics (in that, for instance, current projects on architecture in the Low Countries in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries will pay much more attention to female patrons and clients). This shift, however, has yet to leave its mark on most of the teaching.

The integration of socioeconomic aspects in the history of architecture is very often paid lip service in course descriptions in program catalogues. Given, however, the limited amount of time available for most history courses, we can safely assume that serious treatment of such issues is often not provided because of the need to cover specific architects, styles, and buildings. Neither has the widening of the scope of architectural history advocated by Spiro Kostof resulted in a fundamental redefinition of the discipline of architectural history in Belgium or the Netherlands.

Whereas Kostof claimed that one should "put aside the invidious distinctions between architecture and building, architecture and engineering, architecture and speculative development," 17 many architectural historians in Belgium and the Netherlands continue to concentrate their attention on nonvernacular heritage, leaving the rest to the conservation professionals (see below). There are obvious reasons for this option, not least of all the availability of documentary sources and the weight of the fine arts tradition within national art history. N evertheless, a certain rapprochement can be observed between the history of architecture and urban history, which results in better coverage of the history of the built environment as a whole. Particularly in those schools where specialists in both disciplines are teaching (as in the art history departments of Amsterdam and Groningen, and the architecture departments of Gent and Leuven), students who choose this track are exposed to quite a thorough education in both fields.

The approach of appreciating architecture in terms of its urban context and urbanized landscapes in terms of their architecture is most prevalent among those who study postWorld War II developments in Belgium as well as in the Netherlands. 18 This tendency is reinforced by the interest shown in such issues by practicing architects and urbanists

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Figure 3 R. Moenaert, competition project for the palace of the governor in Kinshasa , Congo, 1929, as published in Emulation 49, no. 1 (1929).

33. This project is one of several that Johan Lagae (Universiteit Gent) studied in his doctoral dissertation

who attempt to come to terms with the present-day urban condition by labeling it "generic city" (Koolhaas), "carpet metropolis" (Willem-Jan Neutelings), "diffuse city" (Boeri), or "after-sprawl" (Xavier De Geyter).

Baugeschichte In its nineteeth-century French usage, the term "archeologie" encompassed the thorough analysis of a building on site, and could be used as a synonym for architectural history. This basic component of the method of architectural history is seldom explicitly present in the curricula in Belgium and the Netherlands. In the Netherlands, bouwhistorie (building history and archaeology) has gained, in the sense of the German Baugeschichte, the status of an independent field: thus the Rijksdienst voor Monumentenzorg (State Heritage Administration) and the Stichting Bouwhistorie (a private organization) have funded a chair in bouwhistorie exclusively for future art historians at the Universiteit Leiden. T he courses offered primarily address preindustrial building techniques

in wood and stone. Until its founding three years ago, the architectural history program in Groningen stood alone in offering its architectural historians a systematic introduction to historical construction techniques as part of the basic curriculum. In addition, art history students at the TU Delft can minor in "building history."

In Belgium, there is no great interest in bouwhistorie, in spite of its fundamental importance for the field of conservation. Leuven offers a short optional seminar on architectural building research, but only at the advanced level is more systematic training available, and then as part of the historic preservation program (Raymond Lemaire International Centre for Conservation). 19 However, this curriculum concentrates not only on pre-nineteenth-century building techniques; its practical seminars also treat, for instance, the particular materials and techniques of Art Nouveau and early modernism such as concrete, metalwork, and sgraffito. In other schools, building history might be represented- mostly without methodological foundationas part of the preliminaries of a project in the field of renoTEACHING T H E HISTORY OF ARCH ITE CTURE

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ELEMENTS STANDARDISES

CUB~X /

CUISI ES • CUBE •. 1930- 935 •·CUSEX KITCHEN, 1930· 935

vation; the optional courses on "research on architectural history and conservation" and "studying and managing modernist heritage" at Saint-Luc Bruxelles are the exception that proves the rule. On this point, Belgium and the Netherlands clearly differ from Germany, where chairs in Baugeschichte coexist with those in architectural history, and from Italy, in particular-two countries that practice surveying of monuments almost as an independent art form.

Courses in architectural conservation are more frequently a part of the standard curriculum in Belgium, as for instance at KULeuven, where the history of architectural conservation from the late eighteenth century to the present is an important research topic. Sint Lucas BrusselGent, Saint-Luc Bruxelles, and Lambert Lombard Liege also offer courses on architectural conservation, as does the new Leiden-Eindhoven COMWAS program, which addresses the question of preservation versus mechanisms of modernization.

Teaching Methods and Techniques: NewandOld

Present uon d Ia cu•s•no m•n•mum rt!ahst!c au moyen a·elem ms standard•ses • Cube~· pour/ shov. ·room dos Ets VJn de Von, rue ae I Ecuyor M ;mmum iiCh n 1n standardlled ' Cubex ' un11S, on e h•b•t 1n the ho;•..room o lh Van d Van Ets rue de I'Ecuyer

Figure 4 Louis de Koninck, minimum kitchen in standardized

"Cubex" units. 1930-35. Anke Van Caudenberg studied the kitchen units in her architecture master's thesis at Katholieke Universiteit Leuven related to the course " Architecture, Gender, Domesticity."

342

Most syllabi suggest that the traditional pedagogical tools and methods persist. Slides are still the primary means of teaching architectural history in Belgium and the Netherlands. The passionate appeal for three-dimensional and even four-dimensional (video) media launched by Sibyl Moholy-Nagy in this journal thirty-five years ago does not seem to have been widely heard. 2°Contrary to many American schools, it is still exceptional to find the visual and textual material of the courses on architectural history and theory used at Belgian and Dutch schools made available to students through the Internet. Unfortunately, stringent European copyright laws (included in the famous Treaty of Maastricht, 1993) do not facilitate this dissemination; the cases of the exclusive rights held on all Victor Horta and Le Corbusier material are well known. One of the exceptions is a course in architectural theory at the Vrije Universiteit Brussel that proposes the use of laptop computers by all students to collectively explore the exchange of architectural knowledge within the thematic context of "Technique and Culture." At KULeuven, the Internet is employed as a means of communication for one of the basic courses in architectural history; all courses in history and theory taught in the basic curriculum are expected to follow suit within the year. On a more advanced level, the research project DYNAMO aims at developing an interactive database of contemporary architecture, which will be used in theory courses and studios. 21 The information in this database

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increases continuously as more descriptions of buildings and projects, written by students as part of assignments for history and theory seminars, are input. It can be made available in the framework of a design project: for example, students can review a series of buildings by entering key terms referring to type, scale, architect, and so on.

Many Belgian schools of architecture, especially the universities, still maintain the traditional form of exam for most courses, including those in architectural history, that is, an oral exam, in some cases with written preparation.

Students even insist on their right to see the titular professor face-to-face during the exam. It is not unusual for architecture students to be asked to analyze a building by drawing it. This practice, which could be seen as a vestige of nineteenth-century studio teaching, was common to many schools until recently. In the Netherlands, on the contrary, written exams abound. Written assignments or papers are usually required in more-advanced courses and seminars in the north and in the south. In both countries, art history students can graduate by writing a master's thesis on a topic in architectural history. The Belgian engineer-architects, especially those at Gent and Leuven, also have this option; sometimes they produce original and very well written theses, which they develop into publishable articles.

Often such theses are not linked to design work, except for the graduate projects on architectural heritage (these may include historical research, an analysis of the heritage problem, and design, integrated into one whole). In the nonuniversity schools, architectural history graduate students are required to submit a final paper of more limited scope and depth than the aforementioned master's theses. In the Netherlands, architecture students must complete a final design project if they want to practice as architects. Students almost never choose the other option, which is to write a master's thesis on a historical or theoretical subject.

It is the logical consequence of the educational model introduced a generation ago, that is, integrated project work. As a result, most Dutch authors publishing in architectural history have a background in art history, whereas their Belgian counterparts tend to be architects or engineer-architects.

Conclusion

levels, and these programs receive financial support from government-backed scientific and other institutions. Even if the funding is not always as easy to obtain or as generous as might be wished, the level of research activity has considerably increased over the last few decades. Unfortunately, we cannot state that the teaching of architectural history has completely kept pace with the dynamism of the research. The limited presence of architectural history in the Dutch curricula for architects and engineer-architects remains a fundamental flaw. Moreover, it is a pity to see that although in many schools and universities the level of teaching is quite high and the range of surveys and more-focused topics is very interesting, new methods and crossovers from other, related fields have not yet wrought the necessary broadening of content.

Appendix The countries covered in this study are Belgium and the Netherlands.

Respondents Belgium Prof. Patrick Burniat, Institut Superieur d' Architecture de Ia Communaute Fran~aise La Cambre Prof.Jean-Luc Capron, Faculte Polytechnique de Mons Prof. Jose Depuydt, Vrije Universiteit Brussel Prof. Lode Janssens, Hogeschool voor Wetenschap en Kunst Departement Architectuur Sint-Lucas Brussel-Gent Prof. Roger Liberloo, Provinciale Hogeschool Limburg Prof. Dr. Piet Lombaerde, Hoger Instituut voor Architectuurwetenschappen Henry van de Velde, Antwerp Prof. Dr. Fran<;'ois Nizet, Institut Superieur d'Architecture Saint-Luc Bruxelles Prof. Dr. David Vanderburgh, Universite Catholique de Louvain Prof. Dr. Bart Verschaffel, Universiteit Gent

The Netherlands Prof. Dr. Franziska Bollerey, Technische Universiteit Delft Dr. Marc G laudemans and Dr. Gerard Van Zeyl, Technische Universiteit Eindhoven Web sites consulted: Belgium Institut Superieur d'Architecture de Mons, www.isa-mons.umh.ac.be Institut Superieur d'Architecture Lambert Lombard, www.archilombard.ulg.ac.be Universite de Liege, www.ulg.ac.be

Architectural history as a field is alive and kicking in Belgium and the Netherlands. Currently there are several periodicals, and every year dozens of books are published, all of which bears witness to the interest of the general as well as the specialized public. Research programs are being formulated on regional, national, binational, and European

The Netherlands Academie van Bouwkunst Amsterdam, www.academievanbouwkunst.nl Academie van Bouwkunst Arnhem, www.avb-arnhem .nl Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, www.odur.let.rug.nl/aahist Universiteit Utrecht, www.let.uu.nl/kunstlbouwkunst Vrije U niversiteit Amsterdam, www.studiegidsen.vu.nl

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Notes 1. The Polytechnische School Delft was founded in 1862 and immediately featured a curriculum in architecture. The Technische Universiteit Eindhoven was established a century later, in 1956, and did not offer a curriculum in architecture until 1967. See Dian Kooijman, Wortels van bet arcbitectuurondenJJijs (Delft, 1995).

2. The university landscape in Belgium is especially complicated because of the peculiar language situation. The country officially has three language communities (German, French, and Dutch). The German community is too small to support a German-language university. Both the French-speaking and the Dutch-speaking communities, however, have several universities, and this explains the existence of two Catholic universities (the Dutch-speaking Katholieke Universiteit Leuven and the French-speaking Universite Catholique de Louvain, in Louvain-la-Neuve) as well as two free universities in Brussels (the Dutch-speaking Vrije Universiteit Brussel and the French-speaking Universite Libre de Bruxelles). Other universities with engineering faculties are to be found in Gent (Universiteit Gent), Mons (Faculte Polytechnique de Mons), and Liege (Universite de Liege). See Luc Verpoest, "Architectuuronderwijs in Belgie, 1830-1890: Aspecten van de institutionele geschiedenis," (Ph.D. diss., Leuven, 1984); and Herwig Van Hove, 125 jaar ingenieursopleiding aan de Katbolieke Universiteit L euven (Leuven, 1989).

3.Jan De Maeyer, De Sint-Lucasscbolen en de neogotiek 1862-1914 (Leuven, 1988). The Catholic neo-Gothic movement is a very complex phenomenon, which left a decisive imprint on the arts and the architecture in many European countries in the second half of the nineteenth century. On the basis of rational arguments- e.g., the Gothic style is the most convenient for our country because it represents our tradition and corresponds to indigenous building practice, materials, and climate-and religious and ideological arguments--e.g., Christian values were expressed in their most perfect form in the architecture of the Middle Ages-architects preferred the Gothic idiom and decisively rejected the classical tradition. In Belgium, the St. Luke movement, supported by patrons like Jean-Baptiste Bethune, wanted to restore medieval corporate practice on a Christian (Catholic) basis, which led to the founding of the St. Luke schools. De Maeyer and Luc Verpoest summarize its impact as follows: "The 'Gothic Revival' conference persuasively demonstrated that the Puginian Gothic Revival style, as practised in Britain and Ireland, and its continental derivative- St Lucas neo-Gothic (Belgium, northern France, The Netherlands and the Rhineland)-occupied a specific position in the relationship between religion and the Gothic Revival. The Puginian style, or the St Lucas neoGothic that derived from it (as practised by ].B. Bethune, P.J .H. Cuypers, August Reichensperger, Alfred Tepe and others), was a form of intransigent neo-Gothic. It was a Roman Catholic variant of a wider movement and was marked by a strong ideological element. It was the product of a more scholarly neo-Gothic movement and the enhanced archaeological and stylistic underpinning of the formal idiom.... The purpose of St Lucas neo-Gothic was not only to provide a vehicle for Christian art, but also- unlike Academic neo-Gothic- to rechristianise the nation." Jan De Maeyer and Luc Verpoest, introduction, in De Maeyer and Verpoest, eds., Gothic Revival: Religion, Architecture and Style in Western Europe 1815-1914-Proceedings of the Leuven Colloquium , 7-1 0 November 1997, KADOC Artes 5 (Leuven, 2000), 13- 14.

4. See Dirk Van de Vijver, "Les Relations franco-belges dans !'architecture des Pays-Bas meridionaux, 1750-1830," (Ph.D. diss., Leuven, 2000), pt. 1, 299- 306, on the teaching of architecture in the academies of the southern Low Countries during the eighteenth century {see also the bibliography cited in this work). See as well Robert L. Delevoy, Maurice Culot, Anne VanLoo, La Cambre 1928- 1978 (Brussels, 1979).

344

5. The authors sent letters to all architectural schools in Belgium and the Netherlands requesting information on the teaching of architectural history and theory. The list of individuals and schools that answered our call is included in the appendix to this article. Other information (e.g., on the Dutch academies and universities) was found on the Internet. Unfortunately, we were able to collect only a minimum of information on several architecture schools in the French-speaking part of Belgium.

6. A case in point is the ABC research program at the TU Eindhoven (Ph.D. level), which is centered on the problem of density.

7. Kooijman, Wortels, 77, 150-53; and Astrid De Scheemaker, ArcbitectuurondenJJijs: Didactiek, metboden en tecbnieken (Delft, 1995), 33-50.

8. The Vrije Universiteit Brussel is the only one whose syllabi explicitly contain a list of "buildings, which have to be known."

9. A strict chronological order is maintained at the lnstitut Superieur d'Architecture de Mons, where architectural history is evenly distributed over the five years, starting with prehistory in the first year. This chronological structuring results in the fact that only in their fifth year are students systematically confronted with twentieth-century architecture (although they might have encountered major issues and figures earlier, in theory courses).

At the Universiteit Gent, the curriculum in history and theory of architecture starts off with a thematic course on the Renaissance and modernism, and a course focused on actualia and the recent past, to be followed by an overview of twentieth-century architecture from a historical perspective.

The only "encyclopedic" course still present at Gent is one on the history of urbanism from antiquity to today; this fairly short module is followed by a more detailed overview of the twentieth century. At Sint Lucas BrusselGent, the first courses address nineteenth- and twentieth-century arts, architecture, urbanism, and conservation, to be followed in the next module by an in-depth analysis of medieval culture, which closely reflects the particular interests of the teacher. Several courses, taught on an advanced level and in English within the context of exchange programs, concentrate on particular Belgian topics. T he twentieth century occupies an important position in the encyclopedic courses taught at Eindhoven: an overview from antiquity to the present is followed by a more detailed survey of modern architecture in the twentieth century.

10. T he Hoger Instituut voor Architectuurwetenschappen Henry van de Velde, Antwerp, integrates architectural history with art history in its overviews from antiquity to the nineteenth century, while architectural history from antiquity to 1940 and of the postwar era are taught in separate courses, as are surveys of the fine arts of the medieval, early modern, and contemporary periods, as well as of the complete encyclopidie. Among various courses on theory of architecture and urbanism is a course on the evolution of architectural theory in the early modern period. Much the same range and orientation can be found at the Provinciale Hogeschool Limburg. Encyclopedic overviews, which combine architecture, urbanism, and the fine arts, cover antiquity to the nineteenth century; similar to Antwerp, history of architecture and history of art are treated separately for the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; history and theory of urbanism are integrated into the same course; and courses on landscape and on twentieth-century furniture design are also on offer. An advanced seminar, which concentrates on "actual themes of the contemporary architectural debate," looks at the relationship between cinema and architecture, among other topics. T he Institut Superieur d'Architecture Saint-Luc Bruxelles, which shares its patron saint and its nineteenth-century origin with the Dutch-speaking H ogeschool Sint-Lucas, completes its systematic overview from antiquity to the present with specialized courses, which might treat such topics as the modern movement and the architecture of the 1960s, or even actualia. These subjects are also present in the syllabi of the courses on theory, some of which adopt the historian's perspective {history of architectural thought from Alberti to today). At the ISACF

JSAH I 6 1: 3, SEPTE MBER 2002

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La Cambre, architecture, urbanism, and arts are treated together in the overviews, which are ordered chronologically. On the level of methodology, the courses on theory of architecture and on principles of urbanism consciously situate themselves between the theoretical and historical fields. Art history and a course on "questions of contemporary architecture" are part of the common curriculum, which is supplemented by optional courses on architectural criticism and the history of gardens and landscape.

11. The program at Louvain-la-Neuve is completed by a general art-appreciation course, a subject that got lost in the Leuven architectural curriculum a few program shuffles ago. The fullest range (including the history oflandscape design and gardens as a separate course) can be discovered in the Gent program, which has very generous offerings for optional and advanced courses. Compared with Leuven, Gent, or Louvain-la-N euve, the Frenchspeaking universities in Liege and Mons offer a very limited number of courses in architectural history or theory. The engineering faculties in both these universities are indeed more focused on technical matters, and tend to reduce their humanities courses to a minimum.

12. T he Katholieke Universiteit Leuven was established in 1425 and split into a Dutch-speaking and a French-speaking university in the late 1960s.

The Dutch-speaking university remained in the medieval city of Leuven, and the French-speaking one moved some fifteen miles to the south, across the language border, to the new town ofLouvain-la-Neuve, which was built especially for the university.

13. Jan De Maeyer and Leen Van Molle, eds.,J !Yris Helleputte: Architect en politicus 1852- 1925, vol. 1, Biografie, KADOC Artes I (Leuven, 1998),45- 73.

14. For instance, at Delft (in the new bachelor-master program operating as of September 2002) the sixth to tenth modules are thematic in scopee.g., the history of Dutch architecture, the Dutch town and landscape before 1850, Dutch urbanization post-1850-and are clearly meant to supplement

the basic "canon," which is based on David Watkin, Kenneth Frampton, and others and is taught in the first modules.

15. Luc Verpoest, "Architectuurgeschiedenis in Belgie," Archis 6, Architectuurhistorisch onderzoek in N ederland (1986), 29-33, esp. 31-33.

16. Ben E Leerdam, Architect Henri Maclaine Pont: Een speurtocht naar het wez enlijke van de J avaanse architectuur (Delft, 1995); Bruno De Meulder, Reformisme, thuis en overzee: Geschiedenis van de Belgische planning in een kolonie (1 880-1960) (Leuven, 1994); and Johan Lagae, "Kongo zoals bet is": Drie arcbitectuurverhalen uit de Belgische kolonisatiegeschiedenis (1920-1960) (Gent, 2002).

17. Spiro Kostof, A History of Architecture: Settings and Rituals (Oxford, 1985), 15-16.

18. In Belgium, this area of study being pursued by GUST, the Gent Urban Studies Team, and by Marcel Smets, an urban historian at KU Leuven. In the N etherlands, the generation of architectural historians formed by Ed Taverne in Groningen (including Crimson, with principals Wouter Vanstiphout and Michelle Provoost) is especially active in this field.

19. The center was founded in 1976 at the College d'Europe, Bruges, and in 198 1 was integrated into KULeuven.

20. Sibyl Moholy-Nagy in "Architectural H istory and the Student: A Symposium," J SAH26 (1967), 18 1.

21. DYNAMO is funded by the Educational Council of the KU Leuven, under the direction of Andre Loeckx and Herman Neuckermans.

lllustration Credits Figure 1. Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, collection Department of Architecture Figures 2-4. Courtesy Verwilghenarchief, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven

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An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

Glen S. Aikenhead Professor Emeritus Aboriginal Education Research Centre College of Education University of Saskatchewan Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada

and

Dean Elliott Science Consultant Ministry of Education Government of Saskatchewan Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada

Published as: Aikenhead, G.S., & Elliott, D. (2010). Canadian Journal of Science, Mathematics and Technology Education, 10, 321-338

An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

Abstract The article describes developments in science education since 2006 related to an agenda to decolonize the Pan-Canadian Science Framework by recognizing Indigenous knowledge as being foundational to understanding the physical world. Of particular interest is the Province of Saskatchewan’s curriculum renewal that integrates Indigenous knowledge into school science, guided by continuous collaboration with Saskatchewan’s Indigenous communities and with a textbook publisher to support a decolonizing, place-based, culturally responsive science instruction.

This article builds upon an earlier CJSMTE viewpoint piece “Towards Decolonizing the Pan-Canadian Science Framework” (Aikenhead, 2006b), which mapped out a rationale for an agenda to integrate Indigenous1 ways of knowing nature into the school science curriculum.

Significant developments have occurred since that publication, including a special issue of CJSMTE, “Indigenous Science Education from Place: Best Practices on Turtle Island” (Michell, 2009). Moreover, some regions in Canada and around the world have illustrated the success of a community-based decolonizing agenda for science education. The present article describes some of these significant developments and then presents the case of Saskatchewan where a decolonizing science curriculum has emerged.

Significant Developments Background There are challenges to creating an enhanced school science curriculum that recognizes Indigenous knowledge2 as being foundational to understanding the physical world. Such an enhanced science curriculum is framed by a pluralist viewpoint on science: Many cultures worldwide have their own rational and empirical ways of describing and explaining nature. Thus, there are multiple sciences (Ogawa, 1995). School science conventionally teaches Eurocentric or

1

The term ‘Indigenous’ encompasses worldwide the original inhabitants who have suffered colonization (McKinley, 2007). The term includes First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples of Canada, collectively referred to in the Canadian constitution as Aboriginal peoples.

2 Indigenous knowledge is also known as Aboriginal knowledge, Indigenous science, traditional knowledge, traditional ecological knowledge, Native science, etc.

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An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

Western science. Ogawa’s pluralist perspective should not be confused with a relativist perspective (McKinley, 2007).

The former CJSMTE article’s agenda to decolonize school science (Aikenhead, 2006b) called for Indigenous communities and leaders to negotiate appropriate modifications to the provincial or territorial science curricula in order to maintain the integrity of Indigenous ontologies, epistemologies, axiologies, and political realities. Evidence shows that these types of integrated science curricula are indeed feasible and educationally sound (Herbert, 2008; Keane, 2008; Richards & Scott, 2009; Wood & Lewthwaite, 2008), whether or not these modifications were initiated by Indigenous communities.

Challenges to achieving a decolonized science curriculum were characterized in the CJSMTE article in terms of Bennett’s (1986) model of intercultural sensitivity, a multi-stage continuum from highly ethno-centric to highly ethno-pluralistic. Ethno-pluralism evolves in three stages: acceptance, adaptation, and integration. “Decolonizing school science begins at the stage of ‘acceptance’ and succeeds at the stage of ‘integration’” (Aikenhead, 2006b, p. 393, original emphasis). Specific challenges to achieving a decolonized curriculum included the articulation of Indigenous knowledge for school science, the allocation and production of resources to support teachers, and the development of teachers’ professional capacities to teach the curriculum’s Indigenous knowledge to all students.

The former article also pointed out that the expression “Indigenous knowledge” is problematic because the word “knowledge” is embedded in a Eurocentric epistemology and should be replaced by other expressions that more authentically capture an Indigenous worldview, such as “Indigenous ways of knowing, living, or being.” Concomitantly, the Eurocentric meaning of “to learn” becomes “coming to know” in most Indigenous contexts, a meaning which signifies a personal, participatory, holistic journey towards gaining wisdom-inaction. The verb “to learn” fits a Eurocentric context, while the action “coming to know” assumes an Indigenous perspective. In the present article, we intend “Indigenous knowledge” in school science to mean “Indigenous ways of knowing or living in nature.” These expressions will be interchangeable.

The remainder of this section continues to summarize the main points of the former article while presenting recent research findings that clarify three related topics: conventional school science, school science for Indigenous students, and cross-cultural school science for all students.

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An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

Conventional School Science What is conventional school science (grades 6-12) to most students in industrial countries? School science usually attempts to enculturate all students into the culture of academic Eurocentric science, replete with its canonical knowledge, techniques, and values.

Many science teachers want all their students to be able to think like a scientist, behave like a scientist, and believe what scientists are purported to believe (Eisenhart, Finkel, & Marion, 1996).

But teachers certainly fail to meet this goal; except for the small proportion of students who, like the authors, have worldviews that harmonize with the worldviews endemic to Eurocentric sciences. Most students’ worldviews differ, to varying degrees, from the worldview conveyed by conventional school science (Cobern & Aikenhead, 1998). Forty years of research on this issue was synthesized as follows (Aikenhead, 2006a; supporting citations are omitted): Discordant worldviews create an incompatibility between, on the one hand, students’ self-identities (e.g. who they are, where they have been, where they are going, and who they want to become) and, on the other hand: •

students’ views of [Eurocentric] science, school science, or their science teacher, and

•

students’ views of the kind of person they think they must become in order to engage in science. (pp. 107-108)

Students who do not feel comfortable taking on a school science identity (i.e., being able to think, behave, and believe like a scientist) represent the vast majority of any student population.

