“Humble” is not a word my colleagues would use to describe me, especially early in my career.

In fact, when word got around that I was researching humility, I suspect more than a few choked on their coffee.

And even though I have spent over a decade exploring the concept as an attribute and as a practice, it wasn’t until I recently reflected on my own professional challenges that I truly understood how to embrace humility.

I want to share my journey, but first it is important to understand what humility is – and isn’t. It’s been extolled as a virtue for centuries, but it’s often mischaracterized.

In today’s culture, it can be mistaken as a humblebrag, which disguises a boast as modesty – for example, “I really hate talking about myself, but people keep asking how I managed to run a marathon while working full time.” Or it can resemble impostor phenomenon, the persistent experience of feeling intellectually or professionally fraudulent despite clear evidence of competence or success.

But research shows that humble people hold accurate views of their own abilities and achievements. They openly acknowledge their mistakes and limitations and are receptive to new ideas. Overall, they recognize their places within a larger whole and genuinely appreciate the value of others.

Humility doesn’t always earn praise. Sometimes the humble may be seen as meek, subservient or self-abasing.

For instance, many people praised former New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern’s empathetic, self-effacing leadership during the COVID-19 pandemic, with an openness and deference to experts. But some critics dismissed it as weak or soft. These negative views show the various ways people “see” humility.

Generally, though, when humility is understood as grounded self-awareness rather than self-erasure, it’s viewed as something worth cultivating and practicing. We see openness, curiosity, acknowledgment of others and a lack of ego in fictional characters like Ted Lasso, hero of the same-titled Apple TV series; Samwise Gamgee in the “Lord of the Rings” books; and Jean-Luc Picard, commander of the USS Enterprise in “Star Trek: The Next Generation.”

Humility is also evident in public figures, such as former President Jimmy Carter, children’s television host Fred Rogers, and Nelson Mandela, the Black nationalist who served as the first Black president of South Africa.

I’m a sociologist with a focus on medical education and health care providers. At Arizona State University’s Edson College of Nursing and Health Innovation, I explore issues including causes of burnout, elements of team-based care and opportunities for emphasizing the human side of health care. In recent years, my work has focused on humility.

From my research and my own experience, I’ve learned that true humility isn’t self-erasure. It’s a sense of security and confidence that your value doesn’t depend on recognition and that you are just one member of a larger system with a multitude of contributors. By removing the need to dominate, humility fosters openness to collaboration, innovation and an awareness of how the systems around us work.

Still, in a world of Instagram likes and LinkedIn accolades, humility can be the virtue everyone seems to admire but few practice It’s the one we say we want – until it requires us to confront the parts of ourselves that crave affirmation.

Climbing the professional ladder

I tend to stand out in a crowd. I’m 6-foot-4, with close-cropped hair, a heavy beard and tattoos. I also push myself to stand out professionally.

Starting in graduate school, I was determined to make my voice heard and sought after. I pursued nearly every opportunity, committee and position that came my way. No role was too small for me to accept.

I strived to present my work in top-tier journals and at conferences, and I cold-called prominent scholars to propose working together. And I constantly shared my findings and thoughts on social media.

Like many workplaces, the academic world has a set of defined success metrics, such as publications, citations of your work, grant funding and teaching evaluations from students. School culture and leadership influence what each college or university considers more or less valuable among those measures. To advance and get promoted, particularly to get tenure, it’s important to learn at an early stage what one’s department, college or university truly prioritizes.

I wanted to get tenure but also to be seen as an active citizen of academia – energetic, outspoken and unafraid to push boundaries. When my department chair described me as having my hair on fire, I took it as a compliment. I called it “making positive noise.”

Initially, the system rewarded that noise. I earned tenure at the University of Delaware and received departmental, college and national awards. I also was appointed to serve as associate dean and to direct a new research center. I felt validated, visible and valuable.

The sociology department at the University of Delaware had a typical academic culture that’s often summarized as “publish or perish.” The most important measures of scholars’ work were writing, publishing their work in respected journals and having other researchers cite those studies. Securing external funding from government, private companies or foundations was valued but was not as high a priority as publishing.

A new beginning that felt like an end

In 2020 I received a new opportunity at Arizona State University, a much larger school that branded itself as a hub of innovation and entrepreneurship. I was offered the chance to direct the Center for Advancing Interprofessional Practice, Education and Research and to step into the shoes of a leader I deeply admired. I arrived expecting to be a big fish in a bigger pond.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I showed up imagining there’d be a bit of buzz around my arrival given my time at the University of Delaware. But reality didn’t match the script: no greeting, office or nameplate marked my place when I arrived.

Early conversations with administrators weren’t about my research or teaching visions – the things that I thought set me apart. Instead, I felt they tended to focus on how much external funding I could raise from foundations and government agencies. My new colleagues often spoke in a shorthand of grant-based acronyms when referring to what projects they were working on, a “language” I was woefully unfamiliar with.

To make matters worse, I arrived during COVID-19, with classes either canceled or taught online and faculty members working mainly from home. The hallway chatter, open doors and spontaneous collaboration that I was accustomed to were absent. I began to feel alienated and disoriented as a scholar.

Even after ASU resumed in-person classes in the fall of 2021, I felt like the silence and distance lingered. No students waited for office hours. I struggled to make connections with my colleagues. I eagerly proposed collaborations when really everyone was just trying to find their footing in this new era of education.

My proposals for new classes and curricular programs hit up against institutional barriers I was unaware of. At one point, a college administrator asked, “How do we get you on other people’s grants?” – a question that I took to imply that they felt my research wasn’t strong enough.

It appeared that my colleagues in Edson College were accustomed to these values and spoke the language. I was a stranger in a strange land. Although I was producing some of my best work, measured in terms of publications and citations, I felt no one seemed interested. I had come from an environment where I felt known and valued to one where I seemed to be a nobody.

I felt as though I needed to staple my resume to my forehead and parade around the hallways asserting, like Ron Burgundy in the movie “Anchorman,” “I’m not quite sure how to put this, but … I’m kind of a big deal. People know me.”

The impact of feeling unseen

For people who have built careers by being highly engaged and visible, suddenly feeling unseen can be devastating. In any profession, a fear that you don’t belong at your workplace can be debilitating and make you question your own value.

I sought advice from peers and college leaders, and even hired a professional coach. Things only worsened. Curricular proposals were stalled or turned down. My center was shuttered in a restructuring, although it was meeting its goals and earning international recognition.

At first, I blamed ASU and Edson College for my feelings of disconnection. I thought the leadership structure and style was dysfunctional; that many colleagues were cold, unfriendly and conformist; and that the college’s stated values were inauthentic.

This series of what I came to call “unacknowledgments” sent me into a personal and professional tailspin. Negativity and self-doubt consumed me, and I truly worried that my career was over. Had I been blackballed? Why did it feel as though no one cared?

When the noise turns inward

I had spent years studying empathy – the ability to understand and feel what someone else is feeling – and how to cultivate it among health care professionals and students in order to support more patient-centered care. To that end, at the University of Delaware I had developed a program designed to foster empathy across health professions. It aimed to help students see one another as collaborators, build shared respect and recognize their collective role on the same health care delivery team.

But when I further analyzed the program’s outcomes from my office at ASU, I realized that empathy wasn’t enough. It could help students feel with others, but it didn’t necessarily help them see themselves, or others, differently.

I realized that what I really wanted the students to develop was humility. This step would require them to recognize their limits, accept that they were fallible, see themselves as part of a larger team and value others’ contributions.

That realization changed my research trajectory – and eventually, my professional life.

Research becomes a mirror

Initially, I approached humility solely as a scholar. I examined the history of the concept and gaps in existing research on it, and I analyzed how humility was connected to uncertainty and the impostor phenomenon. I explored how humility could enhance team-based care and developed a new way to define humility among health care professionals in order to promote more collaboration and patient-centeredness.

As my own professional world began to unravel, and as I dived deeper into the concept of humility through my research, something unexpected happened. I realized that humility wasn’t just an idea to study – it was becoming a mirror that made me rethink my own perspective.

Slowly, I began to see how pride and insecurity were entwined in my reactions to my new setting at ASU. I realized that my need to be noticed, and my insistence that others validate my worth, represented my own kind of arrogance.

Perhaps my ambition had been less about contributing and more about gaining external validation. I had lost the selfless wonder and awe that drive scholarly inquiry and curiosity. And now I had to confront what remained when the spotlight dimmed.

Humility, I began to understand, wasn’t just an abstract concept to explore “out there” among others. I needed to hone it internally by thinking beyond myself. By decentering my ego, I realized that I could nurture and sustain curiosity in its own right.

In short, I needed to practice what I was preaching. It wasn’t an easy lesson. I assume that cultivating humility never is.

To that end, I felt that it was essential to develop a program to help build humility “muscles.” In 2024 I developed HIIT for Humility, an online training package for individuals or groups, modeled after the fitness concept of high-intensity interval training. This program provides evidence-based strategies to help users start building “habits of humility,” such as acknowledgment of others and self-awareness.

Just as physical exercise requires consistency to produce results, so does the cultivation of humility. Leaning into HIIT for Humility workouts gradually eased my sense of alienation and defensiveness. I became more appreciative of others, less quick to judge and better able to listen to others’ perspectives. In doing so, I started to feel more confident and secure.

While I still took pride in my work, I began to see that my contributions were not the only ones that mattered. I also found that I could stretch into unfamiliar but necessary tasks, such as working harder to win federal and foundation grants and seeing the value of my colleagues’ contributions to science.

Why am I here?

Only a few years into this process, I can see that ASU and Edson College have unintentionally taught me humility by signaling, often quietly, which contributions are deemed essential and which forms of success carry the most weight. Navigating stalled proposals, shifting priorities and structural reorganizations have required me to recalibrate my ego, expectations and identity.

Not being seen as a “big fish” and being expected to persist without consistent recognition have required me to understand my work as part of a larger system with differing values and, at times, challenging constraints. Shifting to ASU forced me to rethink my identity as a professor and to reevaluate my sense of purpose from the inside out.

A colleague of mine often asks students who he feels are coasting along, “Why are you here?” Lately, I’ve taken that question personally. What is the point of being a professor – writing papers, submitting grant proposals, teaching courses? Why did I choose this path in the first place?

When I feel unseen, unheard or unappreciated, pondering why I’m here helps ground me. For anyone who is struggling to feel visible or valued at work, I strongly recommend considering this simple question.

Over time, I’ve stopped needing to be the big fish in the pond and measuring my worth in titles and awards. I now see that my responsibility as a scholar, teacher and human being is to stay curious, listen more deeply and make space for others’ voices.

Embracing humility, and consistently using my humility muscles, have helped me realize that I’m here to be part of the creative energy of academia, do the work and cultivate curiosity in my students, my peers and myself.

Barret Michalec, Research Associate Professor of Nursing and Health Innovation, Arizona State University

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

A little-known American lawsuit could end up reshaping popular music. A US federal court is preparing to rule on a landmark copyright dispute. At its centre is an interesting question: can a short rhythmic pattern – one that appears in thousands of reggaeton tracks – be owned?

The case, known as the Fish Market dispute, asks whether a looping beat widely associated with reggaeton can be protected by copyright. More than 150 artists and producers have been named as defendants, and around 3,600 songs are implicated.

But the consequences stretch far beyond potential damages. If the claim succeeds, a rhythm that underpins an entire genre could become private property. The lawsuit exposes a long-standing weakness in copyright law, which is its inability to clearly define what makes a piece of music “original”.

Copyright is meant to be straightforward. Original musical works receive legal protection but copies do not. In practice though, music rarely fits this neat, binary logic.

Songs are built from shared elements like rhythms, chord progressions and harmonic patterns. Musicians can reuse, adapt and transform them. These building blocks are how music communicates. But copyright law offers little guidance on which musical elements can be protected, and which belong to everyone.

Unlike literature or visual art, music lacks clear legal definitions for its basic components. There is no settled guidance on whether courts should compare melody, rhythm, harmony, tempo, timbre or pitch, or indeed how much similarity is too much. As a result, judges and juries are left to decide these questions case by case, often without musical expertise.

That uncertainty has made music copyright litigation expensive and unpredictable. Jury trials are particularly risky, and damages can be eye-watering. Two recent American cases show just how inconsistent the system has become.

When courts can’t agree what counts as copying

In 2018, a US jury found that musicians Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams had infringed Marvin Gaye’s work with their song Blurred Lines, not because of a shared melody or lyrics, but because of a similar “feel” or “vibe”. The decision marked a dramatic expansion of copyright protection, suggesting that a musical mood could be owned. Critics warned this risked allowing artists to monopolise styles rather than specific creative expressions.

By contrast, a 2024 US court ruling in a case involving singer-songwriter Ed Sheeran took the opposite view. The court held that copyright does not protect the basic building blocks of music. Shared rhythms, chord sequences or stylistic elements, it ruled, are part of musical language itself. Protection applies only to concrete expressions such as specific melodies or lyrics.

The Fish Market case magnifies this contradiction and raises the stakes considerably.

The plaintiffs – Steely & Clevie Productions, which represent the musical catalogue of the influential Jamaican dancehall duo Wycliffe “Steely” Johnson and Cleveland Browne – claim that their 1989 instrumental track, Fish Market, introduced the so-called “dem bow” rhythm. This is a distinctive beat, they argue, which forms the backbone of reggaeton. They are seeking copyright protection for that rhythmic pattern.

If successful, the ruling would grant two rightsholders control over a core musical feature used across a global genre. Unsurprisingly, many musicians and scholars see this as an attempt to claim ownership of reggaeton itself.

They argue that the rhythm predates Fish Market, drawing on long-established Afro-Caribbean and Afro-Cuban traditions such as the habanera beat. Reggaeton, they say, emerged through cultural exchange: from Jamaican dancehall, through Puerto Rico and out into the world. According to this perspective, the plaintiffs are not protecting originality but attempting to privatise a shared cultural inheritance.

Why rhythm is so hard to copyright

Rhythm sits at the heart of the legal problem. It is abstract yet fundamental, short in duration but repeated across a song and deeply tied to cultural identity. Copyright law, designed to compare fixed and discrete works, struggles to evaluate such elements. When courts attempt to isolate rhythm from its musical and cultural context, they risk mistaking convention for originality.

Copyright once played a limited role in musical life. Over time, as recorded music became a major commercial industry, songs increasingly came to be treated as economic assets. Ownership and control moved to the foreground, often at the expense of recognising music as an intellectual and cultural practice rooted in borrowing, influence and exchange.

The dispute around the “dem bow” rhythm lays bare the clash between subjective creativity, economic regulation and the law’s demand for objective rules. That clash is becoming harder to ignore as AI-generated music floods the market, trained on existing works and capable of producing endless stylistic variations. If copyright cannot clearly define originality now, its limits will soon be tested even further.

The reggaeton rhythm on trial is not just a fight over a beat. It reveals a fundamental mismatch between copyright law’s rigid standards and the reality of how music is made.

The Fish Market case offers judges an opportunity to clarify where protection should end, and to recognise the dangers of stretching originality so far that creativity itself becomes collateral damage.

Anna Monnereau, PhD Candidate in Music Copyright, Bangor University

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

The latest wellness trend and “sleep hack” involves switching off the bathroom light before stepping into the shower. In the dimness, the water feels louder, the day’s visual clutter fades and the hope is that sleep will come more easily. This practice, often called “dark showering”, has spread on social media, with people claiming that washing before bed in near darkness leads to deeper and faster sleep.

There is little research on dark showering as a standalone sleep technique. However, sleep science is clear about two key factors this ritual changes: light and heat. Both can nudge the body toward sleep or keep it alert.

Light is not only for seeing. Bright light in the evening signals to the brain’s internal body clock that it is still daytime. This delays the release of melatonin, a hormone that helps regulate sleep and is often described as the body’s “darkness signal”.

In a laboratory study of 116 adults, typical room lighting between dusk and bedtime reduced early night melatonin levels by about 70% compared with very dim light. Exposure to room light before bed also shortened the total duration of melatonin release by about 90 minutes. Participants reported feeling more alert.

Bathrooms are often the brightest rooms in a home. Overhead lighting and illuminated mirrors are designed for precision tasks that are useful in the morning but less helpful late at night. Turning these lights off, or dimming them, removes a strong signal that it is still daytime.

One experiment exposed volunteers to standard bathroom lighting for just 30 minutes at bedtime. Melatonin levels dropped and self reported alertness increased, even though participants remained in the bathroom.

More recent research supports this. A 2025 crossover trial compared exposure before bed to cool white LED lighting with softer fluorescent lighting at the same brightness. The LED lighting delayed the time it took participants to fall asleep by about ten minutes and left them feeling less sleepy.

Another study of adolescents found that a burst of bright light in the early evening reduced melatonin levels three hours later and delayed the normal rise in sleepiness.

The same pattern appears in studies of screens. A controlled experiment comparing reading on a light emitting e-reader with reading a printed book found that the glowing device delayed the body clock, reduced melatonin and made it take longer to fall asleep.

A 2023 laboratory study that adjusted the “blue weighted” impact of screens, meaning the part of light most likely to affect the body clock, found that reducing this blue component lessened melatonin suppression and shortened the time needed to fall asleep.

If dark showering replaces time spent under bright bathroom lights or scrolling on a phone, it may help simply by reducing evening light exposure. The benefit will be smaller if the shower is followed by time under full lighting to dry hair, choose clothes for the next day and tidy up.

Darkness also works gradually. Melatonin does not switch on instantly when the lights go out, and a brief shower will not reset a body clock that has been running late for weeks.

Shower water may provide a second benefit. Research on passive body heating, which means warming the body without exercise, has shown that a warm shower or bath taken at the right time can help people fall asleep more quickly.

A 2019 meta analysis of 13 trials concluded that about ten minutes in warm water one to two hours before bedtime shortened the time it took to fall asleep by roughly nine minutes and improved sleep efficiency, the proportion of time in bed actually spent asleep. Warm water widens blood vessels in the hands and feet, helping core body temperature drop afterwards, a key signal for drowsiness.

Dark showering may also help prepare the nervous system for sleep. Low light reduces the brain’s alerting signals and makes it easier to shift from a state of vigilance, often called the “fight or flight” response, into a calmer “rest and digest” state.

One lab study asked volunteers to lie in a bath while sensors monitored their heartbeat. When the water was close to normal body temperature, about 37 to 38 degrees Celsius, the parasympathetic nervous system became more active. This is the part of the nervous system that slows the heart and supports relaxation. Heart rate slowed slightly and heart rate variability increased, a sign the body is adapting and settling.

A simpler experiment found a similar effect using only warm foot baths. Young women who soaked their feet in warm water for ten minutes showed an increase in vagal tone within 15 minutes.

Vagal tone refers to signals carried by the vagus nerve, which helps regulate heart rate, breathing and relaxation. Higher vagal tone is linked to steadier breathing, lower stress hormone levels and an easier transition into sleep.

Darkness supports the same process from another angle. Bright, blue rich LED lighting can raise heart rate and reduce vagal tone within minutes. A 2025 systematic review found that dimmer, warmer lighting allows heart rate variability to increase, signalling a calmer nervous system.

Another factor is the sound of running water. A 2024 analysis found that natural sounds such as rainfall or flowing rivers can lower cortisol, a stress hormone, and stabilise heart rate more effectively than silence. Heat, darkness and soft background noise may therefore combine to signal that it is safe to relax.

There are important caveats. No large trial has directly compared dark showers with brightly lit showers while measuring objective sleep outcomes, so the idea is based on combining related findings rather than direct evidence.

People with mobility difficulties may need some light to reduce the risk of slips, and those who experience night-time anxiety may feel uneasy in complete darkness. As with most sleep advice, no single habit is a cure for chronic insomnia. Daytime light exposure, caffeine timing and stress management all play an important role.

Timothy Hearn, Lecturer, University of Cambridge; Anglia Ruskin University

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

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder than during a church service, when something faintly ridiculous caught my eye. My friend saw it too, and once she started laughing, it became impossible to stop. Years later I’ve tried to explain what was so hilarious, but it seems you had to be there. What was it about the combination of the situation – sometimes referred to as “church giggles” – and shared laughter that made it so funny?

Most people recognise the experience. A solemn setting. Absolute silence. A fleeting visual detail that is, in any other context, only mildly amusing at best. Yet the harder you try to suppress the laugh, the more uncontrollable it becomes. When someone else notices it too, restraint becomes next to impossible.

This kind of laughter that comes from trying not to laugh isn’t confined to religious spaces. It happens in any setting where silence, seriousness and self-control are tightly enforced and uncontrolled laughter is frowned upon.

Rather than being bad manners or a lack of emotional maturity, it tells us something about how the brain behaves under pressure. The science behind it is surprisingly complex.

In highly formal settings – churches, courtrooms, funerals – the brain operates in a state of active inhibition. This is the process by which your brain deliberately suppresses brain activity.

The region most involved is the prefrontal cortex, the thinking and decision-making part at the front of your brain, particularly its medial and lateral areas. These areas handle social judgment, behavioural restraint and emotional regulation.

This part of the brain doesn’t stop emotions from arising. Instead, it works by suppressing their outward expression.

Laughter comes from a distributed network in the brain rather than a single “laughter centre”. The impulse begins in the outer regions of the brain, but the emotional drive comes from deeper structures in the limbic system, the emotional processing centre of the brain.

The limbic system includes the amygdala, an almond-shaped structure that processes emotions and assigns emotional importance to things, and the hypothalamus, which controls automatic body functions like heart rate and breathing. Once laughter gets released, circuits in the brainstem – the base of the brain that connects to the spinal cord – take over and coordinate facial expression, breathing and vocalisation.

This makes laughter difficult to stop voluntarily. The prefrontal cortex normally keeps this response in check, suppressing laughter when it’s socially inappropriate.

When that control weakens – through heightened arousal or shared social cues – laughter emerges as an automatic, reflex-like behaviour. It’s no longer a deliberate act.

In other words, the impulse to laugh and the effort to stop yourself come from different parts of the brain. They’re competing with each other.

When something unexpected or odd catches your eye, your emotional response fires rapidly and automatically. The process to control it takes effort, burns energy, and is prone to failure, especially when you have to maintain it for long periods.

The more firmly you try to exert control, the more the trigger stays active in your attention. Suppression doesn’t erase the thought – it actually rehearses and sustains it.

Laughter isn’t just a response to humour. Neurologically, it also functions as a regulatory reflex – a way of releasing emotional and physical tension.

In constrained environments, your nervous system has few outlets. You can’t move, you can’t speak, you can’t shift position much or signal discomfort.

At the same time, your automatic nervous system becomes slightly activated. Your heart rate increases, your breathing becomes shallower and your muscle tone rises.

This combination lowers the threshold for emotional release. Your body becomes primed to let something out.

Once laughter begins, it recruits automatic motor pathways in the brainstem that you can’t easily interrupt. This is why laughter, once triggered, often feels physically unstoppable.

You’re no longer “deciding” to laugh. The system has taken over and you’re helpless.

The contagion takes hold

For many people, the tipping point isn’t the original trigger. It’s the instant someone else notices it as well.

This is where social neurobiology comes into play. Humans are highly sensitive to subtle social cues: facial tension, changes in breathing, suppressed smiles.

We process these cues rapidly through networks involving the superior temporal sulcus, a groove along the side of the brain that plays a key role in reading other people. Mirror neurons – brain cells that fire both when we act and when we watch others act – also help us pick up on these signals.

Laughing together represents a shared emotional alignment. That shared recognition does two things at once.

It validates your own response (I’m not imagining this). And it removes the sense of solitary transgression (you’re no longer suppressing alone).

The prefrontal control system weakens further. Laughter spreads through emotional contagion.

By this point, the original trigger hardly matters. What you’re laughing at is each other, and the absurdity of trying to regain control.

These moments are often triggered by something visual, but they don’t have to be. A mispronounced word or an unexpected phrase can provoke the same response.

However, visual triggers are especially potent in silent settings. They can’t be interrupted or talked away, and your brain can replay them repeatedly while suppression is in place.

Spoken triggers, by contrast, tend to be shared instantly. Whether laughter erupts depends on how quickly social inhibition can be re-established.

“Inappropriate” laughter is often framed as rudeness or childishness. But from a neurological perspective, it’s a predictable consequence of prolonged emotional suppression in a social species.

The brain is not designed for sustained inhibition without release. When restraint is tight enough – and when someone else is there with you – laughter becomes the escape route. That is why it feels impossible to stop.

Michelle Spear, Professor of Anatomy, University of Bristol

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

When the topic of central banks and the outlook for interest rates comes up, economists often turn to the so-called “star” variables to help with their predictions.

What do we mean by star variables? Why they are important to central bankers, and how do they influence interest-rate decisions?

The star variables relate to key concepts in economic models used by central bankers to help them understand how the economy works.

Star variables are named so simply because they are usually labelled with an asterisk to distinguish them from other variables in economic modelling.

Central bankers don’t normally think about the star variables in isolation. Instead, these variables are better thought of as a “constellation” linking economic growth, the labour market and interest rates together with inflation outcomes.

The three north stars

1. Potential output or y*: This is the economy’s maximum sustainable output that can be produced when all resources are fully employed. It is sometimes referred to as the economy’s speed limit. If economic growth is faster than potential, it can put upward pressure on inflation because demand for goods and services is outstripping supply.

The reverse is also true: if the economy is growing below potential, demand is subdued and inflation will likely fall.

Potential output is closely linked to productivity. Boosting productivity lifts the economy’s speed limit – allowing faster economic growth without fuelling inflation. But falling productivity lowers the economy’s speed limit, meaning it can’t grow as fast as previously without causing inflation to rise. This is the problem currently facing Australia.

2. Non-Accelerating Inflation Rate of Unemployment or NAIRU or u*, a concept that became popular in the 1970s. The idea is there is a “natural” rate of unemployment that doesn’t put pressure on wages or inflation.

3. The neutral interest rate or r* is considered to be the level of the central bank’s key interest rate that is not too low (and stimulating demand) and not too high (and restraining demand). It is a useful guide to the stance of the central bank’s monetary policy, or stance on the policy interest rate.

Good in theory, hard to measure in practice

These three interlinked variables are fundamental to how central bankers think about the economy.

But they are also concepts that are not observable, unlike published statistics on inflation or economic growth. They need to be estimated, and that’s where the uncertainty comes in.

In fact, central bankers must use statistical methods originally developed to track spacecraft to estimate them. This is done by detecting the effects these variables have on other variables that are observable, such as inflation, wages growth and the unemployment rate.

In a recent speech, a US Federal Reserve official wondered whether the three variables are “too abstract and elusive to be of practical value”. He concluded:

The short answer is that they play a central role in macroeconomic theory and have important implications for the conduct of monetary policy.[…] When the stars perfectly align, it means the economy has reached an equilibrium where its resources are fully utilized.

How the variables help with setting interest rates

Most central banks focus on maintaining price stability (low and stable inflation). A few, such as the Reserve Bank of Australia and the US Federal Reserve, have dual mandates to maintain price stability and full employment.

The way central bankers put their objectives into practice is influenced by the star variables. Specifying a target for inflation is seen as the best way to achieve price stability. The Reserve Bank’s target is 2–3% over the economic cycle.

Over time, inflation tends to be steady when the unemployment rate is close to the NAIRU. Because of this, central bankers often use the NAIRU as a rough guide to full employment, which is also broadly consistent with the economy operating near potential.

Understanding the central bank’s objectives is important because they tell us where the economy should go. But they don’t tell us what the central bank will do to get there – that is, what policy interest rate setting is needed to achieve its objectives (what economists call the central bank’s “reaction function”).

This is a way of describing how the central bank adjusts its policy interest rate based on differences between current economic conditions and the star variables.

But this is easier said than done. The uncertainties with estimating the star variables, together with the uncertainties in how interest rate changes flow through the economy, makes it difficult for central bankers to know exactly what decision they should make to achieve their objectives.

All this uncertainty is one reason why central bankers are very cautious. Sometimes it is better to do nothing than make a wrong decision and risk losing credibility.

Luke Hartigan, Senior Lecturer in Economics, University of Sydney

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

Water covers over 70% of our planet, so it’s no wonder that it flows through our storytelling. Biblical rain offered divine judgement either in the form of a blessing and rewards, or retribution and vengeance. In Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, Feste the fool issued the melancholic refrain: “For the rain it raineth every day.” It reminded the audience of the persistence of suffering in life.

Filmmakers worldwide have revered the visual beauty and the metaphorical value of rain on screen, letting it augment many a classic scene, sequence or speech. Technically, rain intensifies mise-en-scène (the overall visual presentation on screen, combining set design, lighting, props and more): it catches backlight and renders air itself visible, creating depth and shimmer.

And as our global weather patterns undergo changes, media researchers have suggested that engagement with cinematic weather conditions like rain can allow for an “ecological meta-narrative” that connects humans (both on and offscreen) with their environment.

Whether depicting solitude, decay, adversity or romantic destined love, rain in movies emotes as much as a character would. Here are ten key moments where rain took a starring role in film – just perfect for watching on a wet day.

1. Singin’ in the Rain (1952)

Few scenes invert bad weather more joyfully than Gene Kelly’s iconic number. After a night of salvaging their disastrous film project, The Duelling Cavalier, actor Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly) realises that he has fallen for the bubbly singer Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds). On his ebullient walk home, a legendary song and dance number turns the perceived bad weather on its head with the cheerful refrain: “Come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face.”

Kelly reportedly performed the sequence while running a fever, and the scene’s exuberance reframes rain not as obstacle but as liberation. The uplifting choreography sees Kelly splashing through puddles that reflect streetlights, making the urban space of the set design feel elastic and alive.

2. Seven Samurai (1954)

Rain heightens the brutal physical clashes in filmmaker Akira Kurasawa’s Seven Samurai. As the Samurai face their final battle, the rain (which has been used throughout to add mood and tone) is as cruel and violent as any of the antagonists, amplifying the pressure with its muddy, disorientating and visceral presence in the conflict.

Kurosawa was meticulous about weather effects, using wind, dust and rain to choreograph movement within the frame. The downpour turns the battlefield into sludge, erasing clear footing and underscoring the film’s meditation on chaos, class struggle and the cost of collective defence.

3. Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

The final reunion scene of Breakfast at Tiffany’s raises the emotional stakes with its unrelenting rain. In a taxi to the airport, Holly Golightly, played by Audrey Hepburn, tries to run away and abandon her emotional commitments to struggling writer Paul Varjak (George Peppard) and the stray cat she’s adopted.

After an incensed Paul watches her throw the cat out into the rain, he exits, determined to rescue the soggy feline. As she tearfully joins him, her character arc is complete. The storm forces Holly quite literally to stop running, confronting the emotional commitments she has tried to evade.

4. Network (1976)

In Network, a New York rainstorm provides the ultimate backdrop for anchorman Howard Beal’s (Peter Finch) unhinged and rain-drenched live rant. The drumming of rain against studio windows suggests a world outside the sealed, commodified space of television as, in a renowned monologue, he berates the news channel’s manipulation and society’s disintegration with the famous line: “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this any more.”

5. Point Break (1991)

In Point Blank, rookie FBI agent Johnny Utah (Keanu Reeves) confronts Bodhi, a bank-robbing surfer played by Patrick Swayze, in the rain. The weather ultimately enables him to evade capture by allowing him to ride one last big wave; something both know he will never survive.

Here, rain acts as a redemptive force. Bodhi seeks exoneration through the only thing he respects – nature.

6. The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

In prison drama The Shawshank Redemption, Andy’s (Tim Robbins) Raquel-Welch cell poster hides a hidden escape shaft, years in the making while he endured time for a crime he didn’t commit.

Wading through a sewer tunnel he finally emerges to a torrential downpour, holding out his arms and facing the heavens in a symbolic act of cleansing, salvation and freedom. Rain here washes away not guilt, but injustice.

7. Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994)

Rain doesn’t always have to represent high drama. In the Richard Curtis-penned film Four Weddings and a Funeral, American Carrie’s (Andie MacDowall) famously cheesy line, “Is it still raining, I hadn’t noticed?” puts the seal on her romance with bumbling but charming British Charles (Hugh Grant) and secures the star-crossed lovers a future.

The actors were reportedly freezing during the rain rigged shoot. Rigs often rely on using cold water and multiple takes.

8. Magnolia (2000)

Magnolia’s frenzied collective experience of a thunderstorm of frogs will forever capture the imagination of the more surreally minded. In this scene, rain symbolises the universal chaos of life and binds disparate characters into a shared reckoning.

9. The Notebook (2004)

The physical brutality of heavy rain underscores heartbreak, loss and forgiveness in decades-spanning The Notebook as Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams’ separated lovers Noah and Allie reunite after family has dictated their separation.

A sweepingly romantic scene in a sleeper hit turned cult favourite, the downpour legitimises emotional excess – tears indistinguishable from rain.

10. Blade Runner (1982)

The demand of three of the most challenging filming elements – smoke, night shoots and rain – had the crew of Ridley Scott’s futuristic dystopian Blade Runner christen the film “Blood Runner” as 50 nights of filming in constant artificial rain took a physical, mental and logistical toll.

Whether depicting disorder or harmony, life-enhancing joy or unprecedented destruction, rain remains a valuable visual medium and narrative tool for filmmakers.

Jane Steventon, Course Leader, BA (Hons) Screenwriting; Deputy Course Leader & Senior Lecturer, BA (Hons) Film Production, University of Portsmouth

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

First conceived as a mail-order-only company in 1963, known as Biba’s Postal Boutique, the brand captured the revolutionary 1960s and 1970s attitude and style, offering trend-seekers affordable, high-fashion aesthetics and glamour akin to Paris catwalks.

Influenced by art deco, Biba’s covetable mini dresses, luxurious fabrics, rich prints and colour palettes quickly achieved a cult following, embodying the “swinging London” look. Worn by celebrities like Twiggy and Mick Jagger, and film stars like Brigitte Bardot and Raquel Welch, Biba embraced a glamorous and rebellious style that had enormous global influence.

Now, The Biba Story: 1964–1975, a new exhibition at the Dovecot Studios in Edinburgh, is showcasing the iconic fashion brand founded by designer Barbara Hulanicki and her partner Stephen Fitz-Simon.

Expanding from a small chemist shop on Church Street, Kensington, to a seven-storey department store on Kensington High Street, Biba sold a range of goods, from fashion to home products. The brand revolutionised retail with its lifestyle-focused department store and immersive interior opulence, setting a precedent for experiential luxury shopping that continues today.

Sadly, despite its significant impact on fashion and culture, Biba struggled financially and closed in 1975, leaving a lasting legacy as a symbol of the 1960s style revolution.

