My professional life revolves around the academic study of song lyrics. So it may seem like a strange move to write about how some of the most powerful and emotive vocal moments in popular music have come when singers reject words. But it’s impossible to ignore that sometimes a song needs something more universal, more innate and more guttural than language.

Some vocalists have eschewed words entirely in their songs, like Ella Fitzgerald scatting throughout Flying Home (1945), or David Crosby da da dumming his way through Song With No Words (1971). More frequently, though, these wordless singalong moments appear as hooks.

Think the “la la la las” of Elton John’s Crocodile Rock (1972); the “duh duh duh duhs” in The Fratellis’ Chelsea Dagger (2006); the “ooh-aah-aaahs” of Fun’s Some Nights (2012) and Coldplay’s Viva La Vida (2008); or the ear worm “eh, eheu, eheus” of Bastille’s Pompeii (2013).

To paraphrase Ronan Keating (for the first and probably last time), sometimes singers say it best when they say nothing at all. And here are my four favourite examples of where they do just that.

1. The Great Gig in the Sky by Pink Floyd (1973)

When Richard Wright brought his song The Great Gig in the Sky to the studio during Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of The Moon recording sessions, the band felt something was missing. They wanted a “foreground element to make it really transcend”, and versatile session vocalist Clare Torry was brought in to provide it.

Receiving little musical direction from the band apart from that they wanted the vocal to be wordless, she ad-libbed a few different ideas before leaving the studio, fully expecting nothing more to come of it. To Torry’s surprise, her vocal not only made it onto the finished record, but arguably became a pinnacle not just of the album, but of Floyd’s entire canon.

With a jaw-dropping wail that elevated the track to near-celestial heights, Torry managed to express the full range of human emotion without relying on words. Her contribution was eventually recognised with a co-authorship credit alongside Wright.

2. Anywhere by Rita Ora

If my championing of non-lexical sounds in songs is to dabble in unfamiliar waters, then praising anything by Rita Ora is to sail into “here there be monsters” territory. And yet the hook of her 2017 song Anywhere is just so dang good that it demanded to be include here.

Heavily-treated and chopped-up by producers Alesso, Andrew Watt and Sir Nolan, Ora’s vocal flirts with decipherability as the occasional word emerges from the wonderful confusion, but then veers joyously off into digitised gibberish again.

It’s a prime example of what a crucial role production can play in a song’s success. Such is the manipulation of her original take, even Ora herself admits that she has no idea what she’s singing. Sadly, public and media pressures eventually led her to reveal what the lyrics were before they were “chopped up”.

If you really want to know, watch this Live Lounge performance. For me, though, the power of the song lies beyond language, so, in this case, ignorance is indeed bliss.

3. Blue Moon by Elvis Presley (1956)

There have been some great falsetto singers over the decades, with the likes of Frankie Valli, Brian Wilson, The Bee Gees, Smokey Robinson and Prince all true masters of the craft. My favourite ever example, though, comes from Elvis’s eponymous 1956 album and his cover of Blue Moon.

After spending the first two minutes of the track in the trademark croon of his lower register, Elvis then soars into wordless falsetto at various points in the last 30 or so seconds. It’s unexpected. It’s delicate yet somehow strong. And it’s musical heaven.

4. Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones (1969)

Similarly to The Great Gig in the Sky, The Rolling Stones wanted something that would transform their new song Gimme Shelter from good into great. The solution was soul and gospel singer Merry Clayton, who was brought in to sing the heavy, dark chorus, first alongside Mick Jagger, then solo. The rest, as they say, is history.

I can’t include Clayton’s vocal itself in this list, seeing as it contains words, but I can include a by-product of it, which, for me, is one of the greatest, most natural moments ever caught on record: Mick Jagger’s reaction.

At 3m 02s, when the intensity of Clayton’s third go-around of the line “rape, murder, it’s just a shot away” has caused her voice to crack under the strain, we hear Jagger whooping in the background, unable to contain his amazement and joy at what he was witnessing.

Gimme Shelter’ has become one of the Stones’ most enduring tracks and is a staple of their live shows, which include some great performances of Merry’s section from Lisa Fischer and Chanel Haynes, and a not-so-great one from Lady Gaga. As with so many things, though, nothing will ever come close to the original.

Glenn Fosbraey, Associate Dean of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Winchester

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

Impressionism is the world’s favourite art movement.

Impressionist paintings create an oasis of beauty into which a viewer can escape from a sometimes dark and troubling world, or simply from the mundane boredom of urban living.

The Impressionist master, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, once famously observed:

To my mind, a picture should be something pleasant, cheerful, and pretty. Yes, pretty! There are too many unpleasant things in life as it is without creating still more of them.

The new Impressionism exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria brings together over a 100 of these pleasant, cheerful and pretty paintings and graphics. It features some of the greatest names in French Impressionism, including Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, Camille Pissarro, Édouard Manet, Mary Cassatt, Berthe Morisot, Paul Signac and Alfred Sisley.

For the first time in Australia

Initially, the Impressionist painters had difficulty in selling their work amid the torrent of negative criticism.

But then their Parisian art dealer Paul Durand-Ruel established a gallery in New York City, and the American artist Mary Cassatt – who worked with the Impressionists in Paris – found increasing popularity. By the 1880s and 1890s, American collectors started to buy Impressionist paintings by many of the top French artists.

This explains why the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston possesses such an outstanding collection of Impressionist paintings. Yet, unlike the museums in New York, the Boston museum is less well known and Australians are seeing many of these paintings for the first time.

To say that most works in this exhibition have never been previously seen in Australia is only partially true. Four years ago, just before Melbourne was locked down for COVID, the NGV launched a similar show. Apart from a handful of art lovers posing as media, that show expired under lockdown and was packed up and returned to Boston without being widely exposed to Australian audiences.

The new reiteration is supplemented with six additional paintings, including the early and deeply moving painting by Degas of Degas’s Father Listening to Lorenzo Pagans Playing the Guitar (1869–72).

The whole exhibition has been totally reimagined as part of an immersive interior design. It moves far away from the clinical white cube of a modern exhibition space and closer to the 19th century posh domestic interiors in which the paintings first appeared.

An extensive and in-depth exhibition

Chronologically, the exhibition charts the development of French Impressionism from the mid-19th century and the so-called Barbizon school and realism, through to late Impressionism in the early 20th century.

It includes the great paintings by Cézanne and Manet, and memorable paintings from early to late Impressionism. There is an abundance of important works by the main Impressionist masters including Monet (16 of his canvases in one room), Degas, Sisley, Renoir, Pissarro, Cassatt and Morisot, and a few unexpected gems by van Gogh and Signac.

It is an extensive and in-depth exhibition.

The depth of the Boston collection enables rare insights. For example, when we see Édouard Manet’s Street Singer (1862), we may be aware that he employed his favourite model Victorine Meurent. Apart from being a model, Meurent was also an artist in her own right and in the same exhibition there is a self-portrait of her from 1876.

Strictly speaking, perhaps neither painting can be described as “Impressionist”. But it is a wonderful encounter of a woman being observed and, in the same exhibition, this woman looking out of the picture space and doing the observing. The self-portrait is one of those additions that was not in the original show.

If we glance at a handful of some of the outstanding paintings in the show – including Monet’s Grainstack (snow effect) (1891), The water lily pond (1900), or Water lilies (1905); Renoir’s Dance at Bougival (1883) or The Seine at Chatou (1881); Pissarro’s Spring pasture (1889); Degas’s Racehorses at Longchamp (1871/1874); and Morisot’s Embroidery (1889) – we have all of the beloved features of French Impressionism.

Light and bright

While the French Impressionists were not a monolithic group, their art was generally characterised by three things.

Firstly, a lighter and brighter palette with a conscious move to the ultraviolet end of the colour spectrum.

Secondly, a divisionist application of colour with juxtaposed dabs of pigment allowing for colour to blend in the eye rather than on a mirror-smooth surface of the canvas.

Finally, a move to a more democratic subject matter with landscapes, gardens, drinking parties, picnics and street scenes easily outnumbering images of pagan gods in complicated embraces.

Australian audiences never seem to tire of French Impressionism. This exhibition brings a fresh crop of rarely seen major paintings and graphics of the highest order.

If you love Impressionism, French Impressionism from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, is a must-see exhibition. This new exhibition will change the history of Australian art exhibitions from Australia’s greatest Impressionist show that no one had seen, to Australia’s greatest Impressionist exhibition that everyone has seen.

French Impressionism from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, is at the National Gallery of Victoria until October 5.

Sasha Grishin, Adjunct Professor of Art History, Australian National University

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

Ah, the 90s. A decade when the future seemed bright, technological modernity was pregnant with promise, and Britannia was revelling in a rediscovered sense of cool. The pop-culture emblem of this was Britpop.

After the economically turbulent 1970s and the intense industrial restructuring of the 1980s, Britpop bands hearkened romantically back to the 1960s with a reimagining of a swinging Britain as the place to be.

Looking back on Britpop today echoes something of what those bands were themselves doing: peering across three decades of cultural and technological change.

Britpop was a preface to what cultural critic Simon Reynolds later called “retromania”, a pop culture obsessed with its own archaeological detritus. Reynolds, along with despondent contemporaries like the late Mark Fisher, were critics of a future irreverently assembled within a growing repository of the past.

Against the grain of Britpop’s 1960s upcycling, however, were Pulp.

After a big breakthrough in the 90s, Pulp were strongly associated with the retro-maniacal, “hey look, Britain still swings” Britpop era. Unlike the Blurs and Oases of the time, though, Pulp had traipsed their way through the decidedly unswinging 1980s indie scene. They shunned the tropes of repurposed mod fashions and appeals to the spirit of John Lennon, and some of their lyrics even read like critiques of Britpop’s cultural romanticism.

For example, in Common People the band caution that working-class life is not an opportunity to indulge in immersive performance art. Between the lines of Disco 2000, meanwhile, is a musing on how weird it would probably feel to revisit the past at some point in the future.

Pulp sang in counterpoint to their contemporaries, offering something different to the flaccidly nationalistic, wistful nostalgia common among the other acts of the time.

And now, returning with More, their first album since Britpop, how might Pulp reflect upon our experience of the present? A time in which digital media has etched deep divisions across society and the only surety seems to be socioeconomic uncertainty. Amid all of this, Brexit Britain doesn’t feel so cool any more.

If the lead single, “Spike Island”, is anything to go by, it looks like the retro-maniacal Britpop ethos might have registered belatedly with the band.

The sonic vocabularies of britfunk, disco and early indie converge in a texture of juicy synth bass, lively hand claps and sharp, edgy guitar sounds. These musical components are roughly contemporaneous with Pulp’s formation in 1978, but the pristine 21st-century production quality assures us we are listening in the present.

Lyrically, meanwhile, singer Jarvis Cocker seems to be reaching through the disastrously absurd cultural kaleidoscope of the 2020s in search of something more certain, back in the 90s perhaps.

Here, the refrain “Spike Island come alive” references a concert by Manchester indie band The Stone Roses, which became mythologised in British music history.

Held in 1990 on Spike Island in Widnes, Merseyside, the gig was a makeshift, outdoor, all day event, which attracted around 27,000 people. The warm up acts were back to back DJs, creating a rave atmosphere ahead of the band’s headlining show. This combined two of the currents that set Britain’s 1990s cultural optimism in motion: rave culture and “madchester”, a musical and cultural movement born in Manchester in the late-80s. Madchester birthed bands like The Stone Roses and The Happy Mondays, who injected indie rock with a rave-like hedonism.

By referencing the concert, Cocker effectively romanticises a time three decades gone, just as Britpop did its peak. The Spike Island concert, where rave and madchester met, represents a twin-headed crest of pop-culture. The pent up energy of this swept through the 90s with a wave of promise before it abruptly met the epochal breakwater of 9/11 and sluiced terminally into the bottomless drains of social media.

In the way it looks back on more jubilant times, Spike Island suggests the return of Pulp in a spirit more wistfully Britpop than the band were back in the day. What could reviving the essence of Britpop mean in 2025 when comparing the climate with the heady optimism that carried the movement 30 years ago?

Like Pulp, Gen Z are nostalgic for the 90s, a now mythical period that predates many of their births. From the vantage point of 2025, the 90s perhaps seem simpler, cooler and rather more stable socially and economically.

In a world now saturated by the distractions of digital media, it might be a stretch to hope for a 1990’s style period of collective optimism anytime soon. The sounds of that decade echo on, though. Maybe with More we can join Pulp for a moment in briefly reanimating the spirit of a time when the winds of change felt like they were blowing in a rather more positive direction.

More by Pulp will be released on June 6, 2025

Mark RJ Higgins, PhD Candidate, Department of Music, University of Bristol

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

When getting ready to take exams, it can sometimes feel as though there’s no way all the information you need to remember is going to fit in your brain. But there are ways to create the right conditions to make your studying as efficient as possible.

My research into the science of memory shows that both novelty – new experiences – and familiarity can affect memory. You can use novelty to prime yourself for learning, and familiarity to organise your memory and retain knowledge.

To start with, this might mean going for a walk in an unfamiliar part of your neighbourhood or looking at some art for the first time – in person or online – before you even start studying.

In the lab, colleagues and I have observed that chances are higher that you will remember new information if you just visited an unfamiliar place.

In a typical experimental set-up, participants came to the lab to familiarise themselves with a virtual environment on a PC or with a virtual reality headset. This consisted of a fantasy island with unexpected elements, such as streetlight-sized candy canes. We invited our research participants to come back on two other occasions. During these sessions, they explored the same – now familiar – virtual environment, and one they hadn’t seen before.

After each round of virtual exploration, the experiment participants were presented with a series of words to try to commit to memory, which we then tested them on after a completely different “distractor” task that consisted of solving simple maths problems. Interestingly, the participants who had explored a new environment typically remembered more words than those who had explored a familiar one. This suggests that novelty may prepare the brain for learning.

After you’ve prepared your brain with a foray into the unknown, it’s time to harness familiarity.

Why the familiar is important

Learning entirely new information is often very challenging. Students sometimes report reading several pages, but having no recollection of what they read.

There may be several reasons for this, but a common one is that it is difficult to memorise something if it is very different from anything you have learned before.

The brain likes to categorise and label information, and our memory is organised in semantic categories. For example, if I mention “swivel chair”, “computer”, and “filing cabinet”, the overarching term “office” may pop to mind.

Memory associations like these are crucial during memory retrieval, as linked information can work as a memory cue. In memory research we sometimes refer to these interlinked concepts as “memory schema”.

When you have to learn something new, your brain will try to categorise that novel information. If a link can be made with something you already know, this information can more easily be integrated into an existing memory schema.

Based on research, we would predict that studying for a test is more effective if you already know something about the topic, as it allows you to put novel information in your existing memory schema, and allows you to retrieve that information more easily at a later point in time.

For example, imagine eating a yellow kiwi for the first time. Your previous experience with green kiwis will allow you to recognise the fruit. The novel experience of eating this slightly sweeter kiwi is easy to integrate in your existing knowledge of kiwis, including what they look, feel and taste like.

Making connections

But studying for exams often means learning abstract concepts. The related memory schemas are underdeveloped for less concrete information, which makes new information hard to remember.

In a biological psychology course I teach, students have to learn about the transfer of information between brain cells. One of the crucial aspects of this topic is the change in chemistry of the neuron, from when it is at rest to when it is firing, and the potassium and sodium chloride ions involved.

Exam results showed that students found these processes hard to remember. One year, I decided to introduce a simple visual memory aid: an image of a banana with a container of table salt on top.

Most students know that bananas are rich in potassium, while table salt is sodium chloride. This simple picture shows the situation of a neuron at rest: A lot of potassium on the inside, and a lot of sodium chloride on the outside of the cell. But when the neuron is firing, ion channels open, and due to laws of diffusion, potassium will flow out, and sodium chloride into the cell.

After I introduced this memory aid, the performance of students on the exam question about this topic increased significantly. In fact, last year it was labelled as “too easy” by our exam monitoring tool, because so many students got it right. The image made integration of novel knowledge into an existing schema easier because it linked new, abstract information to well-known elements – the banana and the table salt.

When preparing for an exam, then, it can be helpful to think about how the new information you are trying to memorise relates to things you already know, even if this information is not directly relevant for the exam. Knowing that bananas are high in potassium, for instance, is not a learning objective of a biological psychology course.

And if you go for a walk somewhere new first, even better. Hopefully these tips will help you turn difficult exam material into lasting memories.

Judith Schomaker, Assistant Professor, Department of Health, Medical and Neuropsychology, Leiden University

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

Head lice, fleas and tapeworms have been humanity’s companions throughout our evolutionary history. Yet, the greatest parasite of the modern age is no blood-sucking invertebrate. It is sleek, glass-fronted and addictive by design. Its host? Every human on Earth with a wifi signal.

Far from being benign tools, smartphones parasitise our time, our attention and our personal information, all in the interests of technology companies and their advertisers.

In a new article in the Australasian Journal of Philosophy, we argue smartphones pose unique societal risks, which come into sharp focus when viewed through the lens of parasitism.

What, exactly, is a parasite?

Evolutionary biologists define a parasite as a species that benefits from a close relationship with another species – its host – while the host bears a cost.

The head louse, for example, is entirely dependent on our own species for its survival. They only eat human blood, and if they become dislodged from their host, they survive only briefly unless they are fortunate enough to fall onto another human scalp. In return for our blood, head lice give us nothing but a nasty itch; that’s the cost.

Smartphones have radically changed our lives. From navigating cities to managing chronic health diseases such as diabetes, these pocket-sized bits of tech make our lives easier. So much so that most of us are rarely without them.

Yet, despite their benefits, many of us are hostage to our phones and slaves to the endless scroll, unable to fully disconnect. Phone users are paying the price with a lack of sleep, weaker offline relationships and mood disorders.

From mutualism to parasitism

Not all close species relationships are parasitic. Many organisms that live on or inside us are beneficial.

Consider the bacteria in the digestive tracts of animals. They can only survive and reproduce in the gut of their host species, feeding on nutrients passing through. But they provide benefits to the host, including improved immunity and better digestion. These win-win associations are called mutualisms.

The human-smartphone association began as a mutualism. The technology proved useful to humans for staying in touch, navigating via maps and finding useful information.

Philosophers have spoken of this not in terms of mutualism, but rather as phones being an extension of the human mind, like notebooks, maps and other tools.

From these benign origins, however, we argue the relationship has become parasitic. Such a change is not uncommon in nature; a mutualist can evolve to become a parasite, or vice versa.

Smartphones as parasites

As smartphones have become near-indispensible, some of the most popular apps they offer have come to serve the interests of the app-making companies and their advertisers more faithfully than those of their human users.

These apps are designed to nudge our behaviour to keep us scrolling, clicking on advertising and simmering in perpetual outrage.

The data on our scrolling behaviour is used to further that exploitation. Your phone only cares about your personal fitness goals or desire to spend more quality time with your kids to the extent that it uses this information to tailor itself to better capture your attention.

So, it can be useful to think of users and their phones as akin to hosts and their parasites – at least some of the time.

While this realisation is interesting in and of itself, the benefit of viewing smartphones through the evolutionary lens of parasitism comes into its own when considering where the relationship might head next – and how we could thwart these high-tech parasites.

Where policing comes in

On the Great Barrier Reef, bluestreak cleaner wrasse establish “cleaning stations” where larger fish allow the wrasse to feed on dead skin, loose scales and invertebrate parasites living in their gills. This relationship is a classic mutualism – the larger fish lose costly parasites and the cleaner wrasse get fed.

Sometimes the cleaner wrasse “cheat” and nip their hosts, tipping the scale from mutualism to parasitism. The fish being cleaned may punish offenders by chasing them away or withholding further visits. In this, the reef fish exhibit something evolutionary biologists see as important to keeping mutualisms in balance: policing.

Could we adequately police our exploitation by smartphones and restore a net-beneficial relationship?

Evolution shows that two things are key: an ability to detect exploitation when it occurs, and the capacity to respond (typically by withdrawing service to the parasite).

A difficult battle

In the case of the smartphone, we can’t easily detect the exploitation. Tech companies that design the various features and algorithms to keep you picking up your phone aren’t advertising this behaviour.

But even if you’re aware of the exploitative nature of smartphone apps, responding is also more difficult than simply putting the phone down.

Many of us have become reliant on smartphones for everyday tasks. Rather than remembering facts, we offload the task to digital devices – for some people, this can change their cognition and memory.

We depend on having a camera for capturing life events or even just recording where we parked the car. This both enhances and limits our memory of events.

Governments and companies have only further cemented our dependence on our phones, by moving their service delivery online via mobile apps. Once we pick up the phone to access our bank accounts or access government services, we’ve lost the battle.

How then can users redress the imbalanced relationship with their phones, turning the parasitic relationship back to a mutualistic one?

Our analysis suggests individual choice can’t reliably get users there. We are individually outgunned by the massive information advantage tech companies hold in the host-parasite arms race.

The Australian government’s under-age social media ban is an example of the kind of collective action required to limit what these parasites can legally do. To win the battle, we will also need restrictions on app features known to be addictive, and on the collection and sale of our personal data.

Rachael L. Brown, Director of the Centre for Philosophy of the Sciences and Associate Professor of Philosophy, Australian National University and Rob Brooks, Scientia Professor of Evolution, UNSW Sydney

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

A week ago, the Australian Financial Review released this year’s “Rich List”. It reported the number of billionaires in Australia increased from 150 to 166 between 2024 and 2025.

A very different story is happening at the other end of the market. On Tuesday the Fair Work Commission awarded the lowest paid 20% of wage earners a 3.5% increase as a result of its annual review.

The commission acknowledged even with this increase, our lowest paid employees will not be earning as much in real terms as they did before the post-COVID inflationary surge of 2021-2022.

Why such a meagre increase?

In Australia it has long been accepted that – all things being equal – wages should move with both prices and productivity.

Adjusting them for inflation ensures their real value is maintained. Adjusting them for productivity means employees share in rising prosperity associated with society becoming more productive over time.

This “prices plus productivity” model of wage rises is, however, subject to economic circumstances. In recent times the key circumstance of concern has been inflation.

Depending how it is measured it peaked at between 6.5% and 9.6% in 2022-2023.

Since 2022, economic agencies such as the Reserve Bank and state treasuries, along with finance sector economists, have been preaching about the threat of inflation persisting.

Cutting real wages to control inflation

Interest rates were increased to tame the inflation dragon. And these agencies all issued dire warnings about the threat of long-term inflationary pressure if wages were adjusted to maintain lower and middle income earners living standards.

In its last three decisions the Fair Work Commission accommodated this narrative. Since July 2021 it ensured wages for the lowest paid 20% of employees did not keep up with inflation.

Unsurprisingly, real wages for award-dependent employees fell.

The commission has done its best to look after those on the absolute lowest rates: that is the 1% or so on the national minimum wage.

Their wages have fallen by 0.8% over the period since July 2021. For those in the middle of the bottom 20% of employees dependent on awards the fall has been in the order of 4.5%.

For example, this is the fall experienced by an entry level tradesperson in manufacturing dependent on an award.

Because inflation is currently running at about 2.4%, the 3.5% increase marks a modest 1% real wage gain for a worker on or close to the entry level manufacturing tradesperson rates.

In making this increase, the commission argued if real wage cuts continued, the entrenchment of lower minimum award rates was likely. It noted the economy is in pretty good shape – not just in terms of inflation and employment – but also many firms are turning a profit.

What about productivity?

The other striking feature of the post-COVID economic recovery has been poor productivity performance. It initially went backwards and more recently has flatlined.

The commission rejected arguments recent poor performance in national productivity numbers should prevent raising the minimum award higher than inflation.

It did this because it distinguished between productivity in the market and non-market sectors. In the former, productivity growth has been modest, but positive.

Poor numbers in the non-market sector like health and social services were an artefact of both measurement problems and the need for more workers per unit output to boost the quality of these services.

Silver linings?

It is always a judgement call as to what is the appropriate scale of any wage increase. Given low paid workers were not the source of recent inflationary pressure, it is reasonable to claim now is the time to reverse the recent trends of cutting their real wages.