A parallel conclusion was reached by Scott and his colleagues’ (2007) when they reviewed research into students’ learning science concepts. The researchers investigated (a) epistemological differences between scientists’ ways of thinking and students’ everyday ways of thinking (e.g., generalizable models versus context specific ideas), and (b) ontological differences (e.g., energy as a mathematical tool versus energy as a concrete entity). They concluded: Learning science involves coming to terms with the conceptual tools and associated epistemology and ontology of the scientific social language. If the differences between scientific and everyday ways of reasoning are great, then the topic in question appears difficult to learn (and to teach). (p. 49)

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An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

As a result, most students (about 90 percent3) tend to experience school science (grades 6-12) as a foreign culture to varying degrees, but their teachers do not treat it that way (Costa, 1995). To be successful, these students must, without teacher assistance, learn to cross a cultural border between their own everyday culture and the culture of academic school science (Aikenhead, 2006a). A majority of students end up feeling alienated simply by the foreign language of science (Brown & Spang, 2008). This happens in spite of supportive influences on student learning (Shanahan, 2009). Thus, teachers will certainly fail at enculturating most students into a Eurocentric science. When summarizing research in Europe, Osborne and Dillon (2008) lamented: The irony of the current situation is that somehow we have managed to transform a school subject which engages nearly all young people in primary schools, and which many would argue is the crowning intellectual achievement of European society, into one which the majority find alienating by the time they leave school. (p. 27) Aikenhead (2006a) documented five key problems faced by conventional school science (grades 6-12).

1. Although students generally continue to value Eurocentric science in their world outside of school, there is an alarming and chronic decline of interest and enrolment in secondary and tertiary science education (Schreiner & Sjøberg, 2007).

2. School science tends to alienate students whose cultural identities differ from the culture of Eurocentric science (described above).

3 The phrase “most students” and the figure “90 percent” are clarified by a variety of qualitative and quantitative studies that have produced various ways of estimating the proportion of students who do not likely have a future in science or engineering fields (i.e., who are not potential scientists, as they do not have worldviews that harmonize with a worldview endemic to academic school science) and consequently do not value the meaningful engagement in academic school science expected by their science teachers. Here are a few examples. In her qualitative investigation, Costa (1995) found 35 of 43 Grade 11 California students (81 percent) were not potential scientists.

This 81 percent figure was deflated from 84 or 86 percent, however, by a sample bias: almost all students alienated from school science “refused to be interviewed” (p. 324). Cobern’s in-depth work exploring people’s worldviews concerning nature (e.g., scientific, aesthetic, religious worldviews) indicated: (a) 94 percent (15 out of 16) of Grade 9 students in a suburban Arizona study were not potential scientists (Cobern, 2000); and (b) 93 percent (14 out of 15) of nursing students in an Arizona study were not potential scientists (Cobern, 1993). A confirming finding arises in Reiss’s (2004) 6-year longitudinal study in England: “…for the great majority of students, science education played only a small part of their lives” (p. 108, emphasis added). Quantitative data in the United States based on high school students’ enrolment in optional science courses show that “about 90 percent take no more science than is required to meet secondary-school graduation requirements” (Atkin & Helms, 1993, p. 2). But of the 10 percent who do, some were found to be motivated by university entrance standards rather than their interest in science or engineering (Carlone, 2004; Lyons, 2006); thus the proportion of potential scientists would actually be lower than 10 percent.

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An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

3. Although students grasp scientific ideas as needed in out-of-school settings (Albright, Towndrow, Kwek, & Tan, 2008; Rennie, 2007), they generally fail to learn academic science content meaningfully in school. For instance, a 10-year longitudinal study showed that only 20% of students achieved meaningful learning of the molecule concept (Löfgren & Helldén, 2009).

4. School science invariably encourages many students to pass science courses simply to acquire credentials rather than to engage in meaningful learning. “Empirical evidence demonstrates how students and many teachers react to being placed in the political position of having to play school games to make it appear as if significant science learning has occurred even though it has not” (Aikenhead, 2006a, p. 28).

5. Similar to the mass media, conventional school science conveys dishonest and mythical images of Eurocentric science and scientists, such as a positivistic ideology of technical rationality that supports “the scientific method.”

Is it little wonder then that school science means so little to most junior and senior secondary students in industrial nations (Schreiner & Sjøberg, 2007)?

School Science for Indigenous Students In countries with a history of colonial oppression, these problems of alienation are magnified for Indigenous students whose home culture often differs dramatically from the culture of school science. Indigenous ways of living in nature have not generally been welcomed in science classrooms, and Indigenous students must suppress such knowledge to meet the conventional goal of thinking, behaving, and believing like a scientist. Thus, school science overtly and covertly marginalizes Indigenous students by its ideology of neo-colonialism – a process that systemically undermines the cultural values of a formerly colonized group (Ryan, 2008). As a result, an alarming under representation of Indigenous students in senior sciences persists.

This issue is exacerbated for students whose first language is not English (or not French in Franco-phone schools). For example, Chigeza (2008) found that the concepts force and energy expressed in an English scientific genre were particularly difficult for junior high school Indigenous students to grasp (e.g., only 20 % succeeded), because their rich place-based, relational, holistic, functional concepts about nature differed dramatically from the abstract, generalized, “objective,” reductionist, explanatory concepts of force and energy. More 6

An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

fundamental are the two knowledge systems’ contrasting presuppositions, for example, sustainability as a responsibility to Mother Earth on the one hand, and on the other, anthropocentrism that has challenged sustainability (Aikenhead & Michell, 2011; Aikenhead & Ogawa, 2007).

Under representation in high school science enrolment causes several inequalities for Indigenous people: low participation in post-secondary science-related programs, low employment in science-related sectors of society (e.g., resource-based careers, technicians, medical practitioners, engineers, and scientists), and inadequate participation as citizens in the social fabric of their country (Richards & Scott, 2009). This in turn causes economic, social, and political disadvantages for Indigenous communities (McKinley, 2007). Moreover, the economic consequences alone of under representation could undermine the Canadian economy because successful educational outcomes for Indigenous students lead to increases in their incomes, increases in government tax revenue, and decreases in government program expenditures (Sharpe & Arsenault, 2009). Education – “the new buffalo” (Stonechild, 2007) – is seen as a major contributor to economic progress. Canada’s Indigenous population recently surged past the million mark for the first time, a spike of 45 per cent from a decade earlier (Statistics Canada, 2008).

Many factors influence the under representation of Indigenous students in high school science, including: generations of colonial oppression (e.g., residential schools and the Indian Act), systemic poverty, chronic under funding by governments, and adverse living circumstances. These factors undermine a family’s support for their children’s success in school.

Although science educators have no influence over these factors, they do have jurisdiction over one crucial factor: the degree to which students experience marginalization or alienation in science classes. One way to understand this phenomenon is to appreciate the culture clashes and cultural border crossings that most Indigenous students face daily. Values, assumptions, and ideologies embedded in Eurocentric science content can conflict with values, assumptions, and ideologies of Indigenous ways of living in nature. For example: •

Conventional school science often conveys positivistic notions of Eurocentric science, combined with realism and Cartesian duality, to justify reductionistic and mechanistic practices that celebrate an ideology of power and dominion over nature (Aikenhead, 2006b).

7

An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

As mentioned above, to participate in conventional school science, many Indigenous students are expected to set aside or devalue their Indigenous ways of knowing nature; that is, their journeys towards wisdom-in-action: •

Indigenous ways of knowing nature combine the ontology of monism and spirituality with the epistemology of place-based, holistic, relational, and empirical practices in order to celebrate an ideology of harmony with nature for the purpose of community survival (Aikenhead, 2006b).

Knowledge in Eurocentric science expresses an intellectual tradition of thinking, while Indigenous knowledge expresses a wisdom tradition of thinking, living, and being (Aikenhead & Michell, 2011). Broadly speaking, an intellectual tradition emphasizes individual cognition, while a wisdom tradition emphasizes group-oriented ways of being as practised by living in harmony with Mother Earth for the purpose of survival.

The distinction between an intellectual tradition and a wisdom tradition is mirrored in Aristotle’s dichotomy “thought directed toward understanding how the world works and thought directed toward taking action in the world” (Atkin, 2007, p. 68, original emphasis). The respective Greek terms are ‘episteme’ and ‘phronesis.’ In the realm of phronesis, thought and action are somewhat dialogically related: “Not only is action sometimes derived from thought, but practical thought is generated through action” (p. 69, original emphasis). Phronesis is not practical knowledge, but instead practical wisdom, which is associated with practical reasoning – “what is prudent, what is obligatory, what is moral and what is appropriate for the particular situation” (Atkin, 2007, p. 69).

Practical wisdom (phronesis) tends to resonate with wisdom-in-action, which indicates a way of knowing the world embraced by most Indigenous peoples (Aikenhead & Michell, 2011).

The Nehiyawak (Plains Cree Nation) of Canada, for instance, would easily translate ‘phronesis’ as ‘yipwakawatisiwin’ (“wisdom in practice;” Beaudet, 1995). Phronesis and yipwakawatisiwin, it would seem, represent common ground between a Greek-based Eurocentric perspective and a Nehiyaw (Plains Cree) perspective. Sharing common ground, however, does not mean the two words are identical. Much will be lost in translation between the two because the cultural context of each word differs (Aikenhead & Ogawa, 2007).

Although Indigenous and scientific knowledge systems share some fundamental features (e.g., both are culture-based, empirical, experimental, rational, communal, and dynamic), and although both embrace common values (e.g., honesty, perseverance, open-mindedness, curiosity, 8

An Emerging Decolonizing Science Education in Canada

aesthetic beauty, repeatability, and precision), their worldviews tend to be ontologically, epistemologically, and axiologically incommensurate (Aikenhead & Michell, 2011).

Metaphorically, scientists see the world while Indigenous Elders inhabit the world.

When school science fails to nurture students’ Indigenous identities (Chinn, 2006) or fails to strengthen their resiliency (Sutherland, 2005), most students resist their science teacher’s instruction and thus become marginalized or alienated in school science. School science that excludes Indigenous knowledge from the curriculum is a neo-colonialist school science. On the other hand, an inclusive school science teaches Indigenous knowledge in culturally responsive ways to all students, a topic to which we now turn.

Cross-Cultural School Science A cross-cultural science curriculum promotes the decolonization of school science.

Indigenous students learn to master and utilize Eurocentric science and technology without, in the process, sacrificing their own cultural ways of knowing nature. Cross-cultural school science nurtures walking in both worlds – Indigenous and Eurocentric. In the Mi’kmaw Nation, some Elders talk about two-eyed seeing that emphasizes the strengths of both knowledge systems (Hatcher, Bartlett, Marshall, & Marshall, 2009). By walking in both worlds or by two-eyed seeing, Indigenous students (rural and urban) gain cultural capital essential for accessing power as citizens in a Eurocentric dominated world while maintaining their roots in an Indigenous wisdom tradition.

For non-Indigenous students, cross-cultural school science can nurture a richer understanding of the physical world. Their Eurocentric dominated world can be an impoverished mono-cultural world that stifles diversity. By learning to walk in both worlds or by two-eyed seeing, non-Indigenous students gain insight into their own culturally constructed Eurocentric world, and they can gain access to Indigenous cultural capital essential for wisdom-in-action for their country’s sustainable growth (Glasson, Mhango, Phiri, & Lanier, 2010).

Just as biodiversity is crucial to the biological world’s survival, cultural diversity within society will be crucial to humankind’s survival in the 21st century (Sillitoe, 2007). Mi’kmaw scholar Marie Battiste wrote, “Indigenous knowledge fills the ethical and knowledge gaps in Eurocentric education, research, and scholarship” (2002, p. 5). Thus, future scientists and engineers need a foundation in a rich, culturally diverse, science education because if they continue to try to solve today’s problems with the same kind of thinking that caused the 9

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problems in the first place, the quality of life on this planet is in jeopardy (Cajete, 2000; Suzuki, 1997).

When Indigenous cultures influence the culture of Eurocentric science, an Indigenous wisdom tradition will help ensure wise environmental decisions and sustainable progress (Lyver, Jones, & Moller, 2009; Snively & Corsiglia, 2001). The two knowledge systems are complementary; they co-exist. Scientists and engineers can expand their perspectives on nature and augment their problem-solving repertoire by learning from the wisdom held by Knowledge Keepers4 of an Indigenous culture.

The success of cross-cultural science education will be measured, in part, by the number of students who have learned to appropriate the tools of Eurocentric science and technology for their everyday lives, while strengthening their Indigenous self-identities. Success will also be indicated by a greater proportion of Indigenous students’ selecting, and achieving in, high school science courses and postsecondary programs while forming stronger cultural self-identities.

Successful cross-cultural school science avoids tokenism and neo-colonialism. The aim is to nurture Indigenous students’ scientific literacies (the plural is intended) so they can, if they wish, successfully participate in their local community’s Indigenous culture and in the global community’s culture of Eurocentric science. Cross-cultural school science anticipates that all students will understand how scientists think, behave, and believe without students being expected to think, behave, and believe that way themselves (Aikenhead & Michell, 2011; Cobern, 1996).

When teaching cross-cultural school science, teachers learn to build cultural bridges between their own Eurocentric science culture and their students’ local Indigenous culture (Aikenhead & Michell, 2011; Belczewski, 2009; Cajete, 1999, Ch. 7; Herbert, 2008). Teachers also learn to shift their perspective from treating the two cultural ways of knowing nature as mutually exclusive, to treating them as complementary (Chinn, 2007; Ogunniyi, 2007).

A review of research concerning cross-cultural school science in the United States concluded: “Efforts at culturally responsive schooling for Indigenous youth result in students who have enhanced self-esteem, develop healthy [cultural identities], are more self-directed and politically active, give more respect to tribal elders, have a positive influence in their tribal communities, exhibit more positive classroom behaviour and engagement, and achieve 4

A Knowledge Keeper is a respected Indigenous person to whom people go to gain help or understanding related to a specific issue or event (e.g., using plants for healing purposes). They are expected to pass this understanding on to the next generation.

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academically at higher rates” (Brayboy & Castagno, 2008, p. 733). In Alaska, cross-cultural school science resulted in Indigenous students’ standardized science test scores uniformly improving over four years to meet national averages (Barnhart, Kawagley, & Hill, 2000).

Classroom teacher/researcher Medina-Jerez (2008, p. 209) maintains that what matters most is “the acknowledgement of cultural differences in the classroom that provides the needed attention to each student in coping with his/her strengths and weaknesses as they feel integrated into the cross-cultural scenario of the classroom.”

A five-year study with 366 public schools in British Columbia found that Indigenous students increased their achievement when Indigenous content was incorporated into the curriculum (Richards, Hove, & Afolabi, 2008). This research also resulted in “improving relations with Aboriginal families and community members, and transforming expectations in schools” (p. 14).

Indigenous student interest and achievement in school science increased whenever African communities collaborated with science educators to create a locally produced crosscultural school science (Jegede & Okebukola, 1991; Lubben & Campbell, 1996). As a result, post-apartheid South Africa established the goal of teaching Indigenous African knowledge in science classrooms, which has led to community involvement in developing activities that combine Eurocentric science and Indigenous knowledge, such as agriculture practices (Keane, 2008). Similarly, a project in Malawi demonstrated “how merging worldviews and hybridized knowledge and languages can be leveraged to create a third space for dialogue and curriculum development” (Glasson et al., 2010, p.125).

“Third-space” is metaphorically where conversations occur between people of two diverse communities (e.g., Indigenous Knowledge Keepers and science educators) to negotiate new understandings or hybrid meanings that result in a mutual coming to know the other through dialogue (Wallace, 2004). In the context of Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island, Vickers (2007) calls such spaces “camping spots,” while to Brandt (2008) they are a “location of possibilities.”

Chinn (2008) drew upon Indigenous Hawaiian ways of knowing nature to develop an environmental literacy program for K-12 science curricula that met the standards-based expectations of the Hawaiian Ministry of Education. Its success was attributed, in part, to the indepth professional development program for science teachers that combined place-based experiential learning (cultural immersion) with formal study at the University of Hawai’i. At the University of Victoria, Canada, a major professional development project supports teachers’ 11

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coming to know Indigenous knowledge and supports teaching it in their classrooms (Snively & Williams, 2008).

The most advanced country in developing a cross-cultural school science is Aotearoa New Zealand, where a Mäori version of the science curriculum (“pütaiao”) is taught in a network of Mäori bilingual and immersion classrooms in elementary and high schools (McKinley, 2007; Stewart, 2005; Wood & Lewthwaite, 2008). Teacher professional development and student achievement have been documented and analysed (McKinley, Stewart, & Richards, 2004).

In the Canadian territory of Nunavut, Inuit ways of knowing nature are compiled in the document Inuti Qaujimajatuqangit, developed conjointly by the Nunavut government and its citizens. It promotes combining Eurocentric science with Inuit ways of living in nature (Lewthwaite & McMillan, 2007; Lewthwaite & Renaud, 2009). On Canada’s west coast, the Forests and Oceans for the Future project (Menzies, 2003) helps incorporate Tsimshian core community values and knowledge in local sustainable forest and natural resource management. It designs cross-cultural school science materials to facilitate mutual respect and knowledge sharing between First Nations and others. The Rekindling Traditions project in Saskatchewan demonstrated how collaboration between a science teacher and a Nehiyaw (Cree), Dëne, or Métis community’s Knowledge Keepers and Elders can produce cross-cultural science units (Aikenhead, 2000, 2002).

On a much larger scale, the Learning Indigenous Science from Place project investigated how educators might integrate place-based Indigenous knowledge into Saskatchewan’s science curriculum (Michell, Vizina, Augustus, & Sawyer, 2008). A broad literature review and an extensive interviewing process gave voice to First Nations and Métis perspectives on learning Indigenous knowledge from place – the location of an Indigenous community. Elders, traditional land users, teachers, and teacher candidates participated. The project documented a wide array of Indigenous approaches, processes, and content that the participants believed worthwhile for school science (e.g., “We are all connected and we have to live in harmony with each other;” p.

62). This encyclopaedia of ideas also highlighted barriers, challenges, and supports needed for science teachers in First Nations and Métis contexts. For example, “As a support to school systems and individual educators, having cultural liaison personnel available to go out and meet with traditional land users or Elders is necessary to take the time needed to honour traditional protocols properly and effectively” (p. 128). Teachers valued “a process that begins with professional development and learning directly from the Elders” (p. 128). In turn, many 12

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community members looked forward to providing individualized professional development experiences for teachers at their local level.

What are the components to successful cross-cultural school science programs for Indigenous students? Sutherland and Henning (2009) in Manitoba carried out a literature analysis study and then an interactive action-research project with 50 cross-cultural science educators from schools. Sutherland and Hemming’s literature analysis led to four components to successful programs: C1. coming to know C2. cross-cultural pedagogy (culturally responsive ways of teaching) C3. social and ecological justice (including the power relationships and social dynamics in science education) C4. ecological literacy (a field more related to Indigenous knowledge than most other fields in science education) By engaging school personnel experienced in Indigenous science education, Sutherland and Hemming facilitated a series of discussions that began with the participants’ reaction to the four components above, and ended with four key themes they distilled from their discussions about what makes cross-cultural school science programs at their schools successful for Indigenous students. Their four themes were: (T1) Elders, (T2) culture, (T3) language, and (T4) experiential learning. Each of these is defined by a list of attributes generated by the participants (Sutherland & Hemming, 2009, p. 183). Finally, the researchers synthesized these components and themes into a two-dimensional grid (C1-C4 on the vertical axis, T1-T4 on the horizontal axis) as a framework for a cross-cultural science education strategy (a “life long learning model;” p. 187).

Although the educational value of integrating Indigenous knowledge into the school science curriculum is supported by empirical evidence, the political value of Indigenous knowledge in school science goes against global interests that assert a narrowly defined, monocultural, Eurocentric science curriculum (Ryan, 2008; Sillitoe, 2007).

The Case of Saskatchewan The political will to ignore global pressures and to implement cross-cultural school science is being accomplished in several provinces in Canada, especially in the Province of Saskatchewan. The Ministry of Education embarked upon a renewal of its learning program beginning in 2005. One of the five foundations for renewal was the integration of First Nations, 13

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Métis, and Inuit content, perspectives, and ways of knowing into all curricula to encourage the engagement and success of Indigenous students, and at the same time, to enhance the quality of school science for non-Indigenous students.

Renewed Science Curriculum Framework Based on the Pan-Canadian Science Framework (CMEC, 1997), the renewed K-12 science curriculum5 was designed for students to achieve scientific literacy within a context that embraces Euro-Canadian and Indigenous heritages, both of which have developed an empirical and rational knowledge of nature. The Saskatchewan vision of scientific literacy is articulated through a framework that includes four foundations of scientific literacy: STSE,6 attitudes, skills, and knowledge. Student learning outcomes, based on these four foundations, are organized into four units of study at each grade; a life science unit, two physical science units, and an Earth or space science unit. The breadth and depth of each outcome is shown through a representative list of indicators. Unlike other provinces at this time, the knowledge foundation includes Indigenous knowledge. In other words, Indigenous knowledge is recognized along with Eurocentric science’s conventional disciplines as a legitimate way to understand the physical world. This knowledge is not addressed as a stand-alone unit of study or an add-on to a unit of study, but is integral to each of the four units of study at each grade in an attempt to avoid tokenism.

Another key aspect of the renewed curriculum (represented by the four inner terms in Figure 1) is the four learning contexts: scientific inquiry, technological problem solving, STSE decision making, and cultural perspectives. These learning contexts reflect different ways of engaging students in inquiry within a unit of study. In many ways, the learning contexts are the “how” of the curriculum whereas the four foundations of scientific literacy are the “what.”

----------------Figure 1 fits here.

----------------The cultural perspectives learning context reflects a humanistic perspective that views teaching and learning as cultural transmission and acquisition (Aikenhead, 2006a). It conveys the fact that Eurocentric science is culturally anchored in paradigmatic communities of practice, most of which are Eurocentric in character, just as Indigenous knowledge is anchored in local, 5

Saskatchewan’s curriculum is on-line at www.curriculum.gov.sk.ca.

STSE refers to a science-technology-society-environment approach to science education. It has been a major feature of Saskatchewan’s science curriculum since 1989.

6

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placed-based Indigenous cultures. Both knowledge systems are culture-based. To successfully engage students in developing scientific literacy through the learning context of cultural perspectives, teachers need to honour protocols for obtaining knowledge from a Knowledge Keeper, and to take responsibility for learning that knowledge. For example, a teacher may learn a story related to seasons, but may only be granted permission to tell this story at a particular time of year, and in a particular context. This learning context emphasizes experiential learning which begins with observation of phenomena in the natural world. In Grade 6, students may begin their study of flight by observing the flight patterns of birds and insects in collaboration with a Knowledge Keeper, as opposed to an instructional approach wherein the teacher begins by teaching about the four forces that act on flying objects.

Science Curriculum Renewal The process of renewing Saskatchewan’s science curriculum began with Grades 6-9 in 2008. A key element of this process involved consultation with several stakeholders, including an advisory committee representing teachers, directors of education, the Federation of Saskatchewan Indian Nations, the Northern Teacher Education Program and both science and science education professors from the province’s three universities, including the First Nations University of Canada. The role of this committee was to provide feedback to the Ministry of Education on drafts of the Science 6-9 curriculum throughout the renewal process.

A second key element was piloting of draft curriculum in schools across the province, including First Nations band schools and rural and urban schools with Aboriginal teachers.

During this two-year piloting process, teachers provided specific feedback about the individual outcomes and indicators. In some cases feedback focused on First Nations and Métis ways of knowing, such as the recommendation to change one outcome from “Examine First Nations and Métis lifestyles and worldviews as they relate to ecosystems” to “Relate key aspects of Indigenous knowledge to their understanding of ecosystems.” In this change, the word “their” was being purposefully chosen to reflect the breadth of an Indigenous perspective on ecosystems.

Other recommendations included adding indicators such as “Show how First Nations and Métis art and storytelling highlight understanding of and respect for birds” to signify both the oral nature of Indigenous culture and the ways in which art is used to convey understanding.

Indigenous knowledge content was introduced in ways that relate to the required science topics at each grade. For example, the Indigenous presupposition that everything in the universe 15

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is imbued with living Spirit is introduced in a life science unit when the concepts of living and non-living are taught. The two knowledge systems are contrasted (e.g., a holistic monist unity compared with a reductionist dualist dichotomy, respectively). Another example tells of the tragic social disruptions to Indigenous communities caused by some hydro-electric dams built in Saskatchewan; stories introduced when scientific concepts of electricity are taught.

While the curriculum renewal was underway, a separate committee was formed to examine how educators and the education system might take up place-based Indigenous science and apply it within the established school curriculum. Committee members included many of the representatives from the Ministry’s advisory committee, along with Aboriginal teachers and educators representing other institutions such as the Gabriel Dumont Institute and the Aboriginal Education Research Centre at the University of Saskatchewan. Along with providing recommendations about outcomes and indicators, this group conducted research into the importance of place-based learning in Indigenous science (e.g., Michell, 2005; Michell et al., 2008). This research provided an opportunity for Saskatchewan First Nations and Métis communities to share their stories of learning from place and to give voice to essential elements of Indigenous worldviews. These results informed a re-write of the philosophical underpinnings of the foundations of scientific literacy in the overview to Science 6-9, particularly the section on science, technology, society, and the environment (STSE) interrelationships. Although few wording changes were made from the original source of the curriculum framework (CMEC, 1997), these represent important changes in thinking.

A major challenge for the Ministry was to name and succinctly describe each knowledge system. Following the lead of the International Council for Science (ICSU, 2002), “traditional knowledge” was defined as: a cumulative body of knowledge, know-how, practices and representations maintained and developed by [Indigenous] peoples with extended histories of interaction with the natural environment. These sophisticated sets of understandings, interpretations and meanings are part and parcel of a cultural complex that encompasses language, naming and classification systems, resource use practices, ritual, spirituality and worldview. (p. 9) This general description helps teachers understand its essence. Later, a consensus among Indigenous advisors in the Ministry of Education formed around using the name “Indigenous knowledge.” A new section was added to the curriculum overview that briefly explained the importance of Indigenous knowledge.

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In keeping with the Pan-Canadian Framework (CMEC, 1997), the conventional name “science” was continued, rather than introducing a new term such as “Eurocentric science.” Its description was decided upon by recognizing an extraordinarily strong parallel between the scientific enterprise (as understood from a humanistic perspective) and the ICSU’s definition of traditional knowledge. One essential difference between the two knowledge systems is the centrality of spirit in Indigenous worldviews whereas this concept is not present in the definition of “science.”

Curriculum documents respect the integrity of Indigenous knowledge as being different from, yet complementary to, science. Both knowledge systems have similarities, differences, strengths, and limitations. Validation of one knowledge system by the other is avoided, but common ground between the two systems is emphasized, for example, their very similar general descriptions, mentioned just above.

