Arca Publishing

Gordon, Pauline

 
 
Title: Journey into Higher Education 
Author: Pauline Anne Gordon 
Affiliation: Napier University 
Contact: p.gordon@napier.ac.uk 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
The aim of this phenomenological study is to understand if the differences in teaching 
and learning environments can help to explain why some international students find it difficult to 
make the journey to a higher education institution in the United Kingdom. Making the journey 
from school or college to university is a challenging obstacle for many students, because it 
involves adapting to a new academic and social environment. Indeed, it is recognised that 
making this journey can be incredibly stressful, both academically and socially. Such stresses 
can often lead to a significant reduction in academic performance, and can eventually lead to the 
student not integrating into or not completing the programme (Cook and Rushton, 2008; 
Robotham & Julian, 2006). Entering into higher education represents a very significant journey, 
and it is important to explore and understand the experiences of different types of students and 
some of the difficulties they may encounter as they become accustomed to a new academic 
environment. Students do not share the same perceptions, experiences, or expectations when 
making the journey into a new institution; therefore, they cannot all be treated in the same way. 
For some students, the initial changes from their previous educational environments are more 
substantive than others, and some students require considerable adjustments. Indeed, it is 
evidenced in the literature that international student groups have significantly greater difficulties 
compared to home students in adjusting to academic requirements. These difficulties relate to 
areas such as language skills, independent learning, critical/analytical thinking and writing, 
engaging in research, and understanding the concepts of referencing and plagiarism (Janjua, 
Malik, & Rahman, 2011; Morrison, Merrick, Higgs, & Le Matais, 2005). In fact, many 
researchers agree that these issues are strongly linked to radically different teaching and learning 
environments (Janjua et al., 2011; Morrison et al., 2005). The key strength and aim of this study 
is that it intends to provide a voice for international students by gathering information on their 
individual experiences, in order to gain insight into the reasons why some of them appear to find 
it difficult to make the journey from their home educational institution to a higher education 
institution in the United Kingdom. It is therefore crucial to design an appropriate research 
methodology that meets the research aim and objectives, and at the same time establishes the 
credibility of the study. The purpose of this paper is threefold: first, it aims to identify and justify 
the most appropriate philosophical stance that can been adopted by this research study. Second, it 
provides a detailed examination of the intended research design, including an evaluation of the 
appropriateness of the methods of data collection and analysis. Third, it aims to employ a pilot 
study and provide critical reflection and appraisal of the chosen methods and techniques 
employed. Indeed, by presenting this to the conference, it is hoped that the researcher can obtain 
valuable feedback and advice from colleagues. 


English

Journey into Higher Education

Fuchs, Matthias

Baggio, Rodolfo

 
 
Title: Creativity and Tourism Networks: A Contribution to a Post-Mechanistic Economic 
Theory 
Author: Matthias Fuchs1 & Rodolfo Baggio2 
Affiliation: Mid-Sweden University1; Universita Boccon2 
Contact: matthias.fuchs@miun.se 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
We criticize ‘orthodox’ economic theory by applying the philosophical framework 
developed by K.H. Brodbeck (2008; 2012). Accordingly, we argue that creativity represents the 
core economic activity conducted within the boundaries of socio-economic networks. After 
discussing the changing notion of creativity throughout the history of thinking, the elements of a 
post-mechanistic economic framework are presented. By doing so, we elaborate on the idea that 
market economies are complex network systems of interacting agents (individuals, 
organisations). In the second part, we conduct network analysis to assess network-topologies of 
European tourism destinations. By applying the network metric Simmelian brokerage (Latora et 
al., 2013), we show how network closure and structural holes can affect creativity. Findings 
reveal that destinations show serious creativity gaps. 
 
References: 
Brodbeck, K.H. (2008). Wirtschaft als kreativer prozess: Wie ein weicher faktor harte tatsachen 
schafft. In T.G. Baudson & M. Dresler, eds., Kreativität und Innovation (pp. 16–27). 
Stuttgart: Metropolis. 
Brodbeck, K.H. (2012). Zur philosophie der kreativität. In J. Schick & R. Ziegler, eds., 
Residenzvorlesungen. Würzburg.  
Latora, V., Nicosia, V., & Panzarasa, P. (2013). Social cohesion, structural holes, and a tale of 
two measures. Journal of Statistical Physics, 151(3–4), 745–764. 
  


