#also tiktok is heavily restricted in lots of other places

[jmdbjk]

Why I don't expect promotion for Muse to be similar to RPWP or Golden...

...or any other release before that.

Smeraldo Garden Marching Band is doing well for not having it's artist available. In fact it is outstanding. There were many other prominent artists who released music on the same day and are currently hitting up the interview circuit and other promotional activities. Our boy debuts at #4 on Global Spotify and he's somewhere on a military base.

See the post here.

That is pretty outstanding for not having the artist available to promote. Name another artist in which this has happened.

Perhaps a dead one... let's just not go there.

"But the Youtube views are low..."

I think since the popularity of Tiktok, the use of YouTube and therefore its influence has diminished somewhat. That doesn't mean there shouldn't be more views. We all know the challenges we have with YouTube. We just have to do the best we can with using YouTube.

Help boost views. Watch the MV here.

"But Right Place Wrong Person was heavily promoted..."

Namjoon was all over his own IG often, almost every day for a while, along with the staff he appointed to post on the @rpwprpwprpwp Instagram account. Perhaps this created a perception that RPWP had some heavy promotion when he was doing all that himself and it was keeping it in front of us so consistently.

The BigHit instagram chat channel is being used for Muse and has been very engaging. It is convenient for Jimin in case he is able and does repost or create a story with any of that content.

I've seen a lot of buzz in the media on both sides of the Pacific regarding SGMB and Muse. That means BigHit sent out press kits. I saw at least one radio group posting they had the song and it was ready to include in their rotations. We'll see if they actually follow through. But that means BigHit sent it to radio.

"Jimin and the members need to post about it..."

It is more of a challenge for Jimin and Jungkook to be online because of the location of their base. If it is in the mountains as was mentioned earlier this year, their internet connection may not be as reliable or strong enough to allow much use. Soldiers may also be restricted as to if they can even use it if the base itself needs it for military operations or if its encrypted for security or whatever myriad of reasons why they can't access it.

If they had reliable internet service where they are, we'd be seeing JK on TikTok more often. But... perhaps TikTok is one of those apps that they are discouraged from using as it is China-based and why JK created the Instagram account for Bam.

Perhaps they are free to do what they want only when OFF base and out of the area during their days off. We don't know what their restrictions are.

People just have to come down to earth and think. Jimin is in the military. I'm most certain that Jimin is being Jimin and focused on his duties. He is wearing fatigues and a helmet and going out everyday doing drills and training including firing ammunition out of a big ass piece of warfare equipment. He is listening to reports from his commanders about what is going on regarding North Korea and what his base will be expected to do if anything should escalate. He should be focused on his duties not focused on what is happening out here.

It is Saturday. Not sure what their alert status might be on a weekend. But we have to be cognizant that JM and JK are the closest to the DMZ of any of the members and will be activated first should anything occur.

I am constantly thinking about how every time we hear of nonsense from NK that JM and JK have to hear it every day too and any contingency they will be ready for in case anythng happens.

NK fired missiles the other day. Yesterday maybe? Some sort of rocket that can launch multiple missiles in one shot. It's chilling. Now imagine you are mere miles from the border and must react with your own weapons of mass destruction should anything become more aggressive.

Jimin worked and created, then he left it for us while he is doing his duty. I'm never going to expect him to do anything else until he is discharged. Unless he is able and wants to. Otherwise I want him doing what he feels he needs to do in order to get through this for himself and Jungkook.

I am very, very happy Namjoon was able to and wanted to participate in his own album's release as much as he was able. But some people have the same expectation that Jimin should too.

I'm never going to expect it from Jimin.

"The company is not doing enough..."

Surely everyone knows this is not a big long vacation for them. It may be a break from their careers and their real personal lives but its not a vacation by any means.

They keep saying its not easy. Perhaps they mean its not easy sitting in a military base carrying out a routine day in day out.

Or perhaps they say its not easy because they are on constant alert. They cannot give any details because their locations and their activities are classified information. Surely, surely, people can realize that right?

See? My brain is always thinking I just don't say a lot of what it comes up with. Because it serves no purpose to talk about it except to create worry. Just like people screaming at the company, it creates stress and negativity.

There is only so much public facing promoting the company can achieve especially when its been planned with the artist's involvement. Since I don't know (and neither does anyone else) what the entire promotion plan is, how can anyone speak on the promotion plan? Just because another member's release was handled a certain way does that mean it should be done the same for all? Not necessarily.

Stationhead listening party schedule:

This is an ad I just saw from BigHit.

Yes, this is an ad and not a repost, I've seen it twice already and it is not on the @BTS_bighit accounts feed:

These are posts promoting SGMB on streaming platforms:

Of course, if you use any playlists on streaming platforms, check the songs on the list and turn off/delete the ones you don't want to stream. Or create your own playlists.

The people printing their own posters, putting them up in public and asking for them to be displayed is WONDERFUL! THAT is the energy Army are known for!

Also the UK issue with the random inclusion making it disqualified. A fix may or may not be in the works. Constant screaming to the company won't make it happen faster or at all if it can't be done logistically. All screaming does is make everyone feel bad, including Jimin if he sees it.

@OfficialCharts is UK based and posted about Jimin and SGMB:

But since people began screaming since day one, every time another step in the promotion process occurs, screamers will take credit for it and vehemently scream it only happened because they were screaming when the reality is, no one knows whats on the promotion schedule.

Those of you telling people not to buy the album now but to wait and buy it when it releases? THAT IS USEFUL AND PRODUCTIVE INFORMATION!

We, as Army, know how, what and when to buy in order to impact the charts. I know you didn't forget any of that. So stop screaming and do something productive like tell people how to work around this apparent obstacle until it is fixed or in case it never gets fixed.

The screaming at BigHit to do their job is not productive or useful at all in helping Jimin at this point. It only displays negativity and lowers morale for those who don't know what to do.

We are a month away from the album's release for god's sakes, the pre-promotions are paced to keep interest.

They can't all be thrown out all at one time.

Whatever comes out as pre-promotions will be things that were planned in advance and not knee jerk reactions to the screamers.

"If we don't say anything, things will never change for Jimin."

