People are becoming more divided and ill informed. In January 2024, a report by the World Economic Forum identified misinformation and disinformation as “the most severe global risk anticipated over the next two years”.

As a result, it predicted “perceptions of reality are likely to also become polarised” – and that unrest resulting from unreliable information may cause “violent protests … hate crimes … civil confrontation and terrorism”. Many people would agree that something is needed to bridge the ever-widening gaps between ourselves.

In my view, this is not just a problem of alternative sets of facts, but a failure to perceive and empathise with that which is outside of our own experiences.

While the smartphone, with its capacity to provide users with sources from across the world, can provide endless opportunity to learn about other perspectives and experiences, research suggests social media increasingly cocoons users within their own interests.

This algorithmically encouraged self-importance means we are stuck in a feedback loop – the echo chamber – where our own experiences, values and desires are seen as the norm.

In contrast, by encouraging people to imagine beyond their own experience, reading poetry can serve as an exercise in seeing things from a different perspective.

Poetry has always been political. The writer and civil-rights activist Audre Lorde argued it produces “a revelatory distillation of experience”. In other words, by distilling aspects of an experience, poetry can reveal powerful truths about reality.

Lorde’s poem Afterimages (1981) records her memory of turning 21 in the same year that 14-year-old Emmett Till was lynched in Mississippi. The poem’s revelation is a simple one. For black Americans, coming of age means coming to terms with the constant threat of extreme racial violence.

Poetry’s success often relies upon showing people aspects of the world which they might otherwise have ignored, repressed or simply missed.

Some poetry experiments with form itself to produce this revelatory effect. Estate Fragments (2014) is a long poem written by Gavin Goodwin, exploring the Bettws council estate in Newport. It juxtaposes quotations from academic writing alongside interviews with residents – a practice referred to as “found poetry”.

Goodwin attempts to consider the effect that seemingly abstract political decision-making and discussions have on a particular place and community. Take this stanza:

Increased inequality

ups the stakes

‘People that were younger than you

were more dangerous.’

The first two lines quote Common Culture by Paul Willis (1990), a sociological study in the cultures of young people. The latter are from an interview with a resident of the Bettws estate. Together, they tell a story: national economic inequality causes people in a working-class community to fear each other.

Looking closer and looking deeper

More conventional lyric poetry can still reveal sociopolitical realities. Canadian Métis Nation writer katherena vermette’s collection North End Love Songs (2012) explores the North End in Winnipeg, Canada. In a CBC interview, vermette discussed how the local community are:

The people that get picked on [and] blamed … but what I’m trying to do in my work is to go into looking closer and looking deeper … and seeing that they’re not what they seem.

Misinformation and polarisation cause social tension, as particular groups are generalised and blamed. Vermette’s poem indians explicitly explores the devastation caused by preconceptions of peoples and places.

The poem recalls vermette’s brother going missing, before being found in the Red River, a powerful body of water that moves through Winnipeg. It focuses on the apathy of Winnipeg’s police service, who tell the family that there is “no sense looking”, as the man will return when “he gets bored/or broke”. The authorities come to this conclusion not through investigation, but by reducing the speaker’s brother to racist stereotypes.

This is then contrasted with what the family “finds out”. Not only has the brother drowned, but the “land floods/with dead indians”. The speaker discovers the fate of her brother is also the fate of many other Métis people in Winnipeg. This personal experience of loss comes to speak for many other loses:

indians get drunk

don’t we know it?

do stupid things

like being young

like going home alone

like walking across a frozen river

not quite frozen

Vermette links grief to struggles against systematic apathy and oppression. The poem’s sense of politics, people and place are a central part of its poetics.

Such explicitness means the poem meaningfully connects to important political issues – drawing attention to the startlingly high number of missing people found and suspected to be in the Red River. As such, it can also link to important grassroots initiatives like Drag the Red, which aims to “find answers about missing loved ones” which might lie in the river.

While North End Love Songs was published two years before Drag the Red’s formation, the poem and initiative are clearly formed by the same kind of traumatic, sociopolitical events.

Newsfeeds increasingly silo us into comfortable ways of thinking and perceiving. Forty years on, Lorde’s declaration that poetry “is not a luxury” takes on a whole new meaning. Now, it might be a political necessity.

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Alex Hubbard, Associate lecturer in English Literature and Creative Writing, Aberystwyth University

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

You need fibre. That much is true. But in the world of online health trends, what started out as sound dietary advice has spiralled into “fibremaxxing” – a push to consume eye-watering amounts in the name of wellness.

In the UK, NHS guidelines suggest that an adult should consume at least 30g of fibre a day. Children and teens typically need much less.