The curriculum renewal process required collaboration with Indigenous groups to ensure cultural and political validity of Indigenous knowledge included in the curriculum. Given the reality that the four units of study at each grade level were pre-determined by the Pan-Canadian Science Framework established by all of the provinces and territories (CMEC, 1997), Indigenous groups in Saskatchewan were asked to find connections, if possible, between a scientific topic and Indigenous knowledge that could be associated with those pre-determined topics. In this way, Indigenous people in Saskatchewan negotiated what Indigenous knowledge would be appropriate for the renewed science curriculum.

Because Indigenous knowledge is place-based, specific Indigenous content in the curriculum is valid only for the place from which it came. Therefore, a teacher might teach specific curriculum details as Indigenous knowledge belonging to a specific region or nation. Or even better (as urged by the Ministry of Education), a teacher will develop a relationship with an Elder or other Knowledge Keepers in the community, show them the Indigenous knowledge in the science curriculum, and enlist their help in determining what local knowledge should be taught instead, and how it should be taught. For instance, if Plains Cree information about the physical elements of Mother Earth (earth, water, wind, and fire) appears in the curriculum, and if a science teacher has Dëne students, then the teacher will need to collaborate with a Dëne Elder or Knowledge Keeper to determine what equivalent Dëne content might be added to the curriculum’s Plains Cree content. Many Indigenous communities in Saskatchewan are ready to

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support science teachers this way (Michell et al., 2008). In other words, responsibility for teacher professional learning will be shared in large measure by local Knowledge Keepers.

Customized Science Textbooks Science textbooks have been developed to support teachers’ enactment of this crosscultural curriculum. Pearson Education Canada (the textbook publisher) and the Ministry of Education collaborated to form an advisory council consisting of Cree, Dëne, Dakota, and Nakawē (Saulteaux) Elders and Knowledge Keepers. Given that the majority of this group had not worked with each other in the past, initial meetings focused on developing a rapport and trust among the parties with a specific commitment that knowledge shared would not be misappropriated. Once these ground rules were established, the advisory council provided the teacher-authors with an overview of some Indigenous knowledge that was related to each of the curricular topics.

The teacher-authors also conducted their own research into Indigenous knowledge related to certain Eurocentric science topics. Some teachers relied on the internet while others enlisted the help of local Knowledge Keepers, in a manner described above. In addition, one teacher who had extensive prior experience working with Indigenous people agreed to serve as a liaison between the groups throughout the process. He began by visiting all the Elders and Knowledge Keepers in advance of the first advisory council meeting, in order to follow traditional protocols for asking for their guidance. Once the writing process began he shared rough drafts of textbook chapters with the Elders and Knowledge Keepers so they could provide more detailed feedback.

This liaison teacher also interviewed one Elder or Knowledge Keeper about the content related to each unit in the textbook. The interviews were summarized, and each summary appears in a section entitled “Ask an Elder” or “Ask a Traditional Knowledge Keeper.” An Elder’s ideas were reinforced by integrating those ideas with Eurocentric science topics where appropriate, always making clear that both the Elders’ ideas and scientific ideas are complementary. Precise wording became important. The statement “Things are either living or non-living” could be rewritten as: “In the world of science, things are either living or non-living.” And the expression “Elders believe that all things are alive” could be rewritten as: “Elders know that everything in Mother Earth is alive with Spirit.” The rewrites are sometimes subtle, but they have powerful consequences for an inclusive cross-cultural classroom environment.

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Before the textbook manuscripts were considered ready for editing by the publisher, they were vetted by the Elders in a day-long face-to-face discussion with the authors and publisher, on two separate occasions. This process ensured Indigenous validity to what is printed as Indigenous knowledge. Consequently the resulting textbooks tend to avoid typical neo-colonial problems (e.g., tokenism) discovered in other science textbooks (Ninnes, 2000).

The Saskatchewan science textbooks emphasize knowledge about Indigenous perspectives on nature because specific Indigenous knowledge is mostly gained experientially on a holistic pathway towards wisdom-in-action – the process or journey known as coming to know (Cajete, 1999, 2000). The wisdom tradition of coming to know contrasts with Eurocentric science’s intellectual tradition in which knowledge is fragmented and can be passively learned, accumulated, and assessed by written examinations. The experiential process of coming to know is possible in school science but only when local Knowledge Keepers initially help the science teacher with the content and pedagogy.

The grades 6 and 7 textbooks (Brockman, Doepker, Stephenson, Wallace, & View, 2009; Johanson, Mohr, Treptau, Wallace, & View, 2009) became available in schools by mid 2009, in time for September implementation of the curriculum. The Grade 8 textbook (Boulton, Grockman, Johanson, Wallace, & View, 2010) was published in May 2010. The Grade 9 textbook is in development and is expected to be published in January 2011. Similar innovative publications may occur for other grades in the near future.

Conclusion A most significant development in science education since 2006 has been the substantial beginning towards decolonizing a provincial science curriculum through collaboration and negotiation with the province’s Indigenous communities. Saskatchewan chose to integrate Indigenous and scientific ways of knowing nature in school science for two reasons: (1) both knowledge systems are foundational to understanding the 21st century’s natural and constructed worlds that all students inhabit, and (2) economic progress and social justice cannot abide the current under representation of Indigenous students in secondary and tertiary science-related programs.

The decision to implement a decolonizing science curriculum requires a significant commitment to providing suitable resources and professional learning for all teachers.

Customized science textbooks, developed in partnership with the province’s Indigenous 19

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communities, provide practical examples of Indigenous knowledge, perspectives, and ways of knowing as a starting point for teachers. Elders and Knowledge Keepers provide another layer of support through sharing their place-based knowledge as it relates to the topics in the science curriculum and issues of importance to the local community.

Most science educators who have undertaken culturally responsive science teaching for Indigenous students talk about the improved science instruction for their non-Indigenous students. A teacherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s culturally responsive instruction, while maintaining the same high expectations of academic success, turns out to be an improvement for most Indigenous and nonIndigenous students alike. Cross-cultural school science with a decolonizing curriculum is about improving the scientific literacy of all students.

By exploring the new territory of cross-cultural science education, much has been learned yet much more remains to be accomplished by Saskatchewanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Ministry of Education. Hopefully more case studies of developing and implementing a decolonizing science curriculum will soon be published in the spirit of cooperation among education authorities. The experiences of other educational jurisdictions can help pave the way for a pan-Canadian consensus on the decolonization of the school science curriculum. Its educational soundness is well established; the political will is emerging with increased momentum.

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Figure 1. The Renewed Saskatchewan Science Curriculum Framework

AITITUDES Stewardship Collaboration Safety Inquiry In Sdence Appredallon of Science Interest In Science

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VOL. 44, NO. 9, PP. 1247–1268 (2007)

Decolonizing Methodologies and Indigenous Knowledge: The Role of Culture, Place and Personal Experience in Professional Development

Pauline W.U. Chinn Curriculum Studies Department, University of Hawai‘i at Ma¯noa, Honolulu, HI 96822 Received 1 October 2005; Accepted 22 November 2006 Abstract: This study reports findings from a 10-day professional development institute on curricular trends involving 19 secondary mathematics and science teachers and administrators from Japan, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, Korea, Philippines, the United States, and People’s Republic of China. Participants explored the roles of culture, place, and personal experience in science education through writings and group discussions. Initially, Asian participants tended to view indigenous knowledge and practices more negatively than U.S. peers. After a presentation on indigenous Hawaiian practices related to place and sustainability, they evaluated indigenous practices more positively and critiqued the absence of locally relevant science and indigenous knowledge in their national curricula. They identified local issues of traffic, air, and water quality they would like to address, and developed lessons addressing prior knowledge, place, and to a lesser extent, culture. These findings suggested critical professional development employing decolonizing methodologies articulated by indigenous researchers Abbott and Smith has the potential to raise teachers’ awareness of the connections among personal and place-based experiences, cultural practices and values, and teaching and learning. An implication was the development of a framework for professional development able to shift science instruction toward meaningful, culture, place, and problembased learning relevant to environmental literacy and sustainability. ß 2007 Wiley Periodicals, Inc. J Res Sci Teach 44: 1247–1268, 2007 Keywords: ecology; professional development; critical theory; action research

In many nations public school science is shaped by policy makers who emphasize preparing and assessing students for an increasingly technological, urbanized, competitive, global economy.

Driven by performance on standardized national and international tests such as Trends in International Mathematics and Science Study (TIMMS), curriculum becomes more uniform as nations compete on student performance (http:/ /timss.bc.edu/timss2003.html). In the United States, educators in test-oriented public school systems generally turn to textbooks to provide

Contract grant sponsor: Consortium for Hawai‘i Ecological Education, under the U.S. Department of Education, Native Hawaiian Education Act. Correspondence to: P.W.U. Chinn; E-mail: chinn@hawaii.edu DOI 10.1002/tea.20192 Published online 18 April 2007 in Wiley InterScience (www.interscience.wiley.com). ß 2007 Wiley Periodicals, Inc.

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science content meeting these objectives. The huge, profit-driven publishing companies that dominate the textbook market provide science materials shaped with one eye on policy and the other on their largest markets. When science curriculum is determined by concerns that reside outside of communities, especially those of nonmainstream or indigenous populations, the teaching of science tends to be separated from learners’ experiences, local science issues, and traditional ecological knowledge (Kawagley, 1999; Snively & Corsiglia, 2000).

It may be argued that science education needs to focus more, not less, on real-world issues based in students’ lives and communities. Science studies connecting science and society provide opportunities for personally meaningful, experiential, inquiry and place-based learning fundamental to scientific and environmental literacy. Teacher education focused on real-world science is appropriate from a learning standpoint and urgent from a societal standpoint as evidence accumulates that human activities are driving environmental and evolutionary change (Palumbi, 2001; Mapping Human Impacts on the Biospeher, www.globio.info/). In light of studies concluding that ‘‘human activities have at least doubled the transfer of nitrogen from the atmosphere into the land-based biological nitrogen cycle’’ (p. 146, Vitousek, Aber, Howarth, Likens, Matson, Schindler, Schlesinger, & Tilman, 1997), U.S. agencies call for research on how different societies respond to environmental change (Human Dimensions of Global Change, www.usgcrp.gov/usgcrp/ProgramElements/human.htm).

Emerging as a transdisciplinary field in education (Fain, 2004; Gruenewald, 2003), science learning associated with place develops the ecosystems knowledge integrating humans and nature characteristic of sustainable cultures (Cajete, 1999, 2000; Kawagley, 2001; Orr, 1992). Disinger and Roth (2003) stress the active, embodied, problem-finding, problem-solving, place-based nature of environmental literacy: ‘‘Environmental literacy is essentially the capacity to perceive and interpret the relative health of environmental systems and take appropriate action to maintain, restore, or improve the health of those systems.’’

The following sections of this article discuss indigenous Hawaiian practices oriented to sustainability, the marginalization of indigenous/traditional/local knowledge in schools and society, and the ideology of Western Modern Science to set the stage for a study applying Habermas’ critical communication theory. Nineteen international science and mathematics educators in Hawaii for a 10-day professional development institute viewed a presentation on indigenous Hawaiian practices related to place and sustainability then engaged in collaborative action research leading to recognition of the sociocultural and ethical contexts of education.

Implications for professional and curriculum development oriented to sustainability and environmental literacy are discussed.

Teacher Disempowerment and Test-Driven Curricula Hawaii’s students have a unique natural laboratory to explore fundamental biological questions involving evolution, adaptation, and interactions of humans and the environment on isolated island systems. But most learn classroom and text-based science, perhaps becoming literate in school science but not issues relevant to their own lives and communities. Thus, Hawaii’s teachers, especially those in elementary programs that require only two semesters of science, are unlikely in either their K–12 or college years to gain the science knowledge and tools to integrate their own and their future students’ familiar environments into their teaching.

Even when elementary teachers are knowledgeable about Hawaii-oriented science, the impetus to raise nationally normed, standardized test scores under the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) leads to administrative decisions to teach mainstream curricula. Teachers critique the emphasis on standardized tests as contradicting professional teaching standards (www.htsb.org/ Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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standards/teacher_standards/teacher_index.html) and principles of learning emphasizing engaging students’ prior knowledge (National Research Council [NRC], 2005) by ‘‘Select[ing] science content and adapt[ing] and design[ing] curricula to meet the interests, knowledge, understanding, abilities, and experiences of students (p. 4, NRC, 1996). This standard empowers teachers as agents of cultural production connecting students’ prior knowledge to science. Bourdieu, Passeron, and de St. Martin (1994) address the relationship between marginalized and dominant cultures: ‘‘The more distant the social group from scholastic language, the higher the rate of scholastic mortality’’ (p. 41).

As a third-generation, Hawaii-born, Chinese American female, a kama‘a¯ina (Hawaii-born) with public school science teaching experience spanning AP Chemistry to Plants and Animals of Hawaii, I designed my EDCS 433 Interdisciplinary Science Curriculum, Malama I Ka ‘A¯ina, Sustainability course to address science content standards through familiar Hawaiian plants, animals, places and cultural practices. Two years after taking the class, a former student, a kama‘a¯ina with a master degree revealed disempowerment in the face of school policies that put scarce financial resources into textbooks unrelated to her elementary students’ lives and experiences: Discussing woods such as oak or redwood is okay, but yet kind of silly because who has seen an oak or redwood tree, much less one in Hawaii?. . .There are a lot of great ideas from Malama. . .but I am afraid to do too much of it for fear that I would be accused of not following the curriculum (which they paid a lot of $$ for).

Allocating instructional time to preparing students for standardized tests translates to less time for real world field-based learning that builds environmental literacy. Sternberg (2003) criticizes this approach for producing pseudoexperts, ‘‘students whose expertise, to the extent they have it, does not mirror the expertise needed for real-world thinking inside or outside of the academic disciplines schools normally teach’’ (p. 5). His findings show that teaching ‘‘relate[d] to real practical needs of students’’ (p. 5) with elements of analytical, creative, and practical thinking enables students from diverse backgrounds to be successful learners. In contrast, the analytical approach of mainstream schools reduces the diversity of successful learners, leading to his concern that test-driven schools will not educate citizens and leaders with the experiences needed to make wise decisions in an increasingly complex, interrelated world.

Culture, Ideology, and Education The history of Western science as a cultural enterprise suggests that knowledge building and technological innovation are driven by the interests of dominant elites (Gould, 1993; Takaki, 1993). Science as a quest for knowledge developed in the historical context of Europe’s search for new lands and economic resources. Shaped by 19th century New England missionaries who followed the whaling industry to Hawaii, schools were a vehicle for monoculturism, ‘‘the practice of catering to the dominant or mainstream culture, providing second-class treatment or no special consideration at all to persons of non-mainstream cultures’’ (p. 161, Hass, 1992). Speaking and writing in the Hawaiian language was forbidden in public schools after Hawaii was annexed by the United States, and from 1924 to 1960 oral tests selected a few students for academically superior English Standard schools (Stueber, 1964). Cultural, linguistic, and economic marginalization are factors contributing to statistics showing that Native Hawaiians, at 26% the single largest ethnic group in public schools, experience the lowest school success (Kanaiaupuni & Ishibashi, 2003).

But Hawaiian cultural practices and perspectives have much to contribute to current issues of environmental literacy. Prior to Western contact, most Hawaiians lived within ahupua‘a, a land Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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division extending from mountaintop to the edge of the reef containing the resources necessary to sustain the population. Dependence on the resources of the ahupua‘a produced long-term, detailed environmental knowledge revealed in place names of winds, rains, springs, and other environmental features (Pukui, Elbert, & Mookini, 1974). Continuous monitoring of the environment coupled with controls on human behavior supported a human-in-ecosystem understanding of the world. The Hawaiian proverb, He ali’i ka ‘a¯ina; he kaua ke kanaka, ‘‘The land is a chief, man is its servant’’ (p. 62, Pukui, 1983) reveals an environmental ethic of active care (malama ‘a¯ina) and responsibility (kuleana) oriented to sustainability.

From 1999 until its removal in 2005, a Hawaiian saying ‘‘Malama I Ka ‘A¯ina, Sustainability’’(to care for the land that sustains us) was a state science content standard.

Kanahele (1986) interprets what it means from a Hawaiian perspective: If we are to be truly consistent with traditional Hawaiian thought, no one really owned the land in the past. . .The relationship was the other way around: a person belonged to the land. . .. We are but stewards of the ‘a¯ina (land) and kai (sea), trusted to take care of these islands on behalf of the gods, our ancestors, ourselves, and our children (pp. 208, 209).

In Hawaiian culture, humans are part of a world in which plants, animals, and natural features are alive with ancestral and spiritual significance. Western science methods of knowledge building that involve measuring, classifying, collecting, dissecting, and mapping of everything in an observable, material world are antithetical to a Hawaiian world view that understands humans and nature in a familial relationship. In contrast, Western, market-driven societies evaluate ecosystems in economic terms: the energy capturing, nutrient cycling, and environmental cleansing processes of natural ecosystems are framed as ecosystem services (Daily, 2003).

Social Learning Theory: Culture and Perception of the Natural World Sociocultural theory assumes that learning cannot be dissociated from interpersonal interactions located in cultural frameworks (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977; Bourdieu et al., 1994; Cole, 1996; Gee, Hull, & Lankshear, 1996; Lave & Wenger, 1991). Socially situated learning recognizes that values, emotions, experiences, and cultural contexts are integrally related to learning.

Recognition that cultural diversity is associated with diverse ways of understanding how people relate to each other and the world supports the explicit inclusion of culture in teacher education. If not brought to awareness, mainstream teachers may only become familiar with superficial, even contrived cultural elements such as the addition of pineapple to make a Hawaiian pizza.

Crosscultural research by Nisbett (2003) and his Asian colleagues yields insights into the role of culture in shaping views of the relationship of people and nature. Comparisons of Asian and American perceptions suggest that Asians are more likely to see humans and their surroundings as part of a complex system, while Americans tend to see individual actors. Nisbett suggests that feng shui, the study of how a structure relates to its environment, reveals Asians perceive the world as composed of complex relationships, while the American tendency to problem solve with a series of steps indicates rule-based, atomistic, universally applicable thinking. His results indicate that ‘‘Westerners are more analytic, paying attention primarily to the object and the categories to which it belongs and using rules, including formal logic, to explain and predict its behavior.’’ Nisbett warns educators that ‘‘it might be a mistake to assume that it’s an easy matter to teach one culture’s tools to individuals in another without total immersion in that culture’’ (The Geography of Thought, http:/ /www.umich.edu/news/Releases/2003/Feb03/r022703a.html).

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Cultural differences ranging from superficial to ideological provide a context for examining school success of students from different cultural groups. Hawaii’s host culture emphasis on relational identity grounded in family and place contrasts with the dominant American emphasis on personal identity. The importance of language, place, and contextualized interpersonal experiences in learning and identity motivates indigenous peoples to shape their own education (Cajete, 1986; Kawagley, 1999; Smith, 1999; Smith, 2003). Personalized environments and authentic, experience-based learning are considered critical factors for success in the schooling of Native Hawaiian students (Kawakami & Aton, 2000), but in mainstream schools, science is associated with textbooks, individualism, and competition.

Influenced by Descartes’ philosophy (Orr, 1992) and Isaac Newton’s shaping of scientific communication (Bazerman, 1988), mainstream Western Modern Science (WMS) and its product, school science, portray science as the discovery of universal truths based on evidence gained through objective, reproducible experiments stripped of emotion, cultural contexts, and values.

One outcome of being socialized in WMS is a tendency for science teachers to be less aware of issues of culture in education (Greenfield-Arambula, 2005).

Some scientists recognize the importance of grounding science in experiences and emotions leading to an ethical stance. Orr (1992), an environmental scientist, criticizes the ideology of WMS for separating people from the natural world: [Descartes’] philosophy separated humans from the natural world, stripped nature of its intrinsic value, and segregated mind from body. Descartes was at heart an engineer, and his legacy to the environment of our time is the cold passion to remake the world as if we were merely remodeling a machine.. . . A growing number of scientists now believe, with Stephen Jay Gould, that ‘‘we cannot win this battle to save [objectively measurable] species and environments without forging an [entirely subjective] emotional bond between ourselves and nature as well—for we will not fight to save what we do not love’’ (‘‘Enchanted Evening,’’ Natural History, Sept. 1991).

Transformative Learning and Curricular Restructuring If mainstream school science is viewed as immersion in the culture of Western science, perhaps immersing mainstream teachers in indigenous or sustainability-oriented cultures and communities holds the potential to help them teach a more complex, systems-oriented science that supports environmental literacy and recognizes the role of culture in learning. Over the past 6 years, support from awards under the Native Hawaiian Education Act enabled over 100 K–12 teachers to enroll in EDCS 433 Interdisciplinary Science Curricula, Malama I Ka ‘a¯ina, Sustainability, a class that included overnight culture–science immersions at school and community sites coinstructed by Native Hawaiians, science educators, and scientists (Chinn & Sylva, 2000, 2002). Through this class, teachers developed and taught culturally relevant, place and standards-based curricula (see http:/ /malama.hawaii.edu and http/ /pikoi.hawaii.edu).

EDCS 433 assignments asked students to interview their grandparents or other elders about their lives and to write about a personally meaningful place. A part-Hawaiian preservice teacher wrote the excerpt below that includes the joy of childhood experiences, the internalized voices of elders, Hawaiian place names and cultural uses of land, and a critique of changes. It suggested that asking teachers to reflect on personal places might shift views of teaching from delivery of universal science principles and laws towards experiential learning incorporating culture, local knowledge, and science to develop questions about the world that underlie scientific and environmental literacy.

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Hanalei has all the elements that remind me of my youth in Pupukea on O’ahu—beautiful bay to swim in, valley to explore and to [play] around in. My cousins and I would explore all over the back country and visit Pu‘u Mahuka and clean up the trash up there for fear that if we saw the trash and didn’t pick it up, our ancestors would punish us. We would head down the hillside into Waimea Valley and quickly find ourselves playing in the stream. We would look for any sort of creature to look at and float around toward the sea. The best was floating out to the ocean and being able to see the lush valley behind us. We are unable to do those sorts of things now because there are homes in the backcountry and there is everpresent danger of rockslides on the hillsides as well as leptospirosis in the stream that we used to play in. . . Hanalei reminds me of how things were in Pupukea, it has the beautiful lush valley with impressive and majestic mountains that surround it (one peak fascinates me, Hihimanu, the giant manta ray). There is the Hanalei River to play around in and it also flows into the lo‘i, which is a reminder for me of what was important to my ancestors.

Place-based learning supported Hawaii’s teachers in developing personal and professional connections to their place in their ahupua‘a or lifeplace, defined by Thayer (2003) as the bioregion sustaining the unique human-natural community in which one lives and works. As teachers’ knowledge of science connected to place developed, they began to use their immediate environments for interdisciplinary, experiential lessons expressive of the ethic of care and personal responsibility embedded in the science standard Malama I Ka ‘A¯ina, Sustainability.

Their lessons expressed transformative learning that develops a sense of place and connects with nature, recognizes the importance of biodiversity, builds social networks, understands power– knowledge relationships, learns from elders, and applies traditional practices (Hall, 2004).

Exceptional teachers oriented their programs to sustainability and established long-term community collaborations to monitor and restore local ecosystems. Their highly diverse students grew native plants for school and community gardens, monitored and restored terrestrial and marine habitats, and were successful in their classes (Chinn, 2006, in press b).

Connecting Culture and Science through Decolonizing Methodologies Teaching that explicitly engages students’ prior knowledge and understanding is relatively new in science education (NRC, 1996, 2005). My interest in science began with a science teacher father who took his children hiking, swimming, and fishing. This led to curiosity and extensive reading that seldom, if ever, connected to my formal science learning. The only Native Hawaiian in my college preparatory science classes was the son of a teacher. I did not recognize the irony of the absence of students from a culture sustained through active environmental literacy.

Isabella Abbott, the first Native Hawaiian woman to earn a doctorate in science became interested in botany not through science classes but through her mother’s knowledge of plants and her principal’s support of her interests (Chinn, 1999). Abbott (1992), whose La¯‘au Hawai’i: Traditional Hawaiian Uses of Plants, is used as a text in EDCS 433, asks her readers to be researchers of cultural knowledge still alive in family stories: We Hawaiians have mostly lost our once-great talent for the oral transmission of culture, so if stories of the old ways still reside in your family, search them out and treasure them—and make sure they are preserved in written form (p. x).

Linda Smith (1999), a Maori researcher, describes 25 decolonizing research projects to recover marginalized cultural knowledge, practices, and identity. Decolonizing methods are critical communication strategies that engage participants in examining lives, society, and Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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institutions in ways that challenge dominant perspectives. Story telling, indigenizing, connecting, writing, representing, and naming are six decolonizing methods implicitly embedded in Abbott’s suggestion to Native Hawaiians to seek out, treasure, and write their cultural stories. Gitari (2006), an indigenous science educator, suggests Kenyan teachers use similar strategies with their students.

Professional development with Hawaii’s teachers suggested that learning science in the context of personal places and indigenous values and practices provided teachers’ with both rationale and agency to restructure their curricula towards field-based science learning. But would a Hawaii-centric approach applying decolonizing methods be meaningful to teachers who were not Hawaii residents?

The Study, Setting, Teachers and Research Questions Nineteen experienced secondary science and mathematics teachers, 8 females and 11 males, from Japan (three), Malaysia (five), Indonesia (one), Thailand (one), Korea (two), Philippines (two), and the United States (five) participated in a 10-day Summer Teacher Institute ‘‘Thinking in Math and Science: Making Connections’’ described as a ‘‘global learning opportunity for middle and high school teachers of math and science’’ in Honolulu. Eleven also served as department head/chairs (five), deans and deputy heads (four), ‘‘special science teacher,’’ and science coordinator. The job titles of eight were associated with science, seven with math, and four with neither content area. My presentation on indigenous Hawaiian cultural practices oriented to sustainability was intended to enable participants to explore their views of indigenous knowledge and the role of place and culture in science education from a crosscultural perspective. I met teachers on the second and third days for 4 hours of formal professional development and 45 minutes of informal interaction at lunch. My workshop sessions took place in a small room with participants seated in front of computers along the classroom perimeter. Teachers could move their chairs to form small groups as needed.

In addition to my sessions, the institute involved all participants in a math pedagogy overview, presentations on assessment tools and new technologies in math and science, observations of math and science classes including online algebra, a visit to the Polynesian Cultural Center, a tour of Bishop Museum, and a visit to Hanauma Bay. Math activities included learning about manipulatives, Geometer’s sketch pad, graphic and graphing calculators, Fibonacci, and combinatorial games. Science activities included a tour of the school’s science center, an overview of GLOBE (Global Learning and Observations to Benefit the Environment, a hands-on, school-based science program), an introduction to the Manoa Stream project, inquiry based lab observations, a 2-hour middle school science presentation by two former EDCS 433 teachers, sharing of Web science resource, and science project work. Small teams were tasked with developing and presenting a lesson incorporating ideas and strategies acquired during the institute relevant to needs at their school. Due on the last day of the institute, the 15-minute minilesson presentations were to be taught with peers in the role of students. Teams could either integrate math and science or be discipline-based.

