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This document provides consensus-based recommendations for general physicians and primary care physicians who diagnose and manage patients with mitochondrial diseases (MD). It builds on previous international guidelines, with particular emphasis on clinical management in the Australian setting. This statement was prepared by a working group of medical practitioners, nurses and allied health professionals with clinical expertise and experience in managing Australian patients with MD. As new treatments and management plans emerge, these consensus-based recommendations will continue to evolve, but current standards of care are summarised in this document.

Personal narratives of sexual violence are now ubiquitous in Western, anglophone popular culture, and form a central pillar of feminist anti-rape politics. As a key legacy of second-wave feminism, the act of testifying to having experienced sexual violence—of ‘speaking out’—is understood not only to transform the speaker from victim to survivor, but to be a necessary condition for any collective political action aimed at combatting sexual violence. The powerful effects of such personal narratives, however, are not evenly distributed, and not without unintended consequences, both for those people whose stories are continually demanded, and for those whose stories remain unheard. In her masterfully written account, Speaking Out: Sexual Violence and Narrative Politics (2018), political and cultural theorist Tanya Serisier gives us the analytical tools to understand and negotiate the contested and ethically fraught terrain of what she dubs the “narrative politics” (16) in which stories of sexual violence are received and put to work. Released three years ago, in the wake of the #MeToo movement, Serisier’s book situates that cultural watershed in a much longer history of feminist anti-rape politics, from the feminist consciousness-raising practices of the 1970s through to contemporary social media and internet-based practices of speaking out. Serisier brings the interdisciplinary resources of cultural and literary theory to bear on the social practice of speaking out, in order to identify it as a ‘genre’ which has both constraining and enabling effects. Her nuanced account of the gendered and racialised dynamics of genre, judgement and belief that shape and mobilise such stories has quickly become a classic, a must-read for anyone grappling with the ‘groundhog day’ of sexual violence, in which no amount of speaking out ever seems to produce substantial changes.

This paper explores spectatorial encounters with criminal trials. Particularly focusing on the 2018 work of Australian contemporary visual artist Julie Fragar that followed her watching murder trials in the Supreme Court of Queensland, it is argued that the artist as a legal outsider grapples with the inhumanity of the trial. This grappling can go in two directions. For some there is a need to bring the human back, to see the person beneath the mask of the role that they are performing, to connect the gothic horror of the trial back to a redeeming humanism. For others, and this is evident in Fragar, the horror of the inhumanity is visceral and overpowering, and the grotesque masque of judgment needs to be witnessed. Both perform a corrective and critique to the business as usual of processing, judging and stamping onto human lives that is legal insider’s performance in the criminal trial.

In 2019, Jennifer Kent’s The Nightingale,1 the follow-up film to her well-received genre horror first film The Babadook,2 caused controversy at the Sydney Film Festival. Set in 1825 in the British penal colony of Van Diemen’s Land, the film tells a highly graphic story of rapes, murders and revenge that some audience members were unable to sit through.3

This book engages with the place of law and legality within Australia’s distinctive contribution to global televisual culture. Australian popular culture has created a lasting legacy – for good or bad – of representations of law, lawyers and justice ‘down under’. Within films and television of striking landscapes, peopled with heroes, antiheroes, survivors and jokers, there is a fixation on law, conflicts between legal orders, brutal violence and survival. Deeply compromised by the ongoing violence against the lives and laws of First Nation Australians, Australian film and television has sharply illuminated what it means to live with a ‘rule of law’ that rules with a legacy, and a reality, of deep injustice. This book is the first to bring together scholars to reflect on, and critically engage with, the representations and global implications of law, lawyers and justice captured through the lenses of Australian film, television and social media. Exploring how distinctively Australian lenses capture uniquely Australian images and narratives, the book nevertheless engages these in order to provide broader insights into the contemporary translations and transmogrifications of law and justice.