That is your perception. Jimin is very much in control of his own life and career. He can change anything he wants to. Feel free to scream about it, I know its different strokes for different folks. But constantly screaming and trending it surrounds Jimin's activities with stress and negativity. I know you know how to communicate your concerns to the company discreetly. And we know they see our communications because they ask us for help to identify those who are carrying out slanderous and illegal activities against our guys.

If you want to help, communicate to the rest of the fandom the steps they can take to actually help increase streams, views and sales.

Even if the company plasters posters everywhere, WE, THE FANS, are still the ones who do the streaming, buying, viewing and supporting. Its in our hands now. We know what to do!

After all is said and done, I trust Jimin. He's in control of his life.

And he has Jungkook with him. That's the smartest fucking thing ever.

Please go stream it now on your preferred streaming platform.

Please go share some of the various positive news media stories out there on your socials.

[not-rude-ginger]

It is 2am and I'm comforting my puppy who decided she hated being alone downstairs (normally she's fine about it) and I find myself thinking about the discourse regarding "unalive" as a term "the kids" use.

If I might ramble a moment there seem to be people who hate the word with a blinding passion and others who take a "let kids have their thing you jaded prick".

Personally I don't have a lot of issues with it day to day. However what I dislike about it is not the use but the origins.

Teenagers are some of the fastest communicators on the planet, a new trend can take off in 24 hours around the world. They invent slang all the time, it comes and goes with blistering speed and much of it is stupid - not negative, but silly, whimsical, ridiculous. I remember the dumbest slang my generation/school had, it was awful, but it's word play, it's a kind of folklore and linguistic experiment at the same time.

And that's the key. Folklore has no known source. You might figure out the general time it comes about, and study the trends around it, but you'll never find the first person to create it.

But with unalive, we know the source. It's tiktok and its craven determination to appeal to advertisers. It's not a fun spin on communication that sprang up naturally, it's a limitation placed on people who want to use the app, for the sake of capitalism and greedy money makers who don't care about anything but money.

That is, imo, antithetical to the concept of slang and lived folklore that develops out of specific regions and places, and that is the problem. If teens just developed it as a part of their culture and communication style, it'd annoy the people who bitch and moan about kids these days, but is community doing it's natural social thing.

The issue with unalive and other slang that comes from tiktok restrictions is it isn't coming from the ground troops and climbing the ranks, it's top down oppressive language restrictions on issues that matter that have been deemed too controversial for advertising.

Slang is natural, inevitable and something you cannot stop, nor should we try. It's also something that has been heavily impacted by the internet in how it works.

But unalive? That is not slang. It's Newspeak, and we should resist what it stands for with all our heart.

[rosycontextualstudies]

Tik tok beauty trends – the negative impact on body image

Fig 1 : With the progress of technology, social media apps have quickly invaded every aspect of our daily lives. In these five pictures I will be focused on TikTok specifically and the harmful impacts it’s trends have on young audiences. The siren eyes vs doe eyes trend is the first I want to address. This trend blew up on the internet as people obsessed over whether they had either siren or doe eyes and debated on which one was preferable. I personally feel that Tiktok is an app in which many of the popular trends are heavily based on looks, and this trend is only one example of many that encourage viewers (young and impressionable audiences) to obsess over their appearances in a very unhealthy way. In fact, ‘Adolescents with negative body images are more likely to be depressed, anxious and suicidal than those without intense dissatisfaction over their appearance, even when compared to adolescents with other psychiatric illnesses’ (Mahoney, B, n.d.). It is very concerning therefore, that this type of content is so heavily promoted to young adults on social platforms. Although this trend glamorizes a certain type of look rather than labeling something as undesirable, it still is very much promoting a specific standard of beauty.

Fig 2: Moving onto the next trend, #sideprofilecheck. This trend started off with a filter called ‘Freeze frame pop up’ which froze the image in place at any point on the video when u tapped the screen. Many users were using this to show off the way their side profile looked, specifically, the shape of their noses. This then escalated as girls began to push their noses up in an attempt to make them look like the noses in the viral videos. Although this may be shocking to people who have never used tiktok, it is extremely easy to fall under the influence of the app. John Koetsier calls tiktok ‘digital crack cocaine for your brain’ (McClintock, M, 2022). It is no wonder therefore that repeated viewing of these types of videos can quickly cause insecurity or even body dysmorphia in the minds of young viewers. What was particularly harmful about this trend was how people were seen to be actively altering their appearance to try and look like somebody else. Again, the obsession with things out of everyone’s control (their appearance) can be harmful to developing minds.

Fig 3: ‘Research has shown that when young females in their teens and early twenties view Facebook for only a short period of time, body image concerns are higher compared to non-users’ (Glazzard, J & Mitchell, C, 2018). Tiktok is not the first app to promote unrealistic beauty standards, but its content being so digestible and accessible has an especially big impact when it comes to younger audiences. According to Social Shepherd, 25% of the users on tiktok are between the ages of 10-19, which is the largest group out of all tiktok’s users (Shepherd, J，2023). This information is more worrying when addressing the next trend on my list – the bold glamour filter. This filter gives the user a full face of heavy makeup and completely alters their appearance, and it caused a lot of controversy as people felt badly about themselves once the filter was removed. What made things worse was the way that influencers with full faces of make up were using this filter and showing their viewers how they didn’t look very different, with or without it. When I think about how there are 12 year olds on the app who have access to not only this filter, but also this content from other users, it amazes me that there are not a few more restrictions where it is concerned.

Fig 4: The symmetry filter went viral as people began to obsess over the two halves of their faces. The filter shows the left half of your face as the whole face, and then the right, which caused many people to be upset by the difference in the two. Like the previous trends, things can escalate very fast on the app and go from bad to worse, specifically when it came to this trend. Tiktok has a duet feature where you can place your video next to someone else’s, and people with faces shown to be symmetrical would show their ‘successful’ results next to those of people upset by their lack of symmetry (Maclean, M, 2021). This video specifically asked the comment section to list their plastic surgeon’s names below after she saw that her face was not symmetrical. I feel as though the ideology of many users on tiktok is way too narrow minded and places heavy importance on appearance, which influences others to think in a similar way.

