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.
Francis photographed around 1963. Silver Screen Collection/Getty Images
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.
Connie Francis performing in Milan in 1961. Universal Archive/Universal Images Group via Getty Images
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.
Francis records in the studio with Freddy Quinn at MGM in 1963 in New York. PoPsie Randolph/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
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.
Francis performs in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in 2009. Bobby Bank/WireImage
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.
The Labor caucus tolerates having the odd “rat” among the photos of ALP leaders on the party room wall, but Mark Latham may have now pushed it too far.
After the latest bizarre scandal surrounding the one-time federal Labor leader, who is an independent in the NSW upper house, there is a push to remove his image from the federal caucus gallery.
Discussions are underway within Labor. No comment could be obtained from Prime Minister Anthony Albanese who was on his way back from China. But if the caucus women want to see the Latham photo go, that’s likely to be what happens.
Social Services Minister Tanya Plibersek said on Friday, “I’m sure that there are plenty of people scratching their heads about his portrait being up in the caucus room and giving consideration to whether it’s appropriate or not”.
Latham has a long record of scandal and offensive behaviour. In the most recent episode, his former partner, Nathalie Matthews, has accused him of a “sustained pattern” of domestic abuse, in a civil court application for an apprehended violence order. Among other things, she alleged he pressured her to take part in “degrading” sex acts.
Text messages between the two have also been published this week in which Latham sent Matthews photos of and disparaging comments about female members of the state parliament.
Latham has denied the Matthews’ allegations of domestic abuse and basically shrugged off a barrage of criticism of his photographing female politicians in the chamber without their consent (although he has apologised to at least one of them).
Plibersek said Latham’s behaviour would see him sacked from any other workplace.
Latham was federal Labor leader from December 2003 to January 2005. As the new leader he was considered to have a prospect of winning the 2004 election, although in the event the Coalition increased its majority. At the end of that campaign he attracted negative publicity for an aggressive handshake with then prime minister John Howard, when they crossed paths.
Latham was initially elected to the NSW parliament under the banner of One Nation but fell out with Pauline Hanson.
In 2024 he lost a defamation case brought by NSW crossbencher Alex Greenwich after Latham targeted him in a homophobic post on social media. Recently Latham revealed details, under parliamentary privilege, of a confidential psychologist report regarding Greenwich.
Plibersek said it was “extraordinary that he was elected to the New South Wales parliament in the first place with his sort of track record.
“The voters who put him there I’m sure would be really experiencing a bit of buyer’s remorse when they look at his behaviour; the way that he is spending his time in parliament certainly is not delivering value for taxpayers’ dollars.”
Plibersek said when Latham became opposition leader she had “a little cry after work”. Latham beat Kim Beazley for the post after the leadership of Simon Crean collapsed.
“I didn’t see evidence of this sort of behaviour back in the day, but I always had my doubts about him as a political figure, and I think those doubts have only increased in recent decades as his behaviour has become worse and more extreme.”
Latham was a protege of Gough Whitlam, for whom he worked as a researcher. He held Whitlam’s former seat of Werriwa.
Michelle Grattan 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.
US President Donald Trump has been diagnosed with “chronic venous insufficiency” after experiencing some mild swelling in his lower legs.
According to a letter the White House published from the president’s doctor, the condition is common and not harmful, and the 79-year-old “remains in excellent health”.
But what is chronic venous insufficiency? What causes it, and can it lead to other health problems? Let’s take a look.
When someone has this condition, it becomes more difficult for the blood to flow back to the heart. In other words, blood pools in the legs, rather than travelling up easily through the legs, pelvis and abdomen to the heart.
Blood pooling in the legs creates increased pressure in the veins in the legs and feet. This can cause swelling (called oedema), skin discolouration, varicose veins, and even skin ulcers (the skin stretches because of the increased pressure and becomes weak and can tear).
What causes chronic venous insufficiency?
There are several potential causes of chronic venous insufficiency, including damaged valves inside the veins in the legs.
When we’re standing, blood has to flow back to the heart from the legs against gravity. Veins have valves inside them which ensure this one-way flow and stop blood from running back the wrong way.
When valves in the veins – either the deeper veins or those closer to the skin’s surface – are damaged, this allows blood to flow backwards and pool in the legs.
Damage to the inside lining of the vein wall can also cause chronic venous insufficiency. When the lining is damaged, it becomes less smooth and blood cells can stick to the wall and build up. This can block the inside of the vein and impede the return of blood to the heart. Smoking is a major cause of this, though it also happens naturally with age.
Physical compression of a vein in the pelvis from the outside can also be a factor. Pregnancy, obesity or a tumour can push on a pelvic vein from the outside. This makes it harder for blood to flow through that vein, which causes back up of blood in the veins of the leg.
Deep vein thrombosis (DVT) also increases the risk of chronic venous insufficiency. This is where blood clots form in the deep veins, most commonly in the legs. It can block blood flow or damage the vein wall, and increase blood pooling further down the leg.
In a study I did with colleagues looking at people with chronic venous insufficiency, about 10% had a previous deep vein thrombosis. However, Trump’s doctor said there was no evidence of deep vein thrombosis in his case.
Who gets it?
The data on how many people get chronic venous insufficiency vary, but it is relatively common. In the United States, an estimated 10% to 35% of adults have the condition.
A number of factors increase a person’s likelihood of developing chronic venous insufficiency. Smoking and having previously had a deep vein thrombosis are strongly linked to this condition. Other risk factors include older age, pregnancy, obesity, and prolonged periods of standing still.
Is it dangerous?
On its own, chronic venous insufficiency is not life-threatening, but it is a progressive condition. It increases the risk of other conditions which can be more serious.
Interestingly, while deep vein thrombosis increases the risk of chronic venous insufficiency, people with chronic venous insufficiency also have a higher risk of deep vein thrombosis. This is because pooled blood doesn’t move as much, so it can start to form a clot.
Deep vein thrombosis then increases the risk of pulmonary embolism, blood clots in the lungs, which are life threatening.
In the legs, the most serious consequence of chronic venous insufficiency is developing a venous ulcer. Venous ulcers can be painful, are prone to infection (such as cellulitis), and have a high rate of recurring.
Research has shown 4% of adults aged 65 and older in the US develop venous ulcers as a result of chronic venous insufficiency.
Can it be treated?
Whether and how chronic venous insufficiency can be treated depends somewhat on the cause.
Initial conservative treatment usually involves elevating the legs and wearing compression stockings. Elevating the legs higher than the body means gravity will help blood flow back to the heart. Compression stockings help to push blood from the leg veins towards the heart.
Exercise such as walking also helps because when the muscles in the legs contract, this moves more blood from the legs back to the heart. Exercise and diet changes may also be recommended to address any weight-related issues.
Overall, Trump has been diagnosed with a common condition for someone of his age, and his doctors have ruled out severe underlying disease. But this is a reminder of the importance of healthy veins and of the risk factors for venous disease.
Theresa Larkin 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.
US President Donald Trump has been diagnosed with “chronic venous insufficiency” after experiencing some mild swelling in his lower legs.
According to a letter the White House published from the president’s doctor, the condition is common and not harmful, and the 79-year-old “remains in excellent health”.
But what is chronic venous insufficiency? What causes it, and can it lead to other health problems? Let’s take a look.
When someone has this condition, it becomes more difficult for the blood to flow back to the heart. In other words, blood pools in the legs, rather than travelling up easily through the legs, pelvis and abdomen to the heart.
Blood pooling in the legs creates increased pressure in the veins in the legs and feet. This can cause swelling (called oedema), skin discolouration, varicose veins, and even skin ulcers (the skin stretches because of the increased pressure and becomes weak and can tear).
What causes chronic venous insufficiency?
There are several potential causes of chronic venous insufficiency, including damaged valves inside the veins in the legs.
When we’re standing, blood has to flow back to the heart from the legs against gravity. Veins have valves inside them which ensure this one-way flow and stop blood from running back the wrong way.
When valves in the veins – either the deeper veins or those closer to the skin’s surface – are damaged, this allows blood to flow backwards and pool in the legs.
Damage to the inside lining of the vein wall can also cause chronic venous insufficiency. When the lining is damaged, it becomes less smooth and blood cells can stick to the wall and build up. This can block the inside of the vein and impede the return of blood to the heart. Smoking is a major cause of this, though it also happens naturally with age.
Physical compression of a vein in the pelvis from the outside can also be a factor. Pregnancy, obesity or a tumour can push on a pelvic vein from the outside. This makes it harder for blood to flow through that vein, which causes back up of blood in the veins of the leg.
Deep vein thrombosis (DVT) also increases the risk of chronic venous insufficiency. This is where blood clots form in the deep veins, most commonly in the legs. It can block blood flow or damage the vein wall, and increase blood pooling further down the leg.
In a study I did with colleagues looking at people with chronic venous insufficiency, about 10% had a previous deep vein thrombosis. However, Trump’s doctor said there was no evidence of deep vein thrombosis in his case.
Who gets it?
The data on how many people get chronic venous insufficiency vary, but it is relatively common. In the United States, an estimated 10% to 35% of adults have the condition.
A number of factors increase a person’s likelihood of developing chronic venous insufficiency. Smoking and having previously had a deep vein thrombosis are strongly linked to this condition. Other risk factors include older age, pregnancy, obesity, and prolonged periods of standing still.
Is it dangerous?
On its own, chronic venous insufficiency is not life-threatening, but it is a progressive condition. It increases the risk of other conditions which can be more serious.