Whether the increase had to be so modest is something the commission has indicated it is open to considering in future hearings. It has sent this signal by floating two novel arguments.

The first argument concerns how cuts in real pay are calculated. In its decision it makes the very important point that conventional measures of real wage movements use monthly measures of inflation but wages only increase annually.

It’s on this basis the 4.5% cut for the benchmark entry level trade worker in manufacturing was calculated.

The commission notes, however, that if you take into account wages only rise once a year and inflation rises continuously, the overall loss of earnings power for such workers has been 14.4% since July 2021.

This is a much higher account of real wage cuts than has previously informed debates on wages policy.

Secondly, the commission has noted consideration should be given to phasing out some of the lowest classifications in the award system. This is something it has done in the past.

In this way it does not have to “increase rates” for low paid classifications as such. Rather, it just eliminates the possibility of having rates for exceptionally low paid jobs – and so raises the base rates dramatically for the lowest paid workers.

Next year, things could be better. Australia has a long history of having a wages system that takes seriously the needs of all workers, and especially the low paid. This decision marks a break with the recent habit of using the lowest paid workers as a shock absorber for macroeconomic policy.

The 3.5% rise is a modest increase but an important one. More important is the framework the commission has set up for decisions in future years. Devising a more accurate measure of real wage cuts and noting the importance of abolishing whole classifications of low paid work lays the foundations for potentially very exciting developments in Australian wages policy in coming years.

John Buchanan, Professor, Discipline of Business Information Systems, University of Sydney Business School, University of Sydney

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

Harewood House, with its impressive history and classic English beauty, is a magnificent place to visit in Leeds, west Yorkshire. The house frequently hosts remarkable exhibitions and cultural events devoted to art, poetry and history.

This time, its doors are open for a new exhibition Austen and Turner: A Country House Encounter, which marks the 250th anniversaries of the landscape painter J.M.W. Turner and the novelist Jane Austen.

The anniversaries have presented an opportunity for the co-curators of Harewood House Trust and the Centre for Eighteenth Century Studies at the University of York to unite the incredible works of two outstanding personalities of the Regency era.

Their masterpieces reflect their common engagement with the cultural and societal significance of British country houses and their landscapes. Though the pair seem to have never met, the expressiveness of Turner’s paintings are complemented by the literary richness of Austen’s manuscripts.

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The exhibition creatively highlights the common threads within Austen and Turner’s work through shared themes. The first is Austen Meets Turner, which explores how Austen and Turner’s interests and experiences intersected in the country estates that inspired their works.

I was especially struck by Harewood House from the North East (1797). Turner captured the magnificent building with such softness and light. The painting makes the landscape feel peaceful and alive, showing his ability to transform a real place into something almost dreamlike.

It highlights the grandeur of the landed aristocracy of the time, symbolising wealth, influence and a strong social hierarchy that was rooted in land ownership. Austen also used houses as symbols of status and wealth in her novels. Pemberley in Pride and Prejudice (1813), for example, reflects the class, riches and style of the love interest, Mr Darcy.

Another theme that attracted my attention was Encounters with Austen and Turner, located at the heart of the Harewood House library. Here, among the letters is another of his well-known paintings, Harewood Castle from the South East (1798). A visit to the exhibition can be complemented by a short walk to the real castle ruins in the Harewood grounds.

You just cannot take your eyes off this painting. Turner captures the ruin bathed in soft, natural light, blending the architectural detail of the castle with the surrounding pastoral landscape. His delicate use of colour and atmospheric perspective evokes a sense of romantic nostalgia, highlighting the harmony between human history and nature – a key feature of his style.

Objects of genius

The theme Interior Worlds deserves special attention. It is especially engaging because it offers the opportunity to feel the presence of Austen and Turner through the very objects that once made them famous.

Turner’s travelling watercolour box from 1842, for example, was made by the artist using two cards attached to a linen cloth. It was designed to hold a new kind of watercolour block, variations of which are still manufactured today.

Another such item is the original handwritten version of Austen’s unfinished novel Sanditon, penned during the last months of her life in 1817.

A first edition of Sense and Sensibility is also on show, with a fascinating explanation of the history behind its creation. Originally titled Elinor and Marianne and written in 1795, it was intended to be a novel in letters. But Austen later revised the text, and the version as we know it was published anonymously in 1811.

Finally, a collection of period costumes from Austen adaptations makes this exhibition truly memorable. An impressive collection of costumes from Sense and Sensibility (1995), Pride and Prejudice (1995) and Emma (2020) are on display.

Each garment reflects the elegance and social nuance of the Regency era, bringing Austen’s characters vividly to life. The craftsmanship and historical detail in the costumes evoke a sense of timeless charm that deepen the viewer’s connection to the novels.

This incredible exhibition is sure to move everyone who really wishes to engage with the high art and experience the historical spirit of the Regency era.

Oksana Hubina, Research Fellow, English literature, University of Leeds

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

The America we thought we knew is not coming back. America in 2028 will be different, perhaps worse. And Australians, along with much of the world, are eager for something different.

In polling conducted by The Australia Institute in February 2025, 44% of respondents agreed that it is in Australia’s interests to pursue a more independent foreign policy. The way we think about our relationship with the United States, and our role in the world, is changing and changing quickly.

Those who insist that we can carry on as we always have, that we can just ride Trump out, or that we have to remain close to his version of America because that is the way we have always ensured our “security” are leaving the field open to bad-faith actors, making our world even less safe.

Proponents of the status quo also have a shallow and ungenerous understanding of what “security” really is.

Supporters of the AUKUS deal, and blind supporters of the US, typically exaggerate the threat to Australia of countries like China while deliberately obscuring the risks to our security and the security of our region if we unquestioningly follow the US.

Those risks include miscalculations or deliberate provocations of war between great powers. They also include threats such as catastrophic climate change, another global pandemic, nuclear annihilation, and the breakdown of the rule of law.

But to our current leaders, those real threats don’t appear to matter, because our current understanding of security doesn’t consider so-called “soft” issues such as environmental catastrophe or the collapse of international law as genuine threats.

The Australian government says that it considers climate change a threat to regional stability and international security. The 2024 Australia–Tuvalu Falepili Union, for example, committed both countries to

enhancing their partnership to promote and protect the Parties’ shared interest in each other’s prosperity, stability and security, including by responding to current and emerging security challenges, such as climate change.

The Union also recognised that “climate change is Tuvalu’s greatest national security concern”. But that rhetoric is not matched by action. Australia’s subsidies to fossil fuel producers and major users totalled $14.5 billion in 2023-24.

That number is an increase of 31% on the recorded figure in 2022-23. Since 2022, the federal environment minister has approved 10 new coal mines or expansions. The hypocrisy is breathtaking.

What about international law?

The same applies to Australia’s stated commitment to the “international rules-based order”.

In January 2025, Defence Minister Richard Marles was asked if Australia would support Trump’s attacks on the foundations of international law, perhaps a unilateral takeover of Panama, or annexation of Greenland.

The best response Marles could muster was that “our alliance with the US is really the cornerstone of our national security, our foreign policy”.

No one in the current government is able to say that such a move – or a US “take over” of Gaza, for that matter – would be a clear breach of the international rule of law.

It is extraordinary that a Labor government refuses to state unapologetically that Australia has a longstanding, and continuing, commitment to the institutions and structures of international law and that it is in both our and our closest ally’s interests that that system survives.

We are choosing to forgo our responsibility to protect and uphold the rule of law, to accept the significant risks to our security keeping Donald Trump on our side. Sometimes, as Phillip Coorey wrote in the Australian Financial Review in early 2024, “cosying up to a madman” is “a necessity”.

Self-harm is never a necessity.

What kind of security is that? What do we think security actually is?

As Trump sets about dismantling what is left of the international rules-based order, destabilises the US and global economies, undermines public health, increases already rising inequality, unleashes white supremacy at home and abroad, accelerates catastrophic climate change – exactly as he told us he would – we need a better answer to that question. And we need it quickly.

We can and we must think about our security differently.

Letting the powerful off the hook

Real security is more than just the temporary prevention of war. In Australia, and across much of the Western world, foreign and security policy is built on the assumption that war is inevitable. This assumption is based on a selective understanding of history and of human behaviour that ends up reinforcing, rather than challenging, the worst trends in international relations.

Pundits and politicians then make claims like “we live in the worst strategic circumstances since World War II”, that we face a “new Cold War”, that “great power competition” is necessary and completely beyond our control, without ever facing much challenge. Anyone who disagrees can be dismissed as an “appeaser”.

Those historical analogies are appealing and comforting, because the world is a dangerous place. But that isn’t how history works, and all those assumptions do is let those in power off the hook for their actions (or inactions).

The suggestion that we face the worst strategic circumstances since the last global war, for example, implies that it doesn’t matter what we do. In our circumstances, it suggests that our latest existential enemy is coming for us because that is what great powers do, and all we can do is prepare for the worst.

That is the basic assumption of the ANZUS Treaty and Australian foreign and security policy more broadly; Australia is always threatened by enemies from the north. Those enemies don’t look like us, and the only way we can protect ourselves from them is to fall in line behind another great (white) power.

That, in the end, is what AUKUS is all about. AUKUS was, as it was described at the time, always about the revival of the Anglosphere. It is the fatalism that induces paralysis.

Both the US and Australia often behave as if the provocative behaviour of the Anglosphere has nothing to do with how other nations respond. Any perception of Chinese aggression is framed as unreasonable and threatening.

Anything that Australia does – such as embarking on a plan to acquire nuclear-powered submarines clearly designed to engage in conflict far from Australian shores – is necessary and self-evidently defensive.

China is, undoubtedly, a risk to be managed. But it is not a direct, immediate threat to Australia, and it is not inevitable that it will become one. Diplomacy, genuine engagement, cultural exchange, people-to-people contact: these are all tools available to us, tools that Australia has been historically good at using when we have chosen to.

That genuine engagement – real relationships – requires a clear understanding of what our interests and values truly are. Right now, our approach to the world is undermined by the way our foreign and defence policy, and our alliance with the US, actively contradict those values.

Both Australia and the US pride themselves on their democracies, on their democratic values. China is, rightly or wrongly, regarded as an existential enemy because it is not a democracy. And yet the way Australia approaches our engagement with China in the world is a very, very long way from democratic.

The alliance is anti-democratic

Australian foreign and security policy is marked by intense secrecy. AUKUS is the epitome of this practice: it was conceived entirely in secret and sprung on the Australian people overnight without any consultation. It still has not been subject to any serious parliamentary or democratic scrutiny.

This is how critical decisions about national security are made in this country: in secret, mostly by men in suits or uniforms, with no democratic accountability.

The AUKUS deal probably would not have survived independent, democratic scrutiny from Treasury, or Defence, at least not in its current form. But foreign and security policy in this country isn’t subject to that kind of accountability, which results in unnecessary and eye-wateringly expensive agreements such as AUKUS.

Agreements that do not make us safer; agreements that fundamentally misunderstand what does threaten us and thus dramatically increase our insecurity.

Secrecy does not create security. Secrecy undermines security, as it undermines democracy.

And these kinds of secretive deals also undermine what we are often told are the “shared democratic values” of our alliance with the US. As AUKUS shows, the alliance is actively anti-democratic, and it is very far from transparent.

An alliance with the US that genuinely valued transparency, and democracy, would look very different. It wouldn’t allow the revenge fantasies of men like Boris Johnson to dictate the future of our security, and the ability of future Australian governments to make independent decisions in the national interest.

It wouldn’t allow our closest ally to persecute an Australian citizen for publishing the truth. It wouldn’t allow for the punishment of whistleblowers and publishers exposing war crimes, as the only people to be punished for war crimes committed in the name of that alliance. It would value the truth. It would value transparency.

These are things we can aspire to in Australian foreign policy that would make us more secure. It’s not inevitable that we go without. It is entirely possible for Australia to reform our secrecy and whistleblower laws. In a democracy, we all have a right to contribute and to hold our leaders accountable for their decisions and actions.

A healthy democracy is built on the understanding that human security is the wellspring of national security. Human security – real, lasting security – means addressing inequality, building prosperity, acting on climate and protecting the environment on which we depend.

Australia has considerable power and agency, more than enough to pursue this kind of security. We are a rich country. We have the 13th largest economy in the world. When that world is on fire, we could choose to focus on fighting the flames instead of fanning them.

Instead of spending upwards of $368 billion on escalatory military hardware, we could invest in things that make us safer. That could involve simple, practical choices.

As of early 2024, for example, Australia had a fleet of just six large fixed-wing air tankers, 15 large helicopters, 70 medium and small helicopters, 56 small fixed-wing firebombers, and 15 light fixed-wing aircraft available for firefighting. Most of that fleet is privately owned; the government leases them as required.

Annual government spending on this fleet totals around $125 million. Over a 30-year period – the same delivery timeline imagined for the AUKUS deal – that’s about $3.75 billion.

Put another way, that amounts to about 1% of the AUKUS budget. That it seems so unrealistic or even unreasonable to suggest that we might spend that kind of money on firefighting equipment instead of weapons is a marker of our current politics. But what would actually make us safer?

Investment in that kind of security is something we could do. We could decide, like Norway, that instead of charging our kids to go to university and subsidising fossil fuels to the tune of $14 billion, we could instead tax fossil fuels and make university free.

We could invest in public education, in public health, and action on climate change. We could operate in genuine partnership with countries in our region to build collective security.

As the former treasurer Josh Frydenberg said when asked about the eye-watering amount of money his government had committed to AUKUS: “everything is affordable if it’s a priority”.

Genuine democratic solidarity

None of that means abandoning our relationship with the United States. It does mean that relationship must change. We can rebalance and reprioritise that relationship away from its blind focus on a hollow understanding of “security” towards a genuine democratic solidarity.

Australia can seek out, and support, those with an interest in the revival of American democracy, in Congress, in the courts, and in civil society. We can try to be the kind of friend that brings out the best in someone and pushes back on their worst instincts. The kind of friend that rejects demands for blind fealty. A real friend.

We, and the rest of the world along with us, have choices, power, and agency. We do not have to weather whatever Trump’s America throws at us, hoping in vain for rare and costly scraps of his benevolence.

As the Board of the Doomsday Clock explained in early 2025, we are in this situation precisely because “despite unmistakable signs of danger, national leaders and their societies have failed to do what is needed to change course”.

Disaster is not inevitable.

We are capable of doing things differently from how we have done them before. We could play a leadership role in building genuine global security, by acting on climate change, on nuclear non-proliferation, on peacebuilding, and on safeguarding the international rule of law.

Instead, we consistently underestimate and undermine our own influence by refusing to acknowledge what we have and refusing to consider what we might do with it.

We could continue to choose irrelevance, or subservience, or we could choose something else. We could choose to continue with our usual meaningless and cowardly gestures towards a kind of “national security” that is, in reality, no security at all.

Or we could choose another world. We could build a vision and a plan, together, for what this country and the world might look like after America. And that post-America world is coming whether we like it or not.

What Australia does matters. Our choices matter. We can choose to build a world after America. A world that is better and safer than the one we had before.

This is an edited extract from After America: Australia and the new world order by Emma Shortis (Australia Institute Press)

Emma Shortis, Adjunct Senior Fellow, School of Global, Urban and Social Studies, RMIT University

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

Head lice, fleas and tapeworms have been humanity’s companions throughout our evolutionary history. Yet, the greatest parasite of the modern age is no blood-sucking invertebrate. It is sleek, glass-fronted and addictive by design. Its host? Every human on Earth with a wifi signal.

Far from being benign tools, smartphones parasitise our time, our attention and our personal information, all in the interests of technology companies and their advertisers.

In a new article in the Australasian Journal of Philosophy, we argue smartphones pose unique societal risks, which come into sharp focus when viewed through the lens of parasitism.

What, exactly, is a parasite?

Evolutionary biologists define a parasite as a species that benefits from a close relationship with another species – its host – while the host bears a cost.

The head louse, for example, is entirely dependent on our own species for its survival. They only eat human blood, and if they become dislodged from their host, they survive only briefly unless they are fortunate enough to fall onto another human scalp. In return for our blood, head lice give us nothing but a nasty itch; that’s the cost.

Smartphones have radically changed our lives. From navigating cities to managing chronic health diseases such as diabetes, these pocket-sized bits of tech make our lives easier. So much so that most of us are rarely without them.

Yet, despite their benefits, many of us are hostage to our phones and slaves to the endless scroll, unable to fully disconnect. Phone users are paying the price with a lack of sleep, weaker offline relationships and mood disorders.

From mutualism to parasitism

Not all close species relationships are parasitic. Many organisms that live on or inside us are beneficial.

Consider the bacteria in the digestive tracts of animals. They can only survive and reproduce in the gut of their host species, feeding on nutrients passing through. But they provide benefits to the host, including improved immunity and better digestion. These win-win associations are called mutualisms.

The human-smartphone association began as a mutualism. The technology proved useful to humans for staying in touch, navigating via maps and finding useful information.

Philosophers have spoken of this not in terms of mutualism, but rather as phones being an extension of the human mind, like notebooks, maps and other tools.

From these benign origins, however, we argue the relationship has become parasitic. Such a change is not uncommon in nature; a mutualist can evolve to become a parasite, or vice versa.

Smartphones as parasites

As smartphones have become near-indispensible, some of the most popular apps they offer have come to serve the interests of the app-making companies and their advertisers more faithfully than those of their human users.

These apps are designed to nudge our behaviour to keep us scrolling, clicking on advertising and simmering in perpetual outrage.

The data on our scrolling behaviour is used to further that exploitation. Your phone only cares about your personal fitness goals or desire to spend more quality time with your kids to the extent that it uses this information to tailor itself to better capture your attention.

So, it can be useful to think of users and their phones as akin to hosts and their parasites – at least some of the time.

While this realisation is interesting in and of itself, the benefit of viewing smartphones through the evolutionary lens of parasitism comes into its own when considering where the relationship might head next – and how we could thwart these high-tech parasites.

Where policing comes in

On the Great Barrier Reef, bluestreak cleaner wrasse establish “cleaning stations” where larger fish allow the wrasse to feed on dead skin, loose scales and invertebrate parasites living in their gills. This relationship is a classic mutualism – the larger fish lose costly parasites and the cleaner wrasse get fed.

Sometimes the cleaner wrasse “cheat” and nip their hosts, tipping the scale from mutualism to parasitism. The fish being cleaned may punish offenders by chasing them away or withholding further visits. In this, the reef fish exhibit something evolutionary biologists see as important to keeping mutualisms in balance: policing.

Could we adequately police our exploitation by smartphones and restore a net-beneficial relationship?

Evolution shows that two things are key: an ability to detect exploitation when it occurs, and the capacity to respond (typically by withdrawing service to the parasite).

A difficult battle

In the case of the smartphone, we can’t easily detect the exploitation. Tech companies that design the various features and algorithms to keep you picking up your phone aren’t advertising this behaviour.

But even if you’re aware of the exploitative nature of smartphone apps, responding is also more difficult than simply putting the phone down.

Many of us have become reliant on smartphones for everyday tasks. Rather than remembering facts, we offload the task to digital devices – for some people, this can change their cognition and memory.

We depend on having a camera for capturing life events or even just recording where we parked the car. This both enhances and limits our memory of events.

Governments and companies have only further cemented our dependence on our phones, by moving their service delivery online via mobile apps. Once we pick up the phone to access our bank accounts or access government services, we’ve lost the battle.

How then can users redress the imbalanced relationship with their phones, turning the parasitic relationship back to a mutualistic one?

Our analysis suggests individual choice can’t reliably get users there. We are individually outgunned by the massive information advantage tech companies hold in the host-parasite arms race.

The Australian government’s under-age social media ban is an example of the kind of collective action required to limit what these parasites can legally do. To win the battle, we will also need restrictions on app features known to be addictive, and on the collection and sale of our personal data.

Rachael L. Brown, Director of the Centre for Philosophy of the Sciences and Associate Professor of Philosophy, Australian National University and Rob Brooks, Scientia Professor of Evolution, UNSW Sydney

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

In the late 1970s, when I was a fine arts student, the Melbourne University Gallery was just one room in a neo-gothic quadrangle. It wasn’t until the mid 1990s that the university commissioned Nonda Katzalidis to design a four-story concrete gallery on a narrow site fronting Swanston Street.

The Ian Potter Museum of Art quickly became a vital centre for displaying diverse university collections – from classical antiquities to post-war bark paintings and contemporary art.

The re-opening of the museum, after it closed for renovations in 2018, is an art event of major proportions with the architectural clout to match.

The newest addition by Randal Marsh of Wood Marsh Architects transforms an adjacent red-brick building. A polished-steel portal gives onto stylish spaces: high vaulted ceilings, a light-filled atrium, new teaching rooms and luxurious bathrooms. There is now a serious restaurant with a long dining room, open kitchen and balcony café.

Named “Residence” for its annual chef-in-residence program, starting with the Michelin-starred Robbie Noble, this may well become the go-to space for visitors, academics and students alike.

All expectations are exceeded by the opening exhibition 65,000 Years, a Short History of Australian Art. The title emphasises both the ancient Indigenous presence on this continent, and cheekily suggests that the main art that’s been made here is Aboriginal.

As we recognise the monumental contributions of bark painting from the 1940s on, dot-painting from the 1970s on, and urban art starting in the 1980s, there is much to commend this view.

Grand ambitions

The exhibition, in eight main spaces over three floors, has an ambition and scope exceeding landmark surveys such as Dreamings: Art of Aboriginal Australia (1988) and Aratjara: Art of the First Australians (1993).

There is a powerful curatorial will here, led by the legendary public intellectual and Indigenous scholar Marcia Langton, who initiated the project.

She engaged one of the country’s most effective and knowledgeable curators in Judith Ryan, known for her series of field-defining exhibitions over four decades at the National Gallery of Victoria.

Working together with associate curator Shanysa McConville, their exhibition is both politically astute in its management of tough historical issues, and visually stunning. The team has sourced superlative, large-scale examples of major artists’ work from private and public sources to sit alongside the university collections.

It’s an exhibition that repays hours of looking, aided by the curators’ exemplary wall labels. A sumptuously illustrated 340-page tome published by Thames & Hudson Australia for the Potter supports a deeper dive. This includes 23 essays by both Indigenous and non-Indigenous writers who delve into specific groups of work.

An example is the pungent essay by Grazia Gunn, who in 1973 exhibited the University’s rare barks from Groote Eylandt, presented in 1946 by the Jewish refugee Leonhard Adam.

These barks can be seen again in the show, near a masterful assemblage of early barks from Yirrkala, painted in 1937 at the request of ethnographer Donald Thomson. This selection is unprecedented: a dozen barks with complete body designs for mardayin (mens’ ceremony), organised across clan groups.

Truth telling

Throughout 65,000 Years, there is a powerful truth-telling element on frontier wars and massacres. The early recognition of First Peoples’ work as art in the assembled barks goes some way to balancing Melbourne University’s own chapter of shame.

In the side gallery, Langton and team present the role of Melbourne University medical anatomists, eugenicists and physical anthropologists in grave-robbing, and promoting the illicit collection and sale of Aboriginal remains, right up to the mid-1930s.

On a big-screen video Langton, seated in a massive carved cathedral chair like a modern-day Delphic Oracle, dispassionately retells this grisly truth.

The exhibition is comprehensive as it moves across regions and eras in a deft interplay with the building’s shifting levels. The ground floor (bar a stunning atrium enlaced with newly commissioned women’s baskets and “sun-mats”) deals with the imagery of contact from early colonial settlements.

A group of French and British drawings of First Peoples are true portraits in the sense that the sitters are named. Late 19th century colour drawings by Barak or Mickey of Ulladulla are next to rare archival finds: distressing drawings of police reprisals by Oscar (Kuku-Yalanji), from 1898, and six lyrical drawings by Blak inmates of the Darwin Gaol, mounted together under the title “Dawn of Art” for display at the 1888 Melbourne Centenary Exhibition.

Entering this colonial/decolonial zone, the glowering work of the late, great Gordon Bennett sets the precedent for the current historical citation and appropriation of colonial imagery.

