bluuebunny/crossref_metadata_2025 huggingface dataset:
Conclusions
Authors: Diaz-Andreu Margarita
Published: November 2020

In this book explanations have operated at various levels, of which two will be highlighted here: top-down and bottom-up approaches. Regarding the first approach, it has been argued that archaeology’s emergence as a professional discipline needs to be understood within the framework of the appearance of nationalism as the political ideology that changed the way in which states were characterized, leading to their definition as self-governed nations. An overview of how nationalism, and, connected to it, imperialism and colonialism, affected the development and institutionalization of archaeology throughout the world in the nineteenth century has been provided in the introduction. In this final chapter I do not intend to repeat arguments put forward there. Instead, the following pages will further elaborate on the bottom-up approach, utilized throughout the work but not explicitly formulated. This concerns archaeologists’ role in the changes that led to the growing acceptance of nationalism and imperialism, and the increasing success of archaeology as a scholarly discipline. Nation, colony, empire, and state are abstract concepts that, in fact, represent communities of individuals whose agency is fundamental in the events that mark the history of these institutions. People successfully instil—or otherwise—the belief in the existence of a nation, an empire or a colony. Explorers, amateurs, and professionals played a vital part in the organization of the search for antiquities, claiming their undertakings were useful from a political point of view, and popularizing this vision through exhibitions, speeches, teaching, and publications. To understand correctly the mechanisms by which nineteenth-century archaeology related to nationalism it is important to stress that the political role played by most individuals involved in the study of antiquities was not the result of an imposition. On the contrary, free choice motivated them. The many analyses undertaken on the social provenance of archaeologists (for example Kristiansen 1981; Levine 1986; Mitchell 1998) show that a number hailed from the social elite and, importantly, that the great majority were from the middle classes. They, therefore, belonged to the strata in society leading the nineteenth-century revolutions. These were not enforced from above, but, quite the reverse, were voluntarily directed by the intelligentsia—the educated strata in the society mainly drawn from the middle classes—in their search for space in the political sphere.
Terrain and soils
Authors: Horning Ned , Robinson Julie A. , Sterling Eleanor J. , Turner Woody , Spector Sacha
Published: November 2020

Building on the foundations of working with images and measuring land cover and vegetation in the previous two chapters, we now add the discussion of elevation and geology. Terrain attributes (such as elevation, slope, and aspect) and soil characteristics affect the distribution of most taxa and are therefore critical for effective biodiversity monitoring and conservation. Remote sensing is the primary tool for collecting terrain information from local to global scales. This chapter will provide an overview of different types of terrain data that you can collect using remote sensing methods as well as how you can visualize and analyze these data. We will also highlight applications using terrain data to illustrate how they and their derived products can aid the conservation biologist or ecologist. In addition to landforms, this section will look at how remote sensing technology can provide information about geology and soils. Box 5.1 provides an example of how elevation data and satellite imagery helped in selecting field sites. The fundamental measurement used to create terrain data is elevation. In this section we discuss elevation measurements in detail. First, we define elevation and then describe common data formats. Next we present an overview of you can acquire elevation values and then we will present examples of how elevation data are useful in biodiversity conservation and how you can use these data to improve the geometric and radiometric qualities of remote sensing imagery. This section concludes with a discussion of some of the methods used to analyze and visualize terrain data. Before discussing the use of elevation data it is useful to define what is meant by “elevation” and other related terms. A general definition for elevation is that it is the vertical distance measured from a point to a reference surface. This may seem pretty straightforward, but accurately defining the location of a point or a reference surface in the vertical dimension can be quite difficult. When measuring an elevation you need to define a reference surface. This reference surface is called a vertical datum. A common reference (or datum) for elevation measurements is sea level. Many maps, for instance, label elevation as meters or feet above sea level.
Ethno-cultural Differentiation in Household Production
Authors: Pallot Judith , Nefedova Tat'yana
Published: November 2020