Interestingly, while deep vein thrombosis increases the risk of chronic venous insufficiency, people with chronic venous insufficiency also have a higher risk of deep vein thrombosis. This is because pooled blood doesn’t move as much, so it can start to form a clot.
Deep vein thrombosis then increases the risk of pulmonary embolism, blood clots in the lungs, which are life threatening.
In the legs, the most serious consequence of chronic venous insufficiency is developing a venous ulcer. Venous ulcers can be painful, are prone to infection (such as cellulitis), and have a high rate of recurring.
Research has shown 4% of adults aged 65 and older in the US develop venous ulcers as a result of chronic venous insufficiency.
Can it be treated?
Whether and how chronic venous insufficiency can be treated depends somewhat on the cause.
Initial conservative treatment usually involves elevating the legs and wearing compression stockings. Elevating the legs higher than the body means gravity will help blood flow back to the heart. Compression stockings help to push blood from the leg veins towards the heart.
Exercise such as walking also helps because when the muscles in the legs contract, this moves more blood from the legs back to the heart. Exercise and diet changes may also be recommended to address any weight-related issues.
Overall, Trump has been diagnosed with a common condition for someone of his age, and his doctors have ruled out severe underlying disease. But this is a reminder of the importance of healthy veins and of the risk factors for venous disease.
Theresa Larkin 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.
This year is the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth and she hasn’t aged a bit as the cultural touchstone of classy romance. Her Pride and Prejudice anti-hero, Mr Darcy, perennially pops up in his breeches in Instagram memes, while Regency feminist, Elizabeth Bennet has been brought to life by a host of contemporary actors.
Along with new screen versions of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility (starring Daisy Edgar-Jones) and a Netflix version of P & P, there have been adaptations of her classics Persuasion, Emma, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. And, there are numerous biographies and biopics including a TV drama about Jane’s sister, Cassandra, who burnt most of Jane’s letters.
Review: The Novel Life of Jane Austen: A Graphic Biography –
Janine Barchas, Isabel Greenberg (Hachette)
Now, there is also a graphic biography: The Novel Life of Jane Austen, written by Janine Barchas and illustrated by Isabel Greenberg.
Together, they have co-created a storyboard for the domestic life that framed Austen’s writing, encompassing her closeness to both Cassandra and her brother Frank, who joined the navy and liked to sew.
Unlike a “cradle to grave” biography, Barchas begins with a teenage Jane in London with Frank touring an exhibition about Shakespeare and his work. We then follow her, in illustrative comic boxes and speech bubbles, through her publishing rejections, her breakthrough debut Sense and Sensibility, and her rise to become one of most beloved writers in the canon of English literature.
The book ends beyond the grave, flashing forward to the present, in a scene where contemporary fans – Janeites – visit Jane Austen’s House, the cottage in Hampshire where Austen lived when she revised and published her six novels.
It’s also a sign of subtle structural polish. Now Jane Austen is as deserving of her own gallery as Shakespeare was when we first met Jane as a young, unpublished author.
Thinking in pink
Barchas – an “Austenite”, as Austen scholars are called – is the author of The Lost Books of Jane Austen, a study of the mass market editions of Austen’s work. (The Novel Life touches on Austen’s posthumous appeal with a scene where readers buy Austen books for one shilling at a railway station after her death, aged 41.)
Barchas is the co-creator of the interactive digital exhibition, What Jane Saw, which invites us to visit two art exhibitions witnessed by Jane Austen: the Sir Joshua Reynolds retrospective in 1813 or the Shakespeare Gallery as it looked in 1796. The Novel Life, however, is a more definitive life story. It’s also best read in print (although it is available as an e-book) to appreciate Greenberg’s illustrations and graphic format.
The Novel Life is a gentler, less dramatic style than traditional comics with six-pack superheroes or Japanese manga, similar to Greenberg’s previous literary graphic biography foray, Glass Town, about the Bronte sisters.
For the Novel Life, Greenberg has drawn a world in which Austen is whimsical, with expressive eyes looming under her signature bangs. She and her sister Cassandra appear in bright yellow or blue empire line dresses.
Most scenes are illustrated in a muted palette of yellow, blue and grey. This palette, Barchas reflects in the preface, represents “the relative quiet of her (Austen’s) life”.
When Jane is thinking or writing however, the pages transform into vivid shades of pink to symbolise her imagination and inspiration. In these pages, The Novel Life is at its best, showing graphic biography can be both captivating and deceptively sophisticated.
Archival nods
Is a graphic biography really a biography in the conventional understanding of the genre? It can upset the perceived rules. Anticipating this, in the preface, Barchas reminds us:
Any biography of Austen, and there are many, exists at the intersection of speculation and research.
This book is at this intersection. While the dialogue is largely invented, it is grounded in Barchas’ expertise and there is a glossary of sources at the end.
Throughout, there are also nods to the archive. Barchas begins with a scene of Jane in 1796 writing a letter to Cassandra at a desk while staying in London – one of the few not burnt.
A speech bubble quotes an extract from it:
Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted.
There are also Post-it style notes, separate to the bubbles, offering extra biographical context for readers less familiar with the intricacies of Austen’s story. A key scene happens when Jane, 22, receives her first rejection by a publisher for her manuscript “First Impressions” and is comforted by the loyal Cassandra. The note reads:
Jane would carry out more than a decade and a half of revisions before she dared to offer the manuscript to another publisher, who released it in 1813 as Pride and Prejudice.
Because of their visual casualness, importantly the notes don’t interfere with the intimate, engaging tone of the story.
‘Easter eggs’
For Austen’s committed “Janeite” fan base, Barchas promises “cheeky easter eggs” in the preface. Janeites can delight in well-quoted lines from the novels that appear as dialogue or a character’s thoughts.
Look, for instance, for Jane reading at a dinner party from P & P: “It’s a truth universally acknowledged […]” and “she is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me […]”.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged too that graphic biography can be confused with the graphic novel, now the third most popular literary genre in sales after general fiction and romance.
But, dear reader, there’s a tradition of life writing in the medium. The Pulitzer Prize winning graphic biography/memoir, The Complete Maus, told Art Spiegelman’s father’s story of the Holocaust to his son, (Art) who struggled to understand his father. Maus portrayed Jewish people anthropomorphically as mice and Nazis as cats. It was described by The New Yorker “as the first masterpiece of comic book history”.
Other high points in graphic biography include Peter Bagge’s Woman Rebel, the story of birth control campaigner Margaret Sanger, published in 2013.
Not everyone will appreciate a work diverging so dramatically from the expectations of a traditional biography. And those who will most appreciate or scrutinise The Novel Life are yes, the Janeites and Austenites.
Regardless, Austen comes to graphic life in the mind and hands of Barchas and Greenberg. More generally, for those of us who like our biographies in vivid colour – literally – and enjoy experiments in nonfiction storytelling, it’s a delightful reading experience, just like Jane Austen.
Kerrie Davies 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.
This year is the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth and she hasn’t aged a bit as the cultural touchstone of classy romance. Her Pride and Prejudice anti-hero, Mr Darcy, perennially pops up in his breeches in Instagram memes, while Regency feminist, Elizabeth Bennet has been brought to life by a host of contemporary actors.
Along with new screen versions of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility (starring Daisy Edgar-Jones) and a Netflix version of P & P, there have been adaptations of her classics Persuasion, Emma, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. And, there are numerous biographies and biopics including a TV drama about Jane’s sister, Cassandra, who burnt most of Jane’s letters.
Review: The Novel Life of Jane Austen: A Graphic Biography –
Janine Barchas, Isabel Greenberg (Hachette)
Now, there is also a graphic biography: The Novel Life of Jane Austen, written by Janine Barchas and illustrated by Isabel Greenberg.
Together, they have co-created a storyboard for the domestic life that framed Austen’s writing, encompassing her closeness to both Cassandra and her brother Frank, who joined the navy and liked to sew.
Unlike a “cradle to grave” biography, Barchas begins with a teenage Jane in London with Frank touring an exhibition about Shakespeare and his work. We then follow her, in illustrative comic boxes and speech bubbles, through her publishing rejections, her breakthrough debut Sense and Sensibility, and her rise to become one of most beloved writers in the canon of English literature.
The book ends beyond the grave, flashing forward to the present, in a scene where contemporary fans – Janeites – visit Jane Austen’s House, the cottage in Hampshire where Austen lived when she revised and published her six novels.
It’s also a sign of subtle structural polish. Now Jane Austen is as deserving of her own gallery as Shakespeare was when we first met Jane as a young, unpublished author.
Thinking in pink
Barchas – an “Austenite”, as Austen scholars are called – is the author of The Lost Books of Jane Austen, a study of the mass market editions of Austen’s work. (The Novel Life touches on Austen’s posthumous appeal with a scene where readers buy Austen books for one shilling at a railway station after her death, aged 41.)
Barchas is the co-creator of the interactive digital exhibition, What Jane Saw, which invites us to visit two art exhibitions witnessed by Jane Austen: the Sir Joshua Reynolds retrospective in 1813 or the Shakespeare Gallery as it looked in 1796. The Novel Life, however, is a more definitive life story. It’s also best read in print (although it is available as an e-book) to appreciate Greenberg’s illustrations and graphic format.
The Novel Life is a gentler, less dramatic style than traditional comics with six-pack superheroes or Japanese manga, similar to Greenberg’s previous literary graphic biography foray, Glass Town, about the Bronte sisters.