Creativity and Tourism Networks: A Contribution to a Post-Mechanistic Economic Theory

Finkel, Rebecca

Danby, Paula

 
 
Title: Gender, Heritage, and Tourism: Posthumanist Investigation into Human-Equine Relations 
at the Rodeo 
Author: Rebecca Finkel & Paula Danby 
Affiliation: Queen Margaret University 
Contact: rfinkel@qmu.ac.uk 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
Viewed through a posthumanist lens, this research explores the relationships and 
wellbeing of humans and horses within tourism-related spaces. Focusing on a case study of the 
Star of Texas Fair and Rodeo in Austin, Texas, qualitative methods have been employed in the 
form of semi-structured interviews with key event stakeholders as well as in-depth ethnographic 
approaches. It is evident within this research how the boundaries or significant differences 
between humans and horses are challenged by the fluidity and interconnectedness of both species 
in Rodeo’s performance spaces through increased knowledge, skill, and companionship, which 
has a positive impact on the wellbeing of both horses and humans as well as the sustainability of 
animal-related tourist experiences. 
 
 
  


Gender, Heritage, and Tourism: Posthumanist Investigation into Human-Equine Relations at the Rodeo

Ek, Richard

Larson, Mia

 
Title: Imagining the Alpha Male of the Tourist Tribe 
Author: Richard Ek & Mia Larson 
Affiliation: Lund University, Campus Helsingborg 
Contact: richard.ek@ism.lu.se 
Session Type: Presentation 
Abstract: 
In this presentation, we analyse and discuss how the “alpha male” of the tourist academy 
tribe is described and imagined in celebratory contexts (portraits and profiles of outstanding 
scholars within tourism studies). The tradition of highlighting individuals is a solid one in the 
academy, as the university is part of the institution of higher education and research that 
traditionally celebrates the individual endeavour. There is certainly an established critique and 
discussion on whether scientific progress is made by individuals or is something that is rather 
the result of the work of networks of scholars, a collective effort above all; but nevertheless, the 
apprehension and celebration of single individuals is a practice that is still alive and kicking 
today. From a gender perspective, this tradition is interesting, since the absolute majority of the 
celebratory portraits are of male scholars. Regardless of whether this is regarded as a 
coincidence, an outcome of a historic path-dependent societal trajectory, or the efficiency of a 
glass ceiling, it becomes interesting to further investigate how these “alpha males” and their 
academic lifework are described, characterized, and presented within the tourist tribe. 
We have chosen to do a reading of the “portraits of pioneers in tourism research and 
education” series in the journal Anatolia. Our mapping and analysis of these portraits and 
profiles is done in two steps. First, in the quantitative part, we lay out a map of the portraits and 
profiles (the distribution of male and female portraits, the distribution of nationalities, etc.). The 
qualitative part is a close reading of the portraits per se, with particular focus on the use of 
metaphors in these texts. In particular, we apply the philosopher Stephen Pepper’s root 
metaphors: similarity, the machine, the complex integrated organic process, and the historic 
event. A root metaphor is like a basic analogy that is able to explain all aspects of experience; 
thus, they are the basis for world hypotheses: formism, mechanism, organicism, and 
contextualism. By applying Pepper’s root metaphors and world hypotheses, we cannot only say 
something about how individuals are described and reproduced through celebratory portraits but 
also hint how the touristic work in the world is imagined in an ontological sense. 
 
 
  


Imagining the Alpha Male of the Tourist Tribe

Bott, Esther

Weâre All Human, but Some Are More Human Than Others: Thoughts on the Hypocrisies of Global Travel