Russia is a multi-ethnic country with more than two hundred different ‘officially recognized’ ethnic groups. Of these, twenty-seven have been given administrative recognition in the form of national republics, which together with non-ethnically based oblasts and krais (regions and territories) make up the Russian Federation. The Great Russians are numerically the most dominant group accounting for 80 per cent of the population. Next come the Tatars at 5.5 million, or 4 per cent of the total, and then Ukrainians, Bashkirs, Chuvashes, Chechens, Armenians, and other much less numerous groups. Soviet nationality policy did much to preserve ethnic identities in Russia, even though these were supposed to be transcended by a higher ‘Soviet socialist’ identity. When the USSR collapsed it did so along ethnic lines, and the post-Soviet Russian government was forced to accept ethnoterritorialism as an organizing principle of the new federal state (Smith, 1990, 1999). The major nationalities are not spatially discrete; many members of the most numerous nationalities live outside their republic and in only a minority of the national republics is the titular ethnic group the majority population. However, at lower scales, the picture is different and spatial segregation along ethnic lines can be marked, especially in rural areas. The southern steppe, describing an arc stretching from the Ukrainian border in the west to the regions beyond the River Volga in the east is, in fact, a veritable ethnic mosaic. Travellers who visited the southern and eastern steppe of European Russia in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries commented upon the variety of national and religious groups of different descent settled in the area. Apart from the Russians who had come south during the protracted conquest of the steppe, people were to be found there of German, Swedish, Armenian, Bulgarian, Serbian,Walachian, Moldavian, Polish, Jewish, and Greek origin together with the descendants of the traditional steppe dwellers, the Tatars, Bashkirs, Chuvashes, Kirghiz, Kalmyks, and Mordvinians. The ethnic diversity of the settlers in the steppe was matched by the diversity of their cultural mores and religions.
Scotland: The Creation of a Nation’s Prehistory
Authors: Rowley-Conwy Peter
Published: November 2020

Scotland was the part of Britain that adopted the Three Age System most rapidly and completely. This chapter will argue that there were probably two main reasons for this. The first was that there were some intellectual similarities between Scotland and Denmark, and there had for a long time been strong links between the archaeologists of Edinburgh and Copenhagen—far stronger than ever existed between London and Copenhagen. The second was that, like Denmark, Scotland was seeking an identity rooted in its past. Scotland and Denmark share a number of characteristics. Both were (and are) small northern nations overshadowed by larger southern neighbours, and both were (and are) using their early history to protect their national identities. Although the Romans made inroads into Scotland, neither country had been incorporated into the Roman Empire, so their emergence into history was much more gradual. As scholars looked back through time, there was therefore a more gradual ‘greying out’ of historical knowledge, rather than an abrupt and brightly lit Roman threshold preceded by darkness. Both therefore had a greater willingness to use archaeological materials to shed light in the ‘grey-out’. This is probably one reason for the many archaeological links that had been established between Denmark and Scotland long before Worsaae’s visit. One important link between two key individuals worked in a rather different way, however: the friendship between the Norwegian Peter Andreas Munch and Daniel Wilson was partly based on their common mistrust of Copenhagen’s mid-century archaeological hegemony. But there were also differences between Scotland and Denmark, and these also had their effect on the course of events. The seeking of an identity rooted in the past was in Scotland an endeavour that was potentially fraught with problems. The deposed Stuart monarchy had last invaded Britain only a century before, and many Scots, particularly from the Gaelic-speaking Celtic Highlands, had supported the claim of Charles Stuart, ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’, in his bid to become King Charles III. His defeat at the Battle of Culloden did not immediately remove the threat of a renewed invasion, and Jacobite agents remained active in the Highlands for some time afterwards (Maclean 1982).
Sailing to the Britannic Isles: Some Mediterranean Perspectives on the Remote Northwest from the Sixth Century bc to the Seventh Century AD
Authors: Wilkes John
Published: November 2020

If you were training to be an athlete you would not spend all your time doing exercises: you would also have to learn when and how to relax, for relaxation is generally regarded as one of the most important elements in physical training. To my mind it is equally important for scholars. When you have been doing a lot of serious reading, it is a good idea to give your mind a rest and so build up energy for another bout of hard labour. For this purpose the best sort of book to read is not merely one that is witty and entertaining but also has something interesting to say. This advice from the satirist Lucian, sometime itinerant lecturer and at other times a minor government official, seems as valid today as it was in the second century AD. For students engaged in the history and archaeology of Europe in the first millennia BC and ad, I can currently think of no better respite from the structures, models and databases, that are the currencies of modern research, than Barry Cunliffie’s monograph on the explorer Pytheas published in 2001. Unencumbered with footnotes and with minimal bibliography, a text of barely 170 pages introduces one of the great mysteries of antiquity, the fantastic voyage of exploration by a citizen of Massalia, the Greek ancestor of modern Marseilles, to the British Isles and beyond to Iceland and the Arctic Circle and then in the direction of the Baltic (Cunliffe 2001). Nothing is known of Pytheas himself and the only reasonably certain fact we have concerning the voyage is that it was undertaken around the time of Alexander the Great (d. 323 BC). No less remarkable is that all we know of Pytheas’ own account of his travels is preserved in later writers, who at the least denigrated his achievement and often branded him a downright liar with considerable vehemence, while still exploiting his detailed account of the lands and seas he saw. Despite this the value of his astronomical observations was recognized by some of the greatest minds of antiquity and as a result his place in the development of the geographical sciences is assured.
Meme Machines and the Mills of the Imagination: Science and Supposition in Archaeological Enquiry
Authors: Brown Lisa Yildiz
Published: November 2020