For the Novel Life, Greenberg has drawn a world in which Austen is whimsical, with expressive eyes looming under her signature bangs. She and her sister Cassandra appear in bright yellow or blue empire line dresses.
Most scenes are illustrated in a muted palette of yellow, blue and grey. This palette, Barchas reflects in the preface, represents “the relative quiet of her (Austen’s) life”.
When Jane is thinking or writing however, the pages transform into vivid shades of pink to symbolise her imagination and inspiration. In these pages, The Novel Life is at its best, showing graphic biography can be both captivating and deceptively sophisticated.
Archival nods
Is a graphic biography really a biography in the conventional understanding of the genre? It can upset the perceived rules. Anticipating this, in the preface, Barchas reminds us:
Any biography of Austen, and there are many, exists at the intersection of speculation and research.
This book is at this intersection. While the dialogue is largely invented, it is grounded in Barchas’ expertise and there is a glossary of sources at the end.
Throughout, there are also nods to the archive. Barchas begins with a scene of Jane in 1796 writing a letter to Cassandra at a desk while staying in London – one of the few not burnt.
A speech bubble quotes an extract from it:
Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted.
There are also Post-it style notes, separate to the bubbles, offering extra biographical context for readers less familiar with the intricacies of Austen’s story. A key scene happens when Jane, 22, receives her first rejection by a publisher for her manuscript “First Impressions” and is comforted by the loyal Cassandra. The note reads:
Jane would carry out more than a decade and a half of revisions before she dared to offer the manuscript to another publisher, who released it in 1813 as Pride and Prejudice.
Because of their visual casualness, importantly the notes don’t interfere with the intimate, engaging tone of the story.
‘Easter eggs’
For Austen’s committed “Janeite” fan base, Barchas promises “cheeky easter eggs” in the preface. Janeites can delight in well-quoted lines from the novels that appear as dialogue or a character’s thoughts.
Look, for instance, for Jane reading at a dinner party from P & P: “It’s a truth universally acknowledged […]” and “she is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me […]”.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged too that graphic biography can be confused with the graphic novel, now the third most popular literary genre in sales after general fiction and romance.
But, dear reader, there’s a tradition of life writing in the medium. The Pulitzer Prize winning graphic biography/memoir, The Complete Maus, told Art Spiegelman’s father’s story of the Holocaust to his son, (Art) who struggled to understand his father. Maus portrayed Jewish people anthropomorphically as mice and Nazis as cats. It was described by The New Yorker “as the first masterpiece of comic book history”.
Other high points in graphic biography include Peter Bagge’s Woman Rebel, the story of birth control campaigner Margaret Sanger, published in 2013.
Not everyone will appreciate a work diverging so dramatically from the expectations of a traditional biography. And those who will most appreciate or scrutinise The Novel Life are yes, the Janeites and Austenites.
Regardless, Austen comes to graphic life in the mind and hands of Barchas and Greenberg. More generally, for those of us who like our biographies in vivid colour – literally – and enjoy experiments in nonfiction storytelling, it’s a delightful reading experience, just like Jane Austen.
Kerrie Davies 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Mathieu Duval, Adjunct Senior Researcher at Griffith University and La Trobe University, and Ramón y Cajal (Senior) Research Fellow, Centro Nacional de Investigación sobre la Evolución Humana (CENIEH)
Fossils are invaluable archives of the past. They preserve details about living things from a few thousand to hundreds of millions of years ago.
Studying fossils can help us understand the evolution of species over time, and glimpse snapshots of past environments and climates. Fossils can also reveal the diets or migration patterns of long-gone species – including our own ancestors.
But when living things turn to rock, discerning those details is no easy feat. One common technique for studying fossils is micro-computerised tomography or micro-CT. It’s been used to find the earliest evidence of bone cancer in humans, to study brain imprints and inner ears in early hominins, and to study the teeth of the oldest human modern remains outside Africa, among many other examples.
However, our new study, published today in Radiocarbon, shows that despite being widely regarded as non-destructive, micro-CT may actually affect fossil preservation and erase some crucial information held inside.
Preserving precious specimens
Fossils are rare and fragile by nature. Scientists are constantly evaluating how to balance their impact on fossils with the need to study them.
When palaeontologists and palaeoanthropologists (who work on human fossils) analyse fossils, they want to minimise any potential damage. We want to preserve fossils for future generations as much as possible – and technology can be a huge help here.
Micro-CT works like the medical CT scans doctors use to peek inside the human body. However, it does so at a much smaller scale and at a greater resolution.
This is perfect for studying small objects such as fossils. With micro-CT, scientists can take high-resolution 3D images and access the inner structure of fossils without the need to cut them open.
These scans also allow for virtual copies of the fossils, which other scientists can then access from anywhere in the world. This significantly reduces the risk of damage, since the scanned fossils can safely remain in a museum collection, for example.
Micro-CT is popular and routinely used. The scientific community widely regards it as “non-destructive” because it doesn’t cause any visual damage – but it could still affect the fossil.
Jaw bone of the human fossil species Homo antecessor from Spain. Left: micro-CT scan with a cutting plane to visualise the inner structures, bone and teeth; right: 3D reconstruction based on the high-resolution micro-CT images. Laura Martín-Francés
How does micro-CT imaging work?
Micro-CT scanning uses X-rays and computer software to produce high-resolution images and reconstruct the fossil specimens in detail. Typically, palaeontologists use commercial scanners for this, but more advanced investigations may use powerful X-ray beams generated at a synchrotron.
The X-rays go through the specimen and are captured by a detector on the other end. This allows for a very fine-grained understanding of the matter they’ve passed through – especially density, which then provides clues about the shape of the internal structures, the composition of the tissues, or any contamination.
The scan produces a succession of 2D images from all angles. Computer software is then used to “clean up” these high-resolution images and assemble them into a 3D shape – a virtual copy of the fossil and its inner structures.
Example of micro-CT results on a hominin fossil known as Little Foot, from southern Africa.
But X-rays are not harmless
X-rays are a type of ionising radiation. This means they have a high level of energy and can break electrons away from atoms (this is called ionisation).
However, despite what we know about the impact of X-rays on living cells, the potential impact of X-rays on fossils through micro-CT imaging has never been deeply investigated.
What did our study find?
Using standard settings on a typical micro-CT scanner, we scanned several modern and fossil bones and teeth from animals. We also measured their collagen content before and after scanning.
Collagen is useful for many analytical purposes, such as finding out the age of the fossils using radiocarbon dating, or for stable isotope analysis – a method used to infer the diet of the extinct species, for example. The collagen content in fossils is usually much lower than in modern specimens because it slowly breaks down over time.
After comparing our measurements with unscanned samples taken from the same specimens, we found two things.
First, the radiocarbon age remained unchanged. In other words, micro-CT scanning doesn’t affect radiocarbon dating. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that we did observe a significant decrease in the amount of collagen present. In other words, the micro-CT scanned samples had about 35% less collagen than the samples before scanning.
This shows micro-CT imaging has a non-negligible impact on fossils that contain collagen traces. While this was to be expected, the impact hasn’t been experimentally confirmed before.
It’s possible some fossil samples won’t have enough collagen left after micro-CT scanning. This would make them unsuitable for a range of analytical techniques, including radiocarbon dating.
What now?
In a previous study, we showed micro-CT can artificially “age” fossils later dated with a method called electron spin resonance. It’s commonly used to date fossils older than 50,000 years – beyond what the radiocarbon method can discern.
This previous study and our new work show that micro-CT scanning may significantly and irreversibly change the fossil and the information it holds.
Despite causing no visible damage to the fossil, we argue that in this context the technique should no longer be regarded as non-destructive.
Micro-CT imaging is highly valuable in palaeontology and palaeoanthropology, no doubt about that. But our results suggest it should be used sparingly to minimise how much fossils are exposed to X-rays. There are guidelines scientists can use to minimise damage. Freely sharing data to avoid repeated scans of the same specimen will be helpful, too.
Mathieu Duval receives funding from the Spanish State Research Agency (Agencia Estatal de Investigación). He is currently the recipient of a Ramón y Cajal fellowship (RYC2018-025221-I) funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033 and by ‘‘ESF Investing in your future”. This work is also part of Spanish Grant PID2021-123092NB-C22 funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033/FEDER, UE, and by ‘‘ERDF A way of making Europe”.
Laura Martín-Francés receives funding from Marie Sklodowska-Curie Actions of the EU Ninth programme (2021-2027) under the HORIZON-MSCA-2021-PF-01-Project: 101060482.
I once leapt out of a train carriage because two strangers were loudly discussing the ending of the last Harry Potter book. Okay – I didn’t leap, but I did plug my ears and flee to another carriage.
Recently, I found myself in a similar predicament, trapped on a bus, entirely at the mercy of two passengers dissecting the Severance season two finale.
But not everyone shares my spoiler anxiety. I have friends who flip to the last page of a book before they’ve read the first one, or who look up the ending before hitting play. According to them, they simply need to know.
So why do some of us crave surprise and suspense, while others find comfort in instant resolution?
What’s in a spoiler?
Spoilers have become a cultural flashpoint in the age of streaming, social media and shared fandoms.
Researchers define “spoiler” as undesired information about how a narrative’s arc will conclude. I often hear “spoilers!” interjected mid-sentence, a desperate protest to protect narrative ignorance.