Yet despite clear guidelines, most Britons fall short of their daily fibre target. One major culprit? The rise of ultra-processed foods, or UPFs. UK adults now get over 54% of their daily calories from ultra-processed foods. For teenagers, it’s nearer 66%.

This matters because UPFs are typically low in fibre and micronutrients, while being high in sugar, salt and unhealthy fats. When these foods dominate our plate, naturally fibre-rich whole foods get pushed out.

Studies show that as ultra-processed food intake increases, fibre consumption decreases, along with other essential nutrients. The result is a population falling well short of its daily fibre target.

Dietary fibre is essential for good health as part of a balanced diet. And it is best found in natural plant-based foods.

Adding high fibre foods to your meals and snacks throughout a typical day, such as switching to wholegrain bread for breakfast, keeping the skin on fruits like an apple, adding lentils and onions to a chilli evening meal and eating a handful of pumpkin seeds or Brazil nuts between meals, would help an average person hit their 30g-a-day dietary requirements.

Displacement

With fibremaxxing, what might make this trend somewhat dangerous is the removal of other food groups such as proteins, carbohydrates and fats and replacing them with fibre-dense foods, supplements or powder. This is where the potential risk could mitigate the benefits of increasing fibre, as no robust studies in humans – as far as I’m aware – have been conducted on long-term fibre intakes over 40g a day. (Some advocates of fibremaxxing suggest consuming between 50 and 100g a day.)

Eating too much fibre too quickly – especially without enough water – can lead to bloating, cramping and constipation. It can also cause a buildup of gas that can escape at the most inconvenient moments, like during a daily commute.

Rapidly increasing fibre intake or consuming too much can interfere with the absorption of essential micronutrients like iron, which supports normal body function, as well as macronutrients, which provide the energy needed for movement, repair and adaptation.

However, it’s important to remember that increasing fibre in your diet offers a wide range of health benefits. It supports a healthy digestive system by promoting regular bowel movements and reducing the occurrence of inflammatory bowel disease.

Soluble fibre helps to regulate blood sugar levels by slowing the absorption of glucose, making it especially helpful for people at risk of type 2 diabetes. It also lowers LDL (bad) cholesterol, reducing the risk of heart disease. Fibre keeps you feeling full for longer, which supports healthy weight management and appetite regulation. These findings are all well documented.

Additionally, a high-fibre diet has been linked to a lower risk of certain cancers, particularly colon cancer, by helping to remove toxins efficiently from the body. Gradually increasing fibre intake to recommended levels – through a balanced, varied diet – can offer real health benefits.

Given the evidence, it’s clear that many of us could benefit from eating more fibre – but within reason.

Until we know more, it’s safest to stick to fibre intake within current guidelines, and get it from natural sources rather than powders or supplements. Fibre is vital, but more isn’t always better. Skip the social media fads and aim for balance: whole grains, veg, nuts and seeds. Your gut – and your fellow commuters – will thank you.

Lewis Mattin, Senior Lecturer, Life Sciences, University of Westminster

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

Images of flashy sports cars. Lavish lifestyle shots. These are just some of the red flags consumers should watch out for when they turn to social media for financial advice.

Consumers should not believe everything they see on Instagram, TikTok or YouTube from the growing numbers of “finfluencers” – content creators who build their audience by giving out financial advice.

The regulator responsible for financial products and advice, the Australian Securities and Investments Commission (ASIC), has issued warning notices to 18 social media finfluencers. ASIC said it suspects they have broken the law by promoting high-risk financial products or providing unlicensed financial advice. ASIC did not name them.

So, why is regulated financial advice important and what are some of the common practices finfluencers use to attract followers and customers?

Financial advice rules explained

Australian Financial Services laws are designed to protect consumers and investors, while promoting the integrity of financial markets. It is both unethical and illegal to promote financial products without proper authorisation.

In Australia, it is an offence under the Corporations Act to provide financial advice without an Australian Financial Services licence. Penalties include up to five years’ imprisonment or fines of A$1 million or more.

ASIC issued a similar warning to online finfluencers in 2022. Since then, the number of social media posts by unauthorised finfluencers have substantially reduced.

Many finfluencers became licensed or authorised representatives of a licensee, along with being more diligent about what they were posting online. Natasha Etschmann, with 300,000 Instagram and TikTok followers at @TashInvests, became licensed immediately after the 2022 warning.

Some other finfluencers were arrested, issued fines or ordered to take down their websites.

High-risk products

However, some finfluencers who style themselves as “trading experts” continue to provide unauthorised financial advice, usually for a fee or commission. They promote high-risk, complex investment products that can cause consumers substantial harm.

These products include contracts-for-difference and over-the-counter derivative products that do not trade on an exchange. ASIC says its current concerns lie with these content creators:

Their social media content is often accompanied by misleading or deceptive representations about the prospects of success from the products or trading strategies they promote, sharing images of lavish lifestyles, sports cars and other luxury goods.

