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Disaster Education, Communication and Engagement
­Disaster Education, Communication
and Engagement

Neil Dufty
Molino Stewart Pty Ltd
Parramatta, NSW, Australia 2150
This edition first published 2020
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Cover design: Wiley

Cover Images: Flood map Courtesy of NSW State Emergency Service, People having discussion
Courtesy of Neil Dufty,
Flood study sign Courtesy of Campbelltown City Council,
Level scale meter Courtesy of Neil Dufty
Set in 9.5/12.5pt STIXTwoText by SPi Global, Chennai, India
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 v

Contents

Acknowledgements xi

Part I Context 1

1 Disasters and Learning 3

1.1 ­Hazard 3
1.2 ­Disaster 4
1.3 ­Disasters Are Socially Constructed 4
1.4 ­Disasters and Communities 5
1.5 ­Learning 6
References 6

2 Disaster ECE 9
2.1 ­Disaster Education 9
2.1.1 Defining Disaster Education 9
2.1.2 Modes of Disaster Education 10
2.1.3 Learning Relationships 11
2.2 ­Disaster Communication 13
2.2.1 Risk Communication 13
2.2.1.1 Risk 13
2.2.1.2 Risk Perception 14
2.2.1.3 Trust 16
2.2.1.4 Communicating Risk 16
2.2.2 Crisis Communication 17
2.2.2.1 Early Warning 17
2.2.2.2 Response 18
2.2.2.3 Recovery 19
2.2.2.4 Between Agencies 20
vi Contents

2.3 ­ ngagement 20
E
2.3.1 Public Participation Spectrum 21
2.3.2 Crowdsourcing 22
2.3.3 Citizen Science 22
2.3.4 Community Participatory Disaster Risk Assessment 23
2.3.5 Volunteered Geographic Information 24
2.4 ­Disaster ECE 24
­References 26

3 ECE Across the Disaster Management Cycle 33

3.1 ­‘The Disaster Management Cycle’ 33
3.2 ­Mitigation 35
3.2.1 Disaster Risk Analysis 36
3.2.2 Risk Awareness 38
3.2.3 Mitigation Options 41
3.3 ­Preparedness 44
3.3.1 Preparedness Guides 45
3.3.2 Emergency Plans 46
3.3.3 Campaigns 49
3.3.4 Learning Methods 49
3.4 ­Early Warning 50
3.5 ­Response 52
3.5.1 News Media 54
3.5.2 Social Media 55
3.6 ­Recovery 56
3.7 ­Lessons Learned 57
3.8 ­Reconstruction 58
­References 59

4 The Importance and Usefulness of Disaster ECE 69

4.1 ­Inputs 71
4.2 ­Activities 75
4.3 ­Outputs 75
4.4 ­Short-Term Impacts 78
4.5 ­Intermediate Impacts 79
4.6 ­Outcomes 81
­References 81

5 Exploring Relevant Research Fields 85

5.1 ­Disaster Resilience 85
5.1.1 The Resilience Concept 85
 Contents vii

5.1.2 Disaster ECE and Resilience 87

5.2 ­Disaster Psychology 88
5.2.1 Risk Awareness and Perception 88
5.2.2 Previous Experience and Local Knowledge 90
5.2.3 Preparedness 92
5.2.3.1 The Protection Motivation Theory (PMT) 93
5.2.3.2 Protective Action Decision Model (PADM) 94
5.2.3.3 Socio-Cognitive Preparedness Model 95
5.2.4 Response 96
5.2.5 Recovery 101
5.3 ­Disaster Sociology 103
5.3.1 Vulnerability 104
5.3.2 Social Capital 106
5.4 ­Learning Theory 108
5.4.1 Behavioural Learning 109
5.4.2 Cognitive Learning 109
5.4.3 Affective Learning 110
5.4.4 Social Learning 111
­References 114

Part II Local Disaster ECE 125

6 Designing Effective Disaster ECE Plans and Programmes 127

6.1 ­Lifelong Learning 127
6.2 ­Localisation and Learner Needs 128
6.3 ­A Framework for Tailoring Disaster ECE 130
6.3.1 Principles of Effective Disaster Education 130
6.3.2 ‘Palettes’ of Potential Content and Methods 132
6.3.3 ‘Filters’ to Choose Appropriate Local Disaster ECE Content
and Methods 133
­ References 134

7 Disaster ECE Principles 137

­ References 141

8 Disaster ECE Content 143

8.1 ­Across the Disaster Management Cycle 143
8.1.1 Mitigation 144
8.1.2 Preparedness 146
8.1.3 Early Warning 146
viii Contents

8.1.4 Response 147

8.1.5 Recovery 147
8.1.6 Lessons Learned 148
8.1.7 Reconstruction 148
8.2 ­Disaster Resilience 148
8.3 ­Climate Change 150
8.3.1 Climate Change and Disaster Risk Reduction 152
8.3.2 ‘Global Warming’ vs ‘Climate Change’ 153
8.3.3 Support for Climate Change 153
8.3.4 Implications for Disaster ECE 155
8.4 ­Sustainability 156
­ References 160

9 Disaster ECE Methods 165

9.1 ­A Typology of Disaster ECE Methods 165
9.2 ­Information 166
9.2.1 Maps 168
9.2.2 Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) 169
9.2.3 Warning Sirens 170
9.2.4 Emergency Alert Messages 171
9.3 ­Interactions 173
9.3.1 Social Media 173
9.3.2 Apps 178
9.3.3 Games 179
9.3.4 Virtual Reality 182
9.3.5 Scenario Planning 183
9.3.6 People–People Interactions 184
9.4 ­Skills and Capabilities 187
9.4.1 Drills 188
9.4.2 Exercises 188
9.4.3 Oral, Visual, and Written Histories 190
9.4.4 Communities of Practice 190
9.4.5 Awards 192
9.4.6 Simulations 193
9.4.7 Staff Ride 194
9.4.8 Volunteering 194
9.5 ­Creative Expression 196
9.5.1 Art 197
9.5.2 Writing 197
9.5.3 Movies 199
9.5.4 Puppetry 200
 Contents ix

9.5.5 Memorials 200

9.6 ­Integrating Methods 201
­References 202

10 Understanding Communities and Their Risks 213

10.1 ­Understanding the Local Community 213
10.1.1 Population Surveys 214
10.1.2 Questionnaires 217
10.1.3 Social Network Analysis 217
10.1.4 Local Knowledge 219
10.2 ­Local Disaster Risks 220
10.3 ­Risk Reduction Measures 223
10.4 ­Emergency Management 224
10.5 ­Building Resilience 230
­References 233

11 Learners 239
11.1 ­Youth 239
11.1.1 Vulnerability 240
11.1.2 Youth and DRR 241
11.1.3 Disaster ECE in Schools 243
11.1.4 Curriculum-Based Learning 244
11.1.5 Non-curricula Learning 250
11.2 ­Other Vulnerable People 252
11.2.1 Women and Girls 252
11.2.2 People with Disabilities 253
11.2.3 Older People 256
11.3 ­Businesses 259
11.3.1 Vulnerabilities 259
11.3.2 Mitigation 261
11.3.3 Preparedness 263
11.3.4 Recovery and Resilience 267
11.4 ­Animal Guardians 269
11.5 ­Tourists 273
11.6 ­Archetypes 275
­ References 276

12 Disaster ECE Programmes and Plans 289

12.1 ­Tailoring Disaster ECE 289
12.2 ­Disaster ECE Plans 291
12.3 ­Disaster ECE Programmes 294
x Contents

12.4 ­ valuation 296

E
12.5 ­Participation 297
­ References 299

Index 301
 xi

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the staff at Molino Stewart Pty Ltd for the opportunity
to research disaster education, communication, and engagement over the past
16 years. I would particularly like to thank Managing Director Steven Molino who
has supported my research over the years and provided sage advice, especially in
floodplain risk management and emergency management.
I would like to also like to thank three members of the New South Wales State
Emergency Service for motivating me to write this book:
1. Phil Campbell, who 12 years ago described the state of research into disaster
education as a ‘black hole’.
2. Steve Opper, who challenged me to find the evidence that disaster education
actually works to change emergency preparedness and response behaviours.
3. David Webber, who has given me several funded opportunities to research
innovations in disaster education and engagement. He has also been a great
sounding board for translating this research into practice in the emergency
services.
A primary source of research for this book was from Australia. In particular,
I would like to note the robust disaster research of the Bushfire and Natural
Hazards Cooperative Research Centre from which I have drawn many examples.
Also, I would like to acknowledge the learning from my network of disaster
researchers and emergency managers from around the world. One of these inter-
national networks is The International Emergency Management Society (TIEMS)
and another is the Centre for Water, Communities and Resilience at the University
of the West of England (of which I am a member of the International Advisory
Board). In Australia, I have learned much from involvement in Floodplain
Management Australia (FMA), including from participating in its annual national
conferences.
Finally, I would like to thank Sydney Trains for the environment to write this
book to and from work.
 1

Part I

Context
 3

Disasters and Learning

This book is about learning that aims to help keep people safe and minimise
damage in disasters. Drawing on evidence from a range of sources, it provides
guidance on how to tailor disaster‐related learning to local communities.
The book offers a bridge between academic theory and research, and disaster
learning practice. It enables practitioners to prepare effective disaster learning
plans, programmes, and activities.
Prior to commencing discussion, it is important to define some key terms used
throughout the book.

1.1 ­Hazard

According to the United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (2017), a haz-
ard is a ‘process, phenomenon or human activity that may cause loss of life, injury
or other health impacts, property damage, social and economic disruption or envi-
ronmental degradation’.
Hazards include biological (e.g. diseases, mosquitoes carrying disease‐causing
agents), environmental (e.g. chemical, natural, and biological hazards), geological
(e.g. earthquakes, volcanoes, landslides), hydrometeorological (e.g. tropical cyclones/
hurricanes/typhoons, floods, droughts, heatwaves, wildfires), and technological
processes and phenomena (e.g. transport accidents, dam failures, factory explo-
sions, and nuclear radiation). Some hazard typologies also include terrorist attacks
and human conflict.
More broadly, hazards can be classified as ‘natural’ or ‘anthropogenic’. However,
some ‘natural’ hazards can be augmented by human activities (Kelman 2018). For
example, a levee built to mitigate flood hazard may exacerbate flood depths and
velocities elsewhere. This book focuses mainly on natural hazards.