Historic moments

First seen at the Fashion and Textile Museum in London, The Biba Story communicates an engaging narrative covering the swift rise of Hulanicki’s design brand. It starts by setting the scene with a visual timeline, cleverly plotting the Biba story alongside pivotal historical movements and events, demonstrating the broader societal and cultural context that provided the backdrop to Biba’s fashion reign.

This includes reference to the not-guilty verdict for the legal action brought against Penguin Books, which in 1960 published the unexpurgated version of D.H. Lawrence’s 1932 book Lady Chatterley’s Lover. It caused a huge furore at the time and heralded the more liberal age of the swinging 60s that Biba embraced.

The exhibit also introduces Biba’s first major commercial success – a simple pink and white gingham shift dress paired with a Bardot-style headscarf. This dress, first featured in the Daily Mirror in May 1964, sold a record 17,000 dresses at 25 shillings (£1.25) each, marking the commercial success that swiftly elevated Biba to the iconic status it still retains today.

This evocative exhibition includes a wonderful sequence of drawings, illuminating how Hulanicki started out as a talented fashion illustrator, providing artwork for major magazines like Vogue and Women’s Wear Daily. Offset by the warm decor of plum walls, The Biba Story creates a sublime, high-end feel, further complemented by vintage retro-style lighting.

Here, you really get a nostalgic sense of the 1960s and 1970s, when art nouveau, art deco and modernism combined to create the style for the time.

The exhibition’s collective energy conveys the essence of the Biba aesthetic – it wasn’t just about the clothes, it was a whole lifestyle. Beautifully curated cases of Biba products, from cosmetics to tinned food to matches and branded wine, reveal how Biba was one of the first high street brands to offer more than clothes. Here was an accessible, glamorous and perhaps more indulgent lifestyle to the masses, especially uplifting in a drab post-war Britain.

A section dedicated to Biba textiles highlights the boldness of its patterns and prints offset by the contrasting simplicity of the garments’ designs. Biba was all about functionality over fussiness.

The outfits on display embody a somewhat stringent uniformity infused with a rebellious attitude, transitioning into a slick showcase of classic black dresses that remain timeless and enduring. Here, the exhibition also highlights the desirable body standards of the era, with the Biba look demanding wearers have “long thin arms, flat chests, low waists and straight hips”.

This segment subtly hints at the more problematic influence of fashion in defining body image (and perhaps it’s important to note that most of the clothes on display reflect a very small body shape), offering valuable reflections on the historical evolution of beauty standards and fashion’s continuing role in shaping them.

Bring Oot Your Biba

Especially illuminating, too, are the stories of Biba customers reminiscing about the brand, describing how “there was nothing like Biba in Edinburgh. The colours, the cut, the design, the materials, all fabulous.” Personal stories are melded with the exhibition narrative throughout, and there is a wonderfully touching conclusion titled Bring Oot Your Biba. This showcases the results of an invitation to the people of Scotland to share their Biba memories and purchases, all adding warming generational insights into the treasures of Biba fashions.

Notably, the exhibition ends with a small, beautiful tapestry of the Biba Logo, woven by talented Dovecot Studios apprentice Sophie McCaffrey – a perfect, and fitting wrap to a beautifully curated exhibition.

The Dovecot not only pays a sincere and authentic homage to Biba’s lasting legacy, it immerses the viewer in a real sense of the palpable excitement of the era: change, youth, liberation and opportunity. Many visitors will no doubt feel connected to the nostalgia of Biba’s style, while being reminded of the importance of fashion visionaries like Barbara Hulanicki to our design cultures, identities, and economies. `

Mal James, Personal Chair of Fashion Design, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh College of Art, University of Edinburgh

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

Setting sail from the busy port of Plymouth in Devon, the tall ship Pelican of London takes young people to sea, often for the first time.

During each nine-day voyage, the UK-based sailing trainees, who often come from socio-economically challenging backgrounds, become crew members. They not only learn the ropes (literally) but also engage in ocean science and stewardship activities.

As marine and outdoor education researchers, we wanted to find out whether mixing sail training and Steams (science, technology, engineering, art, mathematics and sustainability) activities can inspire young people to pursue a more ocean-focused career, and a long-term commitment to ocean care.

Research shows that a strong connection with the ocean can drive people to be active marine citizens. This means they take responsibility for ocean health not only in their own lives but as advocates for more sustainable interactions with the ocean.

Over the past year, we have worked with Charly Braungardt, head scientist with the charity Pelican of London, to create a new theory of how sail training with Steams activities can change the paths that trainees pursue.

Based on scientific evidence, our theory of change models how Steams activities can cause positive changes in personal development and knowledge and understanding of the ocean (known as ocean literacy). It shows how the voyages can develop trainees’ strong connections with the ocean and encourage them to act responsibly towards it.

Tracking change

Surveys with the participants before and after the voyage, and six months later, measure any changes that occur – and how these persist. Through our evaluation, we’re exploring how combining voyages with Steams activities can go beyond personal development to produce deep, long-lasting effects.

Our pilot study has already shown how the sail training and Steams combination helps to develop confidence, ocean literacy and ocean connections.

For example, the boost to self-esteem and feelings of capability that occur on board help young people develop their marine identity – the ocean becomes an important part of a person’s sense of who they are. As one trainee put it: “I think the ocean is me and the ocean will and forever be part of me.”

Swimming, sailing, even just building a sandcastle - the ocean benefits our physical and mental wellbeing. Curious about how a strong coastal connection helps drive marine conservation, scientists are diving in to investigate the power of blue health.

This article is part of a series, Vitamin Sea, exploring how the ocean can be enhanced by our interaction with it.

As crew members, trainees access a world and traditional culture largely unknown to them before the voyage. They learn to live with others in a confined space, working together in small teams to keep watch on 24-hour rotas.

Trainees are encouraged to step out of their comfort zone through activities such as climbing the rigging and swimming off the vessel. Our pilot evaluation found the voyages built the trainees’ confidence and social skills, boosting self-esteem and feelings of capability.

One trainee said: “I’ve felt pretty disappointed in myself not committing to my education or only doing something with minimal effort. But after this voyage, I want to give it my all.”

The Steams voyages encourage the development of scientific skills and ocean literacy through the lens of creative tasks at sea. These activities are led by a scientist-in-residence who provides mentoring and introduces research techniques.

The voyage gives trainees the opportunity to use scientific equipment, ranging from plankton nets and microscopes to cutting-edge technology such as remotely operated vehicles. The Steams activities introduce marine research as a potential career to these young people. One said they wanted to train as a marine engineer at nautical college following the voyage.

Ocean experiences provide a foundation for ocean connection. Trainees experience the ocean in sunshine and in gales, day and night, rolling with the waves and observing marine life in its natural environment.

Citizen science projects such as wildlife surveys and recorded beach cleans also develop their ocean stewardship knowledge and skills. One trainee explained how they have “become more interested [in] our marine life and creative ways to help protect it”.

Over the next 12 months, the information we collect from the voyages will help us to better understand the benefits and contribute to an important marine social science data gap in young people. It is important to understand how to develop young people’s relationships with the ocean, and the knowledge and skills that will empower the next generation of marine citizens.

As one trainee put it: “Being out on the Pelican showed me how vast and powerful the sea is – and how important it is to respect and care for it.”

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Pamela Buchan, Research Fellow, Geography, University of Exeter and Alun Morgan, Lecturer in Education, School of Law, Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Plymouth

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

A recent study showed that Mars was warm and wet billions of years ago. The finding contrasts with another theory that this era was mainly cold and icy. The result has implications for the idea that life could have developed on the planet at this time.

Whether Mars was once habitable is a fascinating and intensely researched topic of interest over many decades. Mars, like the Earth, is about 4.5 billion years old and its geological history is divided into different epochs of time.

The latest paper relates to Mars during a time called the Noachian epoch, which extended from about 4.1 to 3.7 billion years ago. This was during a stage in solar system history called the Late Heavy Bombardment (LHB). Evidence for truly cataclysmic meteorite impacts during the LHB are found on many bodies throughout the solar system.

Two obvious scars from this era on Mars are the enormous Hellas and Argyre impact basins; both are well over a thousand miles across and each possesses enough volume to hold all the water in the Mediterranean with room to spare.

One might not imagine such a time being conducive to the existence of fragile lifeforms, yet it is likely to be the era in which Mars was most habitable. Evidence of landforms sculpted by water from this time is plentiful and include dried-up river valleys, lake beds, ancient coastlines and river deltas.

The prevailing climatic conditions of the Noachian are still a matter of intense debate. Two alternative scenarios are typically posited: that this time was cold and icy, with occasional melting of large volumes of frozen water by meteorite impact and volcanic eruptions, or that it was warm, wet and largely ice-free.

Brightening Sun

All stars, including the Sun, brighten with age. In the early solar system, during the Noachian, the Sun was about 30% dimmer than it is today, so less heat was reaching Mars (and all the planets). To sustain a warm, wet climate at this time, the Martian atmosphere would have needed to be very substantial – much thicker than it is today – and abundant in greenhouse gases like CO2.

But when reaching high enough atmospheric pressure, CO2 tends to condense out of the air to form clouds and reduce the greenhouse effect. Given these issues, the cold, icy scenario is perhaps more believable.

One of the main science goals of the Mars 2020 Perseverance Rover, which landed spectacularly in February 2021, is to seek evidence to support either of these two scenarios, and the new paper using data from Perseverance may have done just that.

Perseverance landed at the Martian location of Jezero crater, which was selected as the landing site because it once contained a lake. Views of the crater from orbit show several distinct fan-shaped deposits emanating from channels carved through the crater walls by flowing water. Within these channels are abundant deposits of clay minerals.

The new paper details recent analysis of aluminium-rich clay pebbles, called kaolinite, located within one of the ancient flow channels. The pebbles appear to have been subjected to intense weathering and chemical alteration by water during the Noachian.

While this is perhaps not surprising for a known ancient watery environment, what is interesting is that these clays are strongly depleted in iron and magnesium, and enriched in titanium and aluminium.

This is important because it means these rocks were less likely to have been altered in a hydrothermal environment, where scalding hot water was temporarily released by melting ice caused by volcanism or a meteorite impact.

Instead, they appear to have been altered under modest temperatures and persistent heavy rainfall. The authors found distinct similarities between the chemical composition of these clay pebbles with similar clays found on Earth dating from periods in our planet’s history when the climate was much warmer and wetter.

The paper concludes that these kaolinite pebbles were altered under high rainfall conditions comparable to “past greenhouse climates on Earth” and that they “likely represent some of the wettest intervals and possibly most habitable portions of Mars’ history”.

Furthermore, the paper concludes that these conditions may have persisted over time periods ranging from thousands to millions of years. Perseverance recently made headlines also for the discovery of possible biosignatures in samples it collected last year, also from within Jezero crater.

These precious samples have now been cached in special sealed containers on the rover for collection by a future Mars sample return mission. Unfortunately, the mission has recently been cancelled by Nasa and so what vital evidence they may or may not contain will probably not be examined in an Earth-based laboratory for many years.

Crucial to this future analysis is the so-called “Knoll criterion” – a concept formulated by astrobiologist Andrew Knoll, which states that for something to be evidence of life, an observation has to not just be explicable by biology; it has to be inexplicable without it. Whether these samples ever satisfy the Knoll criterion will only be known if they can be brought to Earth.

Either way, it is quite striking to imagine a time on Mars, billions of years before the first humans walked the Earth, that a tropical climate with – possibly – a living ecosystem once existed in the now desolate and wind-swept landscape of Jezero crater.

Gareth Dorrian, Post Doctoral Research Fellow in Space Science, University of Birmingham

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

Even before the film’s release, the costumes for Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights caused controversy.

Wuthering Heights was first published in 1847 and the story switches back and forth in time between 1801 and the 1770s. But Cathy’s wedding dress references an entirely different era, inspired by a 1951 Charles James haute couture gown. Cathy also appears to be wrapped in cellophane – a material first invented in 1908 – on her wedding night.

These costumes were designed by Jacqueline Durran, who previously won Oscars and BAFTAs for costume design for Anna Karenina (2012) and Little Women (2019), and a third BAFTA for Vera Drake (2005).

Some costume experts have panned Durran’s costumes as anachronistic and visually incoherent. But Vogue described them as “wild and wonderful”. So who’s right?

Designing for film

Costume design is a collaboration; the designer works closely with the director and other production creatives to make a world and bring a story to life.

Costumes must make narrative sense within the world a director is building and communicate the character’s personality and story in each scene.

Often, costumes can seem so natural to a character and their world that you don’t even notice them, like Kathleen Detoro’s designs on Breaking Bad (2008–13).

Costumes can also be scene-stealers because displays of fashion and dress are part of the plot, like Durran’s costumes for Barbie (2023), or Patricia Field’s costumes for Sex and the City (1998–2004).

In Wuthering Heights, Cathy (Margot Robbie) has 50 different costumes, many featuring vintage Chanel jewellery. Other times, she is in ultra shiny, synthetic, plasticised contemporary fabric – such as a black gown that resembles an oil slick.

Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi) has fewer changes, more in keeping with Georgian dress, with his costuming riffing on the cinematic trope of the bad-boy Byronic hero.

With every character, the costumes have a life of their own.

This is not unusual for cinematic adaptations of classic literature, which have featured glamorous, luxurious costumes to attract audiences since the beginning of film history, like Georges Méliès’s Cinderella (1899) and Cecil B. DeMille’s Male or Female (1919).

Designing Wuthering Heights

Fennell’s world of Wuthering Heights is built on a collection of images and cinematic references that span time and space to show the love story is universal.

Fennell also wanted to “make something really disturbing and sexy and nightmarish” rather than faithfully recreating the book.

To do this, she accumulated a huge number of visual references and collaborated with Durran to see how and where these could fit into the film.

Instead of historically accurate costuming, Durran and Fennell created a world of stylised costumes inspired by 500 years of historical dress, contemporary fashions, images from fairy tales and popular culture, and old Hollywood technicolor films from the 1930s to the 1960s, particularly Gone With the Wind (1939) and The Wizard of Oz (1939).

This is part of a broader costuming trend rejecting complete historical accuracy when re-imagining historical eras on screen, such as the alternative Regency world of Bridgerton (2020–) and Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein (2025).

‘A collection of memoranda’

After Cathy dies in the book Heathcliff says, “The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her”.

Motifs of hair, skin, bone and teeth are found throughout the film and speak to the physical, visceral nature of Heathcliff and Cathy’s passion. This echoes historical trends for mourning jewellery that featured hair, bones and teeth of deceased loved ones, and foreshadows the film’s ending.

Cathy’s jewellery is her armour. After she marries Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif), her jewellery signals her newfound wealth and security. The majority of Cathy’s costumes are black, white and red, echoing the interiors of her old and new homes, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange.

Cathy demands Nelly (Hong Chau) tighten her bridal corset, echoing the scars on Heathcliff’s back from a beating he sustained as a child when defending her. But this tightening also signals she is trapped in a loveless cage.

Edgar, the nouveau-riche textile merchant, wears suits with a period silhouette but made in contemporary, shiny fabrics; his spoilt, unhinged sister Isabella (Alison Oliver) wears tacky, frilly beribboned gowns and accessories; Heathcliff transforms from rough brute in farming clothes to rakish, Regency-style dandy with a gold tooth.

Not all of the costuming choices work. Cathy’s dirndl-style gowns are more Oktoberfest than “moorcore”. Unlike Cathy’s other costumes which aren’t historically accurate, but are still based on a bygone time, I found the dirndl gowns too similar to a style of traditional dress still worn in Bavaria, Austria and Switzerland, taking us away from the historical fantasy world of Wuthering Heights.

Let it sweep you away

While some will criticise the bold costuming choices, the beauty and skill of Durran’s work on Wuthering Heights are undeniable.

We should embrace Durran’s costumes and their blend of romantic, historical silhouettes and imagery with glossy, gauzy fabrics and sexy, contemporary, high fashion looks.

Don’t look for historical accuracy in Fennell’s Wuthering Heights. That will lead to disappointment. Instead, let the sensual, opulent costumes, the brash, bold scenography and the chemistry between Robbie and Elordi sweep you away to a sumptuous, imaginary world.

Emily Brayshaw, Honorary Research Fellow, School of Design, University of Technology Sydney

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

With a stroke of a presidential pen, the lives of Izumi Taniguchi, Minoru Tajii, Homei Iseyama and Peggy Yorita irreparably changed on Feb. 19, 1942. On that day, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, which set in motion their wartime incarceration along with other people of Japanese ancestry who were forcibly removed from their homes in parts of California, Oregon, Washington and Arizona.

To cope with their fear, anger and loss in the turbulent times, they would have to dig deep into their emotional reservoirs of resolve and ingenuity.

Without bringing charges against them or providing any evidence of disloyalty, the U.S. government detained legal Japanese immigrants and their American-born descendants in desolate inland locations during and after World War II, simply because of their ethnicity. Nearly 127,000 people of Japanese ancestry were incarcerated between 1942 and 1947, according to Duncan Ryȗken Williams, director of The Irei Project, which is compiling a comprehensive list of those detained. My grandparents, parents and their families were among them.

As I describe in my book “When Can We Go Back to America? Voices of Japanese American Incarceration during World War II,” they boarded livestock trucks and World War I-era trains guarded by armed U.S. soldiers for destinations that were not disclosed to them. They could only take what they could carry and what they had within themselves.

When the Japanese Americans arrived at temporary detention facilities, euphemistically called “assembly centers,” hastily constructed on fairgrounds, racetracks and other government property, they were shocked to be body-searched, fingerprinted and interrogated. Thousands discovered their living quarters were animal pens or horse stalls. The ones considered lucky were assigned to poorly built barracks. The barracks had only cots, bare light bulbs hanging from the ceilings, and pot belly stoves in the corners; the interiors lacked any partitions.

Immediately they scavenged wood from vegetable crates and construction debris they found nearby to create privacy within the barracks units and to make furniture and other household furnishings. Displaced from their livelihoods, education and social structure, with nothing to do, they also quickly organized a wide range of activities, including sports, as well as arts and crafts of all kinds. Their resourcefulness born out of necessity converged with the Japanese aesthetic to make functional items beautiful as they sought to make their temporary quarters more livable.

When the prisoners were transferred to long-term detention facilities run by the War Relocation Authority later in 1942, they brought with them what Delphine Hirasuna, an author and descendant of people who had been incarcerated during the war, calls the “art of gaman.” “Gaman” is a Japanese word meaning the dignity and grace to bear the seemingly unbearable. With this philosophy, they created objects of both utility and beauty.

Finding beauty in branches, rocks and shells

At the Gila River and Poston camps located on tribal land in the Mojave Desert, incarcerees found that desert wood could be carved, filed and polished to make partitions, household objects and works of art.

Armed soldiers guarded the barbed-wire perimeters from lookout towers, but as the war wore on, the incarcerees were allowed to venture beyond the camp fences. Izumi Taniguchi, then 16 years old from Contra Costa County, California, recalled getting permission to walk outside the Gila River camp boundaries to while away the time.

He remembered, that some people used the ironwood for sculpting. Minoru Tajii, then 18 years old from El Centro, California, held at the Poston camp, described ironwood as “an oil-rich wood, so when you polish it up it comes out very nice, so we go out and find that and bring it back.”

The Poston “sculptoring department” advertised in the camp newsletter “Poston Chronicle” on Jan. 20, 1943, that “anyone with ironwood wishing to learn how to make figures and notions may bring their materials to the department, 44-13-D, and work under the guidance of sculptoring teachers.”

Homei Iseyama, from Oakland, California, became known for the exquisite teapots, teacups, candy dishes and calligraphy inkwells he carved out of slate stones he found around the Topaz, Utah, camp. Born in 1890, he attended Waseda University in Tokyo before immigrating to the United States in 1914 with dreams of attending art school.

At the Tule Lake camp, located on an ancient lake bed, the incarcerees discovered thick veins of shells that provided material for making art and jewelry. Fusako “Peggy” Nishimura Yorita got very involved in making shell jewelry. As digging for shells became a popular and competitive pastime for the Tule Lake incarcerees, Yorita enlisted her two teenagers and friends to help dig waist-deep holes at sunrise and sift the sand with homemade wire sieves.

A 33-year-old single mother, Yorita sold her shell jewellery to make a little money. She also enjoyed the creative endeavour. She recalled: “I was just making new things all the time. And to me, it … was … a wonderful outlet.”

As the incarcerees were allowed to leave the camps, they were given $25 and a one-way bus or train ticket to wherever they were going to rebuild their lives. Many took with them their handcrafted objects, reminders of how they overcame the physical and mental harshness of their detention years.

When my mother entrusted to me the fragile small tansu chest that her father made for her in camp out of crate wood, she told me that her father had felt sorry for her that she didn’t have anyplace to store her belongings. To improve the appearance of the wood, my grandfather placed a hotplate on the pieces to deepen the grain. My mother appreciated the care he took to carve traditional Japanese scenes onto the panels with a pen knife. She said the chest represented to her the depth of her father’s love.

Eight decades after Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, researchers are delving into the traumatic intergenerational impact that the incarceration has had on the camp survivors and their descendants. Memorials such as The Irei Project seek to restore dignity to those who suffered unconstitutional injustices. On Feb. 19, known annually as the Day of Remembrance, Americans can honor them by appreciating their “art of gaman,” testaments to their resilient spirit as they found and created beauty in their wartime environments.

Susan H. Kamei, Adjunct Professor of History and Affiliated Faculty, USC Shinso Ito Center for Japanese Religions and Cultures, USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

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

Henry VIII is not remembered as a loving husband. Any English schoolchild can recount the unpleasant fates of most of his six wives with the rhyme: “Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.” But though the end of his relationships are famous, less is known about Henry in love.

Now, a rare jewel discovered by an amateur detectorist and bought by the British Museum for the national collection may force us to reconsider the king’s brutal reputation.

The jewel is a heart-shaped locket, crafted in gold with red enamel decoration, and attached to a solid gold chain. On the face are the letters H and K linked together by the stems of a Tudor rose and a pomegranate, which was the symbol of Katharine’s Spanish royal family. It is a reasonable deduction that this remarkable jewel was connected directly to Henry and the first of his wives, Katherine of Aragon.

Katherine was the subject of Henry’s first and most shocking divorce, which precipitated England’s breach with the Roman papacy and the transformation of religion which we now know as the Reformation. In many ways Katherine also suffered the worst of the king’s personal cruelty. Although not executed, she was consigned to virtual house-arrest, much of the time separated from her only living child, Mary.

If this was indeed Henry and Katherine’s jewel it could be a vital clue to quite different moment in their relationship, and to a dimension of the king’s character that his otherwise notorious conduct has completely obscured.

In late medieval and Renaissance society, monograms – the linking of people’s initials – were often created to represent a personal connection, a marriage, a betrothal or even a secret love-match. Beneath the linked letters on the locket is the French word “Toujo(u)rs”, meaning “always” – a natural choice for a pledge between lovers. Here, the letters surely stand for Henry and Katherine.

The locket’s flower and fruit decoration seal the royal connection. The pomegranate symbol swept into English public life after the two families were joined through Henry’s marriage. Decorations for the coronation of the king and queen, just two weeks after the wedding, paired the Tudor rose with golden pomegranates. A woodblock print published to mark the occasion under the title A Joyful Meditation to All England, showed Henry and Katherine receiving their crowns under a twin canopy of the flower and the fruit.

Accounts of textiles commissioned for the royal household show dozens of different pieces – upholstery, wall-hangings, and livery to be worn by servants – all featuring the rose and the pomegranate prominently in their design.

Devoted designs

The decoration of the heart pendant is matched in a wide variety of treasures described in Henry’s household inventories. These contain descriptions of a bag of crimson satin, a silver comb case and standing cup all marked in the same way for the king and his queen. These lists also identify several collars or necklaces – described by the archaic term carkeynes – with heart-shaped pendants. One of these, coloured blue, is also inscribed, “H K”.

Henry spent prodigiously on beautiful, bespoke furnishings, but jewellery was his greatest passion. The inventories of his jewels and plate (gold, gilt and silver objets d’art) compiled shortly after his death in January 1547 record almost 4,000 individual pieces.

This Tudor heart pendant is a prime example of this level of investment. The locket itself is formed from 24-carat gold; the wide chain found with it is weighty and long – more than 40cm. Together they amount to 317 grams of precious metal. It is no wonder that the British Museum’s purchase price was £3.5 million.

It is clear from his wardrobe accounts – which record the purchase of decorative pieces for his household – that Henry took a personal interest in the material and design of many of these pieces. Surviving examples of designs for jewellery drawn by Hans Holbein, the German artist active at Henry’s court in the 1530s and early 1540s, may have come from a pattern book made to influence, or illustrate, the king’s developing tastes. He bought, or commissioned pieces, not only for his own household but also as gifts – often marking the new year – to family members and court favourites.

This may well be the origin of the heart pendant. Since it came to light, it has been spoken of as associated with Henry’s great pageant in the Pas-de-Calais in 1520, the so-called Field of the Cloth of Gold. Here he, Katherine and his court staged a ceremonial meeting with the French King, François I. A great many furnishings from the royal residences and chapels did cross the Channel to decorate the pop-up canvas palace and tents.

But I am convinced the message conveyed by this jewel is not political but profoundly personal. Toujours is an expression of deep, heartfelt attachment. An alternative theory, advanced by the British Museum itself, is that the pendant was made to mark the betrothal in October 1518 of Katherine’s only living child, Princess Mary, aged two, to the eight-month-old heir to the French throne.

But given the presence of pieces of very similar design in the royal household soon after the marriage and coronation, it must be possible that the pendant belongs to the early years of Henry and Katherine’s relationship. At first, she and the king were inseparable. Five months from the wedding she was pregnant. She conceived again each year from 1510 to 1513. One of these pregnancies resulted in a son, named Henry, born in January 1511. He lived for a little under two months.

In the late summer of that year, the king and queen embarked on a progress through the Thames Valley and on into the West Midlands, culminating at Warwick. It was in a Warwickshire field that the detectorist, Charlie Clarke, uncovered the heart pendant in 2019.

Could it be that a jewel gifted to Katherine at the time of the birth of Henry’s longed-for male heir was carried with the royal party – as so many of their personal jewels were – as they made their way into Warwickshire? It gives the locket an edge not just of romance, but of tragedy. Here, perhaps, Katherine was parted from a present that was, already, a memento mori of her lost son.

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James Clark, Professor of Medieval History, University of Exeter

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

The 15th edition of The Best Australian Science Writing, edited by Zoe Kean and Tegan Taylor, contains 39 essays and stories that “tell tales of the universe that scientists have worked hard to reveal”.

Contributions revolve around pressing issues in the scientific world, such as climate change and ecological crisis, psychology and animal behaviour, the sociology of medicine and data, scientific ethics, and the perils of tech-boosterism.

Review: The Best Australian Science Writing 2025 – edited by Zoe Kean and Tegan Taylor (NewSouth)

But these tales also have a speculative bent. The editors open the anthology with a question: “Gaze into a telescope and what do you see?” They hark back to the Ancient Greek oracle of Delphi, acknowledging foresight as an inherent part of the process of scientific discovery.

The collection unfolds as a homage to the Ancient Greek myths and heroes. It elaborates on the idea that looking to the starry skies can provide the seer with insights into the meaning and value of human life.

The Greek Pantheon

The contributors are largely established journalists, with some from academia and freelance writing backgrounds. But many of them engage with tropes and metaphors rooted in Greek myths.

In his essay Humanoid Robots, for example, Owen Cumming pays homage to the power of classical myths to lend legitimacy to modern inventions. He evokes Talos, the mythical guardian of Crete, as “one of the earliest stories we have about a mechanical being created with human form”.

In the myth, Medea tricks Talos into removing a protective seal on his ankle by promising him immortality. The story reveals the messiness of human-machine hybrids. It invokes the uncanny sensation of simultaneous allure and repulsion that comes from “a robot seeming almost human, but not quite right”.

Other essays don’t make direct reference to Greek myths, but they borrow their themes. Angus Dalton’s contribution remodels the tale of Eros, the Greek god of love, his essay reaching its comedic climax in his description of the rare blooming of the corpse flower “Putricia” at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Sydney.

The necessity of enduring hardship for the fruits of passion and desire is evident in the line: “Putricia’s attendants gaze at her for a moment and, cloaked in the stench of death, do as we always have: hope for new life”.

Amalyah Hart’s contribution on the use of insects in the pursuit of understanding consciousness contains one of the best lines in the collection: “In the insect world, bees have a monopoly on charisma – famously intelligent, admirably cooperative, and cheerfully partnered”.

In Greek mythology, bees are associated with foresight. The god Apollo is said to have received his gift of prophesy from three bee-maidens.

Hart discusses how scientists are experimenting on bees, flies and other insects to understand brain function and the evolution of consciousness. Her contribution shows science mirroring ancient methods, making new discoveries about the nature of our inner world through human-animal interactions.

Olivia Congdon’s contribution tells the tale of lepidopterist Colin Wyatt, who “smuggled approximately three thousand butterfly specimens out of Australian museum collections”. Wyatt’s exploits, evocative of Autolycus, the master thief of Greek mythology, continue to plague the scientific study of butterflies.

Any time a scientist names a new species, they must produce a physical specimen (holotype) for the record. Removing or replacing even one of these foundational specimens, as Wyatt did, can alter the biological record of a an entire species, effectively setting the field back by decades, or even permanently in the case of extinct species.

Other contributions that echo Greek myths include Belinda Smith’s essay explaining why some venomous snakes can bite and kill even when they’re dead and decapitated, which recalls the multi-headed Hydra.

Promethean essays

Beyond the individual contributions, the anthology as a whole evokes the foundational myth of Prometheus, which describes the birth of human knowledge and technology. Aeschylus’ play Prometheus Bound tells the story of the Titan Prometheus, who was punished by Zeus for stealing fire from the gods and gifting it to humans, along with the power of knowledge, and was punished by Zeus by being chained to a rock for eternity.

Many of the stories in this anthology consider the perils of scientific and technological hubris. Dyani Lewis’ investigation into the use of biometric data derived from Chinese minority groups, for example, emphasises that “ethical concerns are particularly acute in forensic science because the field has close connections with law enforcement”.

The data is often drawn from blood samples, which are useful for forensic identification and paternity testing. But they can also be used by security forces to track and profile Tibetan populations. Other at risk people include Muslim Uyghurs, whose DNA profiles have been used as part of the passport registration process. Profiling also occurs through facial recognition software, which can distinguish the faces of Uyghurs or Tibetans, populations targeted by the Chinese government for surveillance and mass detention.

Linda McIver’s essay on misinformation advocates a sceptical approach to technological progress, artificial intelligence in particular. As in the myth of Prometheus, scientific progress can seem to come bearing gifts, providing the illusion of knowledge, while masking pitfalls or unexpected consequences.

“Technology,” writes McIver, “is also wildly successful at selling us conspiracy theories, lies about health, lies about people, lies about politics, and lies about climate change, among many, many other lies.”

Matthew War Agius’ story Faster Higher Stronger Doper considers the seemingly innocuous European lugworm (Arenicola marina) as a cautionary tale about sports doping. Worm haemoglobin – the protein that transports oxygen in blood cells – has 39 times more carrying capacity than human blood cells. Transfused into an athlete’s blood stream, worm haemoglobin can improve energy levels. It allows significantly higher quantities of blood cells to move more oxygen around the body, creating a greater aerobic capacity.

It seems no recess of natural biology is safe from exploitation in the pursuit of glory. As Agius writes: “where winning and losing are separated by wafer-thin margins – sometimes requiring a photo finish – the dark arts of performance enhancement are seductive”.

Scientific existentialism

The stories in this anthology offer two distinct ways of interpreting the Promethean legacy of scientific progress.

The first is to highlight the dangers of the pursuit of knowledge – the risks of flying, like Icarus, too close to the sun. The second recalls French philosopher Albert Camus’ interpretation of the myth of Sisyphus.

Sisyphus was condemned to toil for eternity, rolling a boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down again. For Camus, the Sisyphean struggle represents the individual’s existential quest for meaning, faced with the essential absurdity of life. Sisyphus, like all of us, must either succumb to nihilism in the face of a meaningless existence, or find a way to accept life’s enduring struggle.

The anthology’s final contribution, written by Tabitha Carvan and titled The Unexpected Poetry of PhD Acknowledgements, is a perfect illustration of this perspective. Her compilation of acknowledgements taken from PhD theses highlights the sheer volume of individuals who make sacrifices in the pursuit of knowledge.

There is a sense of futility to seeing all of these contributions collected together, reduced to a depersonalised mountain of effort. But reading the acknowledgements crystallises the importance of each unique journey, and there are glimpses of universal truths in the expressions of gratitude and loss. “I wish I could be half person you were,” reads one heartfelt acknowledgement. “Words cannot express how much I miss you.”

The cycle continues

The best science writing emphasises the value of the struggle for knowledge ahead of the grandeur of a new discovery.

A good example is the current discourse around the possibility of AGI (artificial general intelligence) and the claims that it will eventually understand, learn and think independently of humans. Much of the commentary is focused on what this will mean for humanity and how to profit from it.

What is more interesting is the extent to which this discourse has created a new desire to understand what it means to be human, to have free will and think independently. People trained in the objective methodologies of the natural and mathematical sciences are grappling with ambiguity, ethics and feeling. Scientists are reentering the subjective realm of the humanities, which they have neglected since the Enlightenment.

To borrow a phrase from novelist Ceridwen Dovey’s story Staying Faithful to Earth, the limits of scientific endeavour necessarily “throw us back upon speculation, symbols, metaphors, visualisations, scientific analogies that work really hard but aren’t quite right”.

Fascination with the gods and heroes of Ancient Greece has persisted across millennia. Modern retellings are attempts to understand the role of wisdom, destiny and power in challenging times. The struggle for scientific knowledge is a human endeavour, one that speaks to the enduring imperative of creating our own meaning from the chaos and indifference of the universe.

Nanda Jarosz, Researcher, Environmental Philosophy, University of Sydney

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

Osteoarthritis is a common degenerative joint disease that causes pain, stiffness and swelling, and reduces your range of motion. It often affects the knees, hips and hands, although it can also occur in other joints throughout the body.

If you’ve been diagnosed with osteoarthritis, your doctor has probably recommended exercise. This has become standard treatment advice in recent years.

However, a new review suggests exercise might not be as beneficial as first thought.

But when you take a closer look at the study, there are reasons to be cautious. So it shouldn’t prompt you to ditch your exercise regimen.

What the review did

The research team conducted an “umbrella review” – an overview of systematic reviews, which collate and analyse the findings from individual studies to answer a specific question. Reviewing previously published systematic reviews provides an even bigger snapshot of a given research topic.

