Source: ForeignAffairs4

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Tinashe Mushakavanhu, Assistant Professor, Harvard University

When the announcement of Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi’s latest novel Dream Count was made, it was regarded as a major event in African literature. The internationally celebrated Nigerian writer had not published a novel in the past 12 years, and her long-awaited return stirred both anticipation and speculation. In the post-COVID context in which the book comes, so much has changed in the world.

The first leg of her three city homecoming book tour coincided with my stay in Lagos as a curatorial fellow at Guest Artist Space Foundation, dedicated to facilitating cultural exchange and supporting creative practices. After Lagos, Chimamanda took the tour to Nigeria’s capital city Abuja and finally Enugu, where she was born and grew up.

Read more:
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s new book Dream Count explores love in all its complicated messiness

As a scholar of African literature, I arrived here in search of literary Lagos. But my attachment to the city may also just be romantic, a nostalgia born out of years of reading about it in fiction. No doubt, Lagos is a city of imagination and creativity.

Chimamanda’s book event was a reminder that literary celebrity, when it happens in Africa, can exist on its own terms. It’s rooted in a popular imaginary that embraces both the writer and the spectacle.

Lagos superstar

The launch in Lagos took place at a conference centre on the evening of Friday 27 June. The MUSON is a multipurpose civic auditorium located in the centre of Lagos Island which can accommodate up to 1,000 guests. And on this night, the auditorium was packed.

When I arrive, the scene outside is buzzing. A crowd gathers in front of a large canvas banner bearing a radiant image of the author. It’s more than just decoration; it’s a backdrop. It is an occasion for the selfie, a digital marker that you were there. There is even a hashtag for this: #dreamcountlagos. People take turns posing in front of it, curating their presence in the frame of Chimamanda’s aura.

The atmosphere is festive, electric. And yet beneath the surface shimmer is something more urgent: a hunger for story, for presence, for return. Perhaps that explains why people come not just to witness, but to be counted.

Inside the lobby, piles of Chimamanda’s books are neatly arranged on long tables. People are not just buying a copy. They are buying several in the hope that the author will autograph them. The sight is striking, almost surreal. In many parts of the continent, a book launch is often a quiet affair. Writers are lucky to sell a handful of copies. But this is something else entirely. This is not just a book launch, it is a cultural moment.

It would have been easy to mistake the event for a political townhall. There was a VIP section reserved for the who’s who of Lagos, but those class distinctions easily dissolved into the collective energy of the room. The auditorium was filled with genuine enthusiasm.

Even after a delay of more than an hour, when Chimamanda finally walked in, she was met with rapturous applause. She wore a bright yellow dress, an Instagrammable outfit, suited for the many fans who rushed forward to take selfies with her. Chimamanda, no doubt, is as much a fashion icon as she is a literary figure.

On stage, she was joined by media personality Ebuka Obi-Uchendu, widely known as the host of the reality TV show Big Brother Africa. But here, he was also something more intimate: the author’s friend. Chimamanda even credited him with being a “great reader”. This is a rare compliment in a literary world that often separates celebrity from critical engagement.

Their conversation was relaxed and full of laughter, offering the audience both intimacy and insight. Chimamanda addressed the question that had lingered for years: her decade-long silence. She spoke candidly of writer’s block, of the grief that came with losing both her parents in quick succession, and how that loss eventually reignited her desire to write.

Dream Count, she explained, is shaped by that rupture. It is one of the major post-COVID novels from Africa, and centres on the lives of four women. It is a book about love, friendship and independence.

Africans do read

When she spoke about her characters on stage, it was as though she was talking about relatives that the audience recognised. They responded by shouting out the characters’ names, to the delight of the author.

When I asked people about the launch afterwards, many said that it was a very Nigerian event – big, colourful, exuberant, festive. It was indeed a celebration that felt communal, even joyous. It was also a public demonstration of how literature can still command space and attention, not just in private reading rooms or crammed bookstores, but on a civic scale.