This study explored the following questions: 1. How would teachers evaluate traditional/indigenous knowledge and its role in curriculum before and after exposure to Native Hawaiian practices oriented to sustainability?

2. Would there be evidence of transformative learning defined as interest in developing place-based curriculum relevant to environmental issues?

3. Would place, culture, and prior experience figure in their lessons and evaluations?

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Methodology Critical theory informed the design of a study in which 19 mathematics and science teachers engaged in repeated cycles of collaborative action research. Critical theory and critical educational research go beyond describing and understanding social phenomena and behavior in the intent to uncover underlying interests and agendas that shape them. In the area of education, critical research examines ‘‘the relationships between school and society. . . the social construction of knowledge and curricula, who defines worthwhile knowledge, what ideological interests this serves, and how this reproduces inequality in society’’ (p. 28, Cohen, Manion, & Morrison, 2000).

The critical methodology adopted for this study applies Habermas’ communication theory as a framework for action research in which teachers individually develop writings to contribute to group and class discussions. This methodology assumes that teachers are social actors able to engage in communicative action, defined as ‘‘that form of social interaction in which the plans of action of different actors are coordinated through an exchange of communicative acts, that is, through a use of language oriented towards reaching understanding’’ (p. 4, Habermas, 1981; cited

by Powell & Moody, 2003). Grady & Wells, (1985) note that the apparently objective statement ‘‘The oven is at 3508’’ is meaningful in the context of a speech community ‘‘interested in recording relatively small differences in temperatures, able to control temperatures of enclosed spaces, familiar with a scale form measuring temperature, and skilled in cooking techniques that use stable temperatures to produce predictable results’’ (p. 8). From a Habermasian perspective, communication based on participants’ lifeworlds, the daily activities that make up individual existences, and intersubjective understandings of meanings establishes the contexts in which personalities, society and culture develop.

Decolonizing methodologies as described by Smith (1999) and applied by Abbott (1992) in her directions to readers may be regarded as critical communication strategies that explicitly engage participants in examining lives, society, and institutions through the lenses of marginalized (traditional, local, indigenous, sustainable) and dominant cultures (capitalistic, consumer oriented). A series of writing prompts (see below) elicited teachers’ responses on selected aspects of their lifeworlds. I use these prompts in my teacher education classes to raise awareness of the socially situated, experiential nature of learning. Individual writings were shared in small groups, summarized, and then shared with the whole class. Through repeated cycles of collaborative action research, a shared body of information accumulated to be coexplored through the lenses of teaching and learning, culture, place, and environment. I collected writings from the first two exercises and took notes of discussions.

As the workshop leader, I played a role in establishing a learning environment in which participants felt comfortable in revealing personal information and critiquing powerful agents.

The process of collaborative action research allows science and mathematics teachers to externalize and examine personal experiences, cultural values, and marginalized knowledge that might at first appear irrelevant to science and mathematics curriculum and pedagogy. These methodologies challenge the impersonal, ahistoric, acultural, stance of mainstream Western mathematics and science curriculum, and lead to examination of the sociopolitical contexts of education.

Five of Smith’s 25 critical indigenous research activities were employed in this study: indigenizing, connecting, writing, and representing, and discovering: 1. Indigenizing refers both to the revisioning of cultural landscapes from the perspective of indigenous peoples and opposition to colonization through indigenous identity and practices. Writing prompts, ‘‘I think indigenous science is _____ ,’’ ‘‘The role it has Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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in science curriculum is _____ ’’ asked teachers to reflect on their knowledge of indigenous practices and to assess the role of indigenous practices and knowledge in school science. Following a presentation on indigenous Hawaiian practices and values oriented to sustainability, teachers were asked to write again to the same prompt. They shared their writings in small groups, synthesized their conversation into a brief written summary then contributed the main points for whole class discussion.

2. Connecting ‘‘positions individuals in sets of relationships with other people and with the environment’’ (Smith, 1999, p. 148). To elicit teachers’ thoughts on connections of self to others, they wrote to a prompt that asked them to choose anything they thought they had learned well and to describe the stages of development to the point where they felt comfortable with their expertise: ‘‘I am good at _____ ,’’ ‘‘I became interested through _____ ,’’ and ‘‘I became an expert by _____ .’’ To connect them to the environment, teachers were prompted to write about a personally meaningful place: ‘‘My special place is _____ .’’ Individual writings were shared in small groups, synthesized into summaries, and reported out for whole class discussion.

3. Writing, and 4. Representing empower less powerful individuals to represent their realities, issues, and identity. Teachers were invited to write about and to discuss their lives as teachers and to identify topics they would like to develop into lessons relevant to their students and communities: ‘‘An environmental issue in my community is _____ .’’

Through the course of the workshop, field notes on verbal and nonverbal speech and interactions were collected.

5. Discovering refers both to the ‘‘development of ethnoscience and the application of science to matters which interest indigenous peoples’’ (Smith, 1999, p.160). The writing prompt following the presentation on indigenous Hawaiian practices focused on the first aspect of discovering and provided an opportunity for teachers to express their views on indigenous science, its relevance to current situations and curriculum.

I did not meet again with teachers after the 2 days of my science workshop, but viewed the videotape of minilesson presentations and interviewed the institute organizer who filmed the presentations and was present throughout the institute. I had access to all evaluation materials including the original participant evaluations.

Three years after the workshop, I contacted three teachers from Philippines, Malaysia, and Indonesia by e-mail to ask if they had implemented place-based lessons in their classes. One email was not current, another did not reply. I report the response from a female, biology teacher in Indonesia.

Results The first four sections present results from sessions where I guided teachers through collaborative action research and discussions. The final four sections present results from viewing a videotape of lesson presentations, reviewing written evaluations collected on the last day of the institute, interviewing the coordinator of the institute, and an receiving an e-mail from an Indonesian participant. More than 8 days elapsed between the end of my classroom-based session with teachers and their presentations and evaluations. Three years elapsed between the workshop and the e-mail.

Writing, Representing, Indigenizing, and Discovering Science Knowledge Before seeing a presentation on Hawaiian cultural practices oriented to sustainability, teachers wrote for a few minutes on the prompts: ‘‘I think indigenous science is. . .’’ and ‘‘The role Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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it has in science curriculum is. . .’’ Two Asian male teachers’ pre- and postintervention writings were selected as showing the greatest shift in perceptions of indigenous knowledge and practices before and after the presentation on Native Hawaiian culture. Given their leadership roles in their schools, they potentially served as gatekeepers to curricular and pedagogical change and teacher agency. Teachers from the United States who were familiar with equal opportunity and antidiscrimination policies of the past few decades appeared aware of issues of cultural difference and did not show such shifts in their evaluations of the role of indigenous science in school curricula.

A Chinese male from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, with the job title of Deputy Head, Administration, wrote the following before seeing the presentation: Science has no or little place in (lives of) indigenous people—if at all they are used without being understood. Many herbal medications being used are passed down from generation to generation, knowing how to use but not why. The role it has in science curriculum is erroneous. Many traditional or herbal medicines required studies to have a full understanding and may have a great impact on modern medicine.

An educator from a school in Tokyo, Japan, who sent an all-male team composed of the math/ computer skills teacher, math department head, and Seventh Grade Director/Associate Dean of Admissions wrote before the presentation: I think indigenous science is when catfish are nervous, big earthquake is coming. Every natural thing, tall tree, mountain, river, pond, large rock is house of Gods (spirit). Therefore we had 2,000,000 Gods all over Japan.

Immediately after they finished their writing, I presented a PowerPoint on traditional Hawaiian ecological practices related to farming and resource conservation. It presented the ahupua’a as a traditional resource unit within which inhabitants maintained a sustainable lifestyle through monitoring of resources and constraints (kapu) on exploitative activities and behavior. It mapped traditional practices and Hawaiian terms onto science terms and concepts such as nutrient cycling, conservation, hydrosphere, biosphere, and atmosphere. Following the presentation, teachers responded to the same prompts.

After the presentation, the deputy head from Malaysia wrote: It is about a balance between the mountain, the land and the sea—a diverse ecological balance. The role it has in science curriculum is to do things correctly and show the ways and means to sustain modern life.

After the presentation, the participant from Japan wrote: The idea of ‘‘respect to the Nature’’ was gone when Japan meets Western culture and they found Japan is way behind the West. ‘‘Gods are gone’’ for 100 years, 1867–1967. When we suffered serous air pollution, ‘‘Gods came back’’ through education. After 1960, ‘‘environment’’ and ‘‘natural conservation’’ became major issues in science education. If you talk to professional people, carpenters, engineers, mechanics, you will find their own traditional and very practical math and science which is not taught in school and it is very interesting.

The groups synthesized and developed generalized analyses of their discussions. The following writing is typical of group reports: Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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The earth is our small and only livable planet. We should treat it with care so that the resources it provides for the human race are manageable and sustainable. Many traditional practices are invariably one way or another (related to) very effective ecological cycles one must pay attention to. The culture of indigenous people must be recognized and respected for its continued perpetuation.

These samples of individual and group writings suggest that participants were discovering new ways to think about, evaluate, apply and reapply traditional and indigenous practices to conventional curricular topics such as ecological cycles, sustainability, and resource management.

They clearly recognized the linkage between local, place-based practices, and values and global environmental concerns. The group statement about the need to recognize and respect the culture of indigenous people is an outcome of applying Habermas’ communication theory towards achieving intersubjective agreement, in this example, the group’s recognition of the power– knowledge contexts shaping school-based knowledge and values.

Connecting to Others: Learning as Socially Situated The writing prompt to describe how personal expertise develops asked teachers to examine their own stages of learning from initial interest to expert performance: ‘‘I am good at _____ ,’’ ‘‘I became interested in it through _____ ,’’ and ‘‘I became an expert by _____ .’’ After writing for 5 minutes, teachers from different countries met in small groups to discuss their writings and look for similarities and differences. Groups then reported their findings for class discussion.

Although the skills described by individuals ranged from teaching to skiing to cooking to growing hibiscus, teachers recognized common themes emerging: (1) whatever was learned was important to one or more significant others in their lives; (2) learning was supported and encouraged by significant others; (3) practice, feedback, and encouragement were important for improvement; (4) enjoyment, interest, and other emotions were important to learning; and (5) active and hands-on learning complemented learning from books and lectures. Through sharing of personal experiences leading to expertise, the secondary science and mathematics teachers recognized and acknowledged the importance of positive emotions, feedback, and significant others in developing interest and supporting persistence in learning.

As small groups shared their personal stories of developing expertise, international teachers who had met each other only a few hours earlier began to relax, interacting with encouraging nods, smiles, and laughter at each others’ stories. A room of adults that started off as silent and attentive individuals changed into actively interacting small groups engaged in sharing personal information that would help listeners understand each others lifeworlds. During whole class discussions they helped each other express their thoughts as fluency with English varied, and some were still uncomfortable speaking in front of the class.

Connecting to the Environment: Developing a Sense of Place The exercise gave teachers who may have been initially critical of indigenous peoples’ spiritual and emotional connections to elements of the physical landscape an opportunity to describe and discuss their own emotional attachments to personally important places. As in the other exercises, teachers responded to a prompt to write for 5 minutes about a personally meaningful place: ‘‘My special place is _____ .’’ They shared writings in small groups and Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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reported similarities and differences to the whole class. The discussions are the basis for field notes.

Specific places with personal connections and meaning ranged from natural settings (American teachers) such as a beautiful beach or forest setting to being inside one’s classroom (Asian female teacher), and a father’s house (Asian female teacher). Meaningful places were recognized as sharing common characteristics. The places were described in emotional terms as being beautiful, comfortable, familiar, peaceful, and secure. Many were anchored in childhood memories, such as the garden in which a daughter learned to grow hibiscus from a highly skilled mother. The sharing of important places led to extended discussions among teachers and with me as they began to make connections between their personally important places and the lifeplaces where they currently lived and worked.

Curricular Critique: Implications for Change The final writing assignment employed the preceding exercises and discussions as a springboard for planning place-based, teacher-developed curriculum. Teachers were asked to think about critical environmental issues in their localities and ways that place-based topics could be incorporated in their curricula: ‘‘An environmental issue in my community is _____ .’’

Their assignment was to develop lesson sketches to discuss the next day.

The assignment produced extended discussion, much of it critical of existing curricula. Asian teachers who initially had not favored inclusion of indigenous knowledge and practices in the curriculum now thought there was value, as noted in the group writing above, in teaching students to stay connected to elders and traditional knowledge. They commented frequently on the loss of respect for the elderly and the displacement of traditional knowledge by Western models of science and mathematics education. They thought their students would benefit if they learned about and valued their own cultures, remained connected to their environment through cultural beliefs and practices, and continued traditional sustainable perspectives that supported ‘‘treasuring’’ instead of exploiting local natural resources and raw materials. They regretted that children in their rapidly developing nations did not know how it used to be just a few generations ago.

Asian teachers faulted test-driven, national curricula they were given to teach for eliminating the ‘‘joys’’ of teaching and learning. They commented repeatedly on the way curricula were disconnected from real, pressing issues of their students and communities. They thought national science and mathematics curricula should not be generic across countries, and were of the opinion that individual countries should be proud of their own indigenous knowledge. As a group, the international teachers expressed frustration at the imposition and irrelevance of content and assessment adopted from Western nations identified as former colonial powers. They complained about feeling trapped in covering an extensive body of content. Both international and U.S. teachers agreed that test-driven curricula did not support independent thinking, encourage learning about traditional knowledge and practices, or address local environmental issues.

Although the brevity of my time with teachers did not allow further development of ideas into formal lessons, teachers identified issues of sustainability in their localities that potentially could be developed in problem-based, data-rich lessons to include in their curricula. The group discussed ways to incorporate these environmental issues into their curricula in the form of scientific studies to be reported to policy makers. Major issues were air pollution from unregulated vehicles and uncontrolled brush and forest fires (Malaysia), soil erosion and water pollution (Philippines), and dangerous driving behaviors on inadequate roads in their rapidly developing nations (Korea, Philippines, Malaysia). A woman from the Philippines spoke about exploitative Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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logging that left hillsides denuded and eroded and the people below vulnerable to landslides, flooding, and water pollution following heavy rains. Participants appeared fully engaged in discussions concerning identification of variables and experimental design involving students collecting and analyzing data and writing up results.

Videotaped Lessons The 45-minute videotape did not record every lesson fully or capture every participant.

However, teacher introductions to lessons generally provided evidence of planning to engage students’ prior knowledge, culture, or place. Two presentations were set in the context of what were now familiar Hawaiian settings. A science teacher from Malaysia presented a scenario of 2 kalo lo’i (sic) identical in number of plants, size, and exposure to sunlight but with different crop production by weight. Her place and culture-based lesson prepared students for exam questions requiring identifying and classifying relevant variables. A math teacher from the Philippines used maps of Honolulu streets in the vicinity of the institute to introduce his geometry lesson on intersecting angles. Three teachers mentioned the importance of connecting their lesson to students’ prior knowledge before presenting a skit referring to water, wine, and apple juice in a lesson on acids and bases. They stressed that indicators are found in natural products, such as red cabbage, a familiar food. Three other teachers used spaghetti and Korean foods to introduce topics applying software used in the institute. A biology teacher used animals and plants in her lesson and referred to students’ prior knowledge in designing the lesson.

Four male teachers did not make connections relevant to students’ prior knowledge, places, or culture, although they might have when they were not being taped. Three U.S. science teachers addressing temperature and kinetic energy, states of matter, and gas laws had just asked participants to break into pairs when the video of their lesson segment ended. A teacher from Japan presented a math lesson in purely mathematical terminology, and did not engage participants’ prior knowledge or employ active learning strategies during the taping of his lesson.

Interview with Institute Coordinator Two interviews with the coordinator, one via telephone and the other at the institute, were unstructured and informal. Questions involved her recollections of teachers’ lessons. Her comments filled in some gaps as the videotape did not capture every lesson. She recalled the Filipino math teacher’s geometry lesson using Honolulu streets, and said when he returned he planned to use streets on his campus as a place-based example. She commented on two teachers that were not on the videotape. The first was a female teacher from Indonesia whose lesson on corals was relevant both to Hawaii and her country. The second was a female, elementary Asian American teacher from the United States who was especially interested in teaching that addressed cultural contexts.

Comments from Final Evaluations Teachers wrote more than 80 comments related to questions on the program, assignments, improvements, extracurricular activities, growth or change as a result of the program, and implementation of strategies. A quarter of responses related to social and crosscultural aspects of learning showing they highly valued learning from peers and gaining strategies for active, hands on learning, and group work: Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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I really enjoyed meeting and talking to teachers from around the U.S. and Asia. This was the richest part of the experience. I learned so much from my peers/colleagues here. They gave me a lot of concrete ideas and also got me thinking more globally about science/math education.

My world focus now can include Southeast Asia due to the connections with the teachers here. Previously, my world view was not so inclusive al all parts of Asia and I was more oriented to Europe when thinking about ‘‘overseas.’’ I felt so validated to work with _____ and other teachers who came to the institute when it came to teaching from experience, giving kids more hands on engagement of the material!

Seven responses, including the two above were related to the importance of culture in teaching and learning: ‘‘I will add a culture component to my chemistry classes to make my class more relevant to my students, I can hardly wait to do the lesson _____ and I formed for the final project,’’ ‘‘Take time to plan good lessons where culture and humour is (sic) present.’’

Three participants specifically mentioned the presentation on indigenous culture: ‘‘The more time I spent in Hawaii, the more I came to appreciate Dr. Chinn’s lessons and discussions. The idea of indigenous science is truly a rich one,’’ ‘‘I found the information on indigenous science especially fascinating,’’ and ‘‘ _____ , Pauline and the Bishop were worth the trip all by themselves.’’

Teachers enjoyed and valued place-based learning, ‘‘Interesting, real original examples are the best teaching aids, even better at the original site,’’ suggested longer and different field experiences, ‘‘Perhaps also a trip into the mountains to the native rain forest?’’ and planned to incorporate place-based activities into their teaching: A visit to the Bishop Museum, the stream and Hanauma Bay gave me an opportunity to really understand the works of nature and I think these should be available for the next group of teachers! I would like to have more field trips so the students are exposed to actual happenings around them. Our students lack hands on but as the saying goes, ‘‘When there’s a will, there is a way!’’ I would try my level best to bring my students back to Nature at least three or more times in a year.

An Indonesian Biology Teacher’s E-mail A key idea that participants took from science sessions was the ethical relationship between humans and the natural world and the role of embodied, active learning that supports knowledge oriented to sustainability. Three years later, I contacted three teachers who had developed placebased lessons to ask if they had followed up on their ideas to shift teaching into her students’ lived environment. The teacher from Indonesia who presented a lesson on coral responded. An excerpt from her e-mail follows: P: Have you followed up with some of the environmental science ideas in your own teaching?

A: No, not yet. But I’d love to know, and let me know what can I do about it. Because I’m a ‘‘jobless’’ now, I’m waiting for next month to pursue my master degree majoring ‘‘education management.’’ There, I hope I could find knowledge about how to educate, because my background was biology. And in the future, I have a dream to become a teacher trainer, sharing knowledge, and creating a local, needs-based curriculum for rural areas in Indonesia. If you look at the map, we’re the maritime country, but we don’t have Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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curriculum to develop the student skills about how to hatch fish, how to plant algae, etc.

What they have been learning at school is the regular, high standards, biology, physics, chemistry, those sucks, boring, don’t have any use, and caused the frustration to the kids.

And believe me you have a contribution in bearing those thoughts into my mind. When I saw you guys spend a lot of time, making a field trip to the Hawaiian village, and learn their wisdom. Thank you for any help you can provide. Thank you for contacting me, for listening to my ‘‘burden’’ also.

Discussion Each section below addresses one of three questions explored in the study.

How Would Teachers Evaluate Traditional/Indigenous Knowledge and Its Role in Curriculum before and after Exposure to Native Hawaiian Practices Oriented to Sustainability?

The results suggest that professional development designed from a critical Habermasian perspective enabled Western-trained science and mathematics teachers to connect their cultural and personal experiences to critical analysis of curriculum and pedagogy. Decolonizing methodologies supported collaborative action research and discussion leading to teachers’ awareness of the way mainstream science curricula omits and thus marginalizes local, traditional, and indigenous knowledge. The presentation connecting Hawaiian practices oriented to sustainability to Western science concepts and terminology, for example, biosphere, hydrosphere, atmosphere, apparently provided an example that empowered teachers, especially those in the roles of administrators of science and mathematics departments to speak of the values of traditional and indigenous practices. Writings by Asian teachers that initially dismissed or devalued traditional practices shifted to critique of the dominance of Western science and marginalization of other ways of understanding the world.

The Malaysian Chinese deputy head first positioned indigenous and Western science as completely separated, with science in the superior position: ‘‘Science has no or little place in (the lives of) indigenous people. . . The role it has in science curriculum is erroneous.’’ After the presentation he recognized that indigenous knowledge could contribute ethical and ecosystems perspectives to science curriculum: ‘‘It is about a balance between the mountain, the land and the sea—a diverse ecological balance. The role it has in science curriculum is to do things correctly and show the ways and means to sustain modern life.’’

The Japanese director’s initial writings about people seeing ‘‘2,000,000 gods’’ in rocks, trees, and mountains could be interpreted negatively from a Western science perspective. After the presentation his writing becomes more critical, suggesting Westernization separated people from indigenous beliefs and practices connecting them to their environment in a spiritual, ethical relationship. His comments to the effect that ‘‘respect to the Nature (sic) was gone’’ and ‘‘Gods are gone’’ while Japan industrialized to catch up with the West and ‘‘Gods came back through education’’ after Japan suffered from air pollution presents indigenous values and practices as a solution to foreign ills. Further comments that ‘‘professional people, carpenters, engineers, mechanics’’ still use ‘‘traditional and very practical math and science which is not taught in school’’ suggest that he thinks the national curricula should include ‘‘very practical,’’ ‘‘very interesting’’ indigenous math and science.

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Participants’ pre–postintervention writings and group conclusions about the need to recognize and respect the culture of indigenous people indicate applying Habermas’ communication theory of cognitive rational discourse raised awareness of power–knowledge contexts shaping school-based knowledge and values. Beyond simply recognizing the overlaps between indigenous and Western science knowledge and practices that likely helped to legitimize the inclusion of nonmainstream knowledge in the curricula, final writings expressed an explicitly ethical stance. From a Habermasian perspective that critiques positivism and scientism’s assumption that ‘‘valid human knowledge is restricted to empirically testable propositions arrived at through disinterested, value-free inquiry’’ (p. 17, Grady & Wells, 1985), the group’s explicit inclusion of ethical and normative statements suggests the importance of intersubjective agreement obtained through ‘‘cognitive rational discourse. . . oriented toward truth but drop[ping] the fiction of impersonality that scientific and technical discourse maintain’’ (p. 8, Grady & Wells, 1985).

Would There Be Evidence of Transformative Learning Defined as Interest in Developing Place-Based Curriculum Relevant to Environmental Issues?

As teachers shared personal stories about their lives and reached agreement on the wisdom and ethics of traditional and indigenous practices, they expressed many of the elements of transformative environmental learning listed by Hall (2004) including a sense of place, connecting with nature; revitalization of traditional and indigenous knowledge, learning from elders, and understanding of power–knowledge relationships. The 2-day workshop concluded with discussions on ways to bring specific environmental issues in their lifeplaces into their teaching.

This suggested applying Habermas’ theory of communicative action leading to ‘‘intersubjective agreement. . . among rational, autonomous, responsible individuals’’ (p. 1, Grady & Wells, 1985) provided a context for these teachers to bring their personal experiences and cultural values to critiques of received curricula and discussions of power–knowledge relationships in their schools and communities. This critical first step, the recognition of the social contexts of supposedly objective science, discouraged in Western positivist thinking, reframed their perspectives on curriculum and pedagogy by extending the purposes of science education to serving the common good. The place and problem-based science and mathematics curricula they spoke of developing would connect meaningfully to their own and students’ lives, respect alternate ways of knowing, and support critical environmental literacy oriented to long-term sustainability.

An Indonesian teacher’s e-mail 3 years after the workshop indicates that professional development incorporating indigenous perspectives oriented to sustainability provided a model she could translate to science curricula relevant to Indonesian settings. Her ‘‘burden,’’ the inability to teach what she recognizes as meaningful science for students and their communities, indicates the symbolic violence that silences and disempowers science teachers as curriculum developers.

Her comment that ‘‘the regular, high standards, biology, physics, chemistry, those sucks, boring, don’t have any use, and caused the frustration to the kids’’ echoes research in the United States that found ‘‘only about a third of lessons nationally are likely to have a positive impact on student understanding of mathematics/science concepts, and 16% are likely to have a negative effect’’ (p. 42, Weiss, Pasley, Smith, Banilower, & Heck, 2003, cited by Elmesky & Tobin, 2005, p. 808).

In the debate on national education policies oriented to globalization and teachers’ desires to address culture and place-based environmental literacy, teachers are aligned with calls by Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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the U.S. Global Change Research Program (www.usgcrp.gov/usgcrp/ProgramElements/human. htm) for research that: Add[s] to an understanding of how humans contribute to changes in the global environment—why some societies are more resilient and others are more vulnerable to change, and how attributes of social and economic organization can make it either easier or more difficult to mitigate and to adapt to global environmental change.

Would Place, Culture, and Prior Experience Figure in Their Lessons and Evaluations?

The videotaped lessons and interviews with the coordinator showed that a majority of teachers were explicitly using strategies to engage students’ prior experiences and knowledge in their lessons. Written evaluations emphasized the value of learning from others’ experiences—a fourth of all comments were related to social contexts of learning, and two participants rated the opportunity to learn from culturally diverse peers as the best part of the institute. The recognition of the importance of engaging prior knowledge, if applied in their own teaching would help to connect students’ lives to their learning of science and mathematics.

Teachers rated the field and place-based components of the institute very highly. A majority of teachers wanted to extend opportunities for personal place-based learning; one strongly expressed her determination to include field-based learning activities in her future instruction.

A third of the teachers commented on the importance of culture in teaching and learning.