What to watch on socials

About 41% of young Australians aged 18 to 30 look online for financial information or advice.

While budgeting tips can be helpful, it’s important to be extra careful with online financial advice. Consumers should not believe everything they see on social media.

Conducting due diligence and checking finfluencers’ credentials on ASIC’s Professional Registers search tool is crucial. Choose expert and licensed finfluencers rather than accounts with large followings and exaggerated or misleading claims. Popularity does not always mean credibility.

There are certain red flags to watch out for. Some finfluencers use pseudonyms. They promote “exclusive” financial advice content and access to “invitation-only” online communities for a fee. In many cases, they lack credible experience or certified financial planning training to provide financial advice.

Your finfluencer vetting toolkit

When choosing to follow or acquire the services of a finfluencer, ask:

1. is this finfluencer licensed or authorised?

2. how realistic are the promised financial outcomes? Are they too good to be true?

3. does the finfluencer disclose their personal financial position or investments when discussing financial products or strategies?

4. are they transparent about their track record of accuracy or accountability?

5. do they address publicly a case when their audience lost money from a strategy they recommended?

6. does the finfluencer tailor content to different investment risk profiles or financial maturity levels in their audiences?

Are you being sold a dream?

Social media finfluencer content can often come with misleading or deceptive representations (such as the sports cars and luxury goods that ASIC has warned about). Content may overstate the prospects of success and potential profits.

Some – usually unlicensed – finfluencers use social media content as “proof” of their financial expertise. One common practice is to try to lure consumers by creating a hyped world around their own personal lifestyle. Many finfluencers often extend invitations to consumers to join closed forums to “learn” their hidden secrets to success or copy their “famous” trading practices.

These finfluencers usually try to convince consumers they can achieve a similar lifestyle by following their advice.

Finfluencers are global

ASIC issued the warnings as part of a recent global week of action. ASIC and eight regulators from the United Kingdom, United Arab Emirates, Italy, Hong Kong and Canada took coordinated action to disrupt unlawful finfluencer activity.
The global campaign aims to raise awareness about unlawful finfluencer activity, protect consumers, and prevent them from investing after encountering misleading content.

Consumers need to distinguish between credible financial advice and self-serving or misleading content before trusting their money to anyone.

Spotted unlicensed influencer activity? Report this misconduct to ASIC.

Dimitrios Salampasis, Associate Professor, Emerging Technologies and FinTech | FinTech Capability Lead, Swinburne University of Technology

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

I first read John Hirst (1942-2016) as an undergraduate in the late 1990s as part of a subject on 19th-century Australian history. We discussed convict history and explored contrasting views about its role and function in the early colonies. What was life as a convict like? Was transportation a cruel punishment or a ticket to a better future? Could we compare the convict system to slavery?

Hirst’s Convict Society and Its Enemies was one of our required readings and I studied it with interest.

Review: John Hirst: Selected Writings – edited by Chris Feik (Black Inc.)

I had devoured Robert Hughes’s The Fatal Shore the previous summer and had been powerfully swayed by his descriptions of visceral cruelty in the penal colony. There were convicts who rubbed lime in their own eyes because blindness was preferable to working in the kilns. Others were whipped until flesh hung in strips from their backs and collapsed on treadmills from exhaustion.

Hirst demurred. Yes, there was violence, he agreed, but England was a violent place in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Rather than judge, historians must understand the broader context of that world. Comparing convicts to slaves overlooked historical evidence that pointed to the relative freedom convicts enjoyed in colonial society.

Due to the dire shortage of labour, for example, convicts were able to control aspects of their own lives, working on their daily tasks for the state in the morning and then having their “own time” after the day’s work was done. This not only facilitated considerable freedom for convicts, but also their power in the fledgling society.

Following their sentences, convicts were free to own property and, from 1842, even to vote and stand for the New South Wales Legislative Council. Critically, the children of convicts were all born free, not into servitude.

Impact and legacy

The central arguments of Convict Society and Its Enemies are reproduced in an essay included in this posthumous collection of Hirst’s writings, edited by Chris Feik. The book catalogues some of Hirst’s major contributions to Australian historiography, spanning 50 years of scholarship from the mid 1970s.

How Did a Penal Colony Change Peacefully into a Democracy? is classic Hirst. The prose is crisp and succinct, avoiding jargon and calmly outlining the logic of its contention, drawn from a deep reading of the sources. Hirst critiques what he sees as convict research motivated by ideology rather than the evidence of this period in Australia’s past. In doing so, he sets himself apart from historians who viewed the convicts as victims of a brutal, dehumanising system.