Read more:
Lagos fashion: how designers make global trends uniquely Nigerian

This was a remarkable event because it defied the tired cliché that Africans do not read. People, mostly young, came out in their hundreds. They bought books, they took selfies with their “favourite” author, they screamed the names of fictional characters as though greeting friends.

But more significant was Chimamanda’s choice to work with a local publisher, Narrative Landscape Press, which produced the Nigerian edition of Dream Count that is now available and accessible locally, at the same time as its release in Europe and North America. That alone is a radical act.

In returning to Nigeria to launch her book, Chimamanda also disrupts the assumption that African literary prestige must only be validated abroad. Even though she belongs to a cohort of African writers shaped by the diaspora, she actively insists on presence – on homecoming – not as simply nostalgia, but as active engagement.

Of course, Chimamanda is an exception. Her stature as a global literary figure, combined with her deep connection to home, allows her to move between worlds with remarkable ease. Few writers command the kind of multigenerational, cross-class attention she does. I found myself wishing though that more book launches could carry this same sense of occasion, of meaning, of return. That they could gather people in such numbers, not just to celebrate the writer, but to affirm the African book as something still worth gathering for.

And perhaps that is what made this book launch unforgettable: not just the celebrity or the spectacle, but the sense that literature still matters here, and that it belongs to the people.

Tinashe Mushakavanhu does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Chimamanda’s Lagos homecoming wasn’t just a book launch, it was a cultural moment – https://theconversation.com/chimamandas-lagos-homecoming-wasnt-just-a-book-launch-it-was-a-cultural-moment-261112

Source: ForeignAffairs4

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Leigh Carriage, Senior Lecturer in Music, Southern Cross University

Connie Francis dominated the music charts in the late 1950s and early 1960s with hits like Stupid Cupid, Pretty Little Baby and Don’t Break the Heart That Loves You.

The pop star, author and actor has died at 87, and will be remembered for recording the soundtrack songs of post-World War II America.

An early life of music

Francis was born Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero in Newark, New Jersey, to Italian immigrant parents. At a very early age, Francis was encouraged to take accordion and singing lessons, compete in talent shows, and later she would perform occasionally on the children’s production Star Time Kids on NBC, remaining there until she was 17.

Within these early recordings you can hear her style begin to develop: her tone, great pitching, her versatility in vocal range. Her vocal delivery is technically controlled and stylistically structured, often nuanced – and even at this early stage demonstrating such power coupled with an adaptability for a broad range of repertoire.

At 17, Francis signed a contract with MGM Records.

One of her early recordings was the song Who’s Sorry Now?, written by Ted Snyder with lyrics by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby in 1923. Her version was released in 1957 and struggled to get noticed.

The following year, Francis appeared with the ballad on American Bandstand. This performance exposed Francis’ talent for interpretation and her ability to bridge the teen and adult fanbase.

The song would become a hit.

It’s useful to listen to the original version to gain more insight into Francis’ vocal approach and styling. The original is an instrumental song of its time, with light whimsical call and response motives in a foxtrot feel.

But in Francis’ version, she demonstrates her ability to revitalise a late 1950s pop music aesthetic. In an emotional delivery she croons her own rendition, with the country styling elements of Patsy Cline.

The voice of a generation

Following Who’s Sorry Now?, Stupid Cupid (1958), Where The Boys Are (1960, the titular song of a feature film starring Francis) and Lipstick on Your Collar (1959) became the soundtrack songs of post-war America.

Francis was supported with songs penned by the some of the best songwriters from the Brill Building, a creative collective in Manhattan that housed professional songwriters, working with staff writers Edna Lewis and George Goehring.

In 1960, Francis released her hit Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool written by Jack Keller and Howard Greenfield. It was a teeny-bopper classic, and she became the first women to top the Billboard Hot 100.

Styled after some of the other greats of the time – such as Frank Sinatra (1915–98), Dean Martin (1917–95) and Louis Prima (1910–70) – Francis’ performance on the Ed Sullivan show highlighted her connection to her Italian heritage and ability to draw from a broad repertoire.