Disaster Education, Communication and Engagement, First Edition. Neil Dufty.

© 2020 John Wiley & Sons Ltd. Published 2020 by John Wiley & Sons Ltd.
4 1 Disasters and Learning

1.2 ­Disaster

There are numerous definitions of ‘disaster’ in the literature, although most

involve the concept of a community impacted by a hazard (or multiple hazards)
not being able to cope by itself and requiring external assistance to recover.
The United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (2017) defines a disaster
as ‘a serious disruption of the functioning of a community or a society at any scale
due to hazardous events interacting with conditions of exposure, vulnerability
and capacity, leading to one or more of the following: human, material, economic
and environmental losses and impacts’.
‘Emergencies’ differ from disasters in that they relate to ‘hazardous events that
do not result in the serious disruption of the functioning of a community or soci-
ety’ (United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction 2017).
Countries and jurisdictions within countries around the world have different
criteria for declaring disasters and these can be influenced by political considera-
tions. An analysis of global disasters between 1998 and 2017 (Centre for Research
on the Epidemiology of Disasters 2018) found the following:
●● Climate‐related (hydrometeorological) and geophysical disasters killed
1.3 ­million people and left a further 4.4 billion injured, homeless, displaced, or
in need of emergency assistance.
●● While the majority of fatalities were due to geophysical events, mostly earth-
quakes and tsunamis, 91% of all disasters were caused by floods, storms,
droughts, heatwaves, and other extreme weather events.
●● In 1998–2017, disaster‐hit countries reported direct economic losses valued at
US$2908 billion. This has increased from 68% (US$895 billion) of losses
(US$1313 billion) reported between 1978 and 1997.

1.3 ­Disasters Are Socially Constructed

Disaster research shows that the idiom ‘it was a disaster waiting to happen’ rings
true. For many years it has been accepted that disasters are caused by underlying
societal issues such as vulnerabilities and inequalities, and not by an ‘Act of God’
hazard. As Tierney (2014) states, ‘the origins of disaster lie not in nature, and not
in technology, but rather in the ordinary everyday workings of society itself’.
After the destructive 1755 Lisbon earthquakes, in a letter young French philoso-
pher Jean‐Jacques Rousseau challenged the great French philosopher Voltaire’s
view that the event was how God showed His power, glory, and might. Rousseau
noted that nature did not construct thousands of buildings and houses of six to
 1.4 ­Disasters and Communitie 5

seven storeys that collapsed in the earthquakes. Some academics claim that
Rousseau’s letter to Voltaire symbolised the beginning of the shift in thinking
leading to the socially‐constructed interpretation of disaster events.
In 1976, O’Keefe et al. used empirical global economic loss data to show that
social‐economic and not natural factors should be seen as responsible for both the
loss of many lives and the loss/damages of assets in the developing world. Since
then, numerous researchers (e.g. Burton et al. 1993; Wisner et al. 2004; Bankoff
et al. 2007) have demonstrated this interpretation. The United Nations International
Strategy for Disaster Reduction (2018) has adopted the critical approach to disas-
ters by suggesting that ‘there is no such thing as a “natural” disaster, only natural
hazards’.

1.4 ­Disasters and Communities

If disasters are socially constructed, then the role of people and their communi-
ties should be prominent. ‘Without humans and their pertinent societal spheres,
hazards are simply natural events and thus irrelevant; hence much attention
should be paid by concerned institutions to people and communities and their
capacity to engage with nature, both as a resource and as a hazard’ (Haque and
Etkin 2012).
What do we mean by ‘community’ in the disaster context? The term tends to be
ambiguous; it is not necessarily only designated by a group of interacting people
sharing the same place and similar understandings, values, or life practices. As
Oliver‐Smith (2005) points out, ‘community’ is a cultural field with a complex of
symbols and, as such, possesses an identity and is capable of acting on its behalf
or on behalf of those who have a claim on that identity. In that sense, community
is not clearly defined and cannot be easily measured.
Titz et al. (2018) argue that ‘community’ is elusive because ‘it either escapes
clear definitions or is described by too many, and it is deceiving because it has
become so popular in (disaster) research and action that barely anyone bothers to
question its legitimacy and usefulness’. These authors contend that ‘community’
should be replaced by more precise concepts such as neighbourhoods or social
networks, e.g. a religious or ethnic group.
To support this argument, in this book general reference is made to ‘community
education’ with ‘community’ used as a synonym with ‘social’, ‘civic’, or ‘public’
(each of which are used across the world in this sense). In Chapter 11, the com-
munity is broken down into community sectors for the purpose of targeting disas-
ter learning. Elsewhere, the community discussed is clearly defined, e.g. a
population at risk to a certain probability of flooding.
6 1 Disasters and Learning

1.5 ­Learning

Given that disasters are socially constructed and the role of at‐risk people and
their communities in disasters is critical, then learning by these people and their
communities before, during, and after a disaster is paramount. This contention is
supported by the Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030
(United Nations 2015), endorsed by countries across the world, which in several
instances promotes the need for disaster‐related learning in its actions, including
‘to promote national strategies to strengthen public education and awareness in
disaster risk reduction, including disaster risk information and knowledge,
through campaigns, social media and community mobilization, taking into
account specific audiences and their needs’.
This book examines the nature of disaster learning and how it can be made
most effective.
A major challenge in disaster‐related learning is that in comparison to other
forms of personal civic learning (e.g. road safety, health, waste management,
financial management), a disaster (or even an emergency) may never occur in
one’s lifetime. On the other hand, people learn to manage money on a regular
basis, to be constantly wary of road and other transport hazards, and to be aware
of lifelong risks to their health.

­References

Alexandra, T., Cannon, T., and Krüger, F. (2018). Uncovering ‘community’:

challenging an elusive concept. Development and Disaster Related Work
Societies 8: 71.
Bankoff, G., Frerks, G., and Hilhorst, D. (2007). Mapping Vulnerability: Disasters,
Development and People. London: Earthscan.
Burton, I., Kates, R., and White, G. (1993). Environment as Hazard, 2e. New York:
Guilford Press.
Centre for Research on the Epidemiology of Disasters (2018). Economic Losses,
Poverty & Disasters 1998–2017. Report produced in conjunction with the United
Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction.
Haque, C.E. & Etkin, D. (2012). Dealing with disaster risk and vulnerability: people,
community and resilience perspectives. In: Disaster Risk and Vulnerability:
Mitigation Through Mobilizing Communities and Partnerships, (eds C.E. Haque &
D. Etkin), McGill‐Queen’s University Press. Montreal, Canada, 3–27.
Kelman, I. (2018). Lost for words amongst disaster risk science vocabulary?
International Journal of Disaster Risk Science 9 (2): 281–291.
   ­Reference 7

O’Keefe, P., Westgate, K., and Wisner, B. (1976). Taking the naturalness out of natural
disasters. Nature 260: 566–567.
Oliver‐Smith, A. (2005). Communities after catastrophe. In: Community Building in
the Twenty‐First Century (ed. S.E. Hyland), 25–44. Santa Fe, USA: School of
American Research Press.
Tierney, K. (2014). The Social Roots of Risk: Producing Disasters, Promoting Resilience.
Stanford, USA: Stanford University Press.
United Nations (2015). Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030.
Available: https://www.unisdr.org/we/inform/publications/43291.
United Nations International Strategy for Disaster Reduction (2018). What is disaster
risk reduction? [Online]. Available: https://www.unisdr.org/who‐we‐are/what‐is‐
drr (accessed 11 June 2019).
United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (2017). Terminology on disaster
risk reduction. [Online]. Available: https://www.unisdr.org/we/inform/
terminology (accessed 11 June 2019).
Wisner, B., Blaikie, P., Cannon, T., and Davis, I. (2004). At Risk: Natural Hazards,
People’s Vulnerability and Disasters, 2e. New York: Routledge.
 9

Disaster ECE

2.1 ­Disaster Education

2.1.1 Defining Disaster Education

Disaster education is becoming increasingly popular as a means of ensuring
­public safety, knowing that governments and infrastructure cannot protect all
individuals and their communities in all emergencies. People need to look after
themselves and others during and after disasters, and thus need to be educated in
how to do this.
There is a strong involvement by emergency agencies around the world in
­disaster education. However, most agencies only commit relatively small propor­
tions of their budgets to it, especially compared to those for emergency operations.
Ironically, although there are a multitude of avenues for education implementa­
tion related to disasters, there is according to Preston (2012) ‘surprisingly little
writing in the field of education/pedagogy itself’. This is largely due to disaster
education being a ‘new area of enquiry in the field of education’ (Preston 2012)
and because many of the disaster education programmes are designed by non‐
educators from emergency agencies and other organisations. As a result, there is
a large amount of disaster education activity around the world with little techni­
cal research into its educational veracity.
Furthermore, with technological developments such as social media, all people
have the opportunity to be involved in disaster education. There is therefore a
pressing need to examine disaster education in this context and provide robust
education‐based guidance to people using these emerging technologies for disas­
ter education.
Preston (2012) notes that ‘the disciplinary boundaries of disaster education
are fluid and the literature on the topic can be found within the sociology of
disasters, public health and health promotion, humanitarian response, political

Disaster Education, Communication and Engagement, First Edition. Neil Dufty.

