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You go to hospital for treatment and to get better. But sometimes, you get something much less welcome: an infection.

Pneumonia, an infection of the lungs, is one of the most common and deadly infections people develop in hospital. Around 50,000 patients contract pneumonia in Australian hospitals every year. Around 1,900 of them die from it.

It’s rarely monitored and rarely reported. And to date, few studies have looked at how it can be prevented.

But our new trial, published today in The Lancet Infectious Diseases, shows a surprisingly simple action can make a major difference: brushing patients’ teeth.

We found this can reduce the chance of getting this type of pneumonia, called non-ventilator hospital-acquired pneumonia, by 60%.

What is this type of pneumonia?

Non-ventilator hospital-acquired pneumonia occurs in patients who aren’t on a ventilator, usually outside of intensive care settings.

Patients are infected when bacteria from the mouth or throat are breathed into the lungs.

Patients who develop this type of pneumonia stay in hospital between ten and 48 days longer, and are around eight times more likely to die during their admission.

A simple intervention made a big difference

We studied 8,870 patients across three Australian hospitals to see whether improving oral care – which included tooth-brushing – could reduce this type of pneumonia.

Usually, when patients go to hospital, they don’t pack a toothbrush – especially in emergencies.

In busy hospital wards, oral care isn’t always given the attention it needs, nor are oral care products always readily available. Patients don’t always get reminders to brush their teeth and many patients need help with their oral care.

The intervention in our study was deliberately simple. We:

• gave patients in hospital a toothbrush and toothpaste in a bag when they were admitted

• educated patients and hospital staff about the importance of tooth-brushing. The toothbrush also had a written prompt on it – “Brush away pneumonia”

• assisted patients who needed help with tooth-brushing

• audited how oral care was being delivered and gave feedback to hospital wards.

We introduced the intervention into one ward at a time over 12 months at each hospital. This gradual roll-out is known as a stepped-wedge cluster randomised trial. It can test new health interventions when it’s too difficult to randomise individuals without revealing who is receiving the intervention and who isn’t.

We found that this relatively simple intervention increased the proportion of people who cleaned their teeth from 16% to 62%.

This increasing oral care led to a 60% reduction in the risk of acquiring pneumonia, from the equivalent of eight infections per month on a typical ward of 30 patients, to less than four infections per month.

This is the largest trial of its kind and the first completed across multiple hospitals.

Why does brushing teeth help?

The mouth is home to billions of bacteria. Oral hygiene often deteriorates when people are unwell, sedated, immobile, or taking certain medications.

When this happens, bacteria build up on the teeth, gums and tongue. If these bacteria are breathed in – even in tiny amounts – they can cause pneumonia.

Daily tooth-brushing reduces this bacteria. It’s a simple mechanical action with a powerful protective effect.

Yet in busy hospitals, oral care is often overlooked. Patients may not know just how important oral care is. Staff are often busy with competing priorities and oral care can be de-prioritised. There is also a general lack of understanding about the importance of oral care.

Patients can help protect themselves

One of the most important messages from our research is patients aren’t powerless. While health-care staff such as nurses play a crucial role, patients who are able to brush their own teeth can meaningfully reduce their own risk.

If you or a loved one is admitted to hospital, you can:

• bring your own toothbrush and toothpaste
• brush your teeth twice a day if you’re able
• ask staff for help if you can’t
• remind staff if oral care has been missed.

These small actions can reduce the risk of a serious, life-threatening infection.

What happens next?

Pneumonia is costly – in lives, hospital days and the financial cost of care. But because non-ventilator hospital-acquired pneumonia isn’t routinely reported, it’s often invisible.

Our research challenges the assumption that hospital-acquired pneumonia is an unavoidable complication when you go to hospital.

It also highlights the need for hospitals to monitor non-ventilator hospital-acquired infections, in the same way they monitor falls, pressure injuries and other preventable harms.

Finally, our study strengthens the case for including oral care in national infection-prevention guidelines and nursing practice.

Oral care isn’t glamorous, expensive or technologically advanced – but it works. Sometimes, the simplest interventions are the most powerful.

Brett Mitchell, Professor of Nursing and Health Services Research, University of Newcastle; Allen Cheng, Professor of Infectious Diseases, Monash University; Nicole White, Associate Professor of Statistics, Queensland University of Technology; Peta Ellen Tehan, Senior Lecturer, Monas University, Monash University, and Philip Russo, Professor, Director of Research, Nursing and Midwifery, Monash University

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

Magic mushrooms are better known for producing hallucinations and altering people’s sense of reality than for treating brain diseases. Most people associate them with tripping, rather than Alzheimer’s disease.

But a report on an individual patient has prompted scientists to ask whether psilocybin, the psychedelic compound in magic mushrooms, could have unexpected effects on the ageing brain.

The report describes changes observed in a Japanese-American woman in her 80s with advanced Alzheimer’s disease after she received psilocybin-containing mushrooms. Dementia is a broad term for symptoms that affect memory, thinking and everyday independence. Alzheimer’s disease is its most common cause.

The woman had experienced progressive decline for a decade. For the previous five years, she had largely communicated using single words and relied heavily on others for everyday care. She also had difficulty walking and dressing herself and experienced chronic urinary incontinence.

She received 5g of psilocybin-containing mushrooms. The exact amount of psilocybin is unclear because mushroom potency varies. During the experience, she sweated heavily and entered a prolonged sleep-like state. Around 19 hours later, she began speaking spontaneously and recalling memories from her own life.

Over the following days and weeks, caregivers reported that she seemed more alert, recognised family members, walked more independently, began dressing herself and regained urinary continence. One month later, she received a second supervised session involving 3g of mushrooms and again appeared more expressive and agile.

The case has drawn comparisons with neurologist Oliver Sacks’s 1973 book Awakenings, which described patients who unexpectedly regained lost abilities after treatment with the Parkinson’s drug L-dopa, also known as levodopa. The diseases and drugs are entirely different. Both raise questions about how much function may remain hidden within a damaged brain.

However, the report does not show that psychedelics reverse Alzheimer’s disease.

It involved one person, rather than a controlled clinical trial. Her diagnosis was based on her clinical history, rather than confirmed using biomarkers: biological signs of Alzheimer’s disease that can be detected using tests such as brain scans or analysis of spinal fluid. There was no comparison group and no standardised testing of memory and thinking before and after treatment. Observations were largely based on reports from caregivers and family members.

Alzheimer’s disease involves abnormal proteins, inflammation, damage to connections between brain cells and, ultimately, the death of neurons, or nerve cells. There is no evidence that psilocybin reversed these underlying disease processes.

The authors suggest that psilocybin may temporarily have altered communication between surviving brain networks: groups of brain regions that work together. This could have made some abilities more accessible for a limited period. Because the report did not include brain scans, this remains an untested hypothesis.

Scientists are interested in this possibility partly because of the brain’s ability to adapt.

For much of the 20th century, scientists believed that the adult brain was relatively fixed. It is now known that the brain can reorganise itself throughout life. New connections can form and networks can change in response to experience.

This process, known as neuroplasticity, supports learning, memory and recovery from injury. It generally becomes less efficient with ageing and dementia.

Psilocybin acts mainly through a serotonin receptor called 5-HT2A. Serotonin is a chemical messenger involved in mood, perception and other functions. Receptors are proteins that allow cells to respond to chemical signals.

Studies in animals suggest that psilocybin can encourage the formation of dendritic spines: tiny protrusions on nerve cells that help them communicate. Psychedelics may also affect signalling pathways involving brain-derived neurotrophic factor, or BDNF, a protein involved in maintaining nerve-cell connections.

Brain-imaging studies suggest that psilocybin temporarily changes communication between large-scale brain networks. Some networks become less rigidly separated, while familiar patterns of activity are disrupted.

Over the past decade, clinical trials have produced promising results in depression. Smaller studies have also examined psilocybin-assisted therapy for anxiety and some forms of addiction.

Other research has explored possible anti-inflammatory effects. This is relevant because chronic inflammation is thought to contribute to Alzheimer’s disease and other neurodegenerative disorders: conditions in which nerve cells gradually become damaged or die.

Laboratory and animal research therefore suggests that psychedelics may influence nerve-cell growth, inflammation and brain-network activity. Whether these effects occur in people with Alzheimer’s disease remains unknown.

Separate research at the University of California, Berkeley, is examining how psilocybin affects cognitively healthy adults aged 60 to 85. The study is not testing a dementia treatment. Participants will receive synthetic psilocybin and undergo brain scans and tests of memory and thinking.

There are important reasons for caution.

Psilocybin is not risk-free. Psychedelic experiences can be frightening and disorienting, particularly for vulnerable people. Older adults may face increased risks of falls, heart and circulation problems and interactions with medications.

The woman experienced heavy sweating, suspected high body temperature and a prolonged sleep-like state. The absence of lasting complications does not establish that the approach is safe.

It would be dangerous to interpret the report as a reason to experiment with psychedelic mushrooms outside a closely supervised research or clinical setting.

The case raises a possibility: even after years of severe cognitive decline, some abilities may remain temporarily accessible. Whether psilocybin played a direct role, how it might have done so and whether similar effects could be reproduced in other people remain unknown. Answering those questions will require controlled research.

Rahul Sidhu, PhD Candidate, Neuroscience, University of Sheffield

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

The 2026 FIFA World Cup is one of the most watched events of the international sports calendar, and fans from across the globe will be trying to predict how far their team will go.

I’m a data scientist and in an attempt to forecast the eventual tournament winner, semi-finalists and teams’ chances of progressing through the group stages, I built a model to predict how the World Cup may unfold.

Here’s how I did it and what my model predicted.

Lessons from recent history

For this World Cup, the traditional 32-team tournament structure (eight groups of four) has been expanded to a bulging 48 teams (12 groups of four), with new progression rules, an extra knock-out round and a rise in total matches from 64 to 104.

The changes were designed by FIFA primarily to increase global participation, maximise revenue through more matches and boost the popularity of soccer in new markets.

In trying to predict the 2026 event, what can recent history teach us?

Looking back to the seven 32-team tournaments since 1998, the 28 semi-final spots have been dominated by six nations who reached that stage more than once: Argentina (2), the Netherlands (3), Brazil (3), Croatia (3), France (4) and Germany (4).

If we include previous tournament winners (England, Italy and Spain), 78.6% of the modern semi-finalists have come from nine nations.

Further, all 14 finalists were from this group – the last finalist from outside these nine came in 1962 (Czechoslovakia); the last winner was in 1950 (Uruguay).

This is an amazing degree of dominance given the number of international teams playing the game – official FIFA rankings currently list 211 nations.

More teams at the 2026 event, though, means it is harder to accurately assess the likelihood of tournament results.

For this, we need analytics, and I’ve undertaken a simulation study designed to calculate the progression chances of all 48 teams in the field.

While the obvious outcome of such a study is to assess who the likely winners are, we can also gain insight from how the new format spreads these chances across the teams and how it affects the chances of the top sides raising the trophy.

What did it predict?

Each team’s chances of reaching each round, based on one million simulations, are shown in the below table.

It predicts Australia is a 67.1% chance of getting out of their group, a 31.3% chance of getting past their first knock-out match, but is just a 1.0% chance of making the final and 0.3% chance of winning.

Canada’s chances are quite similar: a 78.9% chance of making out of their group (thanks to being a host nation), a 37.9% chance of getting past their first knock-out but just a 1.0% chance of making the final and 0.3% chance of winning.

New Zealand, on the other hand, has basically no chance of winning and only a 19.5% chance of making it out of their group.

Lastly, while England has the fourth highest overall chance of winning, it is notably lower than the other three favourites. This is at least in part due to their recent drop in rating after a loss to Japan in March.

The only teams with more than 10% chance of winning the trophy are Spain (15.8%), France (15.6%), Argentina (15.3%) and England (11.0%) – all members of the “group of nine” and the current top four rated sides.

But the estimated proportion of semi-final spots taken by these nine nations is 54.2% – notably lower than the historical 78.6%.

Further, the estimated proportion of finalists to come from these nine nations is 63.6%, while there is a 72.6% chance the champion comes from this group, both down from the historical 100% values. Of course, this is partly due to Italy’s failure to make the World Cup.

So, FIFA’s new format does reduce the chances of the historically strong nations progressing far into the tournament but not as much as they may have hoped.

Had FIFA increased the size of the groups to six teams, instead of increasing the number of groups, the new format would have done more to spread the chances – but doing so would have required at least 136 matches.

I would like to thank Dr Chris Bilson and Noah Stern for their help in producing this article. In addition, I would like to thank a very careful reviewer for important comments.

Steven Stern, Professor of Data Science, Bond University

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

If I say the word “hobby”, you’ll likely think of something you like to do in your spare time – gardening, walking, reading, knitting, model kits. Maybe it’s pottery classes, DIY projects or learning something new on YouTube. But what you may not know is many hobbies were originally forms of work that evolved into something to do in our spare time as manufacturing practices changed.

Crafts are one type of hobby that have always been popular. Many, like lacemaking, were originally jobs that women and children did, and some, like tablet weaving, have long histories that can be traced back to the bronze age.

In the UK, the Heritage Association advocates for traditional craft skills and supports makers. One of their roles is to monitor the risk of a craft becoming extinct in the UK through their red list. Many crafts they list are professions; however, there are some that are now thought of as hobbies as well.

Here are three crafts that are at risk of becoming extinct in the UK. Maybe one will pique your interest. If so, why not give it a go – you might even help keep a traditional skill alive.

Hobbies can bring joy, wellbeing and focus to our busy lives, but so many of us don’t have one. If you’re ready to replace scrolling with stitching, or hustle with horticulture, The Hobby Starter Kit (a new series from Quarter Life) will help you get going.

1. Nålbinding

Also called naalbinding, nalebinding and needlebinding, nålbinding is a looping technique used to create textiles without using knots. It’s similar to crochet or knitting but much older. The earliest known example dates back to the Neolithic period, around 5,000 years ago.

Examples of nålbinding have been found all over the world. There are over 200 different types of stitch, often associated with specific places or cultures. Many surviving examples in Britain come from Viking contexts. The Coppergate sock is the most famous. Discovered in York, it dates to around the tenth century.

Nålbinding is still popular in Scandinavia. However, in the UK it is only worked by a small number of enthusiasts. Nålbinding is relaxing craft and a good way of using up left over yarn from other wool crafts. You can make not only socks but hats, gloves, mittens and other accessories, from traditional pieces to modern designs.

If you are interested in learning more, check out the work of nålbinding expert and archaeologist Emma Boast.

2. Lacemaking

Lacemaking, often called bobbin lace to distinguish it from machine lace, requires a pillow, bobbins, thread (normally cotton), a pricking (the pattern) and pins.

The bobbins are worked in pairs and each pair is wound with thread. The pattern is drawn onto card that is pinned onto the pillow. The wound bobbins are hung in a set sequence at the top of the pattern and they are moved, interlacing and knotting the thread in particular ways. Patterns can range from the very simple to hugely complex.

Lace was popular during the 19th century. Queen Victoria was very keen on Honiton lace and had her wedding dress and veil made from it. Because it was handmade, lace was expensive, but this changed with the introduction and development of machine lace, much of which was made in Nottingham.

Bobbin lace is known around the world, but Bruges in Belgium and Malta are perhaps the best-known centres. It is thought to have arrived in the UK in the 16th century from either Flanders or Italy and became a way for women and children to earn money. Over time different techniques developed, many of which used to be practised in specific geographical areas. Honiton lace, for example, was made primarily in the English town in Devon and surrounding area of the same name.

There is also Bucks point and Bedfordshire, known a “midland laces”, which use midland-style bobbins. These have beads (spangles) to weigh them down and can be very elaborate pieces of art in their own right.

Lacemakers may have important celebrations engraved onto specific bobbins and there is much cultural history about otherwise unknown people memorialised in them. However, the technique that most people start with is Torchen, which uses midland bobbins to create geometric patterns.

Today, bobbin lace is championed by The Lace Guild and a small community of enthusiasts, who run workshops and give advice. The Lace Guild also has branches around the country welcoming starters and more experienced lace makers alike. If you are interested in learning more, The Lace Guild is a good place to start. You can also buy starter kits that you can expand as you develop your interest.

3. Straw working

Traditional straw working has been used for centuries. It is a plaiting technique that can make straw toys, accessories such as hats and baskets and straw marquetry – decorative designs used on furniture and objects. Today, straw making is primarily used to make ornaments for thatch roofs, with only 50 professionals and around 100 crafters remaining.

However, there are types of straw work more suitable for crafting. Straw plaiting has regional varieties of plait patterns that can be worked into ribbons, hats, baskets and other decorations. Corn dollies – decorative figures originally called harvest trophies – also have many regional variations that cover shape, size and type of plait or knot.

The Straw Craftsmen group promotes this craft in its many forms. If you are interested in exploring straw making more, their website has blogs, suppliers and other information. If you want to give it a go, independent craft shops sell starter kits and some crafting websites have free online step-by-step instructions.

As a textile archaeologist interested in traditional crafts and material culture, these three endangered hobbies particularly fascinate me. They are also relatively easy to try. Even if none of these become your long-term hobby, trying one might spark a new creative interest – and help keep these traditional skills alive for the future.

Alexandra Makin, Third Century Research Fellow, Manchester Metropolitan University

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

From the air, you see it only through the constant jolt, tilt and shudder of the low-flying Cessna aircraft. The landscape of the Llanos de Moxos, northern Bolivia, appears as a disconnected patchwork of open grassland savannahs, forest islands and lakes.

It feels random, almost unreadable. Only gradually does the pattern resolve itself: raised causeways or paths fanning out to link the forest islands, and a dense, scattered web of canals threading the terrain. Slowly you realise it’s a structured network of intersecting lines, enclosures and roads – the imprint of past human design.

If you stand on the open savannah, there is almost nothing to see of this ancient network. The horizon feels open, with fires in the distance from local people burning pastures and clearing forest as dry season begins. The old geometry is still faintly perceptible, but you have to know how to look.

Step into the patches of forest and the canopy closes in. The earth softens underfoot and mosquitoes descend in relentless swarms. The sweat on your neck thickens into a humid film, carrying the familiar scent of suncream and the sharper, chemical note of DEET.

In the uneven light between the trees, the landscape dissolves into subtle rises and depressions. Against the rhythmic swish of machetes as our guides cut through the vegetation, your mind tries to piece together the fragments of structures into something coherent. Flying overhead doesn’t reveal anything about this forest area in the way that it does with the savannah. But fortunately recent advances in technology have transformed what we are able to see.

Archaeological explorations in this part of the world have been completely changed by lidar in the past couple of decades. Lidar maps an area from a plane or drone by bouncing rapid laser pulses off the Earth’s surface. Some of these pulses penetrate the forest canopy, reach the ground and reflect back to the sensor.

By measuring the return time, the system can generate highly precise three-dimensional models of the terrain. This allows you to strip away the camouflage of vegetation, making it possible to see what lies below the Amazonian forest for the first time.

It reveals the ancient Llanos de Moxos as not simply a collection of settlements, but an entire urbanised landscape. A large part in the south-east of this region belonged to the Casarabe culture, which dominated between around AD500 and 1400. It extends across 20,000km², which is roughly the size of New Jersey in the US.

The Casarabe organised into a hierarchy of four different sizes of settlements (those forest islands mentioned above). The biggest ones – the primary settlements – were as large as 3km² or 300 hectares. That’s enough space for over 400 football pitches, suggesting that they could have accommodated substantial numbers of people.

These settlements connect along the raised causeways to smaller secondary and tertiary sites a number of kilometres away, all of which were permanently inhabited as opposed to empty ceremonial hubs. A fourth tier consists of groups of isolated mounds located out in the pampas, which likely correspond to dwelling areas occupied by farmers who would have worked the fields.

It’s not possible to show a lidar image of these four different types of sites interconnecting because they are too far apart for the resolution available, but the image below of a primary settlement known as Loma Cotoca shows the kinds of things we are now documenting.

It features some very impressive civic-ceremonial architecture: conical pyramids over 20 metres tall and U-shaped structures that may have acted as areas for public gatherings for speeches or ceremonies. These were built on top of man-made platforms rising as much as five metres off the ground and extending over 20 hectares. To be clear, this is all still hiding under the forest, but the lidar data reveals the shape, height and layout of what lies below.

The volume of earth moved to create this architecture would have rivalled – and in some cases exceeded – that of well known Andean monuments such as Akapana a few hundred miles to the south-west on the other side of the Andes. Akapana was the epicentre of the Tiwanaku empire that dominated the southern Andes between about AD600 and 1000.

Yet where monuments like Akapana were surrounded by classic, compact bounded cities with thousands of inhabitants, the Casarabe equivalent was completely different. This was dispersed, low-density living amid extensive green space – a form of tropical urbanism that challenges longstanding assumptions about this area as sparsely populated and only lightly modified. It invites comparison with other low-density tropical urban landscapes such as the Maya in central America and the Angkor in latter day Cambodia.

Equally important is the coherence of the Casarabe system. The settlements are rarely isolated, part of a tightly connected network with shared water-management systems. It was clearly all planned and coordinated, designed not only as living spaces but for integrating the population across the region.

We can see that the Casarabe were sustained by drained-field agriculture: the canals were dug to make the land viable for planting during the wet season. The most prominent crop was maize, but there was a remarkable diversity of other produce. This was all embedded within a landscape that was engineered through reservoirs and farm ponds, which helped the Casarabe sustain cultivation and maintain access to water through the dry season in this extremely seasonal environment.

Also very noticeable is the fact that all the major architectural features and burial sites are oriented north-north-west. This suggests these people may have been led by cosmology, with important celestial bodies or regions of the night sky serving as symbolic reference points – hinting at a world where infrastructure, settlement and belief were inseparable.

Rethinking the Amazon

The Casarabe culture covered much less than 1% of Amazonia, which is the whole tropical interior of South America, spanning close to half of the entire continent. For much of the 20th century, this vast area was viewed by archaeologists as an environment that was limiting for human existence.

Poor soils, scarce game, extreme El Niño floods and droughts, and the challenges of tropical disease were all thought to constrain human populations to small, wandering groups living off the land as best they could. Large, settled societies – let alone towns or cities – were considered unlikely, if not impossible.

This view began to shift in the late 20th century for several reasons. Archaeologists realised that Amazonian people had been domesticating a diversity of plants since the end of the Ice Age. They manufactured some of the earliest ceramics in the Americas, and also devised soils known as Amazonian Dark Earths, which combined charcoal, bone and waste materials with the existing poor-quality soil to make it fertile enough for widespread farming.

It also became apparent that just like the Casarabe people, many other cultures across Amazonia had reclaimed vast expanses of seasonally flooded savannahs over several thousand years to create raised and drained field systems.

These discoveries were evidence of long-term settlement and landscape management far beyond what was previously thought possible. It meant Amazonia was not simply a backdrop to human activity; much of the landscape was shaped over the last 13 millennia by the people who lived there.

Enter lidar

Like lasers in the sky, lidar technology has accelerated this transformation in our understanding. The digital process feels near-magical, a “vegetation removal algorithm” that reveals the secrets below.

In practice, however, working with lidar in Amazonia is anything but straightforward. Running such a project here, as I have done, can feel like one of the greatest emotional rollercoasters in field archaeology. It’s all anticipation, frustration and sudden revelation – only comparable, perhaps, with shipwreck exploration.

Depending on what technology is available and most suitable for exploring a particular area, I’ve worked with lidar attached to drones, aeroplanes and helicopters. I’ve learned through trial and error that the technology is only as effective as the logistics and personalities behind it – above all on one occasion when we were trying to integrate a Hungarian lidar sensor with a Brazilian drone.

Lidar can perform beautifully one day and fail the next, depending on the equipment, weather, terrain, batteries, communications and the sheer difficulty of operating in remote Amazonian conditions.

Flights must be carefully planned in remote areas with limited infrastructure, where convective clouds, smoke from fires, wind and even vultures riding thermals can disrupt data acquisition. You have to arrange fuel in advance and improvise landings wherever a safe clearing can be found. Here’s our team refuelling a lidar helicopter in the football field of a small village in Acre state, western Brazil:

You also have to do constant troubleshooting with the technology, such as making sure it’s calibrated correctly and that the data from different flight paths all aligns. What appears in the final images as a seamless “removal” of the forest is, in reality, the product of improvisation, negotiation and persistence.

But given all these challenges, it makes the first successful images all the more powerful when they finally appear. The reward is that we’re finally finding the “lost civilisation” that explorers like Percy Fawcett were searching for a century ago, but by cajoling a drone rather than battering through jungle.

Incidentally, this technology also has important uses beyond archaeology. It can help people to locate and harvest crops like rubber or açaí palm fruits without having to clear so much rainforest. It is also used by pioneering projects such as Amazonia Revelada, which helps Indigenous and traditional people of the Amazon to prove their historic presence within an area to ward off modern commercial interests like loggers or farmers, while also protecting the living history and nature embedded in these landscapes.

Other lidar discoveries

Lidar surveys by French and Ecuadorian archaeologists have revealed that the Llanos de Moxos was certainly not the only example of large-scale, highly integrated society in Amazonia. The Upano Valley, which covers some 300-600km² on the mountainous forest of the Ecuadorian eastern flanks of the Andes, offers another striking example – this time from between about 500BC and AD600–700.

Lidar discovery areas

In Upano, archaeologists have been able to map a vast network of settlements connected by extensive road systems, with large platforms and clusters of buildings arranged in organised layouts across a broad area.

What stands out is not just the scale – thousands of structures – but the rigour of the planning. The settlements didn’t just grow randomly, but as part of a deliberate design: we see straight lines of flat-topped platforms laid out in repeating rows and connected by straight paths that cut cleanly across the landscape, as you can see below.

Again, this is not urbanism in the conventional sense of dense, continuous occupation. There would have been none of the vertical stacking of buildings that you’d get in European settlements, and there were also green spaces between platform complexes – much more like a forest city.

Like the Casarabe region, this is a distributed settlement pattern that is both open and highly structured, but the arrangement is much more compact. This reflects the limited flat space available on the upper terraces of the Upano River, which rise up to 100 metres above the surrounding landscape.

Elsewhere in Amazonia, we see more variations. In the Upper Xingu of central Brazil, interconnected settlements were arranged around a shared ceremonial and road network, again suggesting a regionally coordinated social world.

Further north, the Tairona people of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta in present-day Colombia built terraced stone towns in the mountains, linked by paved paths. This was a form of urbanism shaped entirely by the demands of steep, high-altitude terrain. Below is a lidar image of one area in this region, with the platforms that would have housed the settlements marked in yellow. Below that, you can see what the platforms look like.

In western Amazonia, Acre adds another important variation. From around AD1–1000, people built large ditched enclosures, or geoglyphs, mainly in the south-eastern part of this region along the upper Purus River. These were square, circular, hexagonal or octagonal mounds, often 1-3 hectares in size, with ditches up to four metres deep. These were probably used as ceremonial gathering places rather than permanent settlements.

After about AD1000, these were followed by what we call circular mound villages, occupied until around AD 1650–1700. They featured rings of mounds around central plazas and straight roads radiating out like the rays of the Sun, often built to align with the four main compass points. These “Sun villages” were true settlements, and formed interconnected networks across the southern rim of Amazonia. You can see an example in the lidar image below.

Taken together, these discoveries fundamentally reshape our understanding of Amazonia. We now see a mosaic of managed landscapes, engineered environments and, in some cases, city-scale societies. What unites them is not a shared blueprint but a shared impulse: the organisation of people, space and movement across large landscapes in ways that were deliberate, durable and distinctly their own.

To stress, Amazonia was not uniformly dense or urban. It supported a diversity of types of settlements, from dispersed networks like Moxos to tighter grids like Upano, each of them adapted to local ecological conditions. They shared a low-density urbanism, in the sense of large, interconnected populations without the density of classic cities.

What we still don’t know

How were these societies organised politically and socially? How did they interact with variations in the climate and environment, ranging from the heavy rainfalls and droughts caused by El Niño to rivers forging new routes that could move them away from a settlement within a few generations?

What, if any, connections existed with mountain societies in the Andes? And perhaps most importantly, since both the Casarabe and Upano ceased to build monuments after 1492, what led to their transformation or decline before the arrival of Europeans?

There is active debate between archaeologists over whether these societies transformed because of environmental stress, internal political change, or shifts in things like trade routes or migration.

In the Llanos de Moxos, one possibility is that a prolonged period of climate change affected the Casarabe water-management systems that were so critical to feeding this thriving society. In the Upano Valley, volcanic eruptions and earthquakes may have disrupted settlements and agriculture, although it’s unclear whether that could have led to the area being abandoned.

It seems likely that as we uncover new things, it will reveal more and more integration between different societies. What we are seeing now in Amazonia is much like looking at a satellite image of a country at night: bright, isolated clusters of light – cities that appear disconnected. But as we continue to expand our coverage and fill in the gaps, I think this will change.

What now appear as isolated clusters may also resolve into extensive networks. For example a study across the southern rim of Amazonia has predicted that the kinds of settlement mounds that have been identified so far are likely to occur across about 400,000km², supporting an estimated regional population of roughly 500,000 to 1 million people in the era before the Europeans arrived.

Entire regions may emerge as previously unrecognised centres of population and landscape management. This could be particularly so for the Llanos de Moxos. The whole area covers as much as 200,000km², depending on where you draw the boundaries, stretching into Brazil and even Peru. It is often divided into several apparently distinct cultural regions — the Casarabe (aka the monumental mound region), and then two others called the platform ridge and zanjas (ditches) regions.