On the show, she performed Mama and La Paloma. Each performance is very carefully styled, a thoughtful approach to dynamics, sung in both English and Italian.

Don’t Break the Heart That Loves You, a number one hit from 1962, features Francis’ gorgeous crooning harmonies. Then, the song breaks down into an earnest spoken part and finishes with a powerful belted vocal part of long notes.

The song is full of confidence and hope.

Away from the microphone

Francis had two key roles in films, starring in Where the Boys Are (1960) and the comedy Follow the Boys (1963).

She was an author of two books. The second, Who’s Sorry Now?, became a New York Times bestseller.

Francis was involved with humanitarian causes. She was particularly involved with Women Against Rape, following her own violent rape in 1974, and the Valour Victims Assistance Legal Organisation, dedicated to supporting the legal rights of crime victims. A lesser known song in her repertoire, fitting to include here, is her version of Born Free from 1968.

As a singer, Francis worked at her craft and transitioned effortlessly from one genre to another, performing for over five decades. She will be remembered as a trailblazing solo artist, leaving a strong legacy in popular music culture.

She was the voice of one generation when she was a star. And in her final year she became the voice of a new generation as Pretty Little Baby, released in 1962, went viral on TikTok, with more than 1.4 million videos using her voice to share stories of their lives.

Leigh Carriage does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Connie Francis was the voice of a generation and the soundtrack of post-war America – https://theconversation.com/connie-francis-was-the-voice-of-a-generation-and-the-soundtrack-of-post-war-america-261467

Source: ForeignAffairs4

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Are Skeie Hermansen, Professor of Sociology, University of Oslo

As many countries grapple with ageing populations, falling birthrates, labour shortages and fiscal pressures, the ability to successfully integrate immigrants is becoming an increasingly pressing matter.

However, our new study found that salaries of immigrants in Europe and North America are nearly 18% lower than those of natives, as foreign-born workers struggle to access higher-paying jobs. To reach this conclusion, we analysed the salaries of 13.5 million people in nine immigrant-receiving countries: Canada, Denmark, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Norway, Spain, Sweden and the United States. Data was taken from the period of 2016 to 2019.

Immigrants in these countries earned less primarily because they were unable to access higher-paying jobs. Three-quarters of the migrant pay gap was the result of a lack of access to well-paid jobs, while only one-quarter of the gap was attributed to pay differences between migrant and native-born workers in the same job.

The high-income countries we examined in Europe and North America all face similar demographic challenges, with low fertility rates resulting in an ageing population and labour shortages. Pro-natalist policies are unlikely to change this demographic destiny, but sound immigration policies can help.

Across these countries with vastly different labour market institutions and immigrant populations, a common theme emerged: countries are not making good use of immigrants’ human capital.

Stark regional differences

We found that immigrants earn 17.9% less than natives on average, although the pay gap varied widely by country. In Spain, a relatively recent large-scale receiver of immigrants, the pay gap was over 29%. In Sweden – a country where many employed immigrants find work in the public sector – it was just 7%. These results don’t include immigrants who are unemployed or in the informal economy.

Where immigrants were born also mattered. The highest average overall pay gaps were for immigrants from sub-Saharan Africa (26.1%) and the Middle East and North Africa (23.7%). For immigrants from Europe, North America and other Western countries, the difference in average pay compared to natives was a much more modest 9%.

Our results suggest that the children of immigrants faced substantially better earning prospects than their parents. For the countries where second-generation data was available – Canada, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands, Norway and Sweden – the gap narrowed over time, and the children of immigrants had a substantially smaller earnings gap, earning an average of 5.7% less than workers with native-born parents.

The struggle to access higher-paying jobs

Beyond quantifying the gap, we wanted to understand the roots of pay disparities. To create better policies, it is important to know whether immigrants are paid less than natives when they’re doing the same job in the same company, or whether these differences arise because immigrants typically work in lower-paying jobs.