© 2020 John Wiley & Sons Ltd. Published 2020 by John Wiley & Sons Ltd.
10 2 Disaster ECE

communication and public relations’. Although more specific education‐based

research is required, it is useful that disaster education continues to draw upon
and combine with other disciplines including education, psychology, and sociol­
ogy in understanding people’s reactions to disasters (see Chapter 5).
There are several definitions of disaster education that may lead to confusion
about its place in disaster management. For example, Shaw et al. (2011) believe that
‘disaster education’, ‘disaster risk education’, and ‘disaster prevention education’ are
‘different expressions that essentially mean disaster risk reduction education’.
Preston (2012) views disaster education more along the lines of preparedness: help­
ing citizens ‘prepare for various disasters, consider what they would do in a disaster
and think about how they would respond’.
An understanding of the meaning of the word ‘education’ will assist in resolv­
ing this confusion. Craft (1984) noted that there are two different Latin roots of
the English word ‘education’. They are educare, which means to train or to mould,
and educere, meaning to lead out. While the two meanings are quite different,
they are both represented in the word ‘education’. They relate to different types of
learning possible across education: one calls for rote memorisation and appropri­
ate response; the other requires questioning, thinking, and creating.
Acknowledging this explanation and the Disaster Management Cycle
(Chapter 3), disaster education should ‘involve learning before, during, and after
disasters’ (Dufty 2011). The design of disaster education involves two components
which will be discussed in detail later in this book:
1. Content – what will be learnt (see Chapter 8).
2. Methods – how it will be learnt (see Chapter 9).

2.1.2 Modes of Disaster Education

The International Standard Classification of Education 2011 (United Nations
Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization 2012) identifies four modes of
education that are all applicable to a study of disaster education:
1. Formal education. ‘Formal education is education that is institutionalised,
intentional, and planned through public organisations and recognised private
bodies, and – in their totality – constitute the formal education system of a
country.’ For disaster education, this would include curriculum‐based learning
in schools and universities. ‘Programs that take place partly in the workplace
may also be considered formal education if they lead to a qualification that is
recognised by national education authorities (or equivalent).’
2. Non‐formal education. This is education that is ‘institutionalised, intentional,
and planned by an education provider’ – sometimes called ‘extra‐curricular
activities’ – and is still related to the formal education system. For disaster
 2.1 ­Disaster Educatio 11

education, it could be a safety demonstration to schools or a Massive Open

Online Course (MOOC) linked to a university. ‘It is typically provided in the
form of short courses, workshops or seminars.’
3. Informal education. ‘Informal learning is defined as forms of learning that are
intentional or deliberate, but are not institutionalised.’ ‘Informal learning
may include learning activities that occur in the family, workplace, local com­
munity and daily life, on a self‐directed, family‐directed or socially‐directed
basis.’ Examples of informal learning related to disaster education include
using social media to learn more about a disaster, attending a community
meeting called after an emergency, and participating in an emergency train­
ing course.
4. Incidental or random education. These are ‘various forms of learning that are not
organised or that involve communication not designed to bring about learning’.
They ‘may occur as a by‐product of day‐to‐day activities, events or communica­
tion that are not designed as deliberate educational or learning activities’. This
type of learning could include watching or listening to a news broadcast that
includes details of a disaster, receiving an early warning emergency message, or
reading an article about emergency preparedness in a magazine.
As part of lifelong learning, people may learn across the four different modes of
education. Generally, formal and non‐formal education is more experienced by
those under 30 years old. Both informal and incidental education is obtained by all
ages.
Shaw et al. (2011) conducted a literature review of global disaster education
activities in the categories of formal, non‐formal, and informal education. Most of
the disaster education activities they reviewed were either in the formal or non‐
formal modes. This trend is supported by the majority of disaster education
research being in the school setting (Chapter 11).
However, informal education has particular appeal to disaster learning for all
ages. Informal education can occur in a range of settings such as the home, school,
job, and in small groups such as community organisations (Knowles 1950). It is
viewed as a critical component of lifelong learning (Hager 2001).
According to Feng et al. (2018), informal learning makes it easier to appreciate
how disaster education ‘can be integrated into community and community pro­
cesses, particularly with regard to the need to personalize education in ways that
facilitate its applicability to the local contexts in which people experience hazard
events’.

2.1.3 Learning Relationships

Education has traditionally been seen as a pedagogic relationship between the
teacher and the learner. It was always the teacher who decided what the learner
12 2 Disaster ECE

needed to know and, indeed, how the knowledge and skills should be taught. For
disaster education, ‘pedagogy’ relates to formal and non‐formal learning modes
usually with children through a prescribed curriculum or course.
Knowles (1970) distinguished between how adults and children learn and
coined the term ‘andragogy’. It is based on the premise that adults are independ­
ent and strive for autonomy and self‐direction. Andragogical learning is task or
problem centred.
Andragogy was an important landmark in teaching and learning practices
in vocational education and training and in higher education. The principles
of adult learning that were derived from it transformed face‐to‐face teaching
and provided a rationale for distance education based on the notion of self‐
directedness. However, it still has connotations of a teacher–learner
relationship.
For disaster education, andragogical learning generally fits within the non‐­
formal learning mode, as for adult education there are course requirements. For
higher education courses, disaster‐related education (e.g. degrees in emergency
management, MOOCs) mainly follows pedagogical principles.
Much of the disaster‐related learning is provided by emergency agencies for at‐
risk people and their communities. As discussed earlier, this is usually conducted
through informal learning, although delivered in a pedagogical manner, i.e. in a
way similar to a teacher–pupil relationship where the agency ‘knows best’ and
provides the required knowledge and skills.
Due to the power in disaster education emanating largely from government
emergency agencies through pedagogical practices, some people can be excluded
or feel disillusioned with learning. For example, Preston (2012) posits that ‘there
are both tacit and overt reasons why disaster education shares racial inequalities
in common with other forms of formal (and informal) education’. He shows that
although there are diverse forms of disaster education they are inextricably linked
to a range of inequalities in society.
One way to counter this power inequality issue is through another learning
relationship. ‘Heutagogy’ is the study of self‐determined learning and draws
together some of the ideas presented by these various approaches to learning. It
is also an attempt to challenge some ideas about teaching and learning that still
prevail in teacher‐centred learning and the need for ‘knowledge sharing’ rather
than ‘knowledge hoarding’.
Rogers (1969) suggests that people want to learn and have a natural inclination
to do so throughout their life. Indeed, he argues strongly that teacher‐centred
learning has been grossly overemphasised.
A heutagogical approach recognises the need to be flexible in the learning
where the ‘teacher’ provides resources but the learner designs the actual course
he or she might take by negotiating the learning. Thus, learners might read around
 2.2 ­Disaster Communicatio 13

critical issues or questions and determine what is of interest and relevance to

them, and then negotiate further reading and assessment tasks.
The heutagogical approach has potential for disaster learning as it relates to
informal and incidental education. It ties well with the concept of ‘shared respon­
sibility’ (Council of Australian Governments 2011) where both emergency agen­
cies and at‐risk people have responsibilities before, during, and after disasters.
Coupled with these responsibilities is the requirement for people to learn them­
selves, although there will be times (e.g. early warning) when emergency agencies
need to provide direct advice (e.g. the need to evacuate).

2.2 ­Disaster Communication

Communication is the act of transferring information from one place to another.

It can denote two different processes:
●● the transmission of information (a one‐way process)
●● sharing information (a common or mutual process).
In disaster management, the transmission model (one‐way process) is primarily
used where there is information disseminated by emergency agencies for alerts
and warnings. In contrast, the idea of sharing information implies a common or
mutual process. The use of social media as an emergency communication tool
inherently involves two‐way information sharing.
Disaster communication can be categorised according to the length of the
communication period. ‘Acute’ communication occurs during emergencies
where there is a need for rapid dissemination of lifeline information. On the
other hand, ‘long‐term’ communication occurs over an extended period prior to
and after emergency events or disasters, e.g. disaster risk reduction, post‐disaster
reconstruction.
However, according to Steelman and McCaffrey (2013), the two fields that best
inform communication thinking for a hazard are risk communication and crisis
communication.

2.2.1 Risk Communication

2.2.1.1 Risk
Risk represents the potential for loss as a result of the impact of natural, techno­
logical, and other hazards (see Chapter 1). More specifically, risk can be defined as
‘a situation or event in which something of human value (or humans themselves)
has been put at stake and where the outcome is uncertain’ (Jaeger et al. 2001).
14 2 Disaster ECE

There are two main categories of definitions of ‘disaster risk’.

1. Disaster risk is a combination or function of hazard, exposure, and vulnerabil­
ity. ‘Hazard’ is defined in Chapter 1. According to UNISDR (2017), ‘exposure’
is ‘the situation of people, infrastructure, housing, production capacities and
other tangible human assets located in hazard‐prone areas’. UNISDR (2017)
defines ‘vulnerability’ as ‘the conditions determined by physical, social, eco­
nomic, and environmental factors or processes which increase the susceptibil­
ity of an individual, a community, assets or systems to the impacts of hazards’.
Exposure describes what could be harmed by hazards while vulnerability
explains why it is in harm’s way (Kelman 2018).
2. The combination (sometimes as a product) of the probability of an event and
the consequences of the event.
Although there are these two categories of definitions, ‘the core concept
within the definition of “disaster risk” does not really change over time or across
different references, referring to overlapping notions of either: (1) possible
losses from a hazard; or (2) potential adverse consequences in a disaster’
(Kelman 2018).
As with the disasters they produce (Chapter 1), disaster risks are socially con­
structed primarily through pre‐existing vulnerabilities. However, this does not
disregard that there are risks in the physical world (Rosa and Clarke 2012).
Vulnerabilities that create, cause, and make the disaster are present waiting to
be uncovered prior to any hazard. And the vulnerabilities linger through the post‐
disaster recovery, long after the hazard has diminished. For example, the devastat­
ing effects of Hurricane Katrina ‘arose out of a combination of place‐based
vulnerability and ecosystem, built environment and social vulnerability’ (Tierney
2014).
Further exploration of disaster risk and vulnerability, and their implications for
disaster learning, is provided in Chapter 5.