This article investigates the critical potential of a contemporary dystopia, The Handmaid’s Tale (Miller 2017-), a U.S. television series adapted from a popular novel by Canadian author Margaret Atwood (1985). The text is widely understood as a feminist intervention that speaks to ongoing struggles against gender oppression, but in this article I consider the invitations that the show offers its viewers in treating race the way that it does, and consider what it means to refuse these invitations in pursuit of a critical feminist understanding of authority, legal subjectivity, and violence. Drawing on the recent turn to genre, my reading focuses on how whiteness is reproduced through this cinematic text and its inculcation of particular ways of seeing, modes of identification and attachment. The Handmaid’s Tale’s post-racial aesthetic means that its thematic engagement with gender, sexuality and resistance actively disavows national and international histories of racist state violence and white supremacy. Its problematic feminism is thus uniquely instructive for understanding how whiteness is reproduced in contemporary (neo)liberal configurations of legal subjectivity and state authority.

Critical legal scholarship has recently turned to consider the form, mode and role of law in neoliberal governance. A central theme guiding much of this literature is the importance of understanding neoliberalism as not only a political or economic phenomenon, but also an inherently juridical one. This article builds on these conceptualisations of neoliberalism in turning to explore the wider historical, cultural and sociological contexts which inform the production of neoliberal authority. The papers in this collection were first presented at the symposium ‘Forms of authority beyond the neoliberal state’, held at the Griffith Law School in December 2017. They consider the role of the corporation, the site of the university, the politics of debt, the genre of prestige television, and the archic sources of state violence, in order to imagine forms of authority which lie beyond neoliberalism as an ideology and a set of practices, and the ensemble of institutions which constitute the neoliberal state. The contributions draw on social theory, philosophy, cultural studies, legal geography and political theology in exploring new possibilities for cultivating judgement through and beyond the sovereign, political and aesthetic terrains of neoliberal governance.

Ms Dhu, an Aboriginal woman belonging to the Yamatji nation, died in police custody in South Hedland, Western Australia, in 2014 within 48 hours of being incarcerated for failing to pay fines. The coroner’s report found that both the police force and medical institution failed to discharge the duty of care owed to Ms Dhu, as their behaviour fell below what was expected of someone in their position. However, the coronial inquiry was unable to account for the ways in which state power and possessive sovereignty is invested in the deaths of Indigenous peoples. This article connects Ms Dhu’s life and death to forms of gendered, institutional and structural racism endemic to the Australian settler state. We then turn to examine the possibilities of justice for Ms Dhu through aesthetic attempts to memorialize her in public spaces of the city of Perth, which carry a promise of justice through their ability to challenge the settler-colonial logic that made possible Ms Dhu’s invisible suffering and the lack of accountability for her death.

How does law read literature, and how does the law shape and reinforce gender identity? Marco Wan’s first monograph, Masculinity and the Trials of Modern Fiction, winner of the 2017 Penny Pether Pr...

In this collection, the essays examine the critical role that judgments about noise and sound played in framing the meaning of civility in British discourse and literature during the long eighteenth century. The volume restores the sonic dimension to conversations about civil conduct by exploring how censured behaviours and recommended practices resonated beyond the written word. As the contributors show, understanding changing perceptions and valuations of noise and sound allows us to chart how civility was understood in the context of significant political, social and cultural change, including the development of urban life, the extension of empire and the consolidation of legal procedure. Divided into three parts, Sound, Space and Civility in the British World demonstrates how both noise and sound could be recognized by eighteenth-century Britons as expressions of civility. The essays also explore the audible implications of uncivil conduct to complicate our understanding of the sonic range of politeness. The uses of sound and noise to interrogate British colonial anxieties about the distinction between civility and incivility are also investigated. Taken together, the essays identify the emergence of civility as a development that radically altered sonic attitudes and experiences, producing new notions of what counted as desirable or undesirable sound.

This chapter analyses the scandal over James Frey’s fabrication of the truth in his supposed memoir A Million Little Pieces in relation to Oprah Winfrey and her Book Club in order to reveal the ‘double helix’ of contemporary confession: the external, public dimension pertaining to the content of confession, which reaffirms prevailing social ideology and the internal, affective dimension which ‘disciplines the bodies and souls’ of individuals. The successive confessions outlined in this chapter manifest the connection between confession’s external and internal dimensions as well as the anxiety provoked by their apparent unraveling - an anxiety that can only be meaningfully assuaged by Oprah re-inscribing the viewer in the scene as confessor.