Storytelling, it can be argued, is an essential element of the archaeologist’s craft. It is because of the necessity for storytelling that archaeology has one foot in the arts and the other in the sciences. Storytelling is more than interpretation borne of observation and the gathering and testing of evidence. It inevitably brings us as individuals into the reconstructions of the past that we assemble during the course of our work. Yet while it is inevitable that we ‘bring to the ‘‘facts’’ our feelings’, supposition, hypothesis, and theory are not enough. Theoretical constructs are necessary, yet archaeologists are engaged in a constant search to find replacements for those that have failed. Archaeologists, professional and amateur alike, have long agreed in principle that acceptable practice demands good data, well collected, and accurately recorded in order to lend credibility to interpretation. An empirical approach to archaeological research relies on the recording of observable manifestations of culture, reasoning backwards from phenomenon to mechanism. This method of exploring human behaviour directly through observed evidence is not always in vogue but is more satisfying to some archaeologists than juggling conceptual abstractions. Archaeologists are individuals, possessed of distinctive personalities, talents and inclinations. We work differently, see differently, feel differently, but for all that we have a bond of commonality—we all understand imperfectly. Honest dispute engenders scrutiny, inspires exploration and promotes progress in a Weld of investigation in which understanding is imperfect and veriWcation elusive. Debate and challenge are key tools in the advancement of archaeological enquiry and the profession demands that, in the interests of progress, we cast ourselves constantly in the role of devil’s advocate. Honesty dictates, however, that we also acknowledge the sources of our inspiration, the ‘giants’ on whose shoulders we have stood in our search for the new horizons, the building blocks we have used as the basis of our research. Underpinning fruitful research is data, the record of the evidence, in whatever form it takes—the archives of unpublished fieldwork, the mountain of ‘grey literature’ that grows with each passing year, the finds and manuscripts under the bed, the published reports.
‘How Dare they Leave all this Unexcavated!’: Continuing to Discover Roman Bath
Authors: Davenport Peter
Published: November 2020

The frustrated cry of the young Barry Cunliffe has an odd echo in these days of preservation in situ. Sitting in the Roman Baths on his first visit as a schoolboy in 1955, he was astonished at how much was unknown about the Baths, despite their international reputation: large areas ‘surrounded by big question marks . . . all around . . . the word ‘‘unexcavated’’ ’ (Cunliffe 1984: xiii; figure 1). His later understanding of the realities and constraints of excavation only sharpened his desire to know more. Now, fifty years on and more, due in large part to that drive to know, his curiosity, we can claim to have made as much progress in our understanding of the baths and the city around them as had occurred in all the years before his visit, a history of archaeological enquiry stretching back over 400 years. In 1955 the baths were much as they had been discovered in the 1880s and 1890s. They were not well understood. The town, or city, or whatever surrounded it, were almost completely unknown, or at best, misunderstood. It was still possible in that year to argue that the temple of Sulis Minerva was on the north of the King’s Bath, not, as records of earlier discoveries made clear, on the west (Richmond and Toynbee 1955). Yet as the young Cunliffe sat and mused, the archaeological world was beginning to take note and a modern excavation campaign was beginning; indeed had begun: Professor Ian Richmond, in a short eight years to become a colleague, had started ‘his patient and elegant exploration of the East Baths’ the summer before (Cunliffe 1969: v). Richmond initiated a small number of very limited investigations into the East Baths, elucidating a tangle of remains that, while clearly the result of a succession of alterations and archaeological phases, had never been adequately analysed. Richmond’s main aim was to understand the developmental history of the baths, and this approach, combined with a thoughtful and thorough study of the rest of the remains, led to a still broadly accepted phasing and functional analysis (Cunliffe 1969).
Skin and fascia
Authors: Atkinson Martin E.
Published: November 2020

Skin is a specialized boundary tissue which forms the entire external surface of the body and is continuous with mucosa lining the respiratory, gastrointestinal, and urinogenital tracts at their respective openings. Skin is the largest organ in the body but is often overlooked in this respect. Skin has many functions, some of which are not immediately obvious. • It minimizes damage from mechanical, thermal, osmotic, chemical, and sunlight insults. • It forms a barrier against microorganisms. • It has a major function in thermoregulation. • It is a sensory surface equipped with touch, pressure, temperature, and pain receptors. • It has good frictional properties useful in locomotion and handling objects. • It is waterproof. • It is the site of vitamin D synthesis. • It also plays a role in non-verbal communication when we blush, alter our facial expression, or use tactile communication such as touching or kissing. Skin has two distinct parts when seen under a microscope, the superficial epidermis and the deeper dermis. The epidermis is a surface epithelium in which the outer cells are keratinized. Keratinization is the deposition of tough mats of keratin which are intracellular fibrous proteins that make the cells tough; keratinization also kills the superficial cells so the outer layers of your skin are dead. The epidermis varies in thickness. The thickest and most heavily keratinized areas are on the soles of the feet and palms of the hands whereas the epidermis on the face and back of the hand is much thinner and less heavily keratinized. Habitual activity, such as holding a pen, digging with a shovel or using scissors, may produce localized thickenings of thick skin by increasing the thickness of keratin to produce calluses. Cells below the keratin layer have a special coating that forms a permeability barrier, preventing water moving between cells, thus preventing water loss from the body and water-logging when exposed to water. Epithelium does not contain blood vessels, which is why you do not bleed when you lightly knock your skin. To bleed, you need to expose the blood vessels that lie in the dermis and supply the overlying epidermis by diffusion of nutrients through fenestrated capillaries.
The thoracic wall and diaphragm
Authors: Atkinson Martin E.
Published: November 2020