Hitchcock’s twist-heavy Psycho elevated spoiler sensitivity. Its release came with an anti-spoilers policy including strict viewing times, lobby warnings recorded by the auteur himself, and even real policemen urging “total enjoyment”. A bold ad campaign implored audiences against “cheating yourselves”.
The twists were fiercely protected.
Even the Star Wars cast didn’t know Darth Vader’s paternity twist until premiere night. Avenger’s Endgame filmed multiple endings and used fake scripting to mislead its stars. And Andrew Garfield flat-out lied about his return to Spider-Man: No Way Home – a performance worthy of an Oscar – all for the sake of fan surprise and enjoyment.
But do spoilers actually ruin the fun, or just shift how we experience it?
The satisfaction of a good ending
In 2014, a Dutch study found that viewers of unspoiled stories experienced greater emotional arousal and enjoyment. Spoilers may complete our “mental models” of the plot, making us less driven to engage, process events, or savour the unfolding story.
But we are also likely to overestimate the negative effect of a spoiler on our enjoyment. In 2016, a series of studies involving short stories, mystery fiction and films found that spoiled participants still reported high levels of enjoyment – because once we’re immersed, emotional connection tends to eclipse what we already know.
But suspense and enjoyment are complex bedfellows.
American media psychology trailblazer Dolf Zillmann said that suspense builds tension and excitement, but we only enjoy that tension once the ending lands well.
The thrill isn’t fun while we’re hanging in uncertainty – it’s the satisfying resolution that retroactively makes it feel good.
That could be why we scramble for an “ending explained” when a film or show drops the ball on closure. We’re trying to resolve uncertainty and settle our emotions.
Spoilers can also take the pressure off. A 2009 study of Lost fans found those who looked up how an episode would end actually enjoyed it more. The researchers found it reduced cognitive pressure, and gave them more room to reflect and soak in the story.
Spoilers put the audience back in the driver’s seat – even if filmmakers would rather keep hold of the wheel. People may seek spoilers out of curiosity or impatience, but sometimes it’s a quiet rebellion: a way to push back against the control creators hold over when and how things unfold.
That’s why spoilers are fertile ground for power dynamics. Ethicists even liken being spoiled to kind of moral trespass: how dare someone else make that decision for me?!
But whether you avoid spoilers or seek them out, the motive is often the same: a need to feel in control.
Shaping your emotions
Spoiler avoiders crave affect: they want emotional transportation.
When suspense is part of the pleasure, control means choosing when and how that knowledge lands. There’s a mental challenge to be had in riding the story as it unfolds, and a joy in seeing it click into place.
That’s why people get protective, and even chatter about long-aired shows can spark outrage. It’s an attempt to police the commentary and preserve the experience for those still waiting to be transported.
Spoiler seekers want control too, just a different kind. They’re not avoiding emotion, they’re just managing it. A spoiler affords control over our negative emotions, but also softens the blow, and inoculates us against anxiety.
Psychologists dub this a “non-cognitive desensitisation strategy” to manage surprise, a kind of “emotional spoiler shield” to protect our attachments to shows and characters, and remind us that TV, film and book narratives are not real when storylines hit close to home.
Knowing what happens turns into a subtle form of self-regulation.
So, what did I do when Severance spoilers floated by? Did I get off the bus? Nope, I stayed put and faced the beast. As I tried to make sense of the unfamiliar plot points (The macrodata means what? Mark stays where?), I found the unexpected chance to dive deeper.
Maybe surprise is not the sum of what makes something entertaining and worth engaging with. Spoiler alert! It’s good to have an end to journey towards, but it’s the journey that matters, in the end.
Anjum Naweed 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Rachel Fitzgerald, Associate Professor and Deputy Associate Dean (Academic), Faculty of Business, Economics and Law, The University of Queensland
Artificial intelligence is rapidly becoming an everyday part of lives. Many of us use it without even realising, whether it be writing emails, finding a new TV show or managing smart devices in our homes.
But apart from a handful of computing-focused and other STEM programs, most Australian university students do not receive formal tuition in how to use AI critically, ethically or responsibly.
Here’s why this is a problem and what we can do instead.
But this does not teach students how these tools work or what responsible use involves.
Using AI is not as simple as typing questions into a chat function. There are widely recognised ethical issues around its use including bias and misinformation. Understanding these is essential for students to use AI responsibly in their working lives.
So all students should graduate with a basic understanding of AI, its limitations, the role of human judgement and what responsible use looks like in their particular field.
We need students to be aware of bias in AI systems. This includes how their own biases could shape how they use the AI (the questions they ask and how they interpret its output), alongside an understanding of the broader ethical implications of AI use.
For example, does the data and the AI tool protect people’s privacy? Has the AI made a mistake? And if so, whose responsibility is that?
What about AI ethics?
The technical side of AI is covered in many STEM degrees. These degrees, along with philosophy and psychology disciplines, may also examine ethical questions around AI. But these issues are not a part of mainstream university education.
This is a concern. When future lawyers use predictive AI to draft contracts, or business graduates use AI for hiring or marketing, they will need skills in ethical reasoning.
Ethical issues in these scenarios could include unfair bias, like AI recommending candidates based on gender or race. It could include issues relating to a lack of transparency, such as not knowing how an AI system made a legal decision. Students need to be able to spot and question these risks before they cause harm.
In healthcare, AI tools are already supporting diagnosis, patient triage and treatment decisions.
For example, if a teacher relies on AI carelessly to draft a lesson plan, students might learn a version of history that is biased or just plain wrong. A lawyer who over-relies on AI could submit a flawed court document, putting their client’s case at risk.
How can we do this?
There are international examples we can follow. The University of Texas at Austin and University of Edinburgh both offer programs in ethics and AI. However, both of these are currently targeted at graduate students. The University of Texas program is focused on teaching STEM students about AI ethics, whereas the University of Edinburgh’s program has a broader, interdiscplinary focus.
Implementing AI ethics in Australian universities will require thoughtful curriculum reform. That means building interdisciplinary teaching teams that combine expertise from technology, law, ethics and the social sciences. It also means thinking seriously about how we engage students with this content through core modules, graduate capabilities or even mandatory training.
It will also require investment in academic staff development and new teaching resources that make these concepts accessible and relevant to different disciplines.
Government support is essential. Targeted grants, clear national policy direction, and nationally shared teaching resources could accelerate the shift. Policymakers could consider positioning universities as “ethical AI hubs”. This aligns with the government-commissioned 2024 Australian University Accord report, which called for building capacity to meet the demands of the digital era.
Today’s students are tomorrow’s decision-makers. If they don’t understand the risks of AI and its potential for error, bias or threats to privacy, we will all bear the consequences. Universities have a public responsibility to ensure graduates know how to use AI responsibly and understand why their choices matter.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
In the thrilling finale of the TV series The Americans, set during the Reagan administration, deep-cover KGB operatives Philip and Elizabeth Jennings are faced with a difficult decision. Posing as an ordinary American married couple, for decades they have raised children, filed tax returns and slipped effortlessly into the rhythms and routines of everyday suburban existence in Washington, D.C.
All the while, they’ve been spying – gathering intelligence and surreptitiously feeding it to their communist masters in Soviet Moscow. Now, with the FBI closing in and their cover on the brink of collapse, they must decide whether to stay and face arrest or flee the country they’ve come to call home. There’s also their teenage children to consider.
The story seemed too incredible to be true – but in fact it was based in part on Donald Heathfield and Ann Foley, subsequently outed as Andrei Bezrukov and Elena Vavilova, a Russian couple who had spent more than 20 years masquerading as Canadians. At the time of their unmasking, they were living quietly in the United States with Tim and Alex, their two sons.
Review: The Illegals: Russia’s Most Audacious Spies and the Plot to Infiltrate the West – Shaun Walker (Profile)
A new book, The Illegals, tells of a network of Russian agents operating across the US, during the late 20th and early 21st centuries – including Bezrukov and Vavilova. It opens with their dramatic 2010 arrest, part of ten Russian spies (mostly illegals like them) detained by the FBI.
Author Shaun Walker, the Guardian’s central and eastern Europe correspondent, draws on declassified archival material and first-hand interviews. The result is an engrossing, eye-opening account of the secret world of the Soviet “illegals programme”: embedded spies who lived surreptitiously in the West without the safety blanket of diplomatic protection.
As Walker explains, “legals” were Russian operatives working under official cover – as diplomats or embassy staff, privy to diplomatic immunity. By contrast, “illegals” operated off the grid. They crept silently into Western countries under false identities, often stolen from the dead. This made them harder to detect, but left them far more vulnerable if exposed.
One of the most high-profile figures in the 2010 spy bust was Anna Chapman. Unlike many other illegals, Chapman didn’t even bother to disguise her Russian identity. Instead, as Walker recounts, she entered America using a British passport – acquired through a brief marriage to a UK citizen – and worked as a New York real estate broker.
Her photogenic looks and media-friendly persona made her the public face of the scandal. After being deported, Chapman reinvented herself as a television host, runway model and pro-Kremlin influencer.
The real Americans
Walker outlines how Bezrukov and Vavilova first met in the early 1980s, as history students in Siberia. There, KGB “spotters” identified them for potential recruitment. Later, he adds,
they progressed to an arduous training programme lasting several years, moulding their language, mannerisms and identities into those of an ordinary couple. They left the Soviet Union separately in 1987, staged a meeting in Canada, and began a relationship as if they had just met.