By a wide margin, we found that immigrants end up working in lower-paying industries, occupations and companies; three-quarters of the gap was due to this type of labour-market sorting. The pay gap for the same work in the same company was just 4.6% on average across the nine countries.

These differences represent a failure of immigration policy to incorporate immigrants, as immigrants are relegated to jobs where they cannot contribute to their full potential. Our analyses rule out that the lack of access to higher-paying jobs simply reflects a difference in skill between immigrants and native-born workers. We also found that the size of the pay gap and the key role of unequal access to well-paid jobs is similar for immigrants with and without a university education.

This means that the immigrant-native pay gap in large part represents a market inefficiency and policy failure, with significant social consequences for both immigrants and immigrant-receiving countries.

Leer más:
What Britons and Europeans really think about immigration – new analysis

Policy implications

Although equal pay for equal work policies may seem like a viable solution, they won’t close the immigrant pay gap. This is because they only help those who have already secured work, but immigrants face barriers to employment that begin long before even applying for a job. This includes convoluted processes to validate university degrees or other qualifications, and exclusion from professional networks.

The policy focus should therefore be on improving access to better jobs.

To make this happen, governments should invest in programmes such as language training, education and vocational skills for immigrants. They should ensure immigrants have early access to employment information, networks, job-search assistance and employer referrals. They should implement standardised and transparent recognition of foreign degrees and credentials, helping immigrants to access jobs matching their skills and training.

This is particularly important for Europe as it races to attract – and retain – skilled immigrants who may be having second thoughts about the US in the Trump era. In the European Union, around 40% of university-educated non-EU immigrants are employed in jobs that do not require a degree, an underutilisation of skills known as brain waste.

Some countries are already taking steps to remedy this. Germany’s Skilled Immigration Act – which took effect in 2024 – allows foreign graduates to work while their degrees are being formally recognised. In 2025, France reformed its Passeport Talent permit to attract skilled professionals and address labour shortages, especially in healthcare.

These kinds of policies help ensure that foreign-born workers can contribute at their full capacity, and that countries can reap the full benefits of immigration in terms of productivity gains, higher tax revenue and reduced inequality.

If immigrants can’t get access to good jobs, their skills are underutilised and society loses out. Smart immigration policy doesn’t end at the border – it starts there.

Are Skeie Hermansen has received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union’s
Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (grant agreement no. 851149), the Research Council of Norway (grant 287016), and the Center for Advanced Study at The Norwegian Academy of Science
and Letters (Young CAS grant 2019/2020).

Marta M. Elvira receives funding from the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation, grant PID2020-
118807RB-I00/AEI /10.13039/501100011033

Andrew Penner no recibe salario, ni ejerce labores de consultoría, ni posee acciones, ni recibe financiación de ninguna compañía u organización que pueda obtener beneficio de este artículo, y ha declarado carecer de vínculos relevantes más allá del cargo académico citado.

– ref. Immigrants in Europe and North America earn 18% less than natives – here’s why – https://theconversation.com/immigrants-in-europe-and-north-america-earn-18-less-than-natives-heres-why-261188

Source: ForeignAffairs4

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Rachael Kent, Senior Lecturer in Digital Economy & Society Education, Department of Digital Humanities, King’s College London

On a sunny afternoon, I was scrolling through social media when I came across a video of a young woman tossing her sunscreen into a bin. “I don’t trust this stuff anymore,” she said to the camera, holding the bottle up like a piece of damning evidence.

The clip had been viewed over half a million times, with commenters applauding her for “ditching chemicals” and recommending homemade alternatives like coconut oil and zinc powder.

In my research on the effect of digital technology on health, I’ve seen how posts like this can shape real-world behaviour. And anecdotally, dermatologists have reported seeing more patients with severe sunburns or suspicious moles who say they stopped using sunscreen after watching similar videos.

Sunscreen misinformation created by social media influencers is spreading and this isn’t just a random trend. It’s being fuelled by the platforms designed to host influencer content.

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In my book, The Digital Health Self, I explain how social media platforms are not neutral arenas for sharing information. They are commercial ecosystems engineered to maximise engagement and time spent online – metrics that directly drive advertising revenue.