The thoracic wall is made up of skeletal elements that form the thoracic cage (or more commonly, but less accurately, the rib cage) and muscles that move the components of the thoracic cage relative to each other for ventilation and postural movement. The thoracic cage is made up posteriorly by the thoracic part of the vertebral column, laterally and anteriorly by the ribs and costal cartilages, and by the sternum in the anterior mid-sternal area. The thoracic vertebral column is made up of 12 thoracic vertebrae and their intervertebral discs. The thoracic vertebrae are not arranged in a straight line, but are concave anteriorly as shown in Figure 9.2. All vertebrae have the following general configuration as shown in Figure 10.1A: • A heart-shaped body with two backward projections, the pedicles, either side of the vertebral foramen. The foramen forms the spinal canal with the foramina of other vertebrae. Note in Figure 10.1C that the pedicles are slightly shallow above and strongly grooved below to form intervertebral foramina with adjacent vertebrae for the passage of spinal nerves; • Two stout transverse processes running laterally and slightly posteriorly; • Two flat plates called laminae which join to form a long spinous process—you can feel the tips of the spinous processes very easily under the skin in the midline of your back; • Superior and inferior articular processes at the junction of the pedicles and laminae. In thoracic vertebrae, the superior facets are set vertically with the facets on the superior processes facing posterolaterally and those on the inferior processes anteromedially; the relative movement of the vertebrae is thus mainly rotary, but there is very little actual movement in the thoracic part of the vertebral column. The thoracic vertebrae are modified from this basic pattern to articulate with the ribs through several more articular facets as shown in Figure 10.1 A, B, and C. They carry on each side: • Shown most clearly in Figure 10.1 C, a superior and inferior demifacet (a half facet) on each side of the body for the heads of two ribs in the case of T2–T9 or a single complete facet for the head of one rib in the case of T1 and T10–T12; • Shown in Figure 10.1 A and B, a facet near the tip of each transverse process for the tubercle of a rib (except T11 and T12).
The heart, pericardium, and mediastinum
Authors: Atkinson Martin E.
Published: November 2020

The heart, the arteries and veins leaving and entering the heart which are usually referred to as the great vessels, the trachea and bronchi, the oesophagus, and the vagus and phrenic nerves and sympathetic chains occupy the mediastinum , the area in the middle of the thoracic cavity between the two pleural sacs. The anteroposterior dimension of the thorax is narrowest in the mediastinum because of the presence of the thoracic vertebrae posteriorly. Laterally, the pleural sacs enclosing the lungs extend much further back alongside the vertebrae in the areas known as the paravertebral gutters. The great vessels enter and leave the superior aspect of the heart. The large veins draining the head, neck, and arms lie most superficially; they unite to form the superior vena cava that enters the right atrium of the heart. These veins overlie the two large arteries exiting the heart, the aorta, and pulmonary trunk. The aorta has a short ascending part, then forms the aortic arch passing backwards and to the left before continuing down the posterior wall of the thorax as the descending thoracic aorta. The subclavian and common carotid arteries, supplying blood to the arms and head and neck, respectively, arise from the aortic arch. The oesophagus is the deepest structure lying on the vertebrae and the trachea and main bronchi lie superficial to it. The sympathetic chains lie lateral to the vertebral bodies and the vagus and phrenic nerves are in intermediate positions. All these structures will be described in more detail in the rest of this chapter. The mediastinum is divided, for descriptive convenience, into the superior and inferior mediastinum. Figure 12.1 shows the imaginary line of division joining the sternal angle and the intervertebral disc below T4 that demarcates the boundaries of the superior and inferior of the mediastinum. The superior mediastinum occupies the space between the thoracic inlet above and the imaginary horizontal plane. The inferior mediastinum lies below that line and extends as far as the diaphragm. The lateral borders of both subdivisions of the mediastinum are the parietal pleura covering the medial aspect of the lungs, the mediastinal pleura.
The development of the face, palate, and nose
Authors: Atkinson Martin E.
Published: November 2020