Having married under their assumed names, Andrei and Elena adopted the habits and customs of an ordinary middle-class life. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the couple were cut off from Moscow, but by the end of the decade they were reactivated by the SVR, Russia’s new foreign intelligence agency. Around this time, Andrei won a place at Harvard’s Kennedy School, allowing the family to move to Massachusetts and integrate further into American society.
As Andrei networked in academic and policy circles, Elena maintained the illusion of domestic normality, fashioning herself as a doting “soccer mom”, raising the kids and keeping house. Meanwhile, she was secretly decoding encrypted radio messages in the back room.
This went on for years. Then, one day, an unexpected knock on the door as they celebrated their son Tim’s 20th birthday brought the charade crashing down. FBI agents burst in, handcuffed the couple in front of their sons and marched them out into the street.
Soon after their arrest, Andrei and Elena were deported to Russia in a high-profile spy swap. They were awarded state honours by Vladimir Putin and briefly became minor celebrities in Moscow. Their sons, both born in Canada, were left reeling.
In 2016, Walker tracked the sons down for a piece he was writing for The Guardian: they were in the process of suing the Canadian government to have their citizenship reinstated, having been stripped of it when everything kicked off. In 2019, a court ruled Tim and Alex (who was 16 when the FBI arrested his parents) could keep their citizenship. Both insisted they had known nothing about their parents’ espionage work.
Alex Valivov, son of Russian ‘illegal’ spies disguised as Americans, talked to the media after he won a court bid to keep his Canadian citizenship.
Putin ‘beside himself’
As Walker recounts, the raid had been coordinated by then-FBI director Robert Mueller. It had been timed to avoid derailing a carefully planned diplomatic summit.
In 2009, Barack Obama launched a high-profile “reset” of relations with Russia. Obama wanted to woo Dmitry Medvedev – a moderate political figurehead standing in for Putin, who remained the real power behind the scenes in Russia.
A planned summit in Washington intended to cement the spirit of renewed cooperation. But as the scale of Russia’s covert operation became apparent, the White House was faced with a dilemma: how to respond without jeopardising the reset.
According to Walker, Obama was irked by the whole situation. He quipped that it felt like something out of a John Le Carré novel. Eventually, a compromise was reached: the arrests would happen, but only after Medvedev’s visit, so as not to cause undue embarrassment.
Colonel Aleksandr Poteyev, deputy head of Directorate “S” of the SVR, was the man overseeing the illegals scheme. After the arrests were made, he quietly walked out of the agency headquarters in Yasenevo for the last time. He was the mole who had tipped off the Americans. From there, he made his way to Ukraine, where the CIA could safely extricate him to the US. On hearing the news, Putin was reportedly beside himself with rage, Walker writes.
Intrigued by this “twisted family story”, Walker started to look into the illegals venture in greater depth. He quickly realised “there was nothing quite like it in the history of espionage”. At times, various intelligence agencies had deployed operatives as foreign nationals, “but never with the scope or scale of the KGB programme”.
A century of dramatic, bloody history
The illegals were, in Walker’s reckoning, something uniquely Russian, rooted in the country’s complex historical experience. The more he read, the more he came to view the programme as a lens through which he could “tell a much bigger story, of the whole Soviet experiment and its ultimate failure, a century of dramatic and bloody history”.
To understand how the illegals project came about, Walker winds the clock all the way back to 1917, when the Bolsheviks seized power – and espionage became a cornerstone of the nascent Soviet state. He reminds us while Lenin and his comrades had won formal control of the nation, “they still faced the colossal task of implementing and retaining it across the vast Russian landmass”.
Lenin was sure that state institutions would eventually wither away, the evolving worker’s paradise rendering them meaningless. However, to achieve this happy end point, he believed an interim period of ruthless state violence was required.
The Cheka: precursor to the KGB
This helps to explain why he established the Cheka, a secret police force tasked with crushing counterrevolutionary activity and enforcing Bolshevik rule. At its head was Feliks Dzerzhinsky, a fanatical Polish ideologue who had spent years in Siberian exile. Far from a temporary measure, the Cheka “quickly grew to a huge fighting force that could be unleashed on political and class enemies”, Walker writes.
Feliks Dzierzynski was the head of the Cheka, the Russian secret police force that preceded the KGB. Wikimedia Commons
The Cheka was an important player in the Russian Civil War, which pitted Lenin’s Reds against the Whites – a loose alliance of pro-tsarist regiments and foreign mercenaries, often united by little more than their implacable hatred of Bolshevism. The situation on the ground was chaotic and unpredictable; both sides engaged in ruthless violence.
Here, in this blood-drenched crucible, the Bolsheviks honed their clandestine methods – konspiratsiya (subterfuge) – perfecting the use of disguises, false identities and underground communication. In areas where the Whites gained a territorial foothold, agents were ordered to stay behind and coordinate resistance, laying the groundwork for what would become the illegals programme.
When the Bolsheviks emerged victorious in 1921, the Cheka was not disbanded – but repurposed. The practice of planting operatives deep inside enemy lines survived the war and expanded in scope. Lenin’s idea of combining legal diplomatic work with illegal undercover infiltration became a defining feature of how the Soviet Union would run its intelligence services for the next 70 years.
Stalin’s secret police
Under Lenin’s successor, Joseph Stalin, the secret police was transformed into an all-encompassing instrument of surveillance, repression and domination.
Purges consumed the party. Ideological fervour curdled into show trials and murderous terror. And paranoia became an organising principle of Soviet political life. The demand for vigilance intensified – not just at home, where informants and denunciations became routine, but also abroad. Real and purported enemies were seen lurking in the democratic institutions of the West.
Ironies abound here. The very methods that helped to sustain the early Soviet state – secrecy, trickery, duplicity – soon became grounds for suspicion on Stalin’s watch. The generation of illegals trained and embedded during the 1920s and early 1930s were among those earmarked for liquidation, Walker writes. Stalin, ever wary of plots against him, came to view his own spies as potential traitors.
He ignored – or wilfully dismissed – much of the intelligence they had risked their lives to gather, often with disastrous consequences. When advance warnings of Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s secret plan to betray Stalin and launch a massive invasion of the Soviet Union, landed on his desk in 1941, for instance, they were waved away as provocation or outright fabrication. In some cases, he had his spies tortured or shot. Loyalty was no protector against paranoia.
Dmitry Bystrolyotov was a legend in Soviet intelligence circles. Alchetron
Among the casualties was Dmitry Bystrolyotov, who Walker describes as “perhaps the most talented illegal in the history of the programme”. A truly chameleonic figure, Bystrolyotov was a dashing and multilingual agent whose exploits in Western Europe made him a legend in Soviet intelligence circles. “His speciality was the recruitment of agents who had access to diplomatic codes and ciphers,” the Russian scholar Emil Draitser attests, “and his modus operandi involved women”.
Through a series of painstakingly crafted affairs, Bystrolyotov gained access to confidential dispatches, internal memos and state secrets. His work offered Stalin a rare glimpse into the inner workings of Europe’s ruling elite. But when The Great Terror rolled around in 1937, none of it mattered. He was arrested, sentenced and dispatched to the Gulag, callously tossed aside by the system he had served with such distinction.
Walker emphasises:
the history of the illegals offers a neat reflection of the story of Russia itself. The early programme, with its soaring ambition, its obsession with subterfuge, and its disregard for the well-being of individuals, holds up a mirror to the fiery utopianism of the early Soviet Union.
Did the Cold War really end?
These were people expected to vanish into enemy territory, sacrifice their identifies and live double lives, all in service of a revolutionary vision. But by the time the Soviet Union spluttered to an ignominious halt in 1991, that dream had long since died.
As Walker shows, most of the operatives who followed in the footsteps of Bystrolyotov were not darkly romantic infiltrators scaling embassy walls or charming secrets out of countesses. They were “sleepers” – often efficient, occasionally incompetent – blending quietly into Western cities and suburbs, awaiting a call to action that, in many cases, never came. The glitz had given way to the grind.
The Americans ends with Phillip and Elizabeth, the couple based on Bezrukov and Vavilova, gazing out across the Moscow skyline. Two weary spies coming in from the cold, they have returned to a rapidly unravelling motherland that may not understand – let alone appreciate – the sacrifices they have made in the service of its ideology.
As Walker discovered, Berzukov, when he isn’t being paid handsomely by an oil company, now lectures in international relations at one of Russia’s most prestigious universities. Vavilova, fittingly enough, now writes spy fiction.
Yet in real life, the story doesn’t end quite there. Under Putin, a former KGB officer who cut his teeth in the culture of espionage, Russia’s intelligence services have returned to the illegals programme with a renewed sense of purpose (though stripped of the ideological zeal that once propelled it).
Walker is careful not to indulge in idle speculation, but he points to compelling evidence suggesting the illegals programme has evolved rather than vanished. High-profile attacks on UK soil – including the poisoning of form spy Sergei Skripal – suggest Russian intelligence agencies remain willing to operate far beyond their national borders.
In the same breath, Walker describes what might be termed the digital turn of the illegals programme. In the place of suburban sleepers decoding radio signals, Russia has backed teams of online operatives – “troll illegals” – tasked with wrecking havoc across Western social media platforms.
These paid agents don’t gather intelligence so much as sow discord. They stoke culture wars, amplify political divisions and undermine trust in democratic institutions. Walker offers Russia’s meddling in the rancorous 2016 American election as an illustrative case in point.
In Putin’s merciless autocracy, secrecy has once again became a virtue – and the spy, far from being a dusty relic of the 20th century, is once again a symbol of national strength.