CTS 7: Plenary Panel

Hughes, Allison

1 
 
Aly Hughes 
March 3, 2017 
English 4760 
Fire in Paradise Valley 
The summer dawn creeps above the Okanagan valley. The light starts cracking 
through my red curtains, making my room fill with a shade of maroon. My hands grab 
the sheets, curling my-self in a ball, and watching the day come into fruition. I am 
frustrated with myself, with my mind. I haven’t slept, and my eyes burn from fatigue. 
During the night, thoughts of my possible future races through my brain, an end that 
may come in only thirty years: a death I cannot escape. I sit up seeing the new day 
shine, awaking me from my restless night. I am calm like Okanagan Lake at six am on a 
summer day. The blue water is like fine silk, moving gently through the slow breeze. 
Small animals swim on the surface: loons, geese, and ducks, all dive and hunt for fish 
before the crowds appear. Small fishing boats drift off shore, silent and aware. The day 
starts early for the Okanagan, the place I call home. A place of solitude and peace, 
where one can live with no regrets. But this paradise is not where I want to remain.  
Darkness lingers this summer, bringing a force of reckoning. In the summer of 
2010, the mountains to the west are covered with dancing flames. Trees – burnt - crack 
and fall from the pressure of the heat. Animals are forced from their homes. A black 
cloud hovers over Vernon in a hellish atmosphere, blocking out any source of sunlight. 
Black snow falls in the middle of July, creating a thin layer of ash. Most people have to 
2 
 
cover their mouths or risk getting sick. My throat becomes scratchy and sore, and I am 
forced to stay inside. 
The rolling hills and mountains in the east are covered in green pine. They 
remind me of who I am: fresh, full of life, with years still possibly ahead. However, 
someone who I hold dear has been taken prisoner by the forest fire that attacks the 
western mountains. Scars of black soot draw on the mountain sides. Tall, thin needles 
stand in the dead field where the fire was put out. There is no life. No birds flying or 
singing their songs. The once active place is now a lifeless piece of land. I can no 
longer hold their hand without tears rolling down my cheeks. I can no longer speak the 
words “I love you” without a crack forming in my voice. They are alive, but like the dead 
forest, they aren’t. They sit on the couch, with their thin body dying before my very eyes. 
The fire moves through their body, killing their mind. A soul trapped in a prison of a 
slow, burning fire. All I can do is watch and wait until the fire devours them completely.  
This fire is a disease that has been destroying my mother’s mind for decades, 
and I am angry at her because of it. Not because she was a horrible mother, but the 
opposite. She dedicated every hour to me, to make sure my life was as calm and 
peaceful as ever. In my early childhood days, I knew she wasn’t like other mothers. Her 
body would do strange movements. Her toes and fingers would often twitch every few 
seconds like she was agitated. But this was the spark of the disease that runs through 
my family, the small flame appearing only to spread wildly in years to come. She took 
care of me the best she could. Even though her body betraying her, she made cheese 
and crackers for me after I came home from school. She did the laundry, putting every 
ounce of energy into making my clothes soft and warm - a mother’s touch. She cooked, 
3 
 
like every mother, putting love into every meal, making the juicy taste explode in my 
mouth. She looked after me more than she did herself. Her smile would always be 
bright even when the fire took over inside of her.  
The view from my house says it all. The mountains on the right, painted green 
with trees; and grassy fields opposite of me, a popular place for cows, coyotes, and 
deer to graze and hunt. Below, the busy town of Vernon goes about the day, regardless 
of the blaze to the west. Cars crowd the four lane highway, going in and out of the city. 
People walk on the sidewalks towards their destination downtown, covering their 
mouths with a cloth or mask. The reddish cloud hangs down, covering the city in a dry, 
unbearable heat. But at times, I look upon this city where my mother and I grew up, 
wondering if I could ever escape. Throughout the calmness of the landscape, I find a 
dark layer of fate. My mind wanders to: “If I leave, will I come back like my mother did?” 
And I get scared. The green forest is at risk for fires every summer like who I am to this 
curse. Once ablaze, it will take hold of the land and devour it like this curse has done to 
my mother.  
During that summer, I spend time looking at old photographs from the summer of 
1976 of my mother in her prime and compare them to myself. Her body is model like –
thin, tall, but she’s wearing thick rim glasses. Yellow bellbottom pants hug her legs 
tightly, showing her curves. The brown vest hangs from her shoulders, matching her 
Okanagan tan, and covering a paisley peach blouse. She is with her friends, partying, 
and her smile is large, bright, and showing the happiness during the moment of capture. 
A part of me wishes I could be like that, but other times, I don’t. My body isn’t like hers. 
The yellow bellbottom pants wouldn’t be considered “cool” during 2010. The brown vest 
4 
 