As lidar coverage expands and more archaeological work is conducted, we may begin to understand how these societies were economically specialised. We know, for example, that the fortified villages of the zanjas region had fish weirs spanning hundreds of miles that were capable of capturing vast quantities of migratory fish. The platform ridge region consisted of large drained fields, which could potentially produce surpluses of maize. It is conceivable that these belonged to a broader network that supported the more complex Casarabe centres.

Or perhaps – who knows – the relationships were more fluid and reciprocal. For now, the question remains open. But it is precisely this possibility of deep regional integration that lidar is beginning to bring into view. In time, we may even begin to identify Casarabe outposts scattered across the Llanos de Moxos.

What happens next

There’s still a huge amount to be done with lidar. Vast areas, particularly in the Ecuadorian and Peruvian Amazon – remain unexplored. One recent study suggested that there could be more than 10,000 more urban structures of the kind I’ve been describing still hidden throughout Amazonia, all of them dating from pre-European times.

Looking ahead 20 years, it is likely that our map of Amazonia will look very different. One promising technology is satellite-based lidar systems, which could provide broader, though less detailed, datasets across large areas. Advances in machine learning are also beginning to help us identify archaeological features within massive datasets, speeding up a labour-intensive process.

Against this, there are time pressures in some places. Llanos de Moxos, for instance, is unfortunately in rapid transition. The very ground that holds the traces of ancient networks is being transformed by mechanised agriculture and large-scale terraforming for rice cultivation and pastures.

We also need to keep reminding ourselves that lidar is only the first step. What really matters is how it’s brought together with other lines of evidence. Most sites discovered by lidar have yet to be excavated, so we’ll have to do much of that, looking for everything from bones and plants to ceramics and weapons.

So far, most excavation has been in the Casarabe area of the Llanos de Moxos. The reason, for instance, that we know the culture lived primarily on maize was through the discovery of over 60 human skeletons, which underwent carbon isotope analysis. The same research paper also analysed excavated duck bones to show that the Casarabe were feeding them maize too, suggesting animal domestication in a continent that was not generally known for it.

Another fascinating Casarabe find is a single buried skeleton who may have been a leader, because he had a collar of jaguar teeth around his neck. He was also wearing ear pieces made of armadillo shell, studded with mottled blue stones called sodalite – it’s not clear what these were for.

We’ll also need to obtain more precise dates for key events using techniques like radiocarbon dating, and more pinpoint accurate environmental data to help support theories about ancient changes to the climate – as opposed to the wider regional information we’ve tended to rely on until now. Lake sediments are great environmental archives, preserving evidence of things like vegetation change and landscape disturbance.

Also important is comparing genetic data from excavated bones with people who live in these areas today – in dialogue and collaboration with local communities whose histories, memories and knowledge are essential to understanding these landscapes.

It’s all a question of how lidar is brought together with all this other evidence. The most convincing reconstructions will come from the convergence of all of these. One further major challenge ahead, however, will be to bridge the gap between scientific reconstructions and how past peoples understood and inhabited their world. Archaeology is increasingly rich in data, but we have to relate it to lived experience.

That is no easy feat, but it is essential if we are to move from mapping past worlds to understanding them. Crucially, Amazonia – with its rich, still-vibrant Indigenous societies and ethnographic record – offers an exceptional opportunity to do this, providing rare continuities through which to anchor and critically engage our interpretations of the past.

Lessons for today

My own sense is that we will move towards a view of Amazonia not as an exception, in line with the old view that the people lived within an untouched paradise, but as part of a broader pattern of human-environment interaction. The rainforest will be understood not only as a biological system, but as a historical one – shaped, in part, by the people who lived within it.

This does not mean the Amazonian people who simply lived “in harmony” with nature; the evidence points to something more interesting. Although Amazonian societies developed complex, and at times intensive, forms of land use, the evidence consistently shows that they often did so while maintaining continuous forest cover. Far from the large-scale deforestation that we might assume was necessary for such elaborate forms of human life, their practices created mosaics of managed forest, gardens, orchards, wetlands and settlement areas.

We know partly from lake sediment data that people enriched the forests with species that provided food, building materials, medicines and other resources, from açaí and cacao to palms, cinchona and copaiba. The fact that some of these species endure today suggests that past land use left lasting ecological legacies.

In the context of today’s climate crisis, the long-term balance that these people achieved offers a powerful lesson: it is possible to sustain complex societies without destroying the forest, if land use is guided by principles that integrate ecological knowledge, cultural values and a commitment to the continuity of the living landscape.

What lies beneath the Amazon is not just a hidden past. It is a reminder that even the most seemingly untouched landscapes can carry deep histories, waiting – sometimes just beneath our feet – to be revealed.

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José Iriarte, Professor of Archaeology, University of Exeter

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

Americans typically commemorate the nation’s birthday with hot dogs and hamburgers.

Instead, I think we should mark the 250th anniversary of the United States with a hearty bowl of pepper pot stew.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, pepper pot stew was a popular street food. A dish of Afro-Caribbean origin, it was typically made with tripe and other cheap cuts of meat mixed with vegetables, hot peppers and other spices.

Enslaved Africans likely brought the dish to Philadelphia from the Caribbean in the 18th century, when the two regions were tightly connected through trade.

As a historian of women and labor in the early republic, I have learned how important impoverished and ordinary individuals were to the country’s founding. Cooking and preparing food, spinning and weaving cloth, washing and mending clothes, and caring for the sick were just some of the kinds of labor that supported the fledgling nation. Much of this work was carried out by marginalized women who are often overlooked in national commemorations.

One such woman I’ve researched represents both the possibilities and sharp limitations of freedom in that era. She was a pepper pot seller in Philadelphia known to us only as Dina.

Hiding in plain sight

Pennsylvania, like many northern states, responded to the Declaration of Independence’s rhetorical commitment to liberty by enacting a gradual emancipation law.

On the day the law went into effect in 1780, however, its provisions freed no one.

Children born to enslaved mothers before March 1, 1780, would remain enslaved for the rest of their lives. Children born after that date remained in bondage until they were 28 years old. So-called “slaves for life,” the status Dina held, would have had no hope of gaining legal freedom.

In the face of this grim reality, some, like Dina, seized freedom for themselves.

She slipped away from her enslaver, Rev. James Anderson, in Middletown, Chester County, sometime in 1785 or 1786 and made her way to nearby Philadelphia.

Almost all of the information we have about Dina comes from a notice Anderson placed in a local newspaper offering a reward for her return. Each detail is stained with his opinions about the woman he held as property. Anderson described Dina as “lusty,” a word that can be interpreted in a number of ways.

White people generally held insidious ideas about Black women’s sexuality in this period. In the 18th century, lusty also meant insolent, which might have conveyed Anderson’s frustrations with Dina’s unwillingness to accept his authority over her. The word also could refer to health and vigor, so it’s possible Anderson was describing Dina’s physique and general affect.

Nonetheless, the advertisement exemplifies the paradox of liberty and enslavement at the nation’s founding.

It is impossible to know how familiar Dina was with Philadelphia, or if she had friends or family there when she arrived. She might have simply decided that her best chance of avoiding recapture was in an urban area where she could blend in with the free Black community that was growing rapidly due to migration from neighboring states and people manumitted by their enslavers. Dina might have imagined she could tuck herself into the hustle and bustle of this incredibly dense city more easily than in a thinly populated rural area.

After Dina got to Philadelphia, she made an interesting decision. Instead of finding more discrete employment, such as working as a domestic, she supported herself by selling pepper pot stew in one of the city’s markets. According to Anderson, she had been seen “numerous times” over the past 18 months.

One of many Black women selling the dish, Dina could essentially hide in plain sight from Anderson and anyone who hoped to collect the US$4 reward he offered.

It is unclear how long she was able to evade Anderson, but the fact that she maintained her freedom for at least a year and a half is remarkable. Philadelphia’s vagrancy docket is full of examples of freedom seekers who were apprehended almost immediately.

Dina’s ultimate fate is unknown. After Anderson’s three newspaper notices, she disappears from the archive. She may have been captured and returned to Anderson. Or it’s possible that working as a pepper pot seller allowed her to gain her freedom permanently.

Opportunity in Philly’s informal economy

Spiraling war debt and inflation during the 1780s fell heavily on the neediest Americans. In Philadelphia, impoverished people often subsisted on bread. Affordable, hearty street food like pepper pot stew would have offered important nutrients and perhaps pleasure from a good meal. By providing cheap, nourishing food for working Philadelphians, pepper pot sellers could be seen as participating in a kind of informal mutual aid.

However, city officials characterized some market activities during this period as “riotous and disorderly” and imposed stricter regulations around when and where pepper pot sellers could operate. Boisterous gatherings of Black and white working-class people might have seemed potentially threatening or disruptive to city leaders.

Dina’s role as an informal trader echoed across the 19th century. Many Black women took up the pepper pot trade, and some earned decent incomes. These women, in turn, contributed to a range of charitable, religious and abolitionist organizations that formed the backbone of a vibrant Black Philadelphia. They also helped support their families, even in an economic order that devalued Black women’s labor.

As the United States celebrates its semiquincentennial this year, many Americans will be reminded of the stories of popular Revolution-era figures such as Paul Revere or George Washington.

But I’ll be thinking of Dina and the countless other Black women who sold pepper pot stew on the streets of Philadelphia, the nation’s first capital. To me, they symbolize the fragile hope, terrible failures and tireless quest for true freedom that defined the founding era.

Read more of our stories about Philadelphia and Pennsylvania, or sign up for our Philadelphia newsletter on Substack.

Carolyn Zola, Lecturer, Department of History, California State University, East Bay

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Since her official debut in 1959, Supergirl has struggled to emerge from the shadow of her cousin, Superman. So it’s a bold move that the second cinematic release in the newly rebooted DC Universe will be Supergirl.

Milly Alcock first appeared as Supergirl in the epilogue to Superman (2025). Her Supergirl is a brash “party girl” – an immediate contrast to David Corenswet’s squeaky clean rendition of Superman. Based on the comic book Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow (2021) by Tom King and Bilquis Evely, she is a traumatised character, dealing with the destruction of her home planet of Krypton. “I have no people,” Supergirl laments in the trailer.

However, Supergirl was not always so introspective. The character and her alter ego, Kara Zor-El, first appeared in 1938, to cash in on the popularity of Superman. She was a preppy teenager who played a supporting helpmate role, allowing Superman to display his paternal side.

Publishers DC Comics also flirted with the concept of Superwoman. A 1943 story had Superman’s girlfriend, reporter Lois Lane, dream that she was Superman’s female counterpart. In her book Supergirl: Contemporary Feminist Reboot of a Hapless DC Comic Helpmate (2022), Batya Weinbaum suggests this moment reflected the “changing position of women in wartime”.

In a 1947 story, Lois Lane, Superwoman! from Superman issue #45, Lane is convinced she has superpowers, only to discover she is the victim of a ruse where Superman is using his influence to simulate the experience. This prompts her frustrated exclamation: “You men who try to keep women weak and defenceless – I hate you!”

Lane may well have been addressing the DC editors who published her adventures. In his cultural history of comic book heroines, comic book historian Mike Madrid outlines an excerpt from 1950s-era DC Comics’ editorial policy which reluctantly accepts stories featuring women, but only if the female characters are “secondary in importance”.

The ever-changing Supergirl

Nevertheless, as Supergirl developed through the 1960s there were signs that she could develop an identity of her own.

Two years after her secret arrival on Earth, in issue #285 of Action Comics, Superman finally reveals Supergirl to the world. She appears in public in an act that cultural historian Gerard Beritela interprets as her “emergence from male domination”. But ultimately Madrid’s take on this era is that “she is a girl, not a woman, and therein lies the secret of her appeal”. Supergirl isn’t a threatening Superwoman who might develop ideas of her own.

This was the model followed in the 1984 attempt to bring Supergirl to cinema screens. In his DVD commentary, director Jeannot Szwarc discusses his intention to convey Supergirl’s grace and intelligence.

Whereas Superman (played by Christopher Reeve) was introduced in 1978 by the same producers with a daring rescue of a plummeting helicopter, Helen Slater’s Supergirl performs an aerial ballet and frolics with woodland creatures. In comics, Supergirl fared even worse. The character was killed off in 1985’s Crisis on Infinite Earths storyline, partly because of her threat to Superman’s unique status as “the last son of Krypton”, and partly because of the film’s disappointing box office takings.

Various incarnations of Supergirl have been explored following the obliteration of the original version. This regular rewriting has encouraged creators to experiment.

Danny Fingeroth describes a 1996 example, when fellow comic book writer Peter David developed a version of Supergirl to explore Jewish identity, revising the character as an Earth-bound angel based on the concept of Shekhinah, or the divine feminine. This Supergirl’s stories integrated themes of redemption and spirituality.

In comic books, however, death is never permanent. Kara Zor-El and Supergirl were resurrected in 2004 in The Supergirl from Krypton. There was an attempt to add nuance to the character, with a greater emphasis on the trauma she suffered from witnessing the loss of her home planet. But this was rather undermined by various revealing costumes clearly designed to satisfy the male gaze.

It wasn’t until 2015 and the six season Supergirl television show that creators began to deal head on with the character’s agency. Another updated origin story saw Kara (played by Melissa Benoist) being sent ahead to help her baby cousin acclimatise to life on Earth. But after her spaceship arrives late, she has no clear purpose, finding an already adult and established Superman.

In the pilot episode she finally strikes out on her own with the dramatic rescue of an airliner, assuming the mantle of Supergirl. In a show that employed several female writers and became known for its positive representation of LGBTQ+ issues, problematic topics such as Supergirl’s infantilising name and costume were directly addressed.

Kara refuses to wear revealing versions of the costume from the character’s comic book past. In discussions with her employer, CatCo Worldwide Media CEO Cat Grant, she is told: “I’m a girl. And your boss. And powerful. And rich, and hot, and smart. So, if you perceive Supergirl as anything less than excellent, isn’t the real problem you?” Significantly, Grant is portrayed by actor Calista Flockhart, known for the Ally McBeal series – a show that sparked debates about feminism and women in the workplace in the late 1990s.

The 2021 comic book Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow follows the young alien Ruthye Marye Knoll, who recruits Supergirl to seek revenge after her father is murdered. The story is told from Ruthye’s point of view, the fractured narrative lending the story a fatalistic quality. The narration also emphasises the mythic quality of Supergirl, “who lost everything and kept walking”.

It remains to be seen how closely the film will follow the philosophical source material. Meanwhile, in the pages of the latest DC comic book, writer and artist Sophie Campbell has returned to the brighter tone of the 1960s version of the character, merged with the sensibilities of the 2015 television series. The many interpretations of Supergirl continue to reveal the character’s durability and versatility.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

John Caro, Principal Lecturer, Film and Media, University of Portsmouth

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Chinese food heritage is diverse and vast, and embodies the distinct geographical and historical traces of various cultural identities.

As migrants in Australia, Chinese food features prominently in our everyday lives. Jing grew up eating regional cuisine from northern China; Wilfred grew up eating Cantonese food; Catherine grew up in Singapore enjoying home cooked Chinese food with a Eurasian twist.

The ways in which we understand, approach, enjoy and cook Chinese food are different, and we set out to find the role of food in the lives of other migrants of Chinese ancestry.

Tracing food heritage

We talked to Chinese-Australians between the ages of 18 to 40 to learn about how their food heritages have guided them to navigate and adapt to Australian lives.

They spoke to us about incorporating non-traditional Chinese ingredients, new ways of cooking and sourcing cooking equipment.

In their Australian kitchens, they experimented with the recipes they learnt from their families and those they interpret as “Chinese” cuisine.

They were concerned about authenticity, health and taste to varying degrees in the Chinese dishes they cooked, and spoke about how food heritage helped intergenerational families connect.

Fei* is ethnically Chinese and was born in Indonesia. She has lived in Australia for the past 12 years. She told us:

Whenever I go back to Indonesia, my auntie would cook for us, so I would ask a lot of old recipes […] I love their response because they will always say, when you were a child, you liked to eat this food. They will give you some feedback, but they’ll say, there’s a new way of cooking this.

Fei’s cooking was co-developed with family members, even when they are living in different countries. The art of cooking becomes a way for her family connect, despite distance.

Sally* migrated to Australia about nine years ago from Yunan Province. She shared a poignant story of the health of the older members of her family:

Even my grandmother [who] had Alzheimer’s and she barely remember who am I, but when she had – before I hang up the phone call, she’s like, remember to eat vegetable.

For Sally’s grandmother, even in old age, food was an expression of care.

Food facilitates new understandings of intergenerational family members – even those who have passed away.

Lynn* is an undergraduate student who migrated to Australia as a baby. She describes herself as “ethnically Chinese, but culturally Singaporean”, and told us how she got to know her grandfather through her father’s cooking:

I actually have never tried my grandpa’s chilli crab. I didn’t know that he actually made chilli crab until I think it was like two years [after] he’d passed when my dad made this recipe. […] I’m not sure how similar it was to the original, but it was pretty good.

Lynn’s father’s cooking his father’s chilli crab recipe as a way of honouring him and keeping his memory alive.

New habits

Food heritage is the phrase for the traditional cuisines which define our cultural identities and includes ingredient sourcing, food preparation and food consumption.

Food heritage is not static. It changes as migrants adapt to life in Australia.

Australia’s rich multicultural food cultures create transcultural food experiences for our Chinese-Australians.

Sally spoke to us about her and her mother melding Italian and Chinese ingredients:

If I cook dishes that require Yunnan’s ham, I use Italian prosciutto ham to replace it. It tastes really similar to Yunnan’s ham. My mum does that as well. She likes to get Italian Deli ham, smoked cured bacon, and then she’ll think it tastes like the actual thing from Yunnan.

Rong* came to Australia about 10 years ago from Shandong Province. She told us how she cooks for her daughter who loves noodles:

I need to bring something healthier to her table, and then I was like, okay, I’m not going to use the noodles, the Chinese noodles. I’m going to use pasta noodles, which is low GI, healthier. So, I just tried to figure different kind of ways of the noodles, not only Chinese noodles, but also Italian noodles, Vietnamese noodles, like pho. So all those kinds of things, and she loved them.

Rong also told us that she had to change the way she cooks because her apartment has an induction stove rather than a gas stove.

Although gas and induction stove tops are both common in China, certain dishes such as stir-fry are perceived to taste better in a hot wok on a gas stove.

“Soggy food”, according to many of our participants, is the result of induction stoves and flat pans rather than woks. Rong even told us that now, when she returns to China, she does not know how to cook in a Chinese kitchen with a gas stove.

Adapting to Australia

Food culture, is central to migrant adaptation, acculturation and wellbeing.

By better understanding the evolving nature of food heritage practices in Australia, we can better understand how migrants navigate Australia creatively while these transcultural connections provide an anchor for settlement and belonging.

*Names have been changed.

Catherine Gomes, Professor in the School of Media and Communication, RMIT University; Jing Qi, Associate Professor, Social Equity Research Centre, RMIT University, and Wilfred Yang Wang, Senior Lecturer in Media & Communications Studies, The University of Melbourne

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

We see glass objects every day, and often don’t think much about them. Mass-produced glass has become so cheap we barely think about the things it allows us to do.

In fact, glassblowing has a fascinating history dating back to the late first century BCE.

Roman experimentation with recycling glass permanently changed everyday life, facilitating a vast expansion of trade and economic activity.

And the way glassblowing was done during the Roman era is still very similar to the way we do it today.

The old ways

Of course, glass was invented long before glassblowing.

The earliest glass beads were made in Ancient Mesopotamia in the second half of the third millennium BCE (around 4,500–4,000 years ago).

The first closed glass vessels followed about a thousand years later (around 1500–1400 BCE) in Mesopotamia and nearby Ancient Egypt.

These early glass vessels were moulded, and the closed containers were made with a process called core-forming.

This involved sticking a plug made of animal dung, clay, mud and sand onto the end of an iron rod. Molten glass the consistency of treacle (and over 1,000°C), was poured over the plug. After it was worked, decorated, and cooled, the hardened plug had to be scraped out manually.

Later vessels were made with casting techniques (which also involved heating glass and laying it atop a mould). This also required long periods of working, and laborious grinding and polishing. Glass was only for the wealthy as this process took tens of hours to complete.

Invention of a new technology

Glassblowing – invented towards the end of the first century BCE in the coastal Levant (in what is now Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Palestine and Jordan) – cut all this down to mere minutes.

The earliest evidence we have is from modern-day Jerusalem which, in the final quarter of the first century BCE, was ruled by Roman Jewish client kings Herod the Great and Herod Archelaus on behalf of Rome’s Emperor Augustus.

Our earliest glassblowing evidence in Jerusalem suggests furnace workers were experimenting by heating the ends of glass tubes to rework them. Scholars have suggested this was an experiment in glass recycling.

One day, someone blew into that tube and changed the industry – and history – forever. You could now make a glass container quickly and comparatively easily.

Glassworkers spread the technique as they travelled

Ancient glassblowers travelled all over the Mediterranean, and in the first century BCE, the Levant was a hotbed of glass technology and experimentation.

Some of the only named glassworkers we know from that period, such as Ennion, were Greek-speaking Syrians.

Glassworkers and their products soon spread to the rest of the Mediterranean, wherever the Romans were.

Glass vessels were frequently traded or gifted beyond the Roman frontier, with people as widespread as northern Scotland, Scandinavia, the Sahara and even China.

Blown glass vessels became readily available to most of society.

The Greek historian Strabo tells us (not long after the discovery of glassblowing) in Rome, a glass cup could cost as little as one copper coin.

Olive oil and wine were produced in large terracotta amphorae, which were stocked in Roman shops.

Glass containers allowed people to buy smaller quantities at a time, as they could have glass containers filled at shops and taverns.

And because the surface of glass is inert, it does not affect the taste of food or drink – meaning you can store things for longer periods. Most ancient pottery was unglazed (which resulted in seepage), and metals could affect taste.

Roman writers Petronius and Pliny the Elder both share a fanciful story in which the imagined discovery of an unbreakable glass is brought to Rome’s Emperor Tiberius. Tiberius has the man killed, fearing economic collapse as gold and silver would not be as useful or pretty as glass.

Like us, the Romans stored glass jars and bottles on shelves and in cupboards. We can find the vessels where they fell after the eruption of Vesuvius, in Pompeii and Herculaneum.

The easiest vessel to make in glass is a small perfume or cosmetic flask. Roman perfumes were oil and fat-based, and having an effective spoil-free container made perfumes and cosmetics more affordable.

Glass changed the way people interacted with food and drink, as well as their personal care and hygiene. It also transformed domestic comfort, as glass windows could provide draught-free light in Roman homes and baths.

Roman art figurines and everyday objects were commonly made into the shape of animals, plants and humans (and sometimes body parts). While simple vessels were most common, Roman glass also got weird and kitschy at times, featuring things such as gladiator fight scenes or a monkey playing the pan-pipes.

Some moulds were made of stone or ceramic and lined with a thin layer of soot (usually from a lamp). This meant the hot glass bubble could be blown inside the mould, and the soot would prevent sticking.

Mythological scenes and themes also featured heavily.

Some vessels featured the equivalent of live, laugh, love in the form of ancient Greek phrases such as katachaire kai euphrainou (rejoice and enjoy yourself!) or euphrainou epi toutoi eph hoi parei (delight in that at which you are present).

Flasks could be shaped like fish or fruit, such as dates and grapes. Presumably, these were the ancient equivalents of the tomato-shaped sauce container at a diner or the plastic soy sauce fish at a sushi chain.

These point to things the Romans found entertaining (and glassworkers thought sellable).

Thomas J. Derrick, Gale Research Fellow in Ancient Glass and Material Culture, Macquarie University

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

The US state of Florida has filed a lawsuit against OpenAI and Sam Altman, alleging the tech giant and its CEO put profit over public safety with its flagship artificial intelligence (AI) product, ChatGPT.

The lawsuit, filed in Florida state court on Monday local time by Florida’s attorney general James Uthmeier, is one of the most significant enforcement actions brought by a state attorney against an AI company to date.

It comes as OpenAI and other big tech companies are embroiled in a growing number of legal cases related to the alleged harm their products have caused.

Six key elements

The complaint opens with a screenshot of OpenAI’s own parental-control page, which states that ChatGPT was “built with safety in mind”. Then, in a standalone paragraph, the State answers with two words: “Not so”.

This signals the central allegation of the case: that OpenAI sold ChatGPT to the public as safe and reliable, while knowing it could cause serious harm

More specifically, there are six key themes to Florida’s case against OpenAI. The first is that the company engaged in deceptive safety marketing, assuring parents the platform is safe for teenage use, while not clearly disclosing that ChatGPT can be wrong.

Second, despite OpenAI’s marketing, ChatGPT is unreliable. A 2025 study, for example, found AI assistants, such as ChatGPT, misrepresent the news roughly 45% of the time. Similarly, despite marketing suggesting ChatGPT can handle financial affairs, ChatGPT has failed in meeting basic accounting standards and provided incorrect tax advice to users.

The third element of the case is the public safety threat. The danger to young people in particular is illustrated by the tragic story of Adam Raine, a 16-year-old who died by suicide in April 2025 after engaging in long conversations with ChatGPT. When Adam expressed suicidal thoughts, ChatGPT responded that it “won’t try to talk you out of your feelings”. It helped Adam plan a “beautiful suicide” and even offered to write his suicide note for him.

Why would a product behave this way? Because, Uthmeier argues, it was built to.

OpenAI designed ChatGPT to be highly agreeable, to say “yes” roughly ten times as often as “no”, according to a Washington Post review of 47,000 conversations. This forms the fourth element of the case – commercial exploitation through sycophancy. In other words, ChatGPT optimistically parrots back users’ responses in order to to manipulate them into deeper conversations, regardless of truth or safety.

But according to the lawsuit, even ordinary use carries a cost: it weakens people’s brain activity and critical thinking skills (also known as cognitive atrophy). This is the fifth element of the case.

The sixth and final element is knowledge – specifically, the knowledge of Samuel Altman. According to Uthmeier, since at least 2023, OpenAI’s own documents warned that the model could coach people on committing crimes, but Altman overruled the safety staff.

These six elements paint a picture of a product marketed as safe, engineered to be addictive, and known by its own makers to be dangerous – yet sold to us, anyway.

Altman is at the centre of that picture. The complaint reconstructs his career and reaches for an April 2026 New Yorker investigation and testimony from the recent legal battle between Elon Musk and OpenAI to depict a man, who in Uthmeier’s telling, repeatedly chose speed over safety.

That is why Uthmeier is asking the court to hold Altman personally liable for “his utter disregard for the risk to human life”.

Pay for past harms

Uthmeier is asking the court to declare that OpenAI broke the law, then to order the company to stop – permanently – its unlawful practices.

He wants the company barred from collecting children’s data without parental consent and the safeguards that should come with it, and barred from misrepresenting or staying silent about ChatGPT’s risks.

On top of the injunctions, the state is seeking civil penalties of up to US$10,000 per violation for OpenAI’s alleged wilful violation of the the Florida Deceptive and Unfair Trade Practices Act. Uthmeier said penalties could total billions of dollars.

In other words: pay for the past harms and change the product going forward.

In a statement to The Conversation, an OpenAI spokesperson pointed to the company’s “industry leading protections and policies” regarding user safety.

In particular we built safety for minors directly into our products, including a more protective experience specifically for minors, an age prediction tool, defaulting users whose age we are not confident into our more protective experience, and giving parents tools to monitor their kids use of AI.

Adding to a growing pile

This lawsuit is a significant development, but it has not arrived in a vacuum.

Across the US, the courts are filling with cases accusing tech companies of harming young people. In April, for example, Uthmeier launched a criminal investigation into OpenAI over the chatbot’s alleged role in a shooting at Florida State University.

Some juries have started to side with the plaintiffs.

In March 2026, for example, a New Mexico jury hit Meta with a US$375 million penalty in a child safety case. Days later, a jury in Los Angeles found Meta and Google liable in a landmark trial over social media addiction.

This case rides the same current. But it broadens the scope by alleging Altman himself should be personally responsible.

Uthmeier is demanding a trial by jury.

Alexandra Andhov, Chair in Law and Technology, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

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

Tax time is coming – and with it, the unfortunate reality of needing to do something to get ready.

Don’t put your head in the sand and ignore it. That’s how you can end up missing the October 31 deadline and potentially end up with fines and penalties.

And don’t risk taking tax advice from unofficial sources.

This year, the Australian Taxation Office (ATO) has warned against relying on online tips or “tax hacks” from “finfluencers”: financial influencers on social media. It’s also warned artificial intelligence platforms can draw from outdated, inaccurate or foreign sources – so using them for your tax can be risky.

If you’re seeking advice, always ensure you are dealing with a registered tax agent.

Luckily, the ATO has been improving its online tax tools, so lodging your tax yourself is not as daunting as it once was.

A growing trend to DIY taxes

More than 6.1 million Australians (around 43%) did their own tax online with MyTax in 2025.

More than 8.1 million (around 57%) still choose to use a tax agent.

But doing your own tax has been a steadily growing trend for more than a decade, as more people realise the ease of using MyTax.

The tax office knows a lot

As a taxpayer, you have the obligation to tell the ATO what you have earned – even if you think you don’t have to pay any tax.

While the ATO know a lot more about you than you might realise, they are not mind readers.

The tax office collects more than 600 million transactions annually from various third parties. Sometimes they share the information with you – such as when they pre-fill sections of your MyTax form – but sometimes they don’t.