In that sense, The Illegals is not just a history of espionage. It is a timely reminder that, at least for some, the Cold War never really ended. It just burrowed deeper underground.
Alexander Howard 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.
The kettle is a household staple practically everywhere – how else would we make our hot drinks?
But is it okay to re-boil water that’s already in the kettle from last time? While bringing water to a boil disinfects it, you may have heard that boiling water more than once will somehow make the water harmful and therefore you should empty the kettle each time.
Such claims are often accompanied by the argument that re-boiled water leads to the accumulation of allegedly hazardous substances including metals such as arsenic, or salts such as nitrates and fluoride.
This isn’t true. To understand why, let’s look at what is in our tap water and what really happens when we boil it.
What’s in our tap water?
Let’s take the example of tap water supplied by Sydney Water, Australia’s largest water utility which supplies water to Sydney, the Blue Mountains and the Illawarra region.
From the publicly available data for the January to March 2025 quarter for the Illawarra region, these were the average water quality results:
pH was slightly alkaline
total dissolved solids were low enough to avoid causing scaling in pipes or appliances
fluoride content was appropriate to improve dental health, and
it was “soft” water with a total hardness value below 40mg of calcium carbonate per litre.
The water contained trace amounts of metals such as iron and lead, low enough magnesium levels that it can’t be tasted, and sodium levels substantially lower than those in popular soft drinks.
These and all other monitored quality parameters were well within the Australian Drinking Water Guidelines during that period. If you were to make tea with this water, re-boiling would not cause a health problem. Here’s why.
It’s difficult to concentrate such low levels of chemicals
To concentrate substances in the water, you’d need to evaporate some of the liquid while the chemicals stay behind. Water evaporates at any temperature, but the vast majority of evaporation happens at the boiling point – when water turns into steam.
During boiling, some volatile organic compounds might escape into the air, but the amount of the inorganic compounds (such as metals and salts) remains unchanged.
While the concentration of inorganic compounds might increase as drinking water evaporates when boiled, evidence shows it doesn’t happen to such an extent that it would be hazardous.
Let’s say you boil one litre of tap water in a kettle in the morning, and your tap water has a fluoride content of 1mg per litre, which is within the limits of Australian guidelines.
You make a cup of tea taking 200ml of the boiled water. You then make another cup of tea in the afternoon by re-boiling the remaining water.
On both occasions, if heating was stopped soon after boiling started, the loss of water by evaporation would be small, and the fluoride content in each cup of tea would be similar.
But let’s assume that when making the second cup, you let the water keep boiling until 100ml of what’s in the kettle evaporates. Even then, the amount of fluoride you would consume with the second cup (0.23mg) would not be significantly higher than the fluoride you consumed with the first cup of tea (0.20mg).
The same applies to any other minerals or organics the supplied water may have contained. Let’s take lead: the water supplied in the Illawarra region as mentioned above, had a lead concentration of less than 0.0001mg per litre. To reach an unsafe lead concentration (0.01mg per litre, according to Australian guidelines) in a cup of water, you’d need to boil down roughly 20 litres of tap water to just that cup of 200ml.
Practically that is unlikely to happen – most electric kettles are designed to boil briefly before automatically shutting off. As long as the water you’re using is within the guidelines for drinking water, you can’t really concentrate it to harmful levels within your kettle.
But what about taste?
Whether re-boiled water actually affects the taste of your drinks will depend entirely on the specifics of your local water supply and your personal preferences.
The slight change in mineral concentration, or the loss of dissolved oxygen from water during boiling may affect the taste for some people – although there are a lot of other factors that contribute to the taste of your tap water.
The bottom line is that as long as the water in your kettle was originally compliant with guidelines for safe drinking water, it will remain safe and potable even after repeated boiling.
Faisal Hai 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Mathieu Duval, Adjunct Senior Researcher at Griffith University and La Trobe University, and Ramón y Cajal (Senior) Research Fellow, Centro Nacional de Investigación sobre la Evolución Humana (CENIEH)
Fossils are invaluable archives of the past. They preserve details about living things from a few thousand to hundreds of millions of years ago.
Studying fossils can help us understand the evolution of species over time, and glimpse snapshots of past environments and climates. Fossils can also reveal the diets or migration patterns of long-gone species – including our own ancestors.
But when living things turn to rock, discerning those details is no easy feat. One common technique for studying fossils is micro-computerised tomography or micro-CT. It’s been used to find the earliest evidence of bone cancer in humans, to study brain imprints and inner ears in early hominins, and to study the teeth of the oldest human modern remains outside Africa, among many other examples.
However, our new study, published today in Radiocarbon, shows that despite being widely regarded as non-destructive, micro-CT may actually affect fossil preservation and erase some crucial information held inside.
Preserving precious specimens
Fossils are rare and fragile by nature. Scientists are constantly evaluating how to balance their impact on fossils with the need to study them.
When palaeontologists and palaeoanthropologists (who work on human fossils) analyse fossils, they want to minimise any potential damage. We want to preserve fossils for future generations as much as possible – and technology can be a huge help here.
Micro-CT works like the medical CT scans doctors use to peek inside the human body. However, it does so at a much smaller scale and at a greater resolution.
This is perfect for studying small objects such as fossils. With micro-CT, scientists can take high-resolution 3D images and access the inner structure of fossils without the need to cut them open.
These scans also allow for virtual copies of the fossils, which other scientists can then access from anywhere in the world. This significantly reduces the risk of damage, since the scanned fossils can safely remain in a museum collection, for example.
Micro-CT is popular and routinely used. The scientific community widely regards it as “non-destructive” because it doesn’t cause any visual damage – but it could still affect the fossil.
Jaw bone of the human fossil species Homo antecessor from Spain. Left: micro-CT scan with a cutting plane to visualise the inner structures, bone and teeth; right: 3D reconstruction based on the high-resolution micro-CT images. Laura Martín-Francés
How does micro-CT imaging work?
Micro-CT scanning uses X-rays and computer software to produce high-resolution images and reconstruct the fossil specimens in detail. Typically, palaeontologists use commercial scanners for this, but more advanced investigations may use powerful X-ray beams generated at a synchrotron.
The X-rays go through the specimen and are captured by a detector on the other end. This allows for a very fine-grained understanding of the matter they’ve passed through – especially density, which then provides clues about the shape of the internal structures, the composition of the tissues, or any contamination.
The scan produces a succession of 2D images from all angles. Computer software is then used to “clean up” these high-resolution images and assemble them into a 3D shape – a virtual copy of the fossil and its inner structures.
Example of micro-CT results on a hominin fossil known as Little Foot, from southern Africa.
But X-rays are not harmless
X-rays are a type of ionising radiation. This means they have a high level of energy and can break electrons away from atoms (this is called ionisation).
However, despite what we know about the impact of X-rays on living cells, the potential impact of X-rays on fossils through micro-CT imaging has never been deeply investigated.
What did our study find?
Using standard settings on a typical micro-CT scanner, we scanned several modern and fossil bones and teeth from animals. We also measured their collagen content before and after scanning.
Collagen is useful for many analytical purposes, such as finding out the age of the fossils using radiocarbon dating, or for stable isotope analysis – a method used to infer the diet of the extinct species, for example. The collagen content in fossils is usually much lower than in modern specimens because it slowly breaks down over time.
After comparing our measurements with unscanned samples taken from the same specimens, we found two things.
First, the radiocarbon age remained unchanged. In other words, micro-CT scanning doesn’t affect radiocarbon dating. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that we did observe a significant decrease in the amount of collagen present. In other words, the micro-CT scanned samples had about 35% less collagen than the samples before scanning.
This shows micro-CT imaging has a non-negligible impact on fossils that contain collagen traces. While this was to be expected, the impact hasn’t been experimentally confirmed before.
It’s possible some fossil samples won’t have enough collagen left after micro-CT scanning. This would make them unsuitable for a range of analytical techniques, including radiocarbon dating.
What now?
In a previous study, we showed micro-CT can artificially “age” fossils later dated with a method called electron spin resonance. It’s commonly used to date fossils older than 50,000 years – beyond what the radiocarbon method can discern.
This previous study and our new work show that micro-CT scanning may significantly and irreversibly change the fossil and the information it holds.
Despite causing no visible damage to the fossil, we argue that in this context the technique should no longer be regarded as non-destructive.
Micro-CT imaging is highly valuable in palaeontology and palaeoanthropology, no doubt about that. But our results suggest it should be used sparingly to minimise how much fossils are exposed to X-rays. There are guidelines scientists can use to minimise damage. Freely sharing data to avoid repeated scans of the same specimen will be helpful, too.
Mathieu Duval receives funding from the Spanish State Research Agency (Agencia Estatal de Investigación). He is currently the recipient of a Ramón y Cajal fellowship (RYC2018-025221-I) funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033 and by ‘‘ESF Investing in your future”. This work is also part of Spanish Grant PID2021-123092NB-C22 funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033/FEDER, UE, and by ‘‘ERDF A way of making Europe”.
Laura Martín-Francés receives funding from Marie Sklodowska-Curie Actions of the EU Ninth programme (2021-2027) under the HORIZON-MSCA-2021-PF-01-Project: 101060482.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Nicole Rinehart, Nicole Rinehart, Professor, Clinical Psychology, Director of the Neurodevelopment Program, School of Psychological Sciences, Faculty of Medicine, Nursing and Health Sciences, Monash University
Autism is a neurodevelopmental condition that affects how people’s brains develop and function, impacting behaviour, communication and socialising. It can also involve differences in the way you move and walk – known as your “gait”.