Fig 5: The inverted filter caused possibly the most extreme reaction I’ve seen on this app. A video went viral as a young girl sobs and begs tiktok to remove the new filter, which shows how your face looks inverted. Many users were deeply upset by this filter, and they even went as far as to call people who used it ‘brave’. So why are people on tiktok so obsessed with their appearances that a filter could cause such a reaction? Apart from the many influencers on the app promoting certain standards, I believe that the comment sections are very much to blame. The environment on tiktok can be extremely toxic, an example being that many male users will comment on videos of girls rating their looks or calling them ‘mid’. According to the Royal society for public health (RSPH): ‘Childhood bullying can have long-lasting and permanent effects. It can lead to diminished confidence and poor self-esteem, and these can have a detrimental effect on academic performance’ (Glazzard, J & Mitchell, C, 2018). Young and impressionable audiences, especially young girls on the app are most vulnerable to this form of cyber-bullying which can have lasting effects on their image of themselves. I think its very important that parents are informed of the trends and the harsh environment on this app before allowing their children to be exposed to it, especially those who are under 15-16 years of age.

Bibliography:

Mahoeny, B. (n.d.) The Obsession With Beauty nd How it is Linked o Depression in Teens. Available at :https://centerfordiscovery.com/blog/obsession-beauty-linked-depression-teens/

McClintock, M. (2022) The Psychology of Tiktok. Available at:https://onezero.medium.com/the-psychology-of-tiktok-f10bc1506f1a

Glazzard, J & Mitchell, C. (2018) The impact of technology on children’s well-being. Social media and mental health in schools. Essex, critical publishing, p 29.

Glazzard, J & Mitchell, C. (2018) Cyberbullying. Social media and mental health in schools. Essex, critical publishing, p 47.

Tolentino, D. (2023). TikTok users say 'bold glamour' filter is 'terrifyingly realistic'. Available at:https://www.nbcnews.com/news/bold-glamour-tiktok-filter-explained-rcna72485

Maclean, M. (2021). Tiktok beauty trends are more toxic than we think. Available at: https://dailytargum.com/article/2021/02/tiktok-beauty-trends-are-more-toxic-than-we-think

[shirlleycoyle]

How the Pandemic Changed Antarctica

This is part of a special series, We’re Reemerging. What Does the World Look Like Now?, which considers in real time how we cope while living through a historic time. It’s also in the latest VICE magazine. Subscribe here. 

Matt Williams arrived in Antarctica on January 15, 2020, to lead Australia’s Mawson research station on the east side of the continent. Two months later, he watched as Australia entered its first coronavirus lockdown. But as events were canceled and businesses closed, Williams’s life on the other side of the world didn’t really change. He continued working, befriended a penguin he named Smudge, hung out at the station’s outdoor bar, celebrated Pride, and even took a plunge into Antarctic waters.

His is the story of many Antarctic residents over the past year and a half. When most of the world began shutting down in March 2020, only Antarctica was (at that point) spared from the coronavirus pandemic. Amid the snow-covered mountains, vast plateaus, and icy beaches, scientists and research station workers found themselves shielded from the deadly virus, only witnessing the vigorous hand-washing, sudden isolation, and symptoms of COVID-19 family and friends endured via stories told from thousands of miles away.

At stations on the continent, residents hunkered down for a winter together—without social distance. Moving to Antarctica these days doesn’t just entail packing up your parka and mentally preparing for the subzero temperatures. After intensive quarantines and coronavirus testing, it offers what many people around the world might call a luxury: Freedom from pandemic-related restrictions.

While Antarctic residents have sheltered away from the pandemic in an isolation of their own making, they have managed more safe socialization with their fellow residents than most people around the world experienced this year. Still, the very continent they live on has continued to struggle under the weight of diplomatic pressures and environmental concerns. Tensions over Antarctic fishing rights, funding, construction work, and more have intensified as international meetings have been canceled or moved online—making the continent’s already fragile, and complex, governance system all the more delicate. “The pandemic in general reinforced, but accelerated, preexisting trends,” said Alan Hemmings, a professor at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand.

The incongruous struggles Antarctica has faced over the past year are reflected in the return of Antarctic researchers to a pandemic-stricken home. “Adaptation back this time has been very different, and a few weeks into my return, my head is still in learning and reaction mode,” said Williams, who returned to Tasmania on April 13 of this year. “We left one world and have come back to another.”

Williams with emperor penguins

Antoinette Traub, a supply technician with the United States’ National Science Foundation, arrived on the continent in December 2020, and will stay at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station until at least November 2021. A few months after she had arrived, Antarctica’s winter set in; temperatures had begun to drop to below minus 50 Celsius, and the continent was shrouded in winter darkness. Few flights go in or out from March to October each year. “The last flight [from Amundsen] was in February,” she said, “and we will not see any new faces—nor receive fresh fruits like apples and oranges—until November.”

Lack of sunlight aside, Traub and her colleagues keep busy. Residents meet in the gym daily for a morning stretch, the station’s chefs keep everyone well fed (fresh doughnuts or bagels are prepared daily, and a week’s dinner menu in April read “Monday: Chicken Piccata; Tuesday: Salmon and Taco Bowls; Wednesday: Gyros; Thursday: Pho and Egg Foo Young; Friday: Swedish Meatballs; and Saturday: BBQ Ribs”), and movie marathons abound. “We currently have three ongoing movie marathons on station,” said Traub. “All the Stanley Kubrick, David Fincher, and Marvel Cinematic Universe films in their respective order. We’re currently watching 2001: A Space Odyssey, Zodiac, and Thor.” One day a week, Traub volunteers at the station’s hydroponic greenhouse.

Traub also has a TikTok account that boasts over a million followers. “My parents kept asking for updates, [so] I thought the best way to show them was over social media,” she said. “I had no idea it would blow up the way it has.” The TikToks show Traub’s daily life in Antarctica, one that is wildly distant to most of her viewers; she takes walks amid glaciers, does fun science experiments, and works. When she was at the U.S.’s McMurdo Station, Traub hung out with penguins. Her day-to-day assignments vary; sometimes she organizes the station’s waste to send back to the U.S. (no trash can stay on the continent), and other days she audits station inventory and brings supplies to different departments.