Selected Writings also includes short personal reflections from a fellow historian, a former student, and a colleague, which help frame the impact and legacy of Hirst’s work. His intellectual independence is noted by each of the three contributors.

“Hirst prided himself on his resistance to the current of fashionable opinion,” notes Frank Bongiorno, “and he was above all else a fiercely independent individual.” This wasn’t about being contrary, adds Alex McDermott, but a process of applying the same critical analysis to the field as he did to his primary sources. Hirst “viewed his project as more than mere provocation”. He was both a passionate believer in Australia, as well as a fiercely independent voice, writes Robert Manne.

Bongiorno, McDermott and Manne all emphasise Hirst’s personal generosity and commitment to teaching and the profession – he was clearly loved by generations of students. Upon the book’s release, I was struck by comments on social media and at conferences from colleagues and former students who remembered acts of kindness that accompanied Hirst’s rigorous commitment to debate.

This collection feels like a faithful reflection of that contribution to Australian history.

A historian’s conscience

Selected Writings covers several major themes Hirst pursued in his research. We see a persuasive defence of democracy and an ongoing interest in the emergence of Australian democracy, in particular. Hirst’s account of national sentiment as a driver towards federation is compelling, as it understands the important imaginative leap required to hold a nation together beyond the establishment of political institutions. And his belief in republicanism is a thread he returned to across his career.

Another substantial theme is Hirst’s belief in, and support for, the history discipline. At the heart of his approach and practice is a contention that evidence and source criticism fundamentally broaden our knowledge of the past. Ideas are tested, and debates between historians are equally intrinsic to evaluating hypotheses and arguments.

Reading this diverse collection, I find Hirst’s writing provocative in a good way. I often had to pause and ask myself, do I agree or disagree here? What is my argument? Where is the evidence for my opinion?

Hirst’s body of work represents an implicit but powerful defence of evidence-based history at a time when the truth is under attack from venal Trumpism and students are submitting dispiriting essays written by GenAI. He was a powerful advocate for the discipline, advancing what history educators would call a form of historical literacy or historical thinking.

In response to the Howard Government’s proposal to develop a national history curriculum in 2006, for example, Hirst agreed with the need for a more rigorous and coordinated approach to the subject. Yet he also insisted that history’s purpose must be to teach the skills of empirical research and criticism, rather than jingoism.

Given the spread of these essays and the genealogy of Hirst’s career, it was a curious decision to organise the collection thematically, rather than chronologically. I am aware this criticism is likely framed by my own interests, and a thematic approach allows for a different organisation of ideas, but I did wonder what context was perhaps missed by not seeing the evolution of Hirst’s writing over time.

For example, the essay Changing My Mind appears first, but reflects back on Hirst’s career in Australian history. I was also surprised that one of his most well-known (and controversial) essays was not included in the collection or cited in the select bibliography. It’s another piece I first read as an undergraduate – a pointed critique of Creating a Nation by Patricia Grimshaw, Marilyn Lake, Ann McGrath and Marian Quartly, published in Quadrant in 1995, in which Hirst questioned whether a gendered history of Australia could and should be written. “A history of gender relations,” he argued, “is something less than the history of the nation.”

Obviously, all edited collections require curatorial decisions based on all sorts of reasons, but the exclusion of this essay was notable, given its prominence.

Other pieces in Selected Writings include Hirst’s critiques of what he termed the “black school” of Australian history writing. He was referring to the movement of historical revision advanced by labour, feminist, migrant and First Nations histories, which have challenged Australia’s understanding of its historical “progress”.

Hirst resisted this movement for being ideologically driven. But that is not to say he wasn’t interested in the “historian’s conscience”. He was, deeply. The essay that opens the collection was published in a volume on that very topic.

Yet his commitment to the history discipline also ran up against a growing acknowledgement within the field that empirical history has been complicit in and essential to exploitative systems of imperialism and colonisation. Hirst wanted historians to understand the past in context. “History writing will always reflect our current preoccupations,” he argued, “but as a disciplined enquiry it is also committed to understanding past people in their own terms.”

It’s a view that has been challenged in recent decades, as historians have sought to understand the ways history itself has legitimised and storied the settler-colonial project by curating its own archives and rules of historical evidence. As well as uncovering the past, history also has its own “blind eyes”, as Catherine Hall famously acknowledged.

Given Hirst’s commitment to debate, and his belief in collegiality and the sharing of ideas, that is a spirited discussion I reckon he would have been up for.

Anna Clark, Professor in Public History, University of Technology Sydney

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

When you’re on a camping trip, you might have to pack your own food and maybe something to filter or treat water that you find. But imagine your campsite is in space, where there’s no water, and packing jugs of water would take up room when every inch of cargo space counts. That’s a key challenge engineers faced when designing the International Space Station.