Having an “odd gait” is now listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a supporting diagnostic feature of autism.
What does this look like?
The most noticeable gait differences among autistic people are:
toe-walking, walking on the balls of the feet
in-toeing, walking with one or both feet turned inwards
out-toeing, walking with one or both feet turned out.
spending longer in the “stance” phase, when the foot leaves the ground
taking more time to complete each step.
Autistic people show much more personal variability in the length and speed of their strides, as well as their walking speed.
Gait differences also tend to occur alongside other motor differences, such as issues with balance, coordination, postural stability and handwriting. Autistic people may need support for these other motor skills.
The basal ganglia are broadly responsible for sequencing movement including through shifting posture. It ensures your gait appears effortless, smooth and automatic.
The cerebellum then uses visual and proprioceptive information (to sense the body’s position and movement) to adjust and time movements to maintain postural stability. It ensures movement is controlled and coordinated.
Developmental differences in these brain regions relate to the way the areas look (their structure), how they work (their function and activation) and how they “speak” to other areas of the brain (their connections).
While some researchers have suggested that autistic gait occurs due to delayed development, we now know gait differences persist across the lifespan. Some differences actually become clearer with age.
In addition to brain-based differences, the autistic gait is also associated with factors such as the person’s broader motor, language and cognitive capabilities.
People with more complex support needs might have more pronounced gait or motor differences, together with language and cognitive difficulties.
Not all differences need to be treated. Instead, clinicians take an individualised and goals-based approach.
Some autistic people might have subtle gait differences that are observable during testing. But if these differences don’t impact a person’s ability to participate in everyday life, they don’t require support.
An autistic person is likely to benefit from support for gait differences if they have a functional impact on their daily life. This might include:
increased risk of, or frequent, falls
difficulty participating in the physical activities they enjoy
physical consequences such as tightness of the Achilles and calf muscles, or associated pain in other areas, such as the feet or back.
Some children may also benefit from support for motor skill development. However this doesn’t have to occur in a clinic.
Given children spend a large portion of their time at school, programs that integrate opportunities for movement throughout the school day allow autistic children to develop motor skills outside of the clinic and alongside peers. We developed the Joy of Moving Program in Australia, for example, which gets students moving in the classroom.
Our community-based intervention studiesshow autistic children’s movement abilities can improve after engaging in community-based interventions, such as sports or dance.
Community-based support models empower autistic children to have agency in how they move, rather than seeing different ways of moving as a problem to be fixed.
Where to from here?
While we have learnt a lot about autistic gait at a broad level, researchers and clinicians are still seeking a better understanding of why and when individual variability occurs.
We’re also still determining how to best support individual movement styles, including among children as they develop.
However there is growing evidence that physical activity enhances social skills and behavioural regulation in preschool children with autism.
So it’s encouraging that states and territories are moving towards more community-based foundational supports for autistic children and their peers, as governments develop supports outside the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).
Nicole Rinehart receives funding from: Moose Happy Kids Foundation, MECCA M-Power, the Grace & Emilio Foundation, Ferrero Australia, as part of the global Kinder Joy of moving program, Aspen Pharmacare Australia Pty Ltd, Jonathan and Simone Wenig, Adam Krongold, the Grosman Family Foundation, the Shoreline Foundation, the Victorian Department of Education, the NSW Department of Education, and the Department of Social Services – Information, Linkages and Capacity Building (ILC) Program, and has worked in partnership with the Australian Football League.
Chloe Emonson works on projects that receive funding from: Moose Happy Kids Foundation, MECCA M-Power, the Grace & Emilio Foundation, Ferrero Australia, as part of the global Kinder Joy of moving program, Aspen Pharmacare Australia Pty Ltd, Jonathan and Simone Wenig, Adam Krongold, the Grosman Family Foundation, the Shoreline Foundation, the Victorian Department of Education, the NSW Department of Education, and the Department of Social Services – Information, Linkages and Capacity Building (ILC) Program, and has worked in partnership with the Australian Football League.
Ebony Lindor works on projects that receive funding from: Moose Happy Kids Foundation, MECCA M-Power, the Grace & Emilio Foundation, Ferrero Australia, as part of the global Kinder Joy of moving program, Aspen Pharmacare Australia Pty Ltd, Jonathan and Simone Wenig, Adam Krongold, the Grosman Family Foundation, the Shoreline Foundation, the Victorian Department of Education, the NSW Department of Education, and the Department of Social Services – Information, Linkages and Capacity Building (ILC) Program, and has worked in partnership with the Australian Football League.
Breakups hurt. Emotional and psychological distress are common when intimate relationships break down. For some people, this distress can be so overwhelming that it leads to suicidal thoughts and behaviours.
This problem seems especially the case for men. Intimate partner problems including breakups, separation and divorce feature in the paths to suicide among one in three Australian men aged 25 to 44 who end their lives.
Men account for three in every four suicides in many nations worldwide, including Australia. So improving our understanding of links between relationship breakdown and men’s suicide risk has life-saving potential.
Our research, published today, is the first large-scale review of the evidence to focus on understanding men’s risk of suicide after a breakup. We found separated men were nearly five times more likely to die by suicide compared to married men.
What did we find?
We brought together findings from 75 studies across 30 countries worldwide, involving more than 106 million men.
We focused on understanding why relationship breakdown can lead to suicide in men, and which men are most at risk. We might not be able to prevent breakups from happening, but we can promote healthy adjustment to the stress of relationship breakdown to try and prevent suicide.
Overall, we found divorced men were 2.8 times more likely to take their lives than married men.
For separated men, the risk was much higher. We found that separated men were 4.8 times more likely to die by suicide than married men.
Most strikingly, we found separated men under 35 years of age had nearly nine times greater odds of suicide than married men of the same age.
Some men’s difficulties regulating the intense emotional stress of relationship breakdown can play a role in their suicide risk. For some men, the emotional pain tied to separation – deep sadness, shame, guilt, anxiety and loss – can be so intense it feels never-ending.
Overall, our research found relationship breakdown may lead to suicide for some men because of the complex interaction between the individual (emotional distress) and interpersonal (changes in their social network and availability of support) impacts of a breakup.
Many of these impacts don’t seem to feature in the paths to suicide after a breakup for women in the same way.
Breakups also impact social networks
As intimate relationships become more serious, we tend to spend less time investing in our friendships, especially if juggling the demands of a career and family.
This can create a risky situation if relationships break down, as it seems many men are left with little support to turn to. This rang true in our research, as men’s social disconnection and loneliness seemed to increase their suicide risk following relationship breakdown.
We also know people can struggle to know how to support men after a breakup. Research has found some men who ask for support are told to just “get back on the horse”. Such a response invalidates men’s pain and reinforces masculine stereotypes that relationship breakdown doesn’t affect them.
So, what can we do?
There is no simple answer to preventing suicide following relationship breakdown, but a range of opportunities exist.
We can embed support groups and other opportunities for connection and peer support in relationship services that are regularly in contact with those navigating separation, to help combat loneliness.
We can ensure mental health practitioners are equipped with the skills necessary to engage and respond effectively to men who seek help following a breakup, to help keep them safe until they can get back on their feet.
Most importantly, if men come to any of us seeking support after a breakup, we can remember that time is often a great healer. The best we can do is sit with men in their pain, rather than try and get them to stop feeling it. This connection could be life-saving.
Support and information is available at Relationships Australia and MensLine Australia. If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.
Michael Wilson works for The University of Melbourne and consults to Movember. He receives funding from the Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship, provided by the Australian Commonwealth Government and the University of Melbourne.
Jacqui Macdonald receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council’s Medical Research Future Fund and the Australian Research Council. She convenes the Australian Fatherhood Research Consortium and she is on the Movember Global Men’s Health Advisory Committee.
Zac Seidler has been awarded an NHMRC Investigator Grant. He is also the Global Director of Research with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health. He advises government on men’s suicide, masculinities, violence prevention and social media policy.
Tourists in Kathmandu are tempted everywhere by advertisements for trekking expeditions to Everest Base Camp. If you didn’t know better, you might think it’s just a nice hike in the Nepalese countryside.
Typically the lower staging post for attempts on the summit, the camp is still 5,364 metres above sea level and a destination in its own right. Travel agencies say no prior experience is required, and all equipment will be provided. Social media, too, is filled with posts enticing potential trekkers to make the iconic journey.
But there is a real risk of creating a false sense of security. An exciting adventure can quickly turn into a struggle for survival, especially for novice mountaineers.
Nevertheless, Sagarmatha National Park is deservedly popular for its natural beauty and the allure of the world’s highest peak, Chomolungma (Mount Everest). It is also home to the ethnically distinctive Sherpa community.
Consequently, the routes to Everest Base Camp are among the busiest in the Himalayas, with nearly 60,000 tourists visiting the area each year. There are two distinct trekking seasons: spring (March to May) and autumn (September to October).
High mountains require everyone to be properly prepared. Events which under normal conditions might be a minor inconvenience can be magnified in such an environment and pose a serious risk.
Even at the start of the trek in Lukla (2,860m), one is exposed to factors that can directly or indirectly affect one’s health, especially altitude mountain sickness or unfamiliar bacteria.
We interviewed 24 trekkers in May this year, as well as 60 residents and business owners in May 2023, to explore some of the safety issues anyone considering heading to base camp should be aware of.