Content that sparks emotion – outrage, fear, inspiration – is boosted to the top of your feed. That’s why posts questioning or rejecting science often spread further than measured, evidence-based advice.

Health misinformation thrives in this environment. A personal story about throwing out sunscreen performs well because it’s dramatic and emotionally charged. Algorithms reward such content with higher visibility: likes, shares and comments all signal popularity.

Each second a user spends watching or reacting gives the platform more data – and more opportunities to serve targeted ads. This is how health misinformation becomes profitable.

In my work, I describe social media platforms as “unregulated public health platforms”. They influence what users see and believe about health, but unlike public health institutions, they’re not bound by standards for accuracy or harm reduction.

If an influencer claims sunscreen is toxic, that message won’t be factchecked or flagged – it will often be amplified. Why? Because controversy fuels engagement.

Read more:
Misinformation lends itself to social contagion – here’s how to recognize and combat it

I call this environment “the credibility arena”: a space where trust is built not through expertise, but through performance and aesthetic appeal. As I write in my book: “Trust is earned not by what is known, but by how well one narrates suffering, recovery, and resilience.”

A creator crying on camera about “toxins” can feel more authentic to viewers than a calm, clinical explanation of ultraviolet radiation from a medical expert.

This shift has real consequences. Ultraviolet rays are invisible, constant and damaging. They penetrate cloud cover and harm skin even on cool days.

Decades of research, especially in countries like Australia with high skin cancer rates, show that regular use of broad-spectrum sunscreen dramatically reduces risk. And yet, myths spreading online are urging people to do the opposite: to abandon sunscreen as dangerous or unnecessary.

This trend isn’t driven solely by individual creators. It’s embedded in how content is designed, framed and presented. Algorithms prioritise short, emotionally-charged videos. Interfaces highlight trending sounds and hashtags. Recommendation systems push users toward extreme or dramatic content.

These features all shape what we see and how we interpret it. The “For You” page isn’t neutral. It’s engineered to keep you scrolling, and shock value outperforms nuance every time.

That’s why videos about “ditching chemicals” thrive, even as posts on other aspects of women’s health are shadowbanned or suppressed. Shadowbanning refers to when a platform limits the visibility of content – making it harder to find, without informing the user – often due to vague or inconsistently applied moderation rules.

The system rewards spectacle, not science. Once creators discover that a particular format, like tossing products into a bin, boosts engagement, it’s replicated over and over again. Visibility isn’t organic. It’s manufactured.

Those who throw away their sunscreen often believe they’re doing the right thing. They’re drawn to creators who feel relatable, sincere and independent — especially when official health campaigns seem cold, patronising or out of touch. But the consequences can be serious. Sun damage accumulates silently, raising skin cancer risk with every hour spent unprotected.

Sunscreen isn’t perfect. It needs to be reapplied properly and paired with shade and protective clothing. But the evidence for its effectiveness is clear and robust.

The real danger lies in a system that not only allows misinformation to spread, but also incentivises it. A system in which false claims can boost an influencer’s reach and a platform’s revenue.

Read more:
Four ways you can design social media posts to combat health misinformation

To resist harmful health trends, we need to understand the systems that promote them. In the case of sunscreen, rejecting protection isn’t just a personal decision – it’s a symptom of a digital culture that turns health into content, and often profits from the harm it causes.

Rachael Kent does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Scroll, watch, burn: sunscreen misinformation and its real‑world damage – https://theconversation.com/scroll-watch-burn-sunscreen-misinformation-and-its-real-world-damage-261137

Source: ForeignAffairs4

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Alexandros Antoniou, Senior Lecturer in Media Law, University of Essex

When thousands of Afghans were quietly flown to the UK under a secret relocation scheme, few knew it was triggered by an error. A defence official had accidentally leaked the personal data of nearly 19,000 Afghan nationals who had worked with British forces and were at risk of Taliban reprisals.

It has now also been revealed that the leaked list contained the identities of UK special forces and spies.