2.2.1.2 Risk Perception

The extensive body of research on risk perception helps to clarify people’s innate
biases and provide insights into how cultural, social, and emotional factors shape
actual perception of risk. These learnings can then be translated to make risk
communication more effective.
Knowledge, experience, values, attitudes, and feelings all influence the think­
ing and judgement of people about the seriousness and acceptability of risks.
The mental models and other psychological mechanisms which people use to
judge risks are internalised through social and cultural learning and constantly
moderated (reinforced, modified, amplified, or attenuated) by media reports, peer
influences, and other communication processes (Morgan et al. 2001).
 2.2 ­Disaster Communicatio 15

According to Renn (2008), there are two main approaches to the study of risk
perception:
1. The ‘realist approach’. This approach aims to bring perception as close as pos­
sible to the actual risk of an activity or an event. It assumes that there is an
outside objective world with risks that we can recognise and acknowledge
(Rosa 2008). The solutions to problems of perception are then simply ones of
more information and a greater understanding of the risk (Wachinger and
Renn 2010).
2. The ‘constructivist approach’. Constructivists argue that risks are not objective
but that they are subjective and socially constructed (Jasanoff 1998). That is,
they are models which allow people to cope with non‐reoccurring phenomena
(Wachinger and Renn 2010).
Why might the public view hazard risk differently to experts such as emergency
managers? People are often presented with a large amount of information (e.g. on
potential hazards) and require some way of weighing up that information if they
want to reach a conclusion about relevant risks. In general, the public relies on
what are called ‘heuristics’ or – more commonly – rules of thumb. Heuristics are
quick, informal methods that the brain uses to generate an approximate answer to
a problem and allows people to quickly make sense of a complex environment
(Renn 2008).
However, using heuristics can also result in biases, where risk perceptions are
out of kilter with risk assessments by emergency agencies or other authorities. For
example, if someone has experienced a hazard event, they are likely to see one as
more probable in the future. Consequently, personal experience can be very
important in perception of the level of risk, and reminders of particular risks in
the media can also have an effect (Eiser et al. 2012). This ‘availability bias’ through
personal experience or ‘local knowledge’ can improve local risk assessment by
authorities through a cooperative approach (Dufty 2016).
‘Optimism bias’ is a cognitive bias that causes people to believe that they are at
a lesser risk of experiencing a hazard event compared to others. This can cause
them to opt out of any thinking (and resultant action) towards a particular disas­
ter risk, believing ‘this is not going to happen to me’. On the other hand, individu­
als may tend to overestimate the potential for exposure and the extent of a hazard,
thinking that they are more dangerous in comparison to other risks (Science
Communication Unit 2014).
Of importance to risk communication is the fact that research shows cultural
background influences risk perception. Compared with individuals in Western
Europe, for example, people from many Eastern European countries are more
likely to see economic or social risks as greater than technological risks (Science
Communication Unit 2014).
16 2 Disaster ECE

Renn (2008) has designed a model of risk perception which shows the dynamics
between the complex layers of factors, including cultural background, heuristics,
and biases. Also of note are people’s beliefs and values, their socio‐economic sta­
tus, and world views.
The relationships between risk perception and emergency behaviours (e.g. pre­
paredness, evacuation, and recovery) are discussed in Section 5.2.

2.2.1.3 Trust
Trust in the communicator is an important factor of risk perception with strong
ramifications for effective risk communication. It becomes even more important
when the individual’s knowledge about the hazard is low and they have to depend
on authorities for risk knowledge (Cope et al. 2010). Also, there seems to be a
strong relationship between the uncertainty of the risk and the role of trust
(Frewer and Salter 2007).
According to the Science Communication Unit (2014), research suggests that
three main factors influence trust in an institution:
1. competence (i.e. the knowledge and capability to manage the risk in
question);
2. a history of being open and honest and acting in the public interest;
3. sharing the same values as the individual.

2.2.1.4 Communicating Risk

Risk communication seeks to inform people about a potential future harm and
the associated dangers so that they might take action to mitigate the risk.
A long tradition in risk communication has relied on the idea that simply
informing people will increase their understanding and awareness of risk. This
approach assumes that experts (e.g. emergency agencies), holding superior
knowledge, communicate to the less informed (e.g. at‐risk people). However, it
has been found that a direct, linear approach to providing official information to
increase recipient awareness does not necessarily lead to action (Fischhoff 1995).
Furthermore, appreciation of the input of at‐risk people in disaster risk has
broadened the scope of risk communication. As a result, communicative activities
that place responsibility for preparedness actions in the hands of citizens are gain­
ing relevance (Begg et al. 2016). With this in mind, four approaches of risk com­
munication can be distinguished related to the one‐way and two‐way
communication dimensions (Terpstra et al. 2017).
1. Risk message approach. This type of risk communication is a one‐way flow of
information from an expert source so that it is received in a consistent and
accurate manner. For example, details of flood risk can be communicated by a
risk map which provides clear details of flood extent to all.
 2.2 ­Disaster Communicatio 17

2. Risk dialogue approach. In this two‐way risk dialogue approach, the distinc­
tion between risk experts and the at‐risk public is a blur. Here, participation
allows for the inclusion of local knowledge from the at‐risk public that can
improve the quality of risk assessments and risk maps, as well as of the man­
agement process itself.
3. Risk government approach. Communication within the one‐way risk govern­
ment approach aims at changing attitudes and behaviours. This is done by
authorities creating awareness of people’s hazard risks and the consequences
that related decisions might have on their lives.
4. Instrumentalist risk approach. This two‐way approach aims at actively chang­
ing people’s behaviour and pays close attention to the ‘interactions between
information, attitudes, and behaviour’ (Demeritt and Nobert 2014). Underlying
the instrumentalist risk approach, many empirical studies focus on under­
standing the factors that motivate individuals to take responsibility and action
in order to increase their disaster preparedness (Shreve et al. 2014).

2.2.2 Crisis Communication

Crisis communication relates to communication as an emergency or disaster
event unfolds, and as part of recovery from that event. However, Steelman and
McCaffrey (2013) contend that crisis communication and risk communication
should be merged in a more holistic, event‐based approach. Their rationale ‘is that
large‐scale shifts in management response likely need to be communicated before
as well as during an event, as effective outcomes may be dependent on how the
communication in one period influences another’.
Crisis communication has its roots in crisis management and public relations
(Williams and Olaniran 1998) and traditionally focused on the message and how
it is delivered during and after the event.

2.2.2.1 Early Warning

The primary aim of an early warning system is to provide people with enough
time to make themselves safe when a threat to them is imminent. A secondary
aim is the protection of property. It is also important to try to ensure the safety of
companion animals and livestock such as sheep, cattle, and horses.
According to Mileti and Sorensen (1990), ‘a warning system is a means of get­
ting information about an impending emergency, communicating that informa­
tion to those who need it, and facilitating good decisions and timely response by
people in danger’.
Early warning is the bridge between risk and crisis communication. ‘Early
warning is not only the production of technically accurate warnings but also a
18 2 Disaster ECE

system that requires an understanding of risk and a link between producers and
consumers of warning information, with the ultimate goal of triggering action to
prevent or mitigate a disaster’ (International Federation of Red Cross and Red
Crescent Societies 2009).
Clear, timely, and accurate warning information should be communicated to
at‐risk communities. The International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent
Societies (2014a) states that ‘the outputs of an early warning system must recog­
nise the diversity of the audience and be appropriate to that audience. Outputs
should be contextualised, granular and specific to potentially impacted localities.
They should include clear explanations of degree or severity, of trend, of timing,
and of the confidence associated with the prediction. The choice of the language
and the medium of the communication should be appropriate to the audience, as
should the level of technical complexity.’
An early warning system, where at‐risk communities, emergency agencies, and
other parties (e.g. the media) share information through two‐way communication,
helps build trust and ensure appropriate responses as the emergency or disaster
event unfolds. ‘A local, “bottom‐up” approach to early warning, with the active
participation of local communities, enables a multi‐dimensional response to prob­
lems and needs. In this way, local communities, civic groups and traditional struc­
tures can contribute to the reduction of vulnerability and to the strengthening of
local capacities’ (International Strategy for Disaster Reduction 2006).

2.2.2.2 Response
After the immediate impact of a hazard event, there are multiple groups requiring
information including those impacted (e.g. information about evacuation centres,
loved ones such as family), those that could become at risk (e.g. drive into a
flooded area), and those not impacted wishing to obtain news of the event.
According to Wein et al. (2016), ‘messages need to be designed for a range of popu­
lation preferences for type of information, mindful of various psychological states
that affect how such information is processed, retained, and acted upon’.
During a disaster, individuals turn to a large diversity of information sources as
they try to decrease their uncertainty and determine which actions to take
(Hodgson 2007). Several studies have found indications that those who feel more
at risk seek information more actively than those at less risk. In response to cha­
otic and uncertain conditions, evacuated members of the public more actively and
aggressively search for information and can at times be more critical of the infor­
mation they find (McCaffrey et al. 2013). Spence et al. (2007) found differences in
the information desired and information‐seeking behaviour of the disabled and
non‐disabled.
As for risk communication, trust appears critical during an emergency or dis­
aster. A key element that may shape receiver response to an information source
 2.2 ­Disaster Communicatio 19

is how useful or trustworthy that source is seen to be. The receiver must have
confidence not only in the content of the message itself, but also in the source.
Key characteristics related to information delivered during a crisis event include
crafting honest, trustworthy messages and leveraging credible sources (Seeger
2006).

