Suchergebnisse

World expos are occasions for the type of rhetorical display known as "epideictic," and as such, they provide glimpses into how a nation wants to be seen at a particular point in time. In this article, I probe into Norway's pavilion at the 1992 expo in Seville, Spain, for answers to what Norway wanted to be in the early 1990s. I will argue that Norway's pavilion, a "deconstructed structure" that centered on a somewhat ambiguous pipe, signals a country in the process of reinventing itself under the aegis of petroleum. More specifically, I suggest that Norway's '92 pavilion can be read as an early instantiation of rhetorical techniques that would later become key to Norway's claim to being both a leading petroleum producer and an environmental frontrunner. The pavilion itself pulled off this balancing act in much the same way that politicians and others would later learn to handle it – by techniques of rhetorical association and dissociation (Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca 1969 [1958]). Having chosen "the cycle of water" as the overarching theme for the exhibition, the makers of the pavilion (the largest sponsor of which was the state oil company, Statoil) managed to make petroleum safe by renaming it "offshore" and by associating it, also in many other ways, with water. The pavilion's deconstructive architecture can thus be understood as an early validation of the rhetorical practice of "putting together" and "taking apart" to make new things that serve the nation's interests – in this case a "cycle of water" in which petroleum was a natural part. Although I posit only similarity, and not causality, the rhetorical techniques of Norway's '92 pavilion were in this way strikingly similar to what later became a stock argument, e.g. that Norway offers "the world's cleanest petroleum" (see Ihlen 2007).

With a focus on the Norwegian context, this book draws on a wide range of historical and archival sources, together with media analyses and interviews and observation at farms, slaughterhouses and production units, to examine the dramatic changes in animal husbandry and meat production and consumption, as well as their cultural consequences

Chapter 1: Introduction: ending the romance of academic flying -- Chapter 2: The carbon footprint of travelling to international academic conferences and options to minimise it -- Chapter 3: The end of flying: coronavirus confinement, academic (im)mobilities and me -- Chapter 4: The absent presence of aeromobility: a case of australian academic air travel practices and university policy -- Chapter 5: How environmentally sustainable is the internationalisation of higher education? a view from australia -- Chapter 6: Who gets to fly? -- Chapter 7: Exceptionalism and evasion: how scholars reason about air travel -- Chapter 8: Academic aeromobility in the global periphery -- Chapter 9: The virus and the elephant in the room: knowledge, emotions and a pandemic – drivers to reducing flying in academia -- Chapter 10: Decarbonising academia's flyout culture -- Chapter 11: Aeromobilities and academic work -- Chapter 12: Means and meanings of research collaboration in the face of a suffering earth: a landscape of questions -- Chapter 13: Academic air travel cultures: a framework for reducing academic flying. .

Learning and accountability are customarily defined as 'the dual purpose' of development aid evaluation, yet this notion is contested. Based on an overview of the existing literature, we identify four ideal type positions in this debate: (1) accountability and learning are complementary objectives, (2) there is a reconcilable tension, (3) there are problematic trade-offs and (4) the two are irreconcilable. Drawing on empirical evidence from Sweden and Norway relating to evaluation processes, evaluation reports and evaluation systems within the sector of development aid, we conclude that pursuing this dual purpose in practice involves trade-offs which need to be recognised. We end with implications for aid evaluation policy and practice.