Traub’s colleague Katharine Smith, another supply technician, has been in Antarctica since September. This is Smith’s third time living on the continent, and while she’s enjoying the relative freedom compared with the months of lockdown she experienced prior, she said it’s also been disconcerting to watch the pandemic impact Antarctica’s around 100 stations. “With precautions taken to prevent COVID from getting to the continent, the population at all stations remained extremely low and construction was put on hold,” said Smith. “This year I believe McMurdo only had about 400 people at most [out of a capacity of over a thousand], and [Amundsen-Scott Station] only reached 61 rather than topping out at 150.” This makes the vital scientific research conducted on these stations all the more difficult. The smaller number of staff has impacted the science too, said Martin Wolf, an astro-particle physicist from Germany who is currently working at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station studying neutrino particles. Instead, programs and activities “have been mainly rescheduled to the coming years after the pandemic.”

Antoinette Traub and Katharine Smith

Even so, Smith has made the most of her time. “I launched weather balloons, drove a Delta truck, viewed the transit of Mercury through a telescope, flew to the South Pole in the cockpit of an LC-130, saw penguins and newborn seals,” Smith said. “It’s easy to start taking things for granted here since you are so immersed in it 24/7.” But, at the same time, she added, “I have been in this protected COVID-free bubble for almost eight months now. Life here feels normal to me.”

“To be honest, I might need to cut my social calendar back a little to get more solo recharge time,” said Erin Heard, the U.S. winter manager at McMurdo Station who has been in Antarctica, or on the way to the continent, for most of the pandemic.

Residents on other stations have felt similarly. “A lot of people said to us that we really did pick the best year to be away, in the most isolated place on the planet. And in a way that is true,” said Williams, the Australian station leader. “We did not, until resupply and our first human contact 16 months later, have to socially distance, limit use of gyms, avoid social occasions or limit shared meals and travel. Whatever that actually looks like on Antarctic stations is vastly different from anything you can imagine at home—but we still lived a life we expected and planned for, to some degree. We also did not live in real fear of our own personal health—we knew we were isolated enough to not get COVID.”

The outdoor ice bar

Mike Brian, a station leader at Britain’s Rothera Research Station in Antarctica, was there when the pandemic began, and went back to the UK in May 2020. He returned to Antarctica a few months later, and only recently went home again; he has colleagues that just left Antarctica after being away for the majority of the pandemic thus far. “They weren’t that far from missing it completely,” said Brian. “By the time they got back in, the vaccine had been developed and was available.”

Rothera residents had similar daily routines to their U.S. counterparts; after the workday, according to Brian, they watched movies, worked out, and took coastal walks. They also celebrated: “We had a ceilidh [kaylee]… a traditional Scottish dance, and it requires contact dancing.” In general, Brian said, “we were able to sit next to each other and enjoy each other’s company in a very relaxed fashion. It felt like that was a huge privilege, compared to the rest of the world.”

Despite their relative freedom, it’s been hard for Antarctic residents to spend this year away from their communities and home countries. Traub’s grandfather died from the virus in April 2020. “His was one of the first recorded thousand deaths in California, so it hit my family very hard,” she said. Traub graduated from college a few months later, and had to move back in with her parents when she lost a part-time job at a local brewery before leaving for Antarctica. Her brother has been on the front lines of the pandemic as a first responder, and her parents tested positive in December.

“With the pandemic, political atmosphere, protests, and natural disasters, at times it felt like the rest of the world was falling apart,” said Heard. “I felt far more distant than normal, almost like I was on another planet.”

While the pandemic didn’t interfere with most of Williams’ team’s experience on the continent, Australian station residents also watched their families suffer from afar. “We had to be relatively helpless onlookers as our loved ones struggled to cope with their new reality and the unknowns related to the pandemic,” said Williams. “We could offer moral support, but in reality we had no context, no sense of the realities, and didn’t have to live the day-to-day in a pandemic world. This weighed heavily on us and on our loved ones.”

“You really have to lean on your ‘ice family’ down here for support because there is nothing you can do about it—you’re stuck,” Smith said.

“It’s very, very difficult to be lonely in Antarctica. And, yes we’re isolated from the rest of the world, but we’re part of a community that’s very tight, and everybody knows everybody else,” added Brian.

Stations all over the continent also have strict procedures for visitors or new employees. For U.S. stations, Traub received three COVID tests, and spent a month in quarantine on her way to the continent, staying in a New Zealand government-managed facility along the way. Upon arrival at McMurdo Station, everyone had a daily temperature and wellness check for the first week. Then, freedom. “In my experience, the United States Antarctic Program and its participants have taken COVID precautions way more seriously than people and places back home,” said Smith. “Even after all the isolation we go through to get here, a flight arriving on station during the summer would trigger a ‘condition yellow,’ meaning assigned meal groups, mask wearing, limited capacities, canceled events, and social distancing. Everyone here abides by the rules and doesn’t argue about having to wear a mask.” These stringent policies have worked: None of the American research stations in Antarctica have had any COVID-19 cases. “Sometimes it feels like I’m getting the better end of the deal by being here instead of back in the States,” Traub added.

The Australian Antarctic Program has required similar checkpoints and quarantines. They also canceled intracontinental flights between stations, and mapped out their emergency responses should a crisis arise. “It was a mammoth, but essential, effort,” said Williams.

Mawson station under the Aurora Australis

Though human activity has slowed in Antarctica over the last year, the continent itself has continued to change. Last year, the continent broke its warmest temperature ever recorded, at 65 degrees. The ice has continued to melt: This April, scientists warned that the Thwaites Glacier, the widest glacier on the planet, which is currently about the size of Great Britain, is at risk of collapse. New research has found that the melting of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet would impact the entire world, raising sea levels by three feet.

A warming planet was not the only external pressure on Antarctica this past year; diplomatic posturing and resource grabs have continued to threaten the continent as well. In terms of the pandemic’s physical impact, the coronavirus did eventually make it to Antarctica: Chile’s General Bernardo O’Higgins Riquelme research station reported dozens of cases in December 2020, marking the virus’s spread to all continents. Australia is currently moving forward with plans to build an airport runway in East Antarctica that scientists say will increase human impact on the continent by 40 percent. As the pandemic was silently spreading in January 2020, a New Zealand Navy aircraft spotted a Russian ship fishing in a protected area in Antarctica; the controversy has lasted over a year as Russia has denied the claim.