doesn’t match my pale skin tone, and the paisley peach blouse would never accept my 
figure. It’s not my style. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I often deny I will be like 
her because of the disease.  
Today, the fire across the lake is covered in tall, dead trees now, standing like a 
forest of needles. The tops of the black bark are sharp, piercing the air like it was skin. 
The air cannot avoid it, but lets it poke through the invisibility.  
I’ve never been afraid of needles. Even today, I have tattoos etched into my skin. 
I’ve had IV drops, and blood taken from me on a monthly basis. I should not be afraid of 
needles. And yet I am. I am afraid of the needle poking into my skin like a dead tree. I 
am afraid to watch the red blood flow into the small, clear vile. I am afraid of the sour 
taste of vomit that may occur from the butterfly-like feeling in my stomach. I am afraid of 
the test results returning to me in a months’ time to tell me if I am half way through my 
life span. My palms sweat every time I think about the long process for one, simple test. 
Every time I take a trip to the doctors, I go in telling them the issue I have but wanting to 
tell them something different. I want to shout to them about finding a cure for this 
disease. I want to hear the reinsurance in their voice, saying I probably don’t have it. But 
they don’t know I don’t. Only in my genes will they find it. But I don’t want them to draw 
something to determine my fate. I am a simple pine forest that is at risk of a blazing fire.  
But now when I walk through the forest to the east, I become a part of it. The 
rough feeling of the bark against my hands and the sticky sap connecting with my skin 
is a reminder of what life is like. The crunching sound with every step echoes through 
the tall, natural sky scrapers. I will sit in the middle of these places, imagining the sweet 
5 
 
scent of these trees through my nose. The calm muscles of my body when I control the 
movements myself are like the trees growing in the soil. There is no burning fire rolling 
through, destroying the mind and body. There is control.  
Reality settles in when I leave my comfort zone. The disease possibly hides itself 
in the darkness of my brain, waiting for the moment to strike its first symptom once I hit 
my early thirties. From there, I will watch from my prison as the fire destroys my mind 
slowly. My muscles will deteriorate like my mother’s did. I will forget faces, names, and 
places. The only familiar place with be the paradise valley of my hometown, with the 
pine forest to the east now scarred from a massive fire. My mind will play tricks on me, 
showing me images of dreams, confusing me about what reality is. Chorea will take 
control of my body, making it dance. I will lose the ability to walk, talk, and, near the 
end, swallow. I will have to rely on others to dress me, feed me, and bath me. I will not 
be a child, but a woman in her fifties only wanting to escape this imprisonment. I will cry, 
laugh, smile, yell, but it will not be me who creates these actions. This disease lives and 
destroys the brain. 
It’s been two years since I last saw my mother. Seeing her was too much for me. 
Her body has probably broken down. Her hair is probably gray. She is bound to a 
wheelchair. She won’t remember me. My memories of my mother are date from when 
the curse took hold of her body. To take a time machine back to her prime years, 
watching her ski down steep slopes with a first-aid kit would be all I wish for. To see her 
smile, watching the wrinkles around her eyes form from the action would be all I wish to 
see. To taste her delicious food, savouring the soft texture of her cookies is all I crave. 
For this disease to leave is what I pray for. But it won’t happen. The summer sun sets 
6 
 
behind the grassy hills of the Okanagan and I look towards the burnt forest across the 
silk lake. Memories of my mother ripple into my mind, as well as the fragility of her body 
due to the burning fire of Huntington’s disease. Like the fire that has taken life from the 
forest that burned, this disease has taken my mother from me. But I will walk away from 
it, breathing in the summer air, and heading towards the mountains, covered with the 
fresh life of a green forest. 
On April 1st, 2017, my mother passes peacefully away into the morning dawn. 
Her spirit has been freed from this treacherous curse, and she will live on in my own 
heart. That night the stars are brighter, the air is warmer, and I can feel her through the 
passing wind. There will no longer be a fire burning anymore. It has been put out, 
leaving behind the memories of a beautiful life.  