His example has inspired artists from Richard Bell and Brook Andrew to Megan Cope and Daniel Boyd.

Bennett, faithfully represented by Melbourne’s Sutton Gallery through his life, was a McGeorge Fellow at Melbourne Uni in 1993, producing the groundbreaking Mirrorama installation with Groote Eylandt barks in opposition to classical busts. A gentle man and great thinker in art, Bennett then, as now, adds lustre to the Potter.

65,000 Years, a Short History of Australian Art is at the Potter Museum of Art, Melbourne, until November 22.

Roger Benjamin, Professor in Art History, University of Sydney

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

The Coroners Court of Victoria is undertaking an inquest into the deaths of eight aged care residents across six facilities, over a nine-month period in 2021.

Each death occurred after an interaction between residents, known as resident-to-resident aggression.

If your loved one is living in aged care, it’s natural to be distressed and concerned for their safety after hearing about these deaths.

Here’s what we know about when and where it’s more likely to happen, how relatives can safeguard their loved ones, and what’s happening across the system to reduce the risk of it occurring.

What does it look like?

Resident-to-resident aggression refers to aggressive and intrusive interactions between long-term care residents that would likely be unwelcome and potentially cause the recipient physical or psychological distress or harm. It includes physical, sexual and verbal aggression.

However, the term “aggression” is potentially misleading. In most cases, the residents involved are not consciously intending to cause harm.

The prevalence of resident-to-resident aggression in aged care has been estimated at 20%, but is likely under-reported. This means that over a month, 20% of aged care residents are likely to experience an incident of resident-to-resident aggression. This is usually verbal abuse or an invasion of privacy.

The variation in reported prevalence rates makes it hard to know if the rate is increasing.

The consequences of resident-to-resident aggression range in seriousness from functional decline, to psychological or physical injury, to death.

In 2017, we published a national study of deaths from resident-to-resident aggression in nursing home residents in Australia. Over 14 years, we identified 28 deaths.

Almost 90% of residents involved – either as an “exhibitor” (often referred to as the aggressor) or a target – had dementia. Three-quarters of those diagnosed with dementia had a history of behavioural and psychological symptoms of dementia, including wandering and physical aggression.

Exhibitors of aggressive behaviour were mostly male (85.7%), often younger, and more recently admitted to the aged care facility than the target.

Resident-to-resident aggression leading to death was most likely to occur between two male residents.

Half of all incidents leading to death involved a resident pushing and the target falling, leading to injuries such as hip fracture and head injury. This underscores the vulnerabilities posed by physical frailty among aged care residents.

Incidents resulting in death occurred mostly in communal areas, reflecting the ongoing challenges of an aged care system that relies on residents living together.

Learning from past incidents

Resident-to-resident aggression was previously brought to national attention by the death of a resident at the Oakden facility in South Australia. This led to a coronial inquest and the facility closed in 2017.

The case raised issues including the need for residents exhibiting potentially aggressive behaviour to have regular clinical reviews, accurate and detailed documentation, and adequate escalation and reporting of any incidents of aggression.

Since 2021, facilities have been required to report incidents of “unreasonable use of force”. The Australian Aged Care Quality and Safety Commission monitors these events through the Serious Incident Response Scheme.

The last report, from March 2023, provides a series of case studies and highlights the need for better approaches to behaviour support and risk assessment.

However, prevention requires a broader systems-based approach to better understand the problem, and generate and evaluate interventions. This should include reviewing trends at the facility, provider and national level.

Approaching individual situations

Resident-to-resident aggression is expected to become more common as more people are diagnosed with dementia.

Cognitive impairment in both the exhibitor of aggressive behaviour and targets makes this more complex, as a resident could become either one, depending on the precipitating circumstances.

In one-third of the cases we analysed, the exhibitor of aggressive behaviour and the target had been involved in an earlier incident together in the past 12 months. This suggests there are opportunities for intervention.

Are police involved?

When serious injury or death occurs, it is the role of police to investigate the incident and refer to the Office of Public Prosecutions, if appropriate.

Attributing legal responsibility is problematic and criminal charges are rarely filed. This may be because the residents involved are unfit for police interview or unfit to stand trial.

Alternatively, prosecution may not be deemed in the public interest.

Managing symptoms of dementia

Dementia may impair a person’s ability to reason, express their needs and manage their emotions. It can also impair their ability to respond, in a socially acceptable way, to interpersonal conflict.

Behaviour-management strategies to support the person with dementia include having a calm environment with a familiar routine and clear communication.

Over the past decade, more formal services have become available to help manage behavioural and psychological symptoms of dementia.

Dementia Support Australia operates a Severe Behaviour Response Team which is available 24/7, responding to referrals from health professionals within 48 hours.

Specialist dementia care units also operate across Australia, as recommended by the Royal Commission into Aged Care Quality and Safety final report.

Managing dementia symptoms requires multidisciplinary expertise spanning the aged care, disability and mental health sectors. Yet integrating these services remains a challenge.

The federal government has committed to addressing the sub-optimal management of residents living with dementia.

Supporting your loved one

If you’re worried about your loved one, the first step is to express these concerns directly to the facility staff, as you would with any other matter. Open communication helps the facility staff to get to know your loved one and provide more tailored support.

Being better informed about the subject can help you to advocate for your loved one.

The Older Persons Advocacy Network is available to residents for free, independent and confidential support. They can advocate for you if you feel your concerns aren’t being heard or your loved one’s care is compromised.

What happens next with the inquest?

The Coroners Court will investigate this important and distressing issue and aims to reduce the number of preventable deaths.

The coroner will hear the evidence, and may make formal recommendations about how to improve resident safety. Government agencies are required to consider and respond to these recommendations.

It’s clear we have a long way to go to safeguard the rights of older people living in residential care.

Joseph Ibrahim, Professor, Aged Care Medical Research Australian Centre for Evidence Based Aged Care, La Trobe University and Amelia Grossi, Casual Academic, Australian Centre for Evidence Based Aged Care, La Trobe University

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

For patients hospitalized with chest pain, the amount of time they spend sedentary afterward is linked to a greater risk for more heart problems and death within a year. That’s the key finding of a new peer-reviewed study my colleagues and I published in the journal Circulation: Cardiovascular Quality and Outcomes.

We asked 609 emergency room patients experiencing chest pain — average age of 62 — to wear a physical activity monitor for 30 days after leaving the hospital. The monitor measured movements, sitting time and sleep throughout the day. We then followed patients for one year to track whether they had additional heart problems or died.

We found that patients who averaged more than 15 hours of sedentary behavior daily — which does not include sleep — were more than twice as likely to experience more heart problems or die in the year after discharge than patients who accrued a daily average of 12 hours of sedentary time.

But our goal wasn’t just to document that sitting is harmful. It was also to figure out what patients should do instead to lower their risk.

We found that replacing 30 minutes of sedentary time with moderate or vigorous movement, like brisk walking or running, was most beneficial. It was associated with a 62% lower risk of experiencing more heart problems or dying in the year after discharge. But we also found that replacing 30 minutes of sedentary time with just light movement, such as slow walking or housework, lowered the risk of heart problems and death by 50%.

Sleep was also a healthier option. Replacing 30 minutes of sedentary time with sleep lowered the risk of heart problems and death by 14%.

Why it matters

Over 8 million people in the U.S. are admitted to the hospital with chest pain suggestive of acute coronary syndrome. annually. This covers a range of conditions involving reduced blood flow to the heart, including angina and heart attack.

Patients with acute coronary syndrome remain at high risk of having another heart problem even with optimal medical treatment.

The risk also remains high for patients with chest pain who are discharged without a diagnosis of acute coronary syndrome, as their unexplained chest pain may be a precursor to more serious heart problems. Given this risk, there is a need to identify risk factors that can be modified to improve a patient’s prognosis after hospitalization for chest pain.

In previous research, we found that patients with acute coronary syndrome had a fear of exercise and were sedentary, spending over 13 hours a day sitting.

Given that sedentary behavior has been linked to poor heart health in the general population, we were concerned that patients were unknowingly increasing their risk of having another heart problem.

Our latest findings confirm that sedentary time is a harmful behavior for these patients. But beyond telling patients to stop sitting so much, our work provides important guidance: Any movement, regardless of how intense, can be beneficial after hospitalization. This is especially relevant for people recovering from heart problems who may find exercise difficult or scary.

While exercise provides the best “bang for your buck” in terms of health benefits, our findings are good news for patients who may not have the time, ability or desire to exercise. And for those unable to fit in more movement, just getting an extra half hour of sleep is a small, doable step that can make a meaningful difference for your health after hospitalization.

What still isn’t known

Researchers don’t fully understand why sedentary time is harmful. Muscles help regulate blood sugar and lipid levels. It is thought that when muscles aren’t used, such as when patients sit for hours, this can lead to harmful elevations in blood sugar and lipids.

In turn, this can cause inflammation, plaque buildup in the arteries and organ damage. More research is needed to understand the biological mechanisms so that we can determine just how much movement is needed in a day.

What’s next

While our study highlights the potential risks of sedentary behavior after being hospitalized for chest pain, it was an observational study. Clinical trials are needed to confirm that replacing sedentary time with activity or sleep can improve prognosis.

The Research Brief is a short take on interesting academic work.

Keith Diaz, Associate Professor of Behavioral Medicine, Columbia University

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

New evidence has linked physical activity with improved colon health, underscoring the vital role of exercise in cancer prevention and care.

The landmark international trial – the Challenge study – showed that structured exercise programmes can dramatically improve survival rates for colon cancer survivors.

The study was unveiled at the meeting of the American Society of Clinical Oncology. Each June, cancer specialists from around the world convene in Chicago for the conference where new research is announced that pushes the boundaries of cancer treatment and this year’s conference featured a wealth of exciting discoveries.

Conducted across six countries and published in the New England Journal of Medicine, the Challenge study tracked 889 patients for several years following chemotherapy. Participants were randomly assigned to one of two groups: one received standard post-treatment care, while the other took part in a three-year coaching programme that included personalised exercise plans and regular check-ins with fitness professionals.

The results were striking. Those in the exercise group experienced 28% fewer cancer recurrences and 37% fewer deaths.

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In the programme, people slowly built up how much they exercised, with most choosing to go on brisk 45-minute walks four times a week. Ninety per cent of the people who exercised stayed cancer free for five years, compared with just 74% of those who didn’t.

This study provides the first strong evidence that exercise not only correlates with better outcomes but directly improves survival rates in cancer patients. While earlier observational studies found a link between being active and better cancer outcomes, this first randomised controlled trial helps show causation, meaning that exercise can directly benefit the survival of cancer patients.

We don’t know yet if the same goes for other cancers like breast, prostate or lung, but it’s a big step forward.

The programme’s success hinged on consistent support. Participants met with fitness coaches every two weeks at first, then monthly, which helped them stick to their routines even after treatment ended.

While minor injuries such as muscle strains were slightly more common among those who exercised (19% compared to 12% in the control group), researchers emphasised that these issues were manageable and far outweighed by the significant survival benefits.

Potential downsides to exercise?

In contrast to the encouraging findings on structured exercise, a separate study presented in Chicago has raised questions about the potential downsides of extreme endurance training.

Researchers tracking marathon runners found a higher rate of polyps (small growths in the colon that can sometimes develop into cancer) compared with the general population. This unexpected finding has sparked a fresh debate about the effect of high-intensity exercise on long-term colon health.

However, context is needed. The study did not find higher cancer rates among runners, and most of the detected polyps were low risk.

Several possible explanations have been offered: endurance athletes may simply undergo more frequent screenings, leading to increased detection, or intense exercise might temporarily raise inflammation markers. Crucially, the overall risk of cancer remains lower in active people than in those who are more sedentary, reinforcing the well-established protective benefits of regular exercise.

This apparent contradiction highlights the medical community’s evolving understanding of the “dose” of physical activity. While moderate exercise is consistently linked to significant health benefits, emerging data from endurance athletes suggests that extreme, high-intensity training may place different kinds of stress on the body’s systems.

Researchers also suggest that factors such as dehydration during long-distance runs, changes in gut function, or the use of certain nutritional supplements common among endurance athletes could play a role in polyp development. These findings don’t diminish the well-documented benefits of physical activity, but instead point to the importance of personalised, balanced health strategies.

For cancer survivors, the structured exercise study provides a message of practical hope. Participants aimed for the equivalent of about three hours of brisk walking per week, gradually increasing their activity levels over time.

The programme’s social support was key, with fitness coaches helping participants tailor their routines to match their abilities and recovery needs.

Exercise is believed to affect key biological processes – including insulin sensitivity, inflammation and immune function – that play important roles in cancer development and progression. Ongoing research is analysing participants’ blood samples to better understand these mechanisms and eventually create personalised exercise “prescriptions” based on an individual’s genetic profile.

While the findings from marathon runners are less conclusive, they still offer practical takeaways. The research suggests that although vigorous exercise is generally beneficial, high-intensity athletes may face a higher risk of developing polyps and should therefore consider regular colonoscopies as a precaution.

For the general public, these findings reinforce that combining moderate exercise with timely screenings offers the best protection against colon cancer, a disease that remains the fourth most common worldwide and is alarmingly increasing among young people.

For both patients and athletes, these findings highlight a central truth: movement matters, but the right approach is crucial. Colon cancer survivors now have proven tools to reduce recurrence through structured exercise, while endurance enthusiasts gain motivation to pair their training with preventative care.

As science continues unravelling the intricate dance between activity and biology, one message remains clear: whether recovering from illness or chasing personal bests, informed exercise combined with medical guidance is the most reliable path to long-term health.

Justin Stebbing, Professor of Biomedical Sciences, Anglia Ruskin University

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

Three and a half years ago, then-sex discrimination commissioner Kate Jenkins’ Set the Standard report was handed to federal parliament, commissioned after Brittany Higgins’ allegations of sexual assault in Parliament House, which had shocked the public and politicians alike. Since then, work has been underway to implement its 28 recommendations.

The report found unacceptable levels of sexual harassment, bullying and misconduct in parliamentary workplaces, and laid out a radical plan to create a standards regime. The plan would provide tools to deal with such conduct, and try to prevent it by changing the culture of parliament.

In 2025, parliament’s implementation of the Jenkins review is due to be evaluated by an external independent reviewer. Have the recommendations been implemented? What are the prospects for continued reform of conduct in the parliamentary workplace? Will the election of an historic number of women into parliament create pressure for further reform?

Action after the review

On February 8 2022, the first sitting day of federal parliament after the Jenkins review had been handed down, both houses of parliament made an historic statement of acknowledgement and apology to the victims of misconduct in its workplace. It stated:

We say sorry. […] This place and its members are committed to bringing about lasting and meaningful change to both culture and practice within our workplaces. We today declare our personal and collective commitment to make the changes required.

Parliamentarians committed to implement all 28 recommendations of the Jenkins review. A cross-party body was created to lead the implementation process.

Known as the Parliamentary Leadership Taskforce, it had members from both houses of parliament, ministers and legislators, Labor, the Coalition, the Greens and one independent parliamentarian. It worked hard for three years to design and put in place the rules and mechanisms laid out in the Jenkins review, before disbanding in September 2024.

The magnitude of the changes parliament had to make should not be understated. Among many ground-breaking reforms, it involved developing codes of conduct and a body to enforce them by investigating complaints about breaches of the code.

In February 2023, both houses of parliament agreed on codes of conduct. In October 2024, an Independent Parliamentary Standards Commission was established to receive complaints, investigate and make findings about misconduct. There are seven commissioners, appointed from outside parliament, who are lawyers, former public servants, tribunal members and ex-ombudsmen. For the first time, there will be external independent review of parliamentarians’ conduct.

An independent human resources body for the parliamentary workplace was also created, known as the Parliamentary Workplace Support Service. These are huge achievements and represent historic reforms.

In line with Jenkins’ recommendations, the taskforce committed to an external independent review of parliament’s implementation of the Jenkins report.

But has it been effective?

It is hard to evaluate new rules, systems and bodies that are in their infancy, but one part of the new standards architecture does not represent best practice. After the Independent Parliamentary Standards Commission has completed an investigation of a parliamentarian’s conduct, made findings and recommended sanctions, it will hand its report to the privileges committee in each house.

The privileges committees are made up of parliamentarians, almost exclusively members of the major parties. It is up to these committees to decide on any action to be taken. We won’t know if they depart from the commission’s recommendations, as standards commission reports are not public.

In the United Kingdom House of Commons, which represents best practice in this area, independent investigation reports are handed to a parliamentary committee called the Committee on Standards. Half the members of that committee are MPs, but half are “lay members” – that is, appointed members of the community, including lawyers and HR professionals.

The House of Commons established its standards regime in 2018, and has reviewed and improved it over time. Lay members were placed on the committee because it was evident MPs found it difficult to judge the conduct of their peers and struggled to hold them accountable.

Unfortunately Australia’s new standards system leaves decisions in the hands of parliamentarians, without the corrective and robustness that members of the public would provide. Will the federal parliament continue to reform and reshape its arrangements if they prove not to be robust enough?

Ongoing leadership is needed if parliament is to continue to address conduct issues, drive culture change and refine and develop its new standards regime. Some believe the culture of parliament has improved since the Jenkins review. Others disagree.

There are still recommendations of the review that have not been addressed. These include developing a ten-year strategy to increase diversity in the workplace, establishing a health and wellbeing service in parliament, and introducing an alcohol policy. Now that the Parliamentary Leadership Taskforce has disbanded, who will continue to advance the reform process?

In October 2024, parliament decided to create a Parliamentary Joint Committee on Parliamentary Standards. Its functions include reviewing the operation of the new codes and the Independent Parliamentary Standards Commission.

This committee should play a leadership role on conduct and culture issues, but its membership is tightly restricted. The government dominates positions and all members must also be members of the privileges committees. Presiding officers are not permitted to sit on the committee, despite their important leadership roles and responsibilities in parliament. Crossbenchers and independent parliamentarians are largely locked out of the committee (only two positions are reserved for them), despite the fact they have often been the leading voices calling for culture change.

With the influx of many more women and new faces into the parliament after the election, there is an opportunity to press for continued reform and for membership of the joint committee to include diverse voices from across the parliament.

Maria Maley, Senior Lecturer in Politics, School of Politics and International Relations, Australian National University

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

Toowong Private Hospital in Brisbane is the latest hospital to succumb to financial pressures and will close its doors next week. The industry association attributes the psychiatric hospital’s closure to insufficient payments from and delayed funding negotiations with private insurers.

Meanwhile, the future of Australia’s second-largest hospital provider, Healthscope, remains uncertain, after its parent company went into receivership last week.

Healthscope’s 37 private hospitals are being kept afloat with a A$100 million loan and will continue to operate for now. But the hospitals will be sold to repay lenders, so their future depends on who buys and what the new owners decide to do.

Across the board, private hospitals are struggling with soaring costs for staff and supplies, while private health insurance isn’t paying enough to cover these expenses.

These underlying issues will not disappear magically. More private hospitals will face similar financial troubles and some will be forced to close. But we’re unlikely to see the collapse of the entire private sector.

A mix of public and private

Australia operates a unique public-private health-care mix, with around 700 public and 647 private hospitals.

Public hospitals are largely government-owned and provide free care, funded by taxes. Private hospitals are owned and managed by private organisations, some of which are non-profit.

The private health-care sector plays a large role in Australia, providing 41% of all hospitalisations, however 74% are same-day stays.

Private hospitals are often smaller than public hospitals, without emergency departments, focusing on simpler, same-day care, and are more likely in cities. Some 83% of private hospitals are in metropolitan, 9% in regional centres and 8% in rural towns.

In contrast, 27% of public hospitals are in the major cities, 57% in regional areas and 16% in remote areas.

The role of private health insurance

Most people who access private hospitals have private health insurance or are covered by another system such as Veterans Affairs – otherwise private hospital care is too expensive and few can afford it.

In 2022-23, the total A$21.5 billion was spent on private hospitals. Private health insurance covered about 45% ($9.7 billion), which comes from members’ premiums. Patients contributed 11% ($2.4 billion) in out-of-pocket costs.

The government contributed a substantial 37% ($8 billion) mainly through Medicare. This is separate from the additional $8 billion the government provides annually as rebates to individuals for buying private health insurance.

A key issue is this rebate money doesn’t directly flow to private hospitals, leaving them vulnerable in negotiations with insurers, as we saw with Toowong Private Hospital.

Evidence suggests these rebates might not be the most effective government investment. Experts, including me, have argued for direct funding into hospitals instead.

So, as more private hospitals face troubles, what does this mean?

Less choice and access for patients

Patients will experience less choice and potentially harder access for specific types of care.

In larger metropolitan areas with numerous private and public hospitals (including private wings in public hospitals), patients might switch to other private facilities or seek care as private patients in public hospitals.

However, in smaller or rural areas with limited or no other private hospitals, choice diminishes significantly. In this case, you will need to reconsider whether you need to buy private health insurance.

Currently, people earning over $97,000 (or families over $194,000 face an additional Medicare Levy Surcharge if they don’t hold private health insurance.

This policy is not fair to those who have no access to private hospitals and should be changed.

While there might be slightly longer waits in the short-term for elective surgeries due to shifting patient loads, our analysis suggests this won’t be a major long-term problem. The primary constraint for wait times is often personnel, not facilities.

If private hospitals close, doctors and nurses could potentially shift to public hospitals, helping to alleviate staffing shortages and reduce overall wait times.

Impacts for the public system

The impact on public emergency departments will be minimal, as most private hospitals lack them.

Many private hospital admissions are same-day and for simpler procedures. So public hospitals and remaining private hospitals (that are not operating at full bed capacity) should be able to absorb this extra demand in the long run, if they can attract more staff previously employed (or even facilities) in the closing private hospitals.

These hospitals will also receive additional revenue for these additional procedures.

Consequently, the effect on public hospital wait times for most conditions should not be substantial.

However, some complex, long-stay, or specific mental health cases (such as those from Toowong) may be hard to absorb without additional supply of specialists and funding.

What about health budgets?

In areas where patients are absorbed into existing public hospital capacity or other private facilities, the direct impact on the health budget would be minimal.

With more patients, the remaining private hospitals may gain more power to negotiate better funding contracts with insurance companies and achieve better supplier costs through economies of scale.

In areas where private hospitals (or public hospitals offering private care) cease to be viable, and people drop their private health insurance cover to use public hospitals, the government would pay more directly into public hospitals. However, this increased cost would be partially offset by reduced expenditure on private health insurance rebates.

Patients would also save money on premiums and out-of-pocket costs in private hospitals, though they would lose the choice of private care.

Ultimately, where a private model isn’t financially sustainable, the government or taxpayers often end up bearing the cost anyway.

Investing more directly in public hospitals in these areas, rather than relying on inefficient rebates, could be a more effective solution.

Correction: an earlier version of this article said access to private hospitals requires private health insurance.

Yuting Zhang, Professor of Health Economics, The University of Melbourne

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

The federal government has launched a “rapid review” to look at what works to prevent bullying in schools.

Led by mental health experts, the review will underpin a new national standard to respond to bullying. This follows the death of a young Sydney school student last year.

It also comes as the Queensland government rolls out a A$33 million anti-bullying plan in the state’s schools.

As schools, parents and governments look at what more can be done to prevent bullying, we have to ask why children bully other kids.

If we understand the motives, we can help these children change their behaviour – and achieve their goals or have their needs met in other ways.

What lies behind bullying?

Research tells us children broadly bully for social reasons. For example, a 2022 study showed children can bully to gain social status among peers – to be seen as powerful, tough or cool. Or they can bully to maintain status as part of an in-group. Perhaps another child is seen as a “threat” to that status.

Children can also bully for revenge for perceived insults. Or for entertainment – making a joke at another student’s expense.

Research shows motivations can also differ depending on the type of bullying. For example, face-to-face bullying seems to involve more children who bully for social dominance, while those who cyberbully do it more for entertainment and “fun”.

In a 2014 study, Marilyn Campbell and colleagues asked different groups about their perceptions of why young people engaged in cyber-bullying. Parents said children did it out of revenge for being bullied themselves, teachers said students did it for fun, and students thought others cyber-bullied because of peer pressure.