Teachers were focused on acquiring strategies to engage and interest students in their learning and thus valued hands-on, cooperative, place, and culture-based strategies. Minilesson presentations did not contain the explicitly critical, place-based aspects of their discussions from the second day of the science workshop, perhaps because they were developed by teams of teachers from different places with different environmental issues. In my work with EDCS 433 teachers, planning for place-based learning required multifaceted considerations spanning policy issues related to field trips, safety, access, and school resources to collaborations with researchers to develop research and reporting protocols. Only long-term access to their programs enabled me to follow and in many cases, support the development of community-based science programs (Chinn, 2006, in press b).

It can be concluded from evaluations, lesson observations, coordinator interviews, and an email 3 years after the workshop that most participants took the necessary first steps of connecting students’ prior knowledge to math and science topics and connecting topics to familiar contexts and places towards the larger project of developing place-based lessons oriented to active environmental literacy.

Implications for Practice Professional development that prepares science teachers to locate inquiry-based science in their students’ lives and communities addresses science teaching standards, research on learning in science (NRC, 1996, 2005), research on diversity of successful learners (Sternberg, 2003), and recommendations by indigenous science educators (Gitari, 2006; Kawagley, 1999). It suggests that science teacher education incorporate active learning situated in contexts and issues that recognize personal, sociocultural, and ethical contexts of science. Researching cultural aspects of Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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sustainability supports the inclusion of indigenous, traditional, and local knowledge in science and science teacher education, increasing teacher agency, knowledge diversity in science, and the participation of underrepresented minorities (Chinn, 2006, in press b; Manuelito, 2003). Cultural production by teachers and students and the role of ethics and praxis in science learning are areas of active theorizing and research (Barton, Aikenhead, & Chinn, 2006; Brown, 2006; Buxton, 2006; Chinn, 2006, in press a, in press b; Chinn, Hand, & Yore, in press; Elmesky & Tobin, 2005; Furman & Barton, 2006; Roth, in press).

Preparing teachers to develop locally relevant, inquiry-based lessons may be challenging in a climate of test-based accountability, but research shows teacher job satisfaction increases with greater autonomy (National Center for Educational Statistics, 1997), and that students are empowered in science, gain inquiry skills, and show gains in knowledge with inquiry-based instruction (O’Neill & Polman, 2004; Tal, Kajcik, & Blumenfel, 2006). Locating science learning in students’ lives and worlds supports the goal of educating a scientifically literate society able to participate in decision making in an increasingly complex and interdependent world.

Conclusion At the start of the professional development institute, Asian participants from Asian nations tended to perceive indigenous knowledge more negatively than participants from the United States. Presenting indigenous Hawaiian practices and values as a cultural model oriented to sustainability led to a shift toward cultural respect and articulation of an environmental ethic.

Decolonizing methodologies that engaged participants in cycles of collaborative action research and open communication led to recognition of the sociopolitical contexts that shape science and mathematics curricula. Discussions of participants’ lifeplaces led to a critique of the lack of connection between Western Modern test-driven science and mathematics curricula and environmental problems affecting their lives and communities. Participants recognized that powerful interests lay behind globalization, exploiting of natural resources, national curricula, and marginalization of indigenous, traditional, and local knowledge and practices.

Critical views of test-driven, national curricula led to discussions of place-based curricula involving research to understand and address environmental issues. Final lessons were not explicitly critical but incorporated students’ prior knowledge, familiar places, and elements of indigenous practices as the context for math and science learning. These professional development outcomes suggest the potential of critical methodologies to support transformative learning reconnecting Western Modern Science to culture, place, and community. For some of the 19 international science and mathematics teachers and administrators, a new respect for indigenous culture was a first step in that direction. For an Indonesian biology teacher, a critical perspective impels her repositioning as a teacher educator and developer of science curricula relevant to the needs of her country’s rural communities.

The author acknowledges the insightful comments of anonymous reviewers, the participants in the Summer Institute, and the assistance of Terrina G. Wong, Program and Outreach Specialist, Wo International Center, Punahou School. This article extends the first year study ‘‘Developing a sense of place and an environmental ethic: A critical role for Hawaiian/Indigenous science in teacher education?’’ presented at the 2004 National Association for Research in Science Teaching Annual International Conference, Vancouver, BC. Journal of Research in Science Teaching. DOI 10.1002/tea

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QH VJG CUUWORVKQP VJCV KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG UJQWNF DG TGYQTMGF VQ ſ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ŏU XKQNGPV JKUVQT[ QH TGNKIKQWU KPVQNGTCPEG CTIWOGPVU VJCV VT[ VQ VCMG CEEQWPV QH VJG EQPVGZVWCN DCUKU QH UEKGPEGU JCXG EQOG WPFGT ſTG RQUVOQFGTP UEKGPEG UVWFKGU VJG CTIWOGPV IQGU JCXG KPXKVGF CP WPEQOHQTVCDNG CNNKCPEG YKVJ *KPFW UWRTGOCEKUVU 9JKNG OCP[ FKUCITGG RTQHQWPFN[ YKVJ VJCV CPCN[UKU KV KU QH KPVGTGUV VJCV VJG FKUEWUUKQP RCTCNNGNU CTIWOGPVU KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC CPF VJG 75# KP YJKEJ CVVGORVU VQ UKVWCVG UEKGPEG KP C UQEKCN EQPVGZV CTG UGGP CU RNC[KPI KPVQ VJG JCPFU QH TGNKIKQWU HWPFCOGPVCNKUVU QT EWNVWTCN VTCFKVKQPCNKUVU 5EKGPEG KP UWEJ C XKGY JCU PQVJKPI VQ FQ YKVJ EQNQPKCNKV[ IQXGTPCPEG QT ECRKVCN KV KU RWTG MPQYNGFIG CPF VJG RQNKVKECN EQUVU QH VJG UQEKCN UVWF[ QH UEKGPEG CTG VQQ JKIJ 9JKNG +PFKC JCU NGF VJG YC[ KP HQTOCNKUKPI VTCFKVKQPCN MPQYNGFIG RCVGPVU VQ UVTGPIVJGP KVU UVCVWU CU CP GOGTIKPI GEQPQO[ VJG KFGCU VJCV WPFGTIKTF VJCV RTQLGEV CTG CNUQ XKIQTQWUN[ FGDCVGF 4GFF[ RTQDNGOCVKUGU VJG KFGC VJCV VTCFKVKQPCN OGFKEKPG UWDUKUVU KP RJCTOCEQNQIKECNN[ CEVKXG KPITGFKGPVU CPF VJCV INQDCN KPVGNNGEVWCN RTQRGTV[ NCY QHHGTU CP CRRTQRTKCVG HTCOGYQTM HQT VJG RTQVGEVKQP QH VTCFKVKQPCN MPQYNGFIG 5JG CTIWGU VJCV YJKNG FKIKVCN CTEJKXCN RTQLGEVU NKMG +PFKCŏU 6TCFKVKQPCN -PQYNGFIG &KIKVCN .KDTCT[ OKIJV UGTXG VQ RTQVGEV MPQYNGFIG CV VJG NGXGN QH RCVGPVU VJG[ OC[ PQV UGEWTG CICKPUV VJG VJTKXKPI VTCFG QH KPHQTOCN DKQRKTCE[ 6JGUG CTG KORQTVCPV ETKVKEKUOU CPF FGUGTXG ECTGHWN UVWF[ KP VJG EQPVGZV QH VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP UVCVGŏU XGT[ ENQUG GPICIGOGPV YKVJ VJG CTEJKVGEVU QH +PFKCŏU VTCFKVKQPCN MPQYNGFIG RQNKE[ 6JG ETKVKSWG QH VJG KFGC VJCV NGICN EQPEGRVU QH RTQRGTV[ CPF RGTUQPJQQF OCVEJ NQECN KPFKIGPQWU GSWKXCNGPVU KU UKOKNCTN[ RTQOKPGPV KP #WUVTCNKCP FGDCVGU QP VTCFKVKQPCN MPQYNGFIG CPF UEKGPEG +P EQPVTCUV VQ VJG +PFKCP FGDCVGU YJKEJ PCXKICVG TGNKIKQWU PCVKQPCNKUOU VJG #WUVTCNKCP FGDCVGU TGƀGEV VJG EQPVTCFKEVKQPU QH KPFKIGPGKV[ YKVJKP VJG #WUVTCNKCP NGICN HTCOGYQTM CPF VJG[ GXKFGPEG ECTGHWN PCXKICVKQPU QH VJG EQPVGZVU KP YJKEJ PQVKQPU QH EWNVWTG CPF FKHHGTGPEG EQOG VQ DG CUUGTVGF +PPQXCVKXG UVWFKGU QH KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG CPF VJG UEKGPEGU CTG GXKFGPV KP VJG YQTM QH *GNGP 9CVUQP 8GTTCP C RJKNQUQRJGT CPF JKUVQTKCP QH UEKGPEG YJQ GZRNQTGU IGPGTCVKXG CRRTQCEJGU VQ ŎYQTMKPI FKHHGTGPV MPQYNGFIGUŏ KP EQPVGZVU YJGTG MPQYNGFIGU CTG KP SWGUVKQP Ō UWEJ CU KP ſTKPI TGIKOGU QH PCVWTCN NCPFUECRGU Ō TCVJGT VJCP QHHGTKPI CEEQWPVU VJCV NGCP VQYCTFU GVJPQNQIKECN CUUGTVKQPU QH KFGPVKV[ DCUGF MPQYNGFIG *GT KPVGTGUV KP MPQYNGFIG

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RTCEVKEGU KU GEJQGF CNUQ KP VJG YQTM QH &CXKF 6WTPDWNN YJQ KU DCUGF KP /GNDQWTPG CPF YJQUG TGUGCTEJ UKVGU URCP HQWT EQPVKPGPVU CPF GPEQORCUU UEKGPVKſE NCDQTCVQTKGU KP VJG 75# OCRRKPI CPF PCXKICVKQP UKVGU KP 2QN[PGUKC CPF #DQTKIKPCN #WUVTCNKC OGFKGXCN CTEJKVGEVWTG UKVGU CPF FCVCDCUGU QH FKXGTUG MPQYNGFIGU 6WTPDWNNŏU EQTRWU QH YQTM OCMGU C UWUVCKPGF CTIWOGPV VJCV C HQEWU QP VJG VTCPUHGT QT OQXGOGPV QH MPQYNGFIG KU C OQTG RTQFWEVKXG CRRTQCEJ VQ MPQYNGFIG UVWFKGU VJCP VJG GVJPQNQIKECN EQNNGEVKQP QH CRRCTGPVN[ ſZGF HCEVU CPF CTVGHCEVU DGECWUG JG CTIWGU KV KU KP VJG OQXGOGPV QH MPQYNGFIG VJCV RTQQH KU QHHGTGF KPPQXCVKQPU GHHGEVGF CPF CITGGOGPVU TGCEJGF CDQWV VJG PCVWTG QH TGCNKV[ %QPPGNNŏU 5QWVJGTP VJGQT[ UKOKNCTN[ GPICIGU MPQYNGFIG FGDCVGU CETQUU VJG INQDCN UQWVJ %CNNKPI HQT VJG UQEKCN UEKGPEGU CPF JWOCPKVKGU VQ GPICIG C RJKNQUQRJKECN ECPQP VJCV KU INQDCN JGT YQTM FTCYU FGGRN[ QP #HTKECP RJKNQUQRJGT 2CWNKP *QWPVQPFLK YJQUG TGLGEVKQP QH VJG VGTOU GVJPQRJKNQUQRJ[ CPF VJG KPFKIGPQWU ſPFU EQPƀWGPEGU YKVJ #WUVTCNKCP ETKVKECN VJKPMKPI QP OWNVKEWNVWTCNKUO &GDCVGU QP MPQYNGFIG KP .CVKP #OGTKEC UJCTG VJG #WUVTCNKCP CPF +PFKCP GORJCUKU QP KPVGNNGEVWCN RTQRGTV[ YJKEJ TGƀGEV KP OCP[ UGPUGU VJG GHHQTVU QH VJG 9QTNF +PVGNNGEVWCN 2TQRGTV[ 1TICPK\CVKQP VQ HQTOCNN[ TGSWGUV IQXGTPOGPVU VQ RTQVGEV KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG .GF D[ GPXKTQPOGPVCN CEVKXKUO KP VJG #OC\QP KPFKIGPQWU CPF VTCFKVKQPCN MPQYNGFIG FGDCVGU KP .CVKP #OGTKEC CTG FQOKPCVGF D[ FGDCVGU QP GPXKTQPOGPVCN MPQYNGFIG VJCV JCXG VYQ TGOCTMCDN[ FKHHGTGPV UVTCPFU 6JG ſ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ſPFU EQPXGTIGPEG YKVJ VJG ETKVKEKUOU QH OQFGTPKUV VJQWIJV VJCV CRRGCTU KP VJG YQTM EKVGF GCTNKGT QH #WUVTCNKCPU *GNGP 8GTTCP CPF &CXKF 6WTPDWNN 6JG TGNCVKXGN[ WPETKVKECN WUG QH OCRU CPF NGICN HTCOGYQTMU KP UGEVQTU QH #OC\QPKCP CEVKXKUO TGƀGEVU VJG WTIGPE[ QH NCPF TKIJVU CEVKXKUO KP VJG RCUV VYQ FGECFGU YJKEJ JCU UQWIJV VQ GUVCDNKUJ NCPF TKIJVU YJGTG VJQUG JCXG DGGP GTQFGF CPF JWOCP TKIJVU YJGTG NQECN RGQRNG JCXG DGGP VTGCVGF CU

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WĂŐĞ ϯ ŽĨ ϭϬ

GZRGPFCDNG %NGCTN[ VJQUG UVTWIINGU JCXG DGGP XKVCN $WV VJG FKNGOOC HQT #OGTKPFKCP CEVKXKUVU JCU DGGP VJCV VJG EQPEGRVWCN KPHTCUVTWEVWTG VJCV JCU DGGP WUGF VQ UGTXG KPFKIGPQWU RGQRNGUŏ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ſE FCVCDCUGU #TIGPVKPKCP CPVJTQRQNQIKUV /CTKQ $NCUGT CTIWGU VJCV OWNVKEWNVWTCN GPXKTQPOGPVCN CEVKXKUO PGGFU VQ NGV IQ QH VJG KFGC QH EWNVWTG CPF TGVJKPM VJG KFGC QH PCVWTG $QVJ $NCUGT CPF FG NC %CFGPC FTCY QP VJG YQTM QH $TWPQ .CVQWT CPF +UCDGNNG 5VGPIGTU YJQUG ETKVKSWGU QH OQFGTPKUV VJQWIJV QRGP C YC[ VQ VJKPMKPI QWVUKFG QH KVU FWCNKUOU 6JWU HCT VJKU DTKGH CEEQWPV QH TGIKQPCN FGDCVGU QP KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG CPF VJG UEKGPEGU FGOQPUVTCVGU C PWODGT QH RQKPVU x &GDCVGU QP KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG KP +PFKC .CVKP #OGTKEC CPF #WUVTCNKC GZVGPF VQ EWTTKEWNC CV WPKXGTUKVKGU YKVJKP HCEWNVKGU QH UEKGPEG CU OWEJ CU YKVJKP HCEWNVKGU QH UQEKCN UEKGPEG x 6JGUG FGDCVGU RQUG KORQTVCPV SWGUVKQPU CDQWV VJG KPVGTTGNCVKQPUJKRU QH UVCVGU UEKGPEGU CPF RWDNKEU KP CNN VJTGG EQPVGZVU x 7PGCUG YKVJ VJG CUUWORVKQPU CDQWV MPQYNGFIG CPF EWNVWTG VJCV WPFGTIKTF VJG EQPEGRV QH KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG QEEWTU KP CNN VJTGG EQPVGZVU CNDGKV HQT FKHHGTGPV TGCUQPU x %QPXGTUGN[ KP CNN VJTGG EQPVGZVU VJGTG KU UVTQPI KPVGTGUV KP YQTMKPI YKVJ FKHHGTGPV KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIGU x #RRCTGPV KP CNN VJTGG EQPVGZVU CPF RTQOKPGPV KP VYQ QH VJGO KU CP CRRTQCEJ VJCV KPENWFGU SWGUVKQPU CDQWV VJG KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG QH OQFGTPKV[ Ō KP VJG UGPUG KP YJKEJ GPNKIJVGPOGPV JCU DGSWGCVJGF VQ EQPVGORQTCT[ WPKXGTUKVKGU CP QPVQNQI[ QH PCVWTG XGTUWU EWNVWTG OKPF XGTUWU DQF[ UWDLGEV XGTUWU QDLGEV CPF UGNH XGTUWU QVJGT 6JG RQNKVKEU QH FTCYKPI VTCFKVKQPCN VJQWIJV KPVQ WPKXGTUKVKGU CPF IQXGTPCPEG KP .CVKP #OGTKEC #WUVTCNKC CPF 5QWVJ #UKC JQYGXGT CTG XGT[ FKHHGTGPV VQ VJG EQPFKVKQPU ENQUGT VQ JQOG KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC *GTG VJG FGDCVG CDQWV KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG CPF WPKXGTUKVKGU JCU DGGP ECWIJV WR KP C UEKGPEG YCT VJCV ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

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NKMG KVU GSWKXCNGPVU KP 'WTQRG VJG 75# CPF +PFKC JCU EQWPVGTRQUGF ŎJCTF UEKGPEGŏ YKVJ C XGTUKQP QH ŎUEKGPEG UVWFKGUŏ Ō YKVJ ECVCUVTQRJKE TGUWNVU (QTOGT RTGUKFGPV 6JCDQ /DGMK UCY VTCFKVKQPCN OGFKEKPG CU VJG CPVKVJGUKU QH CP GZRNQKVCVKXG 9GUVGTP RJCTOCEGWVKECN KPFWUVT[ 6JG EQPEGRVWCN QRRQUKVKQP IGPGTCVGF C FGCFN[ ŎGKVJGTŌQTŏ Ō GKVJGT #HTKECP OGFKEKPG QT 9GUVGTP UEKGPEG Ō VJCV WPFGTIKTFGF VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP UVCVGŏU HCKNWTG VQ RTQXKFG CPVKTGVTQXKTCNU FWTKPI JKU RTGUKFGPE[ 6JKU HCKNWTG EQPVTKDWVGF OCUUKXGN[ VQ CP #+&5 OQTVCNKV[ ſIWTG QH YGNN QXGT OKNNKQP Ō D[ VJG CEEQWPV QH 70 #+&5 UQOG KP CNQPG YJKEJ VTCPUNCVGU VQ C OQTVCNKV[ TCVG QH CNOQUV RGQRNG GXGT[ FC[ KP 6JCV ITKO ſIWTG CPF KVU TGNCVKQP VQ RQUVEQNQPKCN MPQYNGFIG FGDCVGU UGVU WR CP GZVTCQTFKPCT[ TGURQPUKDKNKV[ HQT UEJQNCTU CP[YJGTG YJQ UGGM VQ RWTUWG VJG XCNWG QH CNVGTPCVKXG KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIGU #U KU VJG PCVWTG QH OCP[ CP KUUWG VJCV KU TGFWEGF VQ RQNGOKE VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP FGDCVG KU EJCTCEVGTKUGF D[ EQPVTCFKEVKQPU CPF WPGZRGEVGF EQPVKPWKVKGU 2GTJCRU VJG OQUV UWTRTKUKPI EQPVKPWKV[ KU VJCV DKVVGT QRRQPGPVU JCXG RWTUWGF OWEJ VJG UCOG UVTCVGI[ VQ GZRQUG VJGKT QRRQUKVKQPŏU EQTG KFGCU CU KPXGPVGF EQPUVTWEVGF CPF CRRTQRTKCVGF 9JGTG /DGMKŏU #+&5 FGPKCNKUVU ECUV XKTWU UEKGPEG CU C EQPUVTWEVKQP QH UQOGVJKPI VJCV FKF PQV GZKUV VJGKT QRRQPGPVU KP VJG JWOCPKVKGU CPF UEKGPEGU JCXG ECUV ŎVTCFKVKQPCN OGFKEKPGŏ CPF ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ CU EQPUVTWEVKQP QH TGCNKVKGU VJCV FKF PQV GZKUV %QPVTCFKEVQT[ CNNKCPEGU JCXG EQOG VQ FGſPG VJG VGTTCKP #+&5 CEVKXKUVUŏ FGHGPEG QH C RWTG UEKGPEG CRRCTGPVN[ WPVCKPVGF D[ CP[ JWOCP KPVGTGUVU JCU RWV KVU UWRRQTVGTU KP CP WPEQOHQTVCDNG CNNKCPEG YKVJ Ŏ$KI 2JCTOCŏ +PFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG RTQRQPGPVUŏ FGHGPEG QH C RWTG VTCFKVKQPCNKUO CRRCTGPVN[ WPVCKPVGF D[ CP[ JWOCP KPVGTGUVU UGVU WR CP WPEQOHQTVCDNG CNNKCPEG YKVJ GNKVGU YJQ WUG VJG KFGC QH ŎVTCFKVKQPŏ VQ KPUWNCVG VJGOUGNXGU HTQO ETKVKEKUO HTQO ŎKPUKFGŏ

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WĂŐĞ ϰ ŽĨ ϭϬ

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

UEJQNCTUJKR QP MPQYNGFIGU KP #WUVTCNKC CPF 0GY <GCNCPF +PFKC .CVKP #OGTKEC CPF 5QWVJ #HTKEC 6JG CTIWOGPV IGPGTCNN[ VCMGU QPG QH VYQ HQTOU 6JG ſTUV KU CP CTIWOGPV HQT OWNVKRNG MKPFU QH MPQYNGFIGU VCMKPI VJG XKGY VJCV OWNVKRNKEKV[ KP KVUGNH KU KORQTVCPV 1H EQWTUG KV KU $WV YJGTG VJG CTIWOGPV VCMGU CU HQWPFCVKQPCN C EWNVWTCN FKXKFG DGVYGGP UEKGPVKſE CPF KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG KV DGEQOGU VTQWDNGF CV DGUV

CWVJQT 6JQMQ\CPK :CDC YJQUG YKFGT DQF[ QH YQTM OCMGU CP KORQTVCPV EQPVTKDWVKQP VQ MPQYNGFIG FGDCVGU KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC CTIWGU

x +V ECP CTIWG VJCV CNN MPQYNGFIG KU ŎGVJPKEŏ QT EWNVWTCN 6JKU CTIWOGPV ECNNU HQT ITGCVGT VQNGTCPEG QH ŎGVJPQMPQYNGFIGŏ

YKVJQWV SWGUVKQPKPI VJG HTCOGU KP VGTOU QH YJKEJ KFGCU QH GVJPKE FKHHGTGPEG GOGTIG CPF OCMGU VJG ECUG VJCV UEKGPEG KU CNUQ GVJPKE 6JKU CTIWOGPV KU HQT EWNVWTCN TGNCVKXKUO VJCV ŎQPGŏU VTWVJ FGRGPFU QP QPGŏU EWNVWTG QT KFGPVKV[ QT RGTURGEVKXGŏ x # TGNCVGF HQTO QH VJG CTIWOGPV KU VJCV CNN MPQYNGFIG ECP DG UJQYP VQ EQPVCKP GNGOGPVU QH UEKGPEG KP YJKEJ ECUG VJG HQEWU QH UEJQNCTN[ GHHQTV CPF CEVKXKUO DGEQOGU C UVTWIING VQ GZVGPF VJG UVCVWU QH UEKGPEG KPENWFKPI VGUVKPI YKVJ VJG VQQNU QH HQTOCN UEKGPEG CPF NQDD[KPI HQT TGEQIPKVKQP IQXGTPOGPV HWPFKPI KPUVKVWVKQPCN RTQVGEVKQP CPF UQ QP 6JG TGUGCTEJ RTQLGEV VJCV VJKU IGPGTCVGU KU VJCV QH KFGPVKH[KPI ŎOCVEJKPI RGTURGEVKXGUŏ +VU OCLQT UJQTVEQOKPI KU VJCV KV QHHGTU PQ ITQWPFU HQT C ETKVKSWG QH VJG UEKGPEGU VJCV KV WUGU KP KVU VTKCNU /QTGQXGT KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG VJCV FQGU PQV OCVEJ VJG GRKUVGOQNQI[ QH VJG UEKGPEGU KU TWNGF QWV

&GURKVG KVU RWDNKECVKQP COKF VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP #+&5 ETKUKU KP VJG CTVKENG OCMGU PQ OGPVKQP QH VJG FGDCVG DGVYGGP VTCFKVKQPCN OGFKEKPGU CPF CPVKTGVTQXKTCNU KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC 6JG CTIWOGPV TGNKGU QP VJG KFGPVKſECVKQP QH CP CWVJGPVKE #HTKECP VTCFKVKQP VJCV KU UGRCTCVG HTQO 9GUVGTP UEKGPEG ;GV KU KV PQV VJG ECUG VJCV YJGTG VJG UVCVG RNC[U C TQNG KP ŎRTQUETKDKPIŏ CPF ŎPQTOCNK\KPIŏ VTCFKVKQPCN JGCNKPI R XKC DWTGCWETCVKE TGIKOGU QH TGIKUVTCVKQP EGTVKſECVKQP GZCOKPCVKQP CUUGUUOGPV EQOOKVVGGU QWVEQOGU CPF FGNKXGTCDNGU VJCV VTCFKVKQPCN RTCEVKEGU CTG RTQHQWPFN[ VTCPUHQTOGF! 6JG YTKVGT CNUQ ECNNU HQT ITGCVGT KPXGUVOGPV D[ VJG UVCVG KP TGUGCTEJ QP VTCFKVKQPCN JGCNKPI KP YC[U VJCV TGVJKPM EQPXGPVKQPCN RTCEVKEGU KP VJG UEKGPEGU 9JKNG VJCV TGUGCTEJ KU KORQTVCPV CPF CRRTQRTKCVG VJGTG CTG UKIPKſECPV FKHſEWNVKGU KP UGVVKPI WR ŎCWVJGPVKE EWNVWTGŏ CU VJG VQWEJUVQPG QH VJG CTIWOGPV (KTUVN[ KV TGNKGU QP C RCTVKEWNCT FGſPKVKQP QH ŎEWNVWTGŏ VQ FGſPG VJG FGDCVG C FGſPKVKQP VJCV KU FGGRN[ TQQVGF KP VJG KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG QH VJG 'WTQRGCP 'PNKIJVGPOGPV +P O[ XKGY C ETKVKSWG QH VJCV UGV QH KFGCU KU RTQHQWPFN[ KORQTVCPV KP TGVJKPMKPI VJG YC[U KP YJKEJ #HTKECP JKUVQT[ KU YTKVVGP 5GEQPFN[ VJGTG KU NKVVNG URCEG KP CP CTIWOGPV VJCV VCMGU ŎCWVJGPVKE EWNVWTGŏ CU C IKXGP GKVJGT HQT VJG ETKVKEKUO QH VTCFKVKQP QT HQT VTCFKVKQPU QH ETKVKEKUO