After searching thousands of studies, they included five major systematic reviews (comprised of 100 individual studies, with 8,631 patients) before adding another 28 recent trials (involving another 4,360 patients).

Using this data, they looked at the effect of exercise on knee, hip and hand osteoarthritis, and compared it to several alternatives, including doing nothing, placebo (fake) treatments, education, manual therapy, painkillers, injections and surgery.

What did they find?

Compared to doing nothing and placebos, they found that exercise resulted in small reductions in pain in the hip, knee and hand: between 6 and 12 points on a 100-point scale.

However, exercise did not seem to improve function any more than either of these comparisons.

For knee and hip osteoarthritis, there was evidence that exercise was just as effective at reducing pain and improving function as medicines such as ibuprofen and corticosteroids, which are injected into the joint to reduce inflammation. These also reduced pain by around 5–10%.

The researchers concluded exercise was less effective at improving pain and function than a total joint replacement in people with knee and hip osteoarthritis.

What were the limitations?

First, the authors lumped all types of exercise together. This means strength training, aerobic exercise, stretching, aquatic exercise and tai chi were all considered to be the same.

This is crucial, because we know not all exercise is created equal. Previous reviews have shown, for example, that aerobic exercise might be best for reducing pain and function in people with knee osteoarthritis, while stretching was least effective.

Similarly, the authors didn’t consider the clinical status of the patients. Evidence has shown people with more severe pain and worse function at the start of an intervention see better responses to exercise than those with less pain and good function.

Second, the review treated both supervised and unsupervised exercise the same.

However, research shows supervised training results in much better outcomes than unsupervised – likely because a trainer is there to help push the patient along.

Third, the authors didn’t account for the duration of the exercise, and most study periods were quite short: around 12 weeks.

It’s likely that sticking to an exercise regime over the long term will have better results, leading to a larger scope for improvement than if you just did something for a few weeks.

As such, the results of this review may not accurately reflect the benefits of exercise in people with osteoarthritis who commit to consistent exercise as an ongoing part of their weekly routine (which is often recommended).

Finally, the review didn’t account for the dose of exercise the studies used. Improvements in pain and function seem to increase with total weekly exercise in people with osteoarthritis. One review, for example, found the optimal benefits occurred at around 150 minutes of moderate intensity exercise per week.

These limitations suggest this new review likely undersells the benefits of exercise for osteoarthritis.

Less pain and better physical and mental health

Putting aside the limitations of the review, the small reductions in pain the review reports might still have a positive impact on someone’s life. A 10% reduction in pain could make a meaningful difference to your ability to move around, work, socialise and care for others.

The review also found exercise can reduce pain to the same extent as non-steriodal anti-inflammatory medications and corticosteroids – without the side-effects or the costs.

Exercise can also improve heart health, enhance your mood, help with weight management and reduce the risk of chronic diseases, such as cancer and diabetes.

These factors can have a huge impact on your health and happiness.

What should you do now?

Based on the findings of this new review, you should be confident that any type of exercise will lead to some degree of pain relief.

However, based on prior evidence, it’s likely you can get even greater overall health benefits from exercising if you stick with it.

The best type of exercise is the one that gets done. If you enjoy being outdoors and walking, then this is going to be a great choice as it will improve all aspects of your health as well as reduce pain.

And if pain permits, don’t be afraid to occasionally challenge yourself by upping the intensity to the point where holding a conversation starts to become difficult.

If going to the gym is more your thing, lifting weights will also bring significant overall health benefits – especially if you stick to it long term.

Hunter Bennett, Lecturer in Exercise Science, Adelaide University and Lewis Ingram, Lecturer in Physiotherapy, Adelaide University

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

Women are more likely than men to be diagnosed with dementia. While researchers have some idea of the factors that elevate risk, it’s still not entirely clear why this happens. But a recent study suggests that the menopause could play a key role in increased vulnerability to Alzheimer’s disease.

Researchers at the University of Cambridge analysed brain scans from nearly nearly 125,000 women. They found the menopause is associated with measurable reductions in grey matter (brain areas where information is processed and analysed). They also identified volume reductions in brain regions involved in memory, emotion, attention and decision-making.

These changes were also linked to poorer sleep, increased anxiety and depression and slower reaction times. Importantly, the affected regions overlap with those most vulnerable in Alzheimer’s disease (the most common form of dementia).

This does not mean, however, that menopause causes dementia. But it does suggest that menopause may represent a critical neurological transition – one that can influence brain health trajectories for years or even decades afterwards.

These findings have brought the influence of biological sex on brain health into sharper focus. These findings may also bring us closer to understanding why women are not only at greater risk of Alzheimer’s disease, but a range of other neurological conditions – including multiple sclerosis and depression.

Factors affecting women’s dementia risk

Although women face a higher risk of dementia, their brains often show remarkable resilience.

Throughout much of life, women tend to outperform men on certain verbal memory tasks, and often show greater resistance to early cognitive decline.

But this resilience could be a double-edged sword, masking underlying brain changes for longer.

In Alzheimer’s disease, women often show fewer symptoms early on, despite accumulating signs of the disease in the brain. When symptoms do emerge, decline can appear faster and more dramatic – partly because the brain has already been compensating for damage for years.

There are many other crucial social and biological differences between men and women that may explain why brain health outcomes can vary so broadly, as well.

Cognitive reserve, for instance. This is the brain’s ability to adapt and maintain a certain level of function, even when faced with damage (including that caused by dementia and Alzheimer’s). Education, intellectually demanding work, being socially and physically active and lifelong learning all help build cognitive reserve.

Not only is cognitive reserve shaped by biology, it’s also shaped by social realities. For instance, many women have experienced interrupted education, chronic stress or limited access to healthcare. These factors can quietly erode cognitive reserve over time – even while women continue to function at a high level.

At the same time, strong social networks, emotional intelligence and adaptability, qualities often reinforced in women, may enhance resilience and delay the appearance of symptoms.

Another key factor in dementia risk lies in immune function differences between sexes.

Women generally have stronger immune responses than men. While this protects against infections, it can also increase vulnerability to autoimmune conditions (where the immune system becomes overactive). The immune response can particularly become overactive as women age or during periods of hormonal change.

This heightened immune activity extends to the brain. Chronic neuroinflammation, often caused by a dysregulated immune system, is increasingly recognised as a contributor to Alzheimer’s disease, as well as multiple sclerosis and mood disorders. Women’s stronger immune activation may therefore raise risk for certain brain conditions, especially during periods of hormonal instability – such as menopause.

Chromosomes also matter.

Women have two X chromosomes, while men have one X and one Y in most cases. Many immune-related genes are located on the X chromosome. But some of these genes are able to escape the usual process that switches off their activity in women.

This can lead to higher expression of immune system and inflammatory genes – potentially increasing susceptibility to autoimmune and neuroinflammatory disorders.

The menopause link

One of the most important insights from the recent Cambridge study concerns brain metabolism.

The brain is an energy-hungry organ. It primarily uses glucose (sugar) as it’s main source of energy.

Oestrogen plays a significant role in how brain cells use glucose. Oestrogen helps brain cells use glucose efficiently, supporting the energy needed for thinking and memory.

But when oestrogen levels fall during the menopause, the brain may become less efficient at generating energy from glucose. This can create a mild, chronic energy shortfall in vulnerable brain regions. Over time, this metabolic stress may increase susceptibility to processes linked to Alzheimer’s.

This metabolic aspect could also help explain why symptoms such as brain fog, fatigue, mood changes and sleep disruption are common during the menopause.

It also offers a possible biological bridge between menopause and later-life neurological conditions, including Alzheimer’s.

Alzheimer’s and other brain disorders develop under different biological conditions in women and men. Studies on brain health, as well as tests, treatments and prevention strategies, must reflect that reality.

Factors such as hormones, metabolism, lifestyle and immune function not only affect how Alzheimer’s and other brain disorders develop, but also how they interact with and affect each other.

But for decades, research has ignored women, with studies investigating women’s issues being underfunded. Clinical trials on brain health have also failed to acknowledge sex as a potential modifying factor.

Some studies have completely excluded women – with peri- and post-menopausal women particularly overlooked. As a result, many of the treatments available (including those which slow dementia) are developed and prescribed without considering how hormonal changes may alter drug metabolism.

The result is a healthcare system poorly equipped to recognise early brain changes in women or to intervene at the most effective time.

Everything we currently know is pointing towards an important message: women’s brains are complex, adaptive and shaped by forces (such as hormonal transitions throughout the lifespan) that medicine is only beginning to acknowledge. Recognising both the risks women face and the resilience they carry is the first step toward more equitable, effective brain care.

Eleftheria Kodosaki, Research Fellow in Neuroimmunology, UCL and Amanda Heslegrave, Principal Research Fellow, Neurodegenerative Diseases, UCL

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

Space junk returning to the Earth is introducing metal pollution to the pristine upper atmosphere as it burns up on re-entry, a new study has found.

Published today in the journal Communications Earth & Environment, the study was led by Robin Wing from the Leibniz Institute of Atmospheric Physics in Germany. Using highly sensitive lasers, he and his team of international researchers observed a plume of lithium pollution, tracking it back to the uncontrolled re-entry of a discarded Space X Falcon 9 rocket upper stage.

This is the first observational evidence that re-entering space debris leaves a detectable, human-caused chemical fingerprint in the upper atmosphere. This was also the first time a pollutant plume from a specific space junk re-entry event has been monitored from the ground.

With many more satellite launches planned for the future, this event won’t be the last. It highlights the urgent need for governments and the space industry to tackle this problem before it gets out of hand.

A part of the atmosphere we barely understand

The region that comprises the upper stratosphere, mesosphere, and lower thermosphere (around 80 to 120 kilometres above Earth) is one of the least studied parts of the Earth system. It’s too high for balloons, too low for satellites, and too harsh for aircraft.

Yet this region is crucial for radio and GPS communications, upper atmospheric weather patterns, and stratospheric ozone.

The upper atmosphere is largely unpolluted by humans. But the new space age is injecting growing quantities of metals and other pollutants from satellites, rocket bodies and space debris.

The impact this will have on the stratospheric ozone layer, which is crucial to protecting life on Earth from harmful ultraviolet radiation, is as yet unquantified. But early findings are cause for concern.

For example, research from 2024 suggests aluminium and chlorine emissions related to rocket launches and re-entries may slow the ozone layer’s recovery.

Soot from rocket launches is also likely to cause warming in the upper atmosphere.

Finding lithium with lasers

For the new study, the researchers used a highly sensitive laser-based sensor to detect the fluorescence of trace metals in the mesosphere and lower thermosphere. This is not an off-the-shelf and readily available observation system, but it could be.

On February 20 2025, they captured a clear, sudden enhancement in lithium ions from lithium batteries and human-made metal casings used in satellites. These are quite distinct from natural meteor material.

Using atmospheric trajectory modelling, they traced the timing and altitude of the lithium plume directly to the re-entry path of a discarded Falcon 9 rocket stage as it burnt up through the lower thermosphere into the mesosphere over the Atlantic Ocean, west of Ireland.

A rapidly escalating problem

The number of satellites in orbit has exploded from a few thousand a couple years ago to roughly 14,000 right now, driven largely by megaconstellations.

There are many more satellites planned. In fact, SpaceX has applied to launch a megaconstellation of up to one million satellites to power data centres in space. Every one of these satellites will eventually re-enter the atmosphere. So too will the rockets that launch them.

Current estimates suggest that by 2030, several tonnes of spacecraft material will burn up in the upper atmosphere every single day.

So far, there is no regulatory framework for these emissions, few monitoring options and limited scientific understanding of the likely impacts.

The new lithium detection demonstrates that pollutants from re-entry are measurable and can be traced back to individual re-entry events. This is an important step when it comes to holding companies involved in space accountable.

International regulatory bodies need to be set up to liaise with governments and scientists to establish monitoring networks and instruments to track changes to our atmosphere from this emerging threat.

As the space industry skyrockets, our efforts to understand, monitor and regulate upper-atmospheric emissions must keep pace.

Robyn Schofield, Professor and Associate Dean (Environment and Sustainability in Faculty of Science), The University of Melbourne and Robert George Ryan, Research Fellow in Atmospheric Composition, The University of Melbourne

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

Racism is a “widespread” and “systemic” problem in Australian universities, a major new report has found. According to the Australian Human Rights Commission, about 80% of surveyed Indigenous, Chinese, African, Jewish and Middle Eastern students and staff say they have experienced racism at university.

Race Discrimination Commissioner Giridharan Sivaraman described the findings in the Racism@Uni report as sometimes “harrowing reading”. He added it shows “universities have not met their duty of care”.

What is happening on Australian campuses? And what can be done to fix it?

What did the report find?

This report was commissioned in response to a recommendation from the 2023 Australian Universities Accord final report. It follows an interim report in December 2024 which also found serious problems with racism.

This final report is based on a survey of more than 76,000 students and staff at 42 Australian universities. The survey asked about experiences of racism over the past two years at university. There was also a focus groups with 310 participants. It found:

• almost 15% of all respondents reported experiencing direct interpersonal racism at university

• almost 70% reported experiencing indirect racism at university, such as hearing or seeing racist behaviour not aimed at them personally, but directed towards the racial, ethnic, cultural or religious group with which they identify

• almost 20% of those who did not report experiencing direct or indirect racism at university said they had witnessed racism directed at others at university.

Racism was reported at all universities at similar rates, indicating this is a systemic issue. Students said the racism happened in lectures, tutorials, via marking and elsewhere on campus. Staff said it also happened in meetings and performance reviews. It included being singled out or excluded, racist jokes and comments.

What is the impact?

Some respondents reported their experiences of racism led to them them limiting their participation at university and had negative impacts on their mental health and studies.

Jewish, Israeli, Palestinian, Muslim and Middle Eastern staff and students told researchers they experienced unprecedented levels of racism during the Israel-Hamas war. As a Middle Eastern staff participant shared:

I’ve never seen it worse than this. In terms of suppressing or the fear around expressing views in university if you’re from the Middle East.

A Jewish student similarly shared how things were worse than ever:

I’d encountered antisemitism before, but I had never been scared to be Jewish. In uni, I frequently feel the need to hide my religion.

What are the recommendations?

The report’s 47 recommendations include:

• a national framework to address racism in universities

• better training and complaints processes to ensure universities are free from racism

• more public oversight of racism incidents and anti-racism measures at universities

• curriculum reform, to embed First Peoples’ knowledges, scholarship and texts across all disciplines

• targets and accountability measures to improve workforce diversity in unis.

This problem is not new

Events overseas and domestically, such as the devastating war in Gaza and Bondi terrorist attack, have provided the context for much of the recent discussion on the rise of racism. But racism on campuses is by no means exclusively linked to such recent events.

Over the last few decades, many studies and social surveys have reported persistent discrimination against certain racial groups. This includes exclusion from leadership and workforce representation.

This new report rightly acknowledges racism in Australian universities does not just involve interpersonal encounters, but systemic problems. This means power and representation structures need to be changed in higher education.

The report particularly touches on this in its fifth outcome – which seeks to boost diversity in university leadership and workforce.

What do we need to remember?

Of course much will depend now on how government and universities respond to these findings, which are addressed to them both. Federal Education Minister Jason Clare said he would now “consider” the recommendations.

In dealing with racism on university campuses as elsewhere in society, there must be clear guiding principles and laws. These can be applied in relation to all forms of racism, to avoid claims or concerns one form of racism is prioritised over another.

As governance experts argue, trust can be restored in our unis when there is genuine commitment to tackling racism and discrimination in all their forms.

A challenge ahead

Finally, it is absolutely imperative that in the pursuit of a robust anti-racism strategy, universities are also able to to ensure academic freedom and freedom of speech.

This means students and staff are able to express their views on domestic and international affairs without fear of being harassed or prosecuted. As the report notes, “academic freedom must enable robust discussion” while also providing a learning environment free from racism.

This can be difficult in practice. As the report notes,

[universities] face the challenge of creating respectful learning environments while allowing some discomfort in engaging with difficult ideas.

As the report recommends, this can be improved if more students and staff are given anti-racism and cultural competency training.

What do unis do?

In 1987, former education minister John Dawkins observed of universities:

we must ask the institutions themselves what they see as their role in the social, cultural and economic lives of Australians, and ask them to examine how effectively they are discharging their roles.

This question has become even more pressing as our community tackles challenges to social cohesion. This new report raises the stakes even higher. It demands university leadership strikes the right balance between anti-racism and freedom of speech, so legitimacy and trust are both maintained.

Or, as the report notes,

[universities] must be accountable for creating safe environments, free from discrimination, and where academic freedom is balanced with respect.

Fethi Mansouri, Deakin Distinguished Professor/UNESCO Chair-holder; Founding Director, Alfred Deakin Institute for Citizenship and Globalisation, Deakin University

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

A new study published today in Nature has found that X’s algorithm – the hidden system or “recipe” that governs which posts appear in your feed and in which order – shifts users’ political opinions in a more conservative direction.

Led by Germain Gauthier from Bocconi University in Italy, it is a rare, real-world randomised experimental study on a major social media platform. And it builds on a growing body of research that shows how these platforms can shape people’s political attitudes.

Two different algorithms

The researchers randomly assigned 4,965 active US-based X users to one of two groups.

The first group used X’s default “For You” feed. This features an algorithm that selects and ranks posts it thinks users will be more likely to engage with, including posts from accounts that they don’t necessarily follow.

The second group used a chronological feed. This only shows posts from accounts users follow, displayed in the order they were posted. The experiment ran for seven weeks during 2023.

Users who switched from the chronological feed to the “For You” feed were 4.7 percentage points more likely to prioritise policy issues favoured by US Republicans (for example, crime, inflation and immigration). They were also more likely to view the criminal investigation into US President Donald Trump as unacceptable.

They also shifted in a more pro-Russia direction in regards to the war in Ukraine. For example, these users became 7.4 percentage points less likely to view Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy positively, and scored slightly higher on a pro-Russian attitude index overall.

The researchers also examined how the algorithm produced these effects.

They found evidence that the algorithm increased the share of right-leaning content by 2.9 percentage points overall (and 2.5 points among political posts), compared with the chronological feed.

It also significantly demoted the share of posts from traditional news organisations’ accounts while promoting or boosting posts from political activists.

One of the most concerning findings of the study is the longer-term effects of X’s algorithmic feed. The study showed the algorithm nudged users towards following more right-leaning accounts, and that the new following patterns endured even after switching back to the chronological feed.

In other words, turning the algorithm off didn’t simply “reset” what people see. It had a longer-lasting impact beyond its day-to-day effects.

One piece of a much bigger picture

This new study supports findings of similar studies.

For example, a study in 2022, before Elon Musk had bought Twitter and rebranded it as X, found the platform’s algorithmic systems amplified content from the mainstream political right more than the left in six out of the seven countries.

An experimental study from 2025 re-ranked X feeds to reduce exposure to content that expresses antidemocratic attitudes and partisan animosity. They found this shifted feelings towards their political opponents by more than two points on a 0–100 “feeling thermometer”. This is a shift the authors argued would have normally taken about three years to occur organically in the general population.

My own research offers another piece of evidence to this picture of algorithmic bias on X. Along with my colleague Mark Andrejevic, I analysed engagement data (such as likes and reposts) from prominent political accounts during the final stages of the 2024 US election.

Our findings unearthed a sudden and unusual spike in engagement with Musk’s account after his endorsement of Trump on July 13 – the day of the assassination attempt on Trump. Views on Musk’s posts surged by 138%, retweets by 238%, and likes by 186%. This far outstripped increases on other accounts.

After July 13, right-leaning accounts on X gained significantly greater visibility than progressive ones. The “playing field” for attention and engagement on the platform was tilted thereafter towards right-leaning accounts – a trend that continued for the remainder of the time period we analysed in that study.

Not a niche product

This matters because we are not talking about a niche product.

X has more than 400 million users globally. It has become embedded as infrastructure – a key source of political and social communication. And once technical systems become infrastructure, they can become invisible – like background objects that we barely think about, but which shape society at its foundations and can be exploited under our noses.

Think of the overpass bridges Robert Moses designed in New York in the 1930s. These seemed like inert objects. But they were designed to be very low, to exclude people of colour from taking buses to recreation areas in Long Island.

Similar to this, the design and governance of social media platforms also has real consequences.

The point is that X’s algorithms are not neutral tools. They are an editorial force, shaping what people know, whom they pay attention to, who the outgroup is and what “we” should do about or to them – and, as this new study shows, what people come to believe.

The age of taking platform companies at their word about the design and effects of their own algorithms must come to an end. Governments around the world – including in Australia where the eSafety Commissioner has powers to drive “algorithmic transparency and accountability” and require that platforms report on how their algorithms contribute to or reduce harms – need to mandate genuine transparency over how these systems work.

When infrastructure become harmful or unsafe, nobody bats an eye when governments do something to protect us. The same needs to happen urgently for social media infrastructures.

Timothy Graham, Associate Professor in Digital Media, Queensland University of Technology

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

On January 30 2026, SpaceX filed an application with the US Federal Communications Commission for a megaconstellation of up to one million satellites to power data centres in space.

The proposal envisions satellites operating between 500 and 2,000 kilometres in low Earth orbit. Some of the orbits are designed for near-constant exposure to sunlight. The public can currently submit comments on this proposal.

SpaceX’s filing is just the latest among exponentially growing satellite megaconstellation proposals. Such satellites operate with a single purpose and have short replacement life cycles of about five years.

As of February 2026, approximately 14,000 active satellites are in orbit. An additional 1.23 million proposed satellite projects are in various stages of development.

The approval process for these satellites focuses almost entirely on the limited technical info companies have to submit to regulators.

Cultural, spiritual, and most environmental impacts aren’t taken into account – but they should be.

The night sky will drastically change

At this scale of growth, the night sky will change permanently and globally for generations to come.

Satellites in low Earth orbit reflect sunlight for about two hours after sunset and before sunrise. Despite engineering efforts to make them less bright, truck-sized satellites from many megaconstellations look like moving points in the night sky. Projections show future satellites will significantly increase this light pollution.

In 2021, astronomers estimated that in less than a decade, 1 in every 15 points of light in the night sky would be a moving satellite. That estimate only included the 65,000 megaconstellation satellites proposed at the time.

Once deployed at a scale of millions, the impacts on the night sky may not be easily reversed.

While the average satellite only lasts about five years, companies design these megaconstellations for nearly continuous replacement and expansion. This locks in a continuous, industrialised presence in the night sky.

All this is causing a space-based “shifting baseline syndrome”, where each new generation accepts a progressively more degraded night sky. Criss-crossing satellites become the new normal.

And for the first time in human history, this shifting baseline means kids today won’t grow up with the same night sky every previous generation of humanity had access to.

Houston, we have a ‘mega’ problem

Concerns over the sheer volume of proposed satellites come from many sides.

Scientific concerns include bright reflections and radio emissions from satellites that will disrupt astronomy.

Industry experts also note traffic management and logistical concerns. There’s currently no form of unified space traffic management in the same way that exists in aviation, for example.

Megaconstellations also increase the risk of Kessler syndrome, a runaway chain reaction of collisions. There are already 50,000 pieces of debris in orbit that are ten centimetres or larger. If satellites stopped all collision avoidance manoeuvres, the latest data shows we can expect a major collision in 3.8 days.

Major cultural concerns abound, too. Satellite light pollution will negatively impact Indigenous uses of the night sky for longstanding oral traditions, navigation, hunting, and spiritual traditions.

Launching so many satellites uses up vast amounts of fossil fuels, damaging the ozone layer. After the satellites have served their purpose, the end-of-life plan is to burn them up in the atmosphere. This poses another environmental concern – depositing vast quantities of metals into the stratosphere, causing ozone depletion and other potentially harmful chemical reactions.

All this feeds into legal concerns. Under international space law, countries – not companies – are liable for harm caused by their space objects.

Space lawyers are increasingly trying to understand if international space law can actually hold corporations or private individuals accountable. This is especially important as the risk of damage, death or permanent environmental damage grows.

We can no longer ignore the gaps in regulation

Currently, the main regulations concerning satellite proposals are technical, such as deciding which radio frequencies they will use. At national levels, regulators focus on launch safety, lessening environmental impacts on Earth, and liability if something goes wrong.

What these regulations don’t capture is how hundreds of thousands of bright satellites change the night sky for scientific study, navigation, Indigenous teaching and ceremony, and cultural continuity.

These are not traditional “environmental” harms, nor are they technical engineering concerns. They’re cultural impacts that fall into a regulatory blind spot.

This is why the world needs a Dark Skies Impact Assessment, as proposed by space lawyers Gregory Radisic and Natalie Gillespie.

It’s a systematic way to identify, document, and meaningfully consider all the impacts of a proposed satellite constellation before it goes ahead.

How would such an assessment work?

First, evidence must be gathered from all stakeholders. Astronomers (both amateur and professional), atmospheric scientists, environmental researchers, cultural scholars, affected communities, and industry all bring their perspectives.

Second, it’s essential to model any cumulative effects of the satellites. Assessments should analyse how constellations will change night sky visibility and skyglow, orbital congestion, and the risk of casualties on the ground.

Third, it will define clear criteria for when unobstructed sky visibility is critical for science, navigation, education, cultural practice, and shared human heritage.

Fourth, it must include mitigation pathways such as brightness reduction, orbital design changes, and deployment adjustments to lessen harm. This should include incentives for using as few satellites as possible for a given project.

Finally, the findings must be transparent, independently reviewable, and directly tied to licensing and policy decisions.

It’s not a veto tool

A Dark Skies Impact Assessment doesn’t prevent space development. It clarifies trade-offs and improves decision making.

It can lead to design choices that reduce brightness and visual interference, orbital configurations that lessen cultural impact, earlier and more meaningful consultation, and cultural considerations where harm can’t be avoided.

Most importantly, it ensures that communities affected by satellite constellations aren’t finding out about them after approval has already been granted and bright lights crawl across their skies.

The question is not whether the night sky will change – it’s already changing. Now is the time for governments and international institutions to design fair processes before those changes become permanent.

Gregory Radisic, Fellow at the Centre for Space, Cyberspace and Data Law; Senior Teaching Fellow, Faculty of Law, Bond University and Samantha Lawler, Associate Professor, Astronomy, University of Regina

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

The federal government plans to sell A$3 billion of Department of Defence properties on prime land across Australia, including Paddington in Sydney, St Kilda in Melbourne and Victoria Barracks in Brisbane.

The sales may help the budget in the short term, but at the time of a housing crisis, is this using public land in the best way?

Instead of selling these sites outright, the federal government could take a lead in redeveloping the land to deliver more affordable homes and long-term value for our cities.

It wouldn’t be the first time government has played this role. There are lessons to be learned from a 1990s urban redevelopment programme called Building Better Cities, which redeveloped Ultimo and Pyrmont in Sydney among other sites.

A quick fix, or a lost opportunity?

Australia’s housing crisis is one of the most urgent challenges facing federal and state governments. At the same time, the federal government plans to sell more than 60 publicly owned defence sites across the country.

Selling land can bring a quick boost to revenue. But public land is a limited resource, so we need to make sure we are getting public value from it. Once it is sold, governments lose control of how it is used in the future.

Many of the sites listed for private sale are located in capital cities, often close to jobs, public transport and services.

They range from the small, such as two office buildings on Grattan Street, Carlton, to the large, such as the 127-hectare Defence site in Maribyrnong, in Melbourne’s inner west. Locations like this are where homes are most needed. But redevelopment is not always easy, as the sites may have contaminated land or heritage buildings.

Selling these sites to private developers with limited conditions may maximise short-term revenue for defence purposes. Housing will likely be delivered.

But rather than selling land unrestricted to the private market, the government has other options to deliver better outcomes for current and future generations.

Government as master developer

One option is the federal government could transfer ownership of the sites to state governments, as long as they follow an agreed process. Government development agencies, such as Renewal SA or Hunter and Central Coast Development Corporation, would act as master developer.

These agencies work with the community to establish a vision for the future of each site. This could include social and affordable housing, employment and community uses and open space.

Then the federal and state governments would fund upfront any land remediation, public transport, streets and open spaces. This sets up what is required to make a liveable neighbourhood, and de-risks the process for private developers. Then smaller sites are sold to private developers or community housing providers at a higher value, with the government retaining that profit.

With government as custodians of the redevelopment process, high quality neighbourhoods are delivered, with more affordable housing. A project such as Bowden in Adelaide, led by Renewal SA, is a great example.

Back to the 1990s

If this level of government vision and coordination seems a stretch, it’s worth considering we have done it before. The Building Better Cities program of the 1990s invested federal and state money into 26 places around Australia, including Ultimo-Pyrmont in Sydney, Subiaco in Perth and Kensington Banks in Melbourne.

The program focused on improving the urban development process and the quality of urban life. It included the redevelopment of land no longer required by state and federal governments.

Not only did the program create high-quality places to live, it also improved Australia’s economic growth over the following decades. The $268 million investment in the transformation of industrial wasteland at Honeysuckle in Newcastle encouraged $768 million in private investment and led to over $2 billion in direct and indirect economic benefit by 2012.

Long-term leases

There are other ways for government to guide the transformation of these smaller sites in the defence portfolio. One option is to set up a long-term ground lease, to enable the delivery of homes but retain the land for future generations.

The Victorian government has shown the potential of this approach with its ground lease model, with the first neighbourhoods completed in 2024 on public housing land in Brighton, Flemington and Prahran.

Through a development agreement, private developers build affordable, social and private housing on public land. The land and buildings return to government after a 40-year period.

Alternatively, the federal government could set minimum affordable housing or sustainability requirements with the sale of sites, to support better outcomes.

Finance Minister Katy Gallagher has mentioned that sales will consider remediation, heritage and community impacts. But the focus is on achieving “market value” for the land, rather than any broader ambition.

What happens next?

Now that the defence land has been declared surplus to needs, it will go to the Department of Finance’s Property Clearing House.

This process allows other government departments to buy a site before it is sold on the open market.

Let’s hope the government sees the bigger social and economic benefits in leading the strategic transformation of these sites, rather than a short-term cash fix.

Katherine Sundermann, Senior Lecturer in Urban Planning and Design, Monash University

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

A recent case before the Fair Work Commission has revealed the limits of being able to work a second job when you are employed full time.

An employee was sacked for holding a second job, which he says he had fully disclosed to his employer. The worker took his case to the Fair Work Commission, claiming he was unfairly dismissed by his employer.

Dismissal is the termination for a breach of conditions of employment. An employee may go to the Fair Work Commission and make a claim of “unfair dismissal”. The commission then considers the legal aspects of the situation and makes a decision or ruling on the merits of the case.

The Fair Work Commission ruled the dismissal was not unfair, citing two key points:

• the employee was running a side business in an area similar to their main job
• running their own business caused the employee to spend his normal work time on his second job.
  

When is it OK to run a side hustle?

Some employers do not allow employees to hold a second job or run a side business, and include this requirement in the letter of offer for a new job.

Others specify an employee must ask permission to hold a second job. The employer can then decide if the other job may affect the worker’s safety and wellbeing. This includes being too tired to do your main job, or if it creates competition with their business.

Second jobs can take various forms ranging from formal to informal jobs.

A side job is a formal type of employment and usually has regulated times for work and required tasks. These can be jobs such as working in restaurants and bars or teaching classes in the evening after normal daytime working hours.

A side hustle is an informal activity from which you earn money and is undertaken alongside your full-time job.

This might be in the gig economy or an online business.

Side hustles are entrepreneurial and flexible and can be as simple as turning a hobby or interest into a paid gig, such as selling refurbished furniture, playing in a band, dog walking or teaching yoga in your spare time.

Practical tips to avoid crossing the line

1) Read your letter of offer when you started your job. If it contains a statement prohibiting you from taking on a side hustle, you cannot undertake a second job.

If your letter of offer states you need to ask permission to take on a side hustle, let your employer know.

2) Make sure your side hustle doesn’t operate in competition to your main job.

3) As an employee, your loyalty to your employer matters. Taking on a side hustle may take your attention and support away from the main business that is paying you.

4) Your side job can’t spill over into your main job. There is a reasonable expectation you will totally focus on your full-time job during your agreed working hours.

5) It is not just your employer’s time that can’t be used: you should not use any of your employer’s resources to carry out your side hustle, either.

How many hours do people work in their second job?

While it’s hard to separate out data just on side hustles, the Australian Bureau of Statistics reports almost 1 million people hold more than one job. That’s out of a workforce of 10 million full-time workers.

The bureau says employees with multiple jobs worked about eight hours each week in their second job, and they worked slightly fewer hours than single job holders, putting in around 30.5 hours a week in their main job.

These figures may be the tip of the iceberg, because multiple job holders include people with second jobs, as well as side hustle workers.

Motivations for the side hustle or side job

An increase in the number of people holding multiple jobs over the past five years has mirrored the increase in cost of living, especially driven by higher housing prices.

The rise of the side hustle has also been attributed to the greater use of digital platforms, such as ride share, food delivery and holiday homes, and the consequent highly flexible work options created by the gig economy.

While financial issues loom large in why people have second jobs, other reasons include:

• forging a new and different career
• developing new skills, and
• personal fulfilment.

Some employers allow their employees to take on side gigs so they don’t lose them, and to give them increased motivation for their main jobs.

So if your passion project, great idea or hobby can be converted to a paid side hustle – and you can do it in your own time around your main job without creating competition with your employer – there should be a clear path for you to try something different.

Kerry Brown, Professor of Employment and Industry, School of Business and Law, Edith Cowan University

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

For years, big tech companies have placed the burden of managing screen time squarely on individuals and parents, operating on the assumption that capturing human attention is fair game.

But the social media sands may slowly be shifting. A test-case jury trial in Los Angeles is accusing big tech companies of creating “addiction machines”. While TikTok and Snapchat have already settled with the 20-year-old plaintiff, Meta’s CEO, Mark Zuckerberg, is due to give evidence in the courtroom this week.

The European Commission recently issued a preliminary ruling against TikTok, stating that the app’s design – with features such as infinite scroll and autoplay – breaches the EU Digital Services Act. One industry expert told the BBC that the problem is “no longer just about toxic content, it’s about toxic design”.

Meta and other defendants have historically argued that their platforms are communication tools, not traps, and that “addiction” is a mischaracterisation of high engagement.

“I think it’s important to differentiate between clinical addiction and problematic use,” Instagram chief Adam Mosseri testified in the LA court. He noted that the field of psychology does not classify social media addiction as an official diagnosis.

Tech giants maintain that users and parents have the agency and tools to manage screen time. However, a growing body of academic research suggests features like infinite scrolling, autoplay and push notifications are engineered to override human self-control.