2.2.2.3 Recovery
Communication after a disaster is critical to ensure a speedy community recovery
and reconstruction. In the early phases of recovery, this communication can be
conducted by humanitarian organisations, as there is a tendency for media sources
to move on to the next newsworthy event.
According to Hannides (2015), ‘in recent years, aid agencies have placed more
emphasis on the need for information and communication in crisis, influenced by
advances in technology that have dramatically increased the reach and potential
of information, and by learning from the humanitarian failure that results from a
lack of information and communication’.
There are two distinct, but related types of recovery crisis communication:
1. Communication that seeks to improve the humanitarian aid response.
2. Information and communication that seeks to meet the direct needs of people
affected by crisis (usually involving some form of media intervention).
Communications that take place during acute crises can be different from the
ones that occur during long‐term reconstruction (Government of Australia 2014).
During acute crises, communication practices require a rapid gathering, verifi­
cation, and distribution of information to multiple social groups about what
actions have to be taken in order to reduce risk; on the other hand, long‐term com­
munication initiatives are typically developed in a context with lower risk and
tend to convey messages aimed at social and behavioural change, policy reform,
capacity building, and promotion of accountability and feedback mechanisms.
During disaster recovery, more time is allowed to single out vulnerable social
groups and identify information and communication needs for each of these and
target actions accordingly.
Despite the differences between acute crises and disaster reconstruction, some
common best practices in communication can be highlighted. For example, in
both response and recovery contexts it is advisable to make use of a range of com­
munication channels to reach out to a broader audience (Australian Red Cross
2010). Coordination is a core requirement in both crisis and recovery stages since
the risk of duplicating efforts is high as many different actors participate in the
disaster response and disaster reconstruction efforts, including governmental
agencies, humanitarian organisations, private companies, media and professional
groups, and community‐based groups.
20 2 Disaster ECE

2.2.2.4 Between Agencies

Communication networks among responders are critical to effective coordination
and information transfer across emergency agencies and other organisations that
are active in disasters.
As the complexity of the event increases, information about the disaster,
its effects, associated response needs, jurisdictional responsibilities, available
resources, and engaged organisations and personnel is distributed among an array
of responders (Militello et al. 2007). As stated by Kapucu (2006), ‘if responders are
not in contact with each other and if information does not flow properly, it is hard
to envision a successful disaster response’.
Research has suggested that prior plans do not appear to be good predictors of
actual communication interaction between agencies (e.g. Choi and Brower 2006).
On the other hand, it appears that embedding communication relations and insti­
tutions improves the efficacy of disaster network interactions (Nowell and
Steelman 2015).
Further discussion about crisis communications is found in Chapter 3.

2.3 ­Engagement

‘Engagement’ is used here as a generic, inclusive term to describe the broad

range of interactions between people. Based on the discussion about ‘com­
munity’ in Chapter 1, ‘community engagement’ is therefore a planned pro­
cess with the specific purpose of working with identified groups of people,
whether they are connected by geographic location, special interest, or affilia­
tion, to address issues affecting their wellbeing (Queensland Department of
Emergency Services 2001). It is sometimes called ‘civic engagement’ or ‘public
engagement’.
In disaster management literature, in some cases the term ‘stakeholder’ is used
to describe sections of a community. On the other hand, there may be ‘stakehold­
ers’ other than those in the at‐risk community (geographically located), and thus
community engagement can be viewed as a subset of ‘stakeholder engagement’.
For example, emergency managers, government agencies, and humanitarian
organisations are stakeholders usually outside of the at‐risk community and may
also be the focus of the engagement. Stakeholders can then be defined as any
group or individual who is affected by or can affect the achievement of the objec­
tives of the engagement (Freeman 1984).
There are numerous approaches to community engagement, several of which
have been adapted to assist in disaster management and disaster‐related learning.
Five of these broad approaches are described below.
 2.3 ­Engagemen 21

2.3.1 Public Participation Spectrum

The key message for designing engagement processes is to avoid promising a
level of participation and power that is never intended to be given, or designing
processes that claim to be empowering, but merely offer ‘token’ levels of partici­
pation. Pretty and Hine (1999) have developed a typology of ‘participation’ to
differentiate actions according to the level of power agencies wish to devolve to
participants in determining outcomes and actions.
The International Association for Public Participation (IAP2) has developed the
Public Participation Spectrum (IAP2 2019) to demonstrate the possible types of
engagement with stakeholders and communities. The spectrum is widely used
and is quoted in most community engagement manuals.
According to the spectrum there are five types of engagement:

1. Inform – to provide stakeholders with balanced and objective information.

2. Consult – to actively seek community views and input into policy, plans, and
decisions.
3. Involve – to deliberately put into place a method to work directly with stake­
holders throughout the process.
4. Collaborate – to partner with the community in each aspect of the decision.
5. Empower – to place final decision‐making in the hands of the public.

As one moves through the spectrum from ‘inform’ through to ‘empower’ there
is a corresponding increase in expectation for public participation and impact. In
simply ‘informing’ stakeholders there is no expectation of receiving feedback, and
consequently there is a low level of public impact. At the other end of the spec­
trum, ‘empowering’ stakeholders to make decisions implies an increase in expec­
tations and therefore an increased level of public impact.
The IAP2 Spectrum has been widely used to guide the design of disaster‐related
community engagement. For example, the Australian Government has provided
guidance (Australian Emergency Management Institute 2013) that uses the spec­
trum because ‘different types of engagement and levels of community involve­
ment are required for different phases of an emergency’.
It could be argued that ‘empower’ is the only true level of engagement as it
enables communities to have power in decision‐making (Mosse 2003). Mansuri
and Rao (2004) distinguish between ‘organic participation’, which originates
from the people’s own initiative to be active in some aspect of social change, and
‘induced participation’, which is the normal type that arises when an organisation
wants to implement a project with the local people and participation is induced
by the outside organisation. Arnstein (1969) argued that ‘participation without
redistribution of power is an empty and frustrating process for the powerless’.
22 2 Disaster ECE

For disaster‐related community engagement ‘this may be overcome by an

approach that builds community‐wide trust and meets the real needs of those at
risk’ (International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies 2014b).

2.3.2 Crowdsourcing
Public participation in gathering scientific observation about the world is not a new
phenomenon. Following the devastating Lisbon earthquake of 1755, volunteers from
all over Europe reported their experiences to help researchers create an early version
of a ‘shake map’ that estimated the extent and intensity of the event (Coen 2012).
The term ‘crowdsourcing’ was coined in 2006 by journalist Jeff Howe to describe
the ways in which the internet and mobile phones are facilitating the outsourcing
to the public of tasks traditionally reserved for experts (Howe 2006).
Crowdsourcing can be described as the phenomenon where large groups of
people (‘the crowd’) are used as the primary source of required services or con­
tent, typically on a voluntary basis and sometimes using internet‐based channels.
According to Holley (2010), ‘crowdsourcing uses social engagement techniques to
help a group of people achieve a shared, usually significant, and large goal by
working collaboratively together as a group’.
Disasters are prime examples of situations where the collective capacity of the
crowd can make a difference. If properly organised, the crowd can bring direly
needed extra capacities to professionals and help accelerate the disaster recovery
process. Also, crowdsourcing platforms help to bridge collaboration and informa­
tion gaps between the various communities that play a role in disaster manage­
ment (Neef et al. 2013).
Crowdsourcing can also be used prior to a disaster in community risk awareness
and participation in risk mitigation and preparedness activities. ‘An important
reason to consider including crowdsourcing in risk assessment is that in addition
to providing information, participants are themselves learning about risk in their
area. Crowdsourcing thus becomes an avenue for risk communication through
outreach and sensitization. Through involving new participants in the process,
crowdsourced approaches also create opportunities to make risk assessment more
inclusive. This can both improve the quality of the risk assessment through
including local knowledge and raise public confidence in the results through
increased understanding and ownership of the results’ (Soden 2017).

2.3.3 Citizen Science

Many projects tend to involve interested people who collect information to achieve
a particular scientific research goal or goals. ‘Most successful crowdsourcing pro­
jects are not about large anonymous masses of people. They are not about crowds.
 2.3 ­Engagemen 23

They are about inviting participation from interested and engaged members of the
public’ (Owens 2019). In this way, these crowdsourcing activities can be viewed as
‘contributory citizen science’. However, as Eitzel et al. (2017) remark, ‘not all citi­
zen science is crowdsourcing and not all crowdsourcing is citizen science, some
authors are concerned that these two words may become synonymous …’.
A fundamental aspect of citizen science is that the research goal is defined by a
particular person or group, with participants recruited through an open call pro­
viding some significant effort towards achieving that goal or goals. It describes the
engagement of people in scientific processes who are not tied to institutions in
that field of science. Citizen science projects can range from projects developed
completely independently within individual volunteer initiatives, to collaborative
transdisciplinary work, to formalised instructions and guidance provided by sci­
entific facilities.
There are numerous projects and disaster learning activities that involve the
scientific collection of data for research and emergency management purposes.
The growth in more readily available and low‐cost technologies – such as smart­
phones, social media, and the internet itself – is allowing disaster citizen science
initiatives to grow rapidly. For example, in northeast England, a citizen science
project has harvested and used quantitative and qualitative observations from
the public in a novel way to effectively capture spatial and temporal river response
(Starkey et al. 2017). According to these researchers, not only are these ‘community‐­
derived datasets most valuable during local flash flood events, particularly towards
peak discharge’, they assist in community risk awareness.

2.3.4 Community Participatory Disaster Risk Assessment

As part of disaster risk management, an understanding of the spatial dimensions
of risk is required across vulnerability, exposure, and hazard, as well as the at‐risk
community’s capacities (Keating et al. 2016). However, ‘a major gap still exists
between what the models can provide and what local practitioners need; and
there is a serious lack of appropriate local information on disaster impacts, as well
as information on exposure and vulnerability, the latter of which is especially dif­
ficult to define, measure, and monitor’ (Liu et al. 2018).
Community participatory disaster risk assessment has been considered an
effective way to collect disaster risk information. Major humanitarian and devel­
opment organisations and agencies, such as the International Federation of Red
Cross and Red Crescent Societies, Oxfam, and CARE International, have used
community‐based participatory risk assessments to gather, organise, and analyse
information on the locale‐specific vulnerability and capacity of communities.
There are numerous examples of communities participating in risk assessments
through provision of their local knowledge.
24 2 Disaster ECE

Community mapping plays a key role in the participatory disaster risk‐­

assessment process. Mapping helps stakeholders visually represent the bio‐­
geophysical characteristics and various resources in a community. Additionally,
according to Liu et al. (2018), it ‘is highly useful in stimulating discussions among
community members’ and resultant disaster learning.