This highlights how complex understanding children’s motives can be.

Children may not bully for long

We should be careful about thinking of all students who bully as long-term “bullies”.

Most children who bully try the behaviour and stop when it does not get them what they want, just as many children who are victimised are not bullied for long.

Though of course, even being bullied for a short time can still be damaging and traumatic for the student on the receiving end.

This could suggest there is a developmental phase in bullying as most bullying occurs between children in Year 6 through to Year 10.

However, there are those students who persistently bully others and these are the students whose behaviour remains a problem despite interventions and prevention approaches.

Who is more likely to bully?

There are certain personality types who are more likely to persistently bully others. These include:

• students with defensive personalities. This means they think very highly of themselves and actively seek attention but can’t take criticism

• students with narcissistic personalities, who are likely to become aggressive when their egos are threatened

• students who are emotionally unstable.

But research is mixed on the question of self-esteem. Some researchers say children who bully have high self-esteem, yet others have found they have low self-esteem.

There are many reasons why a child might develop the personality traits that would lead them to bully.

Physical abuse in childhood can play a role. There is an association between a child being exposed to domestic violence at home and then bullying their peers.

Parenting can also be a factor. For example, being overvalued but not well disciplined by parents can lead to higher traits of narcissism and a greater likelihood a child will bully.

What can we do?

Children who persistently bully may require targeted and nuanced approaches. Current approaches emphasise restoring positive relationships, rather than punishments or sanctions.

One approach is individual motivational interviewing. Here a school counsellor shows young people they can achieve their goals by other means. This encourages perpetrators to see there are more benefits in not bullying than in bullying. For example, “I want to be popular. But if I bully, I also make other kids scared of me and not want to hang around me.”

More broadly, schools can also teach explicit programs on social and emotional learning.

These programs focus on emotional intelligence and emotional literacy, enabling students to recognise and manage their emotions, understand the perspectives of others and have positive relationships with peers.

Schools which respect the diversity of students, are also better placed to address bullying. If all students have opportunities to participate in learning, it will develop their sense of belonging to their school community. This not only decreases rates of bullying but supports students who have been victimised.

If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800.

Marilyn Campbell, Professor, School of Early Childhood & Inclusive Education, Queensland University of Technology and Shannon O'Brien, PhD Candidate, School of Education, Queensland University of Technology

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

In an emergency, police are often the first called to the scene. But they are rarely equipped to deal with complex mental health crises.

Following recent parliamentary inquiries and royal commissions there has been a push – led by researchers, advocates and some senior police officials – for a shift to a health-led and paramedic-first response.

South Australia is one of a number of states trialling a program based on a “co-responder” model. This means trained specialists accompany police to some mental health call-outs in the community.

So, how do co-responder programs work? And are they effective? Here’s what the evidence says.

The current situation

Mental health legislation in all states and territories gives police the power to use “reasonable force” to transport people who “appear to have a mental illness” to hospital to prevent harm.

In most cases, this involves police taking people experiencing mental health crises to hospital emergency departments, without help from mental health clinicians or paramedics.

Overburdened emergency departments have long wait times for mental health and are often inadequate at responding to people experiencing distress.

Those who need mental health support may not need a hospital stay.

One study found only one in five (23%) of those taken to emergency by police – usually after expressing intention to self-harm – were admitted.

The strain on police resources is also significant. For example, in New South Wales, police now respond to triple zero calls about mental health crises in the community every nine minutes (in Victoria it’s every ten).

Criminalising mental health

The mere presence of police alone can escalate already heightened emotional situations.

Police frequently lack training in mental health, with combative police culture and the militarisation of police training presenting significant problems.

Police often acknowledge they are ill-equipped to intervene in a mental health crisis.

Yet, about one in ten people who access mental health services have previously interacted with police.

These encounters can be risky and even deadly.

People who experience mental health issues are over-represented in incidents of police use of force and fatal shootings.

Police involvement can also lead to the criminalisation of people with mental health issues and disability, as they are more likely to be issued with charges and fines or be arrested.

Yet the main reason police take people to hospital is for self-harm or suicidal distress, and most are not deemed to be of risk to others.

What do people with mental health issues want instead?

In our research, conducted in 2021–2022, we interviewed 20 people across Australia who’d had police intervene when they had a mental health crisis.

Those we spoke to often had multiple experiences of police call-outs over their lifetime.

They told us excessive use of force by police had traumatising and long-term effects. Many were subject to pepper spray, tasers, police dogs, batons, handcuffs and restraints, despite not being accused of committing criminal offences.

For example, Alex*, said:

I was having an anxiety attack, and they pepper sprayed me. I had bruises all over my hands from the handcuffs they put on really roughly, even though I wasn’t under arrest. Then they took me to hospital.

In our study, people with mental health issues said they would prefer an ambulance-led response wherever possible, without police attending at all.

They also wanted to be linked to therapeutic and community-based services, including mental health peer support, housing, disability support and family violence services.

What are co-responder programs?

Co-responder programs aim to de-escalate mental health incidents, reduce the number of emergency department presentations and link people experiencing mental health crises with services.

These programs, such as the one being trialled in South Australia, mean mental health clinicians (for example, social workers, counsellors or psychologists) attend some mental health incidents alongside police.

Peer-reviewed research shows these kinds of responses can be effective when compared to traditional police-led interventions.

An evaluation of a co-response program in Victoria found the mental health response was quicker and higher quality than when police attended alone.

The success of programs in the United States and Canada shows many mental health crises can safely managed without police involvement, for example by addressing issues such as homelessness and addiction with health workers, and reducing the number of arrests.

Limited by a lack of resources

While the evidence shows co-responder schemes are valued by people with lived experience, they are often limited by under-resourcing.

Co-responder programs are not universally available. Often, they do not operate after usual business hours or across regions.

There is also a lack of long-term evaluations of these programs. This means what we understand about their implementation, design and effectiveness over time can be mixed.

More broadly, the mental health sector is facing significant and ongoing labour shortages across Australia, posing another resourcing challenge.

How can responses to mental health crises be improved?

Last year, the final report from the Royal Commission into Victoria’s Mental Health System recommended paramedics should act as first responders in mental health crises wherever possible, instead of police, diverting triple zero calls to Ambulance Victoria.

However that reform has been delayed, with no indication of when it may be implemented.

A 2023 NSW parliamentary inquiry also remarked on the need to explore reducing police involvement.

Co-responder and ambluance-first models offer an improvement.

But our research suggests people with lived experience of mental health issues want more than ambulances replacing the police as crisis responders.

They need a mental health system that supports them and provides what they needed, when they need it: compassionate, timely and non-coercive responses.

*Name has been changed.

If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.

Panos Karanikolas, Research officer, Melbourne Social Equity Institute, The University of Melbourne; Chris Maylea, Professor of Law, La Trobe Law School, La Trobe University, and Hamilton Kennedy, PhD Candidate, La Trobe Law School, La Trobe University

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

On ABC’s 4 Corners this week, psychiatrists and nurses have warned New South Wales’ mental health system is in crisis. They report some patients with severe mental distress are waiting two to three days in emergency departments for care.

The program highlighted chronic failures in NSW’s mental health system, but the shortfalls are being felt across the nation.

Just over 7% of the nation’s health budget is spent on mental health. But together with alcohol and drug issues, mental health accounts for around 15% of the nation’s burden of disease.

Problems in mental health go beyond under-funding: it’s also about how the resources we do have are spent.

So how did we get here? And what can we do to fix it?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this

Back in the 1980s, psychiatric deinstitutionalisation promised to replace treatment provided in the old psychiatric institutions with mental health services and care in the community. Too often, these institutions failed to promote recovery, and delivered improper care and even abuse.

Many of these institutions were indeed closed. But the shift in mental health care over the past 40 years has not been from asylums to the community, but rather to the mental health wards of Australia’s general public hospitals and the emergency departments (EDs) which operate in them.

Hospitals are expensive and often traumatic places to provide mental health care. We know this from frequent statutory inquiries and reports.

For presentations to EDs, all the indicators are heading in the wrong direction. More people are seeking care for their mental health in EDs, they are arriving sicker (according to their triage category) and they wait longer for care.

Hospitals account for more than 80% of total state and territory spending on mental health. In 2022–23, A$6.5 billion of the states and territories’ total spend of $8bn on mental health was directed towards hospital-based care. Just $1bn was provided outside hospitals.

Evidence indicates community-based care can reduce reliance on EDs for mental health care.

Yet community mental health services now often comprise little more than a phone call to check if a client is taking their medication. Of the 9.4 million community mental health service contacts in 2022–3, 4 million lasted less than 15 minutes.

Mental health clinical staff spend just 20% of their time with consumers.

What are the solutions?

The solutions are already at hand, but haven’t been pursued or scaled up. These include:

• multidisciplinary models such as assertive community treatments, which provide mixed specialist clinical and psychosocial support in the community, in people’s homes

• service models the Australian College of Emergency Medicine have proposed as alternatives to hospital ED care. These include safe havens, mental health nurse liaison services and dedicated homelessness teams. These services can provide the care required to divert patients away from hectic emergency departments, in calmer, more therapeutic spaces

• NSW programs such as the Housing and Accommodation Support Initiative provide community based, clinical and psychosocial support to people with severe mental health needs. This program reduced admissions due to mental health by 74% over two years

• Adelaide’s Urgent Mental Health Care Centre, which operates as an alternative to EDs and is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. This clinic was designed in collaboration with the community, including people with a lived experience of a mental health crisis, and offers a welcoming, safe environment

• Step-Up Step-Down services, which can effectively meet the needs of some of “the missing middle”. These are people whose mental health needs are too complex for primary care but not assessed as a big enough risk to themselves or others to “qualify” for hospital admission.

Funding support for psychosocial services remains tiny. It accounts for about 6% of total spending on mental health care by states and territories.

As a result, almost half a million Australians with either severe or moderate mental health needs are currently unable to access necessary psychosocial care. This impacts their recovery.

It also leaves clinical services without a viable “psychosocial partner”. So people needing mental health care might be able to get a prescription, but are much less likely to receive assistance with unstable housing, employment support or help getting back to school.

Working together

There is already concern to address identified workforce shortages and psychiatrists’ pay disputes.

The next round of mental health planning must also discuss and clarify the complementary roles in mental health care, as people with more complex mental health needs typically benefit from multidisciplinary, team-based care. This includes psychiatrists, psychologists, allied health professionals, nurses, peer workers, social service providers, GPs, justice, school and housing services and others such as drug and alcohol services. Who is best placed to plan and coordinate this care?

Reducing our over-reliance on hospital-based mental health care and EDs needs agreement by all Australian governments to explicitly prioritise the principles of early intervention, community-based mental health care and hospital avoidance in mental health.

These steps, together with more personalised approaches to treatment and better accountability, will help us achieve systemic quality improvement in mental health care.

Sebastian Rosenberg, Associate Professor, Health Research Institute, University of Canberra, and Brain and Mind Centre, University of Sydney

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

On Monday morning local time, a huge cloud of ash, hot gas and rock fragments began spewing from Italy’s Mount Etna.

An enormous plume was seen stretching several kilometres into the sky from the mountain on the island of Sicily, which is the largest active volcano in Europe.

While the blast created an impressive sight, the eruption resulted in no reported injuries or damage and barely even disrupted flights on or off the island. Mount Etna eruptions are commonly described as “Strombolian eruptions” – though as we will see, that may not apply to this event.

What happened at Etna?

The eruption began with an increase of pressure in the hot gases inside the volcano. This led to the partial collapse of part of one of the craters atop Etna.

The collapse allowed what is called a pyroclastic flow: a fast-moving cloud of ash, hot gas and fragments of rock bursting out from inside the volcano.

Next, lava began to flow in three different directions down the mountainside. These flows are now cooling down. On Monday evening, Italy’s National Institute of Geophysics and Volcanology announced the volcanic activity had ended.

Etna is one of the most active volcanoes in the world, so this eruption is reasonably normal.

What is a Strombolian eruption?

Volcanologists classify eruptions by how explosive they are. More explosive eruptions tend to be more dangerous, because they move faster and cover a larger area.

At the mildest end are Hawaiian eruptions. You have probably seen pictures of these: lava flowing sedately down the slope of the volcano. The lava damages whatever it runs into, but it’s a relatively local effect.

As eruptions grow more explosive, they send ash and rock fragments flying further afield.

At the more explosive end of the scale are Plinian eruptions. These include the famous eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD, described by the Roman writer Pliny the Younger, which buried the Roman towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum under metres of ash.

In a Plinian eruption, hot gas, ash, and rock can explode high enough to reach the stratosphere – and when the eruption column collapses, the debris falls to Earth and can wreak terrifying destruction over a huge area.

What about Strombolian eruptions? These relatively mild eruptions are named after Stromboli, another Italian volcano which belches out a minor eruption every 10 to 20 minutes.

In a Strombolian eruption, chunks of rock and cinders may travel tens or hundreds of metres through the air, but rarely further. The pyroclastic flow from yesterday’s eruption at Etna was rather more explosive than this – so it wasn’t strictly Strombolian.

Can we forecast volcano eruptions?

Volcanic eruptions are a bit like weather. They are very hard to predict in detail, but we are a lot better than we used to be at forecasting them.

To understand what a volcano will do in the future, we first need to know what is happening inside it right now. We can’t look inside directly, but we do have indirect measurements.

For example, before an eruption magma travels from deep inside the Earth up to the surface. On the way, it pushes rocks apart and can generate earthquakes. If we record the vibrations of these quakes, we can track the magma’s journey from the depths.

Rising magma can also make the ground near a volcano bulge upwards very slightly, by a few millimetres or centimetres. We can monitor this bulging, for example with satellites, to gather clues about an upcoming eruption.

Some volcanoes release gas even when they are not strictly erupting. We can measure the chemicals in this gas – and if they change, it can tell us that new magma is on its way to the surface.

When we have this information about what’s happening inside the volcano, we also need to understand its “personality” to know what the information means for future eruptions.

Are volcanic eruptions more common than in the past?

As a volcanologist, I often hear from people that it seems there are more volcanic eruptions now than in the past. This is not the case.

What is happening, I tell them, is that we have better monitoring systems now, and a very active global media system. So we know about more eruptions – and even see photos of them.

Monitoring is extremely important. We are fortunate that many volcanoes in places such as Italy, the United States, Indonesia and New Zealand have excellent monitoring in place.

This monitoring allows local authorities to issue warnings when an eruption is imminent. For a visitor or tourist out to see the spectacular natural wonder of a volcano, listening to these warnings is all-important.

Teresa Ubide, ARC Future Fellow and Associate Professor in Igneous Petrology/Volcanology, The University of Queensland

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

As debate rages about the federal government’s plan to lift the tax on earnings on superannuation balances over A$3 million, it’s worth revisiting why we offer super tax breaks in the first place, and why they need to be reformed.

Tax breaks on super contributions mean less tax is paid on super savings than other forms of income. These tax breaks cost the federal budget nearly $50 billion in lost revenue each year.

These tax breaks boost the retirement savings of super fund members. They also ensure workers don’t pay punitively high long-term tax rates on their super, since the impact of even low tax rates on savings compounds over time.

But they disproportionately flow to older and wealthier Australians.

Two thirds of the value of super tax breaks benefit the top 20% of income earners, who are already saving enough for their retirement.

Few retirees draw down on their retirement savings as intended, and many are net savers – their super balance continues to grow for decades after they retire.

By 2060, Treasury expects one-third of all withdrawals from super will be via bequests – up from one-fifth today.

Superannuation in Australia was intended to help fund retirements. Instead, it has become a taxpayer-subsidised inheritance scheme.

The tax breaks aren’t just inequitable; they are economically unsound. Generous tax breaks for super savers mean other taxes (such as income and company taxes) must be higher to make up the forgone revenue. That means the burden falls disproportionately on younger taxpayers.

The government should go further

The government’s plan to increase the tax rate on superannuation earnings for balances exceeding $3 million from 15% to 30% is one modest step towards fixing these problems. The tax would only apply to the amount over $3 million, not the entire balance.

This reform will affect only the top 0.5% of super account holders – about 80,000 people – and save more than $2 billion a year in its first full year.

Claims that not indexing the $3 million threshold will result in the tax affecting most younger Australians, or that it will somehow disproportionately affect younger generations, are simply nonsense.

Rather than being the biggest losers from the lack of indexation, younger Australians are the biggest beneficiaries. It means more older, wealthier Australians will shoulder some of the burden of budget repair and an ageing population. Otherwise, younger generations would bear this burden alone.

The facts speak for themselves: a mere 0.5% of Australians have more than $3 million in their super, and 85% of those are aged over 60.

Even in the unlikely scenario where the threshold remains fixed until 2055 – or for ten consecutive parliamentary terms – it would still only affect the top 10% of retiring Australians. Treasurer Jim Chalmers has rightly pointed out that it is unlikely the threshold will never be lifted.

Far from abandoning the proposed $3 million threshold, the government should go further and drop the threshold to $2 million, and only then index it to inflation, saving the budget a further $1 billion a year.

There is no rationale for offering such generous earnings tax breaks on super balances between $2 million and $3 million.

At the very least, if the $3 million threshold is maintained, it should not be indexed until inflation naturally reduces its real value to $2 million, which is estimated to occur around 2040.

Sure, it’s complicated

Levying a higher tax rate on the earnings of large super balances is complicated by the fact existing super earnings taxes are levied at the fund level, not on individual member accounts.

And it’s true that levying a 15% surcharge on the implied earnings of the account over the year (the change in account balance, net of contributions and withdrawals) will impose a tax on unrealised capital gains, or paper profits.

Taxing capital gains as they build up removes incentives to “lock in” investments to hold onto untaxed capital gains, as the Henry Tax Review recognised. But it can create cash flow problems for some self-managed super fund members who hold assets such as business premises or a farm in their fund.

Yet there are seldom easy answers when it comes to tax changes.

Most people with such substantial super balances are retirees who already maintain enough liquid assets to meet the minimum drawdown requirements.

Indeed, self-managed super funds are legally obligated to have investment strategies that ensure liquidity and the ability to meet liabilities.

In any case, the tax does not have to be paid from super. Australians with large super balances typically earn as much income from investments outside super. And the wealthiest 10% of retirees today rely more on income from outside super than income from super.

Good policy is always the art of the compromise

Australia faces the twin challenges of big budget deficits and stagnant productivity. Tax reform will be needed to respond to both.

Good public policy, like politics, always requires some level of compromise.

Super tax breaks should exist only where they support a policy aim. And on balance, trimming unneeded super tax breaks for the wealthiest 0.5% of Australians would make our super system fairer and our budget stronger.

Brendan Coates, Program Director, Housing and Economic Security, Grattan Institute and Joey Moloney, Deputy Program Director, Housing and Economic Security, Grattan Institute

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

In a new study published today in Nature, we report the discovery of a new long-period transient – and, for the first time, one that also emits regular bursts of X-rays.

Long-period transients are a recently identified class of cosmic objects that emit bright flashes of radio waves every few minutes to several hours. This is much longer than the rapid pulses we typically detect from dead stars such as pulsars.

What these objects are, and how they generate their unusual signals, remains a mystery.

Our discovery opens up a new window into the study of these puzzling sources. But it also deepens the mystery: the object we found doesn’t resemble any known type of star or system in our galaxy – or beyond.

Watching the radio sky for flickers

There’s much in the night sky that we can’t see with human eyes but can detect when we look at other wavelengths, such as radio emissions.

Our research team regularly scans the radio sky using the Australian SKA Pathfinder (ASKAP), operated by CSIRO on Wajarri Yamaji Country in Western Australia. Our goal is to find cosmic objects that appear and disappear (known as transients).

Transients are often linked to some of the most powerful and dramatic events in the universe, such as the explosive deaths of stars.

In late 2023, we spotted an extremely bright source, named ASKAP J1832-0911 (based on its position in the sky), in the direction of the galactic plane. This object is located about 15,000 light years away. This is far, but still within the Milky Way.

A dramatic event

After the initial discovery, we began follow-up observations using telescopes around the world, hoping to catch more pulses. With continued monitoring, we found the radio pulses from ASKAPJ1832 arrive regularly – every 44 minutes. This confirmed it as a new member of the rare long-period transient group.

But we did not just look forward in time – we also looked back. We searched through older telescope data from the same part of the sky. We found no trace of the object before the discovery.

This suggests something dramatic happened shortly before we first detected it – something powerful enough to suddenly switch the object “on”.

Then, in February 2024, ASKAPJ1832 became extremely active. After a quieter period in January, the source brightened dramatically. Fewer than 30 objects in the sky have ever reached such brightness in radio waves.

For comparison, most stars we detect in radio are about 10,000 times fainter than ASKAPJ1832 during that flare-up.

A lucky break

X-rays are a form of light that we can’t see with our eyes. They usually come from extremely hot and energetic environments. Although about ten similar radio-emitting objects have been found so far, none had ever shown X-ray signals.

In March, we tried to observe ASKAPJ1832 in X-rays. However, due to technical issues with the telescope, the observation could not go ahead.

Then came a stroke of luck. In June, I reached out to my friend Tong Bao, a postdoctoral researcher at the Italian National Institute for Astrophysics, to check if any previous X-ray observations had captured the source. To our surprise, we found two past observations from NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory, although the data were still under a proprietary period (not yet public).

We contacted Kaya Mori, a research scientist at Columbia University and the principal investigator of those observations. He generously shared the data with us. To our amazement, we discovered clear X-ray signals coming from ASKAPJ1832. Even more remarkable: the X-rays followed the same 44-minute cycle as the radio pulses.

It was a truly lucky break. Chandra had been pointed at a different target entirely, but by pure coincidence, it caught ASKAPJ1832 during its unusually bright and active phase.

A chance alignment like that is incredibly rare – like finding a needle in a cosmic haystack.

Still a mystery

Having both radio and X-ray bursts is a common trait of dead stars with extremely strong magnetic fields, such as neutron stars (high-mass dead stars) and white dwarf (low-mass dead stars).

Our discovery suggests that at least some long-period transients may come from these kinds of stellar remnants.

But ASKAPJ1832 does not quite fit into any known category of object in our galaxy. Its behaviour, while similar in some ways, still breaks the mould.

We need more observations to truly understand what is going on. It is possible that ASKAPJ1832 is something entirely new, or it could be emitting radio waves in a way we have never seen before.

Ziteng Wang, Associate Lecturer, Curtin Institute of Radio Astronomy (CIRA), Curtin University

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

I grew up with Dorothea Mackellar and The Man from Snowy River, where ragged mountain ranges met the colt from Old Regret. I grew up with the idea that the Australian bush meant endless possibility to breed livestock and find gold in every rock overturned. But these practices of clearing and marking ownership through decree of unproductive agricultural land pushed mob further from their traditional lands. It discredited their voices and their connection to Country.

Indigenous culture is viewed as something that is static, unable to move with the times. It’s one of many stereotypes in Australia, from the deemed requirement of dark skin to “be Aboriginal”, to the assumption that our participation in society only occurred in the time prior to colonisation. Indigenous people and our culture continue to be romanticised and therefore fixed in time.

I want to broaden the story and build a new reality for the future. But to do this I need to break down the stereotypes.

After a yarn about climate change, or my family’s farming legacy, or my Aboriginal heritage, it doesn’t take long before I get asked the same old questions. Questions about the size of our properties, the number of cows, or the length of time we’ve been farming. I find this a bit uncomfortable, given the way Aboriginal land was taken, and the actions made to remove our people from this Country.

More uncomfortable are some of the questions I’m asked in other circles. You aren’t really that Aboriginal, are you? Or, what percentage Aboriginal are you?

Instead of answering, I usually spin a yarn that I believe is more relevant, more representative of my views. I try to challenge the fearful motivations behind these attempts to minimise or negate my voice and my identity.

Indigenous people have more than enough experience on these lands to give things a go and we’re more than capable of working as hard as non-Indigenous people. I’m the fourth generation of my family to raise cattle with humps – the drought-hardy Bos indicus breed – on British-type cattle country. We know how to deal with the floods and the droughts and the pests that creep a little further south each year.