A state of ‘automated attachment’

My research with colleagues on digital consumption behaviour also challenges the idea that excessive social media use is a failure of personal willpower. Through interviews with 32 self-identified excessive users and an analysis of online discussions dedicated to heavy digital use, we found that consumers frequently enter a state of “automated attachment”.

This is when connection to the device becomes purely reflexive, as conscious decision-making is effectively suspended by the platform’s design.

We found that the impulse to use these platforms sometimes occurs before the user is even fully conscious. One participant admitted: “I’m waking up, I’m not even totally conscious, and I’m already doing things on the device.”

Another described this loss of agency vividly: “I found myself mindlessly opening the [TikTok] app every time I felt even the tiniest bit bored … My thumb was reaching to its old spot on reflex, without a conscious thought.”

Social media proponents argue that “screen addiction” isn’t the same as substance abuse. However, new neurophysiological evidence suggests that frequent engagement with these algorithms alters dopamine pathways, fostering a dependency that is “analogous to substance addiction”.

Strategies that keep users engaged

The argument that users should simply exercise willpower also needs to be understood in the context of the sophisticated strategies platforms employ to keep users engaged. These include:

1. Removing stopping cues

Features like infinite scroll, autoplay and push notifications create a continuous flow of content. By eliminating natural end-points, the design effectively shifts users into autopilot mode, making stopping a viewing session more difficult.

2. Variable rewards

Similar to a slot machine, algorithms deliver intermittent, unpredictable rewards such as likes and personalised videos. This unpredictability triggers the dopamine system, creating a compulsive cycle of seeking and anticipation.

3. Social pressure

Features such as notifications and time-limited story posts have been found to exploit psychological vulnerabilities, inducing anxiety that for many users can only be relieved by checking the app. Strategies employing “emotional steering” can take advantage of psychological vulnerabilities, such as people’s fear of missing out, to instil a sense of social obligation and guilt if they attempt to disconnect.

Vulnerability in children

The issue of social media addiction is of particular concern when it comes to children, whose impulse control mechanisms are still developing. The US trial’s plaintiff says she began using social media at the age of six, and that her early exposure to these platforms led to a spiral into addiction.

A growing body of research suggests that “variable reward schedules” are especially potent for developing minds, which exhibit a heightened sensitivity to rewards. Children lack the cognitive brakes to resist these dopamine loops because their emotional regulation and impulsivity controls are still developing.

Lawyers in the US trial have pointed to internal documents, known as “Project Myst”, which allegedly show that Meta knew parental controls were ineffective against these engagement loops. Meta’s attorney, Paul Schmidt, countered that the plaintiff’s struggles stemmed from pre-existing childhood trauma rather than platform design.

The company has long argued that it provides parents with “robust tools at their fingertips”, and that the primary issue is “behavioural” – because many parents fail to use them.

Our study heard from many adults (mainly in their 20s) who described the near-impossibility of controlling levels of use, despite their best efforts. If these adults cannot stop opening apps on reflex, expecting a child to exercise restraint with apps that affect human neurophysiology seems even more unrealistic.

Potential harms of overuse

The consequences of social media overuse can be significant. Our research and recent studies have identified a wide range of potential harms.

These include “psychological entrapment”. Participants in our study described a “feedback loop of doom and despair”. Users can turn to platforms to escape anxiety, only to find that the scrolling deepens their feelings of emptiness and isolation.

Excessive exposure to rapidly changing, highly stimulating content can fracture the user’s attention span, making it harder to focus on complex real-world tasks.

And many users describe feeling “defeated” by the technology. Social media’s erosion of autonomy can leave people unable to align their online actions – such as overlong sessions – with their intentions.

A ruling against social media companies in the LA court case, or enforced redesign of their apps in the EU, could have profound implications for the way these platforms are operated in future.

But while big tech companies have grown at dizzying rates over the past two decades, attempts to rein in their products on both sides of the Atlantic remain slow and painstaking. In this era of “use first, legislate later”, people all over the world, of all ages, are the laboratory mice.

Quynh Hoang, Lecturer in Marketing and Consumption, Department of Marketing and Strategy, University of Leicester

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

Weight-loss injections have rapidly moved from specialist clinics to social media feeds and high-street pharmacies. Known as GLP-1 medications, they were originally developed to support those with type 2 diabetes but are now widely used to support weight loss.

These medicines mimic a hormone called glucagon-like peptide-1, which helps regulate appetite and blood sugar. By slowing digestion and increasing feelings of fullness, they often lead people to eat less and lose weight.

Evidence suggests they can support weight loss, at least in the short term. But as use has grown, so have questions about possible unintended effects on nutrition and overall health.

A recent review of evidence suggests that some people taking GLP-1 medications may not be getting enough key nutrients. These include vitamins A, C, D, E and K, dietary fibre and minerals such as iron, calcium, magnesium, zinc and copper.

Nutritional deficiencies occur when the body does not receive enough of a nutrient to function properly. Estimates of how common these deficiencies are in those using GLP-1 medications vary widely. Some research suggests that more than 20% of people may be at risk within the first year of starting GLP-1 medications, while other studies indicate the impact may be much smaller, affecting less than 1% of users.

As concern about potential deficiencies has grown, so has a new market. Supplement companies are launching “GLP-1 support” products that claim to offset side-effects such as muscle loss and vitamin deficiencies by providing the “right” nutrients for people using these medications.

But do people taking GLP-1 medications actually need these supplements?

The use of vitamin and mineral supplements has long been debated in nutrition science. Evidence supporting their benefits in generally healthy people who already eat a balanced diet is limited. Supplements can be helpful for people who are deficient in a specific nutrient.

For example, many people in the UK are at risk of vitamin D deficiency during the winter months because there is less sunlight, which the body needs to produce vitamin D. However, if someone already gets enough of a nutrient from their diet, taking extra supplements usually has little or no additional benefit.

Much of the research linking GLP-1 medications to nutrient deficiencies is observational. These studies studies look for patterns and associations in data but cannot prove cause and effect. In other words, they can show that two things occur together but cannot confirm that one causes the other. This means we cannot yet say for certain that GLP-1 medications directly cause nutrient deficiencies.

Even so, the concern is reasonable. GLP-1 medications often lead to reduced food intake. Eating less food can also mean consuming fewer essential nutrients, which increases the risk of deficiencies over time.

So can these potential deficiencies be addressed without expensive specialist supplements? Often, yes. Small dietary changes may be enough. Eating a range of nutrient-dense whole foods, including fruit and vegetables, whole grains, nuts and seeds, dairy or fortified alternatives, and lean or plant-based proteins, can help maintain adequate nutrient intake.

If supplements are needed, standard vitamin and mineral products available on the high street are often sufficient. There is rarely any need to pay premium prices for products marketed specifically for GLP-1 users. The evidence used in marketing for these products is often weak.

Selective science

While there is some evidence to support the use of certain supplements in specific situations or for certain groups, many GLP-1 support supplements contain ingredients that are not clearly linked to the needs of people taking these medications. These products are often described as “science-backed” or “evidence-based,” but the research behind these claims is frequently selective. Much of it has not been carried out in people using GLP-1 medications at all.

For instance, many GLP-1 support supplements include biotin, a vitamin often promoted for improving hair and skin health. However, the evidence supporting this claim is weak. There is also no strong research showing that biotin offers specific benefits for people taking GLP-1 medications. Most people already get enough biotin from their everyday diet. This means there is no clear evidence that adding more through supplements will help.

Nutritional and lifestyle support for people using GLP-1 medications should be tailored to personal needs and goals. This approach is often described as personalised care. It recognises that people differ in their diets, health status and risk of deficiency. Guidance suggests that support should be personalised to meet individual needs to meet specific needs, ideally with advice from a qualified healthcare professional such as a registered dietitian or nutritionist. This is particularly important for anyone at higher risk of nutrient deficiency.

Where deficiencies are identified or likely, support may include small dietary changes or the use of standard supplements. However, this does not justify the routine use of expensive GLP-1 support supplements. These products are unlikely to offer benefits beyond those provided by basic, affordable supplements. A higher price does not guarantee higher quality or effectiveness.

The key message is simple. Supplements are most useful when someone has a confirmed deficiency or cannot meet their nutritional needs through diet alone. Taking supplements without a clear need is unlikely to provide any benefit and may simply be a waste of money.

Jordan Beaumont, Senior Lecturer in Food and Nutrition, Sheffield Hallam University

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

Cholesterol has long been seen as a key culprit in cardiovascular disease. While it’s true that cholesterol does play a role, not all cholesterol is bad for us.

There are two main types of cholesterol.

The first type is low-density lipoprotein or LDL cholesterol. This is often referred to as the “bad” cholesterol because it causes fat to collect in the arteries as plaques. This makes it harder for blood to pump throughout the body, leading to greater risk of a heart attack or stroke.

The second type is high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol — often referred to as “good” cholesterol.

HDL cholesterol has two key roles in the body. It removes excess bad cholesterol from the tissues and arteries and returns it to the liver so it can be removed from the body. HDL cholesterol also protects the artery walls so there’s less risk of a blockage forming.

Boosting HDL

The ratio of LDL to HDL in a person’s body is related to their cardiovascular disease risk. If you have a higher ratio of HDL to LDL, your cardiovascular disease risk will be lower. But if you have a lower ratio of HDL to LDL, you’ll have a higher risk of cardiovascular disease.

Fortunately, it’s possible to shift this ratio and increase HDL cholesterol levels. This can be achieved by exercising, quitting smoking and managing your weight, for example.

Certain foods can also improve HDL ratios.

The main way that diet helps boost HDL ratios is by reducing inflammation. Inflammation is a key problem in cardiovascular disease.

Inflammation makes it possible for blood platelets to stick together in our arteries at a much higher rate. This makes it difficult for the HDL cholesterol to do its job, which increases risk of blood clots forming and raises likelihood of heart disease.

By eating anti-inflammatory foods, it makes it easier for HDL cholesterol to do its job of sweeping away excess LDL cholesterol. Here are four examples you can include in your diet:

1. Fruits and vegetables

Research shows that people who have diets high in fruits and vegetables have higher HDL cholesterol levels and a better total cholesterol ratio. They also have lower blood pressure and healthier blood sugar levels, all of which can be supportive to heart health.

Fruits and vegetables exert their positive effects by trapping free radicals.

Free radicals are highly reactive, unstable molecules that can cause damage to cells and trigger inflammation in the body. By preventing inflammation, this makes it possible for HDL cholesterol to continue doing its job of removing bad cholesterol and protecting the arteries.

2. Oily fish and olive oil

Oily fish (such as salmon, sardines and tuna) and olive oil are rich in a type of fat called “polar lipids”.

These lipids are able to reach the bloodstream more quickly compared to other types of fat, allowing them to reduce inflammation and prevent the aggregation of platelets more effectively.

Cell and animal studies have shown that a diet rich in the polar lipids from oily fish is effective in preventing blood clots from forming. This effect can help cholesterol ratios stay balanced, meaning cardiovascular disease risk is lower.

3. Fermented dairy

Fermented dairy products, such as yoghurt, kefir and cheese, can all have a positive effect on HDL levels.

During fermentation, the lipids are broken down into smaller compounds that have a greater anti-inflammatory effect than milk. They can also be metabolised faster by the body.

Fermented dairy products are also rich in polar lipids, which means that they can considerably reduce cardiovascular risk.

Research found that for every 20g of fermented dairy products people consumed each day, there was a modest reduction in cardiovascular disease risk.

4. Red wine

Finally, red wine is completely misunderstood. According to the latest research, moderate consumption of red wine (the equivalent of one to two small glasses per day) is linked with better HDL ratios.

Wine reduces inflammation when consumed in small quantities because it contains polar lipids. However, if wine intake is high, the negative, pro-inflammatory effect of alcohol outstrips the positive effect of the lipids.

This is why it’s important only to drink small amounts and in moderation – otherwise, alcohol can have many negative effects on the body. Indeed, the World Health Organization has said there is no safe level of alcohol consumption as the negatives, such as increased cancer risk even from light drinking, outweigh any positives.

Non-alcoholic wines also contain polar lipids. Research suggests that polar lipid extracts from non-alcoholic beverages have comparable benefits on preventing the formation of blood clots as their alcoholic counterparts.

Inflammation is a key factor in heart disease. By eating foods that reduce inflammation in the body, it’s possible to look after your heart health and lower cardiovascular disease by improving the ratio of HDL to LDL in the body.

Ioannis Zabetakis, Associate Professor, Food Chemistry, University of Limerick

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

Thanks to an unprecedented lift in public funding in the 2020s, an extra 55,000 new, good quality homes around Australia will be available to people on the lowest incomes by 2030. That’s almost triple the increase of 20,000 homes in the previous decade.

Residents in these modern “social” homes will generally pay only 25% of their income in rent. Social housing refers to government-subsidised homes, with below market rents.

You’d think federal and state politicians would be shouting about an extra 55,000 social homes by 2030 from those new rooftops.

But, surprisingly, there are no official projections on how many more total dwellings we’ll have in coming years, thanks to recently boosted investment.

For the first time, our new research fills this gap. It shows that even with the recent investment boom, we’re still not building enough to cut the backlog of need – leaving hundreds of thousands of Australians without an adequate, affordable home.

What’s being built vs demolished

Up until now, we’ve known how many social homes Australia has at the end of each year. Remarkably, though, there is still no national data series tracking social housing in greater detail: showing the balance between annual construction, acquisitions and losses.

Filling this gap, our new research reveals around 70,000 new “social” homes are due to built across Australia during the 2020s – a number not seen since the 1980s.

However, many new social housing projects involve replacing ageing public housing. So, along the way, 15,000 older homes will also be lost, mainly when large public housing estates in Sydney and Melbourne are demolished.

After allowing for these demolitions and sales, we found Australia’s total stock of social housing will increase by a total of 55,000 by 2030. That’s up 13% compared to what we had in 2020.

Who’s building the most?

A substantial share of this new housing comes from the Albanese government’s headline initiative, the Housing Australia Future Fund.

The fund is set to deliver 20,000 new social homes by 2029 (as well as 20,000 more “affordable” units targeted at low-income renters).

Strikingly, though, we found even more social housing will be delivered by state and territory government-funded programs across the decade. They’re projected to contribute about two-thirds (64%) of all social housing construction from 2020 to 2030.

Overall, the standouts have been Tasmania and Victoria. Between 2020 and 2025, they each built enough to increase the overall share of social housing within their states.

Victoria led the way in 2020, announcing its Big Housing Build program to initially construct 12,000 dwellings. More than three-quarters of them are social housing, while the rest are affordable rentals.

Since then, most states have followed suit, although generally on a smaller scale.

In the Australian Capital Territory and New South Wales, new construction barely exceeded stock losses in the first half of the decade. In NSW, substantially ramped-up spending is only now flowing through.

In South Australia, more public housing units were sold or demolished than new social homes added.

Historically, state governments have generally invested in new social housing through the proceeds of land and property sales, or as a matching contribution alongside Commonwealth funds.

So it’s quite a big deal that, since 2020, most states have stepped up to do a lot more.

Why Australia is not keeping up

While we’re building far more than we did from 2000 to 2020, it’s still not enough.

Australia’s 13% increase in social housing this decade matches projected national household growth to 2030. In other words, what we’re building as a nation now is only enough to stop the share of social housing in Australia shrinking further.

Currently the sector accounts for only about 4% of all occupied dwellings in Australia, down from 6% in the mid-1990s.

In contrast, the average across similar wealthy OECD nations is 7%.

437,000 reasons to build more

Social housing plays a vital role in the housing system. It prevents and resolves homelessness. It also minimises harms including re-offending, and helps stabilise the wider housing market.

The projected net increase of 55,000 dwellings by the end of the decade is striking. Yet it pales alongside the estimate that 437,000 households had an “unmet need” for social housing on census night in 2021. That unmet need means they were either homeless at the time, or very low-income renters in rental stress.

The revival of public investment in social housing this decade is a notable policy reversal. But greater action is needed.

Our report finds we need clearer, more consistent rules for social housing providers and residents. These rules have remained neglected for decades.

More importantly, none of the current programs – state, territory or federal – come with committed funding beyond 2030. Australian governments need to extend recent investment into the next decade and beyond at similar, or expanded, levels.

The post-1990s history of social housing in Australia has seen gradual decline, punctuated by occasional bursts of activity, like the Rudd-era response to the global financial crisis of 2008.

For the future, we need assurance that stated government commitments are being met. That means starting to officially, transparently track social housing construction in more detail at a national level.

Thanks to Peter Mares for his input into this story.

Hal Pawson, Emeritus Professor of Housing, UNSW Sydney

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

Angus Taylor has defeated Sussan Ley for Liberal leader by a hefty margin of 34-17, giving him strong authority to try to improve the fortunes of the debilitated federal opposition.

The meeting. starting at 9am and lasting under an hour,  first carried a motion to spill the leadership by 33-17, a much higher gap than had been expected. There was one informal vote.

The new deputy leader is Jane Hume, defeating Ted O'Brien - who has been shadow treasurer under Ley - by 30-20 in the final ballot. Eliminated in earlier ballots were Dan Tehan and Melissa Price.

Hume is a moderate and Taylor a conservative, so the new leadership team has gender balance as well as factional balance. Taylor and Hume, who was finance spokeswoman under Dutton, worked closely together during the last term and developed a good relationship.

Hume was left off the frontbench by Ley and became a big critic of her.

Hume reportedly told colleagues she would not seek the post of shadow treasurer, a pitch that improved her support, especially as having the deputy in the Senate had not happened since Fred Chaney in 1989-90.

There is speculation the shadow treasurer post could go to Victorian frontbencher Tim Wilson, who is currently industrial relations spokesman.

Momentum moved strongly to Taylor – who on Wednesday resigned from the frontbench to bring on the challenge – in the 24 hours before the vote. The size of the margin reflects the party’s desire to have a decisive outcome.

Ley, the federal Liberals’ first female leader, has had only nine months in the leadership but has suffered a devastating decline in the opinion polls. She is the second shortest serving Liberal leader, after Alexander Downer in 1994-95.

Ley fought to the end, running against Taylor even though she came under some pressure not to contest if the spill was carried.

Ley walked into the meeting with a group of supporters including Andrew Bragg, Andrew McLachlan, Melissa Price, Tim Wilson, Andrew Wallace, Anne Ruston, Paul Scarr, Richard Colbeck, Melissa McIntosh and Maria Kovacic.

Taylor entered parliament in 2013. He was energy minister in the Morrison government and shadow treasurer in opposition under Peter Dutton. He was shadow defence minister under Ley. He would have preferred to have delayed for a few months his challenge to Ley, but the timetable was effectively brought forward by pressure from Andrew Hastie, who wanted to challenge but found he did not have the numbers.

Labor immediately put out an attack ad against Taylor, saying he had worked from “day one” to undermine the first female Liberal leader.

Ley later announced she would quit parliament, which will mean a byelection in her regional New South Wales seat of Farrer – and early challenge for Taylor.

This story has been updated.

Michelle Grattan, Professorial Fellow, University of Canberra

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

Angus Taylor has all the on-paper qualifications to be opposition leader. But there are big questions over how well he could do the job, when a miracle worker is needed to lift the struggling Liberal Party from its existential crisis.

Taylor’s political story so far is regarded by many observers and not a few colleagues as one of unfulfilled promise.

If he wins the leadership, he would take over with the party at its lowest, considered to have no prospect of victory at the 2028 election. The first realistic chance for Taylor, now 59, of becoming prime minister would be 2031 – a very long time to survive as opposition leader in this poll-driven era.

Taylor is a Rhodes scholar, with strong qualifications in economics, and an impressive business career behind him, which include having been a director at Port Jackson Partners, a business consultancy firm.

Rod Sims, also a Port Jackson director at the time (and later head of the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission) describes Taylor as “extremely intelligent. He was very, very good at what he did, advising boards of some of the largest companies on corporate strategy”.

Few would doubt Taylor, when elected for the NSW regional seat of Hume in 2013, had his eyes on the ultimate prize, a view reinforced by glowing publicity at the time.

Over the years, however, several personal controversies dogged him, ranging from questions over alleged illegal clearing of protected grassland by a company in which his family had a financial interest (he denied any wrongdoing) to the use of a mysterious and misleading document (which he could never explain) to attack Sydney Lord Mayor Clover Moore.

In his maiden speech, condemning political correctness, he made an inaccurate claim about living in the same corridor at Oxford University as feminist writer Naomi Wolf, later to be embarrassed when she said she wasn’t at the university at the time. When in trouble he never seemed able to find his way out of it cleanly.

Taylor’s frontbench experience includes serving as minister for industry, energy and emissions reduction in the Morrison government and as shadow treasurer in Peter Dutton’s opposition.

His time in the latter post wasn’t happy. He struggled against Treasurer Jim Chalmers. According to Niki Savva in her book Earthquake, Dutton thought Taylor a “terrible retail politician who produced policies that could not be sold or explained to the public”.

Taylor wanted the opposition to respond to the government’s 2025 budget tax cuts with an alternative tax policy. But Dutton rejected that, and the opposition went into the election (disastrously) giving the government a big break on the tax issue.

Former Liberal treasurer Peter Costello told The Australian’s Troy Bramston, “At the last election, [the Liberals] got themselves into a position where they were proposing to increase income taxes, run bigger deficits, no real plan to reduce debt”.

Regardless, Taylor as leader would be most comfortable talking about the evils of debt and deficit. But today’s voters no longer care so much about those, and want government to do more, not less.

One economist who has observed Taylor over the years describes him as “very smart and a very good economist”, not a hardline dry but with a market approach of the Howard-Costello era. “He’s in the right party – if it were the party of 20 years ago”. But things have changed.

“I’d be stunned if the times suited Angus Taylor,” this source says. “Would we see the Angus Taylor of his convictions, or Angus Taylor pushed around by the populism of the moment? How would he battle One Nation? That’s hard to do from the viewpoint of market economics.”

In economics Taylor is in the Liberal mainstream, but on climate policy he’s been something of a weather vane.

In his business career he was very alive to the climate change issue and a supporter of renewables. But years later, he was against Malcolm Turnbull’s attempt to bring in a National Energy Guarantee (the NEG), a plan to reduce emissions while ensuring the reliability of the grid. Under Scott Morrison he advocated the net zero by 2050 target. In opposition he was one of those opposing it, walking shoulder to shoulder with Andrew Hastie and other conservatives into the party meeting ahead of the dumping of the Liberal commitment to the target.

Turnbull says pointedly, “Angus’ views on energy were more enlightened when he was working for Rod Sims [at Port Jackson] and supported an economy wide carbon price”.

One of Taylor’s strongest supporters is former MP Craig Laundy, who was a close ally of Turnbull.

Laundy entered parliament at the same time as Taylor, and they’ve kept in touch in recent years. When Laundy had ministerial responsibility for deregulation and Taylor oversaw digital policy. Laundy found him “very good to work with”.

Laundy rejects the perception of some that Taylor has a “born to rule” attitude. “It’s harsh and unfair. He was always a very good communicator and I think [if he is leader] he will surprise many on the upside of how he will connect with the community across the board,” Laundy says.

In his personality Taylor is self-confident but reserved. One source notes a certain vulnerability – a nervousness before a speech, afterwards wondering how it went.

Many disagree with Laundy’s assessment that Taylor communicates well, and even fans see a need for improvement. A former parliamentary colleague says, “Like a lot of really bright guys, Angus can sometimes get into over-analysis of things”.

Certainly if he were opposition leader, how well he could communicate with women would be crucial. His views on quotas mean he would likely start with a handicap in the eyes of many women.

He said last year:“We absolutely need more women in the party at every level, whether it’s members of our branches, whether it’s on our executives, whether indeed it is as members of parliament, and I think there’s a huge job for us, [but] I have never been a supporter of quotas”.

One prominent Liberal woman outside the parliamentary party, who likes Taylor personally, says he is a “caricature of a Liberal male – males who have managed to progressively alienate women from the Liberal party”.

Another muses:“He’s very handsome, well read, tall and a good farmer – but entirely lacking in charisma. How can that be possible?”

As leader Taylor would have to reach out across the party in a way he has never needed to before. “Retail politics” can be as important within a party – especially a fractured one – as with the electorate.

As the most senior member of the conservative faction, Taylor saw himself as the logical opposition leader after the 2025 election. In a serious misjudgement, he encouraged the defection from the Nationals of Jacinta Nampijinpa Price as his potential deputy. Taylor lost to Ley (25-29); Price then did not put up her hand.

He assumed Ley would fail, although he did not want to bring on a challenge this soon. But when the pushy Hastie started to force the issue, Taylor was clear: it was his turn next.

Michelle Grattan, Professorial Fellow, University of Canberra

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

There’s little worse as a pool lifeguard than hearing the words “code brown” come through your radio. For swimmers on a hot day, there’s also little worse than being told to immediately get out of the water because there’s poo floating in the pool.

During hot summers, public pools in Australia are often crowded with families and children. The risk of “code brown” incidents at your local pool is probably substantial.

So how is a public pool cleaned after poo or vomit accidentally ends up in the water – and how long before it’s safe to get back in?

The short answer is: it depends. Let’s dive in.

The dangers of poo in the pool

Contaminated swimming pools are hazardous for swimmers. They have been linked to outbreaks of “crypto”, short for cryptosporidiosis. It’s a highly contagious gastric illness and has unpleasant symptoms including diarrhoea, stomach cramps, fever, nausea and vomiting.

New crypto cases are monitored as it’s a notifiable disease in Australia. If multiple cases are traced to a swimming pool, the pool will be closed for extra cleaning and chlorine treatment.

There are other pathogens, such as viruses, that can infect swimmers using pools exposed to poo or vomit incidents. For example, one study in the United States found rapid onset vomiting and diarrhoea (acute gastroenteritis) affect 28% of swimmers who’d used a norovirus-contaminated swimming pool.

Dealing with an ‘aquatic incident’

Responses for a code brown or vomit follow the official health guidelines for public swimming pools under state or territory public health laws.

However, the specific protocol for the staff will also differ depending on the age of the pool, the type of filtration system, chemicals used for disinfecting the water, and … the type of the poo.

Broadly speaking, if a solid stool or vomit is found, the pool is closed and the poo or vomit must be scooped out using a pool scoop or bucket. Then, it should be discarded down the sewer.

When all the particulates have been removed, a pool vacuum is placed in the water for additional cleaning, and the chlorine concentration is raised for an extended period to disinfect the entire pool.

A pool can be reopened once all of the water has been through the pool’s filtration system. This is known as pool “turnover”. How long this takes depends on the age of the pool and its filtration system. Older pools may take eight hours or longer, but newer pools can be as quick as 25 minutes.

Generally, when staff have followed all the proper guidelines, you can assume the water is safe to swim again when the pool is reopened.

Sometimes, you need superchlorination

The protocol changes for loose stool or diarrhoea. The pool is still closed to the public and the particles are scooped out as best as possible.

Then, the chlorine levels are raised and kept at a higher-than-normal level for a bit over a day. This is called shock superchlorination. After this the chlorine levels fall back to safe swimming levels, the other pool chemicals are rebalanced, and the pool reopened.

Chlorine is one of the most common types of disinfectants used in public swimming pools. You might hear lifeguards talk about free chlorine and total chlorine when referring to pool water quality.

Free chlorine is the “active” part of chlorine. Once it makes contact and kills potentially harmful germs (such as bacteria, protozoa or virus), the chlorine is “inactivated” upon reacting with various compounds, and turns into combined chlorine.

In fact, that strong chlorine smell around swimming pools comes from combined chlorine products called chloramines. These are produced when free chlorine reacts with substances such as urine or perspiration in the water.

Lifeguards also monitor pool water quality throughout the day, performing manual checks and keeping an eye on automatic measurements.

On busy days chlorine might be checked every three hours to ensure levels are maintained within specific ranges to maintain optimal pool water quality. This is known as “balancing the water”.

Don’t go to the pool when sick

It’s important to take precautions when visiting a pool to ensure that you and everyone around you stays healthy during and after your visit.

The best way to do this is to not visit the pool if you’re feeling unwell or have had diarrhoea in the past two weeks, or if you have been diagnosed with cryptosporidiosis or infections such as E. coli, shigella or viruses.

Swimming can be fun and exciting for kids who might forget about a bathroom break. Parents should take their babies and toddlers to the toilet every 20–30 minutes to prevent accidents from occurring.

For babies and toddlers, swim nappies are encouraged to prevent accidental code browns. However, the disposable option are usually not effective at containing urine or poo. Reusable swim nappies are a far better option, designed to provide a snug fit.

If you see a poo or vomit at the pool, get out of the water and tell a lifeguard or staff member immediately. Then, follow all directions given by staff members and seek medical attention if you feel unwell in the days following the incident.

Ian A. Wright, Associate Professor in Environmental Science, Western Sydney University and Katherine Warwick, PhD Candidate, Western Sydney University

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

When it comes to autism, few questions spark as much debate as how best to support autistic people with the greatest needs.

This prompted The Lancet medical journal to commission a group of international experts to propose a new category of “profound autism”.

This category describes autistic people who have little or no language (spoken, written, signed or via a communication device), who have an IQ of less than 50, and who require 24-hour supervision and support.

It would only apply to children aged eight and over, when their cognitive and communication abilities are considered more stable.

In our new study, we considered how the category could impact autism assessments. We found 24% of autistic children met, or were at risk of meeting, the criteria for profound autism.

Why the debate?

The category is intended to help governments and service providers plan and deliver supports, so autistic people with the highest needs aren’t overlooked. It also aims to re-balance their under-representation in mainstream autism research.

This new category may be helpful for advocating for a greater level of support, research and evidence for this group.

But some have raised concerns that autistic people who don’t fit into this category could be perceived as less in need and excluded from services and funding supports.

Others argue the category doesn’t sufficiently emphasise autistic people’s strengths and capabilities, and places too much emphasis on the challenges that are experienced.

What did we do?

We conducted the first Australian study to examine how the “profound autism” category might apply to children attending publicly funded diagnostic services for developmental conditions.

Drawing on the Australian Child Neurodevelopment Registry, we examined data from 513 autistic children assessed between 2019 and 2024. We asked:

• how many children met the criteria for profound autism?
• were there behavioural features that set this group apart?

Because we focused on children at the time of diagnosis, most (91%) were aged under eight years. We described these children as being “at risk of profound autism”.

What did we find?

Around 24% of autistic children in our study met, or were at risk of meeting, the criteria for profound autism. This is similar to the proportion of children internationally.

Almost half (49.6%) showed behaviours that were a safety risk, such as attempting to run away from carers, compared with one-third (31.2%) of other autistic children.

These challenges weren’t limited to children who met criteria for profound autism. Around one in five autistic children (22.5%) engaged in self-injury, and more than one-third (38.2%) showed aggression toward others.

So, while the category identified many children with very high needs, other children who didn’t meet these criteria also had significant needs.

Importantly, we found the definition of “profound autism” doesn’t always line up with the official diagnostic levels which determine the level of support and NDIS funding children receive.

In our study, 8% of children at risk of profound autism were classified as level 2, rather than level 3 (the highest level of support). Meanwhile, 17% of children classified as level 3 did not meet criteria for profound autism.

Our concern

We looked at children when they first received an autism diagnosis. Children were aged 18 months to 16 years, with more than 90% under the age of eight years.

This aligns with our earlier research, showing the average age of diagnosis in public settings is 6.6 years.

From a practical perspective, our biggest concern about the profound autism category is the age threshold of eight years.

Because most children are already assessed before age eight, introducing this category into assessment services would mean many families would need repeat assessments, placing additional strain on already stretched developmental services.

Second, modifications will be needed if this criteria is going to be used to inform funding decisions as it didn’t map perfectly onto level 3 support criteria.

On balance, however, our results suggest the profound autism category may provide a clear, measurable way to describe the needs of autistic people with the highest support requirements.

Every autistic child has individual strengths and needs. The term “profound autism” would need to be promoted with inclusive and supportive language, so as to not replace or diminish individual needs, but to help clinicians tailor supports and obtain additional resources when needed.

Including the category in future clinical guidelines, such as the national guideline for the assessment and diagnosis of autism, could help ensure governments, disability services and clinicians plan and deliver supports.

What can you do in the meantime?

If you’re concerned your child requires substantial support, here are some practical steps you can take to ensure their needs are recognised and addressed:

Explain your concerns

Not all clinicians have experience working with children with high support needs. Be as clear as possible about behaviours that affect your child’s safety or daily life, including self-injury, aggression or attempts to run away. These details, while difficult to share, help give a clearer picture of your child’s support needs.

It can also be a challenge to find and access clinicians with appropriate expertise. Another potential benefit of having a defined category is that it can better help families navigate care.

Ask about support for the whole family

Our studies show that many caregivers want more support for themselves but don’t always ask. Talk with clinicians about supports for yourself as well, including respite, or family support groups.

Reach out

Coming together with other carers and families can reduce your own isolation and normalise many of the unique challenges you face. Connecting with like-minded people can provide a supportive, empathetic and empowering community.

Plan for safety

For children with high support needs, prioritise safety planning with your child’s care team. This can include strategies to reduce risks, as well as planning how best to support your child’s interactions with health, education and disability services over time.

Kelsie Boulton, Senior Research Fellow in Child Neurodevelopment, Brain and Mind Centre, University of Sydney; Marie Antoinette Hodge, Clinical Lecturer, University of Sydney, and Rebecca Sutherland, Lecturer & Speech Pathologist, University of Sydney

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

If you go to the gym often, you might have been told you shouldn’t lift weights in runners.

The common belief is it is bad for your performance and can lead to injuries.

But is this really the case? Let’s unpack the science.

What your feet are doing when you lift

Your feet are key to exercising safely and effectively.

When you walk and run, they act like a springs and help propel you forward with each step. Your feet also help you maintain balance by supporting your weight.

When you lift any amount of weight (for example, doing compound exercises such as squats) your feet are working hard to keep you stable – even if you’re not thinking much about them.

Researchers have also suggested having a stable foot helps you push more efficiently into the ground. This may increase the amount of weight you can safely lift.

But what you wear on your feet may also contribute to this.

Can’t I just wear runners?

Unsurprisingly, given their name, running shoes are designed specifically to improve your performance and protect your feet while running.

They generally have a raised heel, a thick, cushioned sole to absorb shock, and a “rocker” shape that helps you roll from your heel to your toe. These features help reduce the impact of running on your body.

But in the gym, this cushioned sole may absorb the force you create when lifting weights, making you feel less stable, strong, and powerful. This is likely why some people may say you shouldn’t lift weights in running shoes.

Some people may be concerned this can lead to weightlifting injuries.

One 2016 study found wearing running shoes for exercises like squats can change how your ankle and knee joints move. But there is no peer-reviewed evidence linking these changes to injury.