In Chapter 21, we described the development of the pharyngeal arches and their derivatives. Craniofacial abnormalities account for about one third of all live birth defects. These arise during the development of the pharyngeal arches described in Chapter 21 or during the events described in this chapter. The first pharyngeal arch, the mandibular arch, is one of the basic building blocks needed to form the face and associated structures. The other major building block is the frontonasal process that covers the developing forebrain. The development of the face begins after the first pharyngeal arch forms around four weeks post-fertilization. At this stage, the head consists of a large bulge over the developing forebrain, approximating to the forehead and the mandibular arch in the position of the lower jaw. A slit between the frontonasal process and mandibular arch is continuous with the foregut tube; this slit is the primitive oral cavity or stomodeum. This primitive mouth cavity has no side walls where the cheeks would be and more significantly, there is no nasal cavity. Development of the nasal and oral cavities internally and the face externally proceeds at the same time over the course of the next eight weeks of development. Essentially, the nasal cavity is formed, then divided into two and separated from the oral cavity by the palate. The sequence of events is: • Development of the nasal cavity and first part of the palate, beginning the separation the oral and nasal cavities; • Development of the maxillary arch from the mandibular arch to form the cheeks and important structures contributing to the palate; • Completion of the components required to form the palate and separate the nasal cavity into right and left cavities; • Fusion of the building blocks to complete the separation of the nasal cavity and the separation of the nasal cavity from the oral cavity. As you can see in Figure 32.1A, the stomodeum is roofed by the frontonasal process and its floor is the fused mandibular arches.
Introduction
Authors: Ortloff Charles R.
Published: November 2020

The purpose of this book is six-fold: . to introduce the technical advances and historical development of selected irrigation-based, hydraulic societies of the pre-Columbian New World (Peru, Bolivia, and Guatemala) and describe their contributions to the history of the hydraulic sciences; to record the final testament from sites now destroyed by modern development or natural erosion processes that contain information on technology achievements . to address open questions in the archaeological literature regarding hydraulic and hydrological issues for Old World, New World, and South- East Asian societies with new information and research results from computational Xuid dynamics (CFD) computer modelling studies; to present Wndings relevant to hydraulic sciences from sites not previously reported in the literature . to introduce new findings from analysis of selected water systems of the ancient Old World and South-East Asia (specifically Petra, Ephesos, Priene, Aspendos, Caesarea, Angkor Wat, and Bali) related to innovations in hydraulics technology . to present mathematical models and examples of the working dynamics of New World hydraulic societies that show that their underlying actions are based on logical economic and engineering principles that maximize food resources commensurate with population growth and climatic challenges . to show that ancient NewWorld societies installed and managed urban and agricultural water systems based on sound engineering principles that took into account climate variations (floods and droughts) and developed defensive hydraulic strategies to combat their negative effects . to provide insight into the thought processes of the technocrats of ancient societies responsible for agricultural development and use of land and water resources through application of engineering principles (as they understood them); to discuss facets of their administrative structure and political economy, and show that technical innovation altered the historical development of societies through increased economic advantages. One path in the development of history of technology originates from discovery processes that utilize archival historical and archaeological resources. From these sources, early scientific and engineering principles that form the technology foundation of modern societies are uncovered, analysed, and categorized and then shown to be early steps to later useful, modern inventions. An alternative, but less deterministic, path originates from the viewpoint that while some engineering developments may serve a society dealing with survival and economic development issues, they represent an empirical trial-and-error process with no real understanding of underlying scientific principles and thus hold only academic interest with minor relevance to the history of science.
Introduction
Authors: Cliff A. D. , Smallman-Raynor M.R. , Haggett P. , Stroup D.F. , Thacker S.B.
Published: November 2020

This book is about the geography of emerging infectious diseases. The notion of emerging diseases goes back at least 150 years. Writing in 1861, two years after Charles Darwin had published his revolutionary On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, the great mid-Victorian statistician at the General Register Office of England and Wales, William Farr, turned evolution onto diseases to capture the idea of emergence: The types of diseases have probably undergone as many changes as the human species, which according to the great hypothesis of Darwin, is itself the crowning offshoot of simpler forms . . . Yet new species are generated by the same law; they are at first varieties confounded with old types, and are only recognized as distinct species when they have existed for some time, so it is impossible to fix on the precise point of origin. Diphtheria is an example. (Farr 1861: 183) Farr developed these remarks a decade later: The zymotic [infectious] diseases replace each other; and when one is rooted out it is apt to be replaced by others which ravage the human race indifferently whenever the conditions of healthy life are wanting. They have this property in common with weeds and other forms of life; as one species recedes, another advances. (Farr 1874: 224) The idea of disease emergence flitted in and out of the scientific literature over the next century, so that Daniel Thomson writing in 1955 felt it necessary to remake the case: it is clear that the epidemiological pattern of this country [England and Wales] has been in a constant state of flux, and it seems likely that the prevailing infections have not always been with us, nor have they existed in their present form for so very long. The responsible pathogens have undergone evolutionary changes, and some, of little present significance, may yet enter phases of great virulence, or deadly varieties may arise from the vastly greater number of viruses and bacteria which have not yet displayed pathogenic properties . . . (Thomson 1955: 116)
Environmental Changes: Ecological Modifications
Authors: Cliff A. D. , Smallman-Raynor M.R. , Haggett P. , Stroup D.F. , Thacker S.B.
Published: November 2020

