The run-up to a budget always sees a degree of chaos. But this year it has looked like one of those willy willies that blow up in outback Australia when the wind stirs a storm of dust.

A Middle East war, a fuel crisis, another interest rate rise, calls for extra cost-of-living help amid warnings against high government spending, accusations of prime ministerial lying – they are collectively testing the government’s ability to control how it wants to frame its fifth budget.

But the immediate “narrative” it puts on the budget is one thing – more significant in the longer term is getting its settings right in these extraordinarily volatile times, something we’ll only be able to judge in retrospect.

As is the modern way, some major items have been announced well before Tuesday’s main event, including reform of the National Disability Insurance Scheme and a fuel security plan.

The NDIS overhaul is the big money saver in the budget, a whopping $22 billion. But that is based on heroic, and surely questionable, assumptions, most notably that the scheme’s annual spending growth, now 10%, can be slashed to an average annual 2% in each of the coming four years.

Unless the figures are to be manipulated, this surely defies all previous experience with this scheme. Applying the brakes that sharply looks impossible, especially as some of the details are still to be worked out, and consultations (which often bring concessions) are yet to be held.

If the NDIS’s early cuts can’t be achieved, the government has a hole in its savings package.

It would be interesting to know whether Reserve Bank Governor Michele Bullock is sceptical about the NDIS savings assumption. Bullock, who has previously been wary of appearing to call out excessive government spending, was explicit this week, telling her post interest rate rise news conference, “when governments are spending a lot of money and we’re running up against capacity constraints, then they do need to think about whether or not there’s ways they can help the inflation problem by looking for ways to constrain demand”.

Questioned about this statement, Treasurer Jim Chalmers, who insists he will save more than he spends in the budget, played down her words, saying she was answering a “hypothetical” question. (She had been asked whether too much reliance was placed on central banks rather than governments to keep inflation under control.) Bullock did give a nod to Chalmers’ efforts to constrain demand, but she must have been aware of how her words would be heard, given the controversy around anything she says on spending.

The government went to the 2025 election promising income tax cuts, and some changes to the tax treatment of superannuation, but not much else on the tax front. But after the post-election economic roundtable it became clear Chalmers was going to pitch to include significant tax changes in this budget. The question was: would Anthony Albanese let him do so?

From what we know so far, the answer seems to be “yes”, with anticipated reworkings of the capital gains tax (CGT) and negative gearing (and possibly tougher tax treatment of trusts).

A political cost is already being paid – by Albanese, who before the election promised (at times belligerently) not to tinker with negative gearing or CGT. Questioned this week about potentially breaking his word, the prime minister’s tone was narky.

Leaving aside the basic issue of integrity, in political terms does breaking these promises matter?

With Labor having a massive majority and the opposition shambolic, the government will reckon it can get away with it, so long as it can present a budget with more “winners” than losers and it can carry the (not uncontested) argument that it is promoting intergenerational equity. To help with this, the budget will promise a modest one-off handout for taxpayers in work.

But the deceit further undermines the trust people have in the political system and its politicians.

Saturday’s byelection in former opposition leader Sussan Ley’s seat of Farrer will be a case study in how trust has leached away from the so-called “parties of government”.

For three quarters of a century the southern New South Wales seat – centred on Albury while extending to the South Australian border – has been safely in Coalition hands. It was once held by the Nationals’ deputy prime minister Tim Fischer. But this weekend the contest is set to be between One Nation’s David Farley and high-profile community independent Michelle Milthorpe, accused by her opponents of being a “teal” (because she has received Climate 200 money), a label she disowns.

Different as they appear at first glance, the community independents (including the teals) and One Nation represent two versions of today’s “grievance” politics. It’s ironic, but symbolic, that in Farrer they are both decked out in orange.

The regional strand of the “community candidate” movement can be traced to Cathy McGowan, who wrested Indi (across the Murray River from Farrer) from the Liberals in 2013, and was succeeded in the seat by another independent, Helen Haines (who has campaigned for Milthorpe). McGowan and her followers wanted to make Indi more politically salient, rather than being regarded as a safe seat governments and oppositions could effectively ignore when it came to needs and services.

Community candidates exploit the grievance constituents have that their electorate is not being heard. Milthorpe captured their essence when she told the Guardian, “I’m here because I was feeling dissatisfied with the major parties. They don’t understand our regional context. My job is to take the voices of Farrer to parliament and make sure that people understand what we need out here.”

One Nation has a much wider view of many voters’ sense of “grievance” – reflecting and amplifying, for example, discontent over the size and composition of immigration.

Community candidates want a place at the political table for their electorates: One Nation wants to overturn the table.

In Farrer, the idiosyncratic Farley doesn’t quite fit the One Nation policy mould, but the voters are reacting to a vibe, and to Pauline Hanson, rather than worrying about the fine print.

Saturday’s result will frame, for the worse, Opposition Leader Angus Taylor’s budget week. The expected Liberal loss will be a setback for him, whoever wins. If the victor is One Nation (which is getting Liberal preferences) it will be more serious because that will pump up the already highly inflated tyres of a party that could do serious damage to the Liberals’ prospects in the coming Victorian election.