Before NASA developed an advanced water recycling system, water made up nearly half the payload of shuttles traveling to the ISS. I am an environmental engineer and have conducted research at Kennedy Space Center’s Space Life Sciences Laboratory. As part of this work, I helped to develop a closed-loop water recovery system.

Today, NASA recovers over 90% of the water used in space. Clean water keeps an astronaut crew hydrated, hygienic and fed, as it can use it to rehydrate food. Recovering used water is a cornerstone of closed-loop life support, which is essential for future lunar bases, Mars missions and even potential space settlements.

NASA’s environmental control and life support system is a set of equipment and processes that perform several functions to manage air and water quality, waste, atmospheric pressure and emergency response systems such as fire detection and suppression. The water recovery system − one component of environmental control and life support − supports the astronauts aboard the ISS and plays a central role in water recycling.

Water systems built for microgravity

In microgravity environments like the ISS, every form of water available is valuable. The water recovery systems on the ISS collect water from several sources, including urine, moisture in cabin air, and hygiene – meaning from activities such as brushing teeth.

On Earth, wastewater includes various types of water: residential wastewater from sinks, showers and toilets; industrial wastewater from factories and manufacturing processes; and agricultural runoff, which contains fertilizers and pesticides.

In space, astronaut wastewater is much more concentrated than Earth-based wastewater. It contains significantly higher levels of urea – a compound from urine – salts, and surfactants from soaps and materials used for hygiene. To make the water safe to drink, the system needs to remove all of these quickly and effectively.

The water recovery systems used in space employ some of the same principles as Earth-based water treatment. However, they are specifically engineered to function in microgravity with minimal maintenance. These systems also must operate for months or even years without the need for replacement parts or hands-on intervention.

NASA’s water recovery system captures and recycles nearly all forms of water used or generated aboard the space station. It routes the collected wastewater to a system called the water processor assembly, where it is purified into safe, potable water that exceeds many Earth-based drinking water standards.

The water recovery and treatment system on the ISS consists of several subsystems.

Recovering water from urine and sweat

The urine processor assembly recovers about 75% of the water from urine by heating and vacuum compression. The recovered water is sent to the water processor assembly for further treatment. The remaining liquid, called brine, still contains a significant amount of water. So, NASA developed a brine processor assembly system to extract the final fraction of water from this urine brine.

In the brine processor assembly, warm, dry air evaporates water from the leftover brine. A filter separates the contaminants from the water vapor, and the water vapor is collected to become drinking water. This innovation pushed the water recovery system’s overall water recovery rate to an impressive 98%. The remaining 2% is combined with the other waste generated.

The air revitalization system condenses moisture from the cabin air – primarily water vapor from sweat and exhalation – into liquid water. It directs the recovered water to the water processor assembly, which treats all the collected water.

Treating recovered water

The water processor assembly’s treatment process includes several steps.

First, all the recovered water goes through filters to remove suspended particles such as dust. Then, a series of filters removes salts and some of the organic contaminants, followed by a chemical process called catalytic oxidation that uses heat and oxygen to break down the remaining organic compounds. The final step is adding iodine to the water to prevent microbial growth while it is stored.

The output is potable water — often cleaner than municipal tap water on Earth.

Getting to Mars and beyond

To make human missions to Mars possible, NASA has estimated that spacecraft must reclaim at least 98% of the water used on board. While self-sustaining travel to Mars is still a few years away, the new brine processor on the ISS has increased the water recovery rate enough that this 98% goal is now in reach. However, more work is needed to develop a compact system that can be used in a space ship.

The journey to Mars is complex, not just because of the distance involved, but because Mars and Earth are constantly moving in their respective orbits around the Sun.

The distance between the two planets varies depending on their positions. On average, they’re about 140 million miles (225 million km) apart, with the shortest theoretical approach, when the two planets’ orbits bring them close together, taking 33.9 million miles (54.6 million km).

A typical crewed mission is expected to take about nine months one way. A round-trip mission to Mars, including surface operations and return trajectory planning, could take around three years. In addition, launch windows occur only every 26 months, when Earth and Mars align favorably.

As NASA prepares to send humans on multiyear expeditions to the red planet, space agencies around the world continue to focus on improving propulsion and perfecting life support systems. Advances in closed-loop systems, robotic support and autonomous operations are all inching the dream of putting humans on Mars closer to reality.

Berrin Tansel, Professor of Civil and Environmental Engineering, Florida International University

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

Spotify currently has 675 million active users. Now, as it expands into video for music streaming and as more people use Spotify, the app’s environmental footprint is set to increase.

In-video advertisements that aim to increase ad revenue involve AI to tap into a users’ preferences. This means lots of individual videos with minor differences requiring additional processing scaled to the user’s streaming resolution.