I didn’t have to answer these sorts of questions when I was a kid; these conversations were hidden when my grandparents or great-grandparents were farming and supporting their families. But now they seem to matter.

Today, a farmer’s bio often starts with the numbers. The number of cattle and acres, the number of generations the farm’s been in the family and the volume of commodities produced. But what about the things that aren’t so easily quantified? The knowledge derived from deep and rich sources, of connection running through the veins and told to us by the landscape as we walk it?

This is all despite the challenges outlined in the Australian Beef Report, which estimates the average farm now needs over A$10 million of land assets to be self-sustaining. In the United States, the Department of Agriculture found that 88% of farmers run small family farms, with most relying on off-farm income to keep their passion for feeding people alive. The data is likely not much better in Australia.

Systematically organised land

My connection to food began in the Taree butcher shop my family used to run. I watched my uncles talk shop with old-timers from behind their refrigerated counter and marvelled at the different cuts of meat. Every now and then, my uncles would pause to pass a frankfurter over the counter to a youngster walking past. Back then, there was a generosity of spirit and a deep understanding of where meat came from and how it was produced. Sadly, a lot of that’s been lost to the big supermarkets who cater to customers who prioritise the convenience of getting everything in one place over the chance for a yarn.

These memories remind me of a time when agriculture was celebrated in city streets. Steers were pushed through Sydney to market or the abattoir. Back then, there was a wealth of connections between farmers and the steadily developing city towers. It’s a romantic vision of the past, of course. Poetic.

On Worimi Country, the vast riverbanks nestled deeply in a gorge remind me of what this place once was. So too the marking of a bunya pine, its height visible across the landscape indicating a place of trade or celebration.

In order to connect to this place in a way that prioritises culture and our relationship with the land, we need to learn the lessons she imparts. Indigenous people know this innately; it travels in the veins and minds of those who traverse this Country and is recalled when you hear the clicking jump of the kangaroo sound deep in the drone of the didgeridoo.

The natural flair and intuition of Aboriginal stockmen and stockwomen around livestock is reaffirmed every time I speak to a fellow Aboriginal farmer, and often comes up in reflection during a yarn with non-Indigenous farmers.

Indigenous people did not simply hunt and gather, we had a systematic way of organising the land that meant we used the precious resources wisely, from burning Country appropriately, to planting tubers and native foods, and using fence-like structures to herd kangaroos.

During the extended droughts and floods of the mid-2020s, the sustainability of farming has been top of the news agenda. But what of Indigenous sustainability and land management? Isn’t it time we asked where the Indigenous voices in those discussions are? What if we recognised the 60,000 years of knowledge to understand Australia and its landscapes better?

Take for example the ability to regenerate landscapes and promote growth with the use of fire. By regularly burning bushland, Aboriginal people were also able to keep track of areas in which animals would graze and shelter.

Indigenous people have a connection to the land that goes beyond words, and this contains knowledge of climate adaptation from old times. They’ve survived drought, extreme weather and floods for tens of thousands of years. The knowledge we have gathered can help both farmers and scientists understand how to adapt to a changing climate. We should tap into and value this and embrace what Indigenous Australians have to offer.

Black imagination

Farmers can start by reaching out to local Indigenous groups and working with them to build new, sustainable practices based on Indigenous concepts and knowledge. Local and federal government can also take action, by meeting with Aboriginal farmers to hear their thoughts on how we can make successful and sustainable change.

Our romanticised notion of agriculture threatens our mob’s inclusion, stitching a colonial fabric of Australia’s early agricultural development and removing the black faces who stood alongside early white pioneers to write the next chapter.

This Country is where culture and connection danced upon ancient land with foreign cattle and people, building both a new form of agriculture and a new society. These stories exist in the written accounts of those who crossed these lands during colonisation.

I find these intersections in Australian history fascinating, where horses galloped across ancient bush food-filled landscapes, where tribes met and often helped settlers, and where grasslands were disputed by someone new. Again and again, black imagination accommodated foreign animals, ancient songs calmed new cattle, and boys became men on horseback.

It’s this connection that I yearn for – the honest conversations about what happened here, how this land was overtaken and where we find ourselves now.

Where we can all understand our truths on these lands – how they come together on the ground and through nature and wildlife, livestock and the humans that share the pathways on Country. Where our truths build new romantic connections for the generations to come through shared stories, an awareness of past challenges and opportunities for new agricultural methods.

While the stories of the past still linger across the landscape, I am intrigued by what’s to come. How we can adapt the lessons of the past by coming together to create a more inclusive definition of Australia and what it means to be Australian.

This is an extract from Australia’s Agricultural Identity: An Aboriginal yarn by Joshua Gilbert (Penguin Random House).

Joshua Gilbert, Researcher (Indigenous Policy) Jumbunna Institute for Indigenous Education & Research, University of Technology Sydney

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

In 2021, Banksy revealed a mural of Oscar Wilde, clad in prisoner garb, making an escape from the abandoned Reading jail. The artist claimed that he would donate profits from the sale of the stencil he used to create the work (a projected £10 million) to set up an arts hub in the Grade II listed building.

This hasn’t yet taken place, but speaking about the work at the time, Banksy dubbed Wilde “the patron saint of smashing two contrasting ideas together to create magic. Converting the place that destroyed him into a refuge for art feels so perfect we have to do it.”

In 1895, Wilde was sentenced to two years of hard labour for “gross indecency” after being convicted of “homosexual acts”. He was posthumously pardoned in 2017 under the Turing Law.

The Ballad of Reading Gaol, which he wrote two years after his release, hypnotically details the psychological and physical horrors of living in isolation in unsanitary single-cells for 23 hours a day.

It also reveals the mind-numbing conditions and physically exhausting jobs that were relentlessly inflicted on prisoners in Wilde’s day. They were required to ascend 56 steps a minute for nine hours a day on a treadmill, break stones and pick oakum (fibres from the ropes used on ships). And to do so in complete silence.

This article is part of Rethinking the Classics. The stories in this series offer insightful new ways to think about and interpret classic books and artworks. This is the canon – with a twist.

In the poem, Wilde details the intense surveillance techniques and harsh punishments adopted by the prison wardens against the “outcast men”.

“Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb,” he writes, the inmates silently trudge the prison yard in their one allotted hour of exercise per day. The poem focuses on one prisoner in particular, named only as CTW, who is sentenced to death for murdering his wife. It traces his walk to the “hideous” shed where he is to be executed, which ghoulishly sees him “cross his own coffin”.

More gothic images abound. CTW’s impending burial in an unhallowed and anonymous grave is described as “with yawning mouth the horrid hole / Gaped for a living thing” while “the very mud cried out for blood”.

Wilde also references a scene from Coleridge’s 1797 masterpiece The Rime of the Ancient Mariner as he envisions phantoms dancing a “grisly masque” in which they sing of inexorable triumph of sin in prison, “the Secret House of Shame”.

Moreover, Wilde denies that the sacrifice that CTW has offered to the prison with his execution is ultimately redemptive for him as:

He did not pass in purple pomp

Nor ride a moon-white steed

Three yards of cord and a sliding board

Are all the gallows need.

In the ballad, Wilde represents the prison experience as sadistic and unrelenting. Much like Banksy over a century later, Wilde used the degree of anonymity the poem afforded (he published it under his cell number, C33) to berate an inhumane society and the distressing penal policy of “hard labour, hard fare, hard board” that he was forced to endure.

The Ballad of Reading Gaol can ultimately be read as a celebration of compassion, resilience and art activism. Through the poem and letters he wrote to the Daily Chronicle, Wilde publicly attempted to “try and change [prison life] for others”.

Despite Wilde’s public notoriety, Irish MPs Michael Davitt and T.P. O’Connor even went as far as to quote the ballad in parliamentary debates, which led to the adoption of some of the recommendations that Wilde had made in his letters in the 1898 Prison Reform Act.

Although Wilde, himself, was to suffer the psychological and physical effects of his imprisonment until the end of his short life two years later, the 1898 Act saw the treadmill abolished, ensured solitary confinement could only be used for a maximum of 28 days and children were separated from adult prisoners. And yet, sadly, Wilde’s description of “the foul and dark latrine” of “humanity’s machine” continues to reverberate today.

On August 22 2024, “independent monitors” into the conditions at Wandsworth Prison (where Wilde was briefly held) found it to be “crumbling, overcrowded and vermin-infested, with inmates living in half the cell space available when it was first opened in 1851”.

While Wilde’s “swan song” joins with Banksy’s escaped prisoner to expose the failings of modern penal practices, it also reminds us of the enduring power of art and imagination to foster change.

Beyond the canon

As part of the Rethinking the Classics series, we’re asking our experts to recommend a book or artwork that tackles similar themes to the canonical work in question, but isn’t (yet) considered a classic itself. Here is Sondeep Kandola’s suggestion:

If you are looking for further reading on the topic of prison life and the prison experience, Andy West’s memoir The Life Inside (2022) offers a sobering and often witty reflection on living in the carceral state today. A philosophy teacher in prison, West explores the notion of freedom, redemption and our broken prison system.

You might also be interested to read Brendan Behan’s powerful 1958 autobiography Borstal Boy and Bobby Sands’ courageous Writings from Prison (2020), two incarcerated Irish writers who shared Wilde’s republican sympathies and similarly questioned the ethics and integrity of the British government who imprisoned them.

Sondeep Kandola, Senior Lecturer in English Literature and Cultural History, Liverpool John Moores University

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

A friend of mine came to see me recently complaining of an odd ache he’d noted in his lower abs and groin. He couldn’t blame it on crunches at the gym, nor a cow kicking him in the belly again (he’s a farmer). But he does spend a fair amount of his time on the football pitch and was now noticing that every training session and match was bringing the pain on – sometimes agonisingly so.

The diagnosis? A sports hernia. This condition also goes by many other names, including athletic pubalgia and Gilmore’s groin – after the late British surgeon Jerry Gilmore who was the first to coin it. It’s actually a fairly recently described condition, dating back to only the 1980s.

The main symptom of a sports hernia is pain in the pubic and groin regions, brought on through athletic activity. The condition is actually more common that you think, especially so in footballers. Around 70% of all sports hernias appear to be related to the sport. It’s also estimated that groin pain accounts for around 5-18% of athletic injuries.

A sport’s hernia is not your typical hernia. In fact, it’s not really a hernia at all.

A true hernia is defined as when a section of tissue or organ passes into a space where it shouldn’t be. Many will be aware of those hernias which involve a section of bowel passing through the abdominal wall – such as an inguinal hernia.

There are other types of hernias as well. For instance, your stomach can pop through a gap in the diaphragm and into the chest (called a hiatus hernia). More seriously, even the brain can herniate – out of one of the holes in the skull.

But a sports hernia is different, in that it actually arises from overuse of the abdominal muscles.

The abdominals include the long, straight and central “rectus abdominis” muscles – which allow you to perform a sit-up or crunch. Three layers of muscle also lie on either side of the abdominals. These are the obliques, which have important roles in twisting and turning our bodies. The muscles are also mixed with layers of tendon and connective tissue which not only attach them together, but also to the bones and ligaments of the pelvis.

Sports hernias are typically caused by moves which involve a lot of twisting and turning – and especially those occurring at speed. Hip movements can also put strain on where the ab muscles attach at the groin region. These actions appear to cause shearing and tears in the tissue, leading to pain. It’s felt in the groin or lower abs, usually on one side. In men, who are particularly at risk, pain may also be felt in the genitalia.

Some sports rely upon these sorts of moves and actions during play. Think about dribbling in football and hockey, or pinning and throwing opponents in wrestling or martial arts. Slalom skiing is another prime example – travelling at speed and rapidly changing direction. Tackling and scrum action in rugby or American football, and explosive block starts and hurdling in track athletes might also be to blame.

The condition appears much more common in males, who are up to nine times more likely to develop it. This is perhaps because of the anatomy of their lower abs, which is different to females. The testes – which initially develop inside the abdomen – descend to the scrotum during the foetal period. But to do this, they actually have to pass through the layers of the abdominal wall which makes the structure weaker and potentially more prone to damage.

While sports hernias are vastly more common in athletes because of the regular repetitive strain they put their bodies under, it’s still technically possible for non-athletes to get it.

If you work in a job where there’s regular heavy lifting, pivoting as you do so – on a building site for instance – it may be possible to sustain the same injury. Or, doing too many advanced core exercises at the gym before you’re sufficiently strong enough might also make you more prone. Dead lifts and core exercises that use a medicine ball (such as Russian twists) are some culprits.

Managing a sports hernia

If you do develop a sports hernia, it appears that improving core strength may help you recover. Patients diagnosed with a sports hernia typically undergo a training programme to strengthen and stabilise their core muscles. In athletes who already have a strong core, it may also be worthwhile training muscles that strengthen the pelvis alongside a gradual return to sport. Physiotherapy, massage and acupuncture may also help.

Some cases might also require surgery to reinforce the groin structure, and relieve any tension on the tissues.

There’s evidence to suggest that sports hernias are both under-reported and under-diagnosed. This may be because they get confused with other types of injuries – such as an inguinal hernia, which is also related to the groin, more commonly found in males and associated with abdominal wall strain and damage.

The key difference is that a real inguinal hernia causes a swelling in the groin region or scrotum, whereas sports hernias do not. Inguinal hernias can also cause complications if the bowel gets twisted and obstructed, which can have potentially severe consequences.

So, if you’re someone who participates in these twisting, turning types of sports and notice any of the symptoms of a sports hernia, it’s best to stop instead of pushing yourself through the pain. You should also speak to a doctor in case there are signs of a true hernia, which often requires further surgical treatment.

Dan Baumgardt, Senior Lecturer, School of Physiology, Pharmacology and Neuroscience, University of Bristol

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

Like us humans, many animals rely on social interactions to survive and thrive. As a result, effective communication between individuals is essential.

Highly social animals often have more complex communication systems. Think of a group of chimpanzees gesturing and vocalising at each other, or a family of elephants communicating through touch or low-frequency calls.

Bottlenose dolphins live in complex societies where each animal has a small number of closely connected individuals and a larger number of looser associates (not dissimilar to our own social networks). They rely heavily on interpersonal interactions to maintain a healthy social balance.

Scientists have long known that dolphins use “signature whistles” to identify themselves to others. In our recent study, we present evidence suggesting that these whistles may contain more information than just identity.

A unique but variable sound

Dolphins use various sounds, such as burst pulses and whistles, to communicate. There are two broad categories of whistles: signature whistles (distinctive whistle types that are unique to each individual) and non-signature (the rest).

Dolphins use the unique frequency patterns of their signature whistles to broadcast their identity. They develop these signals when they are young and maintain them throughout their lives.

When interacting with others, up to 30% of a dolphin’s whistling may be comprised of its signature whistle. There is often some variation in the whistle versions produced by the individual animals. This led us to analyse the balance between stability and variability of the signature whistles to test if they can contain more information than just the whistler’s identity.

Listening to whistles

In 2017 and 2018, our research team made repeated sound recordings of a group of Indo-Pacific bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops aduncus) at Tangalooma Island Resort near Moreton Island, off the coast of Brisbane in eastern Australia.

We collected many instances of signature whistles produced by the same animals. We also used historical data collected from the same group 15 years earlier.

We found that, while the whistles were exceptionally stable in their frequency patterns, they did vary a certain amount (this variability also remained similar across the years). This suggests that even though frequency patterns of signature whistles encode identity, they are also likely to transmit more information, such as emotional or contextual cues.

Our study group of animals was too small to draw definitive conclusions, but our findings indicated that males demonstrate more variability in their signature whistles than females. It could be linked to the differences in their social roles and the nature of their interactions with others.

We also identified a whistle much like a signature, but which was shared between several individuals. This supports recent findings that groups of dolphins may have shared distinctive whistles, along with their individual ones.

Faces that you hear

What does all this mean?

First, signature whistles are likely to be more versatile than previously thought. They may carry additional information within their frequency patterns, and possibly other structural elements.

The second lesson is that, while signature whistles are individually learned “labels” that are like human names in many ways, in terms of the information they transmit, a useful analogy may be human faces.

Humans carry identity information in our fixed facial features. At the same time, we transmit a lot of additional information, including emotional and contextual cues, through more transient facial expressions. Like signature whistles, our faces combine stability and variability in their “information package”.

Making the whole world blurry

Understanding dolphin communication helps us better understand the challenges these animals face in an increasingly human-affected world.

Take noise pollution in the oceans. It’s a hot topic among marine bioacoustics researchers, but rarely at the front of the general public’s mind.

If we do think of it, it’s probably in human terms. Living in a noisy environment for us might be annoying and stressful, but we could still do most of the things we need to do.

But for dolphins, deafening shipping noise would be the equivalent of the whole world going blurry for us. Imagine what it would be like to navigate through life, make friends, stay away from bad connections, and be socially effective (which is necessary for survival), if you can’t recognise anyone’s face or see their expressions.

Thinking of the dolphins’ key signal, a signature whistle, as informational equivalent of our faces, may help us see (and hear) the world from a dolphin’s perspective.

Ekaterina Ovsyanikova, Academic, School of the Environment, The University of Queensland

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

The cost-of-living crisis is hitting the arts hard. Artists struggle to survive on poverty wages and audiences are getting priced out.

This challenge is not unprecedented. In the 1980s, another cost-of-living crisis sparked a bold and imaginative model for embedding artists into the everyday rhythms of working life.

Art for the working class

It was 1982. The country was in the grip of stagflation: low growth, high inflation and rising unemployment. The Australia Council for the Arts was reconciling a 20% funding cut. Seeking to offset its cut funds, the council sought out an unexpected partner to launch a community arts program: the Australian Council of Trade Unions.

The “Art and Working Life” initiative sought to celebrate, encourage and support working class art and culture. By embedding artists in workplaces across the country, it enabled workers to practice and develop their artistic skills and expression.

It also addressed two key issues: employment for artists, and increasing the public’s access to the arts.

Unions would sponsor projects and act as employers for the artists involved throughout the project’s duration. This arrangement placed artists in diverse settings such as factory floors, hospital wards, offices and construction sites, where they collaborated with workers to create art that reflected the realities of their working lives.

Why trade unions?

In 1982, 57% of Australian workers were unionised. This meant unions had the infrastructure to match the government’s funding through the Australia Council, and to employ artists on a project basis.

With union membership mandatory in many industries, this generated a guaranteed resource base capable of funding an arts program for the broader community. For artists, the unions’ reach into various industries provided significant potential audiences.

Unions offered more than resources; they brought a philosophy and a plan. Art was a cultural right. In workplaces, it could lift morale, disrupt the grind and add meaning to labour.

It also had practical benefits: strengthening workplace culture, engaging members and helping artists organise within their own industry.

Art and Working Life projects varied widely. Dancers in garment factories devised movement routines aimed at reducing repetitive strain injury. In rail yards, theatre artists wrote plays in collaboration with engineers and mechanics about gender, race, and labour. Musicians headed underground – literally – to record original songs written by miners about the threat of job losses.

By 1986, Australia Council chair Donald Horne lauded the program as “a good example of value for money”.

In four years, it reached over three million workers and their families – nearly 20% of the population – at a cost of just A$2.8 million (around $9 million today).

By the end of the decade, it had employed more than 2,000 artists, with union support matching federal funding.

A slow decline

But the program depended on two fragile pillars: a strong labour movement and sustained government support.

By the 1990s, both were under threat.

As privatisation, deregulation and enterprise bargaining eroded union power, membership declined, workplaces fragmented, and the foundations of Art and Working Life weakened.

At the same time, a major shift occurred in arts funding. In 1994, Paul Keating released Australia’s first national cultural policy Creative Nation, reframing the arts as an economic driver, emphasising export-ready, profitable outcomes. Arts funding increasingly favoured media, tourism and “creative industries”.

For the Australia Council, this shift meant a retreat from community arts programs like Art and Working Life, and the program was quietly shelved in 1995.

It marked more than the loss of a funding stream: it signalled the decline of a cultural policy vision grounded in social equity and everyday life.

Would it work in 2025?

Today, with union density hovering around historic lows of 13.1%, the infrastructure that once supported a national workplace arts program is largely gone. But the need is as urgent as ever.

In the face of today’s cost-of-living crisis, we need bold, integrated policy frameworks with a strong social foundation. Australia’s current cultural policy, Revive, was released in 2023. The document signals a rhetorical shift away from economic metrics and towards access and inclusion. But what structures bring this vision to life?

Today’s cost-of-living crisis could be used to inspire a new wave of cultural investment that supports employment, fosters participation and embeds creativity in everyday life.

Looking at the history of Art and Working Life offers more than nostalgia: it provides a practical model for anchoring arts policy in the material conditions of working people’s lives, where the arts are not apart from daily experience, but central to it.

Izabella Nantsou, Academic in Theatre and Performance Studies, University of Sydney

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

“The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there,” wrote English author L.P. Hartley in The Go-Between (1953). Modern Melburnians may feel the same. But while they live with an increasing cityscape of skyscrapers, the past is not far away.

Consider Scots Church in Collins Street. Its spire tip was for some time the highest point in the city, but now it is relatively low compared to surrounding buildings. The idea behind its vantage was different to modern planning decisions: it indicated the Presbyterians had a closeness to Heaven not possessed by other Christian denominations.

Certainly, the beliefs of many 19th-century Melburnians appear equally odd. The pseudoscience of Phrenology held that the shape of people’s skulls denoted their character. Phrenologist Philemon Sohier was even allowed to take plaster casts from the heads of freshly hanged criminals. His wife Ellen, an Antipodean Tussaud, then used the casts to create realistic replicas for the Chamber of Horrors in their associated waxworks.

But equally, while researching my recent book on colonial crime writer Mary Fortune, I encountered individuals living in 19th-century Melbourne who seem startlingly modern. A wealthy teenage girl who dressed in drag for months as The Boy-Girl, likely as a protest. A radical journalist and sometime criminal who published a lurid true-crime newspaper. And a Black author and activist who advocated for workers’ rights, the unemployed and men of colour.

This trio did not fit the mould – nor do they fit our preconceived views of what colonial Australians were like. They were ratbags: a term extremely expressive of the national character, then and now. They had the strength of character to be different, subversive, even to protest publicly. They did what they wanted, against constraints – and they deserved better than to be forgotten.

The Boy-Girl

Let us start with dress. A man wearing a dress would not be immediately arrested these days. No one would cite the Biblical injunction against cross-dressing, Deuteronomy, at them. But in 1857, French artist Rosa Bonheur had to get permission from the Prefect of Police to wear pants, for reasons of “health”.

Family photographs from the Victorian era depict rigid gender roles in dress, with father in trousers, tailcoat and top hat, mother in crinoline and bonnet, surrounded by their many offspring. Yet those roles could be bent, or blurred. Look more closely at the youngest children in these photographs. Small boys wore frocks and their hair long, until “breeched”, put into pants. Even the macho Ernest Hemingway once wore frills and furbelows, most cutely.

In 1875, Melbourne’s Block, the promenade space of the fashionable wealthy, was the site for a challenging display: the Boy-Girl. Here, notions of gender were confounded by an individual dressed as female from the waist down, but male from the waist up. As a letter to the Herald noted:

Sir,– A most distressing sight is to be seen every evening on our principal streets, viz., a poor boy evidently from want of means going about in petticoats, perhaps his mother or sister’s. I would gladly subscribe my mite towards providing him with suitable nether habiliments, and I trust the matter will be taken up by our charitable public. Yours,

“PANTALOON”

21st September. P.S. – Since writing the above a friend has told me the object of my pity is a girl – this must be a joke.

While this letter may have been tongue in cheek, it expressed the general puzzlement. The act was clearly performative, and it happened daily, from 4-5pm. Above the conventional woman’s skirt was a man’s jacket, tie, hat, starched collar and even monocle. The hair was cropped: something prescribed for women suffering fever, but not flaunted in the street. One observer noted slangy speech, loud laughter, a bold gaze – all unwomanly behaviour.

At the time the very act of being a woman in public, rather than the idealised domestic Angel in the House, was considered daring. Walking the streets was a euphemism for prostitution, as with the French “faire le trottoir”.