Diseases originate, spread, and persist or wither, within a specific environmental context. For the entire time during which humans have lived on the earth, this environmental context has changed and, viewed from the beginning of a new millennium, all the available evidence suggests that the environment is set to change further and faster than at any other time in human history. In this chapter, we explore aspects of the changing environmental terrain in which diseases spread, and how these changes have served to promote the emergence and resurgence of infectious agents. Anthropogenic environmental changes and ecological modifications that promote the emergence and resurgence of infectious diseases are numerous and include deforestation and reforestation, road construction, agricultural development, dam building, irrigation and water control schemes, coastal zone degradation and wetland modification, mining and urbanization, and macro- and micro-climate change and variability (Morse 1995; Patz, Graczyk, et al. 2000; Patz, Daszak, et al. 2004; McMichael 2004). As Patz, Daszak, et al. (2004: 1092) observe, these changes and modifications can, in turn, provoke a ‘cascade effect’ of habitat fragmentation, ecosystem degradation, and biodiversity loss, pollution, poverty, and human migration that serve to amplify the risks of disease emergence and spread. Examples of infectious diseases that are known or suspected to be especially prone to the effects of environmental and land use change are given in Table 7.1. Of the many environmental and land use changes that can facilitate the processes of infectious disease emergence and resurgence, we have selected the five interlinked factors in Figure 7.1 for study here. We illustrate each factor with special reference to one or more examples drawn from the sample diseases and regions listed in Table 7.2. Our examples include: agricultural development and Argentine haemorrhagic fever in South America (Section 7.2); water control schemes and Rift Valley fever in Africa and the eastern Mediterranean (Section 7.3); deforestation and Nipah viral disease in the western Pacific (Section 7.4.1); reforestation and Lyme disease in North America (Section 7.4.2); climate variability and hantavirus pulmonary syndrome in North America (Section 7.5); and natural disasters and disease in North America and South-East Asia (Section 7.6).
The Long View: Human–Environment Relationships in the Region, 1000 BC–AD 1900
Authors: Foster David R. , Turner II B. L.
Published: November 2020

The Yucatán Peninsula is a thick, low-lying, limestone shelf that rose fully above the Caribbean Sea and Gulf of Mexico during the Pleistocene (Folan 1983; Wilson 1980). Given its calcite and dolomite base, the entire peninsula northward from the Libertad Arch, which extends east–west across the central Petén, is a karstic landscape of coastal plains and interior uplands or hills dominated by solution features and subsurface drainage (Finch 1965; Jennings 1985; Weidie and Ward 1976; Wilhemy 1981). Permanent rivers and streams appear only in the southern, high rainfall, portion of the peninsula, largely along the lower-lying coastal plains and adjacent edges of the interior uplands. For the most part, the southern Yucatán peninsular region constitutes an undulating upland (about 80% of the landscape) composed of ridges and, to the south, cone karst (Figs. 2.1 and 2.2: upland-bajo distribution). Interspersed among the uplands are large, surface solution sinks or poljes (Weidie and Ward 1976), locally known as bajos (sometimes, akalches). These features infill with sediments, predominately montmorillonite clays, which impede subsurface drainage and retain surface water built up during the rainy season, creating seasonal wetlands. Otherwise, water percolates through the upland karst to subterranean aquifers, which generally lie deep below the surface. In the uplands proper, these aquifers may be more than 200m below the surface (Turner, 1983). The region occupies a transitional position between tropical monsoon (Am, Köppen classification) and tropical wet-dry (Aw) climates to the south and north respectively. The critical distinction between the two is the length and severity of the dry season, which increases northward. Overall, the climate is characterized by hot, humid summers and warm, dry winters, in which nortes (cold northern airstreams) penetrate the region for brief periods. Average annual precipitation ranges from about 900mm to in excess of 1,400mm, increasing to the south, the large majority of which falls during the wet season (mid-May through October) (Garcia 1970). Water deficits exist throughout the region during the mid-to-late dry season, stressing vegetation, wildlife, agriculture, livestock, and human settlement.
Forest Extraction to Theme Parks: The Modern History of Land Change
Authors: Klepeis Peter
Published: November 2020