While articles like this about tax time often focus on claiming deductions, being transparent about your income is non-negotiable.

Whatever you claim on your tax return, the onus is on you to get it right.

If you have deposits in your bank account, can you explain where those came from? If not, the ATO may deem that those deposits were income. Then it is up to you as the taxpayer to prove otherwise.

Claiming work deductions

When you get to your deductions, there are three “golden rules” to remember:

• you have to have spent the money and not been reimbursed (such as if your employer paid for your phone or petrol expenses)
• your spending must be directly related to earning your income
• you must have proof (usually a receipt).

If you are claiming working from home, there are two options to reduce your tax bill: the fixed rate or actual cost approaches.

The $0.70 per hour fixed-rate method is much simpler. For most people doing their own tax, it’s the one you’re more likely to use.

But watch out for traps. To claim this deduction, you need to keep records the entire year.

And the fixed-rate method includes common expenses such as phones and stationery, so don’t double dip by claiming those separately.

You cannot claim rent or interest for working from home, unless your home is an actual place of business, such as a doctor’s surgery or hair salon.

Similarly, you cannot claim everyday clothing. To claim a deduction on clothing, it needs to be occupation specific, protective (such as steel-capped boots), a compulsory uniform (likely to be written into your employment contract) or a registered non-compulsory work uniform.

You cannot claim private travel. This includes driving to and from work, or commuting on public transport. There are very limited exceptions.

Don’t just rollover your claims from last year, either. What have you actually spent this year – and have you got the receipts to back it up?

Why you can’t claim a $1,000 ‘instant’ deduction just yet

There’s been a lot of coverage about the $1,000 “instant” tax deduction and the “working Australians tax offset” of $250, announced in last month’s federal budget.

These are not relevant for this tax season. Those are due to start from next financial year and beyond, assuming they’re passed by parliament.

When it’s better to lodge early or later

Taxpayers should lodge when required. Think Goldilocks here: not too soon – and not too late.

If you try to do it too early, ATO data matching may not be complete. Generally that’s done by around end of July.

You’re better off waiting until all the information is there, otherwise the ATO is likely to amend your return. You can either lodge yourself or use a registered tax agent.

Expecting a tax refund? You’re better off lodging earlier, from late July on. For simple, self-lodged tax returns, you can generally expect to get a refund within about two weeks. So that means you’ll have more money in your bank account sooner.

Expecting a tax bill? That’s when you’re better off lodging just in time: by October 31 if you’re submitting yourself, or making sure you have a tax agent locked in by then.

Where to get help

The ATO provides a variety of guidance and advice to support taxpayers, while tax agents can help you to pay the right amount of tax.

Be careful of unregistered tax agents, particularly those tax “influencers” offering huge refunds. If you’re unsure, check this official register.

Never give out your login details to myGov or myTax. Registered tax agents will never ask for your passwords.

If you’re facing financial, social or personal challenges and need help, free tax clinics can provide targeted assistance.

And if you’re having difficulties meeting your tax obligations, or are unable to lodge on time, contact the tax office or a registered tax agent as soon as possible.

Disclaimer: This is not tax advice, it is for educational purposes only. Taxpayers should seek advice from a registered tax agent or suitably qualified professional.

Elizabeth Morton, Senior Lecturer, Curtin University and Lisa Greig, Lecturer in Taxation Law for accountants, The University of Melbourne

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

At the end of each school year, we see the same ritual play out. Year 12 results are released and newspapers publish league tables, ranking schools by their exam results.

What you almost never see on the front page is a student who finished a vocational program and walked straight into skilled work.

This doesn’t make sense. There is constant commentary from governments and employers that the country needs more skilled workers in construction, nursing, aged care, early childhood, teaching and trades.

Yet we still treat the pathways that produce these workers as the option you take when the “real” one doesn’t work out.

Why is this? And how can we fix it?

What is a vocational pathway?

A vocational pathway means developing workplace-specific skills and qualifications for a particular occupation or industry. Students can begin vocational learning while still at school, including as part of a senior secondary certificate or through a school-based apprenticeship or traineeship. After school, they might continue through TAFE, another registered training provider, an apprenticeship, a traineeship or a private registered college.

This is different from a “higher education”, where the focus is on giving you thinking tools to perform in a role (although unis can also focus on practical skills).

You might do vocational training to be a hairdresser, chef, electrician or dental hygienist, for example.

Vocational pathways can start before students leave school. In 2024, more than 266,000 Australian school students undertook vocational training as part of their senior secondary certificate. This was about 26% of Year 12 completers.

You can also start your vocational training – with no prior experience – after school.

A paradox decades in the making

For at least 40 years, governments of every stripe have warned about skills shortages. As of 2025, 29% of occupations are in shortage. This involves almost 50% of trade roles and about 40% of professional occupations. But when it comes to life after Year 12, the focus keeps flowing toward universities and the ATAR.

Students can absorb the message early. From the first years of high school, the academic route is presented as the aspiration and vocational study as the fallback.

This is despite the strong opportunities many vocational pathways can provide. In 2024, 95.4% of trade apprentices were employed after completing their apprenticeship or traineeship. Some trade occupations also pay above the all-occupation median. For example, electricians have median full-time earnings of about A$2,191 a week, well above median weekly full-time earnings of about $1,852.

A current Victorian parliamentary inquiry has heard evidence from students of the “stigma” around taking a vocational pathway in the senior years of school, noting it’s not seen as the “smart way”.

A 2024 federal parliamentary inquiry similarly found many students still see vocational pathways as a “last resort” for those who do not get the marks for university.

It also heard many schools are institutionally structured to channel students toward university. This can include limited provision of vocational options, inadequate information about non-university career pathways, and a lack of trained career counsellors and educators with industry knowledge.

It also noted how high ATAR scores are used to rank schools, while schools are “rarely if ever” ranked by the number of students who succeed through VET pathways.

Vocational learning seen as ‘residual’ by school leaders

This doesn’t mean students lack interest in vocational learning. It means they are often making choices in a system where university entrance, ATAR results and academic achievement remain the most visible signs of “school success”. Meanwhile, vocational achievement is less publicly recognised.

In our research on vocational and applied learning (which includes workplace learning, projects and community activities), we found school systems often make vocational learning less visible and less secure.

In a project with school leaders across 23 Victorian high schools, applied learning was repeatedly described as “additional”, “extra” or “residual” work. Leaders pointed to timetabling pressures, staffing instability and school systems that still privilege academic performance.

When vocational learning is treated as peripheral inside schools, students are more likely to view their pathway is also peripheral.

The teachers no one talks about

Students aren’t the only ones affected.

Teachers in applied and vocational settings do some of the most demanding work in schools. They connect classroom learning to what’s happening in industry, build partnerships with employers, and teach some of the most diverse groups of students.

That work takes real expertise. Yet our research also found it is routinely treated as a “lesser” role in the profession. This judgement shows up in concrete ways in timetabling, funding, and in who gets resourced and recognised.

Why marketing won’t fix it

Three structural changes can help this situation.

1. Change how we measure and report success. If a school’s public worth is summarised by its top ATARs, everything else is invisible. Recognising and reporting achievement in vocational pathways would begin to shift what counts.

2. Stop treating vocational and academic pathways as separate worlds. Schooling, vocational education and higher education are still too often governed, funded, and discussed through different systems. This reinforces the idea that they are different kinds of learning – with different levels of importance – rather than connected parts of a broader education and training system.

3. Build more useful evidence. Government-funded bodies such as the Australian Education Research Organisation give schools research-based advice. Applied and vocational pathways need the same attention, so schools are not left to build programs on goodwill alone. They need clearer evidence about what works, how to implement it, and how to recognise successful outcomes beyond ATAR results.

Signs of change

It isn’t all bleak. For example, in Victoria, students can now do a vocational major as part of the Victorian Certificate of Education. This means there is a clear place within the schooling system and recognition of distinct contributions they make to schools.

Educators and young people already know the value of this learning, they live it. The shift still to come is among policymakers, the media and the public.

The next time the ATAR league tables appear, it is worth asking who they leave out, and what we would have to change to put them back in.

Kellie McGlynn, Senior Lecturer in Education, Deakin University and Shaun Rawolle, Senior Lecturer in Education, Deakin University

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

Your toddler demands a Bluey-themed yoghurt and has a tantrum when offered something else. If it’s not a Nutella sandwich, your child’s lunchbox comes home uneaten. And the dinner table can become a battleground unless there are sausages, chicken nuggets or pizza on the plate.

These examples of fussy eating are everyday experiences for many parents.

Fussy eating, also known as picky or selective eating, is common, and can be frustrating. It’s often seen as a child or parenting issue. But it’s not merely shaped by what parents do, or the characteristics of the child.

Our new research suggests food fussiness and children’s eating habits are also shaped by commercial interests in food.

This includes mass produced foods that are high in sugar, salt and additives, combined in irresistible combinations and that are heavily promoted to children to maximise sales.

This has important implications for children’s health, and sets up tensions between what parents want their children to eat, and what they’ll actually eat.

What is ‘fussy eating’?

Fussy eating refers to having strong preferences for specific foods. Sometimes it involves not trying new foods, eating a limited variety of foods, or avoiding foods with a specific taste, texture or appearance.

Most research estimates 10–30% of children two to six years old are considered fussy eaters, peaking at around three years old.

The origins of food fussiness lie in the age-old practice of learning which foods are safe to eat and provide enough energy. This is why we often like sweet foods and not bitter ones.

Today, food companies capitalise on this biology of survival. They engineer and market foods to appeal to children, and in ways that confuse their parents.

What we did and what we found

We interviewed 34 parents of children aged one to 18 years old about their children’s eating habits and how they navigated them.

Parents talked about how they felt pitted against powerful food companies that influenced their children’s tastes.

Their comments also revealed fussy eating in children older than most earlier research presumes. We found this is developing in the primary school years when children are exposed to more ultra-processed foods.

Here are some of the common themes.

1. ‘Pester power’

Parents felt responsible for teaching their children about healthy eating, yet this was challenging with so much food marketed directly to children.

Such concerns of children’s “pester power” have arisen with concerted efforts by food corporations to market foods designed to maximise shareholder returns.

One mother of three pre-school and primary school-aged children talked about marketing “bad” foods to kids or placing them in reach:

[…] my 2-year-old is always like Bluey!!! […] You almost don’t want to take your kids to the supermarket […] Of course, my kids [are] gonna throw a tantrum – you’ve got a lollipop at his eye level.

2. Conflicting information

Parents today are swamped with misleading, confusing and often false information about food. This makes it challenging for parents to discern what’s healthy or unhealthy.

A mother of three primary school aged-children said:

You think you’re getting something that’s actually healthy because […] on the packaging, it says it’s healthy. So you trust it […] but it’s actually not.

3. Impossible binds

Social situations that normalise processed foods influence the foods children see as desirable and place parents in impossible binds. A father of three pre-school and primary-school aged children said:

My son used to love hummus. But everyone else around eats doughnuts or chips […] It’s a battle that we’re not gonna win.

In this context, many parents were concerned about pushing healthy food too hard. They worried this could have the opposite effect in the longer term. A mother of two primary school aged children said:

It’s a Catch-22 […] if I put Nutella toast in his lunch box, he’ll eat it. But then do I stay strong and not put shit in his lunch box, knowing that he’s going to be starving and be horrible at the end of the day? […] I don’t want to make it a huge thing because I worry about making food a problem.

Fostering compassion and government action

Dietitians advise parents not to pressure children about food. They say not to hide vegetables, and not to use food as a reward. Instead, they suggest eating together at a table, and persisting with offering healthy options.

Our findings suggest this advice falls flat if it doesn’t consider the commercial food environment. We suggest that more compassion, rather than shame, is needed towards parents about the food they provide.

Fussy eating can be a symptom of commercial interests in selling certain kinds of products. Recognising this may encourage people to demand governments do more to support children’s healthy eating.

Ultimately, food fussiness is much more than arguments at the dinner table. It is also a challenge that involves governments and the food industry.

We would like to acknowledge the following co-authors of the study mentioned in this article: Imogen Harper, Katherine Kenny, Holly A. Harris and Fiona Wright.

Juliet Bennett, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, Sydney Centre for Healthy Societies and the Charles Perkins Centre, University of Sydney; Alex Broom, Professor of Sociology & Director, Sydney Centre for Healthy Societies, University of Sydney, and David Raubenheimer, Leonard P. Ullman Chair in Nutritional Ecology, Nutrition Theme Leader Charles Perkins Centre, University of Sydney

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

Doing a load of laundry involves lots of decisions – from which cycle to choose to what detergent to use.

These choices may seem like simple personal preferences. But in communities where skin and other infections are common, doing laundry is often part of medical advice.

Washing clothes and bedding is widely recommended to help control skin and other infections. However, we haven’t known which wash settings are needed to kill or remove pathogens found on fabrics.

How hot? For how long? And with what detergent?

Our new research aims to answer these questions.

Why washing matters

Washing clothes and bedding may be one way to support skin health.

Rural and remote First Nations communities experience a particularly high burden of skin infections. These infections are driven by the consequences of colonisation, socioeconomic marginalisation and housing inequity, which disproportionately affect First Nations people.

Skin infections can have serious consequences. For example, skin infections caused by the toxin-producing bacteria, Corynebacterium diphtheriae, are driving the current diphtheria outbreak that has already claimed one person’s life.

Strep A skin infections can lead to acute rheumatic fever and rheumatic heart disease, conditions that can cause inflammation throughout the body and permanent damage to the heart. This has a big impact on the lives of children and families. Severe cases may lead to serious disability or death.

Improving access to effective washing may be one way to support wellbeing and curb the spread of skin disease. But we need to get our wash settings right.

What we studied

In our new study, we conducted a systematic review that analysed all the available research about fabric contamination and the effect of washing practices on skin pathogens.

Our results show temperature is the most important factor in preventing the spread of skin infections. This was true across all the pathogens and parasites we reviewed.

We found it is most effective to launder clothes at a minimum temperature of 60°C for at least 15 minutes to effectively kill off any bugs or pathogens. This can be in a washing machine set to hot, or in a conventional dryer.

However, reaching these high temperatures is not always possible. Under current regulations, hot tap water can only reach a maximum of 50°C to prevent scalds. And only some washing machines have internal water heaters, so even a “hot” wash might not be hot enough. Heating water and running dryers is also energy intensive and expensive.

Detergents containing activated oxygen bleach can effectively kill some skin pathogens at lower temperatures. But we need more research to know whether detergents and disinfectants can make cold water washing more effective.

Washing in First Nations communities

However, it’s often not possible to wash laundry in a way that effectively kills pathogens. This is especially true in remote Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities.

Many households struggle to purchase a reliable washing machine that is large enough to suit the needs of families. Washing machines can be twice as expensive in remote communities than urban areas, and the cost of electricity is exorbitant. Environmental factors such as dust, wet seasons and hard water – meaning water with higher concentrations of certain minerals – can damage machines and shorten their lifespan.

In some areas, as many as 70% of First Nations households go without a functional washing machine. Even fewer households have access to a dryer.

Community laundries may be one way to improve access to washing facilities. Our research shows that in the past decade, more than 50 communal laundry facilities have been set up in at least 38 rural and remote First Nations communities. These facilities give people free access to industrial washing machines, machine dryers, hot water and detergent.

Last November, the federal government committed A$11.4 million in funding for new or upgraded laundries.

Where to from here

Washing facilities are tied to the human rights to water, sanitation and dignity. They also have clear benefits for wellbeing.

But more work is needed to understand how effective washing could help reduce skin infection rates, particularly in remote First Nations communities.

One reason is funding for these laundry facilities is often tied to potential health benefits. The Remote Community Laundries Project, for example, aims to prevent serious conditions that can arise from skin infections. However, we don’t have enough evidence for looking at the health impacts of having more laundry facilities, or how we can maximise them.

Another reason is we don’t currently have guidance to support communities and laundry providers delivering these services. Our research highlights that the Australian Standard for Laundry Practice, for instance, has no specific recommendations about how community laundry facilities should be established or run.

Everyone has the right to wash and dry their clothes and bedding. But more work is needed to ensure washing facilities and practices meet the needs, preferences and priorities of First Nations communities.

Rosemary Wyber, Research Fellow, Yardhura Walani and The Kids Research Institute Australia, The Kids Research Institute; Australian National University; Kate Summer, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, Strep A Translation Team, The Kids Research Institute, and Rachel Burgess, Social Scientist and Aboriginal Senior Research Fellow, The Kids Research Institute Australia

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

Australia is world-leading in taking active measures to keep people safe online – home to the world’s first dedicated online safety regulator, the eSafety Commissioner, and the first country to introduce enforceable industry codes requiring platforms to tackle harmful content at scale.

And now, a newly released federal government issues paper proposes a “digital duty of care”, which would require social media platforms to take reasonable steps to prevent foreseeable online harm.

The proposal signals Australia’s position that it is platforms, not just individuals, who should be responsible for actively preventing online harms.

At the heart of the proposed digital duty of care is the principle that social media platforms should be “safe by design”.

But what does that mean in practice – especially for those who are most at risk? Our research with women and gender-diverse Australians offers six concrete recommendations for what safety by design could look like in practice.

Who bears the brunt of online abuse?

One in two Australian adults have experienced online abuse in their lifetime. Women and gender-diverse people are disproportionately targeted, experiencing harassment, non-consensual image sharing, impersonation, stalking and identity-based abuse at far higher rates than others.

Yet these groups are rarely involved in envisioning what safer platforms could look like. So, we asked them: what would safer social media look like to you?

We worked with 75 Australian women and gender-diverse social media users, and 21 experts in platform safety, digital policy and content moderation, to understand how existing safety features are falling short.

Here’s what they told us – and how it compares with the current Australian proposal for a digital duty of care.

1. Make abuse reports actually work. Abuse rarely fits a single category – without context, platforms don’t handle the reports well. A message that reads as innocuous to a stranger may be a clear threat to someone who knows their abuser. But without that context, platforms have no way of knowing.

Users want clearer processes that capture the full picture, smarter triage that prioritises urgent cases, and timely updates on what happened to their report. This fits well with what the digital duty of care proposes: platforms should have accessible complaint mechanisms and respond within 24 hours for serious issues.

2. Harmful content should be harder to share in the first place. Once someone shares intimate or sensitive content without your consent, it quickly spirals out of control. Australia’s proposal suggests platforms should prevent the upload of seriously harmful content such as image-based abuse, or detect and remove it.

Users in our research said they want prompts that encourage people to pause before sharing, technical measures that prevent screenshots or downloads, and real-time alerts showing when and where their content is being accessed.

3. Make bans harder to evade. If you block a user, they can create new accounts in minutes, facing few real barriers. The digital duty of care flags that anonymous account systems may need redesigning to prevent foreseeable harm.

As we found, users want layered verification – such as requiring a unique phone number or introducing delays before new accounts become active – that adds friction to repeat account creation, but not mandatory ID checks for everyone. This would protect those without formal ID, those escaping unsafe homes, or those who rely on anonymity to stay safe.

4. Harmful content should be caught before it spreads. Automated systems routinely miss culturally specific abuse and coded language. Content should be detectable before it is shared, and easy for bystanders – not just victims – to flag.

The users in our research recommended pairing automated detection with human moderators trained in cultural nuances, which is precisely the kind of effective content moderation system the proposed duty of care requires.

5. Recognise campaigns, not just individual posts. Abuse is often a sustained campaign, even when each message seems minor alone. The duty of care proposal requires platforms to mitigate reasonably foreseeable harms – which means looking beyond individual incidents.

Platforms should connect reports over time, identify patterns, and act before harm escalates, with independent audits to ensure these systems are never weaponised against the people they are meant to protect.

6. Surface safety tools before harm happens. Most users discover safety features only after something has gone wrong. Australia’s proposal envisions “empowering” users – but empowerment means more than adding features. It means the platform should offer the right tool at the right moment, rather than bury it in a settings menu that only the most determined users will ever find.

The real test

The proposed digital duty of care is a significant step in the right direction. But “safe by design” will only deliver if it works for everyone. As our research shows, those most affected already have clear, practical ideas about what would make platforms safer.

The opportunity now is to design with them – so safety is built in from the start.

Until the proposed digital duty of care is rolled out, it is up to all of us to look after each other. We can report harmful content, pause before we post and ask: is it true? Is it kind? Is it fair? And we can be active bystanders – commenting when we see something harmful, or offering support to those experiencing abuse.

We all have a role to play. From governments, to platforms, to everyday people – it is up to all of us to create a safe digital society, one that we can all be a part of.

Senuri Wijenayake, Senior Lecturer in Human-Computer Interaction, RMIT University; Anastasia Powell, Professor of Family and Sexual Violence, RMIT University; Dana McKay, Associate Dean, Interaction, Technology and Information, RMIT University, and Madhuka Thisuri De Silva, Research Assistant, Inclusive Digital Technologies, RMIT University

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

Higher awareness of the benefits of menopause hormone therapy (MHT) has led to rising demand for treatment – so much so that manufacturers can’t keep up and New Zealand’s drug-funding agency Pharmac had to temporarily ration supplies.

Most women today are prescribed body-identical hormones, including transdermal estradiol (patch or gel) and progesterone capsules, to treat menopause symptoms including hot flushes or night sweats. Estrogen relieves symptoms, while progesterone protects the lining of the uterus and may have benefits for sleep.

I believe there are two main drivers for the surge in demand. One is greater confidence in MHT, following reassuring long-term data from the Women’s Health Initiative trial and other studies.

The second is more open dialogue about menopause. Midlife women are now more aware of therapies and their additional benefit for bone health and they are demanding better care.

But apart from the acute shortages in supply, there are other significant gaps in research and the training of health professionals.

Changes in MHT over time

The initial Women’s Health Initiative trial was published in 2002.

The results scared women off using MHT for decades because the trial found an increased risk of breast cancer, stroke and blood clots in women taking combination hormone therapy for five years, compared to a placebo. It also suggested hormone therapy did not protect from heart attacks as hypothesised.

However, long-term follow-up findings are reassuring, as are newer studies. The 18-year data from the Women’s Health Initiative trial found overall mortality was no different between people who took five years of MHT versus placebo.

Studies of transdermal estrogen treatments such as patches and gels have found little to no association with stroke and blood clots.

Subsequent changes in clinical guidelines have been significant.

When I was training to become a gynaecology specialist in Canada in the late 1990s, we offered hormone therapy to everyone. But after the Women’s Health Initiative trial, we offered it only to women with the most severe symptoms. Later, we offered it to more women but at the lowest dose and for the shortest time possible.

Now, I offer MHT to all menopausal women with symptoms after full discussion of risks (primarily breast cancer) and benefits (bone health).

The current recommendation is to use the dose required to achieve full symptom relief. The duration of MHT treatment should be personalised and the decision to continue or stop should be made on an annual basis between a well-informed woman and her health practitioner.

MHT can now also be considered a first-line therapy to prevent menopause-related bone loss.

Improving menopause care

These changes have led to more MHT prescriptions compared to two decades ago.

Back then, following the initial trial results, prescriptions dropped. Doctors got out of practice of prescribing MHT and new doctors didn’t learn. There was little teaching about menopause at medical school.

This means that some doctors don’t have the training or experience to adequately discuss menopausal symptoms with their patients, prescribe treatments and optimise menopause management.

Currently, four out of ten medical schools in the UK don’t have mandatory menopause education in the curriculum and a survey in the US found most obstetrics and gynaecology training programmes lack modules on menopause.

To answer the call for better care in a New Zealand context, we have developed a short online training course on menopause care for nurses, nurse practitioners and doctors and new content for medical students. We are also advocating for more funded MHT options.

But we are missing evidence about women’s experience in New Zealand. We lack up-to-date data on who is using MHT, what women want from their health practitioners and how symptoms affect whānau, workplaces and communities.

Most studies on MHT include women who are already in menopause (12 months or more without a menstrual period). There are no long-term, high-quality trials of women in perimenopause (the transition to menopause, when symptoms start), nor of women taking contemporary MHT regimens – the estrogen patches and progesterone capsules affected by recent shortages.

Currently, counselling is also based on older studies of outdated therapies in demographics that don’t reflect New Zealand’s population.

New Zealand released a women’s health strategy in 2023 with the goal of “supporting women to live longer in better health”, prioritising better support for menopause. But women continue to report being dismissed by their health practitioners.

We need New Zealand-specific research about menopause and better education and training for health practitioners because midlife women are no longer willing to tolerate undiagnosed and untreated menopausal symptoms.

Michelle Wise, Senior Lecturer, Department of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

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

Shark fins on a plane, seahorses in your bag and sea cucumbers in the post – these are just a few examples of illegal marine wildlife trafficking.

This crime can be hard to detect. But in a new study, published in the journal Frontiers in Ocean Sustainability, we show how artificial intelligence (AI) can be harnessed as a complimentary detection tool to help stop marine wildlife trafficking at international airports and mail facilities.

A global crime

The cross-border trade in live animals, animal parts or products is a global crime, facilitating the flow of billions of illicit dollars each year. It’s known to converge with other criminal activity, including the trafficking in drugs, arms and humans.

The United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime identifies five sources of demand for wildlife trafficking: food, medicine, pets and ornamental plants, specialist collection and adornment.

In some cases, such as pet prestige, people are motivated both by the desire to have a pet and the perceived status it brings to own an exotic animal.

People traffic marine animals too

Wildlife trafficking affects around 4,000 species. Many of the more well-known examples involve land-based animals – ivory from elephant tusks, horns from rhinos and scales from pangolins – the world’s most trafficked mammal.

Closer to home, we also see native Australian reptiles and birds, sometimes shoved in tins, put in socks and packaged up live to be sent overseas.

Marine creatures, unfortunately, are targeted too. This can include live animals such as fish in people’s bags, or dried marine life such as the rise of the seahorse trade and demand for shark fin.

We have small pockets of knowledge of this activity. But the reality is we don’t fully understand how widespread it is.

AI to detect marine wildlife trade

Currently, the best means of detecting illegally trafficked wildlife is humans. And then there are our four-legged friends: biosecurity dogs.

Recently, Australia has also been working to develop the use of AI as a potential means of detecting land-based wildlife in illegal wildlife movements – building on existing detection pathways using 3D X-ray machines fitted with algorithms.

For our latest study, we built on these efforts by developing world-first marine wildlife algorithms. We taught computers to look for shark fins, seahorses and sea cucumbers.

We did this by collecting a total of 68 samples of dead marine animals, which we scanned in a 3D X-ray machine to create a library of images. We then used this image library to develop algorithms to enable computers to search for what we taught it to look for – in this case, shark fins, seahorses and sea cucumbers.

Samples were scanned alone and then in more complicated scenarios to reflect how people actually traffic marine life. This means if a bag or mail item is hiding a shark fin, seahorse or sea cucumber, the algorithm will be able to flag this to an operator, prompting them to inspect the item.

Out of a total of 298 scans and a training data set derived from these samples, our algorithm had success rates of 95%, 95% and 85% for shark fins, seahorses and sea cucumbers, respectively.

Humans and biosecurity dogs still needed alongside AI

While technology fitted with computer algorithms may help people inspecting luggage or mail, we still need people to verify what computers see. Sometimes the algorithms get it wrong and may miss items.

Despite this, the broader implications of having AI as a second set of eyes searching for trafficked marine life will aid in identifying key trade routes to potentially stop this activity. The next step is relying on implementation of these algorithms at the front lines.

Like computer algorithms and AI, the more we learn, the better we get at detecting and potentially stopping this harmful crime.

Vanessa Pirotta, Postdoctoral Researcher and Wildlife Scientist, Macquarie University; Justine O'Brien, Manager of Conservation Science, Taronga Conservation Society Australia, University of Sydney, UNSW Sydney; Phoebe Meagher, Adjunct Fellow, School of Biological, Earth and Environmental Science, UNSW Sydney, and Zara Bending, Distinguished Research Fellow, Macquarie University Environmental Law Research Centre, Macquarie University

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

Professor Richard Scolyer, renowned pathologist and joint Australian of the Year (2024), has died at the age of 59.

Scolyer captured the attention of Australians and the world when he volunteered to undergo a world-first experimental treatment for brain cancer.

This not only extended the duration of his life, but provided scientists with a wealth of knowledge that will help shape the future of brain cancer therapy.

In an open letter Scolyer intended to be published when he passed away, he wrote:

“I sincerely hope the scientific data and awareness I have generated will provide a platform for others to build upon to ultimately make a difference for future cancer patients.”

Richard Scolyer is survived by his wife, Dr Katie Nicoll, and his three children, Emily, Matt and Lucy.

Finding his calling

Scolyer grew up in the suburb of Riverside in Launceston, Tasmania. He described his memories of his childhood there as “mostly happy”, having spent it doing “all the normal things”, like biking and footy.

His family went on beach holidays every year, spending their time there swimming and playing cricket.

Scolyer was a lifelong sportsman, playing football as a youth, swimming, cycling, and running as an adult, and channelling his skill at these towards fundraising for charity whenever possible.

In year ten, Scolyer decided to be a doctor, successfully finding his calling very early. He studied medicine at The University of Tasmania.

Once a qualified doctor, he excelled in his role, driven by a great compassion for his patients. His speciality was melanoma, and he was regarded as one of the finest melanoma pathologists in the world.

In 2017, Scolyer was appointed the Co-Medical Director of the Melanoma Institute of Australia, alongside his friend, colleague, and co-2024 Australian of the Year recipient, Professor Georgina Long.