Fire in Paradise Valley

Nauss, Danielle

1 
 
Danielle Nauss 
Of Bees and Girlhood 
 The day is warm and bright when my friend Taylor and I get to the park. We had 
just come from the gas station where we packed small, clear bags full of nickel candies. Now 
it's time to delve into our spoils while sitting in the cool grass. We lie there, staring up into 
the sky as the clouds lazily pass by, each of us popping mounds of  sugar into our sticky 
mouths with one hand, the other gripping each other's.   
 I breathe heavily and close my eyes, feeling the heat from the sun warm my face. 
With my stomach full of candied sweetness and my friend beside me, I feel sated and at 
peace. I let go of Taylor's hand and flip over onto my stomach. Looking over at her, I see 
strands of her dark hair stuck to the stickiness of her mouth. Giggling, I pull off the strands 
and she smiles before rubbing at her face aggressively with the back of her arm. 
 "So what do you want to do now?" she asks once her face is sufficiently clean. I 
simply shrug my shoulders as I tear grass from the ground, forming a small pile in front of 
me.  
 "I dunno," I say staring at my ever-growing pile, "what do you wanna do?" Taylor 
looks pensive for a moment as she wracks her seven-year-old brain for ideas.  
 "Do you want to go hunt for clovers?" she inquires after a pause. A grin spreads 
across my face and I nod eagerly. Clover hunting had become the new fad at school, one 
that I had to catch up on. She smiles back at me and we both stand and dust the few 
clinging blades of grass from ourselves. I stuff the syrupy bag into my jean's pocket while 
Taylor runs off in search of the nearest garbage bin. Grass and dirt are stuck on my fingers 
2 
 
so I vigorously rub my hands together to clean them. When Taylor prances back, we are 
ready to begin our search. 
 We meander slowly through the park, taking care to check every patch of clovers for 
the elusive four-leafed treasure. We walk for a time, sometimes holding hands, sometimes 
going off on our own, our eyes always on the ground scanning the grass and weeds. I crouch 
by a particularly large patch and tuck my hair behind my ears. Narrowing my eyes, I peer 
at the clovers carefully. Taylor squats down beside me, not caring that she's wearing a 
dress, and we both look over the tangle of grass and clovers for the only one that matters. I 
let out a sigh and fall backwards to sit in the grass. 
 "I don't think we'll ever find one," I say dejectedly as I pluck a small, pink flower 
from the ground. "Maybe they don't even exist." 
 "Of course they exist, Danielle," Taylor says, rolling her eyes. "Connor found one at 
school during lunch. I saw it, so they're real." I scowl at my flower as I twirl it between my 
fingers. Picking one of the long petals off, I examine it in front of my face.  
 "We can eat these, right?" I muse while still staring at the petal. "My mom told me 
we can eat these." Taylor falls to the ground in front of me, now also staring at my flower.  
 "Um, I don't know. My mom never told me that," she says with a worried expression 
on her face. "We probably shouldn't."  
 "Yeah, but," I begin as I continue to twirl the petal in my fingers, "I think we can. 
My mom says the bees like them because they're sweet, so if they can eat them, can't we?" 
Slowly, I bring the flower to my face and smell it. It's sweet, just like my mother told me. 
Cautiously, I move it to my mouth and bite it with my front teeth, only picking off a couple 
3 
 
of petals. I look over to Taylor for encouragement and find none, yet I continue with my 
plan. With the petals now firmly in my mouth, I timidly chew and swallow them.  
 "Well?" Taylor asks after a short silence. I purse my lips and shrug my shoulders. 
 "I couldn't really taste anything," I reply. We stare at each other before we both 
begin to giggle at the daring stunt I had just performed. We lie in the grass, laughing and 
smiling, and stare up into the sky once more. When we finally quiet and lie still, I roll over 
again onto my stomach. As a natural reflex, I pull and tear at the grass and clovers to 
create a small mountain.  
 We both lie there in the silence, content and warm in the sunlight. I lay my head on 
my arm and close my eyes. The wind blows gently overhead, rustling the branches of the 
tall pine trees that surround us. I suck in a long breath, smelling the sweet, cool air and 
exhale peacefully. Opening my eyes dreamily, I look out over the sea of grass before me. I 
scan the shallow horizon when my eye catches a stark white shape in the green grass.  
 I gasp and turn to Taylor. "Oh, look at that!" I exclaim pointing. "Look it's a white 
bee!" She curiously looks over and we stare at the bee from where we lie. It's sitting a few 
feet away, perched upon a flower not unlike the one I still hold in my hand. Neither of us 
say anything and we continue to stare at the alien creature. It buzzes its wings but does not 
fly away.  
 Slowly, Taylor and I crawl our way closer to the insect, expecting it to fly away at 
any moment. It doesn't. We continue to crawl until we are only inches away from the bee. 
Mouths slightly agape, we peer curiously at it. Normally, I would never come so close to a 
bug, but I find this bee to be mesmerizing. 
4 
 