Modern-day deforestation in the southern Yucatán peninsular region began in earnest in the late 1960s. The composition of the region’s forest and options for land uses, however, were partly shaped by eighty years of activity leading up to the 1960s, just as it was by the ancient Maya over a millennium ago (Ch. 2). Most of the modern impacts began in the twentieth century and are traced here through three major episodes of use and occupation of the region: forest extraction, 1880–1983; big projects and forest clearing, 1975–82; and land-use diversification, conservation, and tourism, 1983 to the present. Each episode corresponds to different visions of how the region should be used and to different human–environment conditions shaping the kind, location, and magnitude of land change. Understanding these changing conditions underpins all other assessments of the SYPR project. The episode of forest extraction spans the bulk of the modern history of the region. It began in the late nineteenth century and ended with the demise of parastatal logging companies in the 1970s and early 1980s, due primarily to the depletion of reserves of mahogany and Spanish cedar throughout the region. Before this episode fully expired, a new one, that of big projects and forest clearing began, marked by large-scale rice and cattle schemes undertaken in the mid to late 1970s and early 1980s. This episode accelerated the road construction that began in the latter part of the 1960s, and it witnessed expanded settlement linked to colonization programs. The Mexican debt crisis of 1982 brought this episode to an abrupt halt, triggering the search for a new alternative to developing the frontier. This search, made in the context of neoliberal economic reforms, led to the establishment of the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve in 1989 and other, more recent initiatives, defining the most recent episode of land-use diversification, conservation, and tourism. From the collapse of the Classic Maya civilization to the twentieth century, the occupation of the region was sparse (Turner 1990), the forest serving as a refuge during the colonial period for those Maya fleeing Spanish domination along the coasts and in the north, especially during the Caste War of the middle nineteenth century, when the northern Maya revolted against Mexico (Jones 1989).
Hazards and Risks at Gunung Merapi, Central Java: A Case Study
Authors: Thouret Jean-Claude , Lavigne Franck
Published: November 2020

Of the 1.1 million people living on the flanks of the active Merapi volcano in Java (average population density: 1140 inhabitants per km2), 440 000 live in relatively high-risk areas prone to pyroclastic flows, surges, and lahars. The sixty-one reported eruptions since the mid-1500s killed about 7000 people. For the last two centuries the activity of Merapi has alternated regularly between long periods of lava dome extrusion and brief explosive episodes with dome collapse pyroclastic flows at eight- to fifteen-year intervals. Violent explosive episodes on an average recurrence of twenty-six to fifty-four years have generated pyroclastic flows, surges, tephra falls, and subsequent lahars. The current hazard zone map of Merapi (Pardyanto et al. 1978) portrays three areas, termed the forbidden zone, first danger zone, and second danger zone, based on progressively declining hazard intensity. Revision of the hazard map has been carried out because it lacked the details necessary to outline hazard zones with accuracy (in particular the valleys likely to be swept by lahars), and excluded some areas likely to be devastated by pyroclastic density currents, such as the 22 November 1994 surge. In addition, risk maps were developed in order to incorporate social, technical, and economic elements of vulnerability (Lavigne 1998, 2000) in the decision-making progress. Eruptive hazard assessment at Merapi is based on reconstructed eruptive history, based on eruptive behaviour and scenarios combined with existing models and preliminary numerical modelling (Thouret et al. 2000). The reconstructed past eruptive activity and related damage define the extent and frequency of pyroclastic flows, the most hazardous phenomenon (Camus et al. 2000; Newhall et al. 2000). Pyroclastic flows travelled as far as 9–15 km from the source, pyroclastic surges swept the flanks as far as 9–20 km away from the vent, thick tephra fall buried temples in the vicinity of Yogyakarta 25 km to the south, and subsequent lahars spilled down radial valleys as far as 30 km to the west and south. At least one large edifice collapse has occurred in the past 7000 years (Camus et al. 2000; Newhall et al. 2000).
Water in Cities
Authors: Chuan Goh Kim , Gupta Avijit
Published: November 2020