Life at high altitude
First, it’s vital to choose goals within one’s technical and physical capabilities. While the human body can adapt to altitudes of up to 5,300m, the potential risk of altitude mountain sickness can occur at only 2,500m – lower than Lukla.
Proper acclimatisation above 3,000m means ascending no more than 500m a day and resting every two to three days at the same altitude. The optimal (though rarely followed) approach is the “saw tooth system” of climbing during the day but descending to sleep at a lower level.
Residents of the Khumbu region (on the Nepalese side of Everest) are familiar with the problem of tourists not acclimatising, or not paying attention to their surroundings. As one hotel owner said, pointing to a trekker setting out:
He’s going uphill and it’s already late. It’s going to get dark and cold soon. He won’t make it to the next settlement. We have to report this to the authorities or go after him ourselves.
Inexperienced trekkers should hire a local guide. Several we interviewed had needed medical evacuation, including a woman in her mid-20s who had to leave base camp after one night. She found her guides – not locals – online. But they never checked her vital signs during the trek:
[The doctors] said that I had high-altitude pulmonary edema […] it was just really important to come down the elevation. And if I had tried to go higher, it probably would have been really bad.
Health checks throughout the trek are imperative. This includes assessing the four main symptoms of altitude mountain sickness: headache, nausea, dizziness and fatigue. If they appear, the trekker shouldn’t go higher and might even need to descend.
A Sherpa woman at the market in Namche Bazar, Nepal: respect the culture, eat local food. Paula Bronstein/Getty Images
Take time to adapt
Using a reputable local trekking agency might be more expensive, but it will help ensure safety and also familiarise the visitor with the local culture, helping avoid negative impacts on the host community.
Too often, the primary goal of trekkers is a photo on the famous rock at base camp. Once obtained, many simply take a helicopter back to Kathmandu. As a helicopter tour agency owner said:
They don’t want to get back on their feet. The goal, after all, has been achieved. In general, tourists used to be much better prepared. Now they know they can return by helicopter.
Helicopter travel can be dangerous on its own, of course. But this tendency to view the trek as a one-way trip also affects host-guest relations and can irritate local communities.
It’s also important to monitor your food and drink intake and watch for signs of food poisoning. Diarrhoea at high altitudes is particularly dangerous because it leads to rapid dehydration – hard to combat in mountain conditions.
Low air pressure and reduced oxygen exacerbate the condition, weakening the body’s ability to recover. Also, the symptoms of dehydration can resemble altitude mountain sickness.
When travelling in other climate zones or countries with different sanitary standards, there is inevitable contact with strains of bacteria not present in one’s natural microbiome.
A good solution is to spend a few days naturally adapting to bacterial flora at a lower altitude in Nepal before heading to the mountains. Also, try to eat the local food, such as daal bhat, Nepal’s national dish. According to one hotel owner in Pangboche:
Tourists demand strange food from us – pizza, spaghetti, Caesar salad – and then are angry that it doesn’t taste the way they want. This is not our food. You should probably eat local food.
Most of the trekkers we interviewed during this spring season reported experiencing gastrointestinal issues, often for several days.
In the end, the commonest cause of failure or accident in the mountains is overestimating one’s abilities – what has been called “bad judgement syndrome” – when the route is too hard, the pace too fast, or there’s been too little time spent acclimatising.
A simple solution: walk slowly and enjoy the views.
Michal Apollo receives funding from the National Science Centre NCN Poland, the small-scale project awarded by the Institute of Earth Sciences, and the Research Excellence Initiative of the University of Silesia in Katowice. He is affiliated with the Global Justice Program, Yale University, and Academics Stand Against Poverty.
Heike Schanzel 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Nicole Rinehart, Nicole Rinehart, Professor, Clinical Psychology, Director of the Neurodevelopment Program, School of Psychological Sciences, Faculty of Medicine, Nursing and Health Sciences, Monash University
Autism is a neurodevelopmental condition that affects how people’s brains develop and function, impacting behaviour, communication and socialising. It can also involve differences in the way you move and walk – known as your “gait”.
Having an “odd gait” is now listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a supporting diagnostic feature of autism.
What does this look like?
The most noticeable gait differences among autistic people are:
toe-walking, walking on the balls of the feet
in-toeing, walking with one or both feet turned inwards
out-toeing, walking with one or both feet turned out.
spending longer in the “stance” phase, when the foot leaves the ground
taking more time to complete each step.
Autistic people show much more personal variability in the length and speed of their strides, as well as their walking speed.
Gait differences also tend to occur alongside other motor differences, such as issues with balance, coordination, postural stability and handwriting. Autistic people may need support for these other motor skills.
The basal ganglia are broadly responsible for sequencing movement including through shifting posture. It ensures your gait appears effortless, smooth and automatic.
The cerebellum then uses visual and proprioceptive information (to sense the body’s position and movement) to adjust and time movements to maintain postural stability. It ensures movement is controlled and coordinated.
Developmental differences in these brain regions relate to the way the areas look (their structure), how they work (their function and activation) and how they “speak” to other areas of the brain (their connections).
While some researchers have suggested that autistic gait occurs due to delayed development, we now know gait differences persist across the lifespan. Some differences actually become clearer with age.
In addition to brain-based differences, the autistic gait is also associated with factors such as the person’s broader motor, language and cognitive capabilities.
People with more complex support needs might have more pronounced gait or motor differences, together with language and cognitive difficulties.
Not all differences need to be treated. Instead, clinicians take an individualised and goals-based approach.
Some autistic people might have subtle gait differences that are observable during testing. But if these differences don’t impact a person’s ability to participate in everyday life, they don’t require support.
An autistic person is likely to benefit from support for gait differences if they have a functional impact on their daily life. This might include:
increased risk of, or frequent, falls
difficulty participating in the physical activities they enjoy
physical consequences such as tightness of the Achilles and calf muscles, or associated pain in other areas, such as the feet or back.
Some children may also benefit from support for motor skill development. However this doesn’t have to occur in a clinic.
Given children spend a large portion of their time at school, programs that integrate opportunities for movement throughout the school day allow autistic children to develop motor skills outside of the clinic and alongside peers. We developed the Joy of Moving Program in Australia, for example, which gets students moving in the classroom.
Our community-based intervention studiesshow autistic children’s movement abilities can improve after engaging in community-based interventions, such as sports or dance.
Community-based support models empower autistic children to have agency in how they move, rather than seeing different ways of moving as a problem to be fixed.
Where to from here?
While we have learnt a lot about autistic gait at a broad level, researchers and clinicians are still seeking a better understanding of why and when individual variability occurs.
We’re also still determining how to best support individual movement styles, including among children as they develop.
However there is growing evidence that physical activity enhances social skills and behavioural regulation in preschool children with autism.
So it’s encouraging that states and territories are moving towards more community-based foundational supports for autistic children and their peers, as governments develop supports outside the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).
Nicole Rinehart receives funding from: Moose Happy Kids Foundation, MECCA M-Power, the Grace & Emilio Foundation, Ferrero Australia, as part of the global Kinder Joy of moving program, Aspen Pharmacare Australia Pty Ltd, Jonathan and Simone Wenig, Adam Krongold, the Grosman Family Foundation, the Shoreline Foundation, the Victorian Department of Education, the NSW Department of Education, and the Department of Social Services – Information, Linkages and Capacity Building (ILC) Program, and has worked in partnership with the Australian Football League.
Chloe Emonson works on projects that receive funding from: Moose Happy Kids Foundation, MECCA M-Power, the Grace & Emilio Foundation, Ferrero Australia, as part of the global Kinder Joy of moving program, Aspen Pharmacare Australia Pty Ltd, Jonathan and Simone Wenig, Adam Krongold, the Grosman Family Foundation, the Shoreline Foundation, the Victorian Department of Education, the NSW Department of Education, and the Department of Social Services – Information, Linkages and Capacity Building (ILC) Program, and has worked in partnership with the Australian Football League.
Ebony Lindor works on projects that receive funding from: Moose Happy Kids Foundation, MECCA M-Power, the Grace & Emilio Foundation, Ferrero Australia, as part of the global Kinder Joy of moving program, Aspen Pharmacare Australia Pty Ltd, Jonathan and Simone Wenig, Adam Krongold, the Grosman Family Foundation, the Shoreline Foundation, the Victorian Department of Education, the NSW Department of Education, and the Department of Social Services – Information, Linkages and Capacity Building (ILC) Program, and has worked in partnership with the Australian Football League.
Breakups hurt. Emotional and psychological distress are common when intimate relationships break down. For some people, this distress can be so overwhelming that it leads to suicidal thoughts and behaviours.
This problem seems especially the case for men. Intimate partner problems including breakups, separation and divorce feature in the paths to suicide among one in three Australian men aged 25 to 44 who end their lives.
Men account for three in every four suicides in many nations worldwide, including Australia. So improving our understanding of links between relationship breakdown and men’s suicide risk has life-saving potential.
Our research, published today, is the first large-scale review of the evidence to focus on understanding men’s risk of suicide after a breakup. We found separated men were nearly five times more likely to die by suicide compared to married men.
What did we find?
We brought together findings from 75 studies across 30 countries worldwide, involving more than 106 million men.
We focused on understanding why relationship breakdown can lead to suicide in men, and which men are most at risk. We might not be able to prevent breakups from happening, but we can promote healthy adjustment to the stress of relationship breakdown to try and prevent suicide.
Overall, we found divorced men were 2.8 times more likely to take their lives than married men.
For separated men, the risk was much higher. We found that separated men were 4.8 times more likely to die by suicide than married men.