To come back to where we started, whether it’s Farley or Milthorpe, the result in Farrer seems certain to set off a willy willy.

Michelle Grattan, Professorial Fellow, University of Canberra

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Swedish government recently announced it was moving from the classroom use of digital devices back to physical books. It cited concerns over declining test scores and increasing screen time.

Are these concerns well founded? And what does the science of reading say about the possible consequences of reading on digital devices versus books?

To address these questions, it’s worth remembering that, although reading might appear to be an easy task, this impression is false. Reading is arguably the most difficult task one must learn – one that requires years of formal education and practice to master. In contrast to spoken language, it is a skill we are not biologically predisposed to learn.

Millions of Australians, both children and adults, struggle with literacy.

In this series, we explore the challenges of reading in an age of smartphones and social media – and ask experts how we can become better readers.

Why is reading so difficult?

To understand why reading is difficult, one must first understand the physiology of reading.

As you are reading this sentence, your eyes are making a series of rapid movements, called saccades, from one word to the next. During these saccades, the processing of visual information is suppressed and is only available during brief intervals, called fixations, when the eyes are stationary.

Experiments that measure readers’ eye movements have shown we fixate most words because our capacity to extract visual information during each fixation is extremely limited.

In languages like English that are read from left to right, our capacity to perceive the features that distinguish letters is limited to a small region of the visual field called the perceptual span. This span extends from 2-3 letter spaces to the left of fixation to 8-12 letter spaces to the right of fixation.

The span’s asymmetry reflects the movement of attention through the text. It extends to the left in languages like Arabic, which are read from right to left. The size of the span is smaller for dense writing systems, such as Chinese.

We also know from eye-tracking and brain-imaging experiments that words require time to identify. Our best estimates suggest visual information requires 60 milliseconds to propagate from the eyes to the brain and words then require an additional 100-300 milliseconds to identify. (A millsecond is one-thousandth of a second).

These constraints limit the maximum rate of reading to 300-400 words per minute, depending on the difficulty of the text and one’s level of comprehension.

Speed-reading advocates, who falsely promise faster reading speeds, teach you how to skim a text. Comprehension declines at a rate inversely proportional to the gain in speed.

Importantly, the upper limit for reading speed requires years of practice to attain, because it requires the brain systems that support vision, attention, word identification, language processing and eye movements to operate in a highly coordinated manner. Anything that prevents this coordination will therefore reduce comprehension.

Consequences of digital reading

So what are the likely consequences of digital reading?

With some devices, such as e-readers, there is little reason to suspect digital reading differs from the reading of books, because both formats support the mental processes required for skilled reading.

The more questionable devices are those introducing distractions (such as news websites interspersed with ads) or which have suboptimal formatting, such as centre-justified text with large or unequal-sized gaps between words. The latter is rarely a feature of paper-based texts.

Although the consequences of these two factors are under-researched, enough has been learned about human cognition to make informed predictions.

For example, images and audio unrelated to a text such as pop-up ads can capture attention. Although most adults have developed a level of executive control sufficient to ignore such distractions, young children have not.

The implications for a child who is struggling to understand the meaning of a text are obvious. Their comprehension will suffer to the extent that additional effort is required to ignore distractions, or if they do not yet have the mental coordination to understand the text has been disrupted.

There is also evidence from eye-tracking experiments that many digital environments, such as webpages, can induce specific reading strategies, such as skimming for gist or searching for information.

Although such strategies might be adaptive in some contexts, they reduce overall comprehension. This possibility should be especially concerning for children, because years of practice are needed to coordinate the mental systems that support adult levels of reading skill.

Such concerns have recently drawn more attention, because the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic caused a shift to online education and a marked increase in digital reading. Although these changes were motivated by practical necessity, their long-term consequences remain unclear.

So far, eye-tracking research has been carried out on computer screens. New technology is becoming available which will allow us to directly compare eye movements and comprehension between digital devices and paper. This should give us more clarity about the benefits versus costs of digital devices.

Given reading ability is predictive of one’s education, socioeconomic status and wellbeing, the importance of assessing the long-term consequences of digital reading cannot be overstated.

Erik D Reichle, Professor of cognitive psychology, Macquarie University and Lili Yu, Senior Lecturer, Cognitive Psychology, Macquarie University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Ted Turner, who died on April 6, 2026, was bright, shrewd and, most of all, lucky. The cable TV visionary proved to be in the right place, at the right time, to change television and video news forever.

Most of his big gambles, on things such as the MGM studio and library, which led to the creation of the Turner Classic Movies channel, paid off handsomely.

But Turner will be remembered mostly for the creation and development of the Cable News Network – CNN – which launched in 1980 and made our knowledge of distant events instantaneous and our world more comprehensible. In this sense, Turner’s legacy extends beyond television. He changed our conception not only of journalism but also of our world.

Turner’s obituaries note his record-setting philanthropy, his impressive conservation efforts and his campaign to make the world safer by securing post-Soviet Union era nuclear weaponry. Over the course of his 87 years, Turner proved an outstanding yachtsman, an active and involved sports team owner and a quotable maverick in the business world.