In mid-2023, Scolyer was diagnosed with advanced (stage 4) glioblastoma, the most aggressive and most common form of brain cancer.

Following diagnosis, survival is often only around a year. Treatment for glioblastoma has largely not changed in almost 20 years, and usually involves chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and surgery, but the cancer nearly always returns.

Knowing the severity of his disease, however, and the poor prognosis associated with glioblastoma, Scolyer volunteered to undergo a new glioblastoma treatment method that borrowed from newer techniques in the melanoma space. Those techniques are called immunotherapies.

Trailblazing cancer therapy

Immunotherapy is a term for a variety of relatively new techniques that are becoming more widespread.

The immune system is remarkably strong. So strong, in fact, it can kill almost anything, even you. Think of a severe allergic reaction – that’s the immune system being activated essentially by mistake, and it can be lethal.

The immune system needs to be kept under control, and one way the body does that is by using “checkpoints”. These are proteins on the immune cells that are like an “off switch” for the immune system.

It makes sense, then, that one of the most widely used immunotherapies are the “immune checkpoint inhibitors”. These are drugs that “turn off the off switch”, activating the immune system to help fight cancer.

To treat his glioblastoma, Scolyer was given simultaneous doses of three different checkpoint inhibitors, followed by surgery to remove as much cancer as possible from his brain 12 days later.

Scolyer then underwent six weeks of radiation therapy, received some additional checkpoint inhibitors, and even a “personalised peptide vaccination”.

Peptide vaccination is another type of immunotherapy. The aim is to try to teach the immune system what a patient’s cancer cells look like so, if their cancer comes back, the immune system can better fight against it.

Eighteen months after surgery, Scolyer’s tumour was still gone.

For a disease as difficult to treat as glioblastoma, it was an incredible result, and a testament to the skill of the scientists and clinicians involved, as well as to the tenacity and strength of Scolyer himself.

The success of his treatment quickly led to the creation of a clinical trial, looking at how this new glioblastoma treatment program can be adapted and used more widely in the future.

Scolyer’s bravery and trailblazing approach to his own care will almost certainly contribute to extending the lives of hundreds, even thousands of people who will be diagnosed with glioblastoma in the future.

More than that, researchers will be able to adapt these techniques to treat other cancers and diseases, which has the potential to benefit even more patients.

A remarkable extension

Sadly, in March 2025, Scolyer announced that his cancer had returned. It had been almost two years since his original diagnosis – a remarkable extension to his life, considering the dangerous nature of his disease.

Scolyer will live on in the memories of all that knew him, and his contributions to science and medicine will touch the lives of people worldwide for years to come, even if they never knew his name.

Sarah Diepstraten, Senior Research Officer, Blood Cells and Blood Cancer Division, WEHI (Walter and Eliza Hall Institute of Medical Research) and John (Eddie) La Marca, Senior Research Officer, Blood Cells and Blood Cancer, WEHI (Walter and Eliza Hall Institute of Medical Research)

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

From July 1, when you get a text claiming to be from the Australian Taxation Office, Australia Post or any other organisation, the first thing to check for will be one little word: “unverified”.

If it says that, be extra careful.

Australia’s phone companies blocked more than 153 million scam text messages in 2025 alone, as part of their obligations under the industry’s scam code. Yet many others are still getting through to our phones.

Until now, scammers have been able to mislabel the top of their texts to pretend to be from banks, government or other legitimate businesses.

From July 1 this year, that’s changing.

Major government agencies and big businesses have been preparing for this change for months. But 97% of businesses in Australia – 2.6 million in total – are small businesses, employing fewer than 20 people.

Along with community organisations, they’ve been warned to act fast to register their “sender ID” – or risk having their texts ignored or even reported as scams from July onwards.

What is ‘sender ID’? Why does it matter?

When you get a text message, it shows the sender’s name if that’s saved in your contact list, or else the phone number if it’s not saved.

Businesses can also text their customers with their organisation’s name at the top of a message. That’s known as the “sender ID”.

Scammers have been taking advantage of this process for years to trick their victims. For instance, you might get what appears to be a message from “AusGov” or “AUPost”: fake sender IDs close enough to the real “myGov” or “AusPost” IDs that they can fool people.

From July 1, under a much-needed government initiative, those scam text messages will show up on your phone under a single “unverified” message thread.

It’s a new way to signal it may be a scam. Over time, the goal is to eventually block more of those scam texts.

Australians lost more than A$2 billion to scams of all varieties in 2025. According to official Scamwatch data, email is still by far the number-one way Australians report being contacted by scammers. But texting is still a common method for scammers.

After July 1, scammers may try to get around it by writing the so-called organisation at the top of the text message – like a “PayPal” text scam going around now.

But from July 1, that same text would say “unverified” at the top, hopefully giving some people pause before they ring the fraudsters.

What businesses and community groups need to do now

While this is a welcome crackdown on scammers, there could be unintended consequences for businesses and community organisations that don’t register their sender ID before July.

Legitimate – but unregistered – texts risk ending up being lumped into the “unverified” thread, along with actual scams.

The national regulator, the Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA), last month acknowledged some small and medium-sized businesses and organisations may not realise the changes apply to them too. It warned “failing to register may mean consumers miss important messages or no longer trust them”.

From local childcare centres and tradespeople to small community groups, if you don’t want your message to be ignored from July 1, now is the time to register your sender ID.

There are two registration options available:

• if you have an Australian Business Number (ABN)
• if you don’t have an ABN.

It’s a similar three-step process in both cases. In both cases, you have to start by contact your telco or message provider. Then you’ll need to verify your organisation.

Don’t leave this until the last minute: start now.

When you receive a text after July 1

After July 1, any text message received from an “unverified” source should be treated carefully.

Since many legitimate businesses are yet to get on the Sender ID register, remember: an “unverified” text will not automatically be a scam.

But play it safe anyway. Use different means – such as looking up their official contact number to call them – to confirm it’s legitimate, rather than texting back or using links or numbers in their message.

On the other hand, if you think a new “unverified” message is suspicious, you can help by reporting it.

The easiest way to report a scam text is to forward it to 7226, a reporting line supported by phone companies.

Alternatively, you can also report it via the Scamwatch website. It is a longer five step process, probably designed to avoid false alarms given the volume of reported scams.

3 steps to protect against scams

As well as checking for “unverified” after July 1, Scamwatch already recommends these security steps.

• Stop: Never interact with a suspicious message in a hurry, even if scammers try to pressure you, such as with “Hi Mum” tactics. And never share your pin, password or codes in response to an unexpected text or call.

• Check: Make sure the person or organisation you’re dealing with is real. For instance, check if the phone number or email address on their official website matches what’s in the suspicious text.

• Protect: Contact your bank immediately if you’ve shared financial details or think money is being stolen. Change passwords if you think they’ve been compromised.

Scamwatch lists more support services, such as not-for-profit IDCARE if you need help as an individual or small business.

Mohiuddin Ahmed, Associate Professor in Cyber Security, Adelaide University

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

At the 2026 World Cup draw, FIFA Peace Prize recipient and U.S. President Donald Trump announced that the game should really be called “football.”

“There’s no question about it. We have to come up with another name for the NFL. It really doesn’t make any sense,” said Trump, an apparently new convert to the round-ball game.

He isn’t alone. The word “soccer” is, in some parts of the world, shunned by some fans.

Indeed, as a scholar of the sport who teaches a course called Soccer and Global Politics, I am bombarded with comments that the word “soccer” does not make any sense, and that people who use that term obviously know nothing about the beautiful game.

To me, this disparagement of the word “soccer” is not only petty and tiresome – it is also incorrect. It ignores the roots of the sport and the development of the language of the game.

Rather than making the word taboo, the football ecosystem should embrace it. To understand why, let’s go back to the beginning.

Associated to ‘assoc’ and then ‘soccer’

The game has been around in various forms for centuries, but it began to be codified in the mid-19th century.

“Association Football” was coined in 1863 to distinguish the game from rugby football, which, somewhat ironically, is played largely with the ball in hand.

British university students created their own slang at the time by abbreviating words and adding “-er” to them. Thus, “rugby” became “rugger” and “association football” was shortened to “assoc” and slanged to “soccer.”

And this term “soccer” was freely and proudly used in the British press and in public for nearly a century, until the 1980s.

In countries with other established codes of football – American football, Australian rules football and Gaelic football in Ireland – “soccer” became the dominant term. But British fans began abandoning the word in the 1980s, largely as a response to the embrace of the term in the States. And now, in the U.K. especially – but also among fans in the U.S. and Canada who present as “true” fans of the game – there are attempts to shame those who use the very term that the British invented and proudly used.

And that’s a pity. After all, using the word “soccer” has benefits. The British press continues to use “soccer” and “football” interchangeably to avoid repetitive writing. The shorter word is useful for tabloid editors when creating tight headlines. And using both words does not reveal that a person is ignorant but rather cosmopolitan.

The widespread use of “soccer” in Britain is still evident in the ongoing success of authoritative magazine World Soccer, founded in London in 1960; the TV show “Soccer AM,” which ran every Saturday from 1994 to 2023; the annual British charity match Soccer Aid; and Sky Sports’ “Soccer Saturday.” All document the enduring legacy of the term in Britain, despite the naysayers.

A shared vernacular

The beautiful game is also a universal one with a language shared by some 4 billion people.

Language evolves, and fans today equally understand “football,” “soccer,” “calcio,” “futebol” or “fútbol.”

Embracing all the variations of the beautiful game enriches the conversation. It illustrates the sport’s globalization and universal language, a shared vernacular that cuts across identities.

And besides, nobody wants the war that would ensue if American football fans were forced to find another name!

Kirk Bowman, Professor of International Affairs, Georgia Institute of Technology

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

In years gone by, school leavers had one main chance to get into university – by finishing their Year 12 exams with certain marks.

Media coverage of Year 12 results perpetuates the idea everything hinges on your final exams. Every year it runs the same stories of star students with perfect ATARs (Australian Tertiary Entrance Rank).

In reality, the ATAR is just one way to begin undergraduate study. There are multiple paths that can take you to uni if that’s where you want to go.

One of these paths is an enabling program. How do these work?

What are enabling courses?

Enabling courses are designed to lead to a university course, usually an undergraduate degree.

They were traditionally called “bridging” programs because they bridge the gap between high school and university for students who don’t meet university entrance requirements. They are also called tertiary preparation programs (or TPPs) because they prepare students for undergraduate tertiary study. You may also hear them called “uni ready” courses.

Enabling courses are fee-free for Australian citizens, as part of a federal government push to encourage wider participation in university study.

Some students enter straight out of school or during the senior years of school. Some enter many years after leaving school and may not have completed Year 12.

Different universities in different states will have different admission requirements, for example, English language requirements. Students should check the specific website of the university for the most detailed and current information.

How do they work?

There are about 48 enabling programs offered by universities across Australia.

The courses can cover a variety of different subjects like academic writing, study skills, mathematics, science, digital literacy and discipline-specific options.

They all teach the skills you need to do well in university study, even if you have not completed high school.

The courses are taught by university lecturers who are especially focused on student support and inclusive teaching.

What’s involved?

These courses can be delivered in high schools, on university campuses, face-to-face or online.

Usually students complete four courses that relate to the undergraduate discipline they want to enter. Successful completion of these usually allows the student to enrol directly into the undergraduate program.

This can include areas such as law, communications, science, arts, education, business, engineering and healthcare, but may vary across different universities.

The programs, with four courses, can potentially be completed in a single semester, or even in a compressed study session over the summer holiday period. So, in theory, you could do an enabling course and enrol in an undergraduate degree mid-year or the next year.

To get started you can search the website of the university of your choice for “enabling”, “TPP” or “FFUR” courses and apply directly online. Also speak directly to support staff at the uni to ask what prerequisites you need to apply for the degree you are interested in.

Who can do an enabling course?

It is estimated approximately 25,000 students Australia-wide will undertake a fee-free enabling course in 2026.

Around 60% of enabling students are from equity groups who are less likely to go to uni. This includes students from regional and remote areas, students from a non-English speaking background, people with a disability or students from low socioeconomic backgrounds.

Enabling programs can also benefit students who experienced significant illness or disruption in their final years at school.

Or perhaps they are the first person in their family to go to university.

What does it mean for later study?

Doing an enabling program does not mean you are less able to cope with uni than peers who enrolled with an ATAR.

Data suggests students who enter degree programs via enabling courses do just as well in their studies as students who come straight from high school.

In our own experience, we see some students enjoy enabling programs more than school study – they prefer the more flexible, adult environment.

Some young people don’t know what they want to do when they leave school. So an enabling course also gives them a chance to try out higher education without incurring a debt.

Susan Hopkins, Senior Lecturer in Education (Curriculum and Pedagogy), University of the Sunshine Coast and Gregory Nash, Senior Lecturer, Education, University of the Sunshine Coast

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

Magnetic fields are a fundamental part of the universe. They govern how small particles – the building blocks of planets, stars, and ultimately galaxies – move through space.

We still don’t know how magnetic fields came to exist in the universe, but we do know they’re everywhere. Earth itself has a magnetic field that compasses and migrating birds respond to.

With radio telescopes, astronomers can use the light from distant galaxies to illuminate these otherwise invisible areas in space.

In our study, published today in Publications of the Astronomical Society of Australia, we’ve used Australia’s most powerful radio telescope to create the largest and most detailed map of cosmic magnetic fields ever made.

Giant batteries that control galaxies

Magnetic fields greatly vary across the universe. Extremely dense objects, such as neutron stars and black holes, have magnetic fields thousands of billions times stronger than Earth’s own.

In the space between stars we’ve also measured magnetic fields a million times weaker than Earth’s. Despite their weakness, we know these fields are incredibly important for controlling how galaxies evolve. They act like giant batteries and store huge amounts of energy, slowing down or even preventing the formation of new stars.

But to us, magnetic fields are invisible. To find them in space, astronomers are limited to using light from distant stars and galaxies. That’s because light is a wave of electric and magnetic fields (that’s where the “electromagnetic spectrum” gets its name).

As light travels across the universe, it interacts with any magnetic fields it passes through. This will twist the direction the light is waving – we call this “polarisation”. So, light waving up and down has a different polarisation to light waving side to side.

Astronomers can catch this polarisation, especially when looking at the sky in radio waves, which are part of the electromagnetic spectrum.

Seeing the invisible

Australian telescopes have been at the forefront of both radio astronomy and detecting magnetic fields since their first detection. Murriyang, CSIRO’s Parkes radio telescope, was the first to detect the twisting polarisation of light from magnetic fields beyond Earth in 1962.

Ever since, astronomers have been pushing to find more and more sources that show us this twisting light. With enough measurements, we can create a map of magnetic fields in the universe.

Each point in the map is an object detected by our telescope, and the object’s light has illuminated the magnetic fields between us and that distant source. The more sources we detect, the more detailed our map becomes.

The last large map of magnetic fields was made in 2009. It has not seen a true successor in the intervening 17 years, limiting the depth and scope of the inquiries astronomers have sought to answer.

Across different areas of the universe, including our own Milky Way galaxy, we’re yet to understand the full strength and structure of cosmic magnetic fields. Not only do we not know how they came to exist, we don’t know how they’ve changed across time since the Big Bang.

To begin solving these problems, we need a new class of radio telescope.

A telescope built for speed

Radio astronomy is currently undergoing a revolution as the SKA Observatory is being built in South Africa and Australia. In preparation, a generation of telescopes, known as SKA precursors and pathfinders, are already operating around the world.

The ASKAP radio telescope is one of these precursors. Located at Inyarrimanha Ilgari Bundara, the CSIRO Murchison Radio-astronomy Observatory on Wajarri Yamaji Country in Western Australia, it’s made up of 36 12-metre dishes. These dishes can each see a huge section of the sky at once, giving astronomers an ultrawide view of the universe.

The flagship project to make a map of the universe’s magnetic fields is known as the Polarisation Sky Survey of the Universe’s Magnetism (POSSUM).

In preparation for it, the telescope’s team produced the Rapid ASKAP Continuum Surveys (RACS). It’s like making an atlas of the universe. The most recent versions of these surveys have identified nearly 4 million distant galaxies, with about 2 million having never been seen before.

The magnetic sky

Our new map, called SPICE-RACS, has come from a collaboration between the two survey teams.

Our goal was to look towards every galaxy found by RACS, and observe the signs of changing polarisation caused by magnetic fields. Using the latest release of the survey, we found 350,000 galaxies of the original 4 million we could use for this.

Our collection of sources is nearly ten times larger than the previous largest, and five times larger than all observations ever combined together. As a result, we’ve obtained the largest and most detailed map to date.

The map has red colours showing magnetic fields pointing towards us, and blue pointing away, like the North and South of a compass. Most of the swirling and bubbly structure we can see is from our own Milky Way galaxy. In the fine details of the map are the signatures from even more distant parts of the universe.

The new map is already enabling new science around the world, and the data is publicly available to the research community online. In the future, we plan to combine all versions of RACS to create an even larger and more detailed map.

Meanwhile, the POSSUM project is expected to finish observations by 2030. The sharper magnetic map from this survey will open up a new window on distant cosmic magnetic fields, allowing us to see further back into the history of the universe.

Alec Thomson, SKA-Low Commissioning Scientist, Square Kilometre Array Observatory; and Affiliate, Space and Astronomy, CSIRO

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

Pride is primarily a social emotion. It is about position, confidence, and power. This is why, for the LGBTQIA+ community, collective pride is adopted as the primary emotion to fuel unity and belonging.

June is Pride Month, celebrated the world over by LGBTQIA+ individuals as a reclamation of strength. But there’s a much longer history to this emotion, which can be produced in a great variety of contexts.

The circumstances of “pride” change over time, and the way this emotion is felt is directly tied to the social, cultural and political reality of different eras, and different places.

Pride, like the diametrically opposed shame, cannot be locked down.

Tracing the history of this emotion can help us understand how it came to be the empowering concept it is today – even as certain groups try and hijack it for their own means.

Religious influence

In classic Judeo-Christian thinking, pride was originally one of “eight evil thoughts” identified by the Christian monk Evagrius Ponticus (345–399 CE), who characterised it as an overblown sense of self-importance.

Pride was also closely related to another of Ponticus’ “evil thoughts”: vainglory. This referred to an excessive, disordered craving of praise and recognition from others. Both pride and vainglory were considered vices.

Ponticus’ thoughts on these matters were widely influential, and made their way to the Western Church in the early 5th century. By the 6th century, Pope Gregory I formalised the eight evil thoughts into the seven deadly sins, with “pride” and “vainglory” bundled together.

Gregory I named the feeling of pride as the root cause of all sins. This is because the serpent found resonance in Eve’s pride and ambition – two emotions that tempted her to eat the forbidden fruit.

In the 14th century, the rising European English nobility – and an increasingly wealthy merchant class – began adapting chivalric codes.

So, despite condemnation in the church, pride became associated with slightly more positive, secular concepts of honour and glory in battle, and a strong sense of personal renown. This pride was considered more genuine, authentic and justified.

In English, however, the word was always tainted by its first meaning – no matter how impressive the justification.

A few centuries later, Scottish philosopher David Hume, in his famous Treaty of Human Nature of 1740, observed:

pride and humility, tho’ directly contrary, have yet the same object. This object is self.

Hume went further to claim the things that make us feel “proud” only matter insofar as others are aware of them. He argued the pleasurable feeling of pride came from the satisfaction of being respected and valued by others.

Pride in war, and in whiteness

In the long Western tradition, the feeling of pride is predicated on hierarchy, determining whom one should feel for, or against. This positions the emotion as politically significant.

In 1945, when Britain and the Allies declared peace, headlines flooded British and Australian newspapers decreeing “pride” for the nameless millions who had worked for six years without reward to protect the cause of democracy and freedom against an unjust and tyrannical dictator.

The Allies’ “pride” became the losing powers’ shame. German historian Ute Frevert explains that:

maintaining and restoring national honour was of vital importance to any state that claimed a powerful position within the European system, and the interests, principles and moral laws it stood for.

Honour and national pride were equivalent to power. So when these were threatened, war became justified.

In 2005, 5,000 mostly white Australians gathered at the Cronulla beach in Sydney to seemingly, “reclaim the beach from outsiders”.

The violence that ensued toward people who appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent was claimed to be justified by the “pride” the white Australians ostensibly held for their country. They etched the words “100% Aussie Pride” into the shoreline – a visual display of how emotions can be employed as political weaponry.

Pride as an opposition to shame

Gay pride is celebrated in direct opposition to shame, an emotion that seeks cover and is often hidden from view. For generations, LGBTQIA+ individuals were forced to hide their identities out of social stigma and fear. “Pride” serves as a defiant, outward-facing emotion in the face of this systemic marginalisation.

As we celebrate another Pride Month, let’s remember the many ways in which this emotion has been politicised.

In the context of LGBTQIA+ communities, pride calls for belonging, tolerance, equality and acceptance.

Yet it continues to be hijacked by some in a bid to demarcate unjust boundaries, defining who belongs and who doesn’t.

Melissa Black, Honorary Research Fellow, The University of Western Australia

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

Anna Wintour, former editor in chief of Vogue, once said she would “never ever wear head-to-toe black”. It’s not a sentiment shared by most Melburnians who, while still generally considering themselves fashionable, will opt to wear black all year round – and even more (if possible) during winter.

As reflected in media coverage over the years, Melbourne has built somewhat of a reputation for its love of black clothing. Why is this?

A lot comes down to climate

When it comes to assessing the “fashion sense” of a particular city, the physical factors – particularly the local climate – matter.

Melbourne is home to a temperate oceanic climate, characterised by mild to warm summers, cool winters, and somewhat consistent rainfall during the year. Its winters are among the coldest of Australia’s capital cities.

As such, the average Melburnian’s wardrobe tends to be optimised for layering. This means having pieces that can be mixed and matched throughout the year. And of course, black on black is foolproof.

As Australian historian Hilary Davidson explained in a recent piece for the Sydney Morning Herald:

People in Melbourne can dress more, and wear more black clothing because the climate is more like London, New York, Milan or Tokyo … Sydney is ostentatiously casual or more Los Angeles glam.

Place branding and identity

Beyond the weather, the culture and norms of a city also play a role in what is considered acceptable attire.

“Place branding” is an important factor in how people dress in different parts of the world. This refers to the process of branding a city, country or region to actively shape how its residents perceive it.

Generally, place branding arises naturally through a city’s history and the major events that helped shape it. Melbourne’s place brand has developed out of its everyday culture: how residents live, what they value, and how changes in wealth and immigration have shaped the city.

The place brand of a city is reinforced through residents doubling down on established narratives – such as the idea that Melburnians love to wear black.

Melbourne as a very ‘European’ city

Melbourne has strong European undercurrents. It was the site of a large influx of European immigration following the second world war, and is home to both the largest Italian community in Australia, and one of the largest Greek communities outside of Greece.

This has helped establish the Eurocentric food and coffee cultures which remain core to the city’s branding and reputation as a great place to live.

Europeans themselves have embraced black dressing at various points in history. Colour historian Michel Pastoureau, in his book Black: The History of a Color, says this started in the medieval era, when black was adopted by European courtiers, embodying royalty and true luxury.

In the 16th and 17th century, European nobles wore black for portraits to display financial power as black dye was the most expensive and difficult to produce.

Although certain cities such as Antwerp developed expertise in dyeing black fabrics, this process was only democratised in the 19th century with more widespread access to dyes.

In the early 20th century, black regained an air of European refinement, as demonstrated by French designer Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel’s little black dress concept.

The colour has retained its strong contemporary appeal through Belgian designers such as Dries Van Noten, Ann Demeulemeester and Raf Simons – as well as the Berlin techno and fashion scenes, which widely incorporate black clothing.

Melbourne as the cultural centre of Australia

Like many European cities, Melbourne is also organised around its intellectual and creative institutions. It derives its identity from its cultural appeal and heavy investment in the arts, including music, theatre, literature, fashion and design. (Although the funding that helps drives these cultures is now at risk).

Creatives, of course, are countercultural forces who are notorious for wearing black, as author and architect Cordula Rau highlights in her 2008 book Why Do Architects Wear Black?.

At the beginning of the 20th century, the “Paris end of Collins street” became home to Melbourne’s artistic community. These people brought along their stylistic inclinations with their crafts and ideas.

Since the 1950s, black has also become the preferred colour of subcultures, such as Goths and punks, who rebelled against established norms. As Japanese fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto puts it:

Black is modest and arrogant at the same time. Black is lazy and easy — but mysterious. But above all black says this: I don’t bother you – don’t bother me.

In the end, Melbourne’s adoption and fondness for black clothing might very well be a self-fulfilling prophecy, aligned with its history and culture.

It may also be a way for residents to feel part of the city’s proverbial fabric, as seeing what our peers are wearing, and emulating it, is a way to signal and find belonging.

Rachel Lamarche-Beauchesne, Senior Lecturer in Fashion Enterprise, Torrens University Australia and Jye Marshall, Lecturer, Fashion Design, School of Design and Architecture, Swinburne University of Technology

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

“I can be smart when it matters, but most men don’t like it,” says Lorelei Lee in the 1953 comedy musical, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

This famous quip from Howard Hawks’ film sums up for us the fate of the star who uttered it. Marilyn Monroe confronted the pitilessness of the 1950s Hollywood studio system during her short career as an actor (1946-1962). Today she is primarily remembered for her highly sexualised glamorous star image rather than her intelligence, skill and political acumen.

Monroe crystallised a certain vision of 1950s femininity that chimed with the decade’s ambivalent attitude towards female independence – fascinated by but also wary of women’s increasingly public displays of sexuality.

At the centenary of Monroe’s birth, the image that endures in the public imagination has been largely stripped of voice and agency. What remains are images. There are the iconic moments from her films – most famously the white skirt billowing above a subway grate in The Seven Year Itch (1955). There are the photographs captured by celebrated figures such as Richard Avedon and Eve Arnold, and the artworks she inspired by equally iconic artists like Andy Warhol.

Her most recognisable moments have been repeatedly appropriated and reinterpreted by later celebrities, including Madonna, Kim Kardashian and Ryan Gosling.

Even when Monroe was alive, people close to her frequently claimed that there was no artistry behind her cinematic roles, rather that she was simply “playing herself”. The director Fritz Lang remarked that she simply knew what effect she was having on men, nothing more. And playwright Arthur Miller, her third husband, said that “in everything she did, she was herself”.

Joshua Logan, the director of her 1956 film Bus Stop, admired her comic timing, but she longed to play serious roles too.

Monroe herself both accepted and rebelled against her sex symbol image, understanding the power it gave her but rejecting its dehumanising qualities. “That’s the trouble, a sex symbol becomes a thing,” she stated. “I just hate being a thing. But if I’m going to be a symbol of something I’d rather have it be sex than some other things we’ve got symbols of.”

Fighting the power

In 1946, becoming a pin-up enabled Norma Jean Baker (Monroe’s birth name) to escape a working-class existence and pull herself up into a different world. She knew that her stardom was largely as a result of her appeal to young servicemen conscripted into war in Korea, including African-Americans. She used her star power to fight the racism, classism and sexism of the structures she worked within.

In 1954 she forced the owners of Hollywood nightclub Mocambo to honour a contract with singer Ella Fitzgerald they threatened to break. In a 1972 interview with Ms.Magazine, Fitzgerald explained:

I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt. It was because of her that I played the Mocambo, a very popular nightclub in the ’50s. She personally called the owner of the Mocambo, Charlie Morrison, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him – and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status – that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard … After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again.

In 1956, Monroe supported her then-husband, Miller, in his refusal to name names to the House Committee on UnAmerican Activities headed up by the notorious Senator Joseph McCarthy in the attempt to remove perceived Communist influence in Hollywood. In 1960, she wrote to New York Times editor Lester Markel, a friend of hers, expressing her support of Fidel Castro in Cuba.

Monroe also rebelled as soon as she could against being typecast as a dumb blonde. When executives at 20th Century Fox, the studio to which she was under contract, refused to cast her in dramatic roles, even after her brilliant performance in The Seven Year Itch, she announced the formation of her own production company, Marilyn Monroe Productions, in January 1955. She was president and her friend and photographer Milton Greene was the vice-president. Fox sued her for breach of contract.

Monroe and Fox finally settled on a non exclusive-deal that compensated Monroe for her past earnings and gave her control over future projects. Although Monroe herself did not survive long enough for her production company to make a significant cultural impact, her move paved the way for future female stars, such as Margot Robbie and Reese Witherspoon, to control their careers and the roles they are offered through founding production companies.

Monroe died before the flourishing of civil rights movements and women’s liberation in America. But in her actions, she anticipated their promotion of a fairer and more equal society. She is one of the 20th century’s most enduring icons. However, while she is remembered for her wiggling walk, childlike voice and pouty lips, behind this glamorous facade lay a hardworking, politically engaged woman who recognised and struggled against the inequities of the American society that both adored and denigrated her.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Fiona Handyside, Senior Lecturer in Film Studies, University of Exeter

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

Got some brown bananas on the counter, or soggy salad in the fridge?

If so, you’re not alone. Research shows on average, Australian households waste about 30% of the food we buy – or 2.5 million tonnes each year.

But in a cost of living crisis, where everything from fuel to groceries is getting more expensive, wasting food feels especially painful.

These economic pressures mean more Australians are using food relief services. Many are also buying fewer fresh foods and are taking more risks around food safety.

But with a bit of knowledge and creativity, you can salvage certain foods without risking your health.

Don’t risk it

It’s worth noting, you won’t be able to rescue every bit of food. That’s because they may have become unsafe to eat.