'CEJ QH VJG CDQXG CRRTQCEJGU EQPUVKVWVGU C OQTCN CTIWOGPV 6JG[ ECNN HQT VJG GSWCNKV[ QH MPQYNGFIGU DCUGF QP VJG CUUGTVKQP VJCV GKVJGT CNN YC[U QH MPQYKPI VJG YQTNF KPENWFKPI VJG UEKGPEGU CTG DGNKGH QT CNN CTG MPQYNGFIG /CP[ KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG UEJQNCTU CPF CEVKXKUVU VTCPURQUG VJG HTCOG QHHGTGF D[ OQFGTPKUV MPQYNGFIGU HCEVU CTG XCNWGU MPQYNGFIGU CTG DGNKGHU ŎPCVWTGŏ KU CEVWCNN[ ŎEWNVWTGŏ EWNVWTGU CTG NKMG PCVWTG CPF UQ QP +V KU YQTVJ PQVKPI VJCV VJG RTQRQPGPVU QH VJG EWNVWTCN FKXGTUKV[ CRRTQCEJ QHVGP WUG VJG CPCNQI[ QH VJG XCNWG QH DKQFKXGTUKV[ YJKEJ OCMGU VJG TCVJGT VTQWDNKPI CUUGTVKQP VJCV FKHHGTGPV EWNVWTGU CTG NKMG FKHHGTGPV URGEKGU 6JKU KU C XGT[ UKOKNCT CTIWOGPV VQ VJCV YJKEJ YCU WUGF D[ CRCTVJGKFŏU KFGQNQIWGU ;GV VTCPURQUKPI VJG EQNQWTU QP VJG EJGUU DQCTF VQ WUG CP CPCNQI[ FQGU PQV EJCPIG VJG HTCOG #TIWOGPVU VJCV KPXGTV VJG OQFGTPKUV FWCNKUOU Ō HCEVU QT XCNWGU MPQYNGFIG QT DGNKGH PCVWTG QT EWNVWTG Ō NGCXG VJG UVTWEVWTG QH VJQUG KFGCU KPVCEV +V KU KORQTVCPV VQ PQVG VJCV VJGTG CTG UKIPKſECPV VTCFG QHHU KP CEEGRVKPI VJG KFGC QH EWNVWTG CU IKXGP DGECWUG KV KU DQWPF WR KP VJG QTKIKPU QH 'WTQRGCP TQOCPVKE PCVKQPCNKUO 9KVJQWV C ETKVKSWG QH EWNVWTG VJG UVWF[ QH FKHHGTGPV YC[U QH MPQYKPI KU WPCDNG VQ EQOOGPV QP VJG EQORNGZ GPOGUJKPI QH ECRKVCN IQXGTPCPEG UEKGPEG INQDCN NCY JKUVQT[ CPF PCVKQPCNKUO KP VJG RTQFWEVKQP QH FKHHGTGPEG 9JCV KV ECP QHHGT JQYGXGT KU C EKTEWNCT CTIWOGPV EWNVWTCN FKHHGTGPEG KU DGECWUG QH EWNVWTG +PGXKVCDN[ UWEJ CP CTIWOGPV RTQRQUGU C UVCTM FKXKUKQP DGVYGGP Ŏ9GUVGTP EWNVWTGŏ QT Ŏ9GUVGTP UEKGPEGŏ CPF Ŏ#HTKECP

QT QVJGT MPQYNGFIGŏ #P GZCORNG KU KP VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP UVWF[ QHHGTGF KP $QCXGPVWTC FG 5QWUC 5CPVQUŏ YKFG TCPIKPI EQNNGEVKQP QH RCRGTU QP TGIKQPCN MPQYNGFIG FGDCVGU VKVNGF #PQVJGT MPQYNGFIG KU RQUUKDNG 6JG ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

#HTKECPU =KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC? ſPF VJGOUGNXGU EQPUVCPVN[ FGUVCDKNK\GF YJKNG VJG DGPGſVU FGTKXGF HTQO VJG JQNKUVKE CRRTQCEJ CPF VJG GICNKVCTKCP PCVWTG QH KPFKIGPQWU OGFKEKPGU CTG PQV DGKPI TGCNK\GF +PUVGCF #HTKECPU CTG UWDLGEVGF VQ OQFGTP RTCEVKEGU COQPI YJKEJ CTG VJG KPXCUKXG VGEJPKSWGU QH ŎUEKGPVKſE OGFKEKPGŏ

.KMG JKU YKFGT UEJQNCTUJKR :CDCŏU CTVKENG TCKUGU VJG KORQTVCPV KUUWG QH OGFKECN RNWTCNKUO ;GV NKMG /DGMKŏU UEKGPEG YCT CPF JKU OQTG TGEGPV EJCNNGPIG VQ UEJQNCTU VQ TGVJKPM VJG TGNCVKQPUJKR DGVYGGP MPQYNGFIG CPF FGOQETCE[ VJG CRRTQCEJ WPFGTUEQTGU VJG PGGF HQT C UEJQNCTUJKR QP MPQYNGFIG VJCV YKNN TGVJKPM VJG VGTOU QH VJG MPQYNGFIG FGDCVG CPF GZRNQTG YJGVJGT ŎUEKGPEGŏ CPF ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG U[UVGOUŏ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ŎQWVKPIŏ CUUQEKCVKQPU CPF KPVGTGUVU 6JG KPUKUVGPEG QP VJG RCTV QH VJG ETKVKECN NGHV KP FGPQWPEKPI GVJPQPCVKQPCNKUO YKVJQWV GPICIKPI VJG RQNKVKEU QH MPQYNGFIG VJCV TGIKQPCN VJKPMGTU QP KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG JCXG JKIJNKIJVGF ETGCVGU KPVQNGTCDNG EQPFKVKQPU HQT UEJQNCTU NKMG :CDC YJQ UYKO CICKPUV VJG VKFG QH KFGCU VJCV KU VJG JGTKVCIG QH VJG RQUV CRCTVJGKF ETKVKECN JWOCPKVKGU KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC ^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ

WĂŐĞ ϱ ŽĨ ϭϬ

+P UWO PQVYKVJUVCPFKPI KVU XGT[ KORQTVCPV EQPVTKDWVKQPU KP JKIJNKIJVKPI VJG TGNCVKQPUJKR DGVYGGP EQNQPKCNKV[ CPF UEJQNCTUJKR VJG ŎEQIPKVKXG LWUVKEGŏ OQXGOGPV JCU PQV UGV KVU JQTK\QPU YKFG GPQWIJ +P WPETKVKECNN[ CEEGRVKPI VJG EQPEGRVWCN UVTWEVWTG QH OQFGTPKV[ KVU ECRCEKV[ VQ QHHGT FKHHGTGPV VJQWIJV KU EWTVCKNGF 9JGP ŎEWNVWTGŏ FGſPGU VJG VGTTCKP KV DTKPIU YKVJ KV VJG TQOCPVKE PQVKQP QH Ŏ$GKPIŏ KP YJKEJ PCVKQPCNKUV UGPVKOGPVU TGHTCOG VJG GZRGTKGPEG QH DGKPI KP C EQNNGEVKXG UKORN[ DGKPI VQIGVJGT CU ŎVJG $GKPI QH VQIGVJGTPGUUŏ KP VJG YQTFU QH ,GCP .WE 0CPE[ 6JCV CTIWOGPV CEEGRVU VJG ŎVJKPIKſECVKQPŏ QH KFGPVKV[ VJCV #KOÃ %ÃUCKTG FGETKGF KP VJG U KP JKU TGUKUVCPEG VQ GVJPQNQI[ 9JCV HQTOU QH EQNNGEVKXG RTGUGPEG QT PGVYQTMU QH CUUQEKCVKQP YGTG CV RNC[ KP VJG RTGEQNQPKCN GTC! #V YJCV JKUVQTKECN RQKPV FKF RGQRNG DGIKP VQ VJKPM KP VJG VKF[ UQEKCN DQWPFCTKGU VJCV CTG KORNKGF D[ VJG KFGC QH ŎEWNVWTGŏ!

6JG CTIWOGPV VJCV + CO QHHGTKPI JCU UGXGTCN RQKPVU QH CITGGOGPV YKVJ VJG ETKVKECN JWOCPKVKGU ;GU VJG KFGC QH ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ KU QHVGP CJKUVQTKECN ;GU KV OC[ TGN[ QP C MKPF QH EWNVWTCNKUO VJCV FTCYU JGCXKN[ QP VJG EQNQPKCN XKUKQP QH EWNVWTG CU EQORTKUGF QH IGPGCNQIKGU CPF DNQQF VKGU ;GU KV KU QHVGP VJG ECUG VJCV ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG OQXGOGPVUŏ CUUGTV CP JKUVQTKECNN[ RTQDNGOCVKE PQVKQP QH GVJPKEKV[ VJCV OC[ YGNN UGTXG VJG KPVGTGUVU QH C ENCUU QH GNKVGU CPF [GU KV KU VTQWDNKPI VQ UGG VJG WUG QH VTCFKVKQP VQ KPUWNCVG KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG FKUEWUUKQPU HTQO ETKVKEKUO 5WEJ ETKVKEKUOU CTG YGNN PQVGF ;GV VJG[ CTG PQV VJG UWO QH YJCV ECP DG UCKF CDQWV FKHHGTGPV MPQYNGFIGU CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI 6JG HQEWU QP KFGPVKV[ RQNKVKEU YKVJKP 5QWVJ #HTKECŏU ETKVKECN JWOCPKVKGU KU + UWIIGUV OKURNCEGF $[ NKOKVKPI VJG ETKVKSWG VQ VJG YC[ KP YJKEJ VJG KFGC QH ŎEWNVWTGŏ KU RQNKVKECNN[ EQPUVTWEVGF CPF CRRTQRTKCVGF VQ QPG QT QVJGT KFGPVKV[ YJGVJGT GVJPKE QT QVJGTYKUG VJG CTIWOGPV NQUGU KVU YC[ 5WEJ CP CTIWOGPV OC[ JCXG DGGP QH XCNWG KP CP GTC KP YJKEJ EWNVWTG CPF KFGPVKV[ YGTG EGPVTCN GNGOGPVU QH CRCTVJGKF KFGQNQI[ $WV 5QWVJ #HTKECŏU EQPVGORQTCT[ UEKGPEG YCTU JCXG UJKHVGF VJG ſIJV QWV QH VJG VGTTCKP QH EWNVWTG CPF UQEKCN HQTOU VQ VJCV QH ŎPCVWTGŏ KVUGNH YJCV KU TGCN YJCV KU TCVKQPCN YJCV KU UEKGPEG JQY KU PCVWTG MPQYP YJQUG UEKGPEGU QWIJV VQ RTGXCKN KP C FGOQETCE[ CPF UQ QP +V KU CRRTQRTKCVG HQT 2CTNKCOGPVU VQ SWGUVKQP KP YJCV UGPUG VJG UEKGPEGU ECP ENCKO VQ FGſPG PCVWTG TGCNKV[ CPF VTWVJ $WV YJGTG VJG CTIWOGPV DGIKPU VQ DG TGUQNXGF D[ CP KFGPVKV[ RQNKVKEU QH MPQYNGFIG Ō Ŏ9GUVGTPŏ QT Ŏ#HTKECPŏ UEKGPEG Ō C FGOQETCE[ VJCV FGRGPFU QP UEKGPEG HQT RQNKEKGU RQNKEKPI CPF LWFIGOGPV KU KPFGGF KP FGGR VTQWDNG #EVKXKUVU KP UWEJ C EQPVGZV JCXG PQV HQWPF KP UEJQNCTUJKR VJG VQQNU VQ OQWPV CP GHHGEVKXG TGURQPUG CPF JCXG OGV VJG UVCVGŏU GHHQTVU VQ CUUGTV CP KFGPVKV[ RQNKVKEU QH PCVWTG D[ FGPQWPEKPI KPVGTGUVU CPF CUUQEKCVKQPU CPF DGNKGHU TCVJGT VJCP TGHTCOKPI KVU SWGUVKQPU CPF ITCRRNKPI YKVJ VJG KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG QH UEJQNCTUJKR KVUGNH +H PQVJKPI GNUG VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP XGTUKQP QH VJG UEKGPEG YCT VGCEJGU VJCV UEJQNCTUJKR D[ FGPWPEKCVKQP KU C VQZKE ICOG 6JG TGEQIPKVKQP VJCV KV YCU YKVJ OWEJ VJG UCOG VQQNU QH CTIWOGPV VJCV /DGMK CUUGTVGF VJCV #+&5 YCU C UQEKCN CPF RQNKVKECN EQPUVTWEVKQP JCU GPQTOQWU EQPUGSWGPEGU HQT VJQUG ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

QH WU KP VJG ETKVKECN JWOCPKVKGU YJQ YGTG UEJQQNGF VQ FGVGEV CPF ŎQWVŏ KPVGTGUVU CPF CUUQEKCVKQPU QH RQYGTHWN GNKVGU $WV VJG UVTWIING QXGT MPQYNGFIG VJCV JCU EQOG VQ DG FGſPGF CU ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ ECPPQV DG CFGSWCVGN[ FGUETKDGF CU EWNVWTCNKUV QT GVJPQPCVKQPCNKUV QT HWPFCOGPVCNKUV QT C OQXGOGPV QH RQNKVKECN GNKVGU QT VJG OCTIKPCNKUGF +H 5QWVJ #HTKECP UEJQNCTUJKR KU VQ OQXG DG[QPF VJG EWTTGPV KORCUUG VJGTG KU C PGGF HQT TGEQIPKVKQP VJCV VJG KFGC QH ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ PQV QPN[ KPEQTRQTCVGU ENCKOU VQ KFGPVKV[ QT GHHQTVU VQ KPEQTRQTCVG ſPCPEKCN ICKP DWV CNUQ KPFGZGU C EJCNNGPIG VQ EGPVTCN KFGCU QH OQFGTPKV[ KPENWFKPI KP TGNCVKQP VQ PQVKQPU QH RGTUQPJQQF KP OGFKEKPG CPF LWTKURTWFGPEG VQ PQVKQPU QH GEQNQIKGU VQ PQVKQPU QH YGNN DGKPI CPF VQ YJCV KV OGCPU VQ MPQY QT DGNKGXG QT KOCIKPG 1PEG QPG TGEQIPKUGU VJG NCPIWCIG QH KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG CU C TGUKUVCPV CRRTQRTKCVKQP QH VJG NCPIWCIG QH FKHHGTGPEG CPF VJCV KV KU PQV UQNGN[ VJG CFXCPEGOGPV QH KPVGTGUVU VJCV KU CV UVCMG DWV CP KPVGTGUV KP VJG RQUUKDKNKV[ QH FKHHGTGPV YQTNFU QVJGT VJCP VJQUG FGſPGF D[ VJG %CTVGUKCP FWCNKUOU OKPFŌDQF[ PCVWTGŌEWNVWTG CPF UQ QP KV DGEQOGU RQUUKDNG VQ GUECRG VJG RCTCN[UKU QH C FGDCVG EQPſPGF VQ YJGVJGT QT PQV ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ KU C ŎVJKPIŏ VJCV KU QT KU PQV ŎTGCNŏ # TKEJ TCPIG QH NKVGTCVWTGU KPHQTOU VJG RQUUKDKNKVKGU VJCV CTG QRGPGF D[ UWEJ C UJKHV KP CRRTQCEJ CPF KP VJG TGOCKPFGT QH VJKU CTVKENG + UGV QWV HQWT KPVGTTGNCVGF EQPXGTUCVKQPU VJCV KNNWUVTCVG RQUUKDNG CRRTQCEJGU HQT TGUGCTEJGTU YJQ JQRG VQ GPICIG YKVJ C YKFGT KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG

dŚŝŶŐƐ͗ dŽǁĂƌĚƐ Ă ĐƌŝƟƋƵĞ ŽĨ ŵŽĚĞƌŶŝƐƚ ŽŶƚŽůŽŐŝĞƐ +P TG TGCFKPI CURGEVU QH VJG KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG FGDCVGU CU C TGUKUVCPEG VQ VJG CXCKNCDNG HTCOGU QH OQFGTP MPQYNGFIGU C ſTUV RQUUKDKNKV[ GOGTIGU VJCV CV VKOGU VJG XGT[ ŎVJKPIUŏ WPFGT FKUEWUUKQP OC[ DG FKHHGTGPV /CP[ 5QWVJ #HTKECP ſUJGTU HQT GZCORNG QHHGT CEEQWPVU QH VJG QEGCP CU C RCTVPGT VQ YJQO [QW NKUVGP CPF YKVJ YJQO [QW JCXG C TGNCVKQPUJKR 6JG QEGCP KP VJKU XKGY KU PQV VJG QPG MPQYP KP QEGCPQITCRJ[ CU C YCVGT OCUU EJCTCEVGTKUGF D[ EWTTGPVU CPF VGORGTCVWTG 0GKVJGT KU KV VJG ŎQEGCPŏ VJCV KU MPQYP D[ GEQU[UVGO UGTXKEG CUUGUUOGPVU HQT GZCORNG CU UQOGVJKPI VJCV ECP DG XCNWGF D[ RTKEG VCIU 0QT KU KV VJG MKPF QH GEQU[UVGO RTQRQUGF D[ RQRWNCT FQEWOGPVCTKGU CU QPG VJCV FQGU PQV JCXG CP[ RGQRNG KP VJG RKEVWTG +V KU CNUQ PQV VJG QEGCP VJCV KU VJG OGCPU QH RTQFWEVKQP KP UVQEM CUUGUUOGPV UEKGPEG QH ECNEWNCDNG SWCPVKVKGU QH C UKPING URGEKGU QH ſUJ (KUJ VQQ OKIJV DG WPFGTUVQQF FKHHGTGPVN[ OCP[ ſUJGTU URGCM QH VJG KPVGNNKIGPEG QH ſUJ CPF FQ PQV UGG VJGO CU VJG WPKPVGNNKIGPV CPF WPTGURQPUKXG HQTOU QH NKHG VJCV CRRGCT KP CPPWCN ECVEJ SWQVCU 6JKPMKPI KP VJKU YC[ KV DGEQOGU RQUUKDNG VQ WPFGTUVCPF VJCV YJCV RGQRNG WPFGTUVCPF VQ DG PCVWTG Ō YJGVJGT QEGCP QT ſUJ Ō OKIJV DG XGT[ FKHHGTGPV ;GV C ſUJGTŏU ŎQEGCP CU RCTVPGTŏ QT ŎſUJ YKVJ KPVGNNKIGPEGŏ FQGU PQV PGEGUUCTKN[ PGGF VQ DG ŎEQPXGTVGFŏ KPVQ ŎſUJ QT QEGCP CU QDLGEVUŏ KP QTFGT VQ GPUWTG VJGKT EQPUGTXCVKQP #U ſUJGTKGU OCPCIGOGPV OQXGU VQYCTF CP GEQU[UVGO CRRTQCEJ VQ ſUJGTKGU VJCV KPENWFGU C EQPUWNVCVKXG TGNCVKQPUJKR YKVJ ſUJGTU KP ^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ

WĂŐĞ ϲ ŽĨ ϭϬ

VGTOU QH VJG %QPXGPVKQP QP $KQFKXGTUKV[ VJG RCTVPGTUJKR VJCV OCP[ ſUJGTU FGUETKDG YJGP VJG[ URGCM QH VJG UGC CPF ſUJ KU C TGUQWTEG HQT GODCVVNGF OCTKPG EQPUGTXCVKQPKUVU VJCV JCU PQ RTKEG VCI /WEJ CU VJG QEGCP ECP OGCP FKHHGTGPV VJKPIU VQ ſUJGTU KV ECP CNUQ OGCP FKHHGTGPV VJKPIU KP VJG UEKGPEGU # OCTKPG DKQNQIKUV YJQ JCU ſUJGF HQT [GCTU ECP MPQY VJG QEGCP KP YC[U VJCV GXGP JG QT UJG ECPPQV EQOOWPKECVG KP C SWQVC EQOOKVVGG VJCV QPN[ CNNQYU FGEKUKQPU VQ DG DCUGF QP PCVWTGU VJCV ECP DG TGRTGUGPVGF KP ECNKDTCVKQPU CPF SWCPVKVKGU # OCTKPG GEQNQIKUV OKIJV UGG VJG UGC XGT[ FKHHGTGPVN[ HTQO VJG UVQEM CUUGUUOGPV UEKGPVKUV KP OWEJ VJG UCOG YC[ CU C ſUJGT YJQ CESWKTGU CEEGUU VQ KPFWUVTKCN UECNG GZVTCEVKXG ECRCEKV[ OKIJV DGIKP VQ VJKPM SWKVG FKHHGTGPVN[ CDQWV ſUJ 6JG RQKPV KU VJCV VJG ŎPCVWTGUŏ VJCV CTG KP RNC[ CTG PQV DCUGF QP UQOGQPGŏU EWNVWTCN

QT ŎUVCMGJQNFGTŏ KFGPVKV[ DWV QP VJGKT CEVWCN KPVGTCEVKQPU YKVJ UGC CPF ſUJ Ŏ#P QDLGEV FQGU PQV UVCPF D[ KVUGNH ŏ YTKVG /CTKCPPG .KGP CPF ,QJP .CY ŎDWV GOGTIGU KP VJG TGNCVKQPU QH RTCEVKEGŏ 6JG UJQTVJCPF VGTO HQT VJKU KPUKIJV KU VJCV QH C ŎTGNCVKQPCN QPVQNQI[ŏ 5WEJ CP KPUKIJV TGƀGEVU VJG DGIKPPKPIU QH C RCTCFKIO UJKHV KP C FKCNQIWG QP VJG PCVWTG QH MPQYNGFIG KP VJG JWOCPKVKGU CPF UEKGPEGU 9QTMKPI YKVJ KV RWDNKE EQPUWNVCVKQPU QP OCTKPG EQPUGTXCVKQP OKIJV DGIKP VQ OQXG VJG EQPXGTUCVKQP DG[QPF C RGFCIQI[ VJCV CKOU VQ UGEWTG EQORNKCPEG YKVJ UEKGPEG VQ RTQLGEVU VJCV GZRNQTG FKHHGTGPV YC[U QH MPQYKPI VJG OCTKPG GPXKTQPOGPV 9KVJ UWHſEKGPV VKOG HQT IGPGTCVKXG FKCNQIWG CDQWV FKHHGTGPV YC[U QH MPQYKPI VJG UGC KPENWFKPI JQY VQ GXCNWCVG MPQYNGFIGU VJG OCPCIGOGPV QH VJG OCTKPG GEQU[UVGO CU C EQOOQPU OKIJV DGIKP VQ DG C TGCNKV[ KP URGEKſE NQECNGU 6JKU EQPXGTUCVKQP YQWNF DG XGT[ FKHHGTGPV HTQO VJG QPG VJCV KU EWTTGPVN[ RQNCTKUGF DGVYGGP MPQYNGFIGU VJCV CTG RTGUGPVGF CU KFGPVKV[ DCUGF ŎſUJGTUŏ CPF ŎUEKGPVKUVUŏ CPF VJQUG VJCV CTG ŎEWNVWTCN DGNKGHŏ XGTUWU ŎPCVWTCN UEKGPEGŏ 9JGTG VJG VGTOU QH VJG FGDCVG ECVGIQTKUG MPQYNGFIGU CU FKHHGTGPV DGHQTG VJG RCTVKGU JCXG URQMGP C YQTF VQ GCEJ QVJGT VJGTG KU XGT[ NKVVNG EJCPEG QH FKUEQXGTKPI VJG NKPMCIGU CPF RCTVKCN EQPPGEVKQPU VJCV OKIJV DGIKP C PGY EQPXGTUCVKQP +PFGGF KV KU RGTJCRU RCTVN[ HQT VJKU TGCUQP VJCV TCVJGT VJCP UGEWTKPI VJG CEVKXG EQQRGTCVKQP QH ſUJGTU OCTKPG EQPUGTXCVKQP GHHQTVU JCXG VQ FCVG RTQXQMGF C ITGCV FGCN QH TGUKUVCPEG

3WGUVKQPU QH RWDNKE KPXQNXGOGPV KP VJG IGPGTCVKQP QH MPQYNGFIG CTG EGPVTCN VQ VJG YQTM QH $TWPQ .CVQWT CPF +UCDGNNG 5VGPIGTU CNVJQWIJ KP XGT[ FKHHGTGPV YC[U VQ VJQUG RTQRQUGF D[ HQTOGT RTGUKFGPV 6JCDQ /DGMK KP C URGGEJ KP ,CPWCT[ 6QIGVJGT YKVJ /KEJGN 5GTTGU COQPIUV QVJGTU VJGUG YTKVGTU JCXG FGXGNQRGF C EQTRWU QH YQTM VJCV KU ETKVKECN QH C FQOKPCPV UEJQNCTN[ JGTKVCIG YJKEJ UGXGTU ŎPCVWTGŏ HTQO ŎEWNVWTGŏ CPF ŎDGNKGHŏ HTQO ŎMPQYNGFIGŏ /CLQT TGUQWTEGU KPENWFG .CVQWTŏU 9G JCXG PGXGT DGGP OQFGTP 2CPFQTCŏU JQRG Ō 'UUC[U QP VJG TGCNKV[ QH UEKGPEG UVWFKGU 2QNKVKEU QH PCVWTG Ō *QY VQ DTKPI VJG UEKGPEGU KPVQ FGOQETCE[ CPF .CVQWT CPF 9GKDGNŏU /CMKPI VJKPIU RWDNKE #VOQURJGTGU QH FGOQETCE[ 6JG RJKNQUQRJGT QH UEKGPEG +UCDGNNG 5VGPIGTU YJQ OC[ ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