2.3.5 Volunteered Geographic Information

The sharing and mapping of spatial data through voluntary information gath­
ered by the general public is termed ‘volunteered geographic information’ (VGI).
Using VGI and participatory mapping prior to disasters can involve the identifi­
cation of the potential impacts to a community and vulnerable groups, and thus
‘hot spots’ of risk. However, according to Haworth et al. (2018), ‘this process
may motivate residents to improve their level of preparedness, but may also pro­
voke feelings of shame, guilt, or resentment toward those involved in the
mapping’.
According to Klonner et al. (2016), research so far has emphasised the role of
VGI in disaster response. The presence of both researchers and volunteers is con­
centrated in response to crises, as opposed to during mitigation or preparedness
activities, likely related to response being more visible and prominent, especially
in the media (Haworth 2016).
The crisis map is a real‐time gathering, display, and analysis of data (political,
social, and environmental) during a crisis. Crisis mapping allows a large number
of people to control, even at a distance, response actions by providing information
to manage them. According to Meier (2011), ‘Crisis‐mapping can be described as
a combination of three components: information collection, visualization, and
analysis. All of them are incorporated in a dynamic, interactive map.’
Specific apps, social media, participatory mapping tools, local language materi­
als, and training programmes, as well as working closely with local partners, can
help increase programme outreach and strengthen stakeholder engagement
(Gunawan 2013).
A well‐documented example of crisis mapping is the global volunteer mapping
effort which assisted the humanitarian response to the 2010 Haiti earthquake
(Meier 2012).

2.4 ­Disaster ECE

There is a tendency for emergency agencies and other emergency service organi­
sations to divide disaster learning services into at least community ‘education’,
‘communication’, and ‘engagement’ (Dufty 2013). On the other hand, some
 2.4 ­Disaster EC 25

a­ gencies use one or some of these terms as all‐encompassing titles for their
­disaster learning services.
The difficulty with the former approach is that there is the risk of a possible
disjunct between the messaging and guidance to communities from different
­sections of the agency, e.g. those doing crisis communication and those doing
preparedness education or engagement.
The difficulty with the latter approach is that by calling all community disaster
learning one or two of the terms, the specific benefits of the term or terms excluded
are not recognised and activated.
This book posits that an integrated Education, Communication, and Engagement
(ECE) approach which names the three terms, and uses their independent but
combined benefits, is more appropriate for emergency agencies and other emer­
gency service organisations, such as humanitarian organisations. It follows from
Dufty (2011) who argues that disaster education and engagement are both
required as they provide ‘breadth’ and ‘depth’ to disaster learning. Figure 2.1
graphically shows the Disaster ECE triumvirate that leads to effective disaster
learning.
Table 2.1 provides a harmonisation of the three types of community disaster
learning described in this chapter. As identified in Table 2.1 by bold type, there
are some similarities between aspects of ECE. For example, there is similarity
between ‘Inform’ as in the IAP2 Public Participation Spectrum (engagement),
‘one‐way’ communication, and information‐based informal and incidental educa­
tion. However, as shown in Table 2.1, there are some outliers where there is no

Communication Education

Engagement

Disaster learning

Figure 2.1 Disaster ECE leading to learning.

26 2 Disaster ECE

Table 2.1 Harmonisation of disaster education, communication, and engagement.

Education Communication Engagement

Informal education One‐way communication Inform

Incidental education Two‐way communication Involve
Formal education Consult
Non‐formal education Collaborate
Empower

apparent harmonisation across the three types of community disaster learning;

nevertheless, these should be included in Disaster ECE.
The benefits of a combined Disaster ECE approach, although appearing to be
conceptually valid, have only been once directly tested through the literature. The
research from Kelly and Ronan (2018) proposed that what may be most effective
in disaster preparedness is not education or engagement per se, but a combination
of the two. The role of social media was additionally considered in this research,
given the proposal (Dufty 2012) that social media provides a good platform for a
convergence of engagement and educational influences.
The research tested the education and engagement model for disaster prepared­
ness and found that ‘whilst the model was significant, the variables that added
unique predictor ability were individual factors rather than a composite of indi­
vidual, community, and institutional factors as found in previous research’. Also,
‘disaster preparedness messages can be conveyed either by traditional media or
social media. There was no difference in whether actions were taken nor was
there any difference in confidence and trust in the types of media. Given the low
cost of social media campaigns, pending replication of current findings, consid­
eration should be given to its use over traditional media.’
Further research is required to test the effectiveness of a combined ECE
approach by emergency agencies and other organisations. However, the approach
is promoted in this book due to its promise in providing cumulative benefits.

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Another random document with
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between the tropics. Several species (P. vulgaris, P. auriga, P.
bocagii) occur in the Mediterranean and the neighbouring parts of
the Atlantic; one (P. argyrops) is well known on the coasts of the
United States under the names of “Scup,” “Porgy,” or “Mishcup,” and
one of the most important food fishes, growing to a length of 18
inches and a weight of 4 lbs.; another (P. unicolor) is one of the best-
known sea-fishes of Southern Australia and New Zealand, where it is
called “Snapper;” it is considered very good eating, like all the other
species of this genus, and attains, like some of them, a length of
more than 3 feet and a weight exceeding 20 lbs.
Pagellus.—Body oblong, compressed, with scales of moderate
size. Jaws without canines; molars on the sides arranged in several
series. Cheeks scaly. The spines of the dorsal fin, from eleven to
thirteen in number, can be received in a groove; anal spines three.
Seven species are known, the majority of which are European, as
P. erythrinus, common in the Mediterranean, and not rare on the
south coast of England, where it is generally termed “Becker;” P.
centrodontus, the common “Sea-bream” of the English coasts,
distinguished by a black spot on the origin of the lateral line; in the
young, which are called “Chad” by Cornish and Devon fishermen,
this spot is absent; P. owenii, the “Axillary or Spanish Sea-Bream,”
likewise from the British coasts. Pagellus lithognathus, from the
coasts of the Cape of Good Hope, attains to a length of four feet,
and is one of the fishes which are dried for export and sale to
whalers.
Chrysophrys.—Body oblong, compressed, with scales of
moderate size. Jaws with four or six canine teeth in front, and with
three or more series of rounded molars on each side. Cheeks scaly.
The spines of the dorsal fin, eleven or twelve in number, can be
received in a groove; anal spines three.
Some twenty species are known from tropical seas and the
warmer parts of the temperate zones. Generally known is Ch.
aurata, from the Mediterranean, occasionally found on the south
coast of England, where it is named “Gilthead.” The French call it
“Daurade,” no doubt from the Latin Aurata, a term applied to it by
ancient authors. The Greeks named it Chrysophrys (i.e. golden
eyebrow), in allusion to the brilliant spot of gold which it bears
between its eyes. According to Columella, the Aurata was among the
number of the fishes brought up by the Romans in their vivaria; and
the inventor of those vivaria, one Sergius Orata, is supposed to have
derived his surname from this fish. It is said to grow extremely fat in
artificial ponds. Duhamel states that it stirs up the sand with the tail,
so as to discover the shell-fish concealed in it. It is extremely fond of
mussels, and its near presence is sometimes ascertained by the
noise which it makes while breaking their shells with its teeth.
Several species found on the Cape of Good Hope attain to as large
a size as Pagellus lithognathus, and are preserved for sale like that
species. Chrysophrys hasta is one of the most common species of
the East Indian and Chinese coasts, and enters large rivers.
Fifth Group—Pimelepterina.—In both jaws a single anterior
series of cutting teeth, implanted by a horizontal posterior process,
behind which is a band of villiform teeth. Villiform teeth on the vomer,
palatines and the tongue. Vertical fins densely covered with minute
scales. Only one genus is known, Pimelepterus, with six species
from tropical seas. These fishes are sometimes found at a great
distance from the land.

Fifth Family—Hoplognathidæ.
Body compressed and elevated, covered with very small ctenoid
scales. Lateral line continuous. The bones of the jaws have a sharp
dentigerous edge, as in Scarus. The teeth, if at all conspicuous,
being continuous with the bone, forming a more or less indistinct
serrature; no teeth on the palate. The spinous portion of the dorsal
fin is rather more developed than the soft; the spines strong; anal
with three spines, similar to the soft dorsal. Ventrals thoracic, with
one spine and five soft rays.
One genus only is known, Hoplognathus, with four species from
Australian, Japanese, and Peruvian coasts.
 Fig. 176.—Teeth of Hoplognathus.

Sixth Family—Cirrhitidæ.
Body oblong, compressed, covered with cycloid scales; lateral
line continuous. Mouth in front of the snout, with lateral cleft. Eye
lateral, of moderate size. Cheeks without a bony stay for the
præoperculum. Generally six, sometimes five or three
branchiostegals. Dentition more or less complete, composed of small
pointed teeth, sometimes with the addition of canines. One dorsal
fin, formed by a spinous and soft portion, of nearly equal
development. Anal with three spines, generally less developed than
the soft dorsal. The lower rays of the pectoral fins simple and
generally enlarged; ventrals thoracic, but remote from the root of the
pectorals, with one spine and five rays.
The fishes of this family may be readily recognised by their
thickened, undivided lower pectoral rays, which in some are
evidently auxiliary organs of locomotion, in others, probably, organs
of touch. They differ from the following family, the Scorpænidæ, in
lacking the bony connection between the infraorbital ring and the
præoperculum. Two groups may be distinguished in this family,
which, however, are connected by an intermediate genus
(Chironemus). The first, distinguished by the presence of vomerine
teeth, consists of Cirrhites and Chorinemus, small prettily coloured
fishes. The former genus is peculiar to the Indo-Pacific, and consists
of sixteen species; the second, with three species, seems to be
confined to the coasts of Australia and New Zealand. The second
group lacks the vomerine teeth, and comprises the following genera:
—
Chilodactylus.—One dorsal fin, with from sixteen to nineteen
spines; anal fin of moderate length; caudal forked. One of the simple
pectoral rays more or less prolonged, and projecting beyond the
margin of the fin. Teeth in villiform bands; no canines. Præoperculum
not serrated. Scales of moderate size. Air-bladder with many lobes.

Fig. 177.—Chilodactylus macropterus, from Australia.