Here are four key signs to look out for.

1. visible mould

2. slime

3. leaking liquid

4. strong or sour smells.

If you have food that has one or more of these signs, it’s best to bin it. That way you can avoid food poisoning, which can cause stomach pain, nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea.

But other characteristics, such as wrinkles, browning and dryness, are often just signs of age, not harmful spoilage.

Fruits

Brown or black bananas may look unappealing, but they are perfectly safe to use in banana bread, pancakes or smoothies. But it’s best to keep any old bananas away from your fresh ones because darker bananas produce ethylene gas, which makes other fruit ripen faster.

Old apples may look wrinkly, because they lose water as they sit. But these apples are ideal for stewing, baking or grating.

Citrus skins, such as those from lemons or oranges, go tough and dry with age. However, you can still use the zest in baked goods and marmalade, and the flesh in drinks, dressings and marinades.

If you notice any mould on larger, firm fruits, it’s generally safe to cut it off. Just make sure you chop off the mouldy section with a large margin of at least a few centimetres. But if you find mould on soft or small fruit, such as berries, it’s best to throw it out.

Vegetables

Floppy or shrivelled veggies have lost moisture, but are not necessarily spoilt. You can roast, mash or puree them, adding them into everything from soups to curries. You can also use an ice-water soak to revive leafy greens such as spinach or kale. This involves separating the leaves and soaking them in cold water for at least 30 minutes to re-hydrate them.

For firm vegetables such as potatoes, carrots and pumpkin, any damaged or bruised areas can often be cut off. With potatoes, however, look out for any extensive greening or sprouting, as these contain natural toxins that are harmful if eaten in large amounts.

You may notice a fluffy white fuzz developing on mushrooms. This usually is not mould but mycelium, which is part of the mushrooms’ root system. Mould can grow on mushrooms but often appears in isolated, brightly coloured clusters that look blue, green, grey or yellow.

Grains

It’s best to discard any mouldy bread. This is because mould spreads more easily in porous foods, such as bread and cakes. But you can save stale, mould-free bread by toasting or turning it into croutons or breadcrumbs. And storing bread in dry environments – such as a bread box, cloth or paper bag – means mould won’t grow as quickly.

You can use leftover cooked rice or pasta in stir-fries or pasta bakes within a couple of days. But make sure to promptly and properly store it in the fridge and reheat it fully, meaning to piping hot or at least 60°C. And if heating in the microwave, make sure to stir so the food heats evenly. But, always discard any leftovers that have sat at room temperature for two hours or more, as they may contain bacteria that you can’t simply remove by reheating.

Dairy

We often consume milk and yogurt straight from the fridge, without a cooking or reheating step to kill bacteria. So it’s safest to chuck dairy products that are past their use-by date. And to prevent premature spoilage, only use clean utensils to serve dairy products and promptly return them to the fridge.

If you’re a fan of soft cheeses but notice any mould, throw the whole block or wheel away. This is because the roots of mould can penetrate deep into the cheese. Hard cheeses such as parmesan aren’t as susceptible to mould, so you can often cut off any mouldy bits with a generous margin. Proper storage – for example wrapping it in wax or baking paper and placing it in a container – can help cheese last longer.

There are many ways to rescue food that’s past its prime, but not spoiled. By following some simple food safety rules, and thinking outside the box, you can both reduce waste and save money. 

Emma Beckett, Senior Lecturer, Nutrition and Food Science, Australian Catholic University

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

Imagine if the only musical artists from the 1980s you had access to were Madonna, Prince and Michael Jackson. Others, such as David Bowie, Whitney Houston or George Michael are not available because, we’re told, these artists fail to exhibit the same type of creativity as the other three “geniuses”.

It’s clearly madness, yet this in a nutshell is the gatekeeping situation that exists in classical music today.

Zoom back to the 1780s and the musical landscape was astonishingly diverse, with composers across the globe writing bucketloads of music not only for the church, but for theatres, salons, concerts and performance at home. And, contrary to what we seem meant to believe, none of this music was auditioned by a panel of experts with the “best of the best” selected for our moral betterment.

But what we have access to today from the classical era is the tiniest fraction of what was composed then. And of that fraction, we hear a still smaller subset, dominated by just three composers: Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven – as classical music website Bachtrack’s 2025 statistics attest.

Many significant composers haven’t survived as part of the modern classical canon. Take Marianna Martines (1744–1812), for example. She was an extremely popular Viennese composer, singer and keyboardist whose prolific compositional output was so highly rated in her own time that she was the first woman to be inducted into the Accademia Filarmonica di Bologna as a “master” composer.

Performing regularly for Austria’s empress Maria Theresa and sharing the keyboard with Mozart for four-hand duets at her own popular musical salons, she was at the heart of a booming Viennese musical culture.

Where is her music today?

Talent flourishes with investment, and Martines had it all: money, time, geography, social networks and an elite education. In fact, court poet and famed opera librettist Pietro Metastasio personally oversaw her education from childhood.

Martines’ compositional catalogue is substantial, including – strikingly – several large-scale choral-orchestral works such as the impressive Dixit Dominus (1774), 12 keyboard concerti (four of which survive), and 31 keyboard sonatas (three of which survive). Her music isn’t just fine – it is exceptionally good. Just listen for yourself. So why do we not hear her music today?

It wasn’t that she lacked contemporary advocates, and it wasn’t even that she was immediately forgotten after her death. Indeed, she was significant enough to have active detractors who worked to discredit her authority, as music scholar Judith Valerie Engel details in her research.

The problem, then, was not absence of talent, nor even absence of recognition, but the failure of later institutions to keep investing in the conditions that ensure music like Martines’ is heard.

Ensemble music – particularly larger forms such as choral and orchestral music – requires a rather different type of investment. We’re not able to access it without the complex and expensive assembly of notated scores, instruments, large spaces and dozens of people with specialist skills who know how to transform those dots on the page into musical sounds.

At the root of this are repetition and publication, both in text and in sound. Text, for the obvious reason that without access to printed materials – and I mean well-edited printed materials – the music cannot be played and therefore endure.

Music publishers have long been gatekeepers of musical taste, providing editorial credibility and a supply of materials to the market. This curatorial role was usurped by record producers, who determine what gets recorded and circulated – the new modern legitimising “text” of a musical work, as it were.

Repetition is absolutely essential. This crazy process of putting dots of ink on paper to communicate complex sonic and emotional ideas means that musical works rarely reveal their secrets the first time they are played.

In re-performance and re-recording, musical problems are solved and the infinite dimensions of the possible sound worlds are explored. This dialogue between performers does two crucial things in the establishment of a work within the canon. First, it refines the quality of performance and, with that, enhances the evaluation of the work itself. Second, the frequency of performance or recording generates familiarity – a significant driver of musical preference.

My heart genuinely aches when I think about how different my own life would have been had I grown up listening to Marianna Martines’ music alongside that of her contemporaries. So many limiting myths about women’s inherent musical – and therefore artistic and intellectual – abilities might never have taken root in my subconscious.

While in general the ability to produce knowledge and exert influence is increasingly moving away from historical centres of power, public reclamation of received music history still lags far behind, despite the herculean efforts of numerous musicians, musicologists and advocates.

The good news is that listeners have more ability than ever to discover the music that moves them. The intellectual shackles imposed by commercial and academic institutions when it comes to deciding what constitutes “good” music are slowly losing their potency. There is no doubt though, we are now facing a new era of curatorial power in the form of AI algorithms that shape the discovery of music and much else besides.

However, restorative projects such as this first recording of Marianna Martines’s complete surviving keyboard works provide that essential first step of the music’s modern publication.

It is now possible for listeners to discover this music, and for musicians to begin the long, necessary dialogue with it. Only then are we able to reclaim our rightful musical heritage.

Cayenna Ponchione-Bailey, Director of Performance, St Catherine’s College, University of Oxford

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

Recent news articles have floated the idea some retirees might try to sidestep the government’s new minimum capital gains tax (CGT) by qualifying for as little as A$1 of the age pension.

That’s because under the government’s proposed tax reforms, people on certain income support payments, including the age pension, would be exempt from the new 30% minimum tax on capital gains.

The reforms are now under scrutiny in the Senate. If passed, from July 1 2027, they would mean pensioners in receipt of support payments would continue to have capital gains taxed at their marginal rate – which for some people would be lower than 30%.

The question then becomes: could retirees restructure their affairs, qualify for a pension and avoid the new tax? Or is this another example of a technically possible strategy that’s unlikely to be practical in the real world?

How hard is it to qualify for the pension?

The age pension is subject to both income and assets tests. Collectively, these are known as “means tests”.

There are different thresholds for singles and couples in different circumstances. But broadly speaking, the more assets you own or income you have, the less pension you receive until the payment cuts out altogether.

This creates an immediate problem for many pensioners who may have hoped to use this new “capital gains” minimum tax exemption. A capital gain is the profit you make when you sell an asset (such as a company share or a property) for more than you paid for it.

For many retirees, the very asset they hold or intend to sell may be large enough to prevent them from even qualifying for an income support payment, such as the pension.

And unless a specific exemption applies – such as for the main home they live in – trying to dispose of this asset to qualify would trigger the capital gains tax they may be trying to minimise.

How much could someone really save?

For many retirees, the actual benefits of this strategy would be less than some news headlines have implied.

The proposed exemption removes the 30% minimum tax floor. This minimum tax matters most when a person’s other income is low. Under current tax rates, income that exceeds $45,000 is already taxed at at least 30%.

That means the exemption is most valuable to a relatively narrow group of taxpayers: people with low incomes, but meaningful capital gains.

Some retirees in this position could achieve genuine savings. But the people most likely to enjoy very large capital gains are often the same people least likely to satisfy the pension means test.

How it could work

Let’s look at a simplified example comparing two retiree neighbours in the future, ignoring offsets and the Medicare levy.

The proposed changes will come into force from July 1 2027, so for this example, we will use the new tax rates set to come into effect from that date.

The first retiree is eligible for $1 of pension income and, in the same year, also has a capital gain of $44,999.

Under the 2027-28 tax rates, income between $18,201 and $45,000 will be taxed at 14%. Income below $18,201 will be tax-free.

In this example, the first neighbour’s entire $44,999 gain sits within that 14% tax bracket or else below the tax-free threshold. That means the gain and other assessable income would attract tax of about $3,752.

Now let’s look at their next door neighbour. They have the same total income – $45,000 – but all of that is from their capital gains, and they’re not on the age pension.

This means they could face the new 30% minimum tax on that gain. On a $45,000 gain and assuming no other income, that would be $13,500 in tax.

So the person on the pension would be better off than their neighbour by $9,748 in this simplified example.

But here’s the catch – and why this example isn’t likely to be a common one. To have such a significant capital gain, you would typically need to hold significant assets. That makes you far less likely to qualify for the pension in the first place, because of the means test.

In other words, the group wealthy enough to benefit most from this proposed exemption will often be too wealthy to access it. This loophole tends to narrow itself.

What safeguards already apply?

There are other important safeguards in place to stop people gaming this system. Services Australia regularly reassesses eligibility for entitlements.

The rules also make it difficult to simply give assets away (such as to children) to qualify.

And Australia’s general anti-avoidance provisions remain in place. These give the Australian Taxation Office commissioner the power to cancel any benefits arising from an arrangement, if an investigation determines taxpayers have entered into it primarily to obtain a tax benefit.

The bottom line

So is it really worth getting on the pension just to avoid Labor’s new capital gains tax?

While some people might try, it’s harder than you might think, due to the combination of strict means testing, plus rules that stop you giving assets away to become eligible for the pension.

Will large numbers of retirees successfully restructure their affairs to exploit the exemption? Given these hurdles involved, that seems far less likely than the headlines imply.

Getting $1 of pension and avoiding the new tax makes a great headline. Turning it into a practical strategy is another matter entirely.

Disclaimer: This is not tax advice, it is for educational purposes only. Taxpayers should seek advice from a registered tax agent or suitably qualified professional.

Donovan Castelyn, Senior Industry Fellow - Taxation and Director of the UTAS Tax Clinic, University of Tasmania

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

Profound changes are ahead for online advertising. At the recent Google Marketing Live event, the tech giant outlined expanded artificial intelligence (AI) systems for digital ads.

What will that look like? Picture ads integrated directly into your conversation with an AI chatbot. Or a discounted price that only you see because an AI system served it based on your browsing behaviour, intent to buy the product, and what’s available locally. And, of course, generative AI tool suites for producing online ads start to finish.

Meta and ByteDance (parent company of TikTok) have similarly accelerated the rollout of their own AI-driven advertising systems. Meta is expanding tools that automatically generate and personalise ad images, video backgrounds, captions and targeting across Facebook and Instagram feeds.

Bytedance’s TikTok Symphony suite can generate promotional videos, scripts, AI avatars, dubbed voiceovers, and creator-style content from simple text prompts or product links.

At the same time, ads on these social media platforms are becoming harder to recognise. As one example, Instagram and Facebook recently eliminated their familiar “sponsored” labels in favour of smaller “ad” markers.

It may look like a minor interface tweak, but it signals something larger: the steady erosion of clear boundaries between advertising, entertainment, recommendation, and ordinary social interaction.

Dissolving into the flow

Social media platforms have engineered ads to mimic organic content. Just think of influencer and creator partnerships, AI-personalised search results, or brands using memes.

Increasingly, online ads are less of an interruption to the content you consume. Instead, they’re designed to dissolve into the flow itself.

When companies buy advertising space on social media, ads are automatically disclosed as a commercial message. With partnerships and AI-personalised results, the platforms currently offer limited forms of disclosure.

The result is a blurring of the lines. Products, ideas and political messages are spread through ads that look a lot like all other, non-sponsored content. And the less an ad feels like an ad, the more effective it often becomes. This is precisely where public accountability starts to break down.

For several years, researchers like us, working through projects such as the Australian Ad Observatory and the Australian Internet Observatory, have documented how difficult it already is to observe and analyse online advertising systems.

Our work has examined everything from political advertising and astroturfing campaigns, the marketing of alcohol and unhealthy foods, and the veracity of “green” claims made by advertisers.

In many cases, this work depends on relatively simple but crucial forms of signalling. Researchers need to know what counts as an advertisement, who paid for it, where it appeared, and why it was shown to particular audiences.

But those signals are weakening.

Blurry and harder to audit

A blurred system is harder to audit. Audiences should be able to recognise when they’re targeted with ads. Without clear ad disclosures, we can’t easily detect or question commercial influence in our feeds and search results.

New AI tools intensify this challenge. Instead of seeing discrete ads in your feed, you might be getting a stream of product suggestions and discounts nobody else sees. This means regulators and researchers can’t even audit them.

These personalised, disguised ads could also make product recommendations that are biased and potentially harmful. For instance, you might be telling an AI assistant that you’re stressed, and suddenly be offered a discount on a case of wine.

AI-driven dynamic advertising is highly concerning for products that are unhealthy, harmful or regulated – such as alcohol and gambling. If ads appear one moment and are gone the next, it’s almost impossible to make sure they comply with relevant regulations.

The danger is not simply that users may encounter more advertising. It’s that the underlying commercial and promotional logic and messaging become even harder to see.

We’re not powerless

Australia’s emerging digital duty of care framework offers an opportunity to confront this problem directly. Much of the current discussion has focused, understandably, on harms such as misinformation, scams, abuse, or risks to children.

But opaque advertising systems are also a public interest issue. They shape political communication, consumer behaviour, health information, financial decision-making, and civic trust.

If platforms increasingly profit from blurring advertising and ordinary communication, then stronger positive obligations around disclosure and transparency become essential.

Minimum disclosures for digital advertising on social media should include:

• consistent and clear human and machine-readable advertising labels across formats and services
• accessible ad archives for public-interest scrutiny, including AI variations
• inclusion of meaningful and accurate information about targeting and delivery, and
• clear identification of AI-generated or AI-mediated advertising, including specifics on how AI was used.

This is not about banning advertising. Nor is it about returning to some imagined “clean” internet untouched by commerce. Advertising has always adapted to new media and will continue to do so.

But there’s a fundamental difference between visible persuasion and persuasion that disappears into the infrastructure.

Without clear signals on what is and isn’t an ad, we lose one of the few remaining ways to understand who is shaping the information environments we increasingly depend on every day.

Daniel Angus, Professor of Digital Communication, Director of QUT Digital Media Research Centre, Queensland University of Technology; Lauren Hayden, Research Officer, School of Communication and Arts, The University of Queensland, and Nicholas Carah, Associate Professor in Digital Media, The University of Queensland

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

“Digital authoritarianism” refers to governments using technology for surveillance and censorship to repress dissent.

China remains the master practitioner. There, sweeping surveillance and censorship at home is combined with cyber-espionage and disinformation, censorship and influence campaigns abroad.

But this problem is no longer confined to Moscow or Beijing. Democracies, too, are beginning to repress their citizens with the same tools, and export them abroad.

Two countries in particular – India and Israel – reveal how democracies are drifting toward the very digital authoritarianism they once opposed.

Israel: exporting spyware

Israel, a democracy, permits private firms to export spyware under a state-regulated system.

Pegasus spyware, developed by the Israeli firm NSO Group, is marketed as a tool licensed to government agencies for counterterrorism and serious crime investigations.

However, investigations have linked it to the surveillance of journalists, activists, lawyers and political opponents.

Pegasus spyware can infiltrate smartphones without the user clicking on a link. It can grant access to messages, calls, microphones and cameras.

It has been linked to the surveillance of journalists in Mexico, opposition politicians in India and civil society groups in Hungary.

Israel tightened export rules in 2021, insisting sales go only to trusted governments for legitimate purposes. Yet the problem has not disappeared.

In early 2025, it was revealed Paragon Solutions, an Israeli spyware firm cofounded by former Prime Minister Ehud Barak, developed a powerful surveillance tool capable of potentially compromising encrypted communications.

WhatsApp said last year nearly 100 journalists and members of civil society had been targeted using Paragon spyware.

Reporters at Citizen Lab later identified the spyware as a Paragon product, Graphite, and confirmed it had been used against journalists. It remains unclear who exactly the perpetrators were.

Through its export control system for offensive cyber tools, Israel is still allowing Israeli firms such as NSO Group and Paragon Solutions to sell spyware abroad, including Pegasus and Graphite.

This has contributed to concerns about the normalisation of commercial spyware.

India: Pegasus turned inward

In India, Amnesty International’s Security Lab reported forensic evidence of Pegasus being used on the phones of high-profile journalists.

Earlier reporting alleged Indian journalists, activists, lawyers and opposition figures appeared among potential targets. Following a petition, the Supreme Court will soon decide whether there should be an investigation into “India’s alleged use of Pegasus spyware on journalists, activists and public officials”.

The perpetrator has not been conclusively identified in those forensic reports, but NSO Group says Pegasus is licensed only to law enforcement and the intelligence agencies of sovereign states and government agencies.

The Indian government has denied wrongdoing, with IT Minister Ashwini Vaishnaw saying such surveillance was not possible under Indian law. The government later declined to file a detailed affidavit before the Supreme Court, citing national security.

These allegations sit within a wider pattern of democratic erosion in India. Critics have linked the Pegasus controversy to broader state practices, including:

• frequent internet shutdowns and online censorship
• legal pressure on journalists and activists
• online harassment of journalists, activists and members of marginalised groups
• and the stifling of dissent.

In 2023, Apple warned at least 20 Indian opposition politicians and journalists that their iPhones may have been targeted by “state-sponsored attackers”, reviving allegations the Indian government was using electronic surveillance against domestic critics. The Indian government has rejected the implication, but has announced an investigation.

Social media platforms have also been pressured by Indian government agencies and regulators to remove posts critical of the government. And supporters of the ruling party are known to organise online harassment campaigns of government critics.

A global problem

Other democracies – from Hungary to Turkey to Mexico – have experimented with spyware and aggressive online controls.

Technologies once hailed as enabling protest, connecting citizens and amplifying marginalised voices are now being redeployed for surveillance and control.

In 2024, global internet freedom declined for the 14th consecutive year. This was driven by censorship, surveillance, disinformation, platform restrictions and controls on internet access.

Governments of all types are blocking platforms, expanding monitoring, and deploying trolls and bots to tilt online debate.

For instance, Russia’s state-linked online influence operations have used coordinated troll farms to manipulate political discussions at home and abroad. Turkey’s pro-government “AKtroll” networks have also been accused of amplifying official narratives and harassing opposition voices online.

Gradual erosion of freedoms

Digital authoritarianism does not arrive overnight. It advances through normalisation: spyware licensed as “security”, platforms nudged into silencing dissent, internet shutdowns excused as “temporary”.

These measures, taken alone, may appear minor. Together, they gradually erode freedoms until democratic life itself is hollowed out.

Reversing this requires democracies to commit to strict controls on spyware exports. These controls must be backed by transparency, accountability and robust oversight.

Surveillance powers and online restrictions must be publicly justified and subject to independent review.

Equally vital is the protection of civil society. Journalists, activists and opposition groups need guarantees they can operate freely.

Ihsan Yilmaz, Deputy Directory (Research Development), Deakin Institute for Citizenship and Globalisation & Research Professor of Political Science and International Relations, Deakin University and Nicholas Morieson, Research Fellow, Deakin Institute for Citizenship and Globalisation, Deakin University

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

Imagine if the only musical artists from the 1980s you had access to were Madonna, Prince and Michael Jackson. Others, such as David Bowie, Whitney Houston or George Michael are not available because, we’re told, these artists fail to exhibit the same type of creativity as the other three “geniuses”.

It’s clearly madness, yet this in a nutshell is the gatekeeping situation that exists in classical music today.

Zoom back to the 1780s and the musical landscape was astonishingly diverse, with composers across the globe writing bucketloads of music not only for the church, but for theatres, salons, concerts and performance at home. And, contrary to what we seem meant to believe, none of this music was auditioned by a panel of experts with the “best of the best” selected for our moral betterment.

But what we have access to today from the classical era is the tiniest fraction of what was composed then. And of that fraction, we hear a still smaller subset, dominated by just three composers: Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven – as classical music website Bachtrack’s 2025 statistics attest.

Many significant composers haven’t survived as part of the modern classical canon. Take Marianna Martines (1744–1812), for example. She was an extremely popular Viennese composer, singer and keyboardist whose prolific compositional output was so highly rated in her own time that she was the first woman to be inducted into the Accademia Filarmonica di Bologna as a “master” composer.

Performing regularly for Austria’s empress Maria Theresa and sharing the keyboard with Mozart for four-hand duets at her own popular musical salons, she was at the heart of a booming Viennese musical culture.

Where is her music today?

Talent flourishes with investment, and Martines had it all: money, time, geography, social networks and an elite education. In fact, court poet and famed opera librettist Pietro Metastasio personally oversaw her education from childhood.

Martines’ compositional catalogue is substantial, including – strikingly – several large-scale choral-orchestral works such as the impressive Dixit Dominus (1774), 12 keyboard concerti (four of which survive), and 31 keyboard sonatas (three of which survive). Her music isn’t just fine – it is exceptionally good. Just listen for yourself. So why do we not hear her music today?

It wasn’t that she lacked contemporary advocates, and it wasn’t even that she was immediately forgotten after her death. Indeed, she was significant enough to have active detractors who worked to discredit her authority, as music scholar Judith Valerie Engel details in her research.

The problem, then, was not absence of talent, nor even absence of recognition, but the failure of later institutions to keep investing in the conditions that ensure music like Martines’ is heard.

Ensemble music – particularly larger forms such as choral and orchestral music – requires a rather different type of investment. We’re not able to access it without the complex and expensive assembly of notated scores, instruments, large spaces and dozens of people with specialist skills who know how to transform those dots on the page into musical sounds.

At the root of this are repetition and publication, both in text and in sound. Text, for the obvious reason that without access to printed materials – and I mean well-edited printed materials – the music cannot be played and therefore endure.

Music publishers have long been gatekeepers of musical taste, providing editorial credibility and a supply of materials to the market. This curatorial role was usurped by record producers, who determine what gets recorded and circulated – the new modern legitimising “text” of a musical work, as it were.

Repetition is absolutely essential. This crazy process of putting dots of ink on paper to communicate complex sonic and emotional ideas means that musical works rarely reveal their secrets the first time they are played.

In re-performance and re-recording, musical problems are solved and the infinite dimensions of the possible sound worlds are explored. This dialogue between performers does two crucial things in the establishment of a work within the canon. First, it refines the quality of performance and, with that, enhances the evaluation of the work itself. Second, the frequency of performance or recording generates familiarity – a significant driver of musical preference.

My heart genuinely aches when I think about how different my own life would have been had I grown up listening to Marianna Martines’ music alongside that of her contemporaries. So many limiting myths about women’s inherent musical – and therefore artistic and intellectual – abilities might never have taken root in my subconscious.

While in general the ability to produce knowledge and exert influence is increasingly moving away from historical centres of power, public reclamation of received music history still lags far behind, despite the herculean efforts of numerous musicians, musicologists and advocates.

The good news is that listeners have more ability than ever to discover the music that moves them. The intellectual shackles imposed by commercial and academic institutions when it comes to deciding what constitutes “good” music are slowly losing their potency. There is no doubt though, we are now facing a new era of curatorial power in the form of AI algorithms that shape the discovery of music and much else besides.

However, restorative projects such as this first recording of Marianna Martines’s complete surviving keyboard works provide that essential first step of the music’s modern publication.

It is now possible for listeners to discover this music, and for musicians to begin the long, necessary dialogue with it. Only then are we able to reclaim our rightful musical heritage.

Cayenna Ponchione-Bailey, Director of Performance, St Catherine’s College, University of Oxford

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

The Albanese government has promised to undertake “once-in-a-generation” reforms of the government’s employment services system, which could affect the roughly one million Australians who access unemployment payments including JobSeeker.

Announcing the changes at the National Press Club on Wednesday, Employment and Workplace Relations Minister Amanda Rishworth said the current system was “ill-equipped to respond” to unemployed people’s needs and is:

letting too many people in the caseload fall through the cracks, and failing to support them into a job.

The goal of the changes is to move from a “one-size-fits-all” approach of helping people find work, to giving different levels of support depending on what people need. However, there’s no clear start date for these changes yet.

The government’s plan to make improvements to a punitive system is welcome. Yet only three years ago, it was talking about even more ambitious changes.

Here’s what’s just been promised – and where the government still has the opportunity to do more.

What’s going to change?

The federal government says it will overhaul the current “one‑size‑fits‑all” system of Workforce Australia. This government service helps people find and keep secure work and manages the “mutual obligation” requirements for receiving certain payments.

For example, an individual receiving JobSeeker payments may have to apply for a certain number of jobs, take part in training and attend job interviews.

Under the proposed new system, job seekers will be sorted into three groups, known as “service streams”. These will offer different levels of support based on differing needs, with different mutual obligations.

Service stream one will be designed for people who are seen as ready to work and just need help to find a job. This would offer an improved digital service with individualised online tools and brief contact-centre support. The government says it will invest A$205 million in building this new service.

Service stream two will be for people who need more active help. That could mean coaching, confidence building, more direct support from a provider and goals tied more clearly to actual jobs in local labour markets.

Service stream three is for long-term unemployed people, or those with complex needs, who have been poorly served by the current system. This could include people who may need longer-term help, work experience, social enterprise or volunteering opportunities. A total of $52 million of funding has been earmarked in the budget for rolling out, testing and refining this more intensive service.

The government also announced it would put $27 million towards developing a revised assessment process, alongside the introduction of tailored employment goal plans in place of standardised job plans.

How we got here

This week’s announcement marks the long-anticipated outcome of consultations that began more than three years ago, with a parliamentary review of Workforce Australia led by Labor MP Julian Hill.

Workforce Australia was introduced in 2022 and designed by the Morrison government to replace the earlier jobactive service system. The 2023 Hill review argued there were many problems with the new system.

These included an “excessive” focus on mutual obligations, often forcing job seekers to perform unnecessary tasks, or apply for jobs they weren’t qualified for.

Others included the alienation of employers, such as by not pairing suitable candidates with jobs available, as well as a high turnover of employment service providers due to a “Hunger Games style contracting model”.

The review’s final report made 75 recommendations to comprehensively rebuild the system.

Problems yet to be addressed

The federal government formally responded to the review in 2024, saying it agreed reform was necessary. But it also said given such a complex system this “will take time to get right”.

This week’s announcement still leaves many of the Hill review’s recommendations unaddressed.

The single biggest gap between what the Hill review found was needed just three years ago, versus what’s been done now, is on mutual obligations.

Under the new system, mutual obligations will be different for each stream.

For those closest to work in stream one, there’ll be a simpler focus on job searches and other vocational activities. For stream two, a flexible focus on training and other support, connected to a participant’s employment goals. And obligations in stream three will focus on “meaningful engagement and building someone’s readiness to work”.

The Hill review did not recommend the complete abolition of mutual obligations, rather a move to a “shared accountability” framework. This would include giving frontline workers more discretion to “educate and counsel” people when they failed to meet their obligations a limited number of times, rather than automatically withhold payments.

The language of “meaningful engagement” is better than blunt punishment. But it still makes little sense to threaten the income of people already living below the poverty line to make them engage with services when they are already desperate for work.

Other recommendations that haven’t yet been acted on include:

• creating a new public entity, called Employment Services Australia, to help run employment services
• establishing a network of regional hubs
• establishing an independent Employment Services Quality Commission.

Further changes possible

The government says there will be further consultation to further shape some of the design elements of the new service.