The Boy-Girl proved a sensation in the colonial media. No known photographs survive, but there are Punch engravings. The first, from winter 1875, has the heading IN DRAG, and shows an Irish cop protesting: “If yez ain’t a man in female’s clothes, yez a male in man’s clothes …”

A man in a woman’s dress faced being jailed in Pentridge. Gordon Lawrence, who co-blackmailed bestselling author Fergus Hume for the then-crime of homosexuality, was arrested in 1888 for “soliciting”, in a bustle outside the Melbourne Exhibition Building. He was sentenced to six months in prison, for vagrancy and “insulting behaviour”, a catch-all charge covering obscenity to prostitution.

In 1879, servant, blacksmith and gold miner Edward De Lacy Evans achieved worldwide fame when revealed to be a cross-dressing woman during their stay in an insane asylum.

The right to be sinful?

In the Boy-Girl’s case, any arrest would have been a major problem. The Boy-Girl’s father was one of the richest men in Melbourne. Kate Johnson, then 17, had been born in Mount Gambier, South Australia, to Archibald and Mary Johnson. Archibald, a Scots Presbyterian, had worked his way up from station overseer to pastoral magnate, with sufficient wealth to buy Stonnington, a major mansion, in his retirement. Of his large family, Kate was his favourite. She would promenade as the Boy-Girl for months.

Her act was primarily visual and she never commented on it publicly. An “interview” with Punch appeared under the heading “Practical Papers on Vice”. Though written with irony, it claimed the Boy-Girl wanted equality of the sexes and rights for women – including the right to be sinful. The journalist concluded the Boy-Girl would lead to a future race of Australian hermaphrodites.

Others termed her “eccentric”, or claimed the stunt was to win a lucrative bet, though the Boy-Girl did not want for money. When she stopped, to grow her hair again and dress conventionally, it was to study music and drama, at professional level. In 1877, she took to the stage, a natural progression given that theatre was a liminal space regarding gender roles. Pantomime featured cross-dressers, with the Principal Boy (an actress) and the Widow Twankey, a caricature of femininity even more grotesque than Edna Everage.

It was an unusual move for a rich young lady, since actresses were regarded as being little less than whores, however glamorous. One journalist deplored her move, saying “we fathers and brothers” only wished to keep womenfolk pure, and “out of the sight of impurity”. Johnson played Kate in The Taming of the Shrew, to a packed house but poor notices. More successful were piano performances, where she showed both skill and brio.

What might have been a brilliant career came to a premature halt in February 1878. Kate died at Stonnington, of typhoid fever – the mansion had bad drains. Crowds lined the streets to watch her funeral cortege. Even journalists who had mocked her expressed sorrow.

Her grieving parents planned a memorial, of Carrara marble, 14 feet high, in Melbourne General Cemetery, with a portrait of Kate, and of her mother, weeping at the base. It never eventuated. Archibald died in 1881, with his will bitterly contested. A marble bust of Kate was completed. Once in the Victorian National Galley, its location is now unknown.

A ratbag radical journalist

Popular commentary on the Boy-Girl included an 1877 poem, printed in the sensational weekly Police News. Its editor, Richard Egan-Lee (1809-1879), was also a noted ratbag. During a busy and disreputable life, he was a printer, publisher, inventor and radical journalist. He had at least 12 children with four wives, likely involving bigamy. Egan-Lee was one of only two people sued successfully by Charles Dickens, for pirating A Christmas Carol. Insolvencies following, he emigrated in 1863 to Melbourne.

Typically, Victorians were fascinated by true crime, but Lee had personal experience. In 1866 he was sent to jail for 12 months, for stealing type. He emerged to work editorially on the popular fiction magazine the Australian Journal, but anonymously. His eight-year tenure overlapped with Marcus Clarke. One of Lee’s descendants recalled that Clarke wrote For the Term of His Natural Life in Lee’s office, which sounds inconvenient.

Observing the success of the US Police News, featuring sensational true crime, Lee produced his own Australian version. It featured not only crime but radical politics. He declared its mission as: “to drag forth into the light of day, more shams, frauds, and humbugs, than all the other papers put together […] ever since Victoria was a colony”. He added that Victorian society was “composed of the rankest duffers and the most consummate veneered hypocrites that can be found in any country”. From the law and legislature, to the police, press and the pulpit, “all is a mass of make-believe and mockery”.

His Police News was wildly popular. Lee sold 17,000 copies weekly: a huge circulation for the colonies. Part of the success was lurid illustrations, sourced from the public: Lee would ask crime witnesses to send in sketches, which he then had engraved in an innovative process he termed zincotype. The Age deplored his “literary garbage”, but he outsold it.

Small wonder he got sued, for obscenity, though the offending illustration merely showed a man and women drinking in a bar; he was also sued for libel. The magazine ran on a shoestring and indignation. It also displayed a fascination with strong women: revenging themselves on seducers, repelling burglars, even murdering.

Lee seems a proto-feminist. He devoted an editorial to “man’s inhumanity to women”. He was also a sympathetic editor to crime writer and journalist Mary Fortune, unlike the misogynistic Clarke.

Lee died of typhoid fever (like Kate Johnson), in 1879. Few copies of his magazine survive, but the unique art project of his Police News was the subject of an exhibition by noted artist Elizabeth Gertsakis in 2018.

A Jamaican Black activist

Our last ratbag, like Kate Johnson, appeared in Punch, where he was rendered with stereotypical racism, talking like Uncle Tom. His photograph shows formidable attitude, not least as a man of letters.

Daniel Henderson was an Afro-Jamaican author and activist. A journalist termed him “Henderson Africanus”, after the Roman general Scipio Africanus. Henderson proceeded to own the nickname, proudly adopting it as “an African Political General”.

Like the Boy-Girl, he made a public display, a celebrity selling newspapers in a huge white hat, but also giving speeches and campaigning via letters. He was politically active, a proud and loud Black man.

Daniel Ross Henderson was born in Kingston, Jamaica, son of Thomas, a cabinet-maker, and his wife Elizabeth. The family were politically engaged. Daniel was named for Daniel O'Connell, former Lord Mayor of Dublin, an activist for emancipation as well as Irish rights.

The formidable Elizabeth legally and vigorously fought a claim against her freedom, and favoured education for her son. Henderson would find advancement and mobility in the British Navy, which took men upon their worth, not race. That led him to emigrate to Australia. In 1880, he married a white woman, Aphra Lightbourne, of military background.

As a child, he had read the political section of newspapers aloud to his father and workmen. Now, he sold newspapers in Exhibition Street. The proximity to Parliament House was no accident. In 1868, government supply was blocked by the Victorian Legislative Council. Henderson responded with a 24-page pamphlet, Our Imbroglio: (The Crisis) and Our Way Out of It, which closely examined constitutional law. Ten years later, a similar crisis sent political leaders Sir Grahame Berry and Charles Pearson to appeal to London, personally.

The received wisdom is it was an Opposition joke that Henderson be proposed to accompany them. The magazine Table Talk, which had the best gossip, said Punch cartoonist Tom Carrington was behind it. Carrington knew Henderson was good copy. He denigrated him racially and politically in Punch, a Tory publication.

Truth was, Henderson had already argued the case articulately and well. Newspapers and the Bulletin would note Henderson was “really one of the founders of the great liberal party” (Premier Graham Berry’s party and in those days, radicals). He was a presence, a public intellectual, who just happened to be also a Black man. The degree of vilification he faced shows how much he challenged notions of nineteenth-century race. Although Henderson tried standing for parliament several times in the 1880s and 1890s, he was never pre-selected.

Instead, he devoted time to causes such as worker’s rights, the unemployed and men of colour in serious trouble with the law. The Public Record Office preserves many of his distinctive purple-inked letters, including to the police commissioner. One prompted an formal investigation into the case of Antoine Bollars, his lodger, who (with Gordon Lawrence) had blackmailed Fergus Hume. Bollars, also Afro-Jamaican, had been convicted of a homosexual indecent assault, which occurred under Henderson’s roof. It was an unspeakable crime, but Henderson had the courage to intervene.

He was cranky, a show-off, but with the wit and force of character to defy the contemporary strictures on Black people. When he died, of peritonitis, even Punch had to admit he was “a well-meaning and good fellow”.

Bloody minded, showy and bold

A teenage girl who pushed the public limits regarding accepted notions of gender. A radical journalist and inventor who crusaded against the blackguards of his colony in one of its most successful magazines. A politically active Black public intellectual.

They captured public attention, but after their deaths they were soon forgotten.

That they existed at all in their conservative era seems extraordinary – but that they persisted against the formidable opposition is a lesson in personal courage. It is also a lesson in the virtues of ratbaggery.

Let us celebrate those who go against the grain, for they have often have the uncomfortable tendency to be right. And we can learn a good deal from them that can be applied to our troubled times: not least the virtues of political performance art, and of being bloody minded, showy and bold.

Lucy Sussex, Honorary Associate, Humanities and Social Science, La Trobe University

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

The Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) has this week released new data which tells us about the presence of per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS) in Australians’ bodies.

The data comes from concentrations measured in blood samples of nearly 7,000 people aged 12 and over, collected as part of the National Health Measures Survey for 2022–24.

The findings are concerning, showing PFAS are detectable in the vast majority of the Australian population, to varying levels.

But are they cause for alarm? What do these findings mean for our health?

‘Forever chemicals’

PFAS, often called “forever chemicals”, are a group of thousands of different human-made chemicals. The molecular structure of PFAS chemicals – characterised by extremely strong bonds between carbon and fluorine atoms – makes PFAS resistant to degradation.

Many PFAS products are very effective for their resistance to water, oil, grease and stains, while others promote foaming. Since the 1940s, PFAS chemicals have been widely used in many consumer and industry products, such as non-stick pans, stain-resistant fabrics and firefighting foam.

One of the downsides of PFAS is their potential to bioaccumulate, or gradually build up in the body.

Important exposure pathways include ingestion of PFAS in drinking water, in food, or absorption through the skin. Absorption of small amounts progressively builds up in the organs of people and animals, particularly the liver.

Exposure to PFAS is associated with a heightened risk of many adverse health outcomes. These include reduced fertility, and increased risk of some cancers, liver disease, kidney disease, high cholesterol and obesity.

Digging into the data

The ABS data measured 11 types of PFAS. The group of PFAS chemicals they selected reflects the most commonly detected forms from previous studies. The concentration of PFAS chemicals is measured in blood serum in nanograms per millilitre (ng/mL).

Three types of PFAS were detected in the blood of more than 85% of Australians, while the remainder were detected in lower proportions of people.

The type of PFAS most commonly detected in blood was perfluorooctanesulfonic acid (PFOS). It was found in 98.6% of samples.

PFOS accumulation has been a major problem in firefighters. Many were exposed occupationally to PFOS, sometimes for decades, and many suffered an unusually high incidence of disease, including a suspected cancer cluster.

The below graph shows the level of PFOS increases with age. This could be because it accumulates in the body over time, and because many types of PFOS are being phased out. From 2004 its use in firefighting was phased out by major users, such as the Department of Defence.

PFOS was also found to be higher in males – research shows PFAS is excreted more rapidly in females, including through menstruation and breastfeeding.

The second most commonly detected type of PFAS detected in Australian blood samples was perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA), in 96.1% of samples. PFOA has recently been classified by the World Health Organization as a group 1 carcinogen, meaning it’s a recognised cancer-causing agent.

The third most commonly detected type of PFAS was perfluorohexane sulfonic acid (PFHxS), which was detected in 88.1% of samples.

So what are the implications?

The National Health Measures Survey identified a relationship between higher mean PFOS levels and markers of chronic disease including high total cholesterol levels, diabetes and kidney function.

However, it’s important to note this is only 7,000 people, and the data were weighted to be representative of the Australian population. There may be other factors, such as lifestyle or occupation, that have influenced the results.

While these findings may be concerning, they’re not cause for alarm. The scientific evidence more broadly doesn’t tell us conclusively whether concentrations of PFAS equivalent to those seen in the current data would have a direct effect on disease outcomes.

Some good news is that overall, this data suggests we have less PFAS in our blood compared to people in other countries.

Why this data is important

The ABS report provides the most detailed national baseline data on PFAS in the Australian population to date.

While many people are concerned about PFAS, some Australian communities have been particularly worried.

For example, in August 2024 it was revealed that a water filtration plant in the Blue Mountains contained substantial concentrations of PFAS. This was probably due to a major petrol tanker crash in 1992 and residual effects of PFAS from firefighting foam used to respond to that incident.

While people can have a blood sample taken to measure PFAS levels, it’s very expensive. NSW Health advises PFAS testing is not covered by Medicare or private health insurance.

Reports are emerging of Blue Mountains residents that have paid for blood testing getting very high concentrations of PFAS. These ABS results will help people who do receive blood testing assess how their results compare with typical results of a person of the same age and sex. People with concerns should consult a medical professional.

The ABS data will also be valuable for medical practitioners and public health authorities, providing important information to guide the management of PFAS contamination and its potential health effects.

Ian A. Wright, Associate Professor in Environmental Science, Western Sydney University

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

Ever wonder if your cat could pick you out of a line up?

New research suggests they could … but maybe not in the way you would expect.

Previous research has found that only 54% of cats could recognise humans by their face alone.

So how does your cat know it’s you?

Studying the sniff

A new study published today in PLOS One suggests your cat can recognise you by your smell. This feat has not been studied before and may reveal another layer of depth within cat-human bonds.

Cats often get a bad rap for being aloof or uncaring about the people in their lives, but a growing number of studies are finding the opposite to be true. We now know that cats learn the names we give them, cats and their guardians form their own communication style, and most cats will pick human social interaction over food, a choice even dogs struggle with.

And now, thanks to this most recent study, we know that cats can identify their people by smell, something they also rely on to identify their close feline social groups.

The study, by Yutaro Miyairi and colleagues at Tokyo University of Agriculture, investigated the ability of 30 cats to differentiate between their guardian and an unknown person based on scent alone.

Cats in the study were presented with a plastic tube containing swab samples from under the armpit, behind the ear and between the toes of either the cat’s guardian or of a human they had never met. As a control, cats were also presented with an empty plastic tube.

The results?

Cats in the study spent longer sniffing the scent of an unknown person compared to the scent of their guardian or the empty tube.

A shorter sniffing time suggests that when cats came across the smell of their guardian, they recognised it quickly and moved along. But when they came to the swabs from an unknown person, the cat sniffed longer, using their superior sense of smell to gather information about the scent.

Similar patterns have been observed previously, with kittens sniffing the odour of unknown female cats longer than the odour of their own mother, and adult cats sniffing the faeces of unfamiliar cats longer than those within their social group.

The findings of this new study may indicate that we, too, are in our cats’ social circle.

The brain and the nose

The study also found a tendency for cats to sniff familiar scents with their left nostril, while unknown scents were more often sniffed using their right. But when cats became familiar with a scent after sniffing for a while, they switched nostrils from the right to the left.

While this may sound like an odd finding, it’s a pattern that has also been observed in dogs. Current research suggests this nostril preference may indicate that cats process and classify new information using their right brain hemisphere, while the left hemisphere takes over when a routine response is established.

Why scent?

Cats rely on scent to gather information about the world around them and to communicate.

Scent exchange (through cheek-to-cheek rubbing and grooming each other) is used as a way to recognise cats in the same social circle, maintain group cohesion, and identify unfamiliar cats or other animals that may pose a threat or need to be avoided.

Familiar scents can also be comforting to cats, reducing stress and anxiety and creating a sense of security within their environment.

When you come back from a holiday, if you notice your cat being distant and acting like you’re a total stranger, it might be because you smell like one. Try taking a shower using your usual home products and put on some of your regular home clothing. The familiar scents should help you and your cat settle back into your old dynamic sooner.

And remember, if your cat spends a lot of time sniffing someone else, it’s not because they prefer them. It’s likely because your scent is familiar and requires less work. Instead of being new and interesting, it might do something even better: help your cat feel at home.

Julia Henning, PhD Candidate in Feline Behaviour, School of Animal and Veterinary Science, University of Adelaide

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

Florence Nightingale is often described as the founder of modern nursing. She was immortalised in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s 1857 poem, Santa Filomena: “A noble type of good / Heroic Womanhood.” For over a century, she has been remembered as “the lady with the lamp”, moving through the wards of war hospitals.

In Laura Elvery’s debut novel, Nightingale, she is something else entirely. She is not the symbol, but the woman – not solely the caregiver, but a patient, child and sister. It opens with an epigraph from T.S. Eliot’s Little Gidding:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

This idea of seeing the familiar in a new light mirrors the novel’s structure and spirit. Nightingale is not a linear biography, nor a detailed account of Nightingale’s public accomplishments. It is a quiet meditation on memory, and on care and the ways it marks a life.

Review: Nightingale – Laura Elvery (UQP)

Death from poor hygiene and neglect

The novel is told in three parts across two timelines. It opens in Mayfair, London, in 1910. Florence is 90, frail and close to death. Her housekeeper, Mabel, watches over her as she drifts between moments of lucidity and memories of her past. The figure who once helped to transform military hospitals reflects on her frailty, and on Mabel’s care for her. She recalls her old instructions:

Use a clear, firm voice so the patient hears you the first time. Do not ask a patient to turn their head towards you. Let the light in. Ventilate the room. Clean the utensils. Change the sheets yourself and do it quickly, without comment.

These directions reflect Nightingale’s ethos: that death came not only from bullets, but from poor hygiene, infection and administrative neglect. Elvery hints at Nightingale’s broader impact – her work on sanitation, hospital reform and data collection – not through exposition, but through the quiet authority of her voice and the awe she commands among doctors, nurses and soldiers alike.

On her final day, Nightingale receives a visit from Silas Bradley, a former soldier whose presence unsettles both her and the reader. As Part One ends, Silas asks, “What did Jean do to me?” The question will continue to haunt the novel.

Jean Frawley, a young nurse serving under Nightingale (or “Miss N”) during the Crimean War (1853–56), is introduced in the novel’s second part. In Marseilles, on her way to Scutari, Jean meets Silas. Their brief encounter sets up a romantic subplot that runs throughout.

But this thread is also one of the novel’s weakest. Jean is introduced as capable and competent, but her story becomes dominated by her feelings for Silas. Her longing for him seems out of proportion and out of step with the more grounded scenes surrounding it. The emotional arc feels less earned, compared to the stark realism of the hospital scenes.

Vivid hospital scenes

The focus soon shifts to Scutari (part of what is now Istanbul) in 1854, and an overcrowded, filthy and overwhelmed hospital. This is the novel’s strongest section: vivid, harrowing and sharply observed.

Jean’s voice brings urgency to the everyday horrors she witnesses: “Whimpering men lay on stuffed sacks on every side of every corridor, keeping company with the rats, the roaches, the maggots.” Supplies are short, medical tools are rudimentary, nurses are exhausted. The men are dying. In this world, care is emotional work.

Elvery, known for her short-story collections Ordinary Matter and Trick of the Light, brings a lyrical, sensory style to these scenes. Her descriptions are rich with visceral, sensory detail of rats, maggots, blood and chloroform.

But the focus isn’t on historical accuracy for its own sake. Elvery is more interested in the interiority of her characters, in the psychic and bodily toll of caregiving. She doesn’t dwell on dates or battles. Instead, she focuses on what caregiving feels like: its cost, its mess and its strange intimacy.

They asked the girls to kiss them, to write for them, to tell them jokes […] One soldier asked Jean to breathe in time with him.

One of the most moving scenes comes after the war, in 1861, when Jean visits a Crimean War memorial in London. She sees “on a plinth, the figure of a cloaked woman […] arms outstretched”.

Jean expects to feel pride or recognition. Instead, she finds the statue unfamiliar. “Perhaps it was a goddess,” she thinks, noticing the “haloes of leaves that circled her wrists.” She recalls the words of the tailor who sold her her uniform: “Women can’t imagine that sort of suffering.”

The scene captures a key question in the book: who is remembered, and in what form?

Resisting mythmaking

Elvery resists mythmaking. Her Nightingale is not a saint, but a woman forged in complexity: brilliant, stubborn, sometimes difficult. The novel invites us to see her not as a symbol, but as a person shaped by illness, desire, pain and time. Nightingale is not just a novel about Florence Nightingale, or about nursing. It’s about the physical and emotional labour of care, and the people whose work often goes unnoticed.

Part Three returns to 1910 and Nightingale’s final moments. But Nightingale is not the centre of her own story. Jean’s narrative forms the novel’s emotional core, and her connection to Silas drives more of the plot than Nightingale’s recollections. In this way, Elvery shifts focus, both structurally and thematically, away from a single figure – and toward the quieter, often invisible work of caregiving itself.

In a time when the cost of care – whether in hospitals, homes, or war zones – is so visible, Nightingale feels timely. Elvery asks what it means to nurse, and to be nursed. Her novel honours the messy, human particulars of caregiving, even as it gestures toward the legacy of a woman who reshaped its very foundations.

Caitlin Macdonald, PhD candidate, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of Sydney

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

As we enter the colder months in Australia, COVID is making headlines again, this time due to the emergence of a new variant: NB.1.8.1.

Last week, the World Health Organization designated NB.1.8.1 as a “variant under monitoring”, owing to its growing global spread and some notable characteristics which could set it apart from earlier variants.

So what do you need to know about this new variant?

The current COVID situation

More than five years since COVID was initially declared a pandemic, we’re still experiencing regular waves of infections.

It’s more difficult to track the occurrence of the virus nowadays, as fewer people are testing and reporting infections. But available data suggests in late May 2025, case numbers in Australia were ticking upwards.

Genomic sequencing has confirmed NB.1.8.1 is among the circulating strains in Australia, and generally increasing. Of cases sequenced up to May 6 across Australia, NB.1.8.1 ranged from less than 10% in South Australia to more than 40% in Victoria.

Wastewater surveillance in Western Australia has determined NB.1.8.1 is now the dominant variant in wastewater samples collected in Perth.

Internationally NB.1.8.1 is also growing. By late April 2025, it comprised roughly 10.7% of all submitted sequences – up from just 2.5% four weeks prior. While the absolute number of cases sequenced was still modest, this consistent upward trend has prompted closer monitoring by international public health agencies.

NB.1.8.1 has been spreading particularly in Asia – it was the dominant variant in Hong Kong and China at the end of April.

Where does this variant come from?

According to the WHO, NB.1.8.1 was first detected from samples collected in January 2025.

It’s a sublineage of the Omicron variant, descending from the recombinant XDV lineage. “Recombinant” is where a new variant arises from the genetic mixing of two or more existing variants.

The image to the right shows more specifically how NB.1.8.1 came about.

What does the research say?

Like its predecessors, NB.1.8.1 carries a suite of mutations in the spike protein. This is the protein on the surface of the virus that allows it to infect us – specifically via the ACE2 receptors, a “doorway” to our cells.

The mutations include T22N, F59S, G184S, A435S, V445H, and T478I. It’s early days for this variant, so we don’t have much data on what these changes mean yet. But a recent preprint (a study that has not yet been peer reviewed) offers some clues about why NB.1.8.1 may be gathering traction.

Using lab-based models, researchers found NB.1.8.1 had the strongest binding affinity to the human ACE2 receptor of several variants tested – suggesting it may infect cells more efficiently than earlier strains.

The study also looked at how well antibodies from vaccinated or previously infected people could neutralise or “block” the variant. Results showed the neutralising response of antibodies was around 1.5 times lower to NB.1.8.1 compared to another recent variant, LP.8.1.1.

This means it’s possible a person infected with NB.1.8.1 may be more likely to pass the virus on to someone else, compared to earlier variants.

What are the symptoms?

The evidence so far suggests NB.1.8.1 may spread more easily and may partially sidestep immunity from prior infections or vaccination. These factors could explain its rise in sequencing data.

But importantly, the WHO has not yet observed any evidence it causes more severe disease compared to other variants.

Reports suggest symptoms of NB.1.8.1 should align closely with other Omicron subvariants.

Common symptoms include sore throat, fatigue, fever, mild cough, muscle aches and nasal congestion. Gastrointestinal symptoms may also occur in some cases.

How about the vaccine?