Seventeen species are known, chiefly from the temperate parts
of the Southern Pacific, and also from the coasts of Japan and
China. They belong to the most valuable food-fishes, as they grow to
a considerable size (from five to twenty-five lbs.), and are easily
caught in numbers. At the Cape of Good Hope they are very
abundant, and preserved in large quantities for export.
 Mendosoma from the coast of Chili, and Nemadactylus from
Tasmania, are allied genera.
Latris.—Dorsal fin deeply notched; the spinous portion with
seventeen spines; anal fin many-rayed. None of the simple pectoral
rays passes the margin of the fin. Teeth villiform; no canines.
Præoperculum minutely serrated. Scales small.
Two species only are known from Tasmania and New Zealand,
which belong to the most important food-fishes of the Southern
Hemisphere. Latris hecateia or the “Trumpeter,” ranges from sixty to
thirty lbs. in weight, and is considered by the colonists the best
flavoured of any of the fishes of South Australia, Tasmania, and New
Zealand, and consumed smoked as well as fresh. The second
species, Latris ciliaris, is smaller, scarcely attaining a weight of
twenty lbs., but more abundant; it is confined to the coast of New
Zealand.

Fig. 178.—Skull of Scorpæna percoides; so, Suborbital ring;

pr, Præoperculum; st, Bony stay, connecting the sub-orbital with
the præoperculum.

Seventh Family—Scorpænidæ.
 Body oblong, more or less compressed, covered with ordinary
scales, or naked. Cleft of the mouth lateral or subvertical. Dentition
feeble, consisting of villiform teeth; and generally without canines.
Some bones of the head armed, especially the angle of the
præoperculum, its armature receiving additional support by a bony
stay, connecting it with the infraorbital ring. The spinous portion of
the dorsal fin equally or more developed than the soft and than the
anal. Ventrals thoracic, generally with one spine and five soft rays,
sometimes rudimentary.
This family consists of carnivorous marine fishes only; some
resemble the Sea-Perches in form and habits, as Sebastes,
Scorpæna, etc., whilst others live at the bottom of the sea, and
possess in various degrees of development those skinny
appendages resembling the fronds of seaweeds, by which they
either attract other fishes, or by which they are enabled more
effectually to hide themselves. Species provided with those
appendages have generally a coloration resembling that of their
surroundings, and varying with the change of locality. The habit of
living on the bottom has also developed in many Scorpænoids
separate pectoral rays, by means of which they move or feel. Some
of the genera live at a considerable depth, but apparently not beyond
300 fathoms. Nearly all are distinguished by a powerful armature
either of the head, or fin spines, or both; and in some the spines
have been developed into poison organs.
The only fossil representative known at present is a species of
Scorpæna from the Eocene of Oran.
Sebastes.—Head and body compressed; crown of the head scaly
to, or even beyond, the orbits; no transverse groove on the occiput.
Body covered with scales of moderate or small size, and without
skinny tentacles. Fin-rays not elongate; one dorsal, divided by a notch
into a spinous and soft portion, with twelve or thirteen spines; the anal
with three. No pectoral appendages. Villiform teeth in the jaws, on the
vomer, and generally on the palatine bones. Vertebræ more than
twenty-four.
About twenty species are known, principally from seas of the
temperate zones, as from the coasts of Northern Europe (S.
norvegicus, S. viviparus), of Japan, California, New Zealand, and
Van Diemen’s Land. All seem to prefer deep water to the surface,
and Sebastes macrochir has been obtained at a depth of 345
fathoms. In their general form they resemble the Sea-Perches, attain
to a weight of from one to four lbs., and are generally esteemed as
food.
Scorpæna.—Head large, slightly compressed, generally with a
transverse naked depression on the occiput; bones of the head armed
with spines, and generally with skinny tentacles. Scales of moderate
size. Mouth large, oblique. Villiform teeth in the jaws, and at least on
the vomer. One dorsal, 12–13/9, A. 3/5. Pectoral fins without detached
rays, large, rounded, with the lower rays simple and thickened. Air-
bladder none. Vertebræ twenty-four.

Fig. 179.—Head of Scorpæna percoides, from New Zealand.

 Fig. 180.—Scorpæna bynoensis, from the coasts of Australia.
About forty species are known from tropical and sub-tropical
seas. They lead a sedentary life, lying hidden in the sand, or
between rocks covered with seaweed, watching for their prey, which
chiefly consists of small fishes. Their strong undivided pectoral rays
aid them in burrowing in the sand, and in moving along the bottom.
The type of their coloration is very much the same in all the species,
viz. an irregular mottling of red, yellow, brown, and black colours, but
the distribution of these colours varies exceedingly, not only in the
same species but also in the same individuals. They do not attain to
any considerable size, probably never exceeding a length of 18
inches. Their flesh is well flavoured. Wounds inflicted by their fin-
spines are exceedingly painful, but not followed by serious
consequences.
Glyptauchen and Lioscorpius are genera closely allied to
Scorpæna, from Australian seas.
Setarches is also allied to the preceding genera, and provided
with very large eyes, in accordance with the depth (215 fathoms)
which the two species known at present inhabit; one has been found
near Madeira, the other near the Fiji Islands.
Pterois.—Head and body compressed; scales of small or
moderate size. Bones of the head armed with numerous spinous
projections, between which often skinny tentacles are developed. The
dorsal spines and pectoral rays are more or less prolonged, passing
beyond the margin of the connecting membrane. Twelve or thirteen
dorsal spines. Villiform teeth in the jaws and on the vomer.
Nine species are known from the tropical Indo-Pacific. They
belong to the most singularly formed and most beautifully coloured
fishes of the Tropics, and formerly were believed to be able to fly, like
Dactylopterus. But the membrane connecting their pectoral rays is
much too short and feeble to enable them to raise themselves from
the surface of the water.
Apistus.—Head and body compressed, covered with ctenoid
scales of rather small size. Some bones of the head, and especially
the præorbital, are armed with spines. One dorsal with fifteen spines;
the anal with three. The pectoral fin is elongate, and one ray is
completely detached from the fin. Villiform teeth in the jaws, on the
vomer, and palatine bones. Air-bladder present. A cleft behind the
fourth gill.
Two species from the Indian Ocean. These fishes are very small,
but of interest on account of the prolongation of their pectoral fins,
which indicates that they can take long flying leaps out of the water.
However, this requires confirmation by actual observation.
Agriopus.—Head and body compressed, scaleless; head without
any, or with very feeble, armature. Cleft of the mouth small, at the end
of the produced snout. One dorsal fin, which commences from the
head, the spinous portion being formed by from seventeen to twenty-
one strong spines; anal short. Villiform teeth in the jaws, generally
none on the vomer.
Seven species. This singular genus is peculiar to the temperate
parts of the South Pacific, occurring at the Cape, on the coast of
South Australia, and Chili. The largest species (A. torvus) attains a
length of two and a half feet. Nothing is known of its mode of life.
Synanceia.—General appearance of the fish, especially of the
head, monstrous. Scales none; skin with numerous soft warty
 protuberances or filaments. Mouth directed upwards, wide. Eyes
small. From thirteen to sixteen dorsal spines; pectoral fins very large.
Villiform teeth in the jaws, and sometimes on the vomer.
Four species are known from the Indo-Pacific, of which S. horrida
and S. verrucosa are the most generally distributed, and,
unfortunately, the most common. They are justly feared on account
of the great danger accompanying wounds which they inflict with
their poisoned dorsal spines, as has been already noticed above, p.
191. The greatest length to which they attain does not seem to
exceed eighteen inches. They are very voracious fishes, and their
stomach is of so great a capacity that they are able to swallow fishes
one-third of their own bulk.
Micropus.—Head and body strongly compressed, short, and
deep; no scales, but the skin is covered with minute tubercles. Snout
very short, with nearly vertical anterior profile. Præorbital, præ- and
inter-operculum with spines on the edge. Dorsal fin with seven or
eight, anal with two spines. Pectorals short, ventrals rudimentary.
Jaws with villiform teeth.
These fishes belong to the smallest of Acanthopterygians,
scarcely exceeding 1½ inches in length. Two species are known,
which are rather common on the coral reefs of the Pacific.
Chorismodactylus.—Head and body rather compressed,
scaleless, with skinny flaps. Bones of the head with prominent ridges;
the præorbital, præoperculum, and operculum armed; a depression on
the occiput. One dorsal fin, with thirteen spines; the anal with two.
Three free pectoral appendages. Ventral fins with one spine and five
rays. Villiform teeth in the jaws only.
Only one small species, Ch. multibarbis, is known, from the
coasts of India and China.
 Fig. 181.—Chorismodactylus multibarbis.
To complete the list of Scorpænoid genera, we have to mention
Tænianotus, Centropogon, Pentaroge, Tetraroge, Prosopodasys,
Aploactis, Trichopleura, Hemitripterus, Minous and Pelor.

Eighth Family—Nandidæ.
Body oblong, compressed, covered with scales. Lateral line
interrupted. Dorsal fin formed by a spinous and soft portion, the
number of spines and rays being nearly equal; anal fin with three
spines, and with the soft portion similar to the soft dorsal. Ventral fins
thoracic, with one spine, and five or four rays. Dentition more or less
complete, but feeble.
This small family consists of two very distinct groups.
A. Plesiopina. Marine fishes of small size, with pseudobranchiæ
and only four ventral rays. Plesiops from the coral-reefs of the Indo-
Pacific, and Trachinops from the coast of New South Wales, belong
to this group.
B. Nandina. Freshwater fishes of small size from the East Indies,
without pseudobranchiæ, and five ventral rays. The genera are
Badis, Nandus, and Catopra.

Ninth Family—Polycentridæ.
Body compressed, deep, scaly. Lateral line none. Dorsal and
anal fins long, both with numerous spines, the spinous portion being
the more developed. Ventrals thoracic, with one spine and five soft
rays. Teeth feeble. Pseudobranchiæ hidden.
Only two genera, each represented by one or two species in the
Atlantic rivers of Tropical America, Polycentrus and Monocirrhus,
belong to this family. They are small insectivorous fishes.