But while Spotify used to publish data on its environmental costs, its reports have been incomplete since 2021. As American author and scholar, Shoshanna Zuboff points out in her book The Age of Surveillance Capitalism, many tech companies lack environmental accountability.

The Carbon Trust, a consultancy that helps businesses reduce their carbon footprints, works to globally promote a sustainable future and has calculated the European average carbon footprint for video streaming as producing 55g of CO₂e per hour. This CO₂e or carbon dioxide equivalent is a comparable measure of the potential effect of different greenhouse gases on the climate: 55g of CO₂e is 50 times more than audio streaming and the equivalent of microwaving four bags of popcorn.

As a music technology and AI researcher, I’m aware of the shift in responsibility that comes with Spotify’s video innovations. While companies’ significant role in generating emissions should not be diminished, the shift of responsibility fromt he platform to users and content creators means that better informed choices about their streaming devices and streaming quality settings larger screens need to be made. Streaming at higher resolutions becomes significant factors in increasing video’s carbon footprint.

This increased responsibility means that end users needs to make better informed choices about their streaming devices and streaming quality settings.

While companies’ significant role in generating emissions should not be diminished, this shift of responsibility to the end user means that larger screens and streaming at higher resolutions become significant factors in increasing video’s carbon footprint.

Location also affects how carbon emissions are managed. Germany has the largest carbon footprint for video streaming at 76g CO₂e per hour of streaming, reflecting its continued reliance on coal and fossil fuels. In the UK, this figure is 48g CO₂e per hour, because its energy mix includes renewables and natural gas, increasingly with nuclear as central to the UK’s low-carbon future. France, with a reliance on nuclear is the lowest, at 10g CO₂e per hour.

There is an absolute burden of responsibility on tech and media companies to reduce their carbon emissions and to be transparent about their efforts to do so. In fact, net zero cannot be achieved without commitments from the major technology companies, many of which are based in the US whose government has not ratified the Kyoto protocol and withdrew from the Paris agreement in 2020 which are both significant global efforts to combat climate change.

Eco-conscious music streaming

A French thinktank called the Shift Project advocates for people and companies to adopt “digital sobriety” (the mindful use of digital tech) to ensure efficiency and sustainability. For example, research shows that the UK could reduce its carbon output by more 16,433 tonnes if each adult sent one less thank you email a day.

Certainly aimless streaming should be avoided because video decoding can account for 35-50% of playback energy on user devices. However, music video is more than mere music. As I have argued in my own work, video “provides a layer of meaning making not present in lyrics or audio alone”.

Video can bring marginalised music makers, cultures and ideas to the foreground by tackling difficult subjects. Like the work of Syrian-American rapper, poet, activist and chaplain Mona Haydar’s Wrap My Hijab or UK grime rapper Drillminister and his critique of neo-liberalism and trickle-down economics Nouveau Riche.

To minimise the environmental footprint of your own music streaming, use Wi-Fi rather than 4G or 5G. If you listen to a song repeatedly, purchase a download to play. Use localised storage rather than cloud-based systems for all of your music and video files. Reduce auto-play, aimless background streaming or using streaming as a sleep aid by changing the default settings on your device including reducing streaming resolution. And turn your camera off for video calls, as carbon emissions are 25 times more than for audio only.

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Hussein Boon, Principal Lecturer - Music, University of Westminster

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A cinematic firecracker of a film exploded onto international screens 50 years ago this week, blending martial arts mayhem, Bond-esque set pieces, casual racism – and a distinctly Australian swagger.

From its audacious visual style; to its complex, life-threatening stunts; to its pioneering status as an international co-production, Brian Trenchard-Smith’s The Man from Hong Kong has solidified its place as a cult classic.

The plot is deceptively simple. A Sydney-based crime lord’s activities come under the scrutiny of a determined Hong Kong detective, Inspector Fang Sing Leng. A fiery East-meets-West martial arts showdown explodes across the Australian landscape, pushing both sides to their limits.

Jimmy Wang Yu (known at the time as Asia’s Steve McQueen) plays Inspector Fang Sing Leng. Fang delivers justice with his fists and uses his wits navigating greater Sydney, with help from the local constabulary and its adoring female population.

The movie is a playful pastiche that confidently combines martial arts action, police procedurals, spy thrillers, and Westerns, all filtered through a distinctly Australian “crash-zoom” lens.

An Australia–Hong Kong co-production

The Man from Hong Kong was the first official Australia–Hong Kong co-production, uniting Hong Kong’s Golden Harvest studio with Australian producer John Fraser.

This model would pave the way for numerous future collaborations – the film demonstrating that Australia was open for international (film) business, albeit with some constraints, such as shooting locales.