 "I've never seen a white bee before," I whisper so as not to scare the creature. Taylor 
nods her head in agreement. The bee hasn't moved since we approached it and I have a fear 
that it might be dead. Once more, though, the bee buzzes its wings. I smile at it and marvel 
at its strange beauty. It is fat and fuzzy like the bees I've seen and run from in my mother's 
garden, but lacking in the bright yellow colour I'm accustomed to.  
 "Why doesn't it fly away?" Taylor asks puzzled. "Do you think it can't fly?" A 
trickling of horror crawls into my heart at the thought that the creature has been grounded. 
I say nothing and continue to study the bee. I begin to wring my hands and I remember the 
flower, now wrinkled and wilted, that I clutch in my fingers. Carefully, I reach forward and 
place my drooping flower next to the one that the bee is resting on. Neither of us move. 
Patiently, I wait for any movement from the bee, any sign of its wellbeing. Cautiously, it 
takes a couple steps forward, then stops, still remaining on the original flower. Taylor and I 
both let out a breath. This is enough to placate our young hearts.  
 Still staring at the white bee, Taylor and I sit up onto our knees. "It's so cool," she 
says breathlessly. I nod in agreement. The bee buzzes its wings again and I wonder if it is 
as curious about us as we are of it. 
 "We can't just leave it here on the ground," I say after a pause. "Something could 
happen to it." Taylor looks at me worriedly then back at the bee.  
 "Yeah, you're right," she agrees. "We have to stay here to protect it." So we sit there, 
steadfast in our decision to protect this bee from unknown dangers. Like two stone statues, 
we watch over the white bee as the sun slowly crosses the sky.  
 After a time, we hear something that grabs our attention- the distinct and sharp 
sound of sprinklers. Just as quick, the freezing spray of water is at our backs. In shock, we 
5 
 
both react, the shrill screeches of girlhood ringing across the park. But still we hold strong, 
a barrier between the bee and its watery demise. I grip onto the grass in front of me tightly 
to brace myself against the water as I shut my eyes. Our screams turn into laughs and we 
are screaming and laughing as we are being assaulted with water. On such a warm day, the 
cold water is appreciated, but through the joy and the excitement we still have a duty.  
 As we wait out the barrage of water, I open my eyes to check on the bee. I see the 
fine mist of water spraying gently overhead, lightly dusting the grass in front of us. But the 
bee is still there. Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, the water subsides and we 
are left there with our hair dripping down our faces. We giggle quietly and shiver. I can feel 
water dripping down my back, and my jeans are itchy and uncomfortable. But it's worth it. 
The bee is safe.  
 We sit there and giggle to fill the silence that has filled the park. Then we are joined 
by the sounds of buzzing wings. We watch the bee in awe as it finally takes flight. "Bye, 
bee!" I call after it as it floats into the air. Taylor waves her goodbyes as we lose sight of it. 
We look over at each other and fall back into the wet grass laughing. The clouds continue 
their journey across the sky and the trees sway in the breeze. The world is good, and it's 
time to go home.  


Of Bees and Girlhood

Picken, Felicity

 
 