Tenth Family—Teuthididæ.
Body oblong, strongly compressed, covered with very small
scales. Lateral line continuous. Eye lateral, of moderate size. A
single series of cutting incisors in each jaw; palate toothless. One
dorsal fin, the spinous portion being the more developed; anal with
seven spines. Ventral fins thoracic, with an outer and an inner spine,
and with three soft rays between.
This family consists of one very natural genus, Teuthis, readily
recognised by the singular structure of the fins. In all the species the
fin-formula is D. 13/10. A. 7/9. The incisors are small, narrow, and
provided with a serrated edge. The air-bladder is large, and forked
anteriorly as well as posteriorly. Their skeleton shows several
peculiarities: the number of vertebræ is twenty-three, ten of which
belong to the abdominal portion. The abdominal cavity is surrounded
by a complete ring of bones, the second piece of the coracoid being
exceedingly long, and extending along the whole length of the
abdomen, where it is joined to a spinous process of the first
interhæmal. The pubic bones are slender, long, firmly attached to
each other, without leaving a free space between them. They are
fastened by a long process which passes the symphysis of the radii,
and extends on to that of the humeri.

Fig. 182.—Teuthis nebulosa, Indian Ocean.

Thirty species are known, all from the Indo-Pacific; but they do
not extend eastwards beyond 140° long., or to the Sandwich Islands.
They are herbivorous, and do not exceed a length of fifteen inches.

Second Division—Acanthopterygii Beryciformes.

Body compressed, oblong, or elevated; head with large
muciferous cavities which are covered with a thin skin. Ventral fins
thoracic, with one spine and more than five soft rays (in Monocentris
with two only).
One family only belongs to this division.

Family—Berycidæ.
Body short, with ctenoid scales, which are rarely absent. Eyes
lateral, large (except Melamphaës). Cleft of the mouth lateral,
oblique; jaws with villiform teeth; palate generally toothed. Opercular
bones more or less armed. Eight (four) branchiostegals.
 This family offers several points of biological interest. All its
members are strictly marine; but only two of the genera are surface-
forms (Holocentrum and Myripristis). All the others descend
considerably below the surface, and even some of the species of
Myripristis habitually inhabit depths of from 50 to 100 fathoms.
Polymixia and Beryx have been found in 345 fathoms. Melamphaës
must live at a still greater depth, as we may infer from the small size
of its eye; this fish is not likely to come nearer to the surface than to
about 200 fathoms. The other genera named have extremely large
eyes, and, therefore, may be assumed to ascend into such
superficial strata as are still lit up by a certain proportion of sun-rays.
The highly-developed apparatus for the secretion of superficial
mucus, with which these fishes are provided, is another sign of their
living at a greater depth than any of the preceding families of
Acanthopterygians. In accordance with this vertical distribution,
Berycoid fishes have a wide horizontal range, and several species
occur at Madeira as well as in Japan.
Fossil Berycoids show a still greater diversity of form than living;
they belong to the oldest Teleosteous fishes, the majority of the
Acanthopterygians found in the chalk being representatives of this
family. Beryx has been found in several species, with other genera
now extinct: Pseudoberyx, with abdominal ventrals, from Mount
Lebanon; Berycopsis, with cycloid scales; Homonotus, Stenostoma,
Sphenocephalus, Acanus, Hoplopteryx, Platycornus, with granular
scales; Podocys, with a dorsal fin extending to the neck; Acrogaster,
Macrolepis, and Rhacolepis, from the chalk of Brazil. Species of
Holocentrum and Myripristis occur in the Monte Bolca formation.
Monocentris.—Snout obtuse, convex, short; eye of moderate
size. Villiform teeth on the palatine bones, but none on the vomer.
Opercular bones without armature. Scales very large, bony, forming a
rigid carapace. Ventrals reduced to a single strong spine and a few
rudimentary rays.
 Fig. 183.—Monocentris japonicus.
One species only is known (M. japonicus) from the seas off
Japan and Mauritius. It does not attain to any size, and is not
common.
Hoplostethus.—Snout very short and obtuse; eye large. Villiform
teeth on the palatine bones, but none on the vomer. Operculum
unarmed, a strong spine at the scapulary and the angle of the
præoperculum. Scales ctenoid, of moderate size; abdominal edge
serrated. One dorsal, with six spines; ventrals with six soft rays;
caudal deeply forked.
One species only is known (H. mediterraneus), which occurs in
the Mediterranean, the neighbouring parts of the Atlantic, and in the
sea off Japan.
Trachichthys.—Snout very short and obtuse, with prominent
chin; eye large. Villiform teeth on the palatine bones and on the
vomer. A strong spine at the scapulary and at the angle of the
præoperculum. Scales rather small; abdomen serrated. One dorsal,
with from three to six spines; ventral with six soft rays. Caudal forked.
 Four species are known from New Zealand and Madeira.
Anoplogaster is an allied genus from tropical parts of the Atlantic;
it is scaleless.
Beryx.—Snout short, with oblique cleft of the mouth and
prominent chin; eye large. Villiform teeth on the palatine bones and
vomer. Opercular bones serrated; no spine at the angle of the
præoperculum. Scales ctenoid, of moderate or large size. One dorsal,
with several spines; ventrals with seven or more soft rays. Anal with
four spines; caudal forked.

Fig. 184.—Beryx decadactylus.

Five species are known from Madeira, the tropical Atlantic, and
the seas of Japan and Australia. The species figured is B.
decadactylus, common at Madeira, and occurring near Japan at a
depth of 345 fathoms; it attains a length of 1½ feet.
Melamphaes.—Head large and thick, with very thin bones, nearly
all the superficial bones being transformed into wide muciferous
channels. Eye small. Palate toothless; no barbels; opercles not
 armed. Scales large, cycloid. One dorsal, with six spines; anal spines
very feeble; caudal forked. Ventrals with seven rays.
Two species, deep-sea fishes of the Atlantic; they are very
scarce, as only three or four specimens have been found hitherto.
Polymixia.—Snout short, with the cleft of the mouth nearly
horizontal; eye large. Two barbels at the throat. Opercles without
armature. Scales of moderate size. One dorsal. Anal with three or four
spines; caudal forked; ventrals with six or seven soft rays.
Three species are known: P. nobilis from Madeira and St. Helena,
P. lowei from Cuba, and P. japonica from Japan; the latter species
from a depth of 345 fathoms. Average size eighteen inches.
Myripristis.—Snout short, with oblique cleft of the mouth and
prominent chin; eye large or very large. Villiform teeth on the vomer
and palatine bones. Opercular bones serrated; præoperculum without
spine. Scales large, ctenoid. Two dorsals, the first with ten or eleven
spines; anal with four spines; caudal forked; ventrals with seven soft
rays. Air-bladder divided by a contraction in two parts, the anterior of
which is connected with the organ of hearing.
Eighteen species from the tropical seas of both hemispheres, the
majority living near the coast at the surface. The coloration is
(principally) red or pink on the back and silvery on the sides. They
attain a length of about 15 inches, and are esteemed as food.
Holocentrum.—Snout somewhat projecting, with the cleft of the
mouth nearly horizontal; eye large. Villiform teeth on the vomer and
palatine bones. Opercular bones and præorbital serrated; operculum
with two spines behind; a large spine at the angle of the
præoperculum. Scales ctenoid, of moderate size. Two dorsals, the
first with twelve spines; anal with four spines, the third being very long
and strong; caudal forked. Ventrals with seven soft rays.
 Fig. 185.—Holocentrum unipunctatum, from the South Sea.
About thirty species are known from the tropical seas of both
hemispheres; all are surface fishes, and very common. The young
have the upper part of the snout pointed and elongate, and were
described as a distinct genus (Rhynchichthys). The coloration of the
adult is uniform; red, pink, and silvery prevailing. They attain to a
length of about 15 inches, and are esteemed as food.

Third Division—Acanthopterygii Kurtiformes.

One dorsal fin only, much shorter than the anal, which is long and
many-rayed. No superbranchial organ.
One family only belongs to this division.

Family—Kurtidæ.
Body compressed, oblong, deep in front, attenuated behind.
Snout short. The spines of the short dorsal are few in number, if
developed. Scales small or of moderate size. Villiform teeth in the
jaws, on the vomer, and palatine bones.
 This family consists of a small number of species only, which
form two distinct genera, Pempheris and Kurtus. They are shore
fishes of tropical seas. In both the air-bladder shows some
peculiarity: in Pempheris it is divided into an anterior and posterior
portion; in Kurtus it is lodged within the ribs, which are dilated,
convex, forming rings. The number of vertebræ is respectively
twenty-four and twenty-three.

Fourth Division—Acanthopterygii Polynemiformes.

Two rather short dorsal fins, somewhat remote from each other;
free filaments at the humeral arch, below the pectoral fins;
muciferous canals of the head well developed.
One family only belongs to this division.

Family—Polynemidæ.
Body oblong, rather compressed, covered with smooth or very
feebly ciliated scales. Lateral line continuous. Snout projecting
beyond the mouth, which is inferior, with lateral cleft. Eye lateral,
large. Villiform teeth in the jaws and on the palate. Ventrals thoracic,
with one spine and five rays.
The fishes of this natural family have been divided, on slight
differences, into three genera—Polynemus, Pentanemus, and
Galeoides. They are found in rather numerous species on the coasts
between the tropics, and the majority enter brackish or even fresh
water. Very characteristic are the free filaments which in this family
are organs of touch; they are inserted on the humeral arch at some
distance from the pectoral fin; but, nevertheless, can be regarded
only as a detached portion of that fin; they can be moved quite
independently of the fin; their number varies from three to fourteen,
according to the species; in some they are exceedingly elongate,
twice as long as the fish, in others they are not longer or even
shorter than the pectoral. It is evident from the whole organisation of
these fishes that they live on muddy bottom or in thick water, such as
is found near the mouths of great rivers. Their eyes are large, but
generally obscured by a filmy skin, so that those feelers must be of
great use to them in finding their way and their food. The
Polynemoids are very useful to man: their flesh is esteemed, and
some of the species are provided with an air-bladder which yields a
good sort of isinglass, and forms an article of trade in the East
Indies. Some of these fishes attain to a length of four feet.

Fig. 186.—Pentanemus quinquarius, from the West Coast of Africa and the
West Indies.

Fifth Division—Acanthopterygii Sciæniformes.

The soft dorsal is more, generally much more, developed than
the spinous, and than the anal. No pectoral filaments; head with the
muciferous canals well developed.
Also this division is composed of one family only.

Family—Sciænidæ.
Body rather elongate, compressed, covered with ctenoid scales.
Lateral line continuous, and frequently extending over the caudal fin.