This chapter argues that representational legality is a distinctive mode of inquiry within Cultural Legal Studies, particularly for scholars concerned with law and the visual. Representational legality refers to the ocular and spectacular nature of legality, and the connections between the image, imagination and ways of seeing that make up our experience as legal subjects. Scholars working in this tradition share a concern with the economies of looking, questions of genre that determine audience response, the affective perspective of the spectator, and their psychic investments. This chapter then sets out the connections between the three parts of this collection: ‘Spectacles of Law and Justice,’ ‘Juridical Spectators’ and ‘Scenes of Legality’.

This article analyses an exhibition of photographs of Rwandan women and their children born from rape, as an occasion for exploring how the racialised and gendered subjects of international law are imagined and how a certain politics of humanitarianism is mobilised around the notions of rescuer and victim. While human rights documentary can make a critical contribution to awareness, policy debate and advocacy efforts, we argue that exhibitions like Intended Consequences can unintentionally perpetuate the politics of victimhood and reinforce the assumptions of patriarchy. Certain modes of framing and staging the suffering of the racialised 'other' can easily become a mere opportunity to show compassion, which functions to affirm the humanity of the witness. But within the aesthetic experience of receiving testimony and viewing photographs there are opportunities to re-imagine those subjects and to rethink the politics of humanitarian engagement.

Cultural legal studies forms part of the broader cultural turn in legal scholarship, which explores how law is formed and reformed through cultural practices, procedures, sites, interactions and agents. Within this broader turn, however, the methodology of cultural legal studies is distinctive: it takes representations seriously. Unlike what is often called ‘the cultural study of law’, which tends to reach ‘beyond textual analysis’ towards ‘the networks of social practices’1 through which culture and law shape each other, the diverse scholars pursuing cultural legal studies are united by their insistence on reading the text, or on focusing on the affective experience of encountering an image, in order to explore how the formal properties of literature, art, photographs, theatre, cinema and so on invite particular modes of engagement, engender certain perspectives, interpellate certain subjectivities, and encourage specific forms of relation. Against the facticity of the socio-legal tradition, cultural legal scholars frequently embrace and analyse the invention of fiction: imaginary and symbolic, yes, but no less powerful for that. Their intellectual toolkit therefore comes less from anthropology, sociology or cultural studies per se than from those interpretative methods sourced within the humanities tradition – philosophy, critical theory, literary studies, art history etc. – and developed by legal scholars through interdisciplinary inquiries into ‘law and literature’, ‘law and the image’, and ‘law and film’.2

Scholars working at the intersection of law and trauma have often turned to literature to supplement the law’s version of justice. In this article, we consider what the unique formal properties of comics – which we refer to here as graphic novels – might bring to this pursuit, by reference to Art Spiegelman’s Maus (1996) and In the Shadow of No Towers (2004). We suggest that these two works offer a critique of the underlying model of trauma upon which law relies, suggesting alternative understandings of trauma in a mode which is particularly instructive for law. Although Spiegelman organizes his treatment of trauma through specific events that have defined the twentieth and twenty-first centuries – the Holocaust and 9/11 – he represents the impact, as well as the ethical and aesthetic questions of these experiences, in ways that radically challenge the supremacy of the event by showing the ways in which the event fails to be contained.

We identified a truncated allele of dam1 as a multicopy suppressor of the sensitivity of cdc13-117 (cyclin B) and mal3-1 (EB-1) cells to thiabendazole, a microtubule poison. We find that Dam1 binds to the plus end of spindle microtubules and kinetochores as cells enter mitosis and this is dependent on other components of the fission yeast DASH complex, including Ask1, Duo1, Spc34 and Dad1. By contrast, Dad1 remains bound to kinetochores throughout the cell cycle and its association is dependent on the Mis6 and Mal2, but not Mis12, Nuf2 or Cnp1, kinetochore proteins. In cells lacking Dam1, or other components of the DASH complex, anaphase is delayed due to activation of the spindle assembly checkpoint and lagging sister chromatids are frequently observed and occasionally sister chromatid pairs segregate to the same spindle pole. We find that the mitotic centromere-associated Klp5/Klp6 kinesin complex is essential in cells lacking components of the DASH complex. Cells lacking both Dam1 and Klp5 undergo a first cell cycle arrest in mitosis due to a failure to establish bipolar chromosome attachment.