DG MPQYP VQ TGCFGTU QH VJKU LQWTPCN VJTQWIJ JGT YQTM QP EJCQU VJGQT[ YKVJ 0QDGN 2TK\G HQT %JGOKUVT[ YKPPGT +N[C 2TKIQIKPG JCU YTKVVGP GZVGPUKXGN[ QP VJG UEKGPEGU OWEJ QH YJKEJ KU PGYN[ RWDNKUJGF KP 'PINKUJ UGG 6JG KPXGPVKQP QH OQFGTP UEKGPEG %QUOQRQNKVKEU + CPF %QUOQRQNKVKEU ++ YJKEJ KPENWFGU C NQPI GUUC[ QP SWCPVWO OGEJCPKEU CNQPIUKFG CPQVJGT QP YJCV UJG ECNNU ŎVJG EWTUG QH VQNGTCPEGŏ 9JQ YCPVU VQ DG VQNGTCVGF! UJG CUMU 6JGUG EQPXGTUCVKQPU RQKPV VQ C TGEQPEGRVWCNKUCVKQP QH MPQYNGFIG CU EQPUVCPVN[ RTQFWEGF CPF TGRTQFWEGF KP KPVGTCEVKQPU -PQYNGFIG KP VJKU XKGY KU PQV VJG CESWKUKVKQP QH WPOGFKCVGF HCEVU PQT KU KV VJG WPOGFKCVGF CRRTGJGPUKQP QH KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIGU QT KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG 6JGTG CTG CNYC[U OGFKCVKQPU Ō CPF CU UWEJ MPQYNGFIG UVWFKGU CTG CV VJGKT UVTQPIGUV YJGP HQEWUGF QP ECTGHWN UVWF[ QH JQY MPQYNGFIG QDLGEVU EQOG VQ DG IGPGTCVGF 5WEJ CP CRRTQCEJ KU PQV C EWNVWTCN TGNCVKXKUO DWV KPUVGCF DTKPIU VQ EQPXGTUCVKQPU CDQWV VJG FGOQETCVKUCVKQP QH MPQYNGFIG CP CVVGPVKQP VQ VJG YC[U KP YJKEJ TGUGCTEJ RTQEGUUGU DTKPI RCTVKEWNCT TGCNKVKGU KPVQ DGKPI +UCDGNNG 5VGPIGTU HQT GZCORNG CVVGPFU VQ VJG YC[U KP YJKEJ VJG MPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[ JCUVGPU WU VQ KFGPVKH[ ŎVJKPIUŏ KP QWT TGUGCTEJ RTQFWEVU OKUUKPI SWCNKVCVKXG CURGEVU NKMG XKVCNKV[ CPF YGNN DGKPI C RQKPV YJKEJ + UJCNN RWTUWG NCVGT *GT YQTM KU TGOKPKUEGPV QH VJG RTQDNGO VJCV #KOÃ %ÃUCKTG RKVJKN[ HQTOWNCVGF FGECFGU CIQ KP JKU TGLGEVKQP QH EQNQPKCN VJQWIJV Ŏ%QNQPKUCVKQP VJKPIKſECVKQP ŏ JG YTQVG (QT UEJQNCTU UGGMKPI VQ TGVJKPM VJG TGNCVKQPUJKR DGVYGGP VJG WPKXGTUKV[ CPF CNN VJCV HCNNU DG[QPF KVU TQQHVQRU Ō UVKNN UQ QHVGP OQFGNNGF QP )TGGM VGORNGU GXGP JGTG KP #HTKEC Ō YJCV FQGU KV OGCP VQ CNNQY VJG RQUUKDKNKV[ VJCV VJGTG CTG YC[U QH MPQYKPI VJG YQTNF VJCV CTG PQV GCUKN[ TGPFGTGF KP VJG NCPIWCIG QH QDLGEVU CPF UWDLGEVU! 6JG RTQDNGO QH VTCPUNCVKPI EQORNGZ TGNCVKQPCNKVKGU KPVQ ŎVJKPIUŏ KU EGPVTCN VQ EWTTGPV 5QWVJ #HTKECP FGDCVGU QP #HTKECP MPQYNGFIGU 6YQ GZCORNGU UWHſEG 5CPIQOCUŏ VTCFKVKQPCN JGCNGTUŏ KPUKIJVU KPVQ VJG EQPUGSWGPEGU QH UQEKCN TGNCVKQPUJKRU HQT JGCNVJ CPF FKUGCUG GZVGPF DG[QPF VJG PQVKQP QH JGCNVJ CU VJG RTQRGTV[ QH CP KPFKXKFWCN RGTUQP CPF VJGKT DKQEJGOKUVT[ 5KOKNCTN[ FKHHGTGPV WPFGTUVCPFKPIU QH YJCV KV KU VQ DG CP GVJKECN RGTUQP IGPGTCVG OCTMGFN[ KPPQXCVKXG CRRTQCEJGU VQ EQPƀKEV TGUQNWVKQP YJGTG LWTKURTWFGPEG KU WPFGTUVQQF KP TGNCVKQP VQ W$WPVW +P DQVJ ECUGU CNVJQWIJ QPG GZCORNG YQWNF DG VCWIJV KP C NCY HCEWNV[ CPF VJG QVJGT KP VJG JGCNVJ UEKGPEGU CP CRRTQCEJ ITQWPFGF KP TGNCVKQPCN QPVQNQI[ CUUKUVU KP UJKHVKPI VJG HQEWU QH VJG FGDCVG CYC[ HTQO YJGVJGT QT PQV VJKPIU CTG TGCNN[ TGCN QT TGCNN[ DGNKGH VQYCTF C FKUEWUUKQP VJCV TGEQIPKUGU VJCV PQVKQPU QH YJCV KV OGCPU VQ DG C RGTUQP CTG RTQHQWPFN[ KORQTVCPV HQT NGICN CPF OGFKECN RTCEVKEG CPF HQT SWGUVKQPU QH ECTG CPF PWTVWTG KP VJG UEKGPEGU

ŵďŽĚŝĞĚ ŬŶŽǁůĞĚŐĞƐ ĂŶĚ ĚĂƚĂ 4GVJKPMKPI VJG URNKV QH OKPF CPF DQF[ UQ FQOKPCPV KP VJG KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG QH VJG 'PNKIJVGPOGPV QHHGTU C UGEQPF CTGPC QH GPSWKT[ QP MPQYNGFIGU CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI 5EJQNCTUJKR QP MPQYNGFIG KU KPETGCUKPIN[ VWTPKPI CVVGPVKQP VQ RTCEVKEG DCUGF MPQYNGFIGU VJCV CTG PQV GCUKN[ TGPFGTGF CU PWODGTU $[ EQPVTCUV VGEJPQNQIKGU Ō NKMG IGQITCRJKECN ^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ

WĂŐĞ ϳ ŽĨ ϭϬ

KPHQTOCVKQP U[UVGOU FCVCDCUGU JGCTV TCVG OQPKVQTU Ō ECP RTQFWEG YJCV C EQWTV QH NCY OKIJV TGICTF VQ DG ŎLWUVKſGF VTWG DGNKGHŏ *QY OKIJV UEJQNCTU CEEQWPV HQT VJG YC[U QH MPQYKPI VJCV GZKUV KP VJG JCPFU QH VJG OKFYKHG YJQ TGCFU VJG DKTVJKPI DGNN[ YKVJ JGT JCPFU! *QY OKIJV UJG FGHGPF YJCV UJG MPQYU KP C EQWTV QH NCY YJGTG JGT CEEWUGTU CEEWUG JGT QH ŎOCNRTCEVKEGŏ DGECWUG UJG FKF PQV IGPGTCVG C EQPUVCPV UVTGCO QH PWODGTU HTQO C HQGVCN JGCTV TCVG OQPKVQT VJCV YQWNF JCXG VGVJGTGF VJG NCDQWTKPI OQVJGT VQ C JQURKVCN DGF! 7PFGT YJCV EQPFKVKQPU QH CTIWOGPV YQWNF JGT CEEWUGTU CEMPQYNGFIG VJCV [GCTU QH GZRGTKGPEG KP QDUVGVTKE OGFKEKPG DWKNFU C XGT[ UKOKNCT UGVU QH UMKNNU YJKEJ QDUVGVTKEKCPU RTK\G CU OWEJ CU VJG[ FQ VJG RCVVGTPU GOKVVGF HTQO VJGKT JGCTV TCVG OQPKVQTU! #V VJG EQTG QH VJKU CTIWOGPV KU VJG TGEQIPKVKQP VJCV UQOG YC[U QH MPQYKPI NKG QWVUKFG VJG VGTTCKP QH HQTOCNN[ CEETGFKVGF MPQYNGFIG KP OCP[ ECUGU PQV DGECWUG VJG[ CTG PQV LWUVKſCDNG DWV DGECWUG VJG[ TGN[ QP HQTOU QH UGPUQT[ FCVC HQT YJKEJ VGEJPQNQIKGU YJKEJ OKIJV OGCUWTG VJGO JCXG PQV [GV DGGP FGXGNQRGF CPF DGECWUG MPQYNGFIG VJCV KU JCTF VQ SWCPVKH[ QT YTKVG FQYP KU JCTF VQ YQTM YKVJ KP FKCNQIWGU DGVYGGP VJG UEKGPEGU CPF PQP HQTOCNKUGF GODQFKGF MPQYNGFIGU ;GV VJG FKHſEWNV[ QH VJQUG MKPFU QH EQPXGTUCVKQPU YJKEJ OC[ JCRRGP DGVYGGP ſUJGTU CPF OCTKPG EQPUGTXCVKQPKUVU KP OWEJ VJG UCOG YC[ CU DGVYGGP OKFYKXGU CPF QDUVGVTKEKCPU KU PQV DGECWUG VJG MPQYNGFIGU KP VJGOUGNXGU JCXG UQOG TCFKECN EWNVWTCN FKHHGTGPEG 6JG FKHſEWNV[ QH VTCPUNCVKPI VJGUG MKPFU QH FKHHGTGPV MPQYNGFIGU KU DGECWUG VJG UEKGPEGU JCXG KPJGTKVGF [GCTU QH VTCFKVKQP VQ TGOQXG CNOQUV CNN DQFKN[ UGPUGU GZEGRV VJG XKUWCN HTQO KVU YC[U QH MPQYKPI 6JG GPWOGTCDNG Ō VJCV YJKEJ ECP DG EQWPVGF Ō EQWPVU CU GXKFGPEG 6JG TGNCVKQPUJKR DGVYGGP NCY VGEJPQNQI[ YTKVKPI CPF MPQYKPI KP VJKU UEGPCTKQ EQOGU WR HQT UETWVKP[ 6JG TGCNKUCVKQP KU RTQXQECVKXG CTEJKXGU FCVCDCUGU CPF GXKFGPVKCTKGU OGCUWTG VJCV YJKEJ KU XKUKDNG YKVJKP C RCTVKEWNCT KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG QT UEJQNCTN[ QTKGPVCVKQP 6GEJPQNQIKGU KP QVJGT YQTFU DTKPI RCTVKEWNCT MPQYNGFIG QDLGEVU KPVQ DGKPI 6JG KORNKECVKQP RTQITCOOGU QH TGUGCTEJ VJCV NQQM HQT IGPGTCVKXG FKCNQIWGU CETQUU MPQYNGFIG VTCFKVKQPU ECP YQTM VQYCTFU ITCURKPI FKHHGTGPV OGCUWTCDNGU CPF FKHHGTGPV GXKFGPVKCTKGU CPF RGTJCRU PGGF VQ DG DQNF GPQWIJ VQ TGVJKPM YJCV KV KU VJCV VGEJPQNQIKGU EQWNF DG OGCUWTKPI +P QTFGT VQ RWTUWG VJKU MKPF QH KPPQXCVKQP VJG OGVJQFQNQI[ KU GVJPQITCRJKE FGVCKNGF ECTGHWN CVVGPVKQP VQ JQY RGQRNG MPQY YJCV VJG[ ENCKO # TGEGPV YQTM VJCV GZRNQTGU VJKU CRRTQCEJ KU VJCV QH CPVJTQRQNQIKUV 6KO +PIQNF YJQUG DQQM .KPGU # DTKGH JKUVQT[ QHHGTU C ETKVKSWG QH VGEJPQNQIKGU QH FCVC EQNNGEVKQP +PIQNFŏU RTQLGEV CVVGPFU VQ VJG YC[U KP YJKEJ OQFGTPKV[ TGNKGU QP FCVC TGEQTFKPI VGEJPQNQIKGU Ō UWEJ CU ECTVQITCRJ[ OWUKECN PQVCVKQP CPF CTEJKVGEVWTCN FTCYKPI Ō VJCV KP VJG PCOG QH QDLGEVKXKV[ TGOQXG OQXGOGPV CPF GODQFKGF UGPUGU QVJGT VJCP VJG XKUWCN HTQO VJG PQVCVKQP QH KPHQTOCVKQP +PIQNFŏU RTQLGEV [KGNFU OCP[ RQUUKDKNKVKGU HQT C TG GPICIGOGPV QH VJG JWOCPKVKGU UEKGPEGU VGEJPQNQI[ CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI VJCV JCXG PQV HQWPF VJGKT YC[ KPVQ EWTTKEWNC

ZĞĂƐŽŶƐ ĨŽƌ ŬŶŽǁŝŶŐ͗ ^ĐĂůĞƐ͕ ŵŽĚĞůƐ ĂŶĚ ǀŝƐƵĂů ĂƌƚƐ 6JG QDUGTXCVKQP VJCV FKHHGTGPV MPQYNGFIGU GOGTIG KP TGNCVKQP VQ VGEJPQNQIKGU CNUQ KU RGTVKPGPV VQ VJKPMKPI CDQWV ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

UECNGU CPF OQFGNU (KUJGTU YJQ CTG HCOKNKCT YKVJ URGEKſE DC[U ECP EQOOGPV QP EJCPIGU KP VJG CXCKNCDKNKV[ QH ſUJ KP SWCNKVCVKXGN[ FKHHGTGPV VGTOU VQ VJQUG QH C UEKGPVKUV CUUGUUKPI CXGTCIG ECVEJGU KP NCVKVWFG NQPIKVWFG %KV[ RGQRNG DCVVNKPI YKVJ WTDCP ƀQQFKPI JCXG CP CEEWOWNCVGF NQECN MPQYNGFIG DQVJ UQEKCN CPF GEQNQIKECN VJCV OC[ DG XGT[ FKHHGTGPV HTQO VJG J[FTQNQIKECN OQFGNU CPF J[FTCWNKE UEKGPEGU DGJKPF ƀQQF TKUM GUVKOCVKQP CPF OCPCIGOGPV %NKOCVG UEKGPVKUVU CTG YQTMKPI YKVJ VQ [GCT UECNGU DWV FGEKUKQP OCMGTU KP 2CTNKCOGPV CTG QHVGP YQTMKPI YKVJ C [GCT GNGEVQTCN VKOGHTCOG &KHHGTGPV UECNGU KP QVJGT YQTFU CTG PQV LWUV CDQWV FCVC EQORTGUUKQP DWV TGƀGEV FKHHGTGPV RWTRQUGU RGQRNG JCXG HQT MPQYKPI CPF VJGTGHQTG FKHHGTGPV MPQYNGFIG QDLGEVU QT FKHHGTGPVN[ MPQYP TGNCVKQPUJKRU CTG KP VJG OQFGNU &KHHGTGPV TGCUQPU VQ MPQY RTQFWEG FKHHGTGPV QDLGEVU QH CVVGPVKQP QT FKHHGTGPV HCEVU Ō QT VQ WUG .CVQWTŏU RJTCUG FKHHGTGPV OCVVGTU QH EQPEGTP 6JG OCR KU PQV VJG VGTTKVQT[ DWV C EQPXGPVKQP HQT KOCIKPKPI KV +H ŎMPQYKPIŏ KP VJG UEKGPEGU KPXQNXGU YJCV GRKUVGOQNQIKUV %CVJGTKPG 'NIKP ECNNU TGEQPſIWTCVKQP Ō ŎTGQTICPK\KPI C FQOCKP UQ VJCV JKVJGTVQ QXGTNQQMGF QT WPFGTGORJCUK\GF HGCVWTGU RCVVGTPU QRRQTVWPKVKGU CPF TGUQWTEGU EQOG VQ NKIJVŏ Ō VJGP KV DGEQOGU RQUUKDNG VQ QRGP C OWEJ OQTG PWCPEGF FGDCVG QXGT VJG WUGU QH VJG KOCIKPCVKXG CTVU UECNGU CPF OQFGNU KP FKCNQIWG YKVJ FKHHGTGPV YC[U QH MPQYKPI 6JGUG MKPFU QH CTIWOGPVU QHHGT C DTKFIG HQT UEJQNCTU YJQ YCPV VQ GZRNQTG VJG RQUUKDKNKVKGU QH FKHHGTGPV YC[U QH MPQYKPI 6JG NCVG 'OOCPWGN %JWMYWFK '\G CTIWGF HQT WPFGTUVCPFKPI XCTKGVKGU QH TCVKQPCNKV[ Ŏ4GCUQP KU PQV C VJKPI ŏ JG YTQVG ŎDWV TCVJGT C ſGNF QH OGPVCN CEVU KP RGTEGRVKQP WPFGTUVCPFKPI CPF GZRNCPCVKQP KPENWFKPI VJG HTCOGYQTMU QH EQORTGJGPUKQP CPF LWUVKſECVKQPU QH VJG ſGNF KVUGNHŏ '\GŏU WPVKOGN[ RCUUKPI KU C ITGCV NQUU KP VJKU ſGNF CPF JKU RQUVJWOQWUN[ RWDNKUJGF YQTM QHHGTU CP KORQTVCPV EQOOGPVCT[ QP WPFGTUVCPFKPI TCVKQPCNKVKGU KP TGNCVKQP VQ TCVKQPCNGU HQT MPQYKPI

dŽǁĂƌĚƐ Ă ĐƌŝƟƋƵĞ ŽĨ ƚŚĞ ŬŶŽǁůĞĚŐĞ ĞĐŽŶŽŵ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Ō KP UJQTV VJG CURGEVU QH MPQYNGFIG CPF MPQYKPI VJCV CTG PQV GCUKN[ ŎVJKPIKſGFŏ 6JGUG CURGEVU KPENWFG HQT 5VGPIGTU VJG ECTG CPF PWTVWTG QH C SWCNKV[ QH CECFGOKE CTIWOGPV VJCV KU CDNG VQ CVVGPF VQ VJCV YJKEJ RGQRNG ſPF PWTVWTKPI CPF NKHG IKXKPI VJG SWCNKVCVKXG CURGEVU QH YGNN DGKPI VJCV VJG ŎMPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[ŏ KU WPCDNG VQ OGCUWTG KP HCOKNKCT MKPFU QH GPWOGTCVKQPU CPF YJKEJ KV VJGTGHQTG HCKNU VQ PQVKEG 5VGPIGTUŏ EQOOGPVU RTQXQMG OCP[ SWGUVKQPU QP YJCV QPG OKIJV ECNN 5QWVJ #HTKECŏU Ŏ#4XU#48Uŏ #HTKECP 4GPCKUUCPEG ^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ

WĂŐĞ ϴ ŽĨ ϭϬ

XU #PVK4GVTQ8KTCNU RQNGOKE +P VJKU CP KORQTVCPV NQECN SWGUVKQP KU KP YJCV YC[U FQGU VJG 5QWVJ #HTKECP UEKGPEG YCT YKVJ KVU UVCTM RQUKVKQPU QP UEKGPEG CPF VTCFKVKQPCN OGFKEKPG UGV WR EQPFKVKQPU KP YJKEJ FKUEWUUKQPU QH ECTG CPF PWTVWTG CPF PWVTKVKQP DGEQOG ŎFKUUKFGPV UEKGPEGŏ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ŏ ECNN KU HQT CECFGOKEU VQ UVQR FGXGNQRKPI GXGT ENGXGTGT FGPWPEKCVKQPU QH QPG UKFG XGTUWU CPQVJGT CPF VQ QRGP C FKCNQIWG CDQWV C FKHHGTGPV GEQNQI[ QH MPQYNGFIG VJCV OKIJV QHHGT TGUGCTEJGTU C YC[ QH OQXKPI RCUV VJG FGUVTWEVKXG HCNNQWV QH VJG UEKGPEG YCTU 5VGPIGTUŏ YQTM CNUQ RTQXQMGU SWGUVKQPU CDQWV VJG GPVCPINGOGPV QH KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG YKVJ VJG MPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[ KP GOGTIKPI OCTMGVU NKMG 5QWVJ #HTKEC +PFKC CPF $TC\KN (QT GZCORNG QPEG RCTVKEWNCT OQNGEWNGU JCXG RCUUGF VJGKT ENKPKECN VTKCNU CPF CTG FGſPGF CU VTCFKVKQPCN OGFKEKPG

QT Ŏ6/ŏ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ŎVJKPIKſECVKQPŏ VJCV TGPFGTU WPPCOGCDNG GZCEVN[ VJG UQTVU QH XKVCNKVKGU CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI CPF DGKPI VJCV EQPUVKVWVG VJG KPFKIGPQWU TGUKUVCPEG VQ VJG INQDCN GEQPQO[ 5WEJ C TGUKUVCPEG KU GXKFGPV PQV QPN[ KP .CVKP #OGTKEC DWV CNUQ KP VJG ŎUNQY UEKGPEGŏ OQXGOGPV KP 'WTQRG #PF KV KU GXKFGPV KP EQWTVU KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC YJGTG LWFIGU NKMG ;XQPPG /QMIQTQ CPF #NDKG 5CEJU JCXG UQWIJV VQ TGVJKPM VJG RTKPEKRNGU QH LWTKURTWFGPEG KP YC[U VJCV TGƀGEV RTKPEKRNGU QH WDWPVW CNQPIUKFG SWGUVKQPU QH ſPCPEKCN TGEQORGPUG 6JG EWTTGPV 5QWVJ #HTKECP RQNKE[ QP KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG U[UVGOU KU + RTQRQUG JGCXKN[ KPXGUVGF KP VJG PGQNKDGTCN MPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[ 6JG OQFGN GXKPEGU C VTCFG QHH KV IGVU URCEG KP VJG &GRCTVOGPV QH 5EKGPEG CPF 6GEJPQNQI[ CPF KP UQOG WPKXGTUKVKGU DWV KP C YC[ VJCV CNN VQQ HTGSWGPVN[ UGVU KV CRCTV CU Ŏ#HTKECP MPQYNGFIGŏ YJKEJ DGECWUG QH KVU XGT[ UGRCTCVGPGUU JCU XGT[ NKVVNG ECRCEKV[ VQ EJCNNGPIG YJCV $TWPQ .CVQWT ECNNU VJG ŎVJTGG IQFFGUU UKUVGTU QH TGCUQP KP VJG MPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[ŏ PCOGN[ Ŏ VGEJPKECN GHſEKGPE[

GEQPQOKE RTQſVCDKNKV[ CPF UEKGPVKſE QDLGEVKXKV[ŏ #PF [GV KV KU RTGEKUGN[ VJG FKHHGTGPV GEQNQIKGU QH MPQYNGFIG CPF FKHHGTGPV KVGTCVKQPU QH TGCUQP CPF VJG TGCUQPCDNG VJCV KPURKTG ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

OWEJ QH VJG KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG OQXGOGPV *QY OKIJV UEJQNCTU TGEQXGT VJKU ETKVKSWG CPF QHHGT C FKHHGTGPV MKPF QH KPVGNNGEVWCN JQURKVCNKV[! +P O[ XKGY VJG FKHHGTGPEG DGIKPU YKVJ VJG TGEQIPKVKQP QH VJG GPVCPINGOGPV YKVJ ECRKVCN KP EWTTGPV UVCVG NGF CRRTQCEJGU VQ KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC 1PEG VJCV KU QP VJG VCDNG KV DGEQOGU RQUUKDNG VQ CUM FKHHGTGPV MKPFU QH SWGUVKQPU CPF VQ FGXGNQR C FKHHGTGPV KPVGNNGEVWCN RTQLGEV /KIJV ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ DG RWTUWGF XKC CP KPXGUVOGPV KP VJG EQOOQPU TCVJGT VJCP VJG UVQEM OCTMGV! +P VJKU UEGPCTKQ YJCV MKPF QH FKCNQIWGU CDQWV MPQYNGFIGU OKIJV DG RQUUKDNG YJGTG MPQYNGFIG KU PQV WPFGTUVQQF VQ DG RCTV QH FGOQETCE[ DGECWUG FKXGTUKV[ KU VQNGTCVGF DWV DGECWUG VJGTG KU FGOQETCVKE FKCNQIWG QP VJG VQQNU QH VGUVKPI ETKVKEKUO CPF KPPQXCVKQP! *QY OKIJV VJG ECRCEKV[ VQ VGUV MPQYNGFIG CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI DG TGVJQWIJV CPF TGMKPFNGF! 9JCV CURGEVU QH MPQYNGFIG NKG QWVUKFG VJG TGCNO QH OQPGVCTKUCVKQP! 9JCV MKPF QH RTCEVKEGU NKG QWVUKFG QH NCDQTCVQT[ VGUVKPI! 9JCV CURGEVU QH MPQYKPI TGUKUV SWCPVKVCVKXG TGUGCTEJ! 9JCV MKPF QH RWDNKE URCEGU CTG QRGPKPI HQT ETKVKEKUO QH RCVTKCTEJCN GNKVGU! 7PFGT YJCV EQPFKVKQPU EQWNF VJG JWOCPKVKGU CPF UEKGPEGU DG CDNG VQ UWRRQTV VJG GOGTIGPEG QH VJGUG PGY EQPXGTUCVKQPU! #NN QH VJG CDQXG CRRTQCEJGU OCMG C ECUG HQT ETKVKECN GPICIGOGPV YKVJ VJG EWTTGPV RQNKE[ QP KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC 5WEJ CP GPICIGOGPV TGSWKTGU TGVJKPMKPI VJG CUUGTVKQPU EWTTGPVN[ GPUJTKPGF KP VJG +PFKIGPQWU -PQYNGFIG 5[UVGOU 2QNKE[ VJCV ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ GZKUVU RTKOCTKN[ CU C UVCVKE EWNVWTCN KPJGTKVCPEG YKVJ VJG RQVGPVKCN HQT YGCNVJ ETGCVKQP KP VJG MPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[ CPF VJCV HQTOCN UEKGPEG CPF KVU CUUQEKCVGF VGEJPQNQIKGU CTG VJG QPN[ YC[ VQ OGCUWTG CPF FGſPG MPQYNGFIG /WEJ OQTG KPVGTGUVKPI CPF RTQFWEVKXG + VJKPM KU VQ RWTUWG C ETKVKECN GPSWKT[ KPVQ KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIGU KPENWFKPI VJG YC[U KP YJKEJ VJG RTQLGEV QH EQPVGORQTCT[ UEJQNCTUJKR EQPVKPWGU VQ FGHGPF C RCTVKEWNCT MKPF QH FKXKFG DGVYGGP MPQYNGFIG CPF DGNKGH VJCV GOCPCVGU HTQO VJG DCVVNG VQ UGRCTCVG EJWTEJ CPF UVCVG KP 'WTQRG UQ NQPI CIQ +U KV PGEGUUCT[ VQ EQPVKPWG VQ ſIJV VJCV DCVVNG KP VJG YC[ VJCV YG FQ! *QY OKIJV YG TG TGCF VJG RGCEG VTGCV[ DGVYGGP EJWTEJ CPF UVCVG QH VJCV GTC CPF KPUVGCF QH EQPVKPWKPI VJCV ETWUCFG VQ UGRCTCVG ŎFCTM DGNKGHŏ HTQO ŎVJG NKIJV QH MPQYNGFIGŏ VQ EQPUKFGT VJG CRRNKECDKNKV[ QH KVU RTKPEKRNGU KP QVJGT URJGTGU UWEJ CU VJG KPVGTUGEVKQP QH MPQYNGFIG CPF ECRKVCN QT MPQYNGFIG CPF EQNQPKCNKV[ QT MPQYNGFIG CPF TCEG! *CXKPI FQPG UQ YJCV HTGUJ KPUKIJVU OKIJV DG ICKPGF QP VJG GOGTIGPEG QH VJG FKUVKPEV ECVGIQTKGU QH ŎKPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIGŏ CPF ŎUEKGPEGŏ! $G[QPF C MPQYNGFIG RQNKVKEU QH ŎEQIPKVKXG LWUVKEGŏ CPF VJG 6/6/ VJCV DGCT UWEJ C DWTFGP KP VJG INQDCN TCEG HQT 9QTNF +PVGNNGEVWCN 2TQRGTV[ CPF RCVGPVU EQWNF VJG RQUUKDKNKVKGU HQT KPVGNNGEVWCN FGDCVG GZRCPF KH VJG SWGUVKQPU RQUGF WPFGT VJG VTQWDNGF DCPPGT QH KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG CTG TGKOCIKPGF CU C FGDCVG CDQWV KPVGNNGEVWCN JGTKVCIG KPENWFKPI VJCV QH OQFGTPKV[! 9QWNF RWDNKEU ſPF PGY URCEGU HQT TG VQQNKPI ETKVKEKUO CPF KPPQXCVKQP! +H UEJQNCTU YQTM KP YC[U VJCV PWTVWTG FKHHGTGPV GEQNQIKGU QH MPQYNGFIG OKIJV FKCNQIWGU ^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ

WĂŐĞ ϵ ŽĨ ϭϬ

DGIKP VQ KOCIKPG CNVGTPCVKXG XKVCNKVKGU VJCV URGCM VQ FKHHGTGPV PQVKQPU QH RWDNKE JGCNVJ CPF LWTKURTWFGPEG! /KIJV KV DG RQUUKDNG D[ GPICIKPI YKVJ FKHHGTGPV MPQYNGFIGU CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI HQT RQUVEQNQPKCN WPKXGTUKVKGU VQ ſPF VJG TGUQWTEGU VQ OQWPV C UGTKQWU EJCNNGPIG VQ VJG VJTGG IQFFGUU UKUVGTU QH TGCUQP KP VJG MPQYNGFIG GEQPQO[! +H UEJQNCTU CTG VQ UVTGPIVJGP VJG TGNCVKQPUJKR DGVYGGP VJG PCVKQPCN KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG U[UVGOU CIGPFC CPF EWTTGPV FQOKPCPV HQTOU QH MPQYNGFIG FGDCVG QP VJGUG MKPFU QH KUUWGU KU YQTVJ VJG VTQWDNG

ĐŬŶŽǁůĞĚŐĞŵĞŶƚƐ 6JKU RCRGT TGRQTVU QP CP QPIQKPI RTQLGEV CPF QYGU C ITGCV FGCN VQ RCTVKEKRCPVU KP VJG %QPVGUVGF 'EQNQIKGU RTQLGEV CV VJG 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP KP Ō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

2'4% CV VJG 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP HWPFGF D[ VJG %CTPGIKG (QWPFCVKQP

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

8GTTCP * 1P UGGKPI VJG IGPGTCVKXG RQUUKDKNKVKGU QH &CNKV PGQ $WFFJKUV VJQWIJV 5QE 'RKUVGOQN Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI *GTTPUVGKP 5OKVJ $ 5ECPFCNQWU MPQYNGFIG 5EKGPEG VTWVJ CPF VJG JWOCP &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU 5JKXC 8 $KQFKXGTUKV[ KPVGNNGEVWCN RTQRGTV[ TKIJVU CPF INQDCNK\CVKQP +P $QCXGPVWTC FG 5QWUC 5CPVQU GFKVQT #PQVJGT MPQYNGFIG KU RQUUKDNG $G[QPF 0QTVJGTP GRKUVGOQNQIKGU .QPFQP 8GTUQ RR Ō 4GFF[ 5 /CMKPI JGTKVCIG NGIKDNG 9JQ QYPU VTCFKVKQPCN OGFKECN MPQYNGFIG! +PV , %WNV 2TQR Ō )TGGP . #PVJTQRQNQIKGU QH MPQYNGFIG CPF 5QWVJ #HTKECŏU +PFKIGPQWU -PQYNGFIG 5[UVGOU 2QNKE[ #PVJTQRQNQI[ 5QWVJGTP #HTKEC Ō

#PFGTUQP , .CY MPQYNGFIG EWNVWTG 6JG RTQFWEVKQP QH KPFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG KP KPVGNNGEVWCN RTQRGTV[ NCY %JGNVGPJCO 7- 'FYCTF 'NICT 2WDNKUJGTU 2QXKPGNNK ' 6JG EWPPKPI QH TGEQIPKVKQP +PFKIGPQWU CNVGTKVKGU CPF VJG OCMKPI QH #WUVTCNKCP OWNVKEWNVWTCNKUO &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU #NVOCP , *KPMUQP / GFKVQTU %QGTEKXG TGEQPEKNKCVKQP 5VCDKNKUG PQTOCNKUG GZKV #DQTKIKPCN #WUVTCNKC 0QTVJ %CTNVQP #WUVTCNKC #TGPC 2WDNKECVKQPU

9CVUQP * %JCODGTU &9 /WPWƾIWTT & GV CN 5KPIKPI VJG NCPF UKIPKPI VJG NCPF )GGNQPI 8KEVQTKC &GCMKP 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU #XCKNCDNG HTQO JVVR UKPIKPI KPFKIGPQWUMPQYNGFIG QTI JQOG EQPVGPVU 8GTTCP * # RQUVEQNQPKCN OQOGPV KP UEKGPEG UVWFKGU #NVGTPCVKXG ſTKPI TGIKOGU QH GPXKTQPOGPVCN UEKGPVKUVU CPF #DQTKIKPCN NCPFQYPGTU 5QEKCN 5VWFKGU QH 5EKGPEG Ō Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI 8GTTCP * 'PICIGOGPVU DGVYGGP FKURCTCVG MPQYNGFIG VTCFKVKQPU 6QYCTF FQKPI FKHHGTGPEG IGPGTCVKXGN[ CPF KP IQQF HCKVJ KP EQPVGUVGF GEQNQIKGU Ō PCVWTG CPF MPQYNGFIG .QECN VJGQT[ CPF XWNPGTCDNG FKCNQIWGU KP UQWVJGTP #HTKEC .CVKP #OGTKEC CPF #WUVTCNKC +P )TGGP . GFKVQT 2TQEGGFKPIU QH VJG %QPVGUVGF 'EQNQIKGU 9QTMUJQR 5GRV Ō %CRG 6QYP 5QWVJ #HTKEC +P RTGUU 6WTPDWNN & /CUQPU VTKEMUVGTU ECTVQITCRJGTU .QPFQP 4QWVNGFIG JVVR FZ FQK QTI 6WTPDWNN & 2GTHQTOCVKXKVKGU CPF YQTMKPI YKVJ OWNVKRNG PCTTCVKXGU QH VJG RCUV 2CRGT RTGUGPVGF CV #UUGODNKPI %QNQODKC 0CVWTGU EWNVWTGU VGEJPQNQIKGU /C[ $QIQVC %QNQODKC +P RTGUU %QPPGNN 4 5QWVJGTP VJGQT[ 5QEKCN UEKGPEG CPF VJG INQDCN F[PCOKEU QH MPQYNGFIG %CODTKFIG 7- 2QNKV[ 2TGUU

ŽŵƉĞƟŶŐ ŝŶƚĞƌĞƐƚƐ + FGENCTG VJCV + JCXG PQ ſPCPEKCN QT RGTUQPCN TGNCVKQPUJKRU YJKEJ OC[ JCXG KPCRRTQRTKCVGN[ KPƀWGPEGF OG KP YTKVKPI VJKU RCRGT

ZĞĨĞƌĞŶĐĞƐ 5WPFCT 0 Ŏ+PFKIGPKUG PCVKQPCNKUG CPF URKTKVWCNKUGŏ Ō CP CIGPFC HQT GFWECVKQP! +55, Ō #ITCYCN # &KUOCPVNKPI VJG FKXKFG DGVYGGP KPFKIGPQWU CPF UEKGPVKſE MPQYNGFIG &GX %JCPIG Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI L VD Z

*QWPVQPFLK 2 #HTKECP RJKNQUQRJ[ O[VJ CPF TGCNKV[ PF GF $NQQOKPIVQP +PFKCPC 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU = ? *QWPVQPFLK 2 GFKVQT 'PFQIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG 4GUGCTEJ VTCKNU &CMCT %QFGUTKC *QWPVQPFLK 2 6JG UVTWIING HQT OGCPKPI 4GƀGEVKQPU QP RJKNQUQRJ[ EWNVWTG CPF FGOQETCE[ KP #HTKEC #VJGPU 1* 1JKQ 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU )TGGP .,( )TGGP & 6JG TCKP UVCTU VJG YQTNFŏU TKXGT VJG JQTK\QP CPF VJG UWPŏU RCVJ #UVTQPQO[ CNQPI VJG 4KQ 7TWECW¶ #OCR¶ $TC\KN 6KRKVÈ ,QWTPCN QH VJG 5QEKGV[ HQT VJG #PVJTQRQNQI[ QH .QYNCPF 5QWVJ #OGTKEC

#TVKENG #XCKNCDNG HTQO JVVR FKIKVCNEQOOQPU VTKPKV[ GFW VKRKVK XQN KUU /QTCÌC / &WUUGN ' ,¶WTGIWK % GFKVQTU %QNQPKCNKV[ CV NCTIG .CVKP #OGTKEC CPF VJG RQUVEQNQPKCN FGDCVG &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU

#ITCYCN # +PFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG CPF VJG RQNKVKEU QH ENCUUKſECVKQP +55, Ō

/KIPQNQ 9 .QECN JKUVQTKGU INQDCN FGUKIPU %QNQPKCNKV[ UWDCNVGTP MPQYNGFIGU CPF DQTFGT VJKPMKPI 2TKPEGVQP 0, 2TKPEGVQP 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU

.CN 8 'ORKTG QH MPQYNGFIG %WNVWTG CPF RNWTCNKV[ KP VJG INQDCN GEQPQO[ .QPFQP 2NWVQ 2TGUU

'UEQDCT # 6GTTKVQTKGU QH FKHHGTGPEG 2NCEG OQXGOGPV NKHG TGFGU &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU

.CN 8 0CPF[ # GFKVQTU 6JG HWVWTG QH MPQYNGFIG CPF EWNVWTG # FKEVKQPCT[ HQT VJG UV EGPVWT[ 0GY &GNJK 8KMKPI 2GPIWKP

8KXGKTQU FG %CUVTQ ' 'EQPQOKE FGXGNQROGPV CPF EQUOQRQNKVKECN TG KPXQNXGOGPV (TQO PGEGUUKV[ VQ UWHſEKGPE[ KP EQPVGUVGF GEQNQIKGU Ō PCVWTG CPF MPQYNGFIG .QECN VJGQT[ CPF XWNPGTCDNG FKCNQIWGU KP UQWVJGTP #HTKEC .CVKP #OGTKEC CPF #WUVTCNKC +P )TGGP . GFKVQT 2TQEGGFKPIU QH VJG %QPVGUVGF 'EQNQIKGU 9QTMUJQR 5GRV Ō %CRG 6QYP 5QWVJ #HTKEC +P RTGUU

0CPF[ # 6TCFKVKQPU V[TCPP[ CPF WVQRKCU 'UUC[U KP VJG RQNKVKEU QH CYCTGPGUU &GNJK 1ZHQTF 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU 0CPF[ # 5EKGPEG JGIGOQP[ CPF XKQNGPEG # TGSWKGO HQT OQFGTPKV[ 6QM[Q 7PKVGF 0CVKQPU 7PKXGTUKV[ 8KUXCPCVJCP 5 $GVYGGP EQUOQNQI[ CPF U[UVGO 6JG JGWTKUVKEU QH C FKUUGPVKPI KOCIKPCVKQP +P $QCXGPVWTC FG 5QWUC 5CPVQU GFKVQT #PQVJGT MPQYNGFIG KU RQUUKDNG $G[QPF 0QTVJGTP GRKUVGOQNQIKGU .QPFQP 8GTUQ RR Ō 5JKXC 8 ,CHTK #* 'OCPK # 2CPFG / 5GGFU QH UWKEKFG 6JG GEQNQIKECN CPF JWOCP EQUVU QH INQDCNK\CVKQP QH CITKEWNVWTG 0GY &GNJK 4GUGCTEJ (QWPFCVKQP HQT 5EKGPEG 6GEJPQNQI[ CPF 'EQNQI[ 0CPFC / 2TQRJGVU HCEKPI DCEMYCTFU 0GY $TWPUYKEM 4WVIGTU 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU .CN 8 6JG VTCIK EQOGF[ QH VJG PGY +PFKCP GPNKIJVGPOGPV #P GUUC[ QP VJG LKPIQKUO QH UEKGPEG CPF VJG RCVJQNQI[ QH TCVKQPCNKV[ 5QE 'RKUVGOQN

Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI 6WTPDWNN & /WNVKRNKEKV[ ETKVKEKUO CPF MPQYKPI YJCV VQ FQ PGZV 9C[ ſPFKPI KP C VTCPUOQFGTP YQTNF 4GURQPUG VQ /GGTC 0CPFCŏU Ŏ2TQRJGVU HCEKPI DCEMYCTFUŏ 5QE 'RKUVGOQN Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI

ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

8KXGKTQU FG %CUVTQ ' 2GTURGEVKXCN CPVJTQRQNQI[ CPF VJG OGVJQF QH EQPVTQNNGF GSWKXQECVKQP 6KRKVÈ ,QWTPCN QH VJG 5QEKGV[ HQT VJG #PVJTQRQNQI[ QH .QYNCPF 5QWVJ #OGTKEC Ō 8KXGKTQU FG %CUVTQ ' 'ZEJCPIKPI RGTURGEVKXGU 6JG VTCPUHQTOCVKQP QH QDLGEVU KPVQ UWDLGEVU KP #OGTKPFKCP RGTURGEVKXGU %QOOQP -PQYNGFIG

Ō &G NC %CFGPC / +PFKIGPQWU EQUOQRQNKVKEU KP VJG #PFGU %QPEGRVWCN TGƀGEVKQPU DG[QPF ŎRQNKVKEUŏ %WNVWTCN #PVJTQRQNQI[ Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI L Z &G NC %CFGPC / #DQWV Ŏ/CTKCPQŏU #TEJKXGŏ 'EQNQIKGU QH UVQTKGU KP EQPVGUVGF GEQNQIKGU Ō PCVWTG CPF MPQYNGFIG .QECN VJGQT[ CPF XWNPGTCDNG FKCNQIWGU KP UQWVJGTP #HTKEC .CVKP #OGTKEC CPF #WUVTCNKC +P )TGGP .

GFKVQT 2TQEGGFKPIU QH VJG %QPVGUVGF 'EQNQIKGU 9QTMUJQR 5GRV Ō %CRG 6QYP 5QWVJ #HTKEC +P RTGUU $NCUGT / 5VQT[VGNNKPI INQDCNK\CVKQP HTQO VJG %JCEQ CPF DG[QPF &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU

^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ

WĂŐĞ ϭϬ ŽĨ ϭϬ

$NCUGT / 2QNKVKECN QPVQNQI[ %WNVWTCN UVWFKGU YKVJQWV ŎEWNVWTGUŏ! %WNVWTCN 5VWFKGU Ō Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI #8'46 5QWVJGTP #HTKEC *+8 CPF #KFU UVCVKUVKEU =JQOGRCIG QP VJG +PVGTPGV? E =EKVGF (GD ? #XCKNCDNG HTQO JVVR YYY CXGTV QTI UCHTKECUVCVU JVO :CDC 6 /CTIKPCNK\GF OGFKECN RTCEVKEG 6JG OCTIKPCNK\CVKQP CPF VTCPUHQTOCVKQP QH KPFKIGPQWU OGFKEKPGU KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC +P $QCXGPVWTC FG 5QWUC 5CPVQU GFKVQT #PQVJGT MPQYNGFIG KU RQUUKDNG $G[QPF 0QTVJGTP GRKUVGOQNQIKGU .QPFQP 8GTUQ RR Ō .GXKPG 5 6GUVKPI MPQYNGFIG .GIKVKOCE[ JGCNKPI CPF OGFKEKPG KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC +P .GXKPG 5 GFKVQT /GFKEKPG CPF YC[U QH MPQYKPI %CRG 6QYP *54% 2TGUU +P RTGUU 0CFCUF[ 2 *WPVGTU CPF DWTGCWETCVU 2QYGT MPQYNGFIG CPF #DQTKIKPCN UVCVG TGNCVKQPU KP VJG 5QWVJYGUV ;WMQP 8CPEQWXGT 7PKXGTUKV[ QH $TKVKUJ %QNQODKC 2TGUU :CDC 6 9KVEJETCHV UQTEGT[ QT OGFKECN RTCEVKEG! 6JG FGOCPF UWRRN[ CPF TGIWNCVKQP QH KPFKIGPQWU OGFKEKPGU KP &WTDCP 5QWVJ #HTKEC Ō .CODGTV #ECFGOKE 2WDNKUJKPI 0CPE[ , . 6JG KPQRGTCVKXG EQOOWPKV[ /KPPGCRQNKU /0 7PKXGTUKV[ QH /KPPGUQVC 2TGUU %ÃUCKTG # &KUEQWTUG QP EQNQPKCNKUO VTCPU ,QCP 2KPMJCO 0GY ;QTM /QPVJN[ 4GXKGY 2TGUU 'UEQDCT # 'PEQWPVGTKPI FGXGNQROGPV 2TGHCEG VQ VJG GFKVKQP 'PEQWPVGTKPI FGXGNQROGPV 6JG OCMKPI CPF WPOCMKPI QH VJG 6JKTF 9QTNF 2TKPEGVQP 2TKPEGVQP 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU +P RTGUU 4QIGTUQP , #DQXG VJG UWTHCEG DGPGCVJ VJG YCXGU %QPVGUVKPI GEQNQIKGU CPF IGPGTCVKPI MPQYNGFIG EQPXGTUCVKQPU KP .CODGTVU $C[ /CUVGTU FKUUGTVCVKQP %CRG 6QYP 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP #PFGTUQP 6 6TCEMKPI VJG OQXGOGPV QH ſUJ 5MKRRGTUŏ NQIDQQMU CPF OCTKPG MPQYNGFIG KP ſUJGTKGU OCPCIGOGPV /CUVGTU FKUUGTVCVKQP %CRG 6QYP 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP 8CP <[N / 1EGCP VKOG CPF XCNWG 5RGCMKPI CDQWV VJG UGC KP -CUUKGUDCCK #PVJTQRQNQI[ 5QWVJGTP #HTKEC Ō &WIICP ) +P VJG TGCNO QH VJG -QD -KPIU (KUJGTU CPF ſUJGTKGU OCPCIGOGPV KP 5VKNDCCK /5QE5E OCPWUETKRV %CRG 6QYP 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP

&TCRGT - 6GEJPQNQIKGU MPQYNGFIGU CPF ECRKVCN 6QYCTFU C RQNKVKECN GEQNQI[ QH VJG *CMG 6TCYN (KUJGT[ 9CNXKU $C[ 0COKDKC /CUVGTU FKUUGTVCVKQP %CRG 6QYP 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP .KGP / .CY , 'OGTIGPV CNKGPU 1P UCNOQP PCVWTG CPF VJGKT GPCEVOGPV 'VJPQU Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI

/QN # 6JG DQF[ OWNVKRNG 1PVQNQI[ KP OGFKECN RTCEVKEG &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU .CY , /QN # %QORNGZKVKGU 5QEKCN UVWFKGU QH MPQYNGFIG RTCEVKEGU &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU %QQNG & (TQUV 5 GFKVQTU 0GY OCVGTKCNKUOU 1PVQNQI[ CIGPE[ CPF RQNKVKEU &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU 9JCVOQTG 5, /CRRKPI MPQYNGFIG EQPVTQXGTUKGU 5EKGPEG FGOQETCE[ CPF VJG TGFKUVTKDWVKQP QH GZRGTVKUG 2TQI *WO )GQI Ō 5EJWNV\ 1, $GNQPIKPI QP VJG 9GUV %QCUV #P GVJPQITCRJ[ QH 5V *GNGPC $C[ KP VJG EQPVGZV QH OCTKPG TGUQWTEG UECTEKV[ /CUVGTU FKUUGTVCVKQP %CRG 6QYP 7PKXGTUKV[ QH %CRG 6QYP

ŚƩƉ͗ͬ​ͬǁǁǁ͘ƐĂũƐ͘ĐŽ͘njĂ

ZĞǀŝĞǁ ƌƟĐůĞ

/DGMK 6 6JG FGOQETCVKUCVKQP QH MPQYNGFIG 6JG TQNG QH MPQYNGFIG KP VJG DGVVGTOGPV QH UQEKGV[ #FFTGUU QH VJG RCVTQP QH VJG 6/( 6JCDQ /DGMK CV VJG 7PKXGTUKV[ QH 5VGNNGPDQUEJ $WUKPGUU 5EJQQN -PQYNGFIG /CPCIGOGPV %QPHGTGPEG ,CP %CRG 6QYP 5QWVJ #HTKEC #XCKNCDNG HTQO JVVR YYY VJCDQODGMKHQWPFCVKQP QTI \C 5GTTGU / .CVQWT $ %QPXGTUCVKQPU QP UEKGPEG EWNVWTG CPF VKOG 6TCPU 4 .CRKFWU #PP #TDQT /+ 7PKXGTUKV[ QH /KEJKICP 2TGUU 5GTTGU / 6JG PCVWTCN EQPVTCEV 6TCPU ' /CE#TVJWT CPF 9 2CWNUQP #PP #TDQT /+ 7PKXGTUKV[ QH /KEJKICP 2TGUU .CVQWT $ 9G JCXG PGXGT DGGP OQFGTP %CODTKFIG /# *CTXCTF 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU .CVQWT $ 2CPFQTCŏU JQRG 'UUC[U QP VJG TGCNKV[ QH UEKGPEG UVWFKGU %CODTKFIG /# *CTXCTF 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU .CVQWT $ 2QNKVKEU QH PCVWTG *QY VQ DTKPI VJG UEKGPEGU KPVQ FGOQETCE[ %CODTKFIG /# *CTXCTF 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU .CVQWT $ 9GKDGN 2 /CMKPI VJKPIU RWDNKE #VOQURJGTGU QH FGOQETCE[ %CODTKFIG /# /+6 2TGUU 2TKIQIKPG + 5VGPIGTU + 1TFGT QWV QH EJCQU /CPŏU PGY FKCNQIWG YKVJ PCVWTG 6QTQPVQ $CPVCO $QQMU 5VGPIGTU + 6JG KPXGPVKQP QH OQFGTP UEKGPEG #PP #TDQT /+ 7PKXGTUKV[ QH /KPPGUQVC 2TGUU 5VGPIGTU + %QUOQRQNKVKEU + /KPPGCRQNKU /0 /KPPGUQVC 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU

5VGPIGTU + %QUOQRQNKVKEU ++ /KPPGCRQNKU /0 /KPPGUQVC 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU %QTPGNN & W$WPVW RNWTCNKUO CPF VJG TGURQPUKDKNKV[ QH NGICN CECFGOKEU VQ VJG PGY 5QWVJ #HTKEC .CY CPF %TKVKSWG Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI U [ /QMIQTQ ; W$WPVW CPF VJG NCY KP 5QWVJ #HTKEC $WHHCNQ *WOCP 4KIJVU .CY 4GXKGY Ō 5VGPIGTU + 'ZRGTKOGPVKPI YKVJ TGHTCKPU 5WDLGEVKXKV[ CPF VJG EJCNNGPIG QH GUECRKPI OQFGTP FWCNKUO 5WDLGEVKXKV[ Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI UWD +PIQNF 6 .KPGU # DTKGH JKUVQT[ .QPFQP 4QWVNGFIG /WTTC[ ) 0GKU $ 5EJPGKFGT &% .GUUQPU HTQO C OWNVK UECNG JKUVQTKECN TGEQPUVTWEVKQP QH 0GYHQWPFNCPF CPF .CDTCFQT ſUJGTKGU %QCUVCN /CPCIGOGPV Ō JVVR FZ FQK QTI .CVQWT $ 4GCUUGODNKPI VJG UQEKCN 1ZHQTF 1ZHQTF 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU 'NIKP %< %TGCVKQP CU TGEQPſIWTCVKQP #TV KP VJG CFXCPEGOGPV QH UEKGPEG +PV 5VWF 2JKN 5EK Ō '\G '% 1P TGCUQP 4CVKQPCNKV[ KP C YQTNF QH EWNVWTCN EQPƀKEV CPF TCEKUO &WTJCO 0% &WMG 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU .GHGDXTG * 4J[VJOCPCN[UKU 5RCEG VKOG CPF GXGT[FC[ NKHG 6TCPU 5VWCTV 'NFGT .QPFQP %QPVKPWWO 5VGPIGTU + #PQVJGT UEKGPEG KU RQUUKDNG # RNGC HQT UNQY UEKGPEG +PCWIWTCN NGEVWTG QH VJG 9KNN[ %CNGYCGTV %JCKT Ō 8TKLG 7PKXGTUKVGKV $TWUUGN &GE %QTPGNN & /WXCPIWC 0 W$WPVW CPF VJG NCY #HTKECP KFGCNU CPF RQUVCRCTVJGKF LWTKURTWFGPEG 0GY ;QTM (QTFJCO 7PKXGTUKV[ 2TGUU +PFKIGPQWU MPQYNGFIG U[UVGOU RQNKE[ 2TGVQTKC &GRCTVOGPV QH 5EKGPEG CPF 6GEJPQNQI[ .CVQWT $ 6JG TGECNN QH OQFGTPKV[ %WNVWTCN 5VWFKGU 4GXKGY Ō

^ Ĩƌ : ^Đŝ ϮϬϭϮ͖ ϭϬϴ;ϳͬϴͿ