The main takeaway is these proposed reforms do not live up to the aspirations of the Albanese government’s own Hill review.

The government has tried to sell this as “once-in-a-generation” reform. For that to be true, there’s still much work to be done.

Sonia Martin, Senior Lecturer in Social Work and Social Policy, Australian Catholic University

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

Today, construction is set to begin on Brisbane’s controversial Olympic stadium in Victoria Park.

The work comes almost five years after Queensland’s capital was awarded the 2032 Olympic and Paralympic games.

The decision to construct a new stadium in Victoria Park has angered many, including First Nations groups, who launched legal bids and staged protests to halt the development.

However, on Sunday night the park was closed to the public as the Queensland government prepares to begin construction.

But why is the site so special to First Nations groups, and could there have been a fairer course of action?

Why the controversy?

In March 2025, Queensland Premier David Crisafulli announced Victoria Park would be the site for the main venues of the Brisbane games.

Ongoing debate escalated when, in June 2025, the Queensland government passed legislation to exempt Olympic venues from major planning and environmental laws.

This effectively bypassed the park’s heritage listing.

By August that year, a First Nations group launched a legal bid to halt the development. Six more heritage applications followed.

On April 5 this year, another First Nations group established a tent embassy in the park. It ran daily for months while diverse Indigenous cultural activities, tours, and talks were held in the park.

A large gathering and protest was held at the weekend before the government closed the site to the public. Several people were arrested.

What is the significance of Victoria Park?

Victoria Park is a large, state heritage-listed green space, meaning it’s protected under Queensland state heritage legislation.

As co-author Gaja (Aunty) Kerry Charlton expressed on behalf of the Elders of the Yagara Magandjin Aboriginal Corporation, there are strong Indigenous family connections with Victoria Park (which is also known variously as “York’s Hollow”, Barambin – “Windy Place” and Wallan – “Bream”):

Pre-colonial Victoria Park housed vibrant communities who hosted large gatherings like boras, ceremonies, seasonal festivals, celebrations, funerals, sporting tournaments and inter-tribal diplomatic procedures and Lore-Law. This site holds significant cultural heritage for us from then to now and for millennia.

The site was twice (in 1846 and 1849) burnt to the ground during skirmishes with police and soldiers. It continued to be used by Aboriginal groups well into the 1890s and again from the 1930s to 1960. There are Elders alive today who lived there.

Apart from Musgrave Park, it is probably the most significant Indigenous site in Brisbane. It was certainly Brisbane’s largest and most important First Nations camp and corroboree ground.

This was acknowledged in Victoria Park’s recently completed master plan:

for thousands of years, this area has been a central gathering point for groups with different knowledge systems and languages.

The park also comprises inner Brisbane’s last remaining sizeable green space, and it is one of the few inner Brisbane parks to retain some vestige of natural vegetation. Its springs are the only original, still functioning aquifer in the Brisbane region.

In 2024, Brisbane City Council claimed its commitment to “metamorphosing Victoria Park/Barrambin into a natural haven” – restoring the natural landscape, increasing the tree canopy and revitalising the wetlands and waterholes.

Heritage concerns add fuel to the fire

So, what would overriding all this heritage mean? It means setting aside heritage requirements to fast-track development.

The state government’s Olympic delivery plan promised to “integrate” the games within Victoria Park’s master plan.

It remains unclear how this could be possible alongside the objective of “transforming” the park into Queensland’s “biggest” sporting venue.

Adding gigantic stadiums, overpasses, associated infrastructure and increased traffic within an already busy intersection between three major schools, a hospital, the Brisbane Exhibition Grounds and a university, will likely erase most of the park.

Nevertheless, the revised master plan insists two-thirds of greenspace will somehow be retained.

Communities and conversations are crucial

Most Australian cities have a large central park. Victoria Park was Brisbane’s last remaining chance to retain a large park as an integral part of its CBD.

The original vision (and Master Plan) for Victoria Park was that it would become Brisbane’s cultural and environmental “breathing space”. Victoria Park’s traditional custodians were central to this.

As Gaja Kerry Charlton notes:

We, the YMAC Elders, support this submission for all of Victoria Park to be heritage listed to protect it as part of our Yagara cultural heritage and for the wider community to ensure such parklands remain for everyone to enjoy.

The Brisbane 2032 mantra claims it will promote “not just our sporting champions, but equality and inclusion for all.”

Brisbane 2032 should be an opportunity for growth, and in ways that might not be expected: learning how to do development differently.

Hopefully in making the games, we can truly preserve the cultural landscape Brisbane was built upon, instead of again building over our rich Indigenous heritage.

The key to this is to bring the communities back into conversation and be willing to hear their voices and innovate into contemporary planning and design processes.

Ray Kerkhove, Research Fellow, Associate Professor (Adjunct), School of Social Sciences (Archaeology), The University of Queensland; Gaja Kerry Charlton, First Nations author and local traditional owner, Indigenous Knowledge, and Kelly Greenop, Associate Professor in Architecture, The University of Queensland

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

Birth rates have been declining worldwide since the peak of the post-second world war baby boom. Birth rates have now reached below replacement in most of the world, including Australia. Put simply, populations on average aren’t replacing themselves.

Everyone from Elon Musk to Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, to the pope have opinions on declining total fertility (or birth) rates – the average number of births per woman.

Overpopulation has dominated popular discourse since the 1960s. While fears of overpopulation remain, especially tied to immigration, concerns have shifted to depopulation and the related economic and national security issues.

Overpopulation fears to depopulation woes

In his 1968 book The Population Bomb, Paul Ehrlich warned the 1970s would bring “people, people, people, people” and an overpopulation “cancer” resulting in famine and war. Human extinction was imminent, we were warned.

Overpopulation-associated human extinction has not come to be.

The global total fertility rate has more than halved since 1950. Average birth rates for OECD countries now sit at 1.46 births per woman, well below the 2.1 required for generational replacement.

World population decline is projected by the mid-2080s. China is now in its fourth year of population decline. South Korea has been declining since 2019 with its near-global record low birth rates. Germany has seen deaths outnumber births since 1972. Japan, Greece, Italy, Cuba and Thailand are also among those in the depopulation club.

Without immigration, the United Kingdom would also see population decline, with deaths outnumbering births. Australia is about a generation away from the same fate. Immigration controls have seen depopulation in Canada.

Birth rates a solution to the ageing ‘problem’

Enormous advancements since the 1950s, mostly in health and medical technologies like immunisation, mean humans are living longer. We’re also having fewer children, and as a result populations are ageing.

An ageing population is a mark of success and human ingenuity, but economic systems tend to view ageing societies as problematic.

Workers and working-aged people are essential to maintain a healthy economy. Individual income taxpayers are the top source of federal government revenue in Australia. Too few people of working age replacing those retiring can seriously undermine economic wellbeing, forcing governments to do more service provision with less financial resources.

Below-replacement fertility and its implications for government bottom lines have resulted in Australian politicians calling on Australians to have more babies. “Have one for mum, one for dad, and one for the country”, treasurer Peter Costello famously said in 2004.

In 2020, former prime minister Tony Abbott suggested the wrong kind of women were having children, calling on “middle class” women to have more. Talking the budget, treasurer Jim Chalmers in 2024 said it would be “better if birth rates were higher”.

Human catastrophe of low birth rates

People are increasingly saying the choice to have children is constrained by external factors. Worldwide, around one-in-five surveyed by the United Nations said fears about the future would or has resulted in them having fewer children than they wanted.

Housing affordability, economic stability, gender inequality and climate change present insurmountable barriers for having a much-wanted family.

The lack of choice to have children in below-replacement regions, I’d argue is indeed a human catastrophe. How is it that we’ve allowed society to become so hostile that children are out of the question for so many who want them?

The intergenerational bargain is well and truly corrupted.

We are confronted with the tough question of who will care for us with the children gone.

Can a human catastrophe be avoided?

The burden of having a family falls on working-aged people, especially women.

A baby bonus or one-off payment is unlikely to change people’s minds and increase the total fertility rate; such payments merely change timing. Instead, increasing total fertility rates requires a comprehensive suite of measures from a policy perspective.

Tackling the big four big domains of housing, the economy, gender and climate encompass issues such as

• secure, affordable and appropriate housing
• employment and income security
• accessible childcare
• social and workplace gender equality
• climate change action.

People of childbearing age aren’t being hedonistic when making family and fertility decisions. They’re not thinking about themselves, they’re actually thinking about the future world and weighing what that might look like for prospective children.

Loss of hope among people of childbearing age, including fears of being left behind, contribute to overall concerns about an insecure future.

Not only is the human catastrophe of low births rates reflecting more widespread concerns, such as insecurity, it could also be undermining social cohesion.

Rather than an exploding bomb of overpopulation, the world faces an economic and social implosion due to lacking substantive supports necessary to help raise much-wanted children.

Surely it’s beyond time we ask people what they actually need – and give it to them.

Liz Allen, Demographer, POLIS Centre for Social Policy Research, Australian National University

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

A pair of stars spiralling around each other. That’s the origin of a new source of repeating radio bursts we’ve detected, called ASKAP J1745.

In recent years, astronomers have been puzzling over mysterious bursts of radio signals, known as long-period transients because of how slowly they repeat. They were first discovered by chance with telescopes scanning large chunks of the sky.

To date, astronomers have only found a dozen of these weird sources, and we’re still trying to understand exactly what they are.

In a new study published today in Nature Astronomy, we describe a first-of-its-kind detection – both radio and X-ray bursts repeating with each orbit.

ASKAP J1745 is exciting because we’ve figured out what it is, unlike 10 of the 12 known long-period transients. Even better, we were able to detect it with a bunch of different telescopes that observe all different kinds of light.

Bearing the same message in three forms of writing, the famous Rosetta stone once helped scholars decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Similarly, this extra information we found about ASKAP J1745 will help astronomers better understand the mystery of all long-period transients.

What do long-period radio transients look like?

Long-period transients are things in space that produce bright, repeating bursts of light at radio wavelengths. Little is known about the origins of most long-period transients. In addition, many have been discovered close to the dusty region in the middle of our galaxy, so it can be hard to see them with visible-light telescopes.

Even with just a dozen of these strange sources discovered so far, they seem to come in a few different shapes and sizes. Their radio bursts repeat on timescales of minutes to hours.

Some have been making regular pulses for more than 30 years, while others turn off for days at a time or go permanently radio-silent.

Where do they come from?

Astronomers initially thought long-period transients were just very slowly spinning neutron stars, called pulsars. These are the fast-rotating dense cores left after the supernova explosions of massive stars.

The first few of these radio transients discovered were repeating roughly every 20 minutes. That’s much slower than the average pulsar, which repeats every few seconds.

Furthermore, when pulsars slow down their spin, they should stop producing radio light. This means we shouldn’t see radio bursts from neutron stars rotating so slowly.

So astronomers investigated other theories involving white dwarfs – the slowly cooling dead centres of less massive stars. And recently we discovered some long-period transients in binary systems (two stars in a close orbit) with evidence of both a white dwarf and a lower-mass red dwarf star.

The discovery of ASKAP J1745

ASKAP J1745 is a new long-period radio transient we found with the ASKAP radio telescope, owned and operated by CSIRO, Australia’s national science agency. It’s the first one of these strange sources that we’ve identified as a “cataclysmic variable”.

Cataclysmic variables are systems with two stars – one of them a white dwarf – that orbit each other closely enough to interact. If the stars are close enough, the white dwarf’s gravity can pull (or “accrete”) material from the other star. That’s why these systems are also known as accreting white dwarf binaries.

Another long-period radio transient was recently discovered with X-ray bursts, repeating with the same regularity as the radio. However, the origin of the bursts and their shared timing remained unclear.

Now, for the first time, we have combined observations from radio, X-ray and optical telescopes to find that ASKAP J1745 produces both X-ray and radio bursts with each orbit of its two stars.

In these rapidly orbiting systems, the X-ray light is thought to come from the material heating up as it streams onto the white dwarf.

The bright radio bursts were a bit more of a mystery. But knowing that this is an accreting binary system helped us figure things out.

The type of pulsed radio light we detected is typically caused by energetic particles interacting with strong magnetic fields. Here, we have the perfect combination: two stars with strong magnetic fields (typically thousands of times stronger than an MRI machine), with charged particles flowing towards the white dwarf from the other star.

What this means for the future of astronomy

This discovery is unique because we have more information and at more different wavelengths than any other previous long-period transient.

Just like the Rosetta stone was key to decoding ancient Egyptian symbols, ASKAP J1745 will be key to deciphering the origins of other long-period radio transients that lack information at other wavelengths.

ASKAP J1745 is the first long-period transient showing signs of accretion across the spectrum of light – from radio waves to visible to X-rays. And this stream of charged material is a crucial ingredient for making the radio light we detect from these systems.

Exploring the mechanism that produces long-period radio bursts gives us a new laboratory to learn about extreme physics such as plasma flows and magnetic fields in conditions we can’t recreate on Earth.

We acknowledge the Wajarri Yamaji as the Traditional Owners and Native Title Holders of Inyarrimanha Ilgari Bundara, the CSIRO Murchison Radio-astronomy Observatory where ASKAP is located.

Kovi Rose, Astrophysics PhD Candidate, University of Sydney

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

If you’ve ever taken your child to a maternal, child and family health nurse for a growth check, you might have felt a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

As health professionals, we’re often asked: is my baby gaining enough weight? Am I feeding enough? Why did they drop a percentile? Why is my friend’s baby bigger than mine? Am I doing something wrong?

In most cases, the answer is that there is nothing wrong at all. Let’s look at what the measurements actually mean and we’ll answer some questions that commonly arise during these appointments.

What actually happens at a growth check?

Growth checks are usually done by a maternal, child and family health nurse at a community health centre, or by your family GP.

Each state and territory, as well as New Zealand, has its own schedule of recommended growth and development checks. In Victoria, for example, appointments are booked when your baby is aged two weeks, four weeks, eight weeks, four months, eight months, 12 months, 18 months, two years, and three and a half years.

In the early weeks, when feeding is still being established and child growth is rapid, these appointments can help identify feeding difficulties.

First, the nurse will observe your baby or child, then they will weigh them, measure their length (if they’re babies) or height, and measure their head circumference. They plot these numbers on a growth chart in your child’s health record or the Well Child Tamariki Ora book in New Zealand.

The nurse will check your child’s alertness, appearance and muscle tone. They will also ask questions about feeding, sleep, wet/dirty nappies and any recent changes.

Nurses are there to support you as a new parent. They provide reassurance and a chance to ask questions to help build confidence during a period that can feel uncertain.

Over time, growth checks allow nurses to see if your child is growing and developing at an expected rate.

For toddlers and preschoolers, the nurse will check for typical development in behaviour, language and play. If required, they will provide support or referrals to a GP who may then refer to a paediatrician, speech pathologist, occupational therapist, or psychologist, depending on the child’s needs.

What do the dots on a growth chart really mean?

Growth charts in Australia and New Zealand are based on the World Health Organization’s Child Growth Standards, which reflect optimal growth for healthy, breastfed children.

They provide context for your child’s growth through a reference population of children of the same age and sex. The curved lines are called percentiles.

• a child on the 50th percentile is right in the middle
• a child on the 25th percentile is smaller than average
• a child on the 85th percentile is larger than average.

If your child is on the 25th percentile for weight, it means that if 100 children of the same age and sex were lined up in increasing order of weight, your child would be number 25. So 75 children would weigh more and 24 would weigh less.

A single measurement tells very little. The pattern of the weight over time is even more important.

But there is no “ideal” percentile. Every child grows at their own pace and this can be influenced by their genetics, ethnicity, birthweight and gestation. Even siblings or twins may follow different patterns.

When should parents be concerned?

Small fluctuations on the chart are common, as babies grow in spurts. But nurses may look more closely if a child:

• crosses several percentile lines over time – either in an upward or downward trend
• is showing signs of feeding difficulties or dehydration
• appears unwell.

Even in these cases, the approach is careful assessment, not alarm, and your nurse might suggest additional checks. This helps see whether a feeding adjustment is working, or whether something else might need attention.

In most cases, extra visits end with reassurance. When there is a concern, extra visits allow things to be identified and addressed early.

3 common questions answered

1. When should I consider supplementing with formula?

Breastfeeding is recommended where possible. But there are situations where supplementing with formula might be recommended – for example, when there are concerns about weight gain. In these cases, we always recommend to discuss supplementing with your trusted health care provider.

Your nurse is there to support your child and reassure you – not to judge how you feed them.

2. Should I start solids early if my baby is ‘big’?

In short, no. The guidelines recommend introducing solids at around six months. This should be done when babies show developmental readiness, not because of their size or percentile.

Breastmilk or formula still meets all nutritional needs until around six months.

Starting solids early may increase risks of choking, tummy upset and a greater chance of being overweight later in life.

3. Why doesn’t growth happen steadily week to week?

Babies grow in spurts, not in smooth lines and weight can vary with feeding, sleep and any recent illness.

Periods of rapid growth often occur in the early weeks, around six to eight weeks, three to four months, and around six months with babies growing rapidly throughout the first year of life. During these times, babies may feed more or seem unsettled.

Where to find more support

For more support, contact your local GP and consider asking for a referral to a lactation consultant, paediatrician or dietitian.

As part of the Australian government’s Pregnancy, Birth and Baby program, you can phone (1800 882 436) or video call a maternal and child health nurses for free, seven days a week from 7am to midnight. Or for breastfeeding issues, call the Breastfeeding Helpline on 1800 mum 2 mum (1800 686 268).

For parents in New Zealand, the government’s Plunketline (0800 933 922) is available 24–7 for advice about child health and parenting.

Amit Arora, Associate Professor in Public Health, Western Sydney University; Hannah Dahlen, Professor of Midwifery, Associate Dean Research and HDR, Midwifery Discipline Leader, Western Sydney University; Jessica Appleton, Senior Lecturer, School of Nursing and Midwifery, University of Technology Sydney, and Lynn Kemp, Director of the Translational Research and Social Innovation group, School of Nursing and Midwifery, Western Sydney University

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

You probably have at least one “super fit” friend. Maybe they’re a marathon runner, a footy player or a keen hiker.

To keep themselves healthy, they may stick to a strict exercise regimen and only eat certain foods.

But in most cases, these people would likely struggle to play a sport or do an activity they’re unaccustomed to.

So, what does “fitness” even mean? And is there more than one kind?

Defining ‘fitness’

When you hear the word “fitness”, you probably picture someone who looks physically strong and athletic. But fitness can take many forms.

This includes cardiovascular endurance, which is how well your heart and lungs use oxygen to create energy.

There’s also muscular strength or your ability to move and lift objects in a single effort, for instance picking up a heavy box.

Body composition, or the amount of muscle you have relative to the amount of fat, is another aspect of fitness.

Aerobic or anaerobic fitness. What’s the difference?

While we can understand fitness in many ways, exercise scientists commonly break it down into two broad categories.

Aerobic

Aerobic fitness refers to your ability to use oxygen to create energy. This allows you to physically exert yourself for longer periods of time, for example, running a marathon.

Researchers assess aerobic fitness using a measurement known as “VO₂max”. This records the maximum amount of oxygen your body can take in and use to create energy. Existing evidence shows people with a higher VO₂max score may have better aerobic fitness, a lower disease risk and a longer lifespan.

Anaerobic

Anaerobic fitness has to do with how well you perform short, high-intensity movements. Examples include jumping as high as you can or running a 100-metre sprint. Research shows anaerobic fitness relies on factors such as muscle mass, strength and explosive power, or how much force you can produce in a short period of time.

Some sports mainly require one type of fitness, say aerobic fitness for long-distance running. But most use a combination of the two. For instance, a football player needs explosive anaerobic power to sprint for the ball, but must also have enough aerobic fitness to keep running for a whole game.

Importantly, your body will adapt to the specific type of training you do. So if you run regularly, your heart, lungs and legs will learn to run very efficiently.

However, running involves a movement pattern that is quite specific. That’s why a runner may initially find it hard to pick up other sports, such as swimming or cycling.

But if you are “running fit” you will have an easier time switching to another sport, compared with someone who is not fit at all. That’s because you’ve already developed your aerobic and anaerobic systems and just need to “transfer” them to your new activity, rather than start from scratch.

These factors can affect your fitness

There are several factors that shape your level of fitness.

One is genetics. There is much research to suggest your genes play a key role in how you respond to exercise. Some people may build muscle more quickly and easily, while others seem to improve their aerobic fitness without much effort. This doesn’t mean that your genes stop you from getting very fit. But it does suggest that not everyone will be able to become an elite athlete.

Another factor is training. The type of exercise you do, and how well you do it, directly impacts how fit you get. Research shows high-intensity interval training – which intersperses short bursts of activity with quick recovery periods – is especially effective for improving aerobic fitness. But if you’re keen to get more anaerobically fit, you can prioritise strength training.

Lifestyle choices also affect fitness. You can train as much as you want, but if you’re not eating and sleeping enough, you may not get the results you want. That’s because good nutrition and consistent sleep ensure your body properly recovers from exercise.

How can fitness impact my health?

The evidence is clear that if you want to live a long, healthy life, you need both aerobic and anaerobic fitness.

Higher aerobic fitness is one of the strongest predictors of overall health. Research shows it protects against illness such as heart disease, type 2 diabetes, dementia, and some cancers. It also prevents early death.

Importantly, being more anaerobically fit may lower your risk of getting type 2 diabetes and dying prematurely. Research also shows having stronger and more powerful muscles helps older people avoid falls and stay independent for longer.

In short, high aerobic fitness may help you live longer, while high anaerobic fitness will ensure you stay strong during your twilight years.

So, how can I improve my overall fitness?

Based on the World Health Organization’s physical activity guidelines, you should aim to do at least 150 minutes of moderate aerobic activity each week. This may look like running, cycling or even brisk walking, and doing weight training at least two days each week.

If you are short on time, high-intensity interval training, also known as HIIT, is an effective way to do more exercise in less time.

When it comes to fitness, there are no quick fixes. But regardless what exercise you choose, what matters most is that you do it consistently.

Hunter Bennett, Lecturer in Exercise Science, Adelaide University

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

Australians scammed out of A$3,000 or less could be able to claim automatic reimbursement from banks, phone companies or tech companies, under a new federal government proposal.

Last year, there were 481,523 scam reports in Australia, worth A$2.18 billion, with a median loss of $400, a recent official report found. That was up 7.8% from the year before, but down since scams peaked at $3.1 billion in 2022.

At first glance, if the median scam amount was $400, being able to easily reclaim $3,000 might sound generous.

However, once you start digging deeper into data on Australian scams – then compare it with a similar scheme in the United Kingdom – $3,000 starts to look like an oddly low threshold.

Who would win under the new proposal?

The federal government has just released new details of its Scam Protection Framework, which will make banks, telcos and digital platforms set up stronger anti-scam systems by March 31 next year.

Part of that new framework is a proposed dispute resolution process, making banks, telcos and digital platforms “automatically reimburse scam victims for verified scam losses below $3,000”.

The goal of those automatic repayments would be to prevent low-value scam claims needing to go through costly dispute resolutions. That would save time and stress for scam victims, and avoid wasted time for police and the companies involved.

The reimbursement costs would be shared by the banks, telcos and digital platforms, which would repay people scammed via their services. This follows a similar approach in the UK, where banks sending and receiving fraudulent payments are equally responsible for the reimbursement cost.

The proposal says “the majority of scam complaints lodged in Australia involve losses under $3,000, despite accounting for a small fraction of total scam losses”. And that’s true: a lot of Australians stung by relatively low-level scams would benefit from this proposal.

But a closer look at scam data reveals that some of the most common and costly types of scams would end up not being covered.

Who would miss out?

Australia’s consumer watchdog, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, runs the Scamwatch website.

It shows investment scams were the single costliest type of scam in 2025, making up almost half of all of the losses it tracked.

The median loss for an investment scam last year was $7,000. That’s far higher than the proposed automatic scam repayment scheme.

Several other of the top ten most common scams last year – offering fake jobs, money recovery and payment redirections – also had median losses that were higher than $3,000.

The federal government says more expensive scams would have to go through a dispute resolution process instead.

The UK has far higher rapid repayments

In 2019, the UK introduced a voluntary code for its major banks which encouraged victims of “authorised push payment” scams to receive compensation directly from the banks.

This was a revolutionary change for the UK – but it had a mixed reception. Not all banks engaged with the code. Outcomes for consumers were inconsistent, with refund decisions varying considerably.

So the UK changed its Financial Services and Markets Act 2023 which, for the first time, introduced world-first mandatory reimbursements. That’s now been in force since October 2024.

The maximum amount of money an individual can claim is £85,000 (A$159,900), which covers more than 99% of claims. Where more than £85,000 is lost and not reimbursed, people can raise their case with the free Financial Ombudsman Service, which has a compensation limit of £430,000 (A$809,000).

There’s still a requirement for individuals to take responsibility for their transactions. But as long as there is no evidence of negligence, particularly in ignoring warnings from the bank, the refund is usually made within five days.

The UK scheme only covers domestic bank transactions, not international transactions or those involving cryptocurrency. This is narrower than the Australian proposal, which also brings in telcos and digital platforms.

A report looking at the start of the UK scheme found 86% of scam losses were returned in the first three months, totalling about £27 million (close to A$51 million). A similar proportion of refunds (84%) were processed within the five-day guideline.

Asked why Australia was proposing to set its automatic payment threshold lower than the UK, Financial Services Minister Daniel Mulino said the government didn’t want to incentivise bigger scams:

What we want to do is to make sure that we don’t have the wrong incentives for perpetrators to see Australia as a soft target.

Lifting an ‘oddly low’ threshold

It’s good news that Australia is trying to broaden reforms first started in the UK, by going beyond just bank transfers as the UK does to also capture payments made on other large digital platforms.

But what about the automatic repayment threshold: should we set it as high as the UK, equivalent to almost $160,000 here?

Actually, I don’t think we should.

If you’re making payments of that size, such as a home deposit, there’s a good case for insisting on extra diligence.

For instance, when I bought a property, I got an email from the realtor with account details. Instead of just transferring all the money at once, I rang them directly first, checked the account, then transferred a small, specific amount and rang again to ask them to confirm they’d got it.

But $3,000 is oddly low as a proposed threshold.

More research would be needed to recommend a more adequate amount. But given this is out for public consultation until June 25, now is the time to reconsider what the threshold should actually be.

Unless it’s lifted higher, national scam data shows too many people will still miss out.

Correction: an earlier version of this article referenced a report on the first six months of the UK scheme. However, the figures from that report – 86% of scam losses being returned, totalling about £27 million – were from the first three months of the scheme. This has been updated.

Paul Haskell-Dowland, Professor of Cyber Security Practice, Edith Cowan University

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The next federal election in 2028 looks set to be a battle of the tax plans.

Treasurer Jim Chalmers has dropped hints Labor may deliver more tax cuts for wage earners. Meanwhile, Opposition Leader Angus Taylor has promised to fix “bracket creep” by tying what people pay in income tax to inflation.

Labor’s New South Wales Premier Chris Minns unexpectedly appeared to side with the Coalition this week, suggesting some Australians were now working half of the week just to pay their income tax:

The top marginal [tax] rate of 47%, as I said in parliament last week, you’re working Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday for yourself, and then Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday for the government.

Is that true?

Let’s take a look at the latest data on how much income tax typical Australian households paid in 2025.

How much Australians pay in tax

Most countries with comparable economies to Australia belong to the 38-nation Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD).

Just weeks ago, the OECD released its latest annual Taxing Wages report, showing the tax trends for full-time workers across all those countries for 2025. Their earnings ranged from just 67% of an average full-time wage, up to higher income earners on 167% of the average wage.

For Australian workers, the OECD used A$108,674 as the base level that an average full-time worker earned in 2024-2025.

Crucially, the OECD analysis also takes into account any other government benefits they received to come up with a net tax rate for each type of household. For example, if you receive a government cash payment – such as family tax benefits – that extra money balances out some of the tax you’ve paid the government.

Taking that into account, the OECD report showed many Australians paid less income tax last year than the OECD average.

Specifically, Australia’s single full-time workers, single parents on a lower income with two kids and dual income couples without kids all paid less tax than in comparable wealthy countries.

The most any of them paid was 28.7% for a higher income single person (someone earning 167% more than the average wage). That was less than the OECD’s average of 30.3%.

As an example, this is how a single Australian worker, earning an average wage, compared on tax rates against other OECD nations.

But there were some cases where Australians paid more.

For example, a married, dual income couple – both earning an average wage – with two kids paid a tax rate of 23.5% in 2025. This was higher than the OECD average of 21.5%. This couple would not receive any family tax benefit, as their income would be higher than the means tests allows.

The OECD analysis does not include investment income.

No one in Australia pays 47% on their entire salary

None of the households covered in the latest OECD analysis were paying anything like a 47% tax rate – particularly once you also take into account government payments like family tax benefits.

But what about Australia’s highest income earners, who weren’t covered in that OECD analysis?

No, not even someone on a very high salary is paying 47% of their entire salary.

Australia has a highly progressive tax system, with low income earners benefiting more from tax allowances such as the low income tax offset and transfer payments such as the family tax benefit.

Effective marginal tax rates vary based on income level and whether a person receives any government payments. Families tend to get more of those benefits – like family tax benefits – than singles.

Australia’s highest tax rate of 47% only applies as a “marginal tax”: meaning it’s only applied on each extra dollar that people earn above the highest $190,000 threshold. Here’s how it works.