There’s potential for this variant to play a significant role in Australia’s winter respiratory season. Public health responses remain focused on close monitoring, continued genomic sequencing, and promoting the uptake of updated COVID boosters.

Even if neutralising antibody levels are modestly reduced against NB.1.8.1, the WHO has noted current COVID vaccines should still protect against severe disease with this variant.

The most recent booster available in Australia and many other countries targets JN.1, from which NB.1.8.1 is descended. So it makes sense it should still offer good protection.

Ahead of winter and with a new variant on the scene, now may be a good time to consider another COVID booster if you’re eligible. For some people, particularly those who are medically vulnerable, COVID can still be a serious disease.

Lara Herrero, Associate Professor and Research Leader in Virology and Infectious Disease, Griffith University

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

Google recently unveiled the next phase of its artificial intelligence (AI) journey: “AI mode”.

This new feature will soon be released as a new option to users of Google’s search engine in the United States, with no timeline yet for the rest of the world. The company says it will be akin to having a conversation with an expert well versed on a wide range of topics.

This is just one of many steps Google is taking in pursuit of its “all-in” approach to AI.

The “all-in” approach extends beyond just integrating the technology into different applications. Google is providing products all along the AI supply chain – a process known as “vertical integration” – housing everything from AI computer chips through to the user interfaces we interact with on a daily basis, such as Google maps or Gmail.

Google isn’t the only AI company with ambitions of vertical integration. For example, OpenAI recently acquired a hardware startup co-founded by Apple’s Jony Ive, which will centralise hardware development within the company. Amazon is taking similar steps. It owns cloud computing platforms, custom chips, device plans and is incorporating more AI services into products.

This may be the beginning of a trend of vertical integration across big tech. And it could have significant implications for users and companies alike.

The AI ‘tech stack’

Hardware, software, data sources, databases and servers are some of the layers that make up what is commonly referred to as the “AI tech stack”.

There are four main layers to Google’s evolving vertical tech stack:

1. Hardware layer. Google develops its own AI chips, known as tensor processing units (TPUs). The company claims these chips provide superior performance and efficiency compared to general purpose processors.

2. Infrastructure layer. The company uses its own cloud infrastructure to source its computing power, networking and storage requirements. This infrastructure is the foundation for running and scaling AI capabilities.

3. Model development layer. In-house research capabilities are used to drive the development of their products and services. This includes research around machine learning, robotics, language models and computer vision.

4. Data layer. Data is constantly sourced from users across all Google platforms, including its search engine, maps and email. Data collection is a condition of using any Google application.

Some argue vertical integration is an optimal and cost-effective business strategy in many industries, not just tech. However, the realities of this set-up prove otherwise.

Fuelling power imbalances

Google and OpenAI are two of just a handful of companies which dominate the global technology market.

Thanks to this market dominance, these companies can charge higher markups for their goods and services and abuse practices in online advertising.

Vertical integration further skews this power imbalance by centralising the layers of the AI tech stack to one company. A distribution of hardware, infrastructure, research and development and data across multiple industries helps support a more equitable playing field across the industry.

The loss of this equity creates greater barriers to entry for smaller companies as the larger conglomerates keep everything in-house.

It also reduces incentives to innovate in ways that benefit consumers because it eliminates the business competition that usually drives innovation.

Data is often described as the new gold. This is especially true in the case of AI, which is heavily reliant on data. Through its many platforms, Google has access to a continuous stream of data. In turn, this gives the company even more power in the industry.

The vulnerabilities of vertical integration

The success of a company that is vertically integrated relies on housing the best knowledge and expertise in-house. Retaining this level of resourcing within a small handful of companies can lead to knowledge and expertise hoarding.

Research shows knowledge and expertise hoarding reduces social learning and increases disparities between “winners” and “losers” in a given market. This creates an overall vulnerable industry, because net gains are lost in the pursuit of exclusivity.

Exclusivity also breeds a lack of resilience. That’s because the points of failure are centralised.

Risk is better managed with additional oversight, transparency and accountability. Collaborations across industry rely on these processes to work together effectively.

Centralising the AI tech stack within one organisation eliminates external scrutiny, because it reduces interactions with external providers of products and services. In turn this can lead to a company behaving in a more risky manner.

Regulatory bodies can also provide external scrutiny.

However, the current push to deregulate AI is widening the gap between technology development and regulation.

It is also allowing for big tech companies to become increasingly opaque. A lack of transparency raises issues about organisational practices; in the context of AI, practices around data are of particular concern.

The trend towards vertical integration in the AI sector will further increase this opacity and heighten existing issues around transparency.

Zena Assaad, Senior Lecturer, School of Engineering, Australian National University

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

First Nations people please be advised this article speaks of racially discriminating moments in history, including the distress and death of First Nations people.

On a cold day 25 years ago, a bitter wind swept up from the south, pushing against an endless throng of people crossing one of Australia’s most famous landmarks.

Some 250,000 people were walking across Sydney Harbour Bridge in support of Indigenous reconciliation. It was an event called Corroboree 2000.

It took more than six hours for the mass of people to make their way from north to south, into the city. Across the nation, in small towns and in the capital cities, bridge walks symbolised overcoming a difficult past and coming together.

But Australia’s relationship with First Nations people in the years since has been sometimes tumultuous, occasionally optimistic and often vexed. What legacy did the event leave?

A ‘decade of reconciliation’?

A “Decade of Reconciliation” started with the unanimous passage of the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation Act through the federal parliament in 1991. “Reconciliation” was to be achieved between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians by the centenary of Federation in 2001.

The act made a national commitment for the federal government to address both “Aboriginal disadvantage and aspirations”.

It didn’t, however, specify what reconciliation was or what a reconciled nation would look like. The 2001 deadline would come and go without any way of knowing if it had been achieved.

The amorphous nature of the concept likely contributed to the widespread political support for reconciliation. But whether it meant addressing Indigenous rights, or disadvantage, or both, was often decided down political party lines.

Some First Nations activists were unequivocal in their criticism of reconciliation. It was widely perceived as a poor substitute for Bob Hawke’s 1984 promise of national land rights, and later, Treaty.

The late Uncle Chicka Dixon renamed the movement “ReCONsillynation”. The “con” was the call to “walk together” as an alternative to Treaty and land rights.

Instead, the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation was established in 1991. Its approach to reconciliation was largely about building knowledge and understanding among non-Indigenous Australians about Australian Indigenous lives, experience and history. This was seen as essential to advancing justice.

Changing hearts and minds

For more than a decade, the council worked to achieve its vision, recruiting thousands of participants to the cause. It produced educational materials to guide learning about First Peoples histories and cultures. It also promoted reconciliation activities in the community.

Community-led reconciliation activities proliferated quickly. Some of these continue today, helping establish a foundation for truth-telling.

Huge historical events were unfolding alongside this work. In 1992, the Mabo decision in the High Court ruled Australia was not terra nullius (land belonging to nobody) when it was claimed by Britain in 1770. This led to native title laws, which have made it possible for some Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to claim ownership of their traditional lands.

In 1997, the Bringing Them Home report highlighted the trauma caused to generations of Aboriginal and Torres Strait children across Australia by removing them from their families. They are known as the Stolen Generations.

The report recommended all Australian governments apologise to Indigenous people for their involvement in the policies and practices of forcible child removal.

By 1999, all states and territory governments had apologised. The federal government had not.

A contested history

These seismic shifts in public conversation inevitably came to feature in federal politics.

In the 1996 election, the two leaders – Labor Prime Minister Paul Keating and Liberal leader John Howard – outlined very different political visions based on opposing approaches to Australian history.

While Keating was in office, he combined two causes – native title and the republic – hoping they would help generate a new story of the nation’s foundation.

He sought to replace the positive, comforting and Anglo-centric view of Australian history. He highlighted the impact of colonisation on Aboriginal people and cast doubt on the morality of British occupation.

Howard largely framed his history in opposition to Keating’s. Whereas Keating’s history dwelled on identifiable historical wrongs, Howard famously said Australians should “feel comfortable and relaxed about their history”.

For Howard, there was much to be proud of in the story of the nation’s past. He accused the Labor party of peddling “the rhetoric of apology and shame”, or what came to be known as the “black armband” view of the past.

Despite the recommendation of the Bringing Them Home report, Howard didn’t apologise to Indigenous people. He championed “practical outcomes” instead of “symbolism”, although ultimately failed to deliver either.

A historic culmination

With all these debates brewing throughout the 1990s, Australians used the new millennium to make their own large, symbolic gesture.

Corroboree 2000 was held over two days in May. At the first event held on May 27, Indigenous and non-Indigenous leaders met at the Sydney Opera House. The Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation presented non-Indigenous leaders with two documents: the Australian Declaration Towards Reconciliation and the Roadmap for Reconciliation.

All the leaders who took part left their handprints on a canvas to show their support.

But in the intervening years, the shape of reconciliation and what Indigenous people could expect from it changed.

Reflecting the Howard government’s emphasis on practical reconciliation, the council’s final report emphasised that “overcoming disadvantage is central to the reconciliation process”. The original brief for reconciliation to also address “Aboriginal aspirations” was forgotten.

Howard gave a speech at the event and expressed “regret” for the past treatment of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, but he did not apologise. This left many in the crowd unhappy.

The apology would eventually come in 2008 from Labor Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd.

Where are we now?

In his recent election victory speech, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese emphasised national unity. He again placed reconciliation at the forefront of the Australian government’s Indigenous affairs agenda, saying:

we will be a government that supports reconciliation with First Nations people, because we will be a stronger nation when we close the gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians.

It was a far cry from his 2022 victory speech when he promised the full implementation of the Uluru Statement from the Heart.

In the aftermath of the Voice referendum, the Albanese government says it is focusing on First Nations economic independence and empowerment, along with continuing to “Close the Gap” in experiences of disadvantage.

So 25 years on from the bridge walk, reconciliation remains a feature of the government’s response to First Peoples’ calls for recognition and justice.

But reconciliation can be seen as a safe harbour to merely rebuild consensus, when more ambitious Indigenous affairs agendas stall or fail.

Heidi Norman, Professor of Aboriginal political history, Faculty of Arts, Design and Architecture, Convenor: Indigenous Land & Justice Research Group, UNSW Sydney and Anne Maree Payne, Senior Research Fellow, Indigenous Land & Justice Research Group, UNSW Sydney

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

How many chargers do you own? We’re surrounded by rechargeable electronic devices – mobile phones, laptops, smart watches, headphones, e-bikes and more.

You might have a phone charger plugged in next to your bed without ever bothering to switch it off at the wall or unplugging it when not in use. The same might go for a laptop charger by your desk.

But is that risky to do? And are there hidden costs associated with leaving chargers plugged in all the time?

What’s inside a charger?

Naturally, not all chargers are the same. Depending on the application and power requirement, their internal structure can range from very simple to complex.

However, a typical charger takes in the AC (alternating current) from the wall plug and converts it to a low-voltage DC (direct current) suitable for your device’s battery.

To understand the difference between DC and AC, consider the flow of electrons in a wire. In a DC circuit, electrons move in one direction and keep rotating in the circuit. In an AC circuit, electrons doesn’t circulate and only move back and forth.

The reason for why we use both types of current goes a long way back, to the time when inventors Thomas Edison and Nicola Tesla battled over which type would become the default standard. Today, we are still stuck between both. Electricity is traditionally generated in AC form, but modern appliances and batteries require the DC form. This is why almost every electrical appliance comes with an AC–DC converter.

To do the conversion from AC to DC, a typical charger needs several electrical components such as a transformer, a circuit for doing the actual conversion, filtering elements to enhance the quality of output DC voltage, and control circuitry for regulation and protection.

Chargers consume power even when not charging

“Vampire power” is real. If you leave it plugged in, a charger will continuously draw a small amount of power. Part of this power is used to keep the control and protection circuits running while the rest is lost as heat.

When we look at an individual small charger, the vampire power – also known as standby power – is negligible. However, if you add up all the chargers in your home for various devices, over time the wasted energy can be significant. Standby power is not exclusive to chargers, either; other electronic devices such as TVs draw a little bit of standby power, too.

Depending on how many things you leave plugged in, over the course of the year it could amount to several kilowatt hours.

That said, modern chargers are designed to minimise standby power consumption. These chargers come with smart power management components that keep them in sleep mode until an external device attempts to draw power.

There are other risks, too

Chargers wear out over time when electricity flows through them, particularly when the electricity grid voltage temporarily rises above its rated value. The electricity grid is a chaotic environment and various voltage rise events happen from time to time.

Leaving your chargers exposed to these events will shorten their life. This premature ageing shouldn’t be alarming for modern devices, thanks to their improved design and control. But it is particularly concerning for cheap, uncertified chargers. These often lack appropriate levels of protection and can be a fire hazard.

How should I treat my chargers?

Although modern chargers are generally very safe and should be drawing minimal standby power, consider unplugging them anyway – if convenient.

If a charger gets warmer than usual, makes noise, or is damaged in any way, it is time for a replacement. And it definitely shouldn’t be left plugged in.

Glen Farivar, Lecturer in Power Electronics, The University of Melbourne

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

Narcissism has become the armchair diagnosis of the decade. Social media is awash with people flinging the label around. Everyone’s ex seems to be a narcissist, some of our parents are under suspicion, and that office villain? They definitely tick the box, too.

The accuracy of these rampant diagnoses warrants scepticism. But the reality is narcissists do exist. At its extreme, narcissism is a rare mental health diagnosis, known as narcissistic personality disorder. But narcissism also describes a cluster of personality traits, which we all display to varying degrees.

For those of us who have been in close quarters with someone high in narcissistic traits, we rarely walk away unscathed. And we may be left with lingering questions. For example, what made them this way?

In a recent meta-analysis, my colleagues and I pulled together studies examining the link between narcissism and adult attachment styles. Our findings offer an important clue – especially when it comes to the potential roots of vulnerable narcissism.

Types of narcissism

There are two main types of narcissism.

Grandiose narcissism is what typically comes to mind. It is characterised by an overtly grandiose, aggressive and dominant interpersonal style. In contrast, vulnerable narcissism is marked by introversion, hypersensitivity to criticism, and a defensive, insecure grandiosity that masks fragile self-esteem.

Antagonistic traits such as entitlement, manipulation, and a lack of empathy lie at the core of both narcissism types. This helps to explain the interpersonal difficulties linked to each.

Vulnerable narcissism, in particular, has been linked to a range of harmful behaviours in romantic relationships. Individuals high in this trait are more likely to engage in love bombing, ghosting and breadcrumbing.

They also tend to report lower relationship satisfaction, hold more permissive attitudes towards infidelity and perpetrate intimate partner violence at higher rates.

Secure versus insecure attachment

Researchers have turned to attachment styles to help explain how individuals high in narcissism behave in romantic relationships.

Attachment theory proposes that early experiences with primary caregivers shape our beliefs about ourselves and others. These beliefs are thought to persist into adulthood and influence how we experience and navigate adult relationships.

If we felt safe, loved and supported as children, we are more likely to have a positive view of our self and others. This is the hallmark of secure attachment, which lays the foundation for healthy, stable relationships in adulthood.

But when early relationships are marked by neglect, inconsistency or abuse, they can give rise to insecure attachment styles. Adult attachment models generally identify three types of insecure attachment.

Preoccupied attachment develops from a negative view of the self and a positive view of others. Individuals with this style often feel unworthy of love and seek constant reassurance in relationships, fearing rejection and abandonment.

Dismissive attachment is rooted in a positive view of the self but a negative view of others. These individuals tend to prioritise independence over intimacy. As a result, they often struggle to form deep connections.

Fearful attachment involves negative views of both the self and others. Those with this style typically crave connection while at the same time fearing it, leading to push-pull dynamics in relationships.

An interesting pattern

In our meta-analysis, we combined the results of 33 previous studies comprising more than 10,000 participants to examine how narcissism relates to each of the four adult attachment styles. Overall, narcissism was linked to each of the three insecure attachment styles.

But when we looked at the two types of narcissism separately, an interesting pattern emerged. Vulnerable narcissism was consistently linked to insecure attachment styles – with associations of moderate strength for preoccupied and fearful attachment styles.

In contrast, grandiose narcissism showed no such link.

Does this mean insecure attachment causes vulnerable narcissism? Not necessarily. The studies we reviewed were “correlational”, which means they looked at connections, not causes. So we can’t say attachment styles cause vulnerable narcissism. To answer that, we’d need longitudinal research tracking people over time.

Still, our findings suggest that insecure attachment – particularly preoccupied and fearful attachment styles – may be an important risk factor in the development of vulnerable narcissism.

Of course, not everyone with an insecure attachment style has high levels of vulnerable narcissism. However, for some, vulnerable narcissism may emerge as a defensive coping strategy that arises when early attachments were marked by inconsistency, neglect or abuse.

Healing childhood wounds

Attachment styles tend to be fairly consistent throughout a person’s life, however change is possible. Attachment-focused therapies, such as schema therapy and emotionally focussed therapy, can help individuals heal attachment wounds and build more secure relationship patterns. These approaches may be especially helpful for those high in vulnerable narcissism.

At the same time, it is important that families have access to free and timely mental health care, so that children are supported to process and heal from trauma before it shapes their adult relationships, and the way they parent the next generation.

But prevention is better than cure.

Supporting parents and caregivers to build secure attachments with the their children and equipping them with the tools to parent effectively is essential. This is especially urgent given disturbingly high rates of child maltreatment in Australia, including emotional abuse, physical abuse and neglect – all of which have been linked to the development of vulnerable narcissism.

We don’t need to look too far to see the cost of turning a blind eye.

Megan Willis, Associate Professor, School of Behavioural and Health Sciences, Australian Catholic University

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

Ever found yourself out of sync with normal sleep patterns after late nights or working a night shift? It could be you’re experiencing what scientists call social jet lag.

The term describes the misalignment between our internal body clock (circadian rhythm) and our social schedule.

Social jet lag associated with irregular sleep patterns and inconsistent exposure to daylight is increasingly common, and has been linked with a weakened immune system.

Disruption of our circadian rhythms through shift work, for example, has been shown to have a negative impact on our ability to fight infections.

These observations reinforce the idea that maintaining a robust circadian rhythm through regular exposure to daylight supports a healthy immune system.

But how does the immune system know when it’s daytime? That is precisely what our research, published today in Science Immunology, has uncovered. Our findings could eventually deliver benefits for the treatment of inflammatory conditions.

First responders to infection

Circadian rhythms are a fundamental feature of all life on Earth. Believed to have evolved some 2.5 billion years ago, they enable organisms to adapt to challenges associated with the 24-hour solar day.

At the molecular level, these circadian rhythms are orchestrated through a genetically encoded multi-component time keeper called a circadian clock. Almost all cells are known to have the components for a circadian clock. But how they function within different cell types to regulate their behaviour is very poorly understood.

In the laboratory, we use zebrafish – small freshwater fish commonly sold in pet stores – as a model organism to understand our immune response to bacterial infection.

We use larval zebrafish because their genetic makeup and immune system are similar to ours. Also, they have transparent bodies, making it easy to observe biological processes under the microscope.

We focus on an immune cell called a “neutrophil”, a type of white blood cell. We’re interested in these cells because they specialise in killing bacteria, are first responders to infection, and are the most abundant immune cell in our bodies.

Because they are very short-lived cells, neutrophils isolated from human blood are notoriously difficult to work with experimentally. However, with transparent larval zebrafish, we can film them to directly observe how these cells function, within a completely intact animal.

Cells can tell if it’s daytime

Our initial studies showed the strength of immune response to bacterial infection peaked during the day, when the animals are active.

We think this represents an evolutionary response that provides both humans and zebrafish a survival advantage. Because diurnal animals such as humans and zebrafish are most active during daylight hours, they are more likely to encounter bacterial infections.

This work made us curious to know how this enhanced immune response was being synchronised with daylight. By making movies of neutrophils killing bacteria at different times of the day, we discovered they killed bacteria more efficiently during the daytime than at night.

We then genetically edited neutrophils to turn off their circadian clocks by carefully removing specific clock components. This is an approach similar to removing important cogs from an analogue clock so it doesn’t tick anymore.

This led to the discovery that these important immune cells possess an internal light-regulated circadian clock that alerts the cells to daytime (similar to an alarm clock). This boosts their ability to kill bacteria.

Our next challenge is to understand exactly how light is detected by neutrophils, and whether human neutrophils also rely on this internal timing mechanism to regulate their antibacterial activity.

We’re also curious to see if this killing mechanism is restricted to certain types of bacteria, such as those we’re more likely to encounter during the day. Or is it a more general response to all infectious threats (including viral infections)?

This research unlocks the potential for developing drugs that target the neutrophil circadian clock to regulate the cells’ activity. Given neutrophils are the first and most abundant immune cells to be recruited to sites of inflammation, the discovery has very broad implications for many inflammatory conditions.

The research described here was led by PhD candidates Lucia Du and Pramuk Keerthisinghe, and was a collaboration between the Hall laboratory and the Chronobiology Research Group, led by Guy Warman and James Cheeseman, at the University of Auckland’s Faculty of Medical and Health Sciences. 

Chris Hall, Associate Professor of Immunology, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

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

This month, a woman bravely testified in court she was subjected to a “degrading and humiliating experience akin to sexual assault” at the hands of New South Wales Police. The young woman was forced to remove her tampon in front of officers during a strip search, which police later admitted was unlawful.

This experience was heard in the Supreme Court as part of a class action lawsuit that includes 3,000 alleged victims. It’s alleging police unlawfully strip-searched thousands of people at music festivals between 2016 and 2022.

These searches – which disproportionately increased against young girls and women – speak to a underlying issue within policing. Police scholars have long observed an internal culture of misogyny and sexism, both domestically and internationally.

In fact, predatory behaviour from police has been documented across the country, both towards members of the public and towards other police officers.

While there are immediate headlines and promises to improve, they’re often quickly forgotten by police and the community. In not holding them accountable, we allow the harming of women to continue and positive change to remain elusive.

A long history

This has previously been a point of conversation in New South Wales. Last year, there were reports of a female then-officer, Mel Cooper, being sexually harassed and assaulted by male colleagues. Cooper, who joined the force in 1994, argued this culture is “not getting better […] it’s getting worse”.

This reflected experiences from a report by the state’s police watchdog in 2020 reviewing workplace complaints. The report, titled Operation Shorewood, found sexual harassment was among the most common complaints.

Female officers were the most likely to be subjected to harassment, despite the most recent available data indicating they make up only 26.9% of sworn personnel.

New South Wales is not a unique case. In Western Australia, it’s been reported that sexual misconduct complaints are rising. This prompted the police commissioner to admit WA Police had a “boys club culture” issue.

In Queensland, the Richards inquiry in 2022 found evidence of a culture of sexism and misogyny and viewed predatory behaviour as a significant issue. The commission learned of multiple examples of predatory behaviour, sexual harassment and assault against female colleagues (often junior officers).

In some rare cases, rape by male officers was reported.

More recently, a Queensland police sergeant who engaged in a pattern of predatory sexual conduct was reported to still be working with the force. This was despite Queensland’s police watchdog – the Crime and Corruption Commission – recommending in 2022 that dismissal was the “only appropriate sanction”.

Decades of inaction

Victoria also has a long history of this behaviour.

In 1988, a discussion paper criticised the treatment of sexual assault victims who reported or complained to police. The paper’s recommendations were never implemented, with police and government responses dismissing the paper as “pro-victim”.

A decade later, the Victorian ombudsman investigated allegations of sexual impropriety by officers at a rural police station. The allegations, which started in 1988, included rape, sexual assault, stalking, unlawful entry on premises and threatening behaviour towards members of the public.

Victims were dissuaded from giving evidence by police. Male officers came to view sex as an entitlement of their duty, targeting vulnerable and young women. It was ultimately found that police management systems had failed to deal with the behaviour for years.

The failure to address the behaviour has only continued. An audit into sex and gender discrimination and two separate reports from Victoria’s police watchdog in 2015 and 2023 continue to show evidence of sexual impropriety and predatory behaviour.

This came to a head in 2023 when Brett Johnson was convicted of using Victoria’s police database to stalk vulnerable women and initiate sexual relationships.