Southeast Asia, with most of its area receiving an annual rainfall of more than 2000 mm, is a region of positive water balance. It is also an area where unfulfilled demand for water is not unknown. Such a contradiction happens at times in its towns and cities. Several Malaysian urban settlements, for example, suffer occasionally from water shortage in a country with an average annual rainfall of about 3000 mm. Kuala Lumpur went through a prolonged period of water shortage in 1998 (Hamirdin 1998) in spite of large allocations made earlier in various five-year plans towards developing water supply infrastructure. Such shortages are common during long dry periods associated with El Niño. Regional water shortages may become more common in future, especially with the rising population and economic expansion. The shortages are the result of an inability to meet the rising demand of water in cities driven by both increasing population and progressive prosperity. Serious shortage occurs in large cities such as Jakarta, Bangkok, and Manila where a significant proportion of their population has no immediate access to municipal potable water. Even where piped connection exists, supplies are not available round the clock and often do not meet the required water quality standards. In many cities the local sources are inadequate and water has to be brought in from rural areas. The demand for water in a city has to be met on both quantitative and qualitative terms. For example, drinking water supplied to households by a municipal administration has to meet a given standard (WHO 1993). Ideally a city should have enough water to drink, to meet industrial demand, and to be able to store an adequate volume under pressure for firefighting and street cleansing. Supplying a city with water requires water sources, a treatment system, a distribution system, and arrangements for treating waste water and its disposal. In this chapter we review the current status of water supply in urban Southeast Asia and the sources that are available, concentrating on the major cities. We indicate the success stories as well as the shortcomings.
Plague and Urban Environments
Authors: Beinart William , Hughes Lotte
Published: November 2020

Our themes have so far been commodity frontiers, the transformation of nature, the beginnings of imperial environmental regulation, and the spatial dimensions of colonial cities. In this chapter we open an interrelated enquiry—into disease, specifically the third pandemic of plague. The link between environments and disease has long been made. By the late nineteenth century, as parasitology and tropical medicine made rapid strides, the precise causes of life-threatening maladies could be identified with increasing accuracy. Ross pinpointed mosquitoes as bearers of malaria and yellow fever; Bruce and others discovered the trypanosome borne by tsetse flies (see Chapter 11). Such discoveries gave environmental investigation and understanding a new urgency. They also provided arguments and scientific rationales for environmental regulation that seemed to offer the possibility of controlling disease. State intervention in controlling disease had a profound impact on some colonial environments, both urban, in this case, and rural (Chapter 11). While environmental controls were conceived as beneficial, both for British and indigenous people, they were also one way in which imperial subjects experienced political and social domination. Medical management of environmentally related diseases was sometimes strongly contested by the colonized. The same dilemma is explored in relation to conservation (Chapter 16). In a seaborne empire, as we have noted, ports were often critical sites for urban development, and formed the fundamental web of early empire. Cities, especially ports, were also centres of disease. Infections were brought into them, both by ships and from their hinterlands. They provided large concentrations of people in which disease could easily take hold, especially in the absence of efficient sanitation and healthcare. More people were becoming urbanized, living on top of one another in unsanitary and overcrowded conditions that were ideal spawning grounds for new and old infections. By the 1890s, Mumbai, a major centre of infection in India, had about 800,000 people—along with Kolkata this was a new scale of ships ‘the most convenient way to travel’, and can easily scramble on board via mooring ropes. Other factors in its spread included the bigger size of ships (hence larger colonies of rats), the large shipments of grain (which provided food and nests), and the passing of infection from ships’ rats to susceptible populations of wild rodents in California, Argentina, and South Africa.
Empire and the Visual Representation of Nature
Authors: Beinart William , Hughes Lotte
Published: November 2020

Science and technology helped to shape resource frontiers in the Empire and conquer environments. They also framed new understandings of environmental change and conservationist policies. In a different way, visual representations conjured the Empire for British people and permeated their view of it. They were an inescapable element in the imagining of imperial nature. The growing range of images, we will argue, similarly had potential for encouraging possession, exploitation, and conservation of natural resources. In 1926, an Empire Marketing Board was established in Britain to promote the consumption of food and products from the colonies and dominions. In its short life till 1933, it produced some of the most striking pictorial representations of empire in the shape of over 700 posters. These were carefully commissioned with explicit instructions to some of the leading designers and poster artists in the country. Many captured the central themes that we have tried to illustrate: they depicted commodities, such as South African fruit, Australian wool, Ghanaian cocoa, or Malaysian pineapples, against a background of vivid landscapes, and sometimes the people who worked to turn nature into commodities. They promoted a positive image of an interdependent empire, in which exotic and beautiful environments, partly tamed, gave forth their riches for the British consumer. In this chapter, we try to describe some of the images transmitted about the landscape and environment of empire, especially in the century from about 1850.While our major focus is on British-based representations, some reference is made to artistic work elsewhere that fed into the imperial visual store. Visual material such as Marketing Board posters familiarized British audiences with far-flung conquered zones, and naturalized their exploitation. However, these images were only one style of representation; there were many others and it is important to capture some of the complexity and variety of visual imaginations, developed in many different media. Images could transcend their intended purpose, and, as in the case of approaches to nature itself, there were conflicting and contending voices. Jostling alongside images that celebrated exploitation were others that championed nature or portrayed it sympathetically. Because of the power of visual media, it is arguable that these had a particular influence on environmental thinking.