The actual tax rates income earners pay

These are Australia’s current marginal tax rates, for the 2025-26 year. Note, there’s an additional 2% Medicare levy for many taxpayers – taking the top tax rate to 47%.

Let’s use an example. The New South Wales Premier Chris Minns’s salary from July 1, 2025, was $348,301 (plus expenses).

Minns only has to pay the highest 47% tax rate (including the Medicare levy) on what he earns from $190,001 up: less than half of his total salary.

According to the federal government’s Moneysmart income tax calculator, someone with a $348,301 salary in 2025-26 would have an after-tax income of $218,462.

That’s an effective tax rate of 37.27% – not 47%.

So are any Australian salary earners “working Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday for yourself, and then Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday for the government”?.

The simple answer? No.

Helen Hodgson, Adjunct Professor, Curtin Law School and Curtin Business School, Curtin University

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From July 1 this year, all Australian businesses will have to pay their employees’ superannuation on the same day as they pay salaries. If you’re an employee, that means your employer’s super payment will need to reach your super fund within seven days of pay day.

In the lead up to the change, the Australian Taxation Office has been encouraging employers to transition to “payday super” early. So you may have already noticed a change.

Underpayment or failure to pay superannuation has become a growing problem. The tax office recently said around A$6 billion in superannuation is currently unpaid to workers.

So what’s changing from July 1? How much is it likely to boost your super balance over time? And where can you get help if you need it, either as an employer or an employee?

What’s new from July 1?

In Australia, all employees receive a minimum amount of superannuation on their wages paid into their nominated super fund. This is called the superannuation guarantee and is 12% of your wages (whether you’re full-time, part-time or casual).

Under the current rules, ending on June 30, most businesses pay superannuation quarterly. That money has to reach an individual employee’s super fund 28 days after the end of the relevant quarter.

Although some businesses may have paid super more regularly, until now many individuals may have seen only quarterly deposits to their super fund.

This means it can be difficult for an employee to match the super on their payslip with the deposits into their fund. There are often delays between an employer making the payment and a super fund processing the payment.

Payday super is a new step to ensure payments are actually made to the super fund at the same time as they’re reported to the tax office.

Thousands more for a typical worker over time

If the main difference from July 1 is the timing when an employer pays super, does this make any difference for the employee? Yes, it will.

Even an employee without underpaid or unpaid super will benefit from more regular payments of super to their super fund. This is because earlier and more frequent payments will help super investments and returns grow faster.

Estimates vary of how much it could be worth over time. Last year, the federal government said it could add around $6,000 in today’s dollars to average 25-year-old worker’s retirement balance.

The Super Members Council – which represents superannuation funds with 12 million Australian members – separately estimated a typical worker could be $9,400 better off in retirement if super was paid at the same time as wages.

Why was any change needed?

Super Members Council analysis found younger Australians on lower wages, people in insecure work, lower-paid women, and migrant workers were particularly hard hit by lost super. One in two workers who earn less than $25,000 a year have unpaid super.

A 2022 report by the federal government’s Australian National Audit Office showed workers in construction, retail, professional scientific and technical services, accommodation and food services were the most likely to have unpaid super.

And very small and small businesses were the most likely to have underpaid their staff super.

But larger corporations have been caught out too. Just last year, supermarket giants Woolworths and Coles were found to have underpaid wages for about 28,000 staff, with an estimated final bill that could reach $1 billion. Those underpayments included underpaid superannuation.

All too often, individuals only realised their super was unpaid, or underpaid, after it was too late, such as if their employer unexpectedly went bankrupt. That’s the key problem the new payday super rules aim to prevent.

How employers can get help

If you’re an employer, payday super is a significant change to how you might have done business in the past.

Super for employees can no longer be considered as a problem for down the track – and this will have cashflow implications.

If you haven’t already, there is still time to get prepared using these tax office checklists and videos for employers.

Last week, the tax office said more than half of employers were still not paying super more frequently than quarterly. But it’s also made it clear it will focus on education over punishment for employers trying to do the right thing in the coming financial year.

How employees can get help

While payday super is certainly a win for employees, unfortunately there will always be a minority of employers that deliberately or accidentally do the wrong thing.

If you’re an employee, especially if you have any reason for concern, follow these three quick steps:

• make sure your employer has your current super details
• understand where your super goes
• and regularly check your super fund balance against your payslip.

Communicate any errors to your employer in writing as soon as you can.

Then you’ll have peace of mind the payday super rules are working for you.

There’s more easy-to-read information for employees on the tax office website.

Toni Patricia Brackin, Professor of Accounting and Deputy Head of School - Business, University of Southern Queensland

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Australia’s spy agency issued a stark warning to politicians and public servants last week: do not discuss sensitive or classified information in vehicles.

Speaking at senate estimates, ASIO Deputy Director-General Lisa Alonso Love said the warning concerned “any vehicle, whether it’s connected or not”. But she added that “connected vehicles” may come with additional risks for data collection. Her advice was that classified conversations should occur only in properly secured locations, not while travelling.

The warning came after seven models of Chinese electric vehicles were added to the list of taxpayer-funded cars available to federal politicians, representing 30% of the vehicles now available under the parliamentarian vehicle scheme.

But this is not just a problem with electric cars, nor cars manufactured in China. Connected vehicles of any kind come with several privacy and national security risks.

What are ‘connected cars’?

According to the Australian Signals Directorate, any vehicle that is connected to the internet, either through an embedded SIM card or a paired smartphone, can be considered a connected vehicle.

Almost all major cars sold in Australia with “connected services” collect and transmit driver and passenger data to the vehicle manufacturer.

A study by consulting firm McKinsey found 50% of cars on the road in 2021 had internet connections and predicted the number will rise to 95% by 2030.

Data is collected and stored both on vehicle and offshore. For example, Great Wall Motor’s policy states its data is transmitted to Singapore but is available for analysis in China.

What data do these cars collect?

Connected vehicles are packed with sensors: in the seats, the dashboard, the engine, the steering wheel. Many also have additional driver-facing cameras plus external cameras. Vehicles can generate 1 to 2 terabytes of raw data per car each day.

Manufacturers collect sensor data to measure vehicle performance. However, collected data also includes precise geolocation data, infotainment use, whether you buckle your seatbelt, drive too fast or brake too hard, and whether you are sleepy or drank too much.

Some of the data collected, such as real-time location and when the driver and passengers are inside or outside the vehicle, can infer weight, age, race and facial expressions.

Vehicles also have access to data from Bluetooth connections to our cellphones. This includes contacts, mapping data, calendar information, habits and hobbies and a myriad of other data sets. Data shared through cellphones can provide even more personal data such as your financial and relationship status.

And it isn’t just driver data. The privacy of passengers is also of concern. Sales agreements state the driver is responsible for advising passengers anything they say or do can be collected by the on-platform sensors. It is up to the driver to warn passengers.

According to a 2023 report by software company Mozilla, vehicles are the most egregious for collecting personal information and violating privacy norms.

Of the 25 vehicles Mozilla reviewed, none passed their privacy review.

According to vehicle privacy disclosures reviewed by Mozilla, manufacturers use data for product evaluation and improvement. However, it is also made available for sale to affiliates and data aggregators where it is repackaged and sold.

In 2023, Reuters revealed Tesla employees privately shared highly invasive videos and images that had been collected from customers’ cars. The recordings reportedly included people in the nude and others involved in crashes.

What can you do to protect yourself?

Generally, consumers can choose to opt out of some of the data collection. However, if they refuse the collection, they may not receive all of the vehicle’s full functionality.

The following steps can help you stay secure:

1. Review the manufacturer’s privacy and sharing agreements when you purchase a vehicle and know your rights.

2. Go to vehicleprivacyreport.com and enter your vehicle identification number to check to see what data is collected.

3. Do not allow the manufacturer’s SIM card to be installed or activated in data-enabled cars.

4. If the vehicle has a downloadable application, you may be able to turn off some of the collection features associated with that vehicle.

5. Alternatively, many vehicles have the data collection description and the ability to opt-out through its infotainment centre dashboard.

6. If you sell or loan your vehicle, make sure you do a full factory reset to eliminate any collected data. Advise the new owner to ensure the vehicle has been reset.

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.

The red pipefish (Notiocampus ruber) is a rare relative of seahorses and seadragons found only in Australia.

While the species occurs across southern Australia from Western Australia to New South Wales, its incredible camouflage means until now only one person had ever photographed it in the wild.

In Gamay (Botany Bay) it has been observed hiding among feathery red algae, but elsewhere the red pipefish has been recorded on rocky reefs. Its colour and slender body allow it to disappear almost completely against its surroundings.

For decades, scientists have wondered how these elusive creatures carry their eggs. Our new photographs and research, published in the Journal of Fish Biology, finally provide an answer.

A lucky sighting

One of us (Andrew) regularly dives the popular Sydney sites The Leap and The Steps at Kurnell, Gamay (Botany Bay), where he documents seahorses, pygmy pipehorses, seadragons and other related sealife.

Andrew had briefly seen a red pipefish twice before. However, he struck gold when he spotted one at Kurnell in April 2021. He kept tabs on this individual, spotting it almost weekly until January 2022.

During that time it was joined by two more red pipefish. When all three were sighted in November 2021, one was a brooding male carrying eggs on his trunk.

Tails or trunks?

While pipefishes and seahorses are famous for male pregnancy, the family is split by how the males carry their young. Many pipefish – and all seahorses – are “tail brooders”, carrying eggs on the tail in pouches.

Another group of pipefish, the “trunk brooders”, carry eggs exposed directly on the belly. However, scientists have suspected the red pipefish was a tail brooder since 1979 based on the structure of its body. However, without a living male to study the theory remained unproven.

Andrew’s photographs from his November 2021 dives at Kurnell finally provided the proof. They clearly show a male carrying large eggs attached directly to the belly – confirming the species as a trunk-brooder and placing it in an ancient group of pipefishes that lack pouches entirely.

Interestingly, the data suggest this Australian fish may be a long-lost relative of species found as far away as the North Atlantic, despite the vast geographical separation.

Finding such a rare fish in the well-dived waters of Gamay is a reminder that major biological secrets are still hiding in plain sight.

Andrew Trevor-Jones, Technical Officer, Australian Museum and Graham Short, Research Associate, Australian Museum

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Gina Rinehart, Australia’s richest person and one of the world’s most powerful mining magnates, recently helped finance a deal to acquire a 10% stake in Southern Cross Austereo – the second largest commercial media broadcaster in Australia.

The company owns many major media brands including the Seven Network, West Australian Newspapers and Triple M.

The announcement was followed by an 8% increase in share prices for the company – an uncommon feat in the media industry, which is often overlooked by speculative investors.

The deal – worth about $26m – doesn’t give Rinehart an immediate stake in the company. But she could secure a 9% share if her backed partner, former Seven network executive Bruce McWilliam, defaults on their agreement.

Billionaires and the media

This isn’t the first time Rinehart has forayed into the Australian media industry, having previously owned stakes in Channel 10 and Fairfax.

But what is it that motivates wealthy business people to invest in media companies, especially when they often offer poor returns to investors?

People who own news businesses have the potential to steer the actions of the company towards their own interests. This can include affecting how stories are framed so their political interests are prioritised. They may also set news agendas that emphasise their worldview or prevent them from being critiqued.

Famous examples include the reported decision from the Washington Post to not endorse Kamala Harris for the United States presidency in 2024 after owner, billionaire Jeff Bezos, insisted they change their editorial practices just days before the election.

Similarly, Silvio Berlusconi, the former Italian prime minister and media mogul, was criticised for leveraging his media empire to further his political ambitions.

As such, scholars have argued for decades that media ownership is a critical issue for democracy.

A complicated history of media ownership in Australia

Australia has one of the most concentrated media environments in the world.

Last century, Australia’s media companies were dominated by four family dynasties, some of whom are still household names today: the Murdochs, Packers, Fairfaxes and the lesser-known Symes family.

In the 1980s there was a shift as broadcast licenses became scarce and elite members of the business world began acquiring stakes in media companies. The most famous examples included Kerry Stokes and Alan Bond.

By then, there was serious concern about media ownership and its impacts on democracy and culture.

In 1986, the Hawke government introduced new media ownership reforms designed to curb the influence of media barons.

Paul Keating, when introducing the laws, famously said in his speech to parliament that media proprietors could be “queens of the screen or princes of print, but they couldn’t be both.”

Now Australia’s media industry faces increased financial pressure from international tech companies that have become breadwinners in online advertising.

This has also coincided with a shift in audiences towards digital platforms, away from traditional media such as television, newspapers and radio.

This has led to some small companies closing, and larger companies being acquired at bargain prices.

In 2017, under the leadership of Malcolm Turnbull, Australia began unwinding its media ownership laws in an attempt to allow for greater cross-media ownership. The hope was it would allow for more resilient media firms which might be able to stand up to international tech companies and media conglomerates.

Less than a year later, Nine Entertainment and Fairfax Media merged to become the second largest media company after News Corp.

However, by 2021 the regulatory attitudes changed. Somewhat ironically, Turnbull returned to parliament alongside former prime minister Kevin Rudd at the Senate inquiry into media diversity in Australia.

There he said News Corp had turned into a “political party with only one member”.

Since then, little has been done to stop the tide of media concentration in Australia. Earlier this year, a second cross-media amalgamation occurred when Southern Cross Austereo and Seven West Media shareholders agreed to merge.

It was one of the largest media mergers in Australian history, and solidified Southern Cross Austereo as one of the country’s true media giants.

Where does this leave us now?

The involvement of business titans in Australia’s increasingly concentrated media industry is nothing new. But what is concerning is the lack of regulatory action to mitigate ownership and market concentration.

The absence of policy reform might be because the industry is already facing an existential threat from the digital advertising sector. Politicians may also be concerned about attracting the ire of media owners who might seek to use their influence against them.

A diverse media environment is necessary for a thriving democracy and it starts with ownership. Continued investment in public service media such as the ABC and SBS are one way we can ensure Australia has media institutions that cannot be owned by powerful commercial interests.

Other options also include nonprofit businesses and philanthropic models.

These approaches come with their own drawbacks. But most can help solve the compounded issues of concentrated ownership and market instability.

The path forward depends on an intricate set of factors: the financial success of the industry, intelligent policy making and the people who own Australia’s media.

Cameron McTernan, Lecturer of Media and Communication, Adelaide University

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There are many things about Miles Davis to remember as we mark 100 years since his birth. There’s the 1950s and 60s elegance and lyricism, with his Harmon muted trumpet, the tone of which was once said to sound like “a man walking on eggshells”. There’s his badass attitude taking no bull from anyone, with a particular invective for the racism of America. Most of all there is his fearless innovation, always reaching for sounds unheard.

As the late (much lamented) writer and musician Greg Tate wrote: “Miles Davis was a musician you could set your atomic clock to: check in every five years or so and you’d find him a parsec ahead of everyone else.”

But this was a hazardous approach that had a price. In 1969, Davis admitted to jazz journalist Hollie West: “I have to change, it’s like a curse.” Part of that price was the risk of failure, at least by his own exacting standards.

And so, we turn to Kind of Blue (1959). It’s the highest selling jazz record of all time, (multiple times platinum); only it wasn’t quite what he was after. In 1959, a spellbound Davis saw Les Ballet Africaines (the national dance company of Guinea founded in the early 1950s) and found his next direction. In his 1989 autobiography, Miles, he wrote:

I knew I couldn’t do it from just watching them dance because I’m not African, but I loved what they were doing. I didn’t want to copy that, but I got a concept from it.

It was the sound of the “finger piano” (mbira or kalimba), in particular, that inspired him. He set about combining that impression with a love (shared with his new pianist Bill Evans) of composer Maurice Ravel’s Concerto for the Left Hand and Orchestra (1930), and half remembered sounds from his childhood “back in Arkansas, when we were walking home from church and they were playing these bad gospels”.

To chase the sound he was after, Davis employed the emerging “modal” approach. This meant essentially basing his new music on diatonic scales (think the basic seven notes do-re-me … but with the option to make any of them the “home” note) instead of the frenetic chord progressions of bebop. Despite being an important player in bebop, in his autobiography Davis recognised that the music of “Diz and Bird … wasn’t sweet” and “didn’t have harmonic lines that you could easily hum”.

This fusion of apparently disparate elements produced something of a paradox: a completely uncompromising jazz record (all the recordings were first takes), which has proved to be effortlessly accessible. But despite Kind of Blue’s winning lyricism, Davis, in his autobiography, is mildly self-reproachful:

When I tell people that I missed what I was trying to do on Kind of Blue, that I missed getting the exact sound of the African finger piano up in that sound, they just look at me like I’m crazy. Everyone said that record was a masterpiece – and I loved it too – and so they just feel I’m trying to put them on. But that’s what I was trying to do on most of that album, particularly on All Blues and So What. I just missed.

Of course, being Davis, he largely abandoned that approach, so that by 1964 he had a completely new group of young musicians and was reaching for the outer spheres of what was possible with acoustic jazz. This was a trajectory that by 1969, saw him “going electric” with the uncompromising Bitches Brew (1969), also a stunningly successful album. But that is another story.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Richard Worth, Lecturer in music and popular music: composition, orchestration, analysis and popular music history., University of Liverpool

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Sir Donald Bradman needs little introduction.

Cricket – and possibly world sport’s – most dominant figure, “The Don” is known for his staggering batting feats, including a scarcely believable batting average of 99.94, and his leadership of Australia’s 1948 team nicknamed the “Invincibles”.

However, few would know Bradman was a key figure behind cricket’s transformation from time-consuming five-day matches to the chaotic world of one-day and Twenty20 (T20) games that dominate the sport’s calendar, broadcasts and finances today.

And it was all sparked by Melbourne’s oft-criticised weather, some worried bean-counters, and a bright idea.

Sports can change dramatically in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, these moments create immediate shockwaves. Other times, it’s not until much later that their impact become obvious. This is the first story in a rolling series that explores key (and sometimes long forgotten) moments in sports history.

The first one-day international

Domestic one-day matches of between 40 and 60 overs a side had been played in India and England since the 1950s.

These shorter, more dynamic games were aimed at attracting new spectators.

However, they had not been considered for international matches.

The first one-day international (ODI) in 1971 was an accident: an unscheduled match played as a last-minute replacement for a Test abandoned due to heavy rain.

According to Australia’s captain Bill Lawry, the match was conceived by Bradman for financial reasons. Facing heavy financial losses the English and Australian cricket boards agreed to play a game on what would have been the last day of the Test.

Around 46,000 spectators saw Australia win after each side was allotted 40 eight-ball overs.

It was a financial hit, popular with spectators and deemed an “overwhelming success” by the media.

But growth of this format was slow, mainly due to the conservative nature of international boards.

The next ODI did not happen until August 1972, and other countries did not start playing them until 1973.

Remarkably, considering the amateur status of women athletes at the time, the first limited-overs World Cup was a women’s tournament in England in 1973 – two years before the maiden men’s World Cup was played.

One-day cricket’s popularity soon soared, especially after the men’s World Cup in 1975.

Kerry Packer’s World Series Cricket, launched in 1977, confirmed its place on the international cricketing calendar and played a huge role in the shorter format’s popularity.

The media baron was desperate to showcase cricket on Channel Nine but his TV rights bid was rejected by the Australian Cricket Board. Aggrieved, Packer instead set up a breakaway competition, signing many of the world’s best players.

The new-look competition featured brightly coloured team kits, white balls, games under lights and batters wearing helmets – all of which are still in place today.

How ODIs changed cricket

Test cricket was, and often still is, criticised for being too slow and boring.

The limited number of overs in ODIs increased the speed of the game: batters looked to score more quickly and take more risks, which resulted in more boundaries.

Clive Lloyd, who captained the West Indies to two World Cup wins, called limited-overs cricket the greatest innovation for the sport. He specifically referred to improved standards of fielding and tactical awareness.

ODIs have greatly increased athleticism: batters need to be stronger to hit more boundaries and quicker to ensure they are fast enough when running between wickets.

Fielders need to be faster and more athletic to stop boundaries and extra runs. They also need stronger arms to throw the ball faster.

In 1992, fielding restrictions were introduced for the first 15 overs, only allowing two fielders outside of a 30-yard circle. This promoted early aggressive batting.

These fielding restrictions forced captains to rethink field placements and bowling rotations.

While Australia scored 191 runs to win the first ODI, current teams regularly surpass 300.

Scoring has increased because of power hitting, bigger bats, specific training and better running between wickets.

Boundary ropes introduced for player safety also reduced the distance required to hit a boundary.

Bowlers have had to develop more variations, such as slower balls, to make it harder for them to score runs.

In this shorter format, the importance of all-rounders (players who can bat and bowl competently) has increased greatly.

Wicketkeepers are also expected to be better batters. Former Australian wicketkeeper Adam Gilchrist had success opening the batting, which gave his team more flexibility to include other batters and all-rounders.

Player uniforms also evolved.

One-day clashes originally used traditional white clothing, but colour uniforms introduced a new dimension for televised cricket. They have been used permanently since the 1992 World Cup.

As the format evolved, player names and then numbers were gradually added to playing tops, making identification easier for commentators and spectators.

Continuing relevance

Limited-overs cricket laid the platform for even shorter formats such as T20s, the Hundred and even ten over games.

Ironically, these innovative formats now threaten the continued relevance of 50-over cricket.

Analysis of more than 340 ODI matches played in Australia between 1985 and 2015 shows average attendances have declined over time. In the 1980s, games in Australia regularly drew crowds of more than 35,000, but in recent years attendance has struggled to regularly reach 25,000 per match.

However, major events like World Cups can still draw large crowds. The 2023 tournament was attended by a record 1.25 million people and made Australian captain Pat Cummins “fall in love with ODI cricket again”.

ODIs have given fans decades of drama and achievement.

Older fans still remember classic games such as Australia’s tied 1999 World Cup semifinal against South Africa, and Michael Bevan’s last-ball four to beat the West Indies on New Year’s Day in 1996.

But 50-over cricket now faces a challenge to stay relevant alongside more exciting and more profitable T20 tournaments.

If ODIs are to keep their place in a busy cricket calendar, they must continue evolving to ensure they maintain player and audience interest.

Vaughan Cruickshank, Senior Lecturer in Health and Physical Education, University of Tasmania and Tom Hartley, Lecturer in Health and Physical Education, University of Tasmania

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

Thanks to the Walt Disney Company, Pocahontas may be the most famous Native American who lived in the 17th century. The animated film version of her early life included her speaking with a willow tree, befriending animals, singing about “the colors of the wind,” and being caught up in an ill-fated romance with Captain John Smith.

The 1995 film created an enduring visual image of Pocahontas, and contained some details drawn from the historical record, though plenty is pure fiction. Smith was, in fact, one of the English colonists who arrived in Jamestown, Virginia, soon after its founding in 1607. Pocahontas’ father Wahunsonacock – whom colonists and Disney called Powhatan – was the paramount chief of the Powhatans, who lived in communities along the edges of Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries.

Only one portrait of Pocahontas from her lifetime exists – a sharp contrast with the Disney-drawn image most Americans know. And it speaks volumes about how the English saw colonization.

Powerful family

As I describe in my 2026 book, “Contested Continent: The Struggle for North America, c. 1000 to 1680,” Wahunsonacock was the most consequential political figure in early Virginia, the land Powhatans knew as Tsenacommacah. Through personal alliances and shrewd stratagems, he controlled perhaps 30 communities along the shores of Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries.

Pocahontas, also known as Matoaka and Amonute, was probably about 10 or 11 years old when she encountered Smith in late 1607. At that moment he was a captive of her father, who, Smith later wrote, was about to have him killed. Though scholars believe Wahunsonacock was likely putting Smith through a ritual adoption, the colonist claimed Pocahontas saved his life.

In 1613, the English took Pocahontas captive during a conflict known as the first Anglo-Powhatan War. After obtaining his daughter’s freedom in 1614, Wahunsonacock approved her marriage to John Rolfe, who played a leading role in the colony’s tobacco economy, and she converted to Christianity. Sometime between 1615 and 1617 she gave birth to their son, Thomas.

Pocahontas in England

Two years after the marriage, Pocahontas and Rolfe sailed to England, where she played a leading role in her father’s diplomatic mission.

During her stay in London, which included meeting King James I, Pocahontas sat for a portrait by the artist Simon van de Passe. Her clothing and pose echoed portraits of other elite English women of the era. The image emphasizes her tall stovepipe hat, ample lace collar, a dress with detailed embroidery or brocade, and a pearl earring dangling from her left ear.

In addition to her English clothing, Pocahontas holds either a feather fan, common for an upper-class woman at the time, or a quill pen. Since Europeans considered literacy a crucial marker of civilization, either object would highlight English hopes that Indigenous Americans could rapidly embrace the colonists’ culture.

Power of art

The engraving of Pocahontas was not the first image of Native peoples of the mid-Atlantic coastline circulating in England. Illustrations in one widely reprinted book played a crucial role in convincing the English to establish settlements in North America.

In the late 16th century, advocates of English colonization understood that descriptions of North America could make foreign territory more enticing to potential migrants. They wanted to demonstrate to English men and women that they could create profitable economies and coexist with Native peoples.

Some promoters recognized that watercolor images painted in 1585 by the artist John White depicting the Carolina Algonquians of the Outer Banks could perhaps generate interest – and investments. The promoters, who had ties to leading figures in the English court as well as to printers, also saw the benefits of an in-depth study of the region by the young English mathematician and writer Thomas Harriot, “A Briefe and True Report of the Newfound Land of Virginia.” In 1590, the promoters worked with the Flemish printer Theodor de Bry to produce an illustrated version, which contained engravings based on White’s paintings.

The volume described Carolina Algonquians’ practices and enumerated commodities that could be extracted for profit. Some of the Native Americans depicted in these pages are clad with only a deerskin loincloth. Some of the women wear skirts but not tops.

To Europeans bred on the idea that clothing an entire body was a marker of civilization, these Alqonquians’ appearance was significant. People who colonizers considered “savages” were often depicted nude, like the Tainos whom Christopher Columbus encountered a century earlier. English men and women reading the book about the Algonquians, on the other hand, saw them as a people who would, under the right tutelage, adopt English-style culture – including Protestant Christianity.

“Some religion they have alreadie,” Harriot wrote in “A Briefe and True Report,” “which although it be farre from the truth, yet being as it is, there is hope it may been the easier and sooner reformed.”

To make the point that Native Americans could be converted to European culture, the engravers added depictions of ancient Britons, allegedly based on an old chronicle. Three of these images of Picts depicted them as nude, bearing tattoos more extensive than the Algonquians’. These individuals are also portrayed as more violent: A Pict man holds a head still dripping blood, with another head at his feet, while a Pict woman brandishes spears and a broadsword.

Reality check

When Pocahontas sat for Van de Passe, his portrait did more than create a resemblance of the young woman, who would die the following year, soon after leaving London – felled either by disease or, as a Virginia tribe’s oral history suggests, poison.

Like the images popularized by Harriot’s book, her portrait suggested that Native Americans would soon embrace English ways. Pocahontas herself, as the words on the engraving noted, had become Rebecca Rolfe after her marriage. In his writings, her husband celebrated her conversion to the Anglican faith. The proof of the model of cultural conversion seemed to be on plain view in the portrait.

Pocahontas’ father died in 1618. Four years later, the Powhatans launched a rebellion against English colonists. On March 22, 1622, under the direction of a war captain named Opechancanough, they killed approximately one-fourth of the colonists in Virginia. The English labeled the violence a “barbarous massacre” and launched a war of vengeance, which included a mass poisoning of Powhatans in 1623 – an action that the English at the time knew violated the emerging law of war.

Seeing Pocahontas poised on a chair, wearing an elegant hat and holding a quill pen, the English had assumed that Native Americans would embrace the colonizers’ ways. March 1622 proved them wrong.

This article has been updated to correct the description of the object Pocahontas holds in Simon van de Passe’s engraving.

Peter C. Mancall, Distinguished Professor and Andrew W. Mellon Professor of the Humanities, USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

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

Growing old is a fact of life.

But thanks to improved health care and innovative technology, more of us are living longer and healthier lives.

However, ageing isn’t always easy. That’s because your body and mind decline as you get older, and become more vulnerable to various diseases such as diabetes, dementia and some cancers.

In our new study, we followed more than 12,000 older Australians to find out if staying socially and mentally active could help people stay physically fit in older age.

Here’s what we discovered.

How your body ages

As we age, the tissues and organs in your body start to work less effectively. This is due to a process known as biological ageing, which scientists track by measuring how well the cells in your body function.

This process affects every person differently. That’s why some people may stay healthy well into their twilight years, while others age prematurely and become physically frail.

Frailty is a common condition among older people, which affects your ability to recover from illness or injury.

It’s a sign your body is deteriorating, and may increase your risk of falling and being hospitalised. It may also leave you more vulnerable to various diseases such as heart disease, dementia and depression, and even early death.

What we studied

In our recent study, we investigated whether certain social and learning-based activities could help prevent or reduce frailty in older people.

Specifically, we focused on 19 types of activities that would engage older people on either a cognitive, social or cultural level. Examples include passive mental stimulation activities such as listening to music or watching television, and more active activities such as doing puzzles or playing chess.

Importantly, our study did not look at the effect of other lifestyle factors – such as regular exercise and healthy eating – on frailty. This is because there is already much research showing these factors significantly reduce a person’s risk of premature frailty.

For our study, we recruited 12,862 Australians aged 70 years and above. All were in relatively good health and did not have any major diseases, such as heart disease or dementia.

We then followed them over an 11-year period, each year collecting data about key disease indicators. These included how much excess abdominal fat participants had and whether they smoked or not.