What are my other options?

Aside from running shoes, there are three other shoe types people generally wear while lifting weights: minimalist (sometimes called “barefoot”), flat or weightlifting shoes.

Minimalist shoes are designed to simulate being barefoot. They have thin soles with almost no cushioning, and aim to let the foot interact with the ground as if you were not wearing shoes at all. Flat sneakers designed for casual wear, such as Vans or Converse, also have thin soles without cushioning.

As a result, these types of shoes may be a good choice for lifting weights because they will be more stable than runners.

In contrast, weightlifting shoes are designed to improve how you perform in the gym.

They typically have a raised heel and a solid, stiff sole without any give, often made of wood or hard plastic. This helps you stay stable at the bottom of a deep squat, which is particuarly useful for movements such as squats, cleans and snatches.

But how do these different shoes stack up?

Studies looking at the impact of footwear on gym performance is largely limited to the squat and deadlift, probably because these are focused on leg strength.

One study from 2020 comparing running and weightlifting shoes found the latter helped people squat with a more upright torso and more flexibility in their knees.

This can take stress off the lower back and make your leg muscles work harder, which is the main purpose of the exercise.

Similarly, research from 2016 showed people wearing weightlifting shoes felt more stable when squatting. This suggests they may be a better option for that specific exercise.

A 2018 study focused on people performing deadlifts. It found running shoes reduced how quickly people could push force into the ground compared to when they wore only socks. This may suggest that they were more stable without running shoes.

However, this difference was small and has not been consistently replicated in other studies.

So what shoes should I wear?

That ultimately depends on your personal goals and situation.

Weightlifting shoes might be your best bet when doing squats. But if you mainly stick to deadlifts, flat shoes may slightly boost your performance. That is if your goal is to lift as much weight as possible.

However, if you are an Olympic weightlifter who needs to get into a deep squat position for competition, weightlifting shoes are the ideal option.

For everyone else, what shoes you wear may not matter as much. So wear whatever is most comfortable and keep lifting those weights.

Hunter Bennett, Lecturer in Exercise Science, Adelaide University

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

Somewhere along the way to adulthood, time to play fades away. We tend to trade silliness and imagination for seriousness and busyness.

Yet there is clear evidence that adults benefit from playfulness just as children do.

Research shows that adults who engage in playful activities tend to cope better with stress, experience more positive emotions, show greater resilience when facing challenges, and report higher levels of life satisfaction.

Our research with New Zealand families highlights how supporting unstructured play can help adults feel less stressed and more connected, while also normalising playfulness in everyday family life.

In a world that demands constant busyness, play offers essential qualities we are at risk of losing: spontaneity, togetherness and the freedom to have fun.

Play in adulthood can look different from play in childhood. It is less about toys or games and more about how we approach everyday experiences.

Adult play can be physical, social, creative or imaginative. It might involve movement, music, humour, storytelling, problem-solving or simply doing something for the pleasure of it.

What makes an activity playful is not its form, but the mindset behind it: curiosity, openness and a willingness to engage without a fixed outcome. For adults, play is often woven into hobbies and moments of exploration that sit outside work and obligation.

The benefits of play in adult life

A recent study suggests a potential neurobiological pathway between playfulness and cognitive health in older adults.

At its core, play provides a space to reset, allowing us to step outside pressure and performance. In doing so, it supports not only stress regulation, but sustains emotional balance and quality of life across adulthood.

The value of playfulness also goes beyond the individual. Playful engagement in social contexts helps build shared emotional resources, shaping how people interact and cope together over time.

Playfulness in adults is also associated with higher emotional intelligence, including stronger ability to perceive and manage emotions in social situations. Observational studies further show that adults who engage playfully are more empathetic, reciprocal and positive in their interactions with others, reinforcing social connection and belonging.

Importantly, play has a unique ability to cut across age boundaries. When adults and children play together, even if unrelated, differences in age, role and status tend to fade, replaced by shared enjoyment and interaction.

Research suggests these inter-generational play experiences can strengthen relationships, support wellbeing and reduce age-based stereotypes. Play becomes a shared language, bridging age divides that are often reinforced by modern living.

As our work highlights, unstructured play remains both possible and meaningful in contemporary life, with families reporting benefits for children’s development as well as family cohesion and shared wellbeing. These findings suggest play can function as an ordinary, rather than exceptional, feature of family and community life.

Making room for play in everyday life

If play matters across the lifespan, the spaces we inhabit need to support it.

Yet most public environments continue to treat play as something designed primarily for children. Research in urban design suggests the most effective playful environments for adults are those that don’t announce themselves as playgrounds, but instead embed playful possibilities into everyday settings.

Features such as oversized steps, stepping stones, interactive seating or winding paths can invite exploration, balance and movement. In some cities, this extends to adult-sized play elements integrated into public space, such as musical swings that turn routine movement into playful interaction.

Despite these examples, play-oriented design remains the exception rather than the norm, with most public play infrastructure still concentrated in children’s spaces. Designing cities that invite adult play as part of everyday life could be a valuable investment in inclusion, social connection and population wellbeing.

Environments that support play are not just physical, but social. Just as urban design can invite or discourage playful movement, social norms shape whether play feels acceptable in adult life.

When play is treated as embarrassing, indulgent or something to apologise for, it quickly disappears. But when playful behaviour is visible and unremarkable, it becomes easier for others to participate.

Play has long been treated as something separate from adult life, confined to childhood or reserved for rare moments of leisure. Yet the evidence suggests playfulness continues to matter well beyond early development.

Reframing play as a legitimate part of adult life opens up new ways of thinking about wellbeing across the lifespan.

Scott Duncan, Professor of Population Health, Auckland University of Technology and Melody Smith, Professor of Health Science, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

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

As a career counterintelligence officer for the US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and Defense Intelligence Agency, I worked inside a fully integrated intelligence system.

Signals intelligence from the National Security Agency guided investigations. Satellite imagery from the National Reconnaissance Office provided visibility into hostile environments. Human intelligence came through Defense Intelligence Agency channels.

These streams were strengthened by reporting from domestic and foreign partners. It was a closed, tightly controlled system.

But things have changed. Now private companies are supplying “intelligence as a service” to government entities and others – and as the Amazon-owned Ring doorbell camera company found out when it advertised a new feature last week, the change is not without controversy.

The rise of private intelligence

For most of the 20th century, intelligence remained the exclusive domain of nation states. Collection systems were expensive and specialised. They were protected by strict classification rules designed to safeguard sources and methods.

Intelligence agencies controlled the entire life cycle: human spying, signals interception, satellite surveillance, analysis, and dissemination to decision-makers. This created a closed command economy, where states maintained their own capabilities with legal oversight and institutional tradecraft.

Today, that monopoly is eroding. It’s being replaced by a commercial intelligence marketplace operating alongside – and increasingly inside – government security structures.

The shift began in the late 20th century as open-source intelligence became more valuable. This happened with the rise of online forums, social media platforms and commercial satellite imagery.

Companies entered this market, scraping images from the web and content from social media sites. Clearview AI, perhaps the most well known, entered this market in 2017 – offering to identify people based on photos from social media.

Businesses quickly recognised the opportunity. Intelligence could be produced commercially, packaged, and sold.

The surveillance economy

At the same time, a broader surveillance economy emerged. It was driven by private companies, not governments.

Acoustic gunshot detection systems illustrate this convergence. Originally designed for military force protection, these sensors are now deployed across cities, providing real-time alerts to police. In Australia, this has manifested itself with hardware store chain Bunnings incorporating facial recognition technology from Hitachi.

Uncrewed aerial vehicles – better known as drones – have followed a similar pattern. Once limited to military reconnaissance, sensor-equipped drones are now widely available commercially. Parts of the battlefield surveillance grid have migrated into civilian life.

Perhaps the most significant shift comes from everyday consumer technology. Internet-connected door cameras, home security systems, and other “Internet of Things” devices now form a vast, privately owned sensor network. This is likely to grow, as products such as Meta’s planned facial-recognition smart glasses hit the market.

Real intelligence value but real privacy concerns

These systems were never intended as intelligence tools. Yet their intelligence value is undeniable.

In the recent case of the kidnapping of Nancy Guthrie in Arizona, for example, Nest door camera footage helped reconstruct movements and identify a possible kidnapper. The data was captured passively, through daily digital life.

This is intelligence collection by proxy. It is constant, ambient, and privately owned.

Amazon Ring’s attempt to launch its “Search Party” program demonstrates the tension.

Framed as a community safety feature, the program proposed using AI to scan neighbourhood camera footage to locate missing pets.

Concern escalated when Ring explored partnering with Flock Safety, whose automated license plate reader networks are widely used by law enforcement. Linking home surveillance cameras with other tracking systems signalled the emergence of a fully integrated commercial intelligence network.

Public backlash was swift – especially after the capability was advertised during the Super Bowl. Critics argued the pet-recovery narrative masked the normalisation of mass surveillance.

Facing mounting privacy concerns, Ring ultimately abandoned the partnership.

Intelligence as a service

Commercial surveillance partnerships continue to expand. Networked cameras and license plate readers equipped with AI-powered object recognition enable vehicle tracking across jurisdictions.

Data brokers feed into this ecosystem too. They sell credit histories, utility records, and behavioural data to government clients.

Taken together, these developments represent “intelligence as a service”. Governments now buy cyber threat reporting, commercial sensor data, facial recognition, and behavioural analytics through subscriptions and data-sharing agreements. Intelligence production has become scalable, modular and market-driven.

This transformation raises serious governance questions. Commercial intelligence providers often operate under far looser legal restrictions. They allow agencies to circumvent data privacy laws.

Consumer-generated data, door cameras, vehicle telemetry and biometric identifiers can often be used by investigators without the need for a warrant. This complicates privacy protections and civil liberties safeguards.

None of this makes state intelligence services obsolete. Governments still retain unique authorities: human espionage, covert action, offensive cyber operations, and classified technical collection.

However, these capabilities now operate within a broader intelligence supply chain. Also in the mix are satellite firms, data brokers, AI analytics companies, and cyber intelligence vendors.

Questions for the future

The integration of commercial surveillance and artificial intelligence is likely to deepen.

Technology leaders envision a near future where cameras on homes, vehicles and public infrastructure feed constant video into AI systems. Citizens and police alike would operate under continuous algorithmic observation. Automated reporting would aim to shape behaviour.

The privatisation of intelligence is neither temporary nor accidental. It is the outcome of technological diffusion, data proliferation, and commercial innovation meeting demand from national security and law enforcement.

The question is not whether intelligence as a service will expand. It will.

The real question is different. What happens to national sovereignty, democratic oversight, and personal privacy when the power to collect and analyse intelligence no longer belongs solely to the state? What happens when it belongs to private actors willing to sell it?

Dennis B. Desmond, Lecturer, Cyberintelligence and Cybercrime Investigations, University of the Sunshine Coast

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

Coles has appeared before the Federal Court in Melbourne, as hearings for a high-stakes case launched against the supermarket by Australia’s consumer watchdog officially begin.

The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC) is alleging Coles misled consumers with “illusory” discounts between February 2022 and May 2023.

The watchdog alleges that in this period, Coles temporarily increased the prices of “at least 245 different products”, then placed them on “Down Down” promotions which were:

higher than, or the same as, the price at which each product had ordinarily been offered for sale.

In opening arguments on Monday, head counsel for the ACCC, Garry Rich SC, described the supermarket’s conduct as “utterly misleading”.

While Coles’ legal team only addressed the court for a short time on Monday, barrister John Sheahan KC said Coles customers were aware of price movements before making purchases.

Coles has signalled it will argue the price increases in question represented a genuine response to surging costs.

So, what exactly is at stake for one of Australia’s largest supermarket giants?

Behind the allegations

The ACCC alleges Coles offered misleading discounts on a wide range of products over the relevant period – ranging from Colgate toothpaste to Sanitarium Weet-Bix cereal.

In its court filing, the ACCC provides the example of a 16 pack of Strepsils Throat Lozenges Honey & Lemon. According to the ACCC, this product had been for sale on a “Down Down” promotion at a price of A$5.50 for at least 649 days.

The ACCC says on 12 October 2022, Coles increased the price to $7 for 28 days, then reduced it back to $6 on a “Down Down” promotion, 9% higher than the previous price of $5.50.

What does ‘Down Down’ mean?

In making this accusation, the ACCC is emphasising the overall impression created in the mind of the reasonable consumer was that the price drop related to a price set more than a short period before.

It argues consumers should be able to take the “Down Down” campaign at face value, without scrutinising the fine print price change or researching prices over the recent history.

Notably, the ACCC is arguing that the conduct by Coles was “planned”. In other words, that the allegedly misleading representations were deliberate.

Under Australian Consumer Law, conduct can be misleading without being intentional. However, if the ACCC can show that the conduct was indeed planned then an inference that the conduct was also misleading is easier to establish. Additionally, intentional misleading representations are likely to attract a larger penalty.

What might Coles argue?

By contrast, Coles’ case is likely to rest on two things. First, its right to raise prices, especially in response to what Coles has said were “significant cost increases”, including:

a surge in global commodity prices, and in the cost of packaging, freight, utilities and international shipping.

And second, that the “Down Down” price on the ticket was, strictly speaking, accurate – there was a price reduction from the shelf, just not a reduction compared to the historical, pre-increase price.

So it is a legal battle with potentially significant consequences for all parties.

A separate action by the ACCC against Woolworths, also alleging “illusory” discounts, will be heard later this year.

Clearly the outcome of the case against Woolworths will be influenced by what happens in the Coles litigation.

What’s at stake?

If Coles is found to have made the alleged misleading representations, any penalties will be determined by the court in a separate hearing. However, the amounts are potentially significant.

The maximum penalty could be $50 million per contravention, or more.

By comparison, in 2024, Qantas was ordered to pay $100 million for misleading consumers by accepting bookings for flights that had already been cancelled.

Separately, the Federal Court last year ordered Optus to pay $100 million after the telco admitted it had engaged in unconscionable conduct involving aggressive debt collection and mis-selling to vulnerable customers.

The big issues at play

A supermarket such as Coles is entitled to raise prices.

But the question raised by this case is whether it is misleading under consumer law to advertise a discount on a product that has only briefly risen in price, using a well recognised promotion strategy, without disclosing that not so long before, it was even cheaper.

In other words, can consumers rely on the headline of a “Down Down” discount to tell them they are getting a deal? Or should they be scrutinising the fluctuations in retail pricing more carefully and shopping around?

The case continues on Tuesday.

Jeannie Marie Paterson, Professor of Law (consumer protections and credit law), The University of Melbourne

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

University study is a major commitment and is quite different to high school. This big new phase of life can feel both daunting and exciting.

But many first years don’t have anyone they can ask for advice on transitioning from school to uni, or may be the first in their family to go to uni.

Reaping the benefits of uni doesn’t happen through hope or just turning up to lectures – you need to ask questions, and be an active, independent learner.

Over the last two decades, I have taught thousands of first year students from various disciplinary backgrounds. I regularly teach a large first year academic writing class, and have designed and managed undergraduate arts courses for nearly half a decade. Providing these evidence-based tips in the early weeks of study helps students take control and set them up for success.

Uni lecturers generally expect students to devote ten to 15 hours of study to each subject each week.

If you’re enrolled in three or more subjects, your studies are almost equivalent to a full-time job.

You might spend this time:

• reading the subject materials (study guides, textbook chapters, set readings)
• going to lectures
• attending tutorials/seminars/workshops
• working on assessment tasks
• reading widely and reflecting on what you’ve read
• regularly checking online learning management systems (such as Blackboard, Moodle or Canvas) for updates and discussion.

So, what do you need to know to survive and thrive as a first year at uni?

1. Do the readings before class, and attend

Reading ahead of time will help you get familiar with what will be taught and identify tricky things to listen out for.

Prepare some questions on these trouble spots to ask in class. It’s likely your classmates will have the same queries.

Just because you have newfound independence, or haven’t done the readings, does not mean it’s OK to skip class.

Showing up helps you stay informed about the subject content and housekeeping, like due dates and how to tackle assignments. Some classes require you to attend or participate to pass.

Going to lectures and tutorials, and having dedicated study hours gives structure and purpose to your day, which help you adjust to university life and stay on track.

2. Keep up. It’s easier than catching up

The study timetable outlines what topics and readings will be covered weekly. Put that timetable somewhere you can see it often. Letting your readings and work pile up can become pretty scary. Missing lectures and ignoring your work will make life harder than it needs to be.

Much of uni study success is about being organised. Your lecturers will have devised the most appropriate order in which to teach you new information.

Prioritise your readings and remember you might have to read them a few times to grasp the content – this is normal in academia.

3. Take notes in class and on your textbooks

This means you can record your interpretation and understanding of what the lecturer is saying while it’s being said.

Your understanding of a topic is really tested when you paraphrase it into your own words.

Once you’ve made your in-class notes, write them up while they’re fresh in your mind. To improve retention, opt for handwriting these rather than typing. You might have to block out some time directly after class for this.

Your textbook and readings are not designed to remain pristine. Write notes in the margins, circle important words and phrases, and use sticky notes.

4. Use positive reframing

When you’re working through new material, it’s easy to succumb to the overwhelm and start directing a lot of negative energy towards it.

Rather than “I can’t do this” and “This is too hard”, try “I can’t do this yet” and “This is challenging. It’ll be such an achievement when I nail it.”

Learning a new skill involves shifting from controlled processing to automatic processing. Initially it takes lots of time and mental effort to develop a new skill. With practice, it gets easier.

Your time at uni is about more than just achieving good marks. It is about cultivating your curiosity.

5. Keep a glossary of terms and practise what you’ve learnt

Each week you’ll be learning new terms and concepts. Keeping a log of these as you learn them, giving a brief definition and example or two, will make revision easier.

Work these new terms into your assignments to show your marker you’ve engaged with the subject materials.

Some subjects have weekly exercises and activities to help you understand and consolidate the topic. Take these seriously and use them to revise.

6. Know what’s expected

Yes, you need to know when assignments are due. But you also need to know the university policies and guidelines around things such as asking for an extension, plagiarism, AI use, and conduct. If in doubt, ask your lecturers.

Overall, self-reliance and independence are crucial.

Part of becoming a good student is about taking responsibility for your learning, showing initiative and independence.

Sophia Waters, Senior Lecturer in Writing, University of New England

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

The head of the International Monetary Fund, Kristalina Georgieva, has warned young people will suffer the most as an AI “tsunami” wipes out many entry-level roles in coming years.

Tasks that are eliminated are usually what entry-level jobs do at present, so young people searching for jobs find it harder to get to a good placement.

Georgieva is not alone. Other economic and business experts have warned about AI taking entry-level jobs.

As young people prepare to start or continue their university studies, they may be feeling anxious about what AI means for their job prospects. What does the current research say? And how can you prepare for a post-AI workforce while studying?

The situation around the world

At the moment, the impact of AI is uneven and depends on the industry.

A 2025 report from US think tank the Brookings Institution suggests, in general, AI adoption has led to employment and firm growth. Most importantly, AI has not led to widespread job loss.

At the same time, consulting firm McKinsey notes many businesses are experimenting with AI and redesigning how they work. So, some organisations are seeking more technically skilled employees.

Crucially, AI is affecting each industry differently. So, we might see fewer entry-level jobs in some industries, but more in others, or growth in specialist roles.

For example, international researchers have noted agriculture has been a slow adopter of AI. By contrast, colleagues and I have found AI is being rapidly implemented in media and communications, already affecting jobs from advertising to the entertainment industries. Here we are seeing storyboard illustrators, copywriters and virtual effects artists (among others) increasingly being replaced by AI.

So, students need to look carefully at the specific data about their chosen industry (or industries) to understand the current situation and predicted trends.

To do this, you can look at academic research about AI’s impacts on industries around the world, as well as industry news portals and free industry newsletters.

Get ready while studying

Students can also obviously build their knowledge and skills about AI while they are studying.

Specifically, students should look to move from “AI literacy” to “AI fluency”. This means understanding not just how AI works in an industry, but also how it can be used innovatively in different contexts.

If these elements are not already offered by your course, you can look at online guides and specific courses offered by universities, TAFE or other providers.

Students who are already familiar with AI can keep expanding their knowledge and skills. These students can discover the latest research from the world’s key publishers and keep up to date with other AI research news.

For students who aren’t really interested in AI, it’s still important to start getting to grips with the technology. In my research, I’ve suggested getting curious initially about three key things: opportunities, concerns and questions. These three elements can be especially helpful for getting across industry developments: how AI is being used, what issues it’s raising, and which impacts still need to be explored.

Free (online) courses, such as AI For Everyone and the Elements of AI, can help familiarise virtually anyone with the technology.

Strengthening other skills

All students, no matter how familiar they are with AI, can also concentrate on developing general competencies that can apply across any industry. US researchers have pinpointed six key “durable skills” for the AI age:

• effective communication, to engage with others successfully

• good adaptability, to respond to workplace, industry and broader social changes

• strong emotional intelligence, to help everyone thrive in a workplace

• high-quality creativity, to work with AI in innovative ways

• sound leadership, to help navigate the challenges that AI creates

• robust critical thinking, to deal with AI-related problems.

So, look for opportunities to foster these skills in and out of class. This could include engaging in teamwork, joining a club or society, doing voluntary work, or getting paid work experience.

Don’t forget ethics

Finally, students need to consider the ethical issues this new technology creates. Research suggests AI is bringing about changes in ethics across industries and students need to know how to approach AI dilemmas.

For example, they need to feel confident tackling questions about when to use and not use AI, and whether the technology’s environmental impacts outweigh its benefits in different situations.

Students can do this through focused discussions with classmates, facilitated by teachers to tease out the issues. They can also do dedicated courses on AI ethics.

Lukasz Swiatek, Lecturer, School of Arts and Media, UNSW Sydney

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

The deep sea is cold, dark and under immense pressure. Yet life has found a way to prevail there, in the form of some of Earth’s strangest creatures.

Since deep-sea critters have adapted to near darkness, their eyes are particularly unique – pitch-black and fearsome in dragonfish, enormous in giant squid, barrel-shaped in telescope fish. This helps them catch the remaining rays of sunlight penetrating to depth and see the faint glow of bioluminescence.

Deep-sea fishes, however, typically start life in shallower waters in the twilight zone of the ocean (roughly 50–200 metres deep). This is a safe refuge to feed on plankton and grow while avoiding becoming a snack for larger predators.

Our new study, published in Science Advances, shows deep-sea fish larvae have evolved a unique way to maximise their vision in this dusky environment – a finding that challenges scientific understanding of vertebrate vision.

The nightmare of seeing in the twilight zone

The vertebrate retina, located at the back of the eye, has two main types of light-sensitive photoreceptor cells: rod-shaped for dim light and cone-shaped for bright light.

The rods and cones slowly change position inside the retina when moving between dim and bright conditions, which is why you temporarily go blind when you flick on the light switch on your way to the bathroom at night.

While vertebrates that are active during the daytime and predominantly inhabit bright light environments favour cone-dominated vision, animals that live in dim conditions, such as the deep sea or caves, have lost or reduced their cone cells in favour of more rods.

However, vision in twilight is a bit of a nightmare – neither rods nor cones are working at their best. This raises the question of how some animals, such as larval deep-sea fishes, can overcome the limitations of the cone-and-rod retina not only to survive but even to thrive in twilight conditions.

Starting where the fish start

To understand how newly born deep-sea fishes see, we had to start where they do: in the twilight zone of the ocean.

We caught larval fish from the Red Sea using fine-meshed nets towed from near the surface to a depth of around 200m. This way we got hold of three different species – the lightfish (Vinciguerria mabahiss) and the hatchetfish (Maurolicus mucronatus), both members of the dragonfishes, and a member of the lanternfishes, the skinnycheek lanternfish (Benthosema pterotum). Next, we studied what their photoreceptor cells looked like on the outside and how they were wired on the inside.

First, we used high-resolution microscopy to examine the cells’ shape in great detail. Then we investigated retinal gene expression to identify which vision genes were activated as the fish grew. Finally, we got some experts in computational modelling of visual proteins on board to simulate which wavelengths of light these tiny fishes may perceive.

By combining all the approaches, we were able to piece together a picture of how these animals see their world. This sounds relatively simple, but working with deep-sea fishes is anything but easy.

While these animals are generally thought of as monsters of the deep, in reality, most reach only about the size of a thumb – even when fully grown. They are also very fragile and difficult to get.

Working with larval specimens that are only a few millimetres long is even more difficult. However, by leveraging support from the deep-sea research community, we were fortunate enough to combine specimens from multiple research expeditions to piece together an unusually complete picture of visual development in these elusive animals.

So, what did we discover?

For decades, scientists have thought that, as vertebrates grow, the development of their retina follows a predictable pattern: cones form first, then rods. But the deep-sea fish we studied do not follow this rule.

We found that, as larvae, they mostly use a mix-and-match type of hybrid photoreceptor. The cells they are using early on look like rods but use the molecular machinery of cones, making them rod-like cones.

In some of the species we studied, these hybrid cells were a temporary solution, replaced by “normal” rods as the fish grew and migrated into deeper, darker waters.

However, in the hatchetfish, which spends its whole life in twilight, the adults keep their rod-like cone cells throughout life, essentially building their entire visual system around this extra type of cell.

Our research shows this is not a minor tweak to the system. Instead, it represents a fundamentally different developmental pathway for vertebrate vision.

Biology doesn’t fit into neat boxes

So why bother with these hybrid cells?

It seems that to overcome the visual limitations of the twilight zone, rod-like cones offer the best of both worlds: the light-capturing ability of rods combined with the faster, less bright-light sensitive properties of cones. For a tiny fish trying to survive in the murky midwater, this could mean the difference between spotting dinner or becoming it.

For more than a century, biology textbooks have taught that vertebrate vision is built from two clearly defined cell types. Our findings show these tidy categories are much more blurred.

Deep-sea fish larvae combine features of both rods and cones into a single, highly specialised cell optimised for life in between light and darkness. In the murky depths of the ocean, deep-sea fish larvae have quietly rewritten the rules of how eyes can be built, and in doing so, remind us that biology rarely fits into neat boxes.

Fabio Cortesi, ARC Future Fellow, Faculty of Science, The University of Queensland and Lily Fogg, Postdoctoral Researcher, Helsinki Institute of Life Science, University of Helsinki

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

The expression is: “handed to you on a silver plate”. But a recent breakthrough came to me on a painted ceramic one. Following the clues on that plate led me to solve a small historical puzzle: who once owned a Renaissance manuscript now held in Paris.

Known as a maiolica, the plate features three different imprese: that is, emblems used during the Renaissance as personal badges. Under a coat of arms is a music scroll bearing pauses and rests; on a balustrade in the foreground, the Latin motto Nec spe nec metu (neither by hope nor by fear), and, repeated twice, the most unassuming of all: a Latin numeral, XXVII.

I had seen that number years earlier, inside an embellishment on the first page of a manuscript at Paris’ Bibliothèque nationale de France, not far from where the plate was being shown, on a temporary loan from the V&A to the Al Thani Collection Foundation. The manuscript was a partial copy of a lost one, and I had been trying to figure out where it came from.

The coat of arms and the different imprese were all Isabella d’Este’s (1474–1539), Marchioness of Mantua, daughter of Duke Ercole I d'Este of Ferrara and Eleanor of Aragon. The answer was suddenly obvious: the Parisian manuscript was originally in her personal library.

Despite marrying at just 16, Isabella was an extremely well-educated woman. This likely helped her to play her part in ruling Mantua, especially when her husband Francesco Gonzaga was away fighting in the Italian wars and then taken prisoner. She also had considerable personal financial resources, and was free to spend her money as she wished, enabling her to become the most significant female collector of the Italian Renaissance.

A patron of the arts, Isabella was portrayed in medals, paintings and drawings by several artists, including Leonardo da Vinci. To house her antiquities and artworks, she adapted some rooms within her apartments. One of them was known as her studiolo, a room dedicated to private reading and writing. Many leading artists were commissioned paintings to adorn it, as well as her new apartment in Mantua, where she moved after her husband’s death in 1519.

Isabella’s considerable library was also housed there. A partial inventory drawn up after her death reveals that it was more akin to the libraries of Renaissance elite men than courtly women. It consisted mostly of contemporary books and secular works, instead of inherited volumes and religious texts, and it contained an unusually high proportion of handwritten books.

During her lifetime, Isabella used at least eight different imprese. These could be marks of possession, as seen with the Parisian manuscript and the V&A plate, as well as the other 23 surviving pieces of its dinner service. However, they were also intended to convey coded messages.

A Renaissance impresa contained some sort of personal statement, concerning its bearer’s situation, philosophy, aspirations, personal qualities. Unlike coats of arms, which were inherited, it expressed nothing related to family lines or social standing, could be used by anyone who decided to design one and altered or discarded at will.

Since its true meaning required interpretation, an impresa was often ambiguous. Isabella’s pauses and rests on a musical scroll could signify silence, a traditionally feminine virtue, but also, being symmetrical, a visual representation of the principle of balance – not unlike her Latin motto. Whatever its meaning, it was one of those Isabella chose to adorn the gowns she wore for special occasions, namely, her brother Alfonso’s wedding to Lucrezia Borgia in 1502.

The marchioness did not appreciate overly complicated explanations of her imprese. In 1506, when the author Mario Equicola wrote a booklet on her Latin motto, she stated in a letter to the noblewoman who was protecting him at the time that “we did not have it created with as many mysteries as he has attributed to it”.

Isabella’s Latin motto was, unusually, reused by others, including one of her sons and a Spanish king. Not so the enigmatic XXVII. Its presence on the first page of the Parisian manuscript is therefore proof of Isabella’s ownership.

Other evidence was already known. The Parisian manuscript is a partial copy of the lost Raccolta Aragonese, an anthology of rare early Italian poetry, gifted by the statesman Lorenzo de’ Medici to Federico d’Aragona, son of the king of Naples, around 1477. The last sovereign of his dynasty, Federico went into exile in France with his books.

After his death, most of them passed to his widow, who settled in Ferrara under the protection of Isabella’s family. Her letters reveal that in January 1512 she managed to borrow the collection:

“The book of the first vernacular poets that Your Majesty was so good as to lend me I will hold in all due respect and reverence, and it will not fall into the hands of anyone else. As soon as I have finished with it, I will send it back to Your Majesty, whom I thank for her great humanity toward me.”

Isabella was not lying. She wanted the book because of the rarity of its contents, and she liked to be the sole or near-sole owner of texts. We could already hypothesise that she had commissioned a copy, and we now know this to be true. Thanks to her initiative, these rare poems enjoyed wider circulation; but this is a result neither she nor her correspondent could have anticipated.

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Maria Clotilde Camboni, Honorary Research Fellow, History, University of Oxford

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

Bathhouses are making a wave in Australia and overseas. And it’s not an isolated trend; it reflects the broader advancement of the global wellness economy, which some reports suggest is outpacing even IT and sport in growth.

The Australian wellness sector, too, is booming. According to a report from the Global Wellness Institute, Australia has one of the world’s fastest-growing wellness economies, growing at an annual rate of 7.5% from 2019 to 2023 – with bathhouses, thermal springs, ice baths and saunas playing a key role.

Bathing together for leisure

Despite consumers’ recent heightened interest in saunas and bathhouses, these activities have a long history.

In Finland, sauna bathing – where water is thrown on hot stones to release steam – is a ritual believed to date back as far as 7000 BC.

One of the first known saunas took the form of a pit dug into the ground. In this “pit sauna”, a pile of stones at the bottom was heated with a campfire.

Sweat houses from the Bronze Age have also been found in Britain and Ireland, as well as ancient Islamic civilisations, and among Indigenous groups in Mexico and North America.

The practice of onsen (hot spring) bathing in Japan also has a history dating back more than 2,000 years.

In Australia, First Nations peoples have bathed in rock pools, waterholes, and billabongs for millennia, viewing fresh and salt water alike as vital cultural, spiritual and agricultural resources.

These ancient bathing practices stand in stark contrast to the modern bathing culture taking over our cities.

The Australian context: indecency and necessity

Sea bathing had become popular in Europe by the 18th century, prior to Australia’s colonisation. In England, Queen Victoria (1819–1901) further popularised the activity by bathing regularly on the Isle of Wight, getting changed in a wooden cart called a “bathing machine” to preserve modesty.

It was also in Britain during Queen Victoria’s lifetime that swimming for sport – as opposed to relaxation, military training or survival – became common practice. Bathing for leisure and hygiene has a much longer history than swimming for sport.

In 1810, New South Wales governor Lachlan Macquarie prohibited the “indecent and improper custom […] of soldiers, sailors and inhabitants of the town” bathing at the government wharf and dock yard in Sydney.

Subsequently, Ralph Darling, NSW governor from 1825 to 1831, had one of the country’s first private bathing houses constructed by Woolloomooloo Bay. Successive governors’ families are thought to have made regular use of the bathing house in the summers.

Melbourne City Baths opened in 1860 and remains operational today. The complex’s original purpose was to discourage people from bathing in the polluted Yarra River, which was believed to have caused an epidemic of typhoid fever. Alongside the “swimming” baths, facilities at the site originally included slipper baths (freestanding tubs) and later included Jewish mikvah (ritual) baths and Turkish baths.

Municipal baths were a key feature of daily life in early Melbourne, as many houses had little provision for private bathing. As of 1943, hot-water systems were installed in just 2% of homes in inner Melbourne, while more than a quarter of residents were still boiling water on stove tops for bathing.

From the late 1940s, however, many homes began installing gas or electric hot-water systems. And by the early 1960s the majority of Australian households had access to running hot water for washing and bathing. This contributed to the decline of public baths.

Historically, access to public baths wasn’t equal for all. Women’s access to the Melbourne City Baths was restricted to just a few hours a day until a major redevelopment in 1904.

The facility was also initially gender-segregated and had “second-class” (working class) patrons relegated to the basement, with first class amenities on the floor above. Mixed-gender bathing was introduced in 1947.

Bathing gets a glow up

Today’s urban bathhouses are sites where water, architecture and shared experience intersect. They typically feature heated pools, cold pools, spas and steam rooms, with purported health benefits for attendees.

The efficacy of using spa-based therapy as a form of treatment is increasingly being studied in various contexts, including for post-operative recovery. Recent research has shown it to be promising, demonstrating potential in reducing inflammation, alleviating pain and promoting motor recovery.

In one study of about 500 sauna users, reduced stress, reduced muscle pain and improved sleep and social connection were among the key therapeutic benefits cited by respondents.

More research is needed to establish the full potential therapeutic uses of spa-based therapies.