In The Man from Hong Kong’s case, the financial arrangement was 50/50. As a result, half of the film had to be shot in Hong Kong, despite 85% of the storyline being set in Australia. Many of the interiors were filmed in Hong Kong studios to meet this production requirement.

An example of this is the interrogation scene, which alternates between its Sydney exteriors and a fight scene taking place in the interior film set shot thousands of miles away at the Golden Harvest studios.

In a genius bit of montage, the scene jumps from a shot of a kick in the crotch to a close-up of pool balls breaking on a table.

A film of cunning stunts

The Man from Hong Kong served as a reunion of sorts for many of the cast and crew, either starring in Stone (1974) or featuring in Trenchard-Smith’s documentary about martial arts films, Kung Fu Killers (1974).

The film was an influence to Quentin Tarantino and paved the way for films such as Mad Max (1979), particularly in what Trenchard-Smith and his partner in film, stunt legend Grant Page, might call its “cunning stunts”.

The elaborate car chases and explosive stunt setups in The Man from Hong Kong served as prototypes for iconic sequences that would inspire the Mad Max films, among others, a testament to a bygone era of practical effects and thrill seeking audacity.

Car crashes and other explosive stunts were executed without permits or road closures. This sense of chaos is heightened by the stunts being performed by the actors themselves, adding a sense of immediacy and peril.

An example of this is set on the cliffs at Stanwell Park. Wang Yu drives at speed towards the waiting Caroline, executing a precision gravel slide that misses Caroline’s car by under a metre, the shot continuing as he exits the car to greet her.

Part character, and part tourism advert

Trenchard-Smith’s script wasn’t shy in its depiction of culture clash, especially when it came to the racist attitudes of the Australian characters.

But as Trenchard-Smith recalls:

Our lead character, a Chinese Dirty Harry/James Bond upends these racial stereotypes by being smarter, sexier, and tougher than his opponents.

Cinematographer Russell Boyd brings a sharp, dynamic (did I mention the crash-zooms?) visual style to the film that deftly matches the on-screen action.

The film’s Australian setting is part character and part tourism advert – from the “Ayers Rock” (Uluru) cold opener, to the cafe scene on the Opera House forecourt.

Pure cinema

Stunt legend Grant Page appears in multiple villainous roles throughout the film, with the martial arts choreography handled by the legendary director Sammo Hung, who also played the role of Win Chan.

The cast was a fascinating mix of talent and personality. Wang Yu, a martial arts icon, was also an established film director, leading to creative clashes on set with Trenchard-Smith.

Playing the film’s villain is George Lazenby, whose casting added another layer of meta-textual intrigue, positioning him as an antagonist to a character who was explicitly a Bond villain archetype.

The Man from Hong Kong remains an exhilarating piece of pure cinema, despite its relatively small budget. It’s an exemplar (and occasional cautionary tale) for filmmakers in terms of international co-production, its cunning stunts, and genre blending.

The film is a testament to a moment when Australian cinema was confidently looking outwards, ready to take on the world, one explosive car crash at a time.

Gregory Ferris, Senior Lecturer, Media Arts & Production, University of Technology Sydney

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

“Earning a humanities degree was not only life changing, in terms of opening up a world of knowledge otherwise beyond my reach, it also turns out to have been enormously productive – for me and many, many people around me,” said Tim Winton this week. “My little arts degree has created jobs and cultural value for over 40 years.”

Winton is one of more than 100 high-profile Australians with Bachelor of Arts degrees who have signed an open letter by the Australian Historical Association (AHA). It urges Anthony Albanese to abolish the Morrison government’s widely condemned Job-Ready Graduates package and establish an equitable university fee system that “does not punish students who choose to study the humanities and social sciences”.

Writers who have signed include Nam Le, Helen Garner, Tim Flannery and Kate Grenville, who said her humanities and history studies were “absolutely essential” to the writing of her books. The signatories range widely across Australian intellectual life, from Megan Davis, co-chair of the Uluru Dialogue and chair of Australian Studies at Harvard, to musician and former Labor minister Peter Garrett.

In the lead-up to the 2022 election, Labor promised a review of the scheme. Two years and two federal elections later, it remains in place. “The idea that a Labor government would do nothing at all to right this wrong is utterly mystifying,” said Winton.

A sustained political attack

Job-Ready Graduates claimed to guide students toward areas of national need by reducing fees for degrees in STEM, education and nursing – while raising fees for other degrees, including the humanities. Philosophy, history and literature bore some of the steepest increases.

The cost of an arts degree now exceeds A$50,000. History fees alone jumped 117% when the policy took effect. The result? Humanities enrolments have dropped to a ten-year low.