This isn’t the first time Russia’s resource extraction in Antarctica has drawn consternation, however, and this illegal fishing occurred at a time of intense scrutiny for the industry: Fishing in Antarctic waters is one of the sharpest points of contention on the continent. At the intersection of diplomacy and conservation, some countries have accused China and Russia of exploiting continental resources for economic gain, or even taking advantage of the lack of oversight from this past year. China is currently building the world’s largest krill-fishing boat and has recently blocked a proposal to restrict fishing in Antarctica’s Pine Island Glacier region, even though krill fishing is detrimental to the continent’s ecosystem. Russia hopes to double its revenue from seafood exports in part by producing and selling canned krill from Antarctica. Some academics have warned that fishing may be a preview of the future of rights to mining, which is currently prohibited by the Antarctic Treaty.

Antarctica is unique in that it is governed by a treaty system, which is run collectively by 29 countries known as “consultative parties.” Almost every decision made on the continent and in the surrounding waters requires a consensus. So, each year, these countries get together at various weeklong conferences to discuss, debate, negotiate, and hammer out settlements regarding issues like fishing, governance, environmental protections, ongoing and new projects, and more. The pandemic threw a wrench in this tradition, and has since left various proposals and projects in limbo, as research stations have halted visits to one another and international meetings have been postponed or held virtually.

In many ways, virtual diplomacy is discordant with the continent’s traditional governing style. Face-to-face contact can be really important when coming to an agreement on divisive topics, said Klaus Dodds, a geopolitics professor at Royal Holloway, University of London: “It’s easier to be obstructive in online environments… because you don’t have to look the person in the eye down the corridor, or go to a reception and be confronted about why you’re being so awkward.” At in-person meetings, Dodds said, “a lot of diplomacy unsurprisingly is about the corridor talk,” from smoke breaks to random encounters.

Different participants in continental stewardship—the scientists and Antarctic workers, academics, and international leaders—have also become increasingly separate from one another over the past year. “What you have seen in the Antarctic over the last decade is an increasing kind of siloization of relationships,” said Hemmings. “The pandemic shutdown resonates throughout the system, not just the formal points of engagement at diplomatic meetings, but all the processes beforehand, [like] the capacity to pick up domestic thinking from your science community.”

Kevin Hughes, a vice chair of the Committee for Environmental Protection (CEP), is helping plan CEP’s annual meeting this June, the first one in over a year. Originally scheduled to be in Paris, the meeting was recently moved online. There will be a lot to cover, as Hughes said that many of the environmental proposals and studies have been delayed “because the logistical difficulties were insurmountable.”

In October, the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR), which oversees fishing, boating, and marine protection in the Southern Ocean, held their annual conference virtually. Though it was a feat that the meeting even occurred, some attendees were dissatisfied with the limited agenda and the lack of movement on certain issues such as climate change and marine protected areas. The online meeting, said Birgit Njåstad, the head chair of the CEP, was “not a discussion-friendly environment.” This had real-life impacts. Multiple proposed environmentally protected areas in Antarctica were ready to be reviewed and approved last year by CCAMLR, a part of the Antarctic treaty system, but partially because of the pandemic, protection has been stalled.

Still, the CEP planners recognize that in-person meetings wouldn’t solve everything. And at their upcoming meeting, in addition to the logistical difficulties, like broadband connection, translation issues, and competing time zones, Hughes is prepared to be disappointed with the amount that they get done. “I think we just appreciate that we’re going to have to take a hit on this, and the real hope is that we can meet in Germany, in 2022, in an in-person meeting to really just crack on with a lot of the work.”

The actual Antarctic research has been strained as well. In light of the pandemic, countries like the UK and the United States scaled back their Antarctic programs and research. “The scale of the Antarctic activities are not going to be quite as much as they would normally be,” added Hughes. While the U.S. and UK lead research on the Thwaites Glacier, which maps climate change’s impact on both the melting ice and the planet, Hughes said that the collaboration during the pandemic “has basically come to a halt.”

“What we really did was sort of a maintenance season,” said Brian, who is on the UK side of the ice sheet work. “We were able to do the minimum that we needed to do there, but there’s no doubt about it that scientific program[s] will have taken a hit.”

And the Antarctic community itself is struggling: Daniela Liggett, an associate professor at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand, sent a survey to more than 400 Antarctic researchers late last year asking about the consequences of the pandemic on their work, family, and mental health. Overall, like others around the world, researchers expressed that their productivity decreased and their anxiety increased. But in her forthcoming paper for the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research, Liggett found that early-career researchers, and specifically women, have been the most adversely affected, with some already looking to leave the field altogether. “Early-career researchers just didn’t seem to see prospects and research in the future and then getting a job and completing their degree,” said Liggett. Soon enough, “we might be experiencing a bottleneck of people retiring, but not enough young researchers filling in, following the footsteps, because of COVID, and because of funding cuts.”

Now, as parts of the world have slowly begun to vaccinate citizens and lift restrictions, station workers who are still on the continent are feeling that separation. “It’s a piece of history I am missing out on: The slow progress of the world opening up,” said Traub. “Seeing restaurants reopen, catching up with friends and family I haven’t seen in person in months… But at the same time, I know it will be there for me when I come home at the end of 2021. And though it’s a pivotal moment in history, it’s still a stressful one—a feeling I’m skipping out on altogether.” One of the first things on Traub’s list when she gets home: getting vaccinated. “It’s been heartwarming to see the numbers of American adults taking the vaccine,” she said. “I’m hopeful that when I come home things will be somewhat normal.”