From connection to capitalism

The current bathhouse culture taking hold in Australia and New Zealand has emerged in part, as an antidote to pandemic isolation.

Many bespoke spa facilities market themselves as spaces for reconnection – and are proving to be popular (and healthier) alternatives to pubs, bars and nightclubs.

But developing these spaces demands significant investment. Industry experts report construction costs of about A$5–6 million for bathhouses, and $3–4 million for sauna clubs. They are also expensive to operate, manage and clean – and visitors can often expect to pay hefty entry prices.

Something we already have

Despite the desirability of contemporary bathhouses, these spaces are hardly egalitarian. Their focus is turning a profit.

One could instead visit one of the existing 1,300 public aquatic centres in Australia, many of which have spa, sauna and steam room facilities. A casual visit to most of these costs A$10–$20. So why are so people forking out more than twice the amount for a luxury bathhouse?

In 2016, writer and translator Jamie Mackay suggested bringing back public bathhouses could help combat the isolation many city dwellers face by creating spaces for people to come together. He saw bathhouses as truly public places — affordable, flexible and open to all — unlike today’s upscale spa and wellness centres.

Dalva Lamminmäki, a doctoral researcher of sauna culture at the University of Eastern Finland, observes that the resurgence of saunas sometimes neglects a core element of what makes the sauna experience meaningful: that the “sauna is a place of equality”.

Luxury bathouses, meanwhile, could be viewed as yet another case of neoliberal commercialism.

Jennifer E. Cheng, Researcher and Lecturer in Sociology, Western Sydney University and Michelle O'Shea, Senior Lecturer, School of Business, Western Sydney University

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

In 1532, in the city of Cajamarca, Peru, Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro and a group of Europeans took the Inca ruler Atahualpa hostage, setting the stage for the fall of the Inca Empire.

Before this fateful attack, Pizarro’s brother, Pedro Pizarro, made a curious observation: other than the Inca himself, the Lord of Chincha was the only person at Cajamarca carried on a litter, a carrying platform.

Why did the Lord of Chincha occupy such a high position in Inca society? In our new study published in PLOS One, we find evidence for a surprising potential source of power and influence: bird poo.

A potent and precious resource

Chincha, in southern Peru, is one of several river valleys along the desert coast fed by Andean highland waters, which have long been key to irrigation agriculture. About 25 kilometres out to sea are the Chincha Islands, with the largest guano deposits in the Pacific.

Seabird guano, or excrement, is a highly potent organic fertiliser. Compared to terrestrial manures such as cow dung, guano contains vastly more nitrogen and phosphorus, which are essential for plant growth.

On the Peruvian coast, the Humboldt/Peru ocean current creates rich fisheries. These fisheries support massive seabird colonies that roost on the rocky offshore islands.

Thanks to the dry, nearly rainless climate, the seabird guano doesn’t wash away, but continues to pile up until many meters tall. This unique environmental combination makes Peruvian guano particularly prized.

Our research combines iconography, historic written accounts, and the stable isotope analysis of archaeological maize (Zea mays) to show Indigenous communities in the Chincha Valley used seabird guano at least 800 years ago to fertilise crops and boost agricultural production.

We suggest guano likely shaped the rise of the Chincha Kingdom and its eventual relationship with the Inca Empire.

Lords of the desert coast

The Chincha Kingdom (1000–1400 CE) was a large-scale society comprising an estimated 100,000 people. It was organised into specialist communities such as fisherfolk, farmers and merchants. This society controlled the Chincha Valley until it was brought into the Inca Empire in the 15th century.

Given the proximity of historically important guano deposits on the Chincha Islands, Peruvian historian Marco Curatola proposed in 1997 that seabird guano was an important source of Chincha’s wealth. We tested this hypothesis and found strong support.

A biochemical test

Biochemical analysis is a reliable way to identify the use of fertilisers in the past. One experimental 2012 study showed plants fertilised with dung from camelids (alpacas and llamas) and seabirds show higher nitrogen isotope values than unfertilised crops.

We analysed 35 maize samples recovered from graves in the Chincha Valley, documented as part of an earlier study on burial practices.

Most of the samples produced higher nitrogen isotope values than expected for unfertilised maize, suggesting some form of fertilisation occurred. About half of the samples had extremely high values. These results are so far only consistent with the use of seabird guano.

This chemical analysis confirms the use of guano on pre-Hispanic crops.

Imagery and written sources

Guano – and the birds that produce it – also held broader significance to the Chincha people.

Our analysis of archaeological artefacts suggests the Chincha people had a profound understanding of the connection between the land, sea and sky. Their use of guano and their relationship with the islands was not just a practical choice; it was deeply embedded in their worldview.

This reverence is reflected in Chincha material culture. Across their textiles, ceramics, architectural friezes and metal objects, we see repeated images of seabirds, fish, waves, and sprouting maize.

These images demonstrate the Chincha understood the entire ecological cycle: seabirds ate fish from the ocean and produced guano, guano fed the maize, and the maize fed the people.

This relationship may even be reflected today through local Peruvian place names. Pisco is derived from a Quechua word for bird, and Lunahuaná might translate to “people of the guano”.

Poo power

As an effective and highly valuable fertiliser, guano also enabled Chincha communities to increase crop yields and expand trade networks, contributing to the economic expansion of the Chincha Kingdom.

We suggest fisherfolk sailed to the Chincha Islands to acquire guano and then provided it to farmers, as well as to seafaring merchants to trade along the coast and into the highlands.

Chincha’s agricultural productivity and growing mercantile influence would have enhanced its strategic importance for the Inca Empire. Around 1400 CE, the Inca incorporated the Chincha after a “peaceful” capitulation, creating one of the few calculated alliances of its kind.

Although the “deal” made between Chincha and Inca remains debated, we suggest seabird guano played a role in these negotiations, as the Inca state was interested in maize but lacked access to marine fertilisers. This may be why the Lord of Chincha was held in such high esteem that he was carried aloft on a litter, as Pedro Pizarro noted.

The Inca came to value this fertiliser so much they imposed access restrictions on the guano islands during the breeding season and forbade the killing of guano birds, on or off the islands, under penalty of death.

Our study expands the known geographic extent of guano fertilisation in the pre-Inca world and strongly supports scholarship that predicted its role in the rise of the Chincha Kingdom. However, there is still much to learn about how widespread it was, and when this practice began.

Jo Osborn, Assistant Professor of Anthropology, Texas A&M University; Emily Milton, Peter Buck Postdoctoral Fellow, Smithsonian Institution, and Jacob L. Bongers, Tom Austen Brown Postdoctoral Research Associate, University of Sydney

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

Valentine’s Day is traditionally a time of heart-shaped balloons, overpriced roses and fully-booked restaurants. Couples kiss and hold hands, smiling selfies celebrate a day of public displays of devotion.

Why do so many of us feel such pressure to offer grand gestures, buy pricey gifts, and go through elaborate displays of affection? Presumably, to prove our love. Valentine’s Day is a showy, one-day-a-year demonstration that promises to do just that.

For the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle (384-322BC), however, this approach misunderstands the nature of love. For him, the true form of love wasn’t intense passion or grand gestures on one day of the year. Instead, it’s a steady commitment to help your beloved grow into their best version through everyday practices of care.

Aristotle wrote extensively about love, friendship and their place in a good life. His main book on ethics, the Nicomachean Ethics (350BC) – affectionately named after his son – is a classic work on virtue and happiness.

As a keen observer of human life, Aristotle’s philosophy was based on a real understanding of human beings – our emotions, needs, habits and the ways we live alongside each other. Humans are social animals, he argued, so we must live in a society and work toward a common good. More than this, we are “pairing” creatures. Coupling and sharing a life matters deeply. Interestingly, he believed this means learning to love ourselves, as well as others.

The five steps to love

Aristotle said we should love ourselves the most. This could sound like a celebration of narcissism, a gospel for the selfie age. But Aristotle meant that truly loving someone means loving them as another self, extending our self-love to another – a process with five parts.

First, loving yourself means desiring and promoting your own good. Do the same for your loved one. Desire and promote whatever is in their interest. Second, work for their own safety and security as you would your own. Third, self-love means enjoying your own company and taking pleasure in reminiscing about past times and looking forward to good times to come. Desire and enjoy their company, too, in a shared life of interests, commitments and hopes.

Fourth, make sure your desires are rational, and only desire things that are part of a “fine and noble life” – a life that is virtuous, rational and filled with meaningful relationships. Fifth, openly express and experience your pains and pleasures. Consistently pursue what brings you pleasure and avoid whatever brings pain. For your beloved, recognise and share in their pains and pleasures, as if they were your own.

Love, Aristotle says, comes from the sense that the lover is “mine”. If that sounds icky to a modern ear, the point isn’t about ownership. When I say “my beloved is mine”, I mean “we belong together in a shared life”. I do not own my finger, it belongs to my hand, which is a part of me. Likewise, I don’t own my beloved, but they belong to our loving relationship, of which I, too, am part.

Love, friendship and skill

Aristotle also described lovers as friends – not any old good friends but each other’s other halves. Like friends, lovers hang out, have each other’s back and support one another. As lovers, they treat each other as a part of themselves. Aristotle thinks it’s a big red flag if your lover doesn’t care as much about your feelings and needs as their own, no matter how grand their gestures and gifts.

Love was not a passive feeling for Aristotle, but a practice requiring skill. A lover, he argues, makes themselves better for their beloved, unlike a carpenter who makes a table for himself. Loving is a practice of constant self-improvement for the sake of another person. Being a good lover means striving to be a better person, so that you and your beloved bring out the best in each other.

For Aristotle, love is not about how your Valentine makes you feel on a single night of the year. Gifts and gestures are nice, but the real proof of love is nothing you can buy. Loving another as much and as well as you love yourself is the real proof, one that takes time and practice. To quote Aristotle, “one swallow does not make spring” – nor does one magical night really show our love.

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Janset Özün Çetinkaya, Teaching Associate in Philosophy, University of Nottingham and Ian James Kidd, Assistant Professor of Philosophy, University of Nottingham

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

In 18th- and 19th-century Ireland, it was common for courting couples to exchange gifts to mark their developing relationships. Many of these items are familiar gifts today: books, cards, items of clothing, jewellery and sweet treats. Others, however, are less familiar. In fact, some of the gifts exchanged by couples in the past might give many today the dreaded ick – especially those items of the hairier variety.

While you might be familiar with the tradition of mourning hairwork jewellery that was made and worn to remember deceased loved ones in the Victorian era, hairy tokens were traditionally a gift exchanged between couples in love. In my new book, Pious and Promiscuous: Life, Love and Family in Presbyterian Ulster, I explore the tradition of gift-giving among courting couples in Ulster – from hairy tokens to food and clothing. The book reveals for the first time the personal stories that shaped the rituals of Presbyterian family life in 18th- and 19th-century Ulster.

Gift-givers thought deeply about what to gift that special someone. Items exchanged in courtship were carefully chosen because different gifts had different meanings. Whereas shirts were understood to symbolise friendship, items like gloves – which covered the hands and fingers – were associated with marriage.

Those on the receiving end also had to consider whether or not to accept these tokens. Accepting a gift from a would-be suitor indicated that the receiver shared their romantic interest. Refusing a gift communicated the opposite. The tradition of gift-giving could also be used to break off relationships. When a relationship failed, people were expected to return any gifts that they had received.

The most special token that a person could gift was their hair. As a physical piece of a person that would outlast their human life, a lock of hair symbolised immortal love. Locks of hair were generally gifted by women to men and sometimes at the request of their male suitors.

Men might write to their beloveds and request that they enclose a lock of hair in their next letter as a token with which to remember them. Locks of hair could be tied into neat plaits and fashioned with a ribbon, enabling the lock to keep its shape. Hair could also be pressed into jewellery or placed in the back of miniatures.

The recipients of these hairy tokens would engage with them both physically and sensorially. Locks of hair could be rubbed, stroked, sniffed and gazed upon as the recipient thought about the person who had sent it. Given their size, these little hairy tokens could also be secreted inside of clothes and worn next to the heart, or placed under a pillow and slept upon, enabling the recipient to dream of its hairy bestower.

A hairy fetish

Some people appear to have had a real appetite, perhaps even a fetish, for hairy gifts and tokens. Robert James Tennent (1803–80), a middle-class man who came of age in 19th-century Belfast, is one such example. Catalogued among his papers at the Public Record Office of Northern Ireland, Belfast, is an extraordinary archive of hairy treasures, each seemingly representing a woman with whom he had some sort of romantic connection.

What makes Tennent’s collection so intriguing is its size. It contains 14 locks of hair, each wrapped individually in a small handmade envelope. At one time the collection may have been even larger. Among the items is an envelope, now empty, bearing the label “Hair”, which possibly held a lock of hair that has since been lost.

The hair itself varies dramatically in colour, condition and care: wisps of fine blonde hair; neatly tied plaits of brown hair, fashioned with pink string; and unshapen masses of dark hair streaked with grey. The collection also contains a broken ring.

In 2022, I published a paper on Tennent’s hairy treasures in which I theorised that he kept and curated the collection as a trophy cabinet of his past romantic (and sexual) adventures. I argued that the collection served the purpose of a handmade and homemade pornographic archive that Tennent could revisit to transport himself back to pleasured memories and experiences.

Evidence for this view is inscribed in the collection itself. Twelve of the locks are labelled, telling us the name of the woman to whom the hair belonged. We can identify ten women in total. Eleven of the locks are also dated, recording the day, month and year that they were received by Tennent. The collection was assembled between 1818 and 1827, when Tennent was between 15 and 24 years of age.

Tennent’s archiving efforts betray his philandering lifestyle when a younger, unmarried man. There is a considerable overlap in the dates that the different locks of hair were collected. In fact, at least two locks of hair were received into his collection at the same time that Tennent was courting his future wife, Eliza McCracken. The pair were involved in a rather bumpy courtship from 1826, eventually marrying in 1830.

Whereas item nine in the collection labelled “Hair of Lucretia Belfast” is dated December 13 1826, item 15, belonging to Ellen Lepper, is dated June 26 1827. A lock of McCracken’s hair is also included in Tennent’s collection; a partly unrolled plait of brown hair bears the label: “Eliza, Where is the Bosom friend dearer than all.”

That Tennent returned to these tokens to revisit his bachelorhood is suggested by the physical state of some of the items too. A lock of hair attributed to Miss Catharine Louise Lawless (dated November 10/11 1820), may have once been tied into a neat little plait. It is likely that the plait has come undone overtime due to excessive touch.

So, if you find yourself stumped, browsing the shelves this Valentine’s Day for the perfect gift for your other half, perhaps the answer lies atop of your head. Hairy tokens might not suit everyone’s taste today, but they remind us that love and how we express it has always been intensely personal.

From locks of hair twisted into plaits and encased in jewellery to chocolate hearts and handwritten love notes, the tokens we give carry meaning and memory. Love and affection, then as now, is an expression of our intimate sides and can occasionally be a little hairy.

Leanne Calvert, Assistant Professor in Irish History, University of Limerick

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

Puerto Rican singer Bad Bunny (Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio) made history this weekend as the first Superbowl halftime headliner to sing only in Spanish – that too at a moment when the United States is facing a hostile anti-immigration climate.

The show’s message of love and togetherness has reverberated across countries and cultures. It is also chock-full of symbolism and messaging that represents an alternative America to the one taking shape under Donald Trump.

A fiesta celebrating Puerto Rican culture

The performance took place in a noticeably Puerto Rican setting. Fresh coconuts and piragua (snow cone) carts led the way to domino players and boxers (Puerto Rico is the world’s largest contributor of boxing champions per capita).

Bad Bunny opens with the viral hit Tití me preguntó (Tití asked me). He walks through a crew wearing costumes typical of Puerto Rican peasants, with traditional straw pava hats and string ropes for belts.

This sugarcane field set is a nod to an important aspect of Caribbean history, wherein sugarcane plantations represent a shared history of slavery. At the same time, they signify an immediate link to land, hard work, national identity, and Puerto Rico’s agricultural roots.

The nation’s sugarcane industry was aggressively changed under Operation Bootstrap, a series of economic projects pushed by the US federal government from around 1947. This encouraged the establishment of factories, and private and foreign investment, to the detriment of the island’s economy and infrastructure. It provoked mass unemployment and migration to the US and, by the 1950s, had forever changed Puerto Ricans’ way of life.

While some audiences criticised the choice to sing the songs Tití me preguntó and Yo perreo sola (I twerk alone), due to their sexual lyrics, others lauded their inclusion as a form of LGBTQIA+ inclusivity. These were followed by the party-pleasers Safaera, Eoo, Party and Voy a llevarte pa PR.

Lady Gaga made a surprise appearance, singing a salsa-style version of her hit song Die with a Smile, atop a stage replica of the famous El Morro fortress in San Juan.

Gaga wore a light blue dress of the same shade that once featured in Puerto Rico’s original flag. This flag, however, was banned in 1948 under an American gag law (which ended in 1957) that tried to stifle the island’s independence movement.

During Gaga’s song, the scene of a live wedding (yes, the couple actually got married) cements Benito’s message of togetherness.

A show loaded with symbolism

Apart from matching the wedding theme, the prominence of white clothing in the show reflects a reality of Caribbean daily life, wherein white was often worn to combat the harsh heat.

It also recalls various attire customarily worn in local music genres such as bomba and plena, as well as in Afro-Cuban religious traditions such as santería.

Benito’s own white shirt is emblazoned with the name “Ocasio” and the number 64. This is an homage to his late-uncle, who was born in 1964. The tribute offers a tender lesson on Spanish naming customs, as well as the cultural importance of family.

At one point, we see Benito hand his recently-won Grammy trophy (his album Debí Tirar Más Fotos was the first-ever Spanish-language album to win Album of The Year) to kid actor Lincoln Fox. Viewers were quick to point out Fox’s resemblance to Liam Conejos, the five-year-old boy whose detention by ICE agents last month caused national outrage.

Ricky Martin sang the heavily political track Lo que le pasó a Hawaii (What happened to Hawaii). This song pleads for Puerto Rico to not share a similar fate to Hawaii – the last state to join the union, at the cost of significant cultural loss, land, language and tradition.

Martin is framed by sparks coming from electrical poles in the background. They symbolise Puerto Rico’s poor electrical infrastructure, which was worsened in the aftermath of hurricanes María and Irma in 2017, and the electrical grid’s privatisation in 2021.

The show closes on a lighter note, with songs that highlight Puerto Ricanness. The track Café con Ron (Coffee with rum) takes the audience back to island customs, and the opening cañaveral (sugarcane fields).

Meanwhile, DtMF/Debí tirar más fotos (I should have taken more photos) evokes nostalgia for the past, and serves as a reminder of intercontinental unity.

Behind the crowd of pleneros (Puerto Rican drum players), a background screen reads: “The only thing more powerful than hate is love” – a direct challenge to the the anti-immigration policies currently permeating the US.

Benito also pays tribute to iconic reggaeton predecessors with the inclusion of tracks by Tego Calderón, and Daddy Yankee’s 2004 hit Gasolina, among others.

Freedom in the face of oppression

President Donald Trump described the event as “one of the worst, EVER!” and a “slap in the face” to the US. I never thought I would agree with Trump, but a slap in the face it was – one that reminded us all of the fabric of American culture.

Bad Bunny’s performance not only provided visibility to the significant Latinx/Latine population that holds the US together, it also served as evidence that accommodating to Anglo culture is no longer a requirement to fit in – especially for younger generations.

As Bad Bunny pronounced the famous line “God Bless America” – going on to list multiple countries and territories, including Puerto Rico – he imparted a lesson all Spanish-speakers have been given at least once in our lives. For us, “America” is not limited to the land that lies between Canada and Mexico, but rather extends across continents.

Benito’s geography lesson ends with the parting words “seguimos aquí” (we are still here) which, due to the Spanish language’s use of the present tense as future, can also be translated into “we will continue to be here”. A powerful message indeed.

Consuelo Martinez Reyes, Senior Lecturer in Spanish and Latin American Studies, Macquarie University

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

Literary journal Meanjin has been resurrected. The 85-year-old journal will return to its origins in Brisbane, where it was founded in 1940 by editor Clem Christesen.

Its new home is QUT, where the journal will complement the university’s creative writing program. It could be good timing for QUT to take custody of a national literary treasure: a report this week revealed enrolments in Australia’s creative arts programs, including QUT’s, are in decline. Could Meanjin be a future drawcard?

Meanjin closed late last year after its former publisher, Melbourne University Publishing (MUP), withdrew its funding on “purely financial grounds” in September. It ran its (then) final issue in December, and its two staff – editor Esther Anatolitis and deputy editor Eli McLean – were made redundant. The closure sparked widespread condemnation.

There was a petition, protests and countless horrified articles, quoting acclaimed authors like Peter Carey. As Crikey reported, “multiple foundations, university figures and organisations approached MUP to explore ways to save the journal, but these attempts were all rebuffed”.

Professor Warren Bebbington, chair of MUP, acknowledged the publisher had been approached to acquire Meanjin by many organisations. But, he said, “QUT’s understanding of the journal’s legacy surpassed those of the other expressions of interest received”.

Ben Eltham, who reported on Meanjin’s closure for The Conversation, has called the magazine’s return “a victory for everyone who fought to save this vital masthead for the future of Australian literature”.

A new custodian

Meanjin’s name comes from a Yuggera word for central Brisbane. Yagarabul and Gabi Gabi Elder Gaja Kerry Charlton contextualised this language in a 2023 article.

The magazine operated in Melbourne from 1945, when the University of Melbourne invited Christesen to relocate the journal there. In 2007, it moved to Melbourne University Publishing.

Eltham called the explanation – “purely financial grounds” – for shuttering Meanjin “callous and actuarial”. As many have pointed out, literary journals are not known as profitable ventures. Former editor Sophie Cunningham told the Sydney Morning Herald Christesen had even self-funded the magazine at times.

QUT describes itself as Meanjin’s “custodian”. This word has a slightly different connotation to “publisher”. Indeed, the language of custodianship was widely used in commentary on the closure, including by its departing editors.

What next for Meanjin?

QUT states it will appoint an editorial board “to ensure Meanjin’s independence, values and standards are maintained”. It will recruit an editor through “a national competitive search”.

However, some specifics are yet to be clarified. This includes the future of the magazine’s cultural and literary advisory board, which supported the editor on several critical factors, notably First Nations matters. These were a priority of the journal in recent years. Anatolitis told Crikey neither she nor this board were notified nor formally consulted about the decision before the public announcement.

QUT plans to “take time to thoughtfully re-establish the journal in Queensland”. It will “consider how to most effectively reinvigorate Meanjin, respecting the journal’s founding vision and literary legacy while enhancing its relevance and rebuilding of readership to ensure a viable future”.

Creative arts enrolments down

New education research shows enrolments in Australia’s tertiary creative arts courses declined by as much as 50% from 2018 to 2023.

QUT is among the worst affected. Enrolments in its creative arts courses dropped around 43% over this period, which saw 48 Australian creative arts degree programs discontinued.

The study’s report called for “urgent deliberate policy reform” – including changing “policy messages sent to students and institutions”. It linked the creative arts problem to the 2021 introduction of Job-Ready Graduates, a scheme that substantially increased the cost of Australian arts and creative courses.

Being the new home of a well-respected literary journal might be the right message at the right time for QUT’s School of Creative Arts. Especially if it tilts towards being a “custodian” – and away from commercial restrictions implied by “viable”.

‘Viable future’ and important responsibility

What does the phrase “viable future” mean – especially in close proximity to a comment on readership numbers? After all, Christesen founded the journal in wartime, citing in his first editorial that “in an age governed by the stomach-and-pocket view of life”, there is a duty to talk poetry.

In 2013, Robyn Annear noted in the Monthly that “the absence of literary magazines would discommode contributors far more than readers”. Of course, many of these readers are also writers – a point former Overland editor Jeff Sparrow made back then.

A 2024 Creative Australia research report into literary journals also leaned towards communities of writers, rather than reader numbers, in discussing cultural value. Journals, it explained, provide a space that supports experimentation, diversity in voices and writing community.

Writing for The Conversation shortly after Meanjin’s axing, publishing researchers Julienne van Loon, Millicent Weber and Bronwyn Coates estimated that more than 10,000 people had gained literary workforce skills through associations with the journal. Sampling volumes from 1954 to 2024, they estimated 34 writers and 12 publishing professionals, on average, had contributed to each issue.

Like other institutions that continue to support literary journals around the country, QUT takes on an important responsibility in reviving this 85-year-old publication, “in an age governed by the stomach-and-pocket view of life”.

Angela Glindemann, PhD Candidate, Creative Writing, RMIT University

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

Catherine O’Hara, the beloved actor and comedian who has died aged 71, occupied that rare position in contemporary screen culture: a comic actor, a cult figure and a mainstream star.

Her work spanned more than 50 years, from improv sketch comedy to Hollywood features and off-beat TV classics.

She was celebrated for her unmatched comic timing and chameleon-like character work. Her roles were often absurdist and quirky, but they hid a razor-sharp humour.

Born and raised in Toronto in a close-knit Irish Catholic family, O’Hara was one of seven siblings. She once remarked humour was part of her everyday life; storytelling, impressions and lively conversation helped hone her comedic instincts.

After high school, she worked at Toronto’s Second City Theatre, a famed breeding ground for comedy talent, and sharpened her deadpan improvisational skills.

Big break

O’Hara’s break came with Second City Television (SCTV), a sketch comedy series that rivalled Saturday Night Live in creativity and influence. Alongside contemporaries Eugene Levy, John Candy, Rick Moranis and Martin Short, she defined her distinctly smart, absurdist comedic voice.

O’Hara was not merely a performer on SCTV; she was also a writer, winning an Emmy Award for her contributions. This dual role shaped her career-long sensitivity to rhythm, language and character construction.

Unlike sketch performers who rely on repetition or catchphrases, O’Hara’s humour emerged with a different comedic logic. Audiences laughed not because the character was “funny”, but because the character took herself so seriously.

Though briefly cast on Saturday Night Live in the early 1980s, O’Hara chose to stay with SCTV when it was renewed, a decision she later described as key in letting her creative career flourish where it belonged.

The transition to film

By the mid-1980s, O’Hara was establishing herself as a screen presence. She appeared in Martin Scorsese’s offbeat black comedy After Hours (1985), and showcased her comic range in Heartburn (1986).

In 1988, she landed what would become one of her most beloved film roles: Delia Deetz in Tim Burton’s left-field Beetlejuice (1988).

Delia – a pretentious, New York art-scene social climber – allowed O’Hara to combine physical comedy and imbecilic dialogue (“A little gasoline … blowtorch … no problem”).

Burton once noted

Catherine’s so good, maybe too good. She works on levels that people don’t even know. I think she scares people because she operates at such high levels.

She went on to play Kate McCallister, the beleaguered mother in the holiday blockbusters Home Alone (1990) and Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992). Audiences loved the fact that this rather thinly written role became the films’ beating heart.

Working with Christopher Guest

Another distinctive phase of O’Hara’s career was her work with writer-director Christopher Guest on a series of largely improvised mockumentaries that have become cult classics.

Three standouts were Waiting for Guffman (1996), where she plays a desperate local performer in a small-town theatre troupe, and A Mighty Wind (2003), where she teamed up with old pal Levy as an ageing folk duo.

Her best turn came in Best in Show (2000), in which she and Levy played a couple competing in a national dog show. Her character Cookie Fleck remains one of the finest examples of improvised comedy on film.

Her relentless monologues about former lovers are objectively inappropriate, yet O’Hara delivers them with such earnest enthusiasm that they become strangely compelling.

Her gift for improvisation glittered in these films: these eccentric characters were often laugh-out-loud funny – but O’Hara never mocked them.

Late success

She returned to TV in Six Feet Under (2001–05) and guest appearances on The Larry Sanders Show (1992–98) and Curb Your Enthusiasm (1999–2024). More recently, she appeared in prestige shows such as The Last of Us (2023–) and The Studio (2025–).

But it was the role of Moira Rose, the eccentric, ex-soap opera star in the Canadian sitcom Schitt’s Creek (2015–20), created by Eugene Levy and his son Dan, that would become O’Hara’s most significant late career move. And what a role it was!

Written for O’Hara’s unique talents, Moira was a larger-than-life character with a bizarre, unforgettable vocabulary, dramatic mood swings and a wardrobe that became nearly as famous as the character herself.

Feminist media scholars have noted the rarity of such complex roles for older women, particularly in comedy, making O’Hara’s performance culturally significant.

The show became a global streaming blockbuster during COVID lockdowns and O’Hara’s multi-award-winning performance became a social media phenomenon, spawning memes and viral clips.

There are so many standout moments – her drunken meltdown after losing her wigs, her audition for The Crows Have Eyes 3 and the show’s moving finale where she performs Danny Boy at Alexis’s graduation.

An enduring legacy

O’Hara had a remarkable ability to play flamboyant, self-absorbed characters who were often uproariously funny.

Many comedians and actors have cited O’Hara as an influence for her fearlessness, her ability to blend absurdity with emotional truth, and her steadfast commitment to character integrity. She influenced performers like Tina Fey, Maya Rudolph, Kate McKinnon and Phoebe Waller-Bridge.

O’Hara also refused to chase conventional stardom. Rather than choosing projects designed to flatten her eccentricities, O’Hara favoured collaborative environments that valued creativity over control.

For her, comedy was always an art of intelligence, empathy and generosity.

Ben McCann, Associate Professor of French Studies, Adelaide University

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

Nearly two years after the Australian government was first notified that war graves in Gaza and surrounding areas had been damaged as a result of conflict, new evidence has confirmed the extent of destruction.

In a recent update, the Commonwealth War Graves Commission – the intergovernmental body responsible for commemorating all Commonwealth war dead from the two world wars – has confirmed damage to both the Gaza War Cemetery and Deir El Balah War Cemetery is “extensive”.

And a recent Guardian report outlined new evidence indicating the Israel Defence Forces (IDF) “bulldozed” graves in the Gaza War Cemetery’s southern corner.

This includes the graves of Australian and British personnel who died in the two world wars. It has been reported that the graves of up to two dozen New Zealanders are also affected, along with Canadians killed during peacekeeping operations in the 1950s and ‘60s. Reports indicate that Indian plots have also been heavily damaged.

The Guardian reported that:

After being shown satellite images of the cemetery, the Israel Defence Forces said that it had been forced to take defensive measures during military operations.

“At the relevant time, the area in question was an active combat zone,” an army spokesperson said.

More broadly, the fate of these sites highlights the continued risk to war graves in modern conflict zones.

Anzacs in Gaza

The Gaza War Cemetery contains more than 3,400 Commonwealth burials.

The news that more than 250 Australians are interred in Gaza may surprise some Australians.

Yet, Australians have a long history of military service in the region, from the world wars to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

As part of British efforts to push Ottoman Turkish forces out of Palestine, for instance, Australian mounted troops (cavalry) fought in three major battles in Gaza between March and November 1917.

The second battle was particularly costly. In three days, the British suffered more than 6,000 casualties, 500 of whom were killed, including more than 100 Australians. These Australians were buried across the two cemeteries in what is now the Gaza Strip.

Australian forces later returned to the Middle East in the second world war.

While Gaza was not the site of fighting this time around, it was the location of the Australian theatre headquarters, which oversaw Australian operations in the region. It was also home to several hospital units.

This means many of the Australians buried in the area’s two war cemeteries died because of accident, injury or illness, not in battle.

Among the burials at Gaza War Cemetery are 23 New Zealanders. A further 13 New Zealanders are interred at Deir El Belah War Cemetery.

A broader challenge

The destruction of war graves in Gaza has rightly received global attention. But this isn’t the first time Australian and Commonwealth war dead have been dragged into contemporary conflicts.

If we look first at Gaza, the two war cemeteries were damaged in both 2006 and 2009 amid fighting in the area.

The damage caused by the 2006 operations saw the Israeli government financially compensate the Commonwealth War Graves Commission.

But this issue is not unique to Gaza, nor to the Middle East. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission cares for more than 1.1 million separate graves across more than 23,000 locations, in 150 countries and territories.

Some of these are in active conflict zones, or otherwise volatile areas. This includes sites in Libya, Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Iran, Yemen, Sudan and Somalia. Each of these is classed as a “challenging location”. Access is often restricted or prohibited, and many sites are at risk of damage through fighting or vandalism.

For instance, Iraq’s Habbaniya War Cemetery, where three Australian airmen are interred, was “severely damaged” during the two Gulf wars. Only in 2020 could the Commonwealth War Graves Commission finish reconstruction of the cemetery.

In 2012, war cemeteries at Benghazi in eastern Libya were desecrated twice. This included hundreds of plots, with 50 Australian headstones damaged in one incident.

Further east, Yemen’s Maala Cemetery was damaged during fighting between 2014 and 2015. Located in a particularly dangerous area, the cemetery – where 11 Australians are buried – remains off-limits and mostly destroyed.

In other instances, the danger is so great that locations are used to commemorate casualties interred elsewhere. An example is the Mogadishu African War Cemetery in Somalia, where political instability forced the Commonwealth War Graves Commission to erect memorial headstones at Kenya’s Nairobi War Cemetery.

War cemeteries will remain in danger

Given ongoing conflict and instability in Yemen, Somalia and Gaza, it is unlikely any restorative works will be possible any time soon.

And the Commonwealth War Graves Commission’s chief of staff, Peter Francis, acknowledged in October 2024 that cemetery rebuilding would not be prioritised as part of reconstruction in Gaza, given the scale of destruction across the broader Gaza Strip.

There is also the financial factor, with reconstruction of the Gaza War Cemetery alone estimated to cost around £5 million (about A$9.6 million). The figure is likely much higher now, given the scale of destruction since this 2024 estimate.

All this reflects the difficulties the Commonwealth War Graves Commission encounters in trying to mark, record and maintain graves and commemorative sites.

As troubling as this situation is, particularly for affected families, it is a difficult reality: war cemeteries will remain in danger amid active unrest and conflict.

Nicole Townsend, Lecturer in War Studies, UNSW Sydney

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

For over a century and a half, life expectancy has steadily increased in the wealthiest countries. Spectacular climbs in longevity have been noted in the 20th Century, correlating with the slump in infectious illnesses and advances in cardiovascular medicine.

However, for some years now, experts have been obsessing over one question: when is this slick mechanism going to run out of steam? In several western countries, gains in life expectancy have become so slight, they are practically non-existent.

Some researchers see this as a sign that we are heading toward a ‘biological human longevity ceiling’ while others estimate that there is still room for improvement.

Looking at national figures alone cannot be a decider. Behind a country’s average life expectancy lies very contrasted, region-specific realities. This is what the findings of our study that was recently published in Nature Communications revealed. Analysing data collected between 1992 and 2019, it focuses on 450 regions in western Europe bringing together almost 400 million inhabitants.