Title: Blackfish Unleashed: Aquatic Encounters and the Quest to Enact Proximity and Care 
Author: Felicity E. Picken 
Affiliation: Western Sydney University 
Contact: f.picken@westernsydney.edu.au 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
This paper examines the case of public aquaria where undersea lives are displaced into 
high-tech, small-scale undersea environments that bring into being a close, real-time aquatic 
encounter for large numbers of people at leisure. The morality of these encounters is 
underwritten by the idea that these encounters with sea life in captivity will ultimately captivate 
audiences and transform them into stewards of oceanic life and conservation. However, this 
relationship is being progressively challenged by those who demand the abandonment of the 
practice of captivity altogether, in movements that call to ‘empty the tanks’ and a growing 
preference for natural aquaria as an alternative way to generate proximity and care. Both sides of 
the debate are hampered by a lack of hard evidence about how well public aquaria do enact a 
propensity to care among visitors, so the ‘facts’ are always shifting and malleable. Increasingly, 
both positions across the debate are drawing upon the voice of marine life itself to make the case.  
The recent ‘Blackfish effect’ (Brammer, 2015) exemplifies this, describing the aftermath 
of the very public death of a trainer to a captive killer whale and how this has invigorated the 
campaign to abolish the captivity of large charismatic marine life. This paper will examine this 
effect, exploring how the otherness of aquatic life, and the captive whale in particular, is 
mobilised to make a difference to both sides of this conservation debate. The paper will attempt 
to follow the blackfish themselves (after Franklin, 2017), as they are variously unleashed across 
competing interests that identify them as simultaneously playful, tortured, psychotic, profitable, 
well-loved, and necessary in the production of encounters and marine conservation. Through this 
method, which resists the urge to discipline blackfish to an orderly worldview or to reveal its true 
nature, the whale instead remains resolutely indifferent to the developing environmental schism 
across which it is variously compelled to speak and is endowed with the ability to enact multiple, 
disruptive realities in its wake.  
 
References: 
Brammer, R. (2015). Activism and antagonism: The ‘Blackfish’ effect. Screen Education, 76, 
72–79. 
  


Blackfish Unleashed: Aquatic Encounters and the Quest to Enact Proximity and Care

Nilsson, Jan Henrik

 
 
Title: Welcome to Hipsterville: In Search of Urban Sustainable Tourism 
Author: Jan Henrik Nilsson 
Affiliation: Lund University 
Contact: jan-henrik.nilsson@ism.lu.se 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
Hipsterville is an interesting place, not necessarily beautiful, but nice. In Hipsterville, you 
can visit craft breweries, drink fair trade coffee, eat at vegetarian restaurants, buy fresh carrots at 
farmers’ markets, take a guided tour by bicycle, or visit ecological beauty parlours. The concept 
indicates that there is a supply of services, based on particular place-based qualities related to 
new interpretations of cultural capital. 
Hipsterville has many locations, primarily in Europe and North America. The name of 
this “place” refers to urban districts, mainly in large cities, which are dominated by particular 
subcultures. They are often former working class districts, in different stages of gentrification, 
located away from traditional tourism districts. In these districts, clusters of small scale 
innovative firms may develop, which are dependent of the consumption of local residents and the 
vicinity of other similar firms. In many cases these firms have ambitions to be socially and 
ecologically sustainable. Hipstervilles are often highly international in character, as both 
inhabitants and cultural influences tend to be highly mobile. In the last decade, incoming tourism 
has become an increasingly important part of local activities and consumption in these districts. 
Increasing tourism may create enhanced opportunities for creative local innovation, but it may 
also, through the economic power of tourism consumption, become a vehicle of negative social 
change, for instance by rising rent levels due to tourism induced gentrification. 
This phenomenon is discussed in two different sets of literature. There are tourism 
scholars looking at new forms of urban tourism in new and innovative settings, studying, for 
instance, sustainable food systems or the role of sharing economies. And there is also literature 
from urban studies and critical urban geography mainly emphasizing the negative effects of 
gentrification, partly as a result of tourism development. There is also some literature trying to 
combine these traditions, and this presentation aims to add to this effort. 
This presentation builds on a perspective inspired by political ecology, which emphasizes 
path dependencies in urban development and interdependencies between phenomena on different 
geographical scales. It aims to discuss three main things: 
• How can we define these new forms of urban tourism-related services? What roles do they 
play in their local contexts? 
• What are the driving forces behind the development of this kind of tourism? How do they 
relate to one another depending on geographic scale? 
• What effects do they have for social and ecological sustainability? 
In the presentation, I will shortly introduce some preliminary thoughts (in the form of 
preliminary definitions and a preliminary model) as a starting point for discussion. This project 
on urban sustainable tourism is, however, still in its initial stage, meaning that I will have more 
questions than answers to present. 
 
  


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