“Normal” for Antarctica—meaning pre-pandemic activity—is still a ways away. In the summer season before the pandemic, more than 74,000 tourists traveled to Antarctica. During the 2020 and 2021 seasons, only a handful have visited. It’s still unclear whether this “year-off” for the pandemic will really have any positive environmental effect on the continent, Hughes said, as the land is slow to recover. To researchers and scholars that study it, diplomats that govern it, and the land itself, a post-pandemic Antarctica looks hazy. “The question really is, given that online diplomacy is likely to continue again for this year,” asked Dodds, “what are the Antarctic Treaty parties thinking about in terms of innovation, to try and improve upon the experience of last year?”

Williams, who returned to a low case count in Australia, is experiencing the pandemic, and residuals of the pandemic, for the first time. “At the tail end of our expeditions, when things were finally ready for us to come home, we had to go from zero to one hundred in a blink of an eye. We basically had to come back to a world completely changed, and on edge. Social distancing, masks, processes while shopping, limitations on movement, government tracking of our movement, social expectations on contact and intimacy.”

Some of Brian’s colleagues were even reluctant to leave the continent. “You can’t hide from the rest of the world, but people weren’t relishing going back to the COVID world,” added Brian. “It was striking to come back.”

“I can genuinely say I felt almost like an alien arriving on a new planet,” said Williams.

Follow Leah Feiger on Twitter.

How the Pandemic Changed Antarctica syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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How the Pandemic Changed Antarctica

This is part of a special series, We’re Reemerging. What Does the World Look Like Now?, which considers in real time how we cope while living through a historic time. It’s also in the latest VICE magazine. Subscribe here. 

Matt Williams arrived in Antarctica on January 15, 2020, to lead Australia’s Mawson research station on the east side of the continent. Two months later, he watched as Australia entered its first coronavirus lockdown. But as events were canceled and businesses closed, Williams’s life on the other side of the world didn’t really change. He continued working, befriended a penguin he named Smudge, hung out at the station’s outdoor bar, celebrated Pride, and even took a plunge into Antarctic waters.

His is the story of many Antarctic residents over the past year and a half. When most of the world began shutting down in March 2020, only Antarctica was (at that point) spared from the coronavirus pandemic. Amid the snow-covered mountains, vast plateaus, and icy beaches, scientists and research station workers found themselves shielded from the deadly virus, only witnessing the vigorous hand-washing, sudden isolation, and symptoms of COVID-19 family and friends endured via stories told from thousands of miles away.

At stations on the continent, residents hunkered down for a winter together—without social distance. Moving to Antarctica these days doesn’t just entail packing up your parka and mentally preparing for the subzero temperatures. After intensive quarantines and coronavirus testing, it offers what many people around the world might call a luxury: Freedom from pandemic-related restrictions.

While Antarctic residents have sheltered away from the pandemic in an isolation of their own making, they have managed more safe socialization with their fellow residents than most people around the world experienced this year. Still, the very continent they live on has continued to struggle under the weight of diplomatic pressures and environmental concerns. Tensions over Antarctic fishing rights, funding, construction work, and more have intensified as international meetings have been canceled or moved online—making the continent’s already fragile, and complex, governance system all the more delicate. “The pandemic in general reinforced, but accelerated, preexisting trends,” said Alan Hemmings, a professor at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand.

The incongruous struggles Antarctica has faced over the past year are reflected in the return of Antarctic researchers to a pandemic-stricken home. “Adaptation back this time has been very different, and a few weeks into my return, my head is still in learning and reaction mode,” said Williams, who returned to Tasmania on April 13 of this year. “We left one world and have come back to another.”

Williams with emperor penguins

Antoinette Traub, a supply technician with the United States’ National Science Foundation, arrived on the continent in December 2020, and will stay at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station until at least November 2021. A few months after she had arrived, Antarctica’s winter set in; temperatures had begun to drop to below minus 50 Celsius, and the continent was shrouded in winter darkness. Few flights go in or out from March to October each year. “The last flight [from Amundsen] was in February,” she said, “and we will not see any new faces—nor receive fresh fruits like apples and oranges—until November.”

Lack of sunlight aside, Traub and her colleagues keep busy. Residents meet in the gym daily for a morning stretch, the station’s chefs keep everyone well fed (fresh doughnuts or bagels are prepared daily, and a week’s dinner menu in April read “Monday: Chicken Piccata; Tuesday: Salmon and Taco Bowls; Wednesday: Gyros; Thursday: Pho and Egg Foo Young; Friday: Swedish Meatballs; and Saturday: BBQ Ribs”), and movie marathons abound. “We currently have three ongoing movie marathons on station,” said Traub. “All the Stanley Kubrick, David Fincher, and Marvel Cinematic Universe films in their respective order. We’re currently watching 2001: A Space Odyssey, Zodiac, and Thor.” One day a week, Traub volunteers at the station’s hydroponic greenhouse.

Traub also has a TikTok account that boasts over a million followers. “My parents kept asking for updates, [so] I thought the best way to show them was over social media,” she said. “I had no idea it would blow up the way it has.” The TikToks show Traub’s daily life in Antarctica, one that is wildly distant to most of her viewers; she takes walks amid glaciers, does fun science experiments, and works. When she was at the U.S.’s McMurdo Station, Traub hung out with penguins. Her day-to-day assignments vary; sometimes she organizes the station’s waste to send back to the U.S. (no trash can stay on the continent), and other days she audits station inventory and brings supplies to different departments.

Traub’s colleague Katharine Smith, another supply technician, has been in Antarctica since September. This is Smith’s third time living on the continent, and while she’s enjoying the relative freedom compared with the months of lockdown she experienced prior, she said it’s also been disconcerting to watch the pandemic impact Antarctica’s around 100 stations. “With precautions taken to prevent COVID from getting to the continent, the population at all stations remained extremely low and construction was put on hold,” said Smith. “This year I believe McMurdo only had about 400 people at most [out of a capacity of over a thousand], and [Amundsen-Scott Station] only reached 61 rather than topping out at 150.” This makes the vital scientific research conducted on these stations all the more difficult. The smaller number of staff has impacted the science too, said Martin Wolf, an astro-particle physicist from Germany who is currently working at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station studying neutrino particles. Instead, programs and activities “have been mainly rescheduled to the coming years after the pandemic.”