A European study on an unprecedented scale

To complete our research project, we collected mortality and demographic data from offices for national statistics across 13 western European countries including Spain, Denmark, Portugal and Switzerland.

We began by harmonising the original data, a task that proved crucial because the regions differed in size, and data offered varying amounts of detail according to each country.

Then we recalculated the annual gain in life expectancy at birth for each region between 1992 and 2019, an indicator, which reflects mortality across all ages. Sophisticated statistical methods allowed us to pick out the main underlying trends, regardless of short-term fluctuations caused by the heatwave in 2003, or virulent, seasonal flu outbreaks between 2014-2015, for instance. 2019 is the cut-off date for our analyses because it is still too early to know whether the coronavirus pandemic has a long term effect on these trends or if it was limited to 2020-2022.

The results we obtained provide us with an unprecedented panorama of regional longevity trajectories across Europe over an almost 30-year period, from which we draw three findings.

First finding: Human longevity has not hit its limits

The first message to emerge from the study is that: the limits of human longevity have still not been reached. If we concentrate on regions that are life expectancy champions (indicated in blue on the chart below), we note that there is no indication of progress decelerating.

These regions continue to demonstrate around a two and half month gain in life expectancy per year for men, and approximately one and a half month gain in life expectancy for women, at an equivalent rate to those observed in previous decades. In 2019, they include regions in Northern Italy, Switzerland and some Spanish provinces.

For France, Paris and its surrounding Hauts-de-Seine or Yvelines areas (pertaining to both men and women), featured alongside the Anjou region and areas bordering with Switzerland (only applicable to women). In 2019, life expectancy reached 83 for men, and 87 for women.

In other words, despite recurrent concerns nothing presently indicates that lifespan progression has hit a glass ceiling; prolonging life expectancy remains possible. This is a fundamental result which counters sweeping, alarmist statements: there is room for improvement.

Second finding: regional diversity since the mid 2000s

The picture looks bleaker when considering regions with ‘lagging’ life expectancy rates, indicated in red on the chart. In the 1990s and in the early 2000s, these regions saw rapid gains in life expectancy. Progress was much faster here than anywhere else, leading to a convergence in regional life expectancy across Europe.

This golden age, accumulating a fast rise in life expectancy in Europe and a reduction in regional disparities came to an end towards 2005. In the most challenged regions, whether it be East Germany, Wallonia in Belgium or certain parts of the United Kingdom, life expectancy gains significantly dropped, practically reaching a standstill. In women, no regions in France featured among them, but in men, they included some departments in the Hauts-de-France.

Longevity in Europe is ultimately divided into vanguard regions that continue to progress on one side, and on the other side, lagging regions where the dynamic is running out of steam and is even reversed. We are experiencing a regional discrepancy that contrasts with the catch-up momentum in the 1990s.

Third finding: the decisive role of mortality at ages 55-74

Why such a shift? Beyond age-specific life expectancy, we sought to gain a better understanding of this spectacular change by analysing how mortality rates have evolved for each age bracket.

We can state that regional divergence can neither be explained by the rise in infantile mortality (which remains very slight) nor by the rise in mortality in the over 75 age range (which continues to decelerate everywhere). It mainly stems from mortality around age 65.

In the 1990s this demonstrated a rapid drop, thanks to access to cardiovascular treatments and changes in risk-taking behaviour. But since the 2000s, this upturn has slowed. In some regions, in the last few years, the risk of dying between 55 and 74 years old is on the rise, as shown in the maps below.

This is particularly true for women living in France’s Mediterranean coastal regions (indicated in pale pink). It’s also the case for most of Germany. However, these intermediary ages are crucial for the life expectancy gain dynamic, because a large number of deaths occur here. Stagnation or a leap in mortality between ages 55 and 74 is enough to break the overall trend.

Even though our study does not allow us to pinpoint the precise causes explaining such preoccupying progress, recent documentation provides us with some leads which should be scientifically tested in the future. Among these are risk-taking behaviour, particularly smoking, drinking alcohol and poor nutrition, or a lack of physical exercise, which are all factors that manifest at these ages.

Incidentally, the economic crash in 2008 accentuated regional variations across Europe. Some regions suffered durably seeing the health of their populations compromised, while further growth was recorded in other regions with a concentration of highly qualified employment. These factors remind us that longevity isn’t just about advances in medicine; it can also be explained by social and economic factors.

What’s next?

Our report offers a dual message. Yes, it’s possible to increase life expectancy. Europe’s regional champions are proof of this, as they continue to demonstrate steady growth without showing any signs of plateauing. However, this progress does not apply to everyone. For fifteen years, part of Europe has been lagging behind, largely due to a rise in mortality around 65 years.

Even today, the future of human longevity seems to depend less on the existence of a hypothetical biological ceiling than on our collective ability to reduce gaps in life expectancy. Recent trends lead us to believe that Europe could well end up as a two-tier system, setting apart a minority of areas that keep pushing the boundaries of longevity and a majority of areas where gains dwindle.

In actual fact, the question is not only how far can we extend life expectancy, but which parts of Europe are eligible.

For further reading

Our detailed results, region by region, are available in our interactive online application.

A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. It provides an introduction to the diversity of research coming out of the continent and considers some of the key issues facing European countries. Get the newsletter!

Florian Bonnet, Démographe et économiste, spécialiste des inégalités territoriales, Ined (Institut national d'études démographiques); Carlo Giovanni Camarda, Docteur, spécialiste des méthodes de prévision (mortalité, longévité, etc.), Ined (Institut national d'études démographiques); France Meslé, Démographe, Ined (Institut national d'études démographiques), and Josselin Thuilliez, Economiste, Directeur de recherche au CNRS, Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS)

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

Queensland is a step closer to lifting a ban on political donations from property developers – despite a corruption watchdog’s warning that doing so in a A$7 billion Olympics building boom could raise “risks of undue or improper influence”.

Last Friday, a parliamentary committee with a majority of Liberal National members tabled a report supporting the state government’s proposed electoral law overhaul.

Among a raft of changes, the proposed law would undo a nearly decade-old ban on property developers donating to state political candidates. The current ban on developer donations to local government elections would remain.

Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria and the Australian Capital Territory all currently ban donations from property developers. South Australia has gone further, last year banning all political donations.

With billions in taxpayers’ dollars being spent on the Games, what’s the argument for lifting the ban? And does it stand up?

Billions in development underway

Between now and the opening ceremony of the 2032 Brisbane Olympics, at least A$7 billion will be spent on Olympic and Paralympic games infrastructure across Queensland, from new stadiums to athlete villages. Some $3.4 billion of that is federal funding – meaning all Australian taxpayers are chipping in.

Facing major challenges to meet that deadline, the Liberal National government passed laws to fast track approvals on Games infrastructure. That means they’re not subject to standard planning and environmental laws.

In a submission to the parliamentary committee, Queensland’s Crime and Corruption Commission warned of “increased risks of actual or perceived corruption” tied to political donations in the lead up to the Olympics.

There is concern that the reintroduction of property developer donations could exacerbate real and/or perceived risks of undue or improper influence, particularly as developer interests align closely with major projects.

Why are developers treated differently?

But when does trying to guard against corruption cross the line into impeding people’s freedom of political communication?

A decade ago, property developer and former Newcastle mayor Jeff McCloy challenged the validity of NSW laws capping political donations and banning donations from property developers.

In 2015, a majority of High Court judges upheld the validity of NSW’s ban on property developer donations, noting in their judgement there was:

an apparently strong factual basis for the perception of a risk of corruption and undue influence as the result of political donations from property developers.

A series of seven reports and a position paper of the New South Wales Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) has identified corruption and other misconduct in the handling of property development applications since 1990, and the existence of a large measure of public concern over the influence which property developers have hitherto exercised over state and local government members and officials.

That history is an example of why property developers’ donations have come under more scrutiny than others and face tighter restrictions in some parts of Australia.

Why did Queensland bring in a ban?

Queensland’s ban on donations from property developers was introduced by the Labor government in 2018. It followed a Crime and Corruption Commission investigation that exposed widespread corruption, non-compliance with election funding rules, and undisclosed conflicts of interest by local government officials.

Following that investigation, mayors, councillors and council officers in Queensland faced dozens of criminal charges.

Then anti-corruption commissioner Alan MacSporran said local government was a “broken” system, and “a hotbed of perceived corruption”.

The Queensland anti-corruption body had previously conducted investigations on developer donations and conflicts of interest in 1991, 2006 and 2015, showing this had become a systemic problem at a local government level.

The Crime and Corruption Commission report only recommended banning political donations at a local government level. But the then Labor state government took it a step further, arguing if it was “good enough for one level of government, it’s good enough for all levels of government”.

Looking ahead

The LNP has long argued the ban wasn’t recommended at a state level, unfairly stigmatises developers, and was really about Labor creating an uneven playing field for electoral donations.

However, there has been a long history of corruption in Australia directly relating to property developers. Any weakening of political finance regulation increases the risk of both actual and perceived corruption in government.

The LNP government has a clear majority to pass this bill. There’s every sign it will go ahead.

But the bill still has to be voted on in state parliament. This gives the Queensland government time to reconsider its approach, both to preserve the integrity of its electoral system and to protect public perceptions of the 2032 Brisbane Olympics.

Yee-Fui Ng, Associate Professor, Faculty of Law, Monash University

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

The number of “serious incidents” in Australian early childhood services – including long daycare – is increasing. According to a new Productivity Commission report, there were 160 such incidents per 100 services in 2024-25. This is up from 148 and 139 in the previous two years.

A serious incident is one that seriously compromises the health, safety or wellbeing of a child. This includes serious injury or illness requiring medical attention, any event where emergency services attended, a child going missing or being locked in or out of the premises. It can also include abuse or the death of a child.

The figures come amid continuing concern about safety in early childhood services around Australia. Last week, regulators reported a family daycare had been shut down after knives and poison were kept within reach of kids in Sydney; while in South Australia, the regulator warned of supervision “blind spots”.

Why are we seeing this increase? What does it mean for families and educators?

How do we get these figures?

Under the Education and Care Services National Regulations, services must report all serious incidents to the relevant state or territory regulatory authority.

So these Productivity Commission figures come via the national agency for childcare safety and quality (the Australian Children’s Education and Care Quality Authority).

In its most recent report in December 2025, the national agency reported an increase across almost every kind of serious incident. The most commonly reported incident type was “injury, illness, or trauma”, which accounted for 77.7% of serious incident reports.

Why aren’t we seeing a drop?

The latest figures predate the slew of recent child safety reforms across the sector. So it may take time for us to see a change in annual data reporting.

We also have numerous state and national inquiries still underway. And further reforms are yet to be implemented. This includes mandatory child safety and child protection training for all staff, volunteers, and students.

In fact, the increase is not a surprise. Data released by the national agency has shown a persistent increase in serious incident reports, which are currently up 62% from 2016-17 (the earliest available report on these figures). There have also been particularly marked increases over the last five years.

What is less clear is what is causing this increase and how to fix it.

Are people becoming more aware?

The latest rise may indicate the sector is becoming more transparent, as opposed to more dangerous.

With the recent increase in public scrutiny and subsequent policy changes around child safety – including shorter time frames for mandatory reporting and restrictions on the use of digital devices – services, educators, and even families may be more likely to report serious incidents when they occur.

If this is so, a stronger reporting culture would be a welcome outcome.

Or are services under stress?

On the other hand, Australian and international research shows safety risks increase when educators and services are operating under strain.

Our research shows staff in the early childhood sector face heavy workloads and unpaid hours. There are also longstanding concerns about increasing regulatory demands, high staff turnover and educator burnout.

What about management?

Research indicates management (or who is running a service) is a key factor when it comes to quality.

Although the national agency’s reports do not let us compare serious incident rates of for-profit versus not-for-profit services, for-profits tend to provide lower quality services for children, and have been less likely to improve their rating under the national quality framework.

On top of this, publicly available data from the third quarter of 2025 (the most recent we have), shows private for-profit services are more likely to be “working towards the national quality standard” on children’s health and safety than other early childhood provider types.

This is why the steady increase in large for-profit providers in Australia is a significant concern.

So is childcare safe or not?

Despite the awful revelations about abuse in the sector, the OECD notes that early childhood services are generally safer than un-regulated care. This includes care by relatives, babysitters or privately employed nannies. This is because services such as long daycare are regulated by a national quality framework and standards.

The difficulty is there is such variation in quality across the sector. Current regulatory systems also have significant gaps. For example, many services wait more than four years between assessment visits. In some states, time between visits can extend to ten years.

A 2025 independent report found several NSW services were on a secret government list as “very high risk” but were publicly rated as “meeting” national quality standards.

As of November 2025, families can now access new content on the Starting Blocks website to check the compliance history of their service. This includes when a service was last visited by a regulatory authority, and any formal breach notifications over the last two years.

Will the recent and upcoming reforms be enough?

The current debate about safety and quality are still largely reactive and risks-based. For example, shutting down unsafe providers and training educators to spot potential abuse.

We need more focus on the broader factors – such as educator working conditions, workforce quality and management capability – which research shows will lift quality and boost safety overall.

If services have well-trained staff and supportive working conditions, they are more likely to provide both safety and quality for children.

Erin Harper, Lecturer, School of Education and Social Work, University of Sydney

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

Research shows gender-based violence in sport is widespread: between a quarter and three-quarters of women within sport report experiencing some form of psychological, physical or sexual violence during their sporting lives.

These experiences happen across all levels of sport and affect not only athletes but also coaches, officials, volunteers and administrators.

And too often, when those affected try to speak up, systems fail them.

Our research team recently examined how reports of gender-based violence in sport are currently experienced and managed.

Based on what we found, we designed a new resource to help sporting organisations handle issues that arise and support victims.

What is gender-based violence in sport?

Gender-based violence can include sexist jokes, humiliation, exclusion from leadership roles, coercive coaching practices, sexual harassment and assault.

These behaviours are often normalised or minimised in sport but their impact is serious: women leave sport, their health is affected, teams dissolve, talent is lost and trust in sporting institutions is eroded.

What our research found

We examined how reports of gender-based violence in sport are currently managed.

We reviewed policies, interviewed women and gender-diverse people who had disclosed gender-based violence in sport, and also interviewed people working in national and state sport integrity and safeguarding roles.

We found policies related to violence in sport to be legalistic, inaccessible and almost entirely gender-blind.

Women and gender-diverse participants shared uncertainty about who to approach, what the process would entail and whether they would be believed.

Some felt re-traumatised by systems meant to support them. One woman told us:

[the sport] never followed any of their own written processes around safety and supporting us. They made promises and then actively went against them. They pretty much gaslit us the whole way.

The people we interviewed said they stayed engaged when listened to, believed and offered choices. When dismissed or blamed, many left – not just the organisation, but sport.

A clear message emerged from those working in integrity and safeguarding roles: many want to do the right thing but are often constrained by unclear policies, limited guidance and support and a lack of training.

They described feeling overwhelmed, unsure of what steps to take and concerned about their organisation’s reputation or getting it wrong.

One person working in integrity and safeguarding roles said:

I’ll be quite candid with you […] they’re protecting the business. They’re not protecting the member.

Another sad:

One time I got one [a report] and I had to run out the door here to throw up. It was just so terrible.

Where current systems fall short

In Australia, Sport Integrity Australia responds to breaches of integrity through the National Integrity Framework and its complaints handling system.

But our research shows when it comes to gender-based violence against adults, significant gaps remain.

While Sport Integrity Australia’s suite of policies include the “safeguarding of children and young people” there is no equivalent for adults.

Also, Sport Integrity Australia can only implement its policies with sports that signed up to its national framework, and only if the issue being reported occurred after the sport signed up.

This means in many cases, gender-based violence against an adult will fall outside of its policies.

In these cases, responsibility falls back to sporting organisations – many of which are under-resourced, unclear about their role or ill-prepared to respond.

For women and gender-diverse people, this often results in confusion, inadequate or inconsistent responses and an increased risk of ongoing harm.

In the absence of sufficient national policy, sport organisations must therefore be better prepared to respond to and address gender-based violence, from the grassroots to elite levels.

Why disclosures so often go wrong

Our research shows reports of gendered violence go wrong not because people don’t care but because systems are not designed with victim-survivors in mind.

Policies are frequently written to protect organisations rather than support those who experience harm.

Reporting pathways mimic legal and criminal justice pathways rather than trauma-informed practices.

Power imbalances – between athletes and coaches, volunteers and boards, players and administrators – are not acknowledged or addressed.

At the same time, those tasked with responding are often unsupported.

Integrity managers, volunteers and administrators told us they regularly absorb traumatic stories without adequate supervision or specialist support and without the ability to address the root causes of the issue. This increases the risk of burnout and turnover.

A practical roadmap for safer responses

In response we developed a practical, evidence-based toolkit designed to help sporting organisations at every level respond better when gender-based violence is reported.

This new guide translates research and best-practice principles from health, trauma and violence-prevention sectors into the sport context in ways that are easy to understand and implement.

It sets out five core principles for good responses:

• making reporting easy

• having clear and fair policies

• supporting choice and autonomy

• responding with care and respect

• committing to ongoing improvement.

It provides concrete tools such as scripts for responding to disclosures, checklists for organisational readiness and a clear roadmap outlining what a good response looks like from first disclosure through to follow-up and review.

Kirsty Forsdike, Principal Research Fellow and Associate Professor, La Trobe Rural Health School, La Trobe University; Aurélie Pankowiak, Research Fellow, Institute for Health and Sport, Victoria University; Mary Woessner, Associate professor, Victoria University; Natalie Galea, Senior Research Fellow, University of Sydney, and Samantha Marshall, PhD Candidate, La Trobe University

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

Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi has delivered her Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) a landslide victory in the parliamentary elections she called shortly after taking office.

Now that she has consolidated her power in Japan’s legislature (called the Diet), the big question is what she will do with it.

Since her ascent to the prime ministership in a parliamentary vote in October, the ultra conservative Takaichi has upended the normally staid Japanese political system.

She has connected with younger voters like no other Japanese leader in recent history with her savvy social media presence, iconic fashion sense and diplomatic flair. (In a literal rock-star moment, she showed off her drumming skills in a jam session with South Korea’s leader.)

Takaichi has cannily taken advantage of the honeymoon phase of her leadership by calling a snap election to gain more power in the Diet before there’s a dip in her popularity.

However, voters will now expect to see a return on their investment, and Takaichi faces the much more daunting task of delivering on her promises. Improving living standards in a country with a rapidly shrinking workforce and ageing population without mass immigration will test her political skills much more than winning an election.

An unlikely election victory

Although Takaichi’s LDP has been in government for most of Japan’s post-war history, it has recently experienced a string of poor election results.

In 2024, it lost the lower house majority it held with its then-coalition partner, Komeito, after a series of corruption scandals. Then, last year, the coalition lost its majority in the upper house, leaving the government hanging by a thread.

The party began its remarkable turnaround following then-Prime Minister Shigeru Ishiba’s resignation in September in the wake of those electoral setbacks.

Many pre-election polls predicted a sizeable victory for the LDP and its new coalition partner, Nippon Ishin (the Japan Innovation Party). Takaichi also received a boost with an endorsement from US President Donald Trump. Although the Japanese public views Trump unfavourably, they also know the US is their ultimate security guarantor against China, in addition to Japan’s largest export destination.

Nevertheless, there were some doubts about whether Takaichi’s popularity, particularly among younger voters, would translate into votes.

In the end, her electoral gold dust rubbed off on the rest of her party. Despite freezing temperatures and record snow in places, the LDP has been comfortably returned to office with a vastly increased majority in the lower house. The coalition now has a two-thirds super-majority, which means she can override the upper house to push through her legislative agenda.

A more assertive posture on China?

Since becoming prime minister, the hawkish Takaichi has taken an assertive position towards China.

In November, she angered Beijing by saying Japan could intervene militarily to help protect Taiwan in the face of a potential Chinese invasion. This resulted in vicious Chinese attacks on Takaichi that continued into the new year.

While the Japanese public is divided over whether to come to Taiwan’s aid in any conflict with China, there is now strong support for Takaichi’s pledge to increase the defence budget to 2% of GDP by this March, two years ahead of schedule.

In December, the Cabinet approved a 9.4% increase in defence spending to achieve this objective, focusing on domestic production and advanced capabilities (cyber, space, long-range strikes).

In response to rising threats from China, North Korea and Russia, Takaichi’s government also plans to revise Japan’s core security and defence strategies this year.

Economic woes front and centre

As much as defence matters, Takaichi will ultimately be judged by the public when it comes to economic policy.

The public is increasingly concerned about rising inflation and stagnant wages leading to falling living standards.

A vivid illustration of this: the price of rice has doubled since 2024, hitting a new high last month. Public anger over rising rice prices even brought down the farm minister last year.

Inflation has been above the Bank of Japan’s 2% target for 45 straight months. And though nominal wages have recently picked up, real incomes have been decreasing for the last four years.

Takaichi has made tackling the cost of living a priority. She has vowed to suspend Japan’s 8% food tax for two years. And last year, her government announced a massive US$135 billion (A$192 billion) stimulus package, including subsidies for electricity and gas bills.

However, these policies will increase the government’s budget deficit, adding to the country’s already sky-high public debt levels.

And last month, Japanese government bond prices collapsed after Takaichi called the election, with the markets predicting a LDP win would result in looser fiscal policy and higher government debt.

The Bank of Japan is unlikely to intervene to support the bond market in any future crisis, which will leave the government with higher borrowing costs, further increasing public debt.

Japan also faces enormous challenges related to its shrinking population and workforce.

It is too early to know whether Takaichi has the answers to these challenges. But she now has the power, authority and freedom to boldly pursue her policy agenda. Now she will need to deliver the kind of change the electorate expects.

Adam Simpson, Senior Lecturer in International Studies in the School of Society and Culture, Adelaide University

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

Tyres stick to hot asphalt as I drive the Stuart Highway from Alice Springs northward, leaving the MacDonnell Ranges behind. My destination is the Warramunga facility, about 500 kilometres north – a remote monitoring station I’ve directed for the Australian National University for nearly 19 years, and one of the most sensitive nuclear detection facilities on Earth.

When I started exploring Earth’s inner core in 1997, I had no idea my calling would lead me here, or that I’d spend years driving this highway through the red expanse of the Australian outback.

And today, as the New START treaty curbing the US and Russian nuclear weapons programs expires, the work we do in the red centre has become more important than ever before.

A giant telescope pointed at Earth’s centre

Located 37km southeast of Tennant Creek – or Jurnkkurakurr, as it’s known in the local Warumungu language – Warramunga consists of what might generously be called a demountable building, surrounded by sensors lined up across 20km of savannah, covered by red soil and long, white spinifex grass.

The facility operates two sophisticated arrays. One consists of 24 seismometers detecting vibrations through Earth, the other eight infrasound sensors picking up ultra-low-frequency sound waves inaudible to human ears.

When North Korea detonated its largest nuclear device in September 2017 – about 7,000km away – our instruments captured it clearly. Warramunga detected all six of North Korea’s declared nuclear tests, and our data was among the first to reach the International Data Centre in Vienna.

The geological stability and remoteness mean we detect events that might be masked elsewhere. When a wild brumby gallops past our sensors, we pick it up. When a nuclear bomb is tested on the other side of the world, we definitely know about it. We can distinguish it from an earthquake because of the different kinds of vibrations it produces.

Warramunga detects more seismic events than any other station in the global network. With multiple instruments in a carefully designed configuration, far from the coast and human activity, you have something like a giant telescope pointed at the centre of Earth.

An unusual partnership

Warramunga’s story began in 1965 when Australia and the United Kingdom jointly established it for nuclear test detection during the Cold War. In 1999, it was upgraded and later certified as a primary station in the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty Organization’s International Monitoring System.

The CTBTO, headquartered in Vienna, operates a global network of more than 300 facilities designed to detect any nuclear explosion anywhere on Earth. Australia hosts 21 of these facilities – the third-largest number globally.

But Warramunga is unique. It’s operated by a university on behalf of both the CTBTO and the Australian government, located on Warumungu Country. The location of sensors was determined in consultation with Traditional Owners to ensure the instruments would not interfere with sacred sites.

The Research School of Earth Sciences at the Australian National University in Canberra has managed Warramunga for more than 50 years, and we still do.

Life at the station

The station requires constant attention. Two dedicated technicians drive from Tennant Creek to the array each morning. By the time they arrive, the Sun is already high above the red land across which the array’s elements and termite mounds are spread.

They keep a careful watch on the world’s earthquakes and explosions, enduring extreme heat, dust, flies, fires, floods, thunderstorms and the occasional visit from wildlife. They ensure data flows continuously via satellite to Vienna.

After one infrastructure reconstruction, we found two large goannas wrapped around a seismometer, having decided to spend their nights in the firm embrace of our equipment. You don’t learn about this kind of challenge in Vienna’s United Nations offices.

From Canberra, I coordinate between the on-site team, the Australian government, and our partners at the CTBTO. At least once a year, I make the drive up the Stuart Highway to Warramunga, checking equipment and discussing challenges with the technicians.

I also meet regularly with colleagues at the United Nations in Vienna. Managing this facility means bridging two worlds: the practical realities of maintaining sensitive equipment in a harsh environment and the international diplomacy of nuclear verification.

Why it matters now

For more than 30 years, the world has observed a de facto moratorium on nuclear explosive testing. The last US test was in 1992. Russia’s was in 1990.

This norm has been crucial in limiting nuclear weapons development. Verification systems such as Warramunga make this possible, because would-be violators know any significant nuclear explosion will be detected.

But this system faces its greatest challenge in decades. In October 2025, President Donald Trump announced the United States would begin testing nuclear weapons “on an equal basis” with Russia and China.

Days later, President Vladimir Putin directed Russian officials to prepare for possible nuclear tests. If this moratorium collapses, it opens the door to a new era of nuclear arms racing.

This is when verification becomes most crucial. The CTBTO’s network doesn’t just detect violations – its existence deters them. If the world knows a country has carried out a nuclear test and tried (but failed) to hide it, the testing country will face political consequences.

A hidden contribution

Warramunga’s data also helps researchers understand earthquakes, study Earth’s deep interior, such as the solid inner core, and track phenomena from meteorite impacts to Morning Glory clouds – extraordinary atmospheric waves travelling 1,400km from Cape York, first scientifically documented with Warramunga’s infrasonic array in the 1970s.

What strikes me after nearly two decades is how this unique partnership represents a remarkable example of academic institutions contributing directly to global security.

Few people realise that a university research school operates one of the world’s most crucial nuclear verification facilities. It’s an arrangement that brings together fundamental scientific research with practical obligations under international treaties – a model for how researchers can engage with pressing global challenges.

As nuclear rhetoric intensifies globally, the quiet technical work in the Australian outback gains new significance. Nuclear test monitoring is essential to deter would-be nuclear nations – and that’s a mission worth maintaining, even from the remote red centre of Australia.

Hrvoje Tkalčić, Professor, Head of Geophysics, Director of Warramunga Array, Australian National University

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

News the world’s first independent health promotion agency – Australia’s own VicHealth – is to be abolished has been called “incomprehensible” and “a disaster” that places democracy at risk.

VicHealth is the agency that’s been behind successful quit smoking and skin cancer campaigns, among others.

Then came the push – including from experts in public health, and political parties – to save the almost-40 year-old agency.

The Victorian government has said absorbing VicHealth into the state’s health department is needed to help repair the budget. But, from an economic perspective, this looks like a bad call.

We receive funding from VicHealth, or have done so in the past.

Here’s why health promotion is worth more than every dollar invested.

Prevention is better than cure

Health promotion involves empowering people and communities to make healthier choices and create supportive environments. It aims to address the broad drivers of health, reduce inequities and improve overall wellbeing. One key aim is to prevent disease from arising in the first place.

In Australia, more than one-third of our total disease burden is preventable. Modifiable risk factors such as overweight and obesity, tobacco use and poor diets cost the health system A$38 billion dollars each year.

Preventable chronic (long-term) illness also reduces workforce productivity. This creates a substantial economic burden well beyond health.

Given these health and economic costs, there’s a strong case for governments to invest more in preventing disease.

This is already recognised in the National Preventive Health Strategy 2021–2030, which recommends increasing spending on health promotion and disease prevention to 5% of the health budget. Currently it accounts for less than 2%.

There is clear evidence prevention can deliver a strong return on investment.

For example, we analysed 16 obesity prevention initiatives and found 11 policies would likely deliver substantial health gains while also saving long-term health-care costs.

Such policies include sugary drink taxes and restrictions on marketing of unhealthy foods.

Broader research shows health promotion initiatives demonstrate returns of around $2.20 for every dollar spent.

Back to VicHealth

VicHealth was initially funded through tobacco tax revenue. It started out with a focus on reducing smoking rates, and famously bought out tobacco sponsorship in sports and the arts.

Over the years, the agency has funded landmark prevention efforts such as Quit and SunSmart. More recently, it has partnered with communities and organisations to also address unhealthy diets, physical inactivity and alcohol use.

Today, VicHealth takes a broader perspective to health promotion. This approach recognises that individual risk factors are shaped by the commercial and economic systems in which we live. The focus is on health and equity being prioritised alongside economic prosperity.

Evaluations of programs that were initially supported by VicHealth clearly demonstrate the agency’s value. For example, Quitline in Victoria produces a return of $1.24 for every dollar spent (calculated from values in this economic evaluation).

Victorian investment in SunSmart has achieved a return of $2.22 per dollar. When productivity was taken into account, the SunSmart program was estimated to prevent $713 million in productivity losses in 1988–2011.

The scale of the potential benefits of VicHealth supported initiatives outweighs its relatively modest annual budget of about $47 million.

It can take time for prevention efforts to pay off

Despite the great potential for prevention initiatives to improve health and save money, Australian governments have consistently under-invested in them.

One big reason comes down to timing of costs and benefits. Prevention requires upfront investment while the benefits may only be realised many years later.

One study estimated an initial investment of $1.2 billion (inflated to 2024 values) and total spending of $7.6 billion would be required to implement 23 of the most cost-effective prevention initiatives.

These initiatives included a wide range of measures such as cancer screening programs, vaccinations and education campaigns.

Importantly, the study showed these interventions could avoid over $19 billion (in 2024 values) in health-care spending.

Short-term budget cycles can make it hard for government to commit to these high-value interventions.

This is a key reason why independent health promotion agencies, such as VicHealth, are typically better placed to ensure sustained and stable funding for programs and initiatives that deliver longer-term health and economic returns.

Disease prevention is political, and goes beyond health

Australian governments have previously made bold attempts at investing in prevention.

The Australian National Preventive Health Agency was established to oversee an $872 million investment to address modifiable risk factors for disease. However, a change in government more than a decade ago resulted in the withdrawal of this funding and dismantling of the agency.

So we need an independent body that operates at arms length to government if we are to focus on best practice prevention initiatives, without the impact of changes in governments and their shifting priorities.

The Victorian government has proposed to integrate VicHealth’s prevention activities within the state’s health department. But many prevention initiatives operate outside the health sector.

For example, school-based initiatives and community-led campaigns typically include involvement from multiple government departments, local councils, as well as community and commercial organisations.

So an independent health promotion agency, such as VicHealth, is ideally placed to lead these collaborations across sectors.

The urgent need to focus on prevention

Australia’s spending on health and aged care is set to soar, rising from 6.2% of GDP in 2022–23 to 10.8% by 2062–63.

The Productivity Commission has flagged the fiscal pressures this will create. Among its recommendations are supporting disease prevention and early intervention, with an independent advisory board and a dedicated prevention fund.

At a time when independent, well-funded prevention efforts are being recommended, disinvesting a world-leading health promotion agency makes little economic sense.

Jaithri Ananthapavan, Associate Professor in Health Economics, Deakin University; Gary Sacks, Professor of Public Health Policy, Deakin University, and Vicki Brown, Research Fellow, Deakin Health Economics, Deakin University

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

Some of us remember having more energy in our 20s. We could work late, sleep badly, have a night out, recover quickly and still feel capable the next day. By our 40s, that ease has often gone. Fatigue feels harder to shake. It’s tempting to assume this is simply the ageing process – a one‑way decline.

The truth is that the 40s are often the most exhausting decade, not because we are old, but because several small biological changes converge at exactly the same time that life’s demands often peak. Crucially, and optimistically, there is no reason to assume that energy must continue to decline in the same way into our 60s.

Energetic 20s

In early adulthood, multiple systems peak together.

Muscle mass is at its highest, even without deliberate training. As a metabolically active tissue, muscle helps regulate blood sugar and reduces the effort required for everyday tasks. Research shows that skeletal muscle is metabolically active even at rest and contributes substantially to basal metabolic rate (the energy your body uses just to keep you alive when you’re at rest). When you have more muscle, everything costs less energy.

At the cellular level, mitochondria – the structures that convert food into usable energy – are more numerous and more efficient. They produce energy with less waste and less inflammatory byproduct.

Sleep, too, is deeper. Even when sleep is shortened, the brain produces more slow‑wave sleep, the phase most strongly linked to physical restoration.

Hormonal rhythms are also more stable. Cortisol, often described as the body’s stress hormone, melatonin, growth hormone and sex hormones follow predictable daily patterns, making energy more reliable across the day.

Put simply, energy in your 20s is abundant and forgiving. You can mistreat it and still get away with it.

Exhausting 40s

By midlife, none of these systems has collapsed, but small shifts start to matter.

Muscle mass begins to decline from the late 30s onwards unless you exercise to maintain it. This in itself is a top tip – do strength training. The loss of muscle is gradual, but its effects are not. Less muscle means everyday movement costs more energy, even if you don’t consciously notice it.

Mitochondria still produce energy, but less efficiently. In your 20s, poor sleep or stress could be buffered. In your 40s, inefficiency is exposed. Recovery becomes more “expensive”.

Sleep also changes. Many people still get enough hours, but sleep fragments. Less deep sleep means less repair. Fatigue feels cumulative rather than episodic.

Hormones don’t disappear in midlife – they fluctuate, particularly in women. Variability, not deficiency, disrupts temperature regulation, sleep timing and energy rhythms. The body copes better with low levels than with unpredictable ones.

Then there is the brain. Midlife is a period of maximum cognitive and emotional load: leadership, responsibility, vigilance and caring roles. The prefrontal cortex – responsible for planning, making decisions and inhibition – works harder for the same output. Mental multitasking drains energy as effectively as physical labour.

This is why the 40s feel so punishing. Biological efficiency is beginning to shift at exactly the moment when demand is highest.

Hopeful 60s

Later life is often imagined as a continuation of midlife decline; however, many people report something different.