Even fewer knew that this misstep was being kept from the public by a rare and powerful legal device: a superinjunction. Now, after nearly two years of legal wrangling, the High Court has lifted that order, reopening the conversation about when secrecy in the justice system goes too far.

What is a superinjunction?

An injunction is a court order that stops someone from doing something (like publishing a story) or requires them to do something (like taking down an online post or handing back confidential documents).

A superinjunction goes one step further and does two things: it bans the publication of certain information (usually to protect privacy, safety or national security) and also bans anyone from revealing that the court order even exists.

In essence, it is a tool that provides legal invisibility: the story is hidden and so is the fact that it is being hidden. While an injunction works like a padlock on a filing cabinet, a superinjunction means you cannot even tell anyone the cabinet is even there.

Superinjunctions are exceptionally rare and controversial, precisely because they run counter to the principle of open justice. This is the idea that courts must operate in public, and that their decisions can be seen, scrutinised and questioned. Any derogation from open justice must be continuously justified and treated with considerable caution, especially where media freedom is curtailed.

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Historically, superinjunctions have been used sparingly in cases involving blackmail, risks of violence against witnesses, the protection of children or to prevent tipping-off a subject before an order can be served (such as in fraud investigations), always with the aim of preventing harm or ensuring that justice is done.

The superinjunction committee (which was established in 2010 by Lord Neuberger to review growing concerns about such orders) made clear that the use of these legal tools must meet strict tests of necessity and proportionality. And, that they are only granted where serious harm (for example to life, safety or the administration of justice) is credibly at stake.

Why was a superinjunction granted in the Afghan data breach case?

In this case, the government argued that revealing the data leak could put lives in danger. The leaked spreadsheet contained names, contact details and, in some cases, family information of Afghan nationals who had applied to resettle in the UK. Many feared Taliban retaliation.

So, in September 2023, the Ministry of Defence asked the High Court for an injunction to stop media outlets from reporting on the leak. The judge did not just grant that request, he escalated it to a superinjunction, banning any mention of the case or the fact of the order.

It was described at the time as “unprecedented” in its scope. Journalists, even those who had already discovered the breach, were effectively gagged. The public had no idea any of it was happening.

Why did the court later decide to lift the secrecy?

After multiple hearings and appeals, High Court judge Mr Justice Chamberlain ruled on July 15 2025 that the superinjunction should be discharged once and for all. A government-commissioned review found that the leak may not have spread as widely as initially feared, and that Taliban reprisals were unlikely to be triggered solely by someone appearing on the leaked list.

The judge concluded that while the leak was deeply serious, continued secrecy was no longer necessary, and that the harm of suppressing public debate and scrutiny now outweighed the risks of disclosure. To put it plainly, the balance tipped.

Protection v cover-up

Superinjunctions are not inherently wrong. There are situations where short-term secrecy is essential, for instance for the purposes of shielding vulnerable parties like children or genuinely guarding national security.

But the Afghan case exemplifies the dangers of allowing secrecy to persist too long or too broadly. For nearly two years, the public was kept in the dark about a data breach involving tens of thousands of lives – including British citizens – and a government response that may ultimately cost the taxpayer “several billion pounds”.

In this context, secrecy risked becoming a form of institutional self-protection, shielding the Ministry of Defence and the government from political fallout, legal scrutiny and accountability, rather than safeguarding people from actual harm.

The principle of open justice is at the heart of democratic life. Superinjunctions, by their nature, run directly against that principle. There are times when secrecy might be seen as necessary, but it must always be tightly scoped and justified with evidence while serving the public interest; not convenience or image. By lifting this superinjunction, the courts affirmed that the British public has a right to know not only what went wrong, but that something went wrong at all.

Alexandros Antoniou does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Why did the government hide a data leak about Afghans working with British forces and why did the courts finally reveal it? – https://theconversation.com/why-did-the-government-hide-a-data-leak-about-afghans-working-with-british-forces-and-why-did-the-courts-finally-reveal-it-261437