We also assessed their cognitive function, for example by asking them to recall a list of words after saying a short sentence. We measured their physical performance by seeing how quickly they walked, and how firmly they could squeeze an object with their hands. And we examined how easily they completed daily tasks, such as dressing, bathing and meal preparation.

We also used two scientific tools to determine how each participant was ageing. This included the deficit-accumulation-index that measures ageing across the whole body, and the Fried phenotype that measures how physically frail a person may be.

What we found

Our study found socialising and learning was linked to staying physically stronger for longer.

On average, participants who joined a club or local organisation were 3% less likely to become frail, over a seven-year period. Similarly, having a larger support network – for example at least four relatives or friends they could regularly contact and ask for help – was also linked to reduced frailty. This may be because both forms of social connection encourage older people to use their brains, and get out and about.

We observed this same effect among participants who engaged in mentally stimulating activities, such as playing cards and chess or doing puzzles and crosswords. These kinds of passive mental activities appeared to reduce frailty risk by about 4%. And participants who engaged in literacy tasks – such as writing letters, using a computer or attending educational classes – were 2% less likely to become frail compared to their peers.

However, women seemed to benefit the most from these activities, which reduced their likelihood of becoming frail by between 3% and 6%. We observed no similar effect among men.

These differences are modest but consistent, suggesting that regularly engaging in certain social and learning-based activities could help you stay healthier for longer.

Where to from here?

Our new research underscores the importance of involving older people in social and learning-based activities.

However, it’s difficult to know if social and learning-based activities ward off frailty more effectively than other lifestyle factors, such as physical exercise and diet. So that should be a focus of future research.

From a policy perspective, governments should invest in age-friendly infrastructure such as libraries and community centres. Installing assistive equipment – such as ramps and grab rails – will ensure older people can regularly attend social or learning-based activities.

So, how can I age well?

There are many ways to socialise and learn in everyday life. Here are four practical ideas:

• stay in regular contact with relatives and friends, for example by setting a calendar reminder to text them or organising a monthly coffee catch-up
• prioritise activities that engage your brain, such as reading the newspaper, playing chess or listening to the radio
• join a club that aligns with your interests, for example a book club or swimming group
• get out and about, for instance to visit a library, restaurant, museum or theatre.

Aung Zaw Zaw Phyo, Research Fellow in Chronic Diseases and Ageing , Monash University and Joanne Ryan, Professor, Chronic Disease and Ageing, Monash University

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

From viral TikToks to podcasts, Catholic nuns and religious sisters are gaining new visibility in digital spaces. They’re sharing their daily lives, their beliefs and what gives their life meaning. Their stories present religious life as an inspiring and purposeful choice.

On the Dominican Sisters Open Mic podcast, Sister Joseph Andrew describes religious life as “full of adventure”.

Sister Albertine Debacker reaches hundreds of thousands of followers on TikTok and Instagram with her posts about Catholic life.

Australia’s Immaculata Community are also on Instagram. A post titled “What does a Sister do all day?” shows smiling young women praying, laughing, singing and playing sports.

Together, these women are encouraging people to consider what life as a religious sister is really like.

Yet these contemporary self-representations are connected to a complicated history. Women in religious life have always lived with a mix of freedom and control within the Catholic Church.

Catholic nuns and religious sisters

Nuns and religious sisters, often called “women religious”, are women who make a lifelong commitment to God and live in a religious community.

Since women religious arrived in Australia in the 19th century, they have played a central role in building the Catholic Church. They set up schools, hospitals and social services, shaping both the church and wider society.

At this time, women were expected to marry and raise children. Religious life offered a different path, inspired by both spiritual and practical motivations.

Women could get an education, take on leadership roles and carry out meaningful work in schools, hospitals and religious institutions. They were also guaranteed basic needs like food, housing and care for life.

This gave them a level of independence and security many other women didn’t have.

Limits, authority and gendered power

At the same time, religious life comes with limits. Women religious live under the authority of the Catholic Church and male clergy. The rules and doctrines of the Catholic Church, created and controlled by men, shape every part of their lives.

These structures and practices make the idea of empowerment seen on social media today more complicated than it might initially seem.

Women religious make a life long commitment and take vows of obedience, chastity and poverty. These promises are central to their way of life.

While social media narratives might make the commitment seem freeing and meaningful, these vows can also lead to unequal gendered power dynamics, where women are expected to be obedient and self sacrificing.

Historical examples highlight the ongoing conflict between autonomy and control.

A long history of autonomy and control

The Sisters of Charity, the first group of religious women to arrive in Sydney in 1838, initially received praise from Archbishop John Bede Polding, who described their work with convict women as “miraculous”.

Despite difficult living conditions and ongoing disagreements with church leaders, they built schools and hospitals, visited prisons and supported people experiencing poverty.

Yet by 1859, all five original sisters had left New South Wales. Polding described them as having been “more or less a trouble” from the start.

Mary MacKillop, Australia’s first saint, founded the Sisters of Saint Joseph of the Sacred Heart in Adelaide in 1866. She’s remembered for providing access to education and helping people affected by poverty.

But her hope for self governance for her sisters and attempts to stop clergy abuse placed her at odds with church leaders.

In 19th century Australia, women religious were in high demand, especially in education and health care.

This should have given them choices, because their work was so important to the success of the Church. But they were mistreated and closely controlled by Church leaders who were committed to colonisation and building a strong Australian Catholic Church.

Anxieties about anti-Catholicism and the success of their mission meant bishops and priests expected total loyalty and obedience from women religious. This matched wider ideas about how women should behave – passive, obedient and modest.

Colonialism and narrow ideas about obedience and femininity didn’t just come from male authorities – they could also be reinforced by women themselves.

Institutions run by women religious such as Magdalene laundries aimed to reform women and girls believed to have broken moral rules, especially around sexuality. They often faced tough conditions, forced labour and punishment.

Women religious were also part of missionary work that contributed to the disruption of Aboriginal communities and cultures.

Life for women today

Today, social media shows nuns and religious sisters living lives of purpose, joy, and agency. This image reflects a long history of women finding ways to lead and make a difference, even within restrictive systems.

At the same time, these positive images can hide the challenges, inequalities and harms that have also been part of religious life.

The tension between agency and control, recognition and marginalisation, is not unique to women religious. It echoes many institutions where women navigate sexism, misogyny and unequal power structures.

By listening to and amplifying women’s stories we can better understand how these patterns persist and why they are so hard to change.

In this way, the experiences of women religious, past and present, help us think about ongoing struggles for equality, voice and autonomy for women more broadly.

Tracy McEwan, History Fellow, Australian Catholic University; University of Newcastle

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

New Liberal federal president Tony Abbott has sought to rally the party at “this time of existential crisis”, labelling it “the patriot party” and declaring it must boost its membership.

While not directly mentioning the threat from Pauline Hanson, One Nation’s surge was clearly in Abbott’s mind when he addressed the Liberal federal council in Melbourne after being elected president unopposed on Friday.

“My fellow Liberals, our challenge is to persuade the sceptical public that we remain the most credible alternative party of government in this country,” he said.

Abbott said he owed the Liberal party “big time”. “That’s why I regard it as my duty to serve the party in this time of existential crisis.”

The council meeting comes as the party has been encouraged by the backlash against the budget, with the government having a fight on its hands over its capital gains tax changes, and being forced to look to some carve outs.

But more generally, the Liberals are fearful of the dramatic rise in One Nation support and the plunge in Coalition numbers, with a recent poll suggesting it would be nearly wiped from parliament in an election held now.

Among Liberals there are mixed feelings about the Abbott presidency, with some saying he will bring enormous energy to the job and others worried he will overshadow opposition leader Angus Taylor.

Abbott said that as the last successful Liberal federal leader of the opposition “I do believe I have the ability to help Angus Taylor to be the next successful federal leader of the opposition and to become our 32nd prime minister”.

He praised Taylor for policy leadership but said he had to be backed by a strong organisation.

That meant, “first and foremost”, increasing party membership. Even on the most optimistic figures, Abbott said, the party only had 50,000 members – the same as 30-40 years ago when the population was scarcely half its present number.

The Conservative party in Canada had 400,000 members. “On a per capita basis we would have at least 250,000 members.”

“And that’s what we need to do, to mobilise the good people of Australia in a good cause – the cause of better government based on our values.

"We are the freedom party, the tradition party, but above all else we are the patriot party, which is why, at our best, we should be absolutely unbeatable.”

The Guardian reported on Friday that Abbott was stepping down from his advisory role to the right wing advocacy group Advance, on becoming Liberal president.

Former foreign minister Alexander Downer won one of the vice-president positions.

Taylor, addressing the council on Saturday, will heavily target the integrity of Prime Minister Anthony Albanese in a personal attack.

He will denounce Albanese as the prime minister whose “word is never his bond”, turning the PM’s own word-is-my-bond description of himself back on him.

In his address, released ahead of delivery, Taylor describes Albanese’s pre-election ruling out of changes to negative gearing and capital gains tax as “the mother of all lies”.

“No Australian can trust another word that comes out of this bloke’s mouth,” Taylor says.

He says Albanese doesn’t want to “empower people” but wants “power over people, often saying he wants Labor to be "the natural party of government”.

“That statement is as entitled as it is illiberal. For Anthony Albanese, political life has always been about entrenching Labor rule. His main interest is to consolidate and centralise power.”

Taylor also labels Albanese “unashamedly socialist”. “We must fight and defeat Labor’s socialist vision if we’re going to restore our standard of living and protect our way of life,” he says

Many Australians “feel like second class citizens under Labor,” he says.

“Many of these Australians – who have never been political – are speaking up for the first time.

"We will never have a better opportunity than this. To rally people to our cause To encourage Australians to join us in the fight against Labor by joining the Liberal Party.”

Michelle Grattan, Professorial Fellow, University of Canberra

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

The abrupt resignation of the National Anti-Corruption Commissioner Paul Brereton is a pivotal moment for the federal watchdog. For years, questions over the commissioner’s leadership arising from concerns about his ability to manage conflicts of interest had undermined public confidence and trust in a key Australian integrity institution.

The government has committed to a “merit-based process” to appoint the next commissioner.

But can we trust the government to do that and rebuild trust in our national anti-corruption commission? Research finds governments often abuse their power to appoint, fund and oversee integrity agencies in order to avoid serious oversight.

How do we avoid this abuse and safeguard the independence of our integrity agencies? A new report from the Centre for Public Integrity outlines three key ways to ensure these agencies are truly independent.

These reforms should guide the appointment of a new national anti-corruption commissioner.

Fundamental tensions

To do their job, integrity agencies must be independent from the government. This means they must be able to investigate and criticise governments and public officials without fear of political retaliation.

But in practice there are a few problems with this idea.

Unlike the courts and parliament, these agencies are not protected in the Constitution. Instead, they are often created by the government through an act of parliament.

This creates a foundational tension: integrity agencies are designed by government, to hold the government to account.

The government has a vested interest in these institutions being weak. Governments have been accused of establishing weak watchdogs, or deliberately “clipping the wings” of these bodies by amending laws.

There are also operational tensions. Governments can weaken integrity agencies in more subtle ways.

One way is through political appointments. In Australia, we have seen such politicisation, for instance, in appointments to the former Administrative Appeals Tribunal, ultimately leading to its abolition.

Or they might be in the form of cutting funding. This happened most recently in the current budget, with a funding cut in real terms to the Australian National Audit Office. The office had previously said that with its current funding levels, it would not be able to meet its responsibilities for performance audits.

On budget day, the joint parliamentary committee on public accounts and audit expressed its ongoing concern about the operational capability of the office given its financial position.

A new report released by the Centre for Public Integrity outlines a number of ways the independence of these agencies must be protected across three key pillars: appointments, funding and oversight.

You can’t choose your own watchdog

Our analysis shows that across the country, there is significant variation in how heads of integrity agencies are appointed. Many governments exercise broad and opaque discretion over who leads the core integrity agencies.

This creates obvious risks. If governments can appoint agency heads through opaque processes, there may be concerns — justified or not — about whether those leaders are suitably qualified or truly independent.

The controversy surrounding Brereton illustrates the stakes involved. Questions about conflicts of interest under his leadership have fuelled broader concerns about the lack of a transparent, merit-based appointment process for the role.

Our report recommends legally requiring open advertising of senior integrity positions, independent selection panels and greater parliamentary involvement in appointments.

There’s no need to wait. The government could implement such a process in the upcoming NACC appointment, instead of relying on vague platitudes of a “merit-based process”.

This proposal is similar to one that has been successfully adopted elsewhere, including for the reformed Administrative Review Tribunal.

We also recommend longer but non-renewable terms for agency heads to alleviate any pressure leaders may feel in seeking reappointment.

Handing over the purse strings

The second problem then is funding. Most Australian integrity agencies rely on governments to decide how much money they receive each year.

In practice, this means the government can place pressure on agencies by limiting their resources. Underfunded integrity agencies cannot properly investigate corruption, scrutinise spending or carry out oversight work.

Our report argues integrity agencies should have stronger protections around funding, again, drawing on models that have been successfully developed elsewhere, particularly in the ACT for their “Officers of Parliament”.

Our proposal includes separate parliamentary processes and independent funding panels that can publicly recommend appropriate funding levels. Governments would still make final budget decisions, but there would be greater transparency when they made decisions that cut agency funding.

Genuinely independent oversight

Finally, independence does not mean integrity agencies should operate without accountability. These agencies exercise significant powers. Some can compel evidence, conduct hearings and make findings that seriously affect reputations and careers.

So oversight is essential – but that oversight must be independent. Oversight systems for integrity agencies are often poorly designed. In many jurisdictions, for instance, parliamentary oversight committees are dominated by government members.

A better system would involve parliamentary committees not dominated by government MPs, alongside independent inspectors for agencies exercising coercive powers.

The importance of such roles is underscored by the work of the NACC Inspector, in receiving and investigating complaints about the commission’s decision not to investigate Robodebt referrals.

Is real independence possible?

Australia has invested heavily in creating a set of core integrity agencies. Even if reluctantly, every jurisdiction across the country now has an anti-corruption agency, auditor-general and ombudsman office.

The next challenge is ensuring those institutions are sufficiently independent to do their job. Across the country, there are good designs that alleviate the operational pressures these agencies face. Adopting these designs will help secure better and more transparent funding, appointment, and oversight of core integrity agencies.

These more independent integrity agencies can in turn help safeguard the health of our democracy.

Gabrielle Appleby, Professor of Law, UNSW Law School, UNSW Sydney and William Partlett, Associate Professor of Public Law, The University of Melbourne

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

If you or someone you’re caring for has a medical emergency, visit your nearest emergency department or call 000.

But what if it’s not an emergency, or you’re not sure? Sometimes you can’t wait wait until 9am or Monday morning to see a doctor or access health care.

You might have a fever that’s not subsiding, a sprain that could be a break, a painful urinary tract infection, or a distressing situation that demands immediate mental health support.

Here are your options for accessing timely health care, in-person and virtually – including some that are free.

Medicare Urgent Care Clinics

Medicare Urgent Care Clinics provide bulk-billed care by a general practitioner (GP) for non-life-threatening illnesses and injuries.

Patients can walk in without an appointment or referral, and can access other services such as blood tests and X-rays. There are no out-of-pocket costs.

You can find your local clinic here.

Search engines to find a GP appointment – in person or online

Health service search engines such as Healthengine and HotDoc can help you find GPs and book appointments.

You can filter search results by types of services and telehealth availability, including the “GP telehealth on-demand option within 15 minutes” on Hotdoc.

Many will come with out-of-pocket costs.

Home visits

In-person home doctor visits for urgent, episodic illness or injury can also be arranged through options such as 13SICK National Home Doctor Service, DoctorDoctor, Hello Home Doctor Service, Sydmed, 13 CURE and OnCallDrs.

These are often bulk billed.

A call with a nurse or doctor

The new 1800MEDICARE helpline is a free 24/7 service where you can speak to a registered nurse about any health concern.

They will listen to your concerns, assess your symptoms and provide advice on next steps. This might mean looking after yourself at home, getting help from a GP, or attending an Urgent Care Clinic, pharmacy or emergency department.

If the 1800MEDICARE nurse advises you to see a GP within 24 hours, you may be offered a telephone or video call back from a 1800MEDICARE GP. These GPs can provide prescriptions via SMS.

Virtual emergency departments for non-life-threatening emergencies

Virtual emergency departments are free, online emergency departments that treat non-life-threatening emergencies such as pain, sprains, infections, respiratory illnesses, gastroenteritis, high blood pressure, pain, infections, minor burns and rashes.

Examples include:

• the Victorian Virtual Emergency Department
• the South Australia Child and Adolescent Virtual Urgent Care Service
• Queensland Virtual Emergency Care Service.

Another similar option is My Emergency Doctor, which offers patients access to specialist emergency doctors via video call or telephone 24 hours a day, seven days a week. However, this service costs $150.

Medicines and pharmacists

Some pharmacies operate on extended business hours, including 24 hours. You can find a pharmacy near you at this link, with the option to filter by “extended hours”.

In some circumstances, pharmacies can issue a small amount of a medicine if you’ve run out.

In some states and territories, pharmacists can provide medicines such as antibiotics for simple urinary tract infections without a prescription.

For people living in remote Australia, the Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS) runs a Medical Chests program. Medical chests contain a range of pharmaceutical and non-pharmaceutical items, including prescription-only medicines, which RFDS doctors may prescribe after a phone consultation.

Pregnancy, birth and children

Pregnancy, Birth and Baby is a free national service that provides support to expecting parents, and parents of children from birth to five years of age.

You can speak to maternal and child health nurses via phone, by calling 1800 882 436, or video call about you or your baby, between 7am and midnight, seven days a week.

CubCare is another virtual urgent care option which provides access to paediatric emergency doctors, for a fee.

Dental care

The Australian Dental Foundation runs a free 24/7 Emergency Dental Hotline which can help you work out the urgency of your issue and your next steps.

National Emergency Dentist is a private health service which connects patients to emergency dentists offering same-day and after-hours appointments, for a fee.

Mental health phone support

Mental health support will depend on your individual needs and background. You can access mental health support after hours through these call services (some also have online chats):

• Lifeline: 24/7 crisis support

• Beyond Blue: counselling via phone online chat

• Kids Helpline: 24/7 online and phone counselling for young people aged five to 25 years

• Suicide Call Back Service: 24/7 service providing phone and online counselling to anyone affected by suicide

• 1800 RESPECT: 24/7 support for people affected by domestic, family, or sexual violence

• Gambling Help Online: phone and online support for anyone affected by gambling

• National Alcohol and Other Drug Hotline: 24/7 service for all states and territories, except South Australia which operates 8.30am–10pm

• the Butterfly Foundation for free and confidential support about eating disorders and body image.

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander services

• 13 YARN: 24/7 crisis support phone line operated by and for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples

• Yarning Safe'N'Strong: 24/7 support available to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who need to have a yarn with someone about their wellbeing

• Brother to Brother: 24/7 crisis line providing phone support for Aboriginal men, staffed by Aboriginal men, including Elders.

LGBTQIA+ services

• QLife: phone and webchat that operates during afternoons and evenings seven days a week to support LGBTQIA+ people.

Communication assistance

The National Translating and Interpreting Service offers support to non-English speaking people for their consultations. This service is typically free, covers 150 languages and can be accessed after-hours. Register here.

The National Relay Service provides assistance to people with hearing or speech difficulties during their medical consultations.

Mahima Kalla, Digital Health Transformation Research Fellow, The University of Melbourne; Feby Savira, Alfred Deakin Postdoctoral Research Fellow, Deakin University; Kara Burns, Digital Health Program Manager at the Centre for Digital Transformation of Health, The University of Melbourne, and Sathana Dushyanthen, Academic Specialist & Senior Lecturer in Cancer Sciences & Digital Health| Superstar of STEM| Science Communicator, The University of Melbourne

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

Most of the savings in this year’s budget came from cuts to the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).

The government wants to save A$37.8 billion over four years, predominantly by cutting NDIS eligibility for more than 300,000 people with higher functional capacity.

This includes more than 160,000 current NDIS participants, as well as those who would have entered the scheme.

But the success of a slimmed-down scheme will depend on the availability of high-quality alternative services for those who no longer qualify for the NDIS.

With eligibility changes starting in January 2028, the clock is ticking to establish these alternative “foundational supports”.

Remind me, what’s been announced and why?

The federal government has committed $5 billion – a 50% share of a $10 billion funding agreement with states and territories – for foundational supports.

But aside from $2 billion provided to fund Thriving Kids, there is little detail in the budget about what else is planned.

The remaining $3 billion is currently being held in a contingency fund, and has not been earmarked for any specific programs.

Foundational supports are “commissioned services”. This means providers are contracted to deliver a set of programs or supports.

Currently, people on the NDIS source these supports from the market, paying for them using their NDIS plan.

Commissioned services can be effective. They can provide services to more people, at a lower cost per person, and ensure services are available where few others exist.

Direct commissioning can also help governments oversee the quality of services and ensure people are directed to supports with a strong evidence base. Spending is then less likely to be wasted on ineffective services, such as junk therapies.

Direct commissioning is better suited to services that need funding certainty, rather than competition, to thrive, such as information and advocacy, supported decision-making and peer support.

Conversely, it’s likely that commissioned services will offer less choice and individual tailoring than the NDIS.

Foundational supports will work best when they address lower levels of need and where the priority is timely access to an evidence-based service, rather individual autonomy and choice.

Priorities for government

The government should target foundational supports that focus on specific groups of people who will not in the future receive support from the NDIS.

It should also focus on services where a direct commissioning approach would be a more effective and efficient way of ensuring access to evidence-based supports.

Here are three ways to put this into practice.

1. Expand Thriving Kids

Supports for children with developmental delays and disability should be a priority. These should be aimed at building the independence and capacity of children and families.

The government’s Thriving Kids initiative is a good start. But it is inadequately funded to meet the likely demand, and only covers children aged eight and under. The program should be scaled up and extended to all school-aged children.

Scale is important. Too few services can mean either there aren’t enough spots for each service and long wait-lists, or the services are spread too thin: there’s a little bit of help for everyone but not nearly enough.

Foundational supports must be a good substitute for individualised funding and commissioned in line with best practice.

This might mean, for example, allied health professionals such as occupational therapists or speech pathologists providing group-based support in various settings, including childcare centres, schools and community spaces such as libraries.

The aim would be to provide enough practical, low-barrier support early, rather than requiring families to navigate fragmented clinical systems on their own.

2. Develop supports for people with psychosocial disability

Psychosocial disability is where a severe and enduring mental health condition impairs a person’s ability to function. And currently there is significant unmet need for psychosocial supports outside the NDIS.

The government should develop a new national psychosocial disability program to provide evidence-based supports for adults with significant psychosocial disability.

The program should deliver consistent services nationwide, tailored to the needs of different regions, with specific services to meet the needs of First Nations people.

Examples of targeted foundational supports for people with psychosocial disability could include:

• community participation programs, such as clubhouses and social or activity-based groups
• recovery colleges (mental health education services co-developed and delivered by people with lived experience and mental health professionals)
• family education
• peer-led supports.

3. Increase other supports for people with disability

The government should also ensure more generalised disability supports are available for all people with disability. These are important to help people with disability develop skills, increase independence, and participate in the community.

These supports are particularly important for people with intellectual disabilities and cognitive impairments – whether they qualify for the NDIS or not. And they will become more important if the government proceeds with cuts to NDIS participants’ budgets to social and community participation funding.

The government has set aside an additional $200 million for this purpose, but that’s not nearly enough.

People with disability should have access to:

• information about disabilities, either through mainstream services or through specialist sites such as the Disability Gateway and disabled peoples’ organisations, and referral to other forms of support

• skills development, including self-advocacy and supported decision-making, and the skills required to get and keep a job, as well as navigating housing options

• peer support programs

• programs to build their social and community participation

• programs aimed at parents and carers

A lot has to go right for the $37.8 billion in savings to be delivered without leaving disabled people to fall through the cracks.

The government needs to act now to develop and invest in the foundational supports that will not only make its budget add up, but ensure that Australians living with disability get the help they need.

Sam Bennett, Disability Program Director, Grattan Institute and Owain Emslie, Senior Associate, Disability Program, Grattan Institute

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

Health authorities are urging people to get vaccinated, as a potentially deadly infection spreads across four Australian states.

Diphtheria is a serious infection caused by the toxin-producing bacteria, Corynebacterium diphtheriae. It spreads through contact with an infected person’s bodily fluids – such as droplets produced from coughing or sneezing – or skin sores.

Since January, Australia has recorded more than 220 diphtheria cases, in the worst outbreak the country’s seen in decades. As of Thursday, there were 139 cases in the Northern Territory, 82 in Western Australia, seven in South Australia and three in Queensland.

The federal government has announced a A$7.2 million emergency support package, which aims to boost vaccination rates and strengthen the health workforce in states affected by the current diphtheria outbreak.

So is it still spreading? And should you be concerned?

Remind me, what is diphtheria?

There are two main types of this rare but serious bacterial infection.

Respiratory diphtheria affects the throat and airways, and can be life-threatening if the toxin produced by the bacteria damages the airways, nerves or heart. Even with treatment, up to 10% of people with respiratory diphtheria die.

Cutaneous diphtheria affects the skin, mainly causing skin ulcers on the legs or arms. This form of diphtheria is usually less severe, but contact with wounds is still a common way the infection spreads between people.

It is possible to contract respiratory diphtheria by being exposed to someone with cutaneous diphtheria, and vice versa. For instance, bacteria in one person’s skin sore may cause respiratory diphtheria in another person, if transferred through close contact.

Who’s affected by this latest outbreak?

According to the Australian Centre for Disease Control’s latest report, roughly 94% of cases identified since January 2026 have been Aboriginal and/or Torrest Strait Islander people.

The majority have been cases of cutaneous diphtheria, but around 30% have been cases of respiratory diphtheria.

Authorities are still investigating what factors may be contributing to this outbreak. However, this likely includes waning immunity, lower routine immunisation rates and a higher prevalence of skin infections in affected communities. Other factors such as overcrowding and limited access to health care may also play a role.

The need for vaccines

Vaccination is the best way to prevent severe diphtheria infections, and the further spread of the disease.

Before vaccines were widely introduced in the 1950s, about one in ten people with respiratory diphtheria died from their symptoms. And the risk was higher among young children and the elderly.

In the decades since, very few Australians have died from diphtheria, with authorities recording four diphtheria-related deaths between 1999 and 2025.

That’s largely thanks to the diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis (whooping cough) vaccine, also known as DTP. This combined vaccine protects against the diphtheria toxin.

In Australia, children routinely receive this vaccine at two months, four months, six months and 18 months of age. They also get it when they are four years old, and again in early adolescence.

But it’s also vital adults receive boosters of the DTP vaccine. This is because immunity declines over time even though the vaccine itself is very effective.

Research suggests more than 99% of babies who get the relevant vaccinations develop enough antibodies to fight against the diphtheria toxin. But by middle age, only half of adults maintain these antibody levels if they don’t have a booster dose of DTP.

However, national immunisation data shows vaccine rates have significantly declined, particularly since the COVID pandemic. And just last year, Australia’s childhood immunisation rate dropped to a five-year low.

How often you need a vaccination depends on your age and occupation. But the current health advice is adults should get a DTP booster every ten years, from your early 20s. If you’re unsure when you received your last dose, speak to your GP, community health clinic or Aboriginal Medical Service.

Who needs a vaccine? And how about boosters?

During a diphtheria outbreak, it’s crucial to ensure all children, adolescents and adults aged 50 and above are up to date with routine immunisations.

Importantly, the new advice for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and health-care workers in affected communities, is to get a booster vaccine every five years.

Pregnant women should also receive a booster dose 20 to 32 weeks into their pregnancy. This is mainly to reduce their infant’s risk of having whooping cough, but will also protect against diphtheria until they receive their first vaccination.

And additional doses are available to people who have a mild case of diphtheria or are in close contact – living in the same household, for example – with people who already have the infection.

In the current outbreak, an estimated 90% of cases have occurred in people that have already been vaccinated. The vaccine has ensured most of these people only develop mild forms of diphtheria.

But tragically, one person with the disease has since died.

So, should I be worried?

Local, state and territory public health departments are working hard to curb this historic outbreak. This week, both NT Health and WA Health released an outbreak immunisation schedule for people living and working in affected communities.

But if you are in an outbreak area and have a sore throat or any skin sores, visit your local clinic. This will help authorities detect any potential diphtheria cases early. And if you have other symptoms such as fever, breathing or swallowing difficulties or a greyish membrane in your throat, visit an emergency department immediately.

Archana Koirala, Paediatrician and Infectious Diseases Specialist; Clinical Researcher, University of Sydney and Bianca Middleton, Senior Research Fellow, Global and Tropical Health Division, Menzies School of Health Research

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

For the past 15 years or so, a class of drugs called immune checkpoint inhibitors have been used to treat melanoma – the most dangerous kind of skin cancer.

For many patients, they produce remarkable results. For others, they do nothing.

We still don’t really know why. But in new research published in the Journal of Experimental Medicine, we observed immune cells called macrophages attacking melanoma cells in real time – which may offer clues about how we can make those therapies work for all patients, not just some.

Tumours, hot and cold

One of us (Yuki) treated patients with melanoma in Japan as a dermatologist. The other (Tri Phan) runs a lab at the Garvan Institute in Sydney, where his team specialises in observing the cells of the immune system in real time.