Antoinette Traub and Katharine Smith

Even so, Smith has made the most of her time. “I launched weather balloons, drove a Delta truck, viewed the transit of Mercury through a telescope, flew to the South Pole in the cockpit of an LC-130, saw penguins and newborn seals,” Smith said. “It’s easy to start taking things for granted here since you are so immersed in it 24/7.” But, at the same time, she added, “I have been in this protected COVID-free bubble for almost eight months now. Life here feels normal to me.”

“To be honest, I might need to cut my social calendar back a little to get more solo recharge time,” said Erin Heard, the U.S. winter manager at McMurdo Station who has been in Antarctica, or on the way to the continent, for most of the pandemic.

Residents on other stations have felt similarly. “A lot of people said to us that we really did pick the best year to be away, in the most isolated place on the planet. And in a way that is true,” said Williams, the Australian station leader. “We did not, until resupply and our first human contact 16 months later, have to socially distance, limit use of gyms, avoid social occasions or limit shared meals and travel. Whatever that actually looks like on Antarctic stations is vastly different from anything you can imagine at home—but we still lived a life we expected and planned for, to some degree. We also did not live in real fear of our own personal health—we knew we were isolated enough to not get COVID.”

The outdoor ice bar

Mike Brian, a station leader at Britain’s Rothera Research Station in Antarctica, was there when the pandemic began, and went back to the UK in May 2020. He returned to Antarctica a few months later, and only recently went home again; he has colleagues that just left Antarctica after being away for the majority of the pandemic thus far. “They weren’t that far from missing it completely,” said Brian. “By the time they got back in, the vaccine had been developed and was available.”

Rothera residents had similar daily routines to their U.S. counterparts; after the workday, according to Brian, they watched movies, worked out, and took coastal walks. They also celebrated: “We had a ceilidh [kaylee]… a traditional Scottish dance, and it requires contact dancing.” In general, Brian said, “we were able to sit next to each other and enjoy each other’s company in a very relaxed fashion. It felt like that was a huge privilege, compared to the rest of the world.”

Despite their relative freedom, it’s been hard for Antarctic residents to spend this year away from their communities and home countries. Traub’s grandfather died from the virus in April 2020. “His was one of the first recorded thousand deaths in California, so it hit my family very hard,” she said. Traub graduated from college a few months later, and had to move back in with her parents when she lost a part-time job at a local brewery before leaving for Antarctica. Her brother has been on the front lines of the pandemic as a first responder, and her parents tested positive in December.

“With the pandemic, political atmosphere, protests, and natural disasters, at times it felt like the rest of the world was falling apart,” said Heard. “I felt far more distant than normal, almost like I was on another planet.”

While the pandemic didn’t interfere with most of Williams’ team’s experience on the continent, Australian station residents also watched their families suffer from afar. “We had to be relatively helpless onlookers as our loved ones struggled to cope with their new reality and the unknowns related to the pandemic,” said Williams. “We could offer moral support, but in reality we had no context, no sense of the realities, and didn’t have to live the day-to-day in a pandemic world. This weighed heavily on us and on our loved ones.”

“You really have to lean on your ‘ice family’ down here for support because there is nothing you can do about it—you’re stuck,” Smith said.

“It’s very, very difficult to be lonely in Antarctica. And, yes we’re isolated from the rest of the world, but we’re part of a community that’s very tight, and everybody knows everybody else,” added Brian.

Stations all over the continent also have strict procedures for visitors or new employees. For U.S. stations, Traub received three COVID tests, and spent a month in quarantine on her way to the continent, staying in a New Zealand government-managed facility along the way. Upon arrival at McMurdo Station, everyone had a daily temperature and wellness check for the first week. Then, freedom. “In my experience, the United States Antarctic Program and its participants have taken COVID precautions way more seriously than people and places back home,” said Smith. “Even after all the isolation we go through to get here, a flight arriving on station during the summer would trigger a ‘condition yellow,’ meaning assigned meal groups, mask wearing, limited capacities, canceled events, and social distancing. Everyone here abides by the rules and doesn’t argue about having to wear a mask.” These stringent policies have worked: None of the American research stations in Antarctica have had any COVID-19 cases. “Sometimes it feels like I’m getting the better end of the deal by being here instead of back in the States,” Traub added.

The Australian Antarctic Program has required similar checkpoints and quarantines. They also canceled intracontinental flights between stations, and mapped out their emergency responses should a crisis arise. “It was a mammoth, but essential, effort,” said Williams.

Mawson station under the Aurora Australis

Though human activity has slowed in Antarctica over the last year, the continent itself has continued to change. Last year, the continent broke its warmest temperature ever recorded, at 65 degrees. The ice has continued to melt: This April, scientists warned that the Thwaites Glacier, the widest glacier on the planet, which is currently about the size of Great Britain, is at risk of collapse. New research has found that the melting of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet would impact the entire world, raising sea levels by three feet.

A warming planet was not the only external pressure on Antarctica this past year; diplomatic posturing and resource grabs have continued to threaten the continent as well. In terms of the pandemic’s physical impact, the coronavirus did eventually make it to Antarctica: Chile’s General Bernardo O’Higgins Riquelme research station reported dozens of cases in December 2020, marking the virus’s spread to all continents. Australia is currently moving forward with plans to build an airport runway in East Antarctica that scientists say will increase human impact on the continent by 40 percent. As the pandemic was silently spreading in January 2020, a New Zealand Navy aircraft spotted a Russian ship fishing in a protected area in Antarctica; the controversy has lasted over a year as Russia has denied the claim.

This isn’t the first time Russia’s resource extraction in Antarctica has drawn consternation, however, and this illegal fishing occurred at a time of intense scrutiny for the industry: Fishing in Antarctic waters is one of the sharpest points of contention on the continent. At the intersection of diplomacy and conservation, some countries have accused China and Russia of exploiting continental resources for economic gain, or even taking advantage of the lack of oversight from this past year. China is currently building the world’s largest krill-fishing boat and has recently blocked a proposal to restrict fishing in Antarctica’s Pine Island Glacier region, even though krill fishing is detrimental to the continent’s ecosystem. Russia hopes to double its revenue from seafood exports in part by producing and selling canned krill from Antarctica. Some academics have warned that fishing may be a preview of the future of rights to mining, which is currently prohibited by the Antarctic Treaty.