In response to this, and other reports into systemic issues, Victoria Police has implemented more than 90% of the Independent Broad-based Anti-corruption Commission’s recommendations. This includes working towards implementing recommendations regarding predatory behaviour.

Lessons left unlearned

It is impossible to gauge the full extent of this behaviour and its history in every jurisdiction.

There are no mandatory reporting requirements for police complaint data in Australia. The findings we do have often come from an occasional report or inquiry into police.

These incidents are also quickly forgotten. Government inquiries and investigations often fail to acknowledge these issues have been discussed many times before.

States may recognise the need for change. Other times, they will outright dismiss it.

Many identified reforms are never fully put into practice. In the case of systems for holding police accountable, this phenomenon has been seen as “cyclic”.

This is why it’s vital to recall the incidents of our past. When another scandal occurs, we should remind ourselves these are not “bad apples” or isolated events.

They are symbolic of a crisis of reform in policing – an inability to create meaningful change. We must demand better from our police and our state governments to ensure the protection of not just Australian women, but all victims and complainants.

As researcher Janet Chan argued in her internationally recognised work on changing the culture of the police, this will not be achieved through a single reform. This will require a commitment to a range of related changes.

These include changes to education, better leadership and mentoring, more effective whistleblowing processes and reforms to police complaint systems.

A popular proposal has been the creation of an independent police ombudsman to oversee and investigate complaints against police.

However, without a continued public pressure, it is unlikely we can challenge the political power of police. Failure to address these issues will only strengthen a culture that harms all who are victim to it.

The National Sexual Assault, Family and Domestic Violence Counselling Line – 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – is available 24 hours a day, seven days a week for any Australian who has experienced, or is at risk of, family and domestic violence and/or sexual assault.

Michael Cain, Associate Lecturer in Criminology, Deakin University

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

Every year, thousands of New South Wales students sit a test to determine places for highly sought-after selective high schools. These are academically selective public schools often associated with high Year 12 scores.

While there has long been a level of expectation around selective school entrance, the most recent round of testing has shone a fresh light on the pressures some young people are experiencing.

Media reports have described some students studying for 18 months to prepare for the selective school test, with multiple sessions of tutoring each week.

Earlier this month, police were called to control crowds at two testing centres as parents and students from one session overlapped with another. This is also the first year the tests have been done online and there were technical difficulties as students tried to complete exams.

One exam invigilator told The Sydney Morning Herald about the stress they witnessed among students.

We were dealing with kids who were freaking out and totally traumatised by what was going on. You could not make up a worse nightmare than what we went through that day.

It’s not surprising children were upset. The pressure to perform well on test day is enormous. As my previous research has found, some families believe entry into a selective school will secure their child’s future.

As my new research with colleagues suggests, this sees some families place huge pressure on students to study and prepare for academic tests in primary school.

Not just a NSW thing

Most (albeit not all) of Australia’s selective schools are in NSW.

But there is pressure around other tests in the primary years. There are similar levels of competition for lucrative private school scholarships around Australia, which children sit as early as Year 3. Many of these are determined by centralised tests.

Tutoring companies also offer programs for primary students preparing for NAPLAN tests in Year 3 and Year 5, as well as the “opportunity class” test in NSW (for an academically selective stream for Year 5 and 6).

Our research

In ongoing, as yet unpublished research on education cultures among migrant communities in Sydney, colleagues and I are focusing on 38 families with children in upper primary school.

In 2022 and 2023, we interviewed students, parents and teachers at six schools in high and low income areas of Sydney. All schools included large numbers of Asian migrants, allowing us to compare different groups’ approaches to education.

While not necessarily representative of all Asian migrant families, or all families with school-aged children in general, we found intensive preparation for the selective test was common in this group, especially among those students already enrolled in an opportunity class.

The tutoring routine

Many students preparing for the selective test told us they attended private tutoring three or more days per week, in addition to completing home based study. Some had begun this routine up to 12 months before to the test.

One mother, whose son attended tutoring every day, at three different centres, on top of two hours of daily homework, told us,

That’s how we prepare for selective […] You need to be methodical […] no pain, no gain.

Other parents explained they resorted to private tutoring because schools did not teach what was needed to succeed in the selective tests.

Not only do children spend afternoons, evenings and weekends in tutoring centres, they are also often giving up most if not all recreational, sporting and other extracurricular activities, narrowing their focus to acing the test.

Families also postpone holidays, outings and other potential distractions. Many of our student participants aiming for a selective school told us they never socialised with their friends outside of school time.

Sometimes they even neglected their school work so as to focus on the selective test. One teacher told us many of her students were absent from school in the week prior to the test, to ramp up their preparation.

How does this impact students?

This culture of extreme study and competitive schooling raises profound questions about the implications for student wellbeing. Some students spoke about their fatigue. As one student said:

I work up to late at night. So sometimes I feel drowsy and I yawn a bit and have water in my eyes.

Their teachers also expressed concern about insufficient sleep and heightened stress caused by the pressure to get into a selective school. They described students’ tears if they were not successful when the results came out.

One teacher said he had a “blanket rule” of not talking about the tests in the classroom, because his students were so preoccupied with ensuring they were doing enough preparation.

Other teachers reflected on students’ fear of taking risks because of the culture of perfectionism associated with scoring and ranking through tests.

What does the research say?

International research shows an association between high-stakes testing in primary years and issues with children’s mental health and academic confidence. There is also a negative association with students’ achievement in maths and literacy. That is, students who experience pressured exams were more likely to experience anxiety and depression, and not do as well in core subjects as those who did not experience this pressure.

Some parents in our study expressed concern for their child’s wellbeing. But others saw stress a positive sign of engagement and commitment, and necessary for securing the all important place in a selective school.

Given many are recent migrants, without established networks in Australia, and fearful of racial discrimination against their children, they believe education to be the most crucial foundation for future success.

However, we need more research on the impacts of these parental aspirations and anxieties on the next generation. And a broader discussion about the benefits of selecting some students – who may have benefited from extensive and expensive private tutoring – to go to separate, high-performing government schools.

Megan Watkins, Greg Noble and Alexandra Wong all contributed to the research on migrant families mentioned in this article, as part of a larger Australian Research Council-funded project.

Christina Ho, Associate professor in Social and Political Sciences, University of Technology Sydney

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

As educational psychology researchers, we are very interested in how students deal with setbacks and challenges in their schooling.

Research has found resilient students tend to have more positive academic outcomes. These include making greater effort with their work, having better study skills and enjoying school more than students who are less resilient.

We measure this resilience through something called “academic buoyancy”. This is a personal attribute that helps students overcome common setbacks at school, such as a heavy workload, poor test results or competing assignment deadlines.

In the past two decades of research into resilience or academic buoyancy, there has been a concerning trend suggesting girls report lower levels of academic buoyancy than boys.

To better understand this, we analysed all existing studies to conclusively work out if this gender gap exists, and if so, to what extent.

Our research

A meta-analysis is a research technique aimed at identifying the average effect of a phenomenon across a large number of studies. In the case of gender and academic buoyancy, meta-analysis can be used to calculate the average difference between girls and boys in academic buoyancy.

Meta-analysis produces an “effect size” that can be categorised as small, medium or large. In our case, the bigger the effect size, the greater the difference between girls and boys in academic buoyancy.

We searched for all published academic buoyancy studies across major databases. We also contacted leading researchers in the field for any studies into academic buoyancy they had conducted, but had not published.

Following this process, our meta-analysis included 53 studies published between 2008 and 2024 reporting on the link between gender and academic buoyancy. It involved 173,665 students from primary school through to high school and university. Study locations included Australia, the United Kingdom, United States, Canada, Jamaica, Finland, China, Singapore and the Philippines.

What we found

We found the average effect of gender on academic buoyancy was statistically significant and small-to-medium in size. This means there was a reliable and noticeable difference between girls and boys and their reported levels of academic buoyancy.

In other words, girls are less resilient to everyday academic challenges (such as a poor mark or negative interaction with a teacher) than their male peers.

While we did not set out to study why this is the case, previous research suggests this could be because girls experience higher levels of academic anxiety than boys and these higher levels of anxiety may make it more difficult for them to navigate academic adversity. Now these meta-analysis findings are known, there is a need for research to more closely examine the reasons for the gender difference.

Our results, of course, are average findings. This does not mean all girls report lower academic buoyancy and not all boys are buoyant.

So efforts should therefore be aimed at boosting the buoyancy of those who struggle with academic adversity and sustaining it among those who are managing well.

Previous research suggests there are two broad approaches educators, along with parents, can take.

The direct approach

Teachers, counsellors and parents can work to directly boost students’ academic buoyancy through the following steps:

– teaching students to recognise academic adversity early, before that adversity becomes more difficult to manage. For example, when it is starting to take them longer to do homework than other students.

– explaining to students how to adjust their thoughts, behaviour, and/or emotions in the face of this adversity. For thought, they might have to start thinking about what possible resources they can draw on. For behaviour, they might seek help from a teacher as one source of support, when normally they may not do so. For emotion, they may need to minimise fear they may have about asking that teacher for help.

– encouraging students to take heart from small improvements. For example, if asking the teacher for help works, they should see this as a “win” (“I can overcome problems”).

– encouraging students to keep noticing and adjusting their thoughts, behaviours and/or emotion in response to adversity. So this becomes part of their everyday habits.

The 6 Cs of an ‘underpinning’ approach

Another approach involves targeting the factors that underpin academic resilience. Our previous research has identified six factors or points where educators and parents can help students.

1. Confidence: boosting students’ self belief in their ability to succeed.

2. Coordination: helping students with academic planning and task management.

3. Commitment: building students’ persistence; for example, through goal-setting and goal-striving.

4. Control: directing students’ attention to things they control, such as their effort.

5. Composure: reducing students’ anxiety; for example, through addressing fearful thoughts and adopting relaxation strategies that work for them.

6. Community: building strong interpersonal relationships with peers and teachers, so they feel supported.

As these strategies are being considered, educators also need to accommodate other pressures in students’ lives that may be contributing to or exacerbating a student’s difficulties, such as social difficulties or issues at home. They also need to consider any clinical issues such as attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).

Taken together, with the support of educators and parents, there are practical changes students can make to boost their response to academic adversity, and in turn, help close the gender gap around academic buoyancy.

Andrew J. Martin, Scientia Professor and Professor of Educational Psychology, UNSW Sydney; Oscar Yau, PhD Candidate, School of Education, UNSW Sydney; Paul Ginns, Associate Professor in Educational Psychology, University of Sydney, and Rebecca J. Collie, Scientia Associate Professor of Educational Psychology, UNSW Sydney

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

Anxiety affects one in five Australian men at some point in their lives. But the condition remains highly stigmatised, misunderstood and under-diagnosed.

Men are around half as likely to be diagnosed with an anxiety disorder compared to women. Some feel pressure to be fearless and hide their emotions. Others simply don’t understand or have the language to describe anxiety symptoms.

This has serious consequences. Our latest research shows young men are turning to ambulance services when their symptoms become overwhelming – some even think they’re having a heart attack.

So why do so many men wait until they need to call emergency services, rather than seek support earlier from a GP or psychologist? And what prompts them to call? We reviewed the paramedic notes of 694 men aged 15 to 25 years in Victoria, Australia, to find out.

Young men haven’t seen others asking for help

Boys are raised to value courage, strength and self-assurance, and to suppress vulnerability.

When parents encourage boys to “face their fears”, rather than offering emotional comfort and tenderness, anxiety gets positioned in conflict with masculinity. This leads to a disjuncture between the support young men are met with (and come to expect) from others, and the support they may want or need.

This also means boys grow up believing their male role models – dads, brothers, grandads, coaches – don’t get anxious, deterring boys and men from seeking help. As a result, anxiety goes undiagnosed and opportunities for early intervention are missed.

Recently, we have seen positive shifts challenging restrictive masculine stereotypes. This has improved awareness surrounding men’s depression – opening up conversations, normalising help-seeking and leading to the development of men’s mental health programs and resources.

However, men’s anxiety remains in the shadows. When anxiety is talked about, it’s not with the same weight or concern as depression. This is despite men’s anxiety having harmful health impacts including turning to alcohol and drugs to cope, and increasing the risk of male suicide.

What does anxiety look like?

When men are encouraged to talk about anxiety, they describe various challenges including repetitive worries, feeling out-of-control and intense physical symptoms. This includes a high heart rate, shortness of breath, body pains, tremors and headaches.

Jack Steele, a prominent Australian personality and one half of the Inspired Unemployed, opened up about his anxiety difficulties on The Imperfects Podcast last year saying:

I didn’t know what anxiety was. I thought I was the opposite of anxiety.

The way I explain it, it’s like […] your whole body just shuts down. My throat starts closing up and my whole body just goes numb. […] It feels like you’re just so alone. You feel like no-one can help you.

You genuinely think the world’s ending – like there’s no out.

These physical symptoms are common in men but can be frequently dismissed rather than recognised as anxiety. Our research has found that, when left unaddressed, these symptoms typically worsen and arise in more and more contexts.

Why do anxious men call ambulances?

Our new study investigated the consequences of men’s anxiety going unaddressed.

First, we used data from the National Ambulance Surveillance System to identify and describe the types of anxiety young men experience. We then looked at the characteristics and contexts of young men’s anxiety presentations to ambulance services.

Overwhelmed and lacking support, many young men turn to ambulances in crisis. Anxiety now accounts for 10% of male ambulance attendances for mental health concerns, surpassing depression and psychosis.

While every presentation is different, our study identified three common presentations among young men:

1. Sudden onset of intense bodily symptoms resembling life-threatening physical health conditions such as heart attacks.

Twenty-two-year-old Joshua, for example, whose case files we reviewed as part of our study, was on a tram home from work when he experienced sudden numbness in his hands and feet. A bystander saw he was having muscle spasms in his hands. Joshua was alert but extremely anxious and asked the bystander for help.

2. Severe anxiety triggered or worsened by substance use.

Adam, a 21-year-old man, consumed a substantial amount of diazepam (Valium) while driving home, after having an anxiety attack at work. Adam reached out to paramedics because he was concerned his anxiety symptoms hadn’t dissipated, and was worried he may have taken too much diazepam.

3. Mental health deterioration with self-harm or suicidal thoughts, often tied to situational stressors such as unstable housing, unemployment, financial difficulties and relationship strain.

Leo, aged 25, had been increasingly anxious for the past three days. Leo’s parents called an ambulance after he told them he wanted to kill himself. Leo told paramedics on arrival that he still felt suicidal and had been getting worse over the past three months.

Directing resources where they’re needed

Young men’s anxiety presentations are time- and resource-intensive for paramedics, many of whom feel poorly equipped to respond effectively. After ruling out physical causes, paramedic support is typically limited to reassurance and breathing techniques.

Most young men are then instructed to follow up with GPs, psychologists or other health professionals in the general community.

But taking that next step involves overcoming the stigma associated with help-seeking, the shame of having called an ambulance and deep tensions between anxiety and what it means to be a man.

This means many young men slip through the cracks. And without ongoing mental health support, they face high risks of presenting again to emergency services with increasingly severe mental health symptoms.

To address this, we need to:

• ramp up conversations about men’s anxiety and take their experiences seriously

• develop an awareness campaign about men’s anxiety. Awareness campaigns have successfully dismantled stigma and shed light on men’s depression and suicide

• improve diagnosis of men’s anxiety disorders by up-skilling and training clinicians to detect anxiety and the unique and distinct constellations of symptoms in men

• create accessible pathways to early support through digital psychological education resources, focused on improving awareness and literacy surrounding men’s anxiety experiences.

If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.

Krista Fisher, Research Fellow, Centre for Youth Mental Health, The University of Melbourne; Dan Lubman, Executive Clinical Director, Turning Point & Director of Monash Addiction Research Centre, Monash University; Simon Rice, Associate Professor & Clinical Psychologist, Mental Health in Elite Sports, The University of Melbourne, and Zac Seidler, Associate Professor, Centre for Youth Mental Health, The University of Melbourne

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

Among the rising tide of loneliness and disconnection, live music is proving to be more than just a good time; it’s a powerful antidote. Whether it’s a pub gig or a stadium show, live music brings people together in ways that matter.

In a recent paper, my colleagues and I reviewed 59 studies of more than 18,000 live music attendees, mostly in Western countries such as the United Kingdom, United States, Australia, New Zealand and parts of Europe.

Here are six ways live music helps alleviate loneliness, based on our and other researchers’ findings.

Opportunities for social connection

Live music events offer people the opportunity to deepen connections with friends, and spark conversations with strangers. They can also act as bridges for people from diverse backgrounds to come together, with music as a common ground.

Music Australia recently reported First Nations and younger audiences are especially likely to value live events as a chance to make new friends, and to feel an enhanced sense of belonging.

Bonding through shared experiences

At heavy metal or punk gigs, the chaos of a mosh pit becomes a surprising display of harmony – despite lyrics of rebellion or anarchy. Strangers move in sync, expressing their private emotions in a communal way.

Research shows syncing to music, even in silent discos, enhances positive feelings and behaviours towards coparticipants. Emotional contagion, or “catching” emotions from the music or other audience members, can also contribute to emotional resonance.

When a crowd shares emotions, movement and even values, a strong feeling of unity can emerge. French sociologist Émile Durkheim called this “collective effervescence”.

Focusing on something bigger

Creative Victoria recently found the primary reason people attend live music is to connect with others and feel part of something bigger than themselves.

Live music can create this communal experience through transcendent emotions. Research into awe-inspiring events reveals they can shift our focus away from ourselves and towards a larger, interconnected whole.

This helps explain why attending live performances can encourage positive social behaviours and reduce loneliness, even if an attendee doesn’t actually speak to anyone.

Sharing one’s authentic self

Live music events, particularly festivals, have been described as “idealised communities” where attendees feel safe to express their authentic selves, free from everyday social constraints.

This “time out of time” experience can be exploratory and liberating, allowing people to connect with others in ways they might not in their regular lives. The safety, trust and respect within these spaces can be particularly empowering for historically marginalised groups, such as LGBTQIA+ and culturally diverse individuals.

Long-term identity building

Shared rituals and artefacts, from Swifties’ wristbands to EDM glow sticks, help live music fans feel like they are part of a meaningful collective. These practices are especially powerful for young people, whose social identities are still developing.

Even during the pandemic, live stream audiences overcame isolation by connecting with others through ritualistic use of emojis and comments.

Long after a show ends, merchandise, band tattoos, online fan forums and recordings of the artist’s music all help sustain feelings of connection with other members of the “scene”.

Music as a social surrogate

Sometimes, live music feels like more than just music. It can feel like a friend: it can listen, empathise and offer comfort when no one else is around.

Research shows music can reduce loneliness by reminding us of real relationships. At times, this can extend to forming parasocial relationships with the musicians themselves, which can offer solace during loneliness. This function of music became especially clear during the pandemic and lockdowns.

Reviving community

Looking at our research, it’s undeniable live music is a beacon of community and inclusiveness in an increasingly disconnected world.

But despite its enormous potential, the industry in Australia is at a crossroads. Post-pandemic recovery has been slow, with engagement in local artists’ events and events at smaller venues (such as pubs and clubs) declining.

Music Australia has found younger people are preferring to stay home for their entertainment. And Creative Victoria reports more than a quarter of the live music market has not attended an event in the past three years, prompting this warning: “These audiences need a compelling reason to entice them to return to in-person attendance.”

Alleviating loneliness, especially among young people, might just be that reason.

Whether it’s through a chance meeting with a like-minded individual at a local gig, or an identity-affirming experience at a festival, live music stands as a universal language that is capable of bringing people together to overcome feelings of isolation.

By recognising its value, we’re not just helping revive an industry – we’re tackling one of society’s most pressing issues.

Nikki Rickard, Professor, Wellbeing Science, The University of Melbourne

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

When it was revealed that Meta had used a dataset of pirated books to train its latest AI model, Llama, Australian authors were furious. Works by writers including Liane Moriarty, Tim Winton, Melissa Lucashenko, Christos Tsiolkas and many others had been scraped from the online shadow library LibGen without permission.

It was just the latest in a series of incidents where published books have been fed into commercial AI systems without the knowledge of their creators, and without any credit or compensation.

Our new report, Australian Authors’ Sentiment on Generative AI, co-authored with Shujie Liang and Tessa Barrington, offers the first large-scale empirical study of how Australian authors and illustrators feel about this rapidly evolving technology. It reveals just how widespread the concern is.

Unsurprisingly, most Australian authors do not want their work used to train AI systems. But this is not only about payment. It is about consent, trust and the future of their profession.

A clear rejection

In late 2024, we surveyed over 400 members of the Australian Society of Authors, the national peak body for writers and illustrators. We asked about their use of AI, their understanding of how generative models are trained, and whether they would agree to their work being used for training – with or without compensation.

79% said they would not allow their existing work to be used to train AI models, even if they were paid. Almost as many – 77% – said the same about future work.

Among those open to payment, half expected at least $A1,000 per work. A small number nominated figures in the tens or hundreds of thousands.

But the dominant response, from both established and emerging authors, was a firm “no”.

This presents a serious roadblock for those hoping publishers might broker blanket licensing agreements with AI firms. If most authors are unwilling to grant permission under any terms, then standard contract clauses or opt-in models are unlikely to deliver a practical or ethical solution.

Income loss and a shrinking profession

Authors are not just concerned about how their past work is used. They are also worried about what generative AI means for their future.

70% of respondents believe AI is likely to displace income-generating work for authors and illustrators. Some already reported losing jobs or being offered lower rates based on assumptions that AI tools would cut costs.

This fear compounds an already difficult economic reality. For many, writing is sustained only through other jobs or a partner’s support. As previous research has shown, most Australian authors earn well below the national average. In 2022, the average income writers earned from their work was $18,200 per annum.

Generative AI risks further eroding the already fragile foundation on which Australia’s literary culture depends. If professional writers cannot make a living and new voices cannot see a viable path into the industry, the pipeline of Australian storytelling will shrink.

More than a copyright issue

At first glance, this might seem like a technical or legal issue, concerning rights management and royalty payments. But our findings show the objections run much deeper.

An overwhelming 91% of respondents said it was unfair for their work to be used to train AI models without permission or compensation. More than half believed AI tools could plausibly mimic their creative style. This raised concerns not only about unauthorised use, but also about imitation and displacement.

For many authors, their work is more than just intellectual property. It represents their voice, their identity and years of creative labour, often undertaken with little financial return.

The idea that a machine could replicate that work without consent, credit or payment is not only unsettling; for many, it feels like a fundamental violation of creative ownership.

This is not simply a case of authors being hesitant to engage with emerging technologies. Our findings suggest a more informed and considered stance. Most respondents had a moderate or strong understanding of how generative AI models are trained. They also made clear distinctions between tools that support creativity and those designed to replace it entirely.

What they lacked was basic information. 80% of respondents did not know whether their work had already been used in AI training. This absence of transparency is a major source of frustration, even for well-informed professionals.

Without clear information, informed consent is impossible. And without consent, even the most innovative AI applications will be viewed with suspicion.

The publishing and tech industries cannot expect trust from creators while keeping them in the dark about how their work is used.

A sustainable future far from guaranteed

Generative AI is already reshaping the creative landscape, but the path ahead remains uncertain.

Our findings reveal a fundamental dilemma. If most Australian authors will not grant permission for their work to be used in AI training, even if compensation is offered, the prospect of negotiated agreements between AI companies, publishers and authors is unlikely.

What we are seeing is not just a policy gap. It reflects a deeper breakdown in trust. There is a growing belief among authors that the value of their creative work is being eroded by systems built on its use.

The widespread rejection of licensing models points to a looming impasse. If developers proceed without consent when authors are refusing to participate, it will be difficult to build the shared foundations that a sustainable creative economy requires.

Whether that gap can be bridged is still an open question. But if writers cannot see a viable or respected place for themselves, the long-term consequences for Australia’s cultural life will be significant.

If Australia wants a fair and forward-looking creative sector, it cannot afford to leave its authors out of the conversation.

Paul Crosby, Senior Lecturer, Department of Economics, Macquarie University and Jordi McKenzie, Associate Professor, Department of Economics, Macquarie University

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