Historian Michelle Arrow, AHA president, is the convener of the letter. “There has been a sustained political attack on the humanities,” she recently told Good Weekend. That attack now spans two governments and three education ministers.

The Job-Ready Graduates policy did not increase places in those cheaper degrees. Instead, it penalised students who chose disciplines with more ambiguous career outcomes. These shifts reinforced a message: that such choices are self-indulgent and economically irrational.

Universities, meanwhile, face escalating costs and volatile revenue from international students. In that context, humanities departments are an easy target.

At the University of Wollongong, up to 124 full-time jobs are being cut as part of a $30 million cost-saving restructure, with significant losses across the humanities. At Macquarie, entire majors in sociology and politics are being eliminated. The University of Tasmania is shedding up to 13 arts and humanities roles.

These are not isolated incidents; they are part of a broader pattern of disinvestment. This is not drift; it is deliberate dismantling.

Humanities faculties are being restructured not because they cost too much to run, but because they are perceived to return too little. Yet the skills they foster – interpretive reasoning, ethical judgement, historical understanding – remain essential to democratic life.

Teaching us to sit with contradiction

Teaching literature at university, I have seen how the study of complex texts fosters not just critical thinking, but a slower, more deliberative mode of engagement.

Wrestling with Alexis Wright’s Carpentaria, Kim Stanley Robinson’s The Ministry for the Future or George Eliot’s Middlemarch is not about extracting quick answers.

Wright’s novel grapples with sovereignty, environmental stewardship and intergenerational trauma. It invites us into a kind of intellectual disorientation – which is the beginning of serious thinking. Robinson imagines a near-future world on the brink of climate collapse, and how we might respond to its challenges. Middlemarch is a slow education in moral attention.

These works cultivate patience, tolerance for ambiguity and the ability to sit with contradiction. These are not only academic skills; they are habits of mind essential to civic life.

At St Andrew’s College within the University of Sydney, I recently observed students engaging with the poetry of John Keats and Emily Dickinson, Pascal’s Wager and the Ship of Theseus, an ancient paradox regarding identity and change over time. Not as academic curiosities, but as frameworks for judgement and moral reasoning.

Students practised a kind of learning that is increasingly rare: slow, rigorous and open-ended. It required nuance, comparison and a tolerance for uncertainty. These were not exercises in arriving at answers, but in developing the capacity to think clearly when no obvious answer exists.

Take Keats’s idea of “negative capability”: the capacity to remain “in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason”. In a world of polarisation and misinformation, this disposition is more relevant than ever. Reading Keats doesn’t just inform us about Romantic poetry – it models how to remain intellectually and ethically open.

Pascal’s Wager, a philosophical argument that frames belief in God as a rational bet under uncertainty, reframes the question of belief. Rather than ask if God exists, it does not ask is it true?, but what happens if you bet wrongly? It opens a door beyond theology – to ethics, probability and decision-making under uncertainty.

This is something the broader university system is increasingly struggling to preserve: learning as a form of ethical formation, rather than mere information transfer.

This kind of learning is slow. It resists metrics of productivity. It can’t be sped up or automated. But it is precisely what builds ethical capacity in future lawyers, teachers, doctors, journalists and citizens.

We risk leaving students ‘soul starved’

There is irony in this moment. As Nick Bryant writes in his Good Weekend article, history podcasts are booming. Philosophy books routinely shape national conversations. Humanities graduates remain employable across sectors precisely because they can read closely, write clearly and think critically. The appetite for big, messy human questions is real – and yet the institutions that trained people to ask them are shrinking.

Reports from employers continue to cite communication, judgement and adaptability among the most desirable graduate traits. These so-called “soft skills” are essential in law, health, diplomacy and policy – all fields where decisions carry real moral weight. When pandemic responses required weighing privacy against public safety, or vaccine equity against speed, the skills in play weren’t just technical. They were interpretive. Ethical. Human.

This is not abstract. During myriad global crises, humanities-trained advocates and writers play key roles in reshaping public messaging. Indigenous-led campaigns for Voice, Treaty and Truth from the Uluru Statement of the Heart have drawn not only on legal frameworks, but on storytelling traditions, cultural knowledge and historical understanding – all core to the humanities. These moments remind us: change isn’t only engineered. It’s narrated, debated, imagined into being.

The Universities Accord Final Report has now acknowledged that the Job-Ready Graduates scheme “failed to meet its objectives” and recommended urgent reform. Not all learning is “job-ready.” Some forms of knowledge are valuable because they deepen our understanding, sharpen our empathy, or expand our imagination.

The erosion of the humanities is not just a policy failure. It is a failure of imagination. We make students ready for the job market. But without the tools to think deeply, imagine ethically and reason clearly, we risk leaving them soul-starved.

Caitlin Macdonald, PhD Candidate, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of Sydney

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