Yet as a scholar of broadcast history – and a former CNN employee – I think Turner’s ultimate legacy is a bit more atmospheric than measurable.

He changed the media ecology in profound and lasting ways. CNN’s arrival disrupted an established media environment, in which broadcast journalism routines and audience viewing habits had become standardized by the ABC, CBS and NBC TV networks.

The ramshackle early CNN, with its farcical “world headquarters” housed in a former Atlanta-area country club, was derided as the “Chicken Noodle Network” by veteran network journalists. But by the mid-1980s it had established profitability, and by 1991, with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Gulf War, it assumed a singular position in America’s – and the world’s – information environment.

CNN had matured to respectability, and Turner was recognized as a visionary by Time magazine, which named him 1991’s Man of the Year. His idea had blossomed into a new arena for global information sharing, and his cable network fully competed with the established broadcast channels on big stories throughout the 1990s.

Right place, right time, right team

Turner’s cable TV news revolution required significant collaboration. The fulfillment of his vision needed luck, inherited money, innovative new technologies, supportive partners and even federal regulatory intervention.

For example, had Newton Minow’s Federal Communications Commission not pushed Congress to pass the All-Channel Receiver Act of 1962, American TV manufacturers would likely never have placed the UHF dial on their sets. That UHF dial made additional local TV competition possible by allowing more stations to broadcast.

In 1970, Turner purchased UHF Channel 17 in Atlanta, which he named WTGC for “Turner Communications Group,” and UHF Channel 36 in Charlotte, North Carolina, which he named WRET for “Robert Edward Turner,” and began building his broadcasting empire.

By the mid-1970s, the cost of satellite distribution to cable system operators had decreased to such an extent that Turner realized – and seized – an opportunity to nationally distribute his local station. He worked with satellite and cable system operators, building early relationships that would prove beneficial to everyone in the cable industry as it developed over the 1980s and ’90s.

In 1979 and 1980, he used these relationships to build the first 24-hour TV network, but it was his internal hires that made the original channel function. To launch CNN, Turner hired veterans of the TV news business, including Robert Wussler, who had previously been president of CBS Sports and the CBS Television Network. And he hired Reese Schonfeld, who had previously founded the Independent Television News Association, a national syndicator of pooled local TV programming.

It was Turner’s vision, investments and established partnerships that made CNN possible. But the creation of the network proved a team effort requiring managerial competence and veteran television production experience.

CNN’s success was never assured. The channel continually lost money in its initial years. But the idea of 24-hour TV news being delivered to paying subscribers, through their cable system operators, proved so valuable that as early as 1981, two CBS executives secretly jetted to Atlanta to meet with Turner and Wussler about purchasing the network.

“I’ll sell you CNN,” he told them. But the deal floundered when the CBS executives would not accept anything less than 51% ownership – and control – of the channel. “You want control? You don’t buy control of Ted Turner’s companies,” he explained. “Forty-nine percent or less.”

Only four years later, Turner would turn the tables and attempt to take over CBS.

Turner came very close to living long enough to see CBS and CNN under a single ownership. CBS’ parent company, Paramount Skydance, is closing in on the purchase of Warner Bros. Discovery, the corporation that owns CNN.

Yet today, these two once hugely profitable news operations have been subsumed within massive multinational corporations, with their legacy brand equity providing as much value to their ownership as their journalism. Turner had long bemoaned the managerial fate of his cable news channel, which he sold to Warner Bros. in 1996.

Success invites criticism, establishes a legacy

Turner is one of the few figures in American media history who left a clearly identifiable legacy. There was a media world that existed before CNN and the one that came after. CNN’s success gave rise to competitors such as MSNBC, Fox News and others.

These channels simultaneously differentiated themselves from CNN while constantly measuring themselves against their older rival. But Turner’s original vision was distinct from the panel programs and punditry that’s now replaced original reporting from around the world.

Turner wanted to own and operate a global news organization where the news would always be the star, and where, like the classic wire services, professional reporting would be instant and accurate. And he wanted to make a fortune while doing it.

When he finally succeeded, critics began to complain about what journalist and academic Tom Rosenstiel called “The Myth of CNN” in a cover story in The New Republic in 1994. Scholars bemoaned CNN for its privileging good visuals over context and depth. They argued that its foreign coverage failed to maintain sufficient independence from the U.S. government.

Dictators and terrorists around the world learned to exploit CNN to get their messages across to the American public. In this sense, CNN’s neutrality, once a source of respect and credibility, could also undermine it by making the channel easily exploitable.

Billions of people around the world now take for granted the profusion of news access to anywhere on earth, at any time of day or night. That world was unimaginable before Turner’s work to make CNN conceivable and then real.

His legacy is not simply a series of cable channels but an entirely new way of thinking about information retrieval and access. Think about that the next time you scroll past video clips from London, Tokyo, Beirut or Mexico City, or check out breaking news videos from Ukraine or Tehran. And thank Ted for making such a world possible.

Michael J. Socolow, Professor of Communication and Journalism, University of Maine

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.