Antarctica is unique in that it is governed by a treaty system, which is run collectively by 29 countries known as “consultative parties.” Almost every decision made on the continent and in the surrounding waters requires a consensus. So, each year, these countries get together at various weeklong conferences to discuss, debate, negotiate, and hammer out settlements regarding issues like fishing, governance, environmental protections, ongoing and new projects, and more. The pandemic threw a wrench in this tradition, and has since left various proposals and projects in limbo, as research stations have halted visits to one another and international meetings have been postponed or held virtually.

In many ways, virtual diplomacy is discordant with the continent’s traditional governing style. Face-to-face contact can be really important when coming to an agreement on divisive topics, said Klaus Dodds, a geopolitics professor at Royal Holloway, University of London: “It’s easier to be obstructive in online environments… because you don’t have to look the person in the eye down the corridor, or go to a reception and be confronted about why you’re being so awkward.” At in-person meetings, Dodds said, “a lot of diplomacy unsurprisingly is about the corridor talk,” from smoke breaks to random encounters.

Different participants in continental stewardship—the scientists and Antarctic workers, academics, and international leaders—have also become increasingly separate from one another over the past year. “What you have seen in the Antarctic over the last decade is an increasing kind of siloization of relationships,” said Hemmings. “The pandemic shutdown resonates throughout the system, not just the formal points of engagement at diplomatic meetings, but all the processes beforehand, [like] the capacity to pick up domestic thinking from your science community.”

Kevin Hughes, a vice chair of the Committee for Environmental Protection (CEP), is helping plan CEP’s annual meeting this June, the first one in over a year. Originally scheduled to be in Paris, the meeting was recently moved online. There will be a lot to cover, as Hughes said that many of the environmental proposals and studies have been delayed “because the logistical difficulties were insurmountable.”

In October, the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR), which oversees fishing, boating, and marine protection in the Southern Ocean, held their annual conference virtually. Though it was a feat that the meeting even occurred, some attendees were dissatisfied with the limited agenda and the lack of movement on certain issues such as climate change and marine protected areas. The online meeting, said Birgit Njåstad, the head chair of the CEP, was “not a discussion-friendly environment.” This had real-life impacts. Multiple proposed environmentally protected areas in Antarctica were ready to be reviewed and approved last year by CCAMLR, a part of the Antarctic treaty system, but partially because of the pandemic, protection has been stalled.

Still, the CEP planners recognize that in-person meetings wouldn’t solve everything. And at their upcoming meeting, in addition to the logistical difficulties, like broadband connection, translation issues, and competing time zones, Hughes is prepared to be disappointed with the amount that they get done. “I think we just appreciate that we’re going to have to take a hit on this, and the real hope is that we can meet in Germany, in 2022, in an in-person meeting to really just crack on with a lot of the work.”

The actual Antarctic research has been strained as well. In light of the pandemic, countries like the UK and the United States scaled back their Antarctic programs and research. “The scale of the Antarctic activities are not going to be quite as much as they would normally be,” added Hughes. While the U.S. and UK lead research on the Thwaites Glacier, which maps climate change’s impact on both the melting ice and the planet, Hughes said that the collaboration during the pandemic “has basically come to a halt.”

“What we really did was sort of a maintenance season,” said Brian, who is on the UK side of the ice sheet work. “We were able to do the minimum that we needed to do there, but there’s no doubt about it that scientific program[s] will have taken a hit.”

And the Antarctic community itself is struggling: Daniela Liggett, an associate professor at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand, sent a survey to more than 400 Antarctic researchers late last year asking about the consequences of the pandemic on their work, family, and mental health. Overall, like others around the world, researchers expressed that their productivity decreased and their anxiety increased. But in her forthcoming paper for the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research, Liggett found that early-career researchers, and specifically women, have been the most adversely affected, with some already looking to leave the field altogether. “Early-career researchers just didn’t seem to see prospects and research in the future and then getting a job and completing their degree,” said Liggett. Soon enough, “we might be experiencing a bottleneck of people retiring, but not enough young researchers filling in, following the footsteps, because of COVID, and because of funding cuts.”

Now, as parts of the world have slowly begun to vaccinate citizens and lift restrictions, station workers who are still on the continent are feeling that separation. “It’s a piece of history I am missing out on: The slow progress of the world opening up,” said Traub. “Seeing restaurants reopen, catching up with friends and family I haven’t seen in person in months… But at the same time, I know it will be there for me when I come home at the end of 2021. And though it’s a pivotal moment in history, it’s still a stressful one—a feeling I’m skipping out on altogether.” One of the first things on Traub’s list when she gets home: getting vaccinated. “It’s been heartwarming to see the numbers of American adults taking the vaccine,” she said. “I’m hopeful that when I come home things will be somewhat normal.”

“Normal” for Antarctica—meaning pre-pandemic activity—is still a ways away. In the summer season before the pandemic, more than 74,000 tourists traveled to Antarctica. During the 2020 and 2021 seasons, only a handful have visited. It’s still unclear whether this “year-off” for the pandemic will really have any positive environmental effect on the continent, Hughes said, as the land is slow to recover. To researchers and scholars that study it, diplomats that govern it, and the land itself, a post-pandemic Antarctica looks hazy. “The question really is, given that online diplomacy is likely to continue again for this year,” asked Dodds, “what are the Antarctic Treaty parties thinking about in terms of innovation, to try and improve upon the experience of last year?”

Williams, who returned to a low case count in Australia, is experiencing the pandemic, and residuals of the pandemic, for the first time. “At the tail end of our expeditions, when things were finally ready for us to come home, we had to go from zero to one hundred in a blink of an eye. We basically had to come back to a world completely changed, and on edge. Social distancing, masks, processes while shopping, limitations on movement, government tracking of our movement, social expectations on contact and intimacy.”

Some of Brian’s colleagues were even reluctant to leave the continent. “You can’t hide from the rest of the world, but people weren’t relishing going back to the COVID world,” added Brian. “It was striking to come back.”

“I can genuinely say I felt almost like an alien arriving on a new planet,” said Williams.

Follow Leah Feiger on Twitter.

How the Pandemic Changed Antarctica syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/