Hormonal systems often stabilise after periods of transition. Life roles may simplify. Cognitive load can reduce. Experience replaces constant active decision‑making.

Sleep doesn’t automatically worsen with age. When stress is lower and routines are protected, sleep efficiency can improve – even if total sleep time is shorter.

Crucially, muscle and mitochondria still adapt surprisingly well into later life. Strength training in people in their 60s, 70s and beyond can restore strength, improve metabolic health and increase subjective energy within months.

This doesn’t mean later life brings boundless energy, but it often brings something else: predictability.

Good news?

Across adulthood, energy shifts in character rather than simply declining. The mistake we make is assuming that feeling tired in midlife reflects a personal failing, or that it marks the start of an unavoidable decline. Anatomically, it is neither.

Midlife fatigue is best understood as a mismatch between biology and demand: small shifts in efficiency occurring at precisely the point when cognitive, emotional and practical loads are at their highest.

The hopeful message is not that we can reclaim our 20-year-old selves. Rather, it is that energy in later life remains highly modifiable, and that the exhaustion so characteristic of the 40s is not the endpoint of the story. Fatigue at this stage is not a warning of inevitable decline; it is a signal that the rules have changed.

Michelle Spear, Professor of Anatomy, University of Bristol

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

The number of young people in Australia prescribed medication for attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) increased more that tenfold in 20 years, our new research shows, while it is no longer most prevalent in poorer areas.

Children living in the lowest socioeconomic postcodes used to have the highest rates of ADHD prescriptions. But this has flipped, with kids from wealthier families now most likely to be prescribed.

So does this mean ADHD prescription depends on how much your parents earn?

Not quite. Overall, the variation in prescription levels has narrowed around the national average over the last 20 years. But there is a stark difference between the most and least wealthy postcodes.

What is ADHD?

ADHD is the most commonly diagnosed disorder among Australian children. While symptoms vary from person to person, it’s associated with hyperactive and/or inattentive behaviours that cause challenges at home, school or work.

The most common approved treatment for ADHD is psychostimulant drugs.

What we studied

Our research team went back through two decades of national data from 2003 to 2022. We looked at official prescription records from Australia’s Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme (PBS), which subsidises medication.

We wanted to find out how prescription rates change and differ between states and territories. We also wanted to know whether living in a wealthy or disadvantaged postcode plays a role in accessing prescription.

To look at ADHD prescriptions by postcode, we used an established way of comparing postcodes by calculating something called a “standardised medication ratio”.

If a postcode had the national average rate of prescriptions, its score was 1.0. Higher than one means more prescriptions than average, lower means fewer.

What we found

Between 2003 and 2022, the number of children aged 5–17 on ADHD medication increased from 20,147 people (0.5% of the youth population) in 2003 to 246,021 young people (or 4.2%) in 2022.

The biggest jump was in 2020 and 2021 during the COVID pandemic, when prescriptions spiked, especially for older teens (15–17 years), up by 2.1 percentage points from 3.1% in 2020 to 5.2% in 2022.

Lockdowns seem to have pushed more families to get help or at least start paying more attention to neurodivergence and learning issues.

Back in the 1990s, your chances of getting ADHD medication really depended on where you lived or how much your parents earned.

Some states, such as Queensland and Western Australia, were prescribing more than others. As our data shows, rates were higher still in Western Australia and Tasmania in 2003.

When standardising for populations (adjusting for the number of children living in a postcode), we can see how this trend varied by state and territory over the 20 years.

Over time the differences have narrowed.

This suggests clinicians are becoming more consistent in how they diagnose and treat ADHD. This is largely the result of the efforts to standardise best practices across the nation and remove the big variations of 20 years ago.

As some states and territories expand prescription to GPs, robust training and standardisation will be vital to avoid some of the past inconsistencies.

So how does wealth come into it?

For a long time in Australia, it was the kids in the most disadvantaged areas who were more likely to be prescribed ADHD medications.

This may have been because behaviour symptoms can stand out more when schools and families have fewer resources to manage them.

But this pattern has flipped. These days, it’s the wealthiest postcodes – the top 10% – where kids are most likely to be prescribed medication.

In 2003, richer areas were least likely to have kids medicated for ADHD, with a ratio of 0.612 (remembering that 1.000 is the national standard). By 2021, they’d climbed all the way to the top with a ratio of 1.245.

At the time, seven of ten deciles had ratios between 0.948 and 1.039, while the lowest 10% of postcodes had a ratio of 0.708.

Why the switch?

It probably has a lot to do with access. Twenty years ago, we did not see today’s level of demand and the health system could largely cover the demand.

Now, getting a diagnosis can take multiple specialist appointments, psychological assessments and possibly months on a waiting list. The poorest families might face longer waits or may not pursue diagnosis and medication at all if it feels out of reach.

However this data shows that, on average, most postcodes now sit close to the national average. So, it’s only the very top and very bottom income groups that have flipped in twenty years.

The limits of the data

It’s important to note a few caveats. The data only includes prescriptions filled in the PBS system. That means prescriptions from the private medical system are not included, which means the trend in the highest postcodes may be even higher.

The study also couldn’t look at the influence of culture or ethnicity, since the data was anonymous.

And while stimulants are mainly prescribed for ADHD, a tiny number are used to treat other conditions (such as narcolepsy).

Diagnostic guidelines have shifted over the years, most notably when guidelines changed to allow diagnosis of ADHD and autism in 2013, but this did not result in a notable jump in prescriptions in our study.

The real growth came steadily over time, then sped up around COVID since 2020.

Importantly, the study didn’t look at how many repeat prescriptions were taken each year or compare individual postcodes to the national rate, so it does not speak to whether ADHD is being overdiagnosed or overmedicated in some postcodes.

What does it all mean?

Our findings show more people are accepting ADHD and getting help. This points to better acceptance of neurodivergence, more consistent care, and a society trying help all its kids thrive in new and changing times.

More standardised practices and consistent care means we’re moving away from the “postcode lottery” effect, where treatment depends too heavily on where you live.

However, the flip in highest diagnosis ratios from the poorest postcodes to the richest means we still need to look closely at access and equity of treatment. 

Brenton Prosser, Partner, Government & Public Sector, Providence / Honorary Fellow, Australian National University and Yogi Vidyattama, Associate Professor, Faculty of Business, Government and Law, University of Canberra

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

The police role as a “thin blue line” between public order and chaos was tested in Sydney’s CBD on Monday night.

Videos have captured the violent clashes between police and some of the thousands of protesters who gathered at the Town Hall to protest the presence of Israeli President Isaac Herzog in Australia.

One video shows a police officer repeatedly punching a man lying prone on the street, his hands pinned behind him.

New South Wales Premier Chris Minns has defended the actions of the police in Sydney, saying they faced an “impossible situation”.

No doubt, there will be investigations into the legality and reasonableness of the police response. But what’s also needed to prevent a repeat of Monday’s violence is a rethink of police training and protocols in NSW that are explicitly based on a respect for human rights, or what policing scholars call “human rights policing”.

‘Major event’ declaration

The NSW government declared Herzog’s visit to be a “major event” under state law. This gave police sweeping powers to issue move-on orders, close specific locations and search people in a designated area of the city. Essentially, it created a protest exclusion zone.

These laws, which exist in many jurisdictions, are typically used to ensure public order during major political and sporting events, such as Queensland’s prototype Major Events Act enacted before the 2014 G20 summit in Brisbane and the 2018 Commonwealth Games on the Gold Coast.

While these acts restrict otherwise lawful peaceful protests, they are limited in both time and place.

In Sydney, the NSW Supreme Court rejected a challenge to the government declaration just minutes before Monday’s protest was due to take place.

This suggested that, in the eyes of the state government and the court, public order and safety outweighed the rights of protesters, in this instance, to march through the CBD as they wished.

But the expanded legal powers of the police in these situations do not render declared public spaces “human rights-free zones”.

And public order was clearly not maintained in Sydney since the situation at Town Hall quickly devolved into violence.

So what went wrong? And how does policing need to change?

How policing in these situations can work

Policing is especially challenging in cases where two or more opposing groups seek to exercise the same rights to protest in the same public space, or the location or size of a protest raises concerns about public safety or potentially interferes with other lawful rights.

The G20 summit and Commonwealth Games in Queensland, both of which took place without significant incidents of disorder, show how this can be successfully done. These events provide a model for human rights policing – what worked well, and why.

My international review of policing the G20 summit and other major events a decade ago, conducted with two leading policing scholars, David Baker and Philip Stenning, was based on extensive empirical research. It identified several important lessons:

1) Police play a key role in upholding human rights. Balancing competing interests requires respectful dialogue between police and protest organisers and other affected community stakeholders before an event takes place

2) Framing police powers expressly within a statutory human rights framework is desirable. However, Queensland police’s own policies, practices and training were key to upholding human rights. As the public safety policy manual stated:

When possible, police will attempt to negotiate with all groups wanting to march or to use a particular space. In managing the use of public space, police will be impartial, and will use their discretion to facilitate the lawful activities of all parties

3) Policing protests also benefits from the presence of independent legal observers. They can assist in clarifying the rights and responsibilities of protesters, and help de-escalate tense situations.

Senior police officials said there had been discussions with the Palestine Action Group before Monday’s protest, in which they encouraged protesters to move to Hyde Park outside the exclusion zone.

However, there is always a risk that dialogue between police and protest organisers ahead of a demonstration does not work as planned. There can be miscommunication, mistrust and unexpected departures from agreed plans and protocol.

Large protests also attract diverse groups of people that organisers have no control over, including those who willingly engage in violent confrontations with police or opposing groups.

That said, allowing time for proper dialogue with protest organisers and community representatives can help anticipate potential flashpoints and identify the points when police will have to intervene. This dialogue can generate better understanding of:

• when police give protesters a reasonable direction to disperse from an area

• what constitutes a “reasonable time” to leave that area

• what legal steps (arrest and removal) might be taken by police against those who refuse to comply

• the range of “reasonable force” police will use to disperse crowds or arrest those who don’t comply.

Reasonable force generally depends on the situation. Above all, physical force and deployment of pepper spray must be consistent with police training and policies, and as with any coercive powers, should be used as a matter of last resort.

What needs to be done?

Proportionate and accountable policing needs to be founded in a respect for human rights to the maximum extent possible.

But it’s also important to note that human rights are rarely absolute. As a result, a person’s freedom to protest may legitimately be restricted in the interest of public safety and to safeguard the rights of others (such as using or moving freely in public spaces).

So, is human rights policing, then, practical or realistic?

NSW policymakers should examine how policing practice has changed in jurisdictions that have enacted human rights legislation (notably the United Kingdom, ACT, Victoria and Queensland).

These laws delineate when and how people’s rights to engage in peaceful public protest should be protected, and when and how far they can be restricted on public safety grounds.

The NSW government should also prioritise a reconsideration of the Human Rights Bill introduced to parliament late last year.

And learning lessons from the policing of major events in Queensland a decade ago would help move towards a more robust model of human rights policing and prevent a repeat of Monday’s violent disorder.

Simon Bronitt, Professor of Law, University of Sydney

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

The NSW Supreme Court has dismissed a challenge to the extraordinary powers given to police to disrupt protests against Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s visit to Sydney this week.

The decision was handed down late Monday, minutes before a planned protest was scheduled to start through Sydney’s central business district, from Town Hall to Parliament.

Given the urgency of the challenge, Justice Robertson Wright did not hand down reasons.

The decision means protesters attending the demonstration on Monday evening or in the days ahead could be searched by police and face fines of up to $5,500 for not complying with police orders.

What was the case about?

The challenge was brought by the Palestine Action Group in response to the NSW government declaration that Herzog’s visit would qualify as a “major event” under the Major Events Act of 2009.

This declaration is significant because it grants police additional powers to move people on, close specific locations, search people inside a designated area, and issue orders to prevent disruption or risks to public safety.

The declaration zone encompasses the Sydney CBD and stretches out to the eastern suburbs.

It is important to note that Hyde Park was not affected by the order. But the protesters wanted to gather at Town Hall, as Palestine Action Group organiser Josh Lees explained:

We assert our right to protest at Sydney Town Hall because it is the most visible town square that we have in this city for a peaceful assembly and demonstration. We will not be shunted off to some park — out of sight, out of mind — on a dark weeknight. That is not consistent with a genuine right to protest.

The group’s challenge was made on three grounds:

• Herzog’s visit does not constitute an “event” under the relevant legislation
• the designation is unreasonable
• it was made for an “improper purpose” of suppressing a protest.

Determining an ‘event’ under the law

It is important to understand that the designation of the “major event” area for Herzog’s visit was not made by the NSW parliament. Rather, as is usual in these cases, it was made by the tourism minister, Stephen Kamper, under the Major Events Act.

This legislation was aimed at keeping public order during major sporting or music events. Although the act has been used to expand policing powers for large government meetings, such as the 2018 ASEAN–Australia Special Summit, this week’s action is reportedly the first time it has been used solely for the visit of a foreign dignitary.

The act also specifically states that it cannot be used to “declare an industrial or political demonstration or protest to be a major event”. The government’s declaration does not mention protests, however – it declares the major event to be the “Israeli presidential visit”.

The plaintiffs argued the Major Events Act requires the declaration to specify a time, location and who is participating in the “event”.

Although the declaration included a map of the area covered by the declaration and a four-day time period from February 9–12, the plaintiffs argued it lacked precise locations and participants.

This was problematic as it infringed on the public’s fundamental rights of expression and assembly.

Infringing on people’s rights

For various reasons, the plantiffs did not use the implied freedom of political communication as the basis for their challenge.

But they did question the impact on people’s human rights through what is known as the “principle of legality”. Put simply, this principle requires courts to presume that any law passed by the state will not infringe on human rights – unless there are clear words to that effect in the law or it is implied.

The judge, in dismissing the challenge, presumably did not agree with these arguments.

Nor did Justice Wright apparently agree with the plaintiffs’ assertion the declaration was unreasonable and had an improper purpose – to suppress a protest. This would have been difficult to prove, given the minister had cited public order and security concerns in his decision, which could be viewed as a proper purpose.

Broader implications of the ruling

The case raises legal questions about the extent to which a government can restrict protests to a particular area (like Hyde Park) in the name of public order.

In its press release , the government said:

These arrangements are not a ban on protests or marches. People retain the right to express their views lawfully.

On one hand, there is an argument that people should be able to choose where they want to protest to maximise impact.

An argument could also be made that some balance is required between the right to protest and the need to maintain public safety or order. Indeed, during the hearing, Justice Wright suggested the exclusion of Hyde Park from the declaration may have legitimately achieved this balance.

This will be relevant to another challenge due to be heard before the NSW Supreme Court on February 26 to the government’s restrictions on protests following a terror attack. This power was given to police in legislation passed immediately after the Bondi terror attack in December.

Given protests will continue to occur in all states in the face of restrictions like these, it will become increasingly important for the courts to clarify this question about how to find the right balance and ensure freedom of expression is not curtailed.

Maria O'Sullivan, Associate Professor of Law, Member of Deakin Cyber and the Centre for Law as Protection, Deakin University, Deakin University

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

As the US Department of Justice published 3.5 million pages of the Epstein files, deputy US attorney Todd Blanche indicated that the deluge of documents wouldn’t lead to additional criminal charges. Victims want “to be made whole”, he said, but that “doesn’t mean we can just create evidence or that we can just kind of come up with a case that isn’t there”.

Given the scale of the revelations, and the fact that millions of files haven’t been released, that statement seems incredible. But beyond this, survivors of Jeffrey Epstein’s abuse have come forward for years to tell their stories, and have not received justice.

In an interview in September 2025, six Epstein survivors stated that the Department of Justice had not contacted them in the process of reviewing the files.

Not only have Epstein survivors been shut out from the process, the department revealed the identities and personal information of survivors in the publicly released 3.5 million pages. Survivor Danielle Bensky told news outlets she found her name and personal information in the files. Such an error is gross negligence and incompetence that silences and endangers victims.

Of course, not all people named in the files sexually abused or were complicit in the sexual abuse of girls and young women. But this moment is an echo of how authorities have reacted to Epstein’s survivors for 30 years.

As the political and financial scandals emerge, politicians have called for a “victim-centred” approach. But as people react with shock to the revelations in the files, it’s clear that the voices and experiences of the victims are still being ignored.

Decades of evidence

Survivors of Epstein’s abuse had been speaking out for years before the public became fascinated by Epstein’s crimes and the famous men in his network.

In 1996, Maria Farmer reported to the New York Police Department and the FBI that Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell had violently groped her. She was 25 at the time, and later found out her 16-year-old sister Annie had also been violated by Epstein. The FBI failed to investigate, and abuse of girls continued.

Victims’ rights lawyer Brad Edwards has represented over 200 of Epstein’s survivors. In 2008, Edwards told a federal judge that Epstein might be the “most dangerous sexual predator in US history”.

That same year, Epstein was handed a sweetheart deal of being charged with solicitation of prostitution only, instead of child sexual abuse or trafficking. This resulted in a 13-month stint at a minimum security facility, which he left 12 hours per day on most days to “work” at his foundation. He was required to register as a sex offender, though not tried as one.

In Florida, child sexual abuse cases can recommend up to life imprisonment for guilty convictions. Human sex trafficking in Florida can result in up to 30 years imprisonment. Of course, convictions can be complicated – but both child sexual abuse and human sex trafficking are serious crimes associated with extended prison sentences.

The latest files showed that many powerful people in Epstein’s network – Peter Mandelson, for example – were not deterred by him registering as a sex offender in 2008.

At the time, the New York Times headlined its story “Financier Starts Sentence in Prostitution Case”. While factually correct, such an approach arguably downplayed Epstein’s sexual abuse of girls and young women.

Few journalists were courageous enough to explicitly name Epstein’s crimes for what they were. One exception was a 2006 opinion piece by journalist Eliza Cramer of The Palm Beach Post, who wrote: “He was over 50. And they were girls. 14, 15, 16, 17-year-old-girls. That should count for something – the difference between prostitution and pedophilia.”

By 2009, at least a dozen civil lawsuits had been filed against Epstein. In 2010, flight logs obtained through the suits showed several high-powered men, including politicians, celebrities, academics and CEOs, flying on Epstein’s jets.

Justice denied

It took another nine years and many more civil suits before Epstein was arrested on July 6 2019 for sex trafficking and sex trafficking conspiracy. He faced up to 45 years in prison if convicted.

Survivors again came forward publicly to tell their stories, like Courtney Wild, Virginia Roberts Giuffre and Jennifer Araoz, who were 14 and 15 when first recruited to “massage” Epstein. All three came from difficult backgrounds, and all three claimed to have eventually been raped by Epstein. They were adults by the time they finally saw their abuser behind bars.

Survivors were denied justice once again when Epstein was found dead in his jail cell in August 2019. But that didn’t stop them from speaking out in 2021 during Ghislaine Maxwell’s trial, which ended in a 20-year sentence for sex trafficking girls.

The fallout from the latest revelations has again put survivors secondary to the actions of powerful men. Mandelson, who maintained a friendship with Epstein after his 2008 conviction, initially declined to apologise to Epstein’s victims and distance himself from any knowledge of the financier’s sex crimes.

Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, who in 2022 settled a civil sexual assault case from Giuffre without an admission of liability, has only in the last few months lost his royal titles. And only with this latest batch of revelations has finally left his royal residence.

Giuffre’s memoir was released October 2025, months after she died. A line in her book sums up our responsibility to stop ignoring the survivors: “I know this is a lot to take in. The violence. The neglect. The bad decisions. The self-harm. Imagine if a trauma reel like this played in your head all the time, as it does mine … but please don’t stop reading.”

The sexual abuse and sex trafficking of girls and young women detailed by the survivors is harrowing. Removing a few titles or losing a job will never be adequate justice for the crimes committed, nor for the sidelining of victims for so many years.

Lindsey Blumell, Lecturer in Journalism, City St George's, University of London

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

Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto waited decades for his chance to lead the country. The controversial former general finally won the office on his third attempt in a 2024 landslide election.

Since then, Prabowo has wasted little time moving against Indonesia’s fragile democracy, accelerating a process that began under his predecessor, Joko “Jokowi” Widodo.

As Australia and Indonesia grow closer, this matters. The two neighbours agreed on an important bilateral security treaty in November, and it is expected to be formally signed in the coming days during Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s trip to Indonesia.

Yet, the countries seem to be moving further apart when it comes to freedom of speech and respect for civil society. This could complicate matters for Albanese, particularly as Prabowo ramps up his crackdown on critics of his administration.

Distaste for democracy

Indonesia’s vulnerable democratic system has been under repeated attack from government for most of the last decade. Under the administrations of Widodo and now Prabowo, a laundry list of actions have been taken to chip away at it. To name just a few:

• the independence of the once-feared anti-corruption commission (KPK) has been profoundly compromised

• blatant efforts have been made to stack the Constitutional Court

• the army has been invited back into civil administration, with laws passed to make it possible

• nepotistic appointments have been made to high public offices, including ministries, the central bank, the courts and even the vice presidency

• unconstitutional laws prohibiting criticism of the government have been reinstated

• laws have passed allowing the government to ban civil society organisations without judicial intervention

• a new proposal has been made to end direct elections of local government heads.

Many predicted these events. Prabowo has never made secret his distaste for democracy and enthusiasm for the authoritarian New Order regime of Soeharto, his former father-in-law.

In fact, Gerindra, Prabowo’s political party, still has as its No. 1 objective reinstating the old constitution under which Soeharto ruled. This would mean dumping most of the key democratic reforms of the past 30 years.

But recent developments suggest the dismantling of democratic freedoms is speeding up. Prabowo seems to be using the Soeharto playbook to move against those who oppose what he is doing – mainly pro-democracy activists.

Increasing attacks on critics

It’s not hard to understand why. Prabowo’s grand ruling coalition now includes almost every party in the legislature – all of them right or centre-right – and political discourse rarely involves detailed policy debates.

This means civil society – in particular, Indonesia’s tiny but vibrant activist community – has become the only real source of opposition.

After Soeharto’s fall, activist NGOs emerged as key drivers of reform, progressive policy and government monitoring in Indonesia. At times, they partnered with government to deliver new policy initiatives. But under Jokowi, NGOs also led massive demonstrations against regressive policies.

Now, Prabowo’s administration has identified them as the enemy.

In August, huge protests broke out after politicians voted to give themselves extravagant allowances. A brutal police response then triggered wild violence against authorities across the archipelago. These riots shook the ruling elite to the core.

In response, the government came down heavily on civil society activists. It blamed them for the riots, even though they were mostly a spontaneous popular response to abusive actions by the authorites. Prabowo, however, said activists were engaging in “treason and terrorism”.

Thousands were arrested and, detainees claim, some were tortured. Hundreds now face trial for subversion and incitement. This has tied up the small activist groups working frantically to defend their colleagues.

Prabowo has also used the Soeharto-era approach of associating his critics with shadowy foreign enemies. He has railed against “foreign intervention” he says is intended to “divide the country”. He claims there are “foreign lackeys” backed by foreign powers “that do not want to see Indonesia prosper”.

Last year, Prabowo even accused the highly-respected news outlet Tempo of being a foreign stooge because it won a grant from the Media Development Investment Fund, a not-for-profit linked to George Soros.

This week, he claimed to have unspecified proof that foreign forces were behind the August riots.

A draconian new law against ‘foreign propaganda’

“Let the dogs bark,” Prabowo told a press conference last March in response to his critics. “We will keep moving forward. We are on the right path”.

But, in reality, Prabowo is determined to stop the barking. His government has now proposed a law against disinformation and foreign propaganda that could revive Soeharto-era media controls and censorship.

A so-called “academic draft” putting forth the rationale for the law says Indonesia needs “a comprehensive and integrated legal instrument to prevent, detect, and counter disinformation and foreign propaganda”. It alleges that disinformation and foreign propaganda is being “powered by social media, artificial intelligence and transnational networks” of malicious actors.

If this law is passed in the form the draft suggests, it could be used to ramp up the government’s crackdown on civil society groups. Activists and journalists could potentially be charged with offences of spreading “foreign propaganda”.

The draft also proposes restricting “foreign capital” to stop the threat posed by so-called foreign agents.

Many civil society groups in Indonesia are affiliated with international NGOs, such as Amnesty and Transparency. Many others receive funding from overseas aid organisations, including Australia’s, or private philanthropists. Most depend on these streams of income to pay wages and day-to-day expenses. They would collapse without this funding.

It’s not clear what exactly “foreign capital restrictions” means. But it could cast a wide net over all activist groups, as well as foreign organisations working in Indonesia that have an online presence.

Indonesians targeted in Australia

But the net may reach even further than this. The draft suggests the law would apply across borders. This could effectively target government critics based overseas, including in Australia.

Despite the dramatic decline in Indonesian studies in our schools and universities, Australia is still a major global centre for research on Indonesia. Indonesian critics of different regimes in Jakarta have sought sanctuary in Australia over the decades, and many thousands of Indonesians have studied here.

Australia is also home to a small but active Indonesian diaspora community. In August, they held their own demonstrations in cities across Australia in support of the protests in Indonesia.

As Prabowo’s administration moves Indonesia closer to becoming a “new New Order”, where opposition is routinely met with repression and censorship prevails, Australia’s role as a hub for open dialogue, free speech, analysis and criticism of Indonesia will become even more important.

We can be sure this will be no more welcome in Prabowo’s Indonesia than it was under Soeharto. Then, Australian academics and journalists were often denied entry and critical articles sometimes led to a freeze in diplomatic relations.

Today, however, the Indonesian government has coercive digital capabilities, which it can deploy against its critics in the diaspora. To make matters worse, Australia and Indonesia have an active extradition agreement. Theoretically, it might be deployed against Indonesians in Australia who have fallen afoul of the proposed disinformation and foreign propaganda law.

Indonesia is the dominant economic and political force in Southeast Asia, and an emerging global player. It is crucial to Australia’s defence strategies and an important partner on immigration, trade and education.

This means Canberra must have a good working relationship with Jakarta. Agreements about trade and defence are part of that, as is the constant flow of ministerial visits between the two countries.

But all that will become way more difficult to manage if this xenophobic new law is passed and used to stifle free speech and target legitimate criticism of the government.

Tim Lindsey, Malcolm Smith Professor of Asian Law and Director of the Centre for Indonesian Law, Islam and Society, The University of Melbourne

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

The start of the year often comes with attempts at big life changes that we’re hoping will make us feel more grounded, fulfilled or in control. Maybe you’ve decided it’s time to change careers, move overseas or run a marathon.

But lasting meaning rarely comes from dramatic reinvention. It’s shaped by what we do, consistently. Behavioural science tells us meaning is constructed one reinforcing action at a time.

In other words, meaning isn’t something you discover after a long search. It’s something you build, one small, worthwhile action after the other.

So how exactly does all this work? And what types of worthwhile actions are we talking about?

The meaning of meaning

In psychology, “meaning” refers to the sense that life is coherent, purposeful and connected to what you care about.

People who experience more meaning tend to report better wellbeing, lower stress and depression, and greater resilience when life becomes difficult.

When meaning is low, people can feel unanchored or adrift, even if nothing is going objectively “wrong”.

Life tends to feel meaningful when we spend time doing things that matter to us and that offer some sense of reward. This is not necessarily excitement, but a quiet feeling of “that was worth doing”. Helping a friend, learning something small, progressing a task, or sharing a moment of connection can all leave us more grounded and alive.

These experiences are examples of positive reinforcement – behaviours that give something back, such as energy, pride, satisfaction or connection. Over time, these small rewards strengthen the patterns that help life feel purposeful.

By contrast, when we mainly act to avoid discomfort – cancel plans, withdraw when anxious or overwhelmed, delay tasks that matter – we get a moment of relief, but lose access to the experiences that enrich life.

A more helpful pattern is to take small steps even when motivation is low. Sending the message, starting the job or stepping outside are small beginnings that often spark the satisfaction or hope we were waiting for.

Why one-off boosts don’t last

The hedonic treadmill helps explain why one-off, feel-good moments rarely create lasting meaning. Psychologists use this term to describe our tendency to quickly return to our usual emotional baseline after positive events.

We adapt quickly to pleasurable things and events: buying something new, ticking off a goal, going on a short holiday. A burnt-out worker might feel better after a weekend away, but the effect fades as soon as Monday returns.

Special moments are still valuable. They create memories and punctuate the year. But they don’t change our lives unless paired with small, consistent shifts in everyday routines, setting boundaries, and the ways we invest in our relationships.

Meaning depends on diverse sources

Wellbeing is more stable when supported by a range of small, ongoing sources of reinforcement. If all your sense of purpose rests on work, one relationship, or a single pursuit – like sport – then stress in that single area can shake your wellbeing.

But when meaning draws on several domains – friendships, learning, creativity, physical activity, contribution, family, nature, spirituality – you have more points of stability.

The encouraging part is meaning doesn’t depend on perfect motivation or major life changes. It’s shaped by small behaviours you can start at any time.

So what actually works?

These three research-backed steps can help build more meaning into your life.

1. Look back before moving forward

Before setting goals, reflect on the previous year. Ask:

• what am I proud of or grateful for?

• what lifted my energy or sense of purpose?

• what drained it?

• what did I avoid that actually mattered?

This helps you recognise which behaviours, relationships and routines quietly sustained you, and where your portfolio may have become too narrow.

2. Pick two or three areas that matter to you

Meaningful change rarely comes from grand resolutions. A steadier approach is to choose two or three life areas that matter – improving health, deepening a relationship, learning something new, contributing to community life, or strengthening parenting routines – and identify one small, realistic action in each. The aim isn’t to overhaul everything, but to gently broaden your sources of reward.

Schedule only the first step: a short walk, reading a page, sending a message, writing a paragraph, practising for five minutes. Early on, the greatest achievement is simply starting, no matter how small.

Be kind to yourself. Illness, stress, fatigue and competing demands will disrupt your plans. What matters is returning, gently and repeatedly, to the behaviours that reflect who you want to be.

3. Arrange your environment so the right behaviours are easy

Use cues to help you start. Lay out walking clothes the night before, keep your journal on your pillow, put reminders where you’ll see them.

Reduce friction. Keep essentials in predictable places, move distractions out of sight and maintain a workable space. The goal is to make meaningful behaviour smooth and frustration-free.

Anchor new habits to old ones:

• read a page before your morning coffee

• stretch before checking emails

• journal for three minutes before brushing your teeth.

These pairings shift the burden from willpower onto routine.

Trevor Mazzucchelli, Associate Professor of Clinical Psychology, Curtin University

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

Suicide is the leading cause of death among Australians aged 15 to 49. Approximately one in eight Australians have seriously considered suicide.

These numbers highlight why it’s crucial to understand the different ways suicidal thoughts – also known as suicidal ideation – can show up in everyday conversations.

Researchers once assumed people move along a single continuum from early thoughts to more concrete plans and actions. However, recent research suggests there are substages within this continuum, and people might flip-flop between different types of suicidal thoughts.

Suicidal thoughts can be active or passive. But what’s the difference, and how should we respond when we hear loved ones talking this way?

Passive versus active

Passive suicidal ideation involves thinking about death or not wanting to live, without intention to act and engage in suicidal behaviour.

These thoughts can sound like:

I don’t want to live, but I don’t want to die.

I wish I could fall asleep and never wake up.

My life is not worth living.

I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to be dead.

I wish I could just disappear.

Everyone would be better off if I wasn’t around.

Active thoughts, in contrast, include thoughts about ending one’s life with some degree of intent or planning. These thoughts can sound like:

I’m having thoughts about how I would end my life.

I’m going to kill myself.

But the two categories are not always clear cut.

Researchers have tried to group related questions to reveal core themes of suicidal thinking but have struggled to articulate an exact distinction between passive and active ideation.

Research published in 2023 found some thoughts – such as “I wish I were dead” or “maybe I should kill myself” – may represent both active and passive ideation.

Passive and active thoughts often co-occur and each independently predicts suicide attempts.

Recognising the signs

These thoughts can be difficult to recognise – in yourself, or in a loved one.

People may not openly express them, or may not know how to put these thoughts into words and ask for help.

Regardless of whether thoughts are passive or active, certain patterns suggest increasing risk.

Warning signs include:

• thoughts becoming more frequent or intrusive
• increased hopelessness or despair
• creating plans to end one’s life or preparing to act, and
• engaging in risky behaviour.

There may also be behavioural changes, such as:

• shifts in sleep and eating habits
• withdrawing socially
• losing interest in hobbies
• irritability
• decreased academic or work performance, or
• a person putting their affairs in order.

More than two thirds of people who die by suicide do not engage with mental health professionals in the year prior to their death.

This underlines the crucial role of friends, family and peers.

What should I do if I hear someone talking this way?

First, thank the person for trusting you. Then get curious, listen more than you talk and identify patterns in what they are describing.

Ask about the frequency, intensity and controllability of their thoughts, and whether they are doing anything to prepare to act on them.

Asking about suicide does not put the idea in someone’s head.

Ask questions such as:

How long have you been having these thoughts?

When do these thoughts occur?

How would you rate the intensity of these thoughts?

Do you have a plan to act on these thoughts?

Importantly, passive thoughts are not “safer thoughts.”

They are often a warning sign the person is in significant distress and may move into more active planning if they do not receive support.

Talking about suicidal thoughts can reduce stigma and encourage people to get help.

The National Australian Suicide Prevention Strategy 2025–2035 recognises the importance of a whole-of-community response to suicide prevention, with specific emphasis on laypeople recognising and responding to suicidal distress.

The Black Dog Institute provides a four-step guide for suicide prevention that can help structure your response.

First, directly ask if they are having thoughts of suicide.

Second, listen and take what they are saying seriously, and check their safety to ensure there is nothing they can use to harm themselves.

Third, get help. If someone’s life is in immediate danger, call 000, call a helpline such as Lifeline (13 11 14), or take them to the emergency department; if they are not in immediate danger, help them make an appointment with a GP or psychologist or call a helpline.

Fourth, follow up and check on the person. Let them know you care about them and ask how often would be appropriate to check in with them.

Of course, suicide is complex. Warning signs are not always apparent in the moment. If you have lost someone to suicide, please know you are not responsible for their death. Their decision was shaped by many factors beyond just one person’s control.

No feeling is final

Crisis does eventually pass. While it may not feel possible in the moment, remind the person that things will not stay this way forever and that help is available.

Passive or active, thoughts of suicide are a sign of deep distress.

When we notice and respond with calm curiosity, compassion and practical support, we may help save a life.

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

Maddison Crethar, PhD Candidate, Youth Mental Health, University of the Sunshine Coast and Daniel Hermens, Professor of Youth Mental Health & Neurobiology, University of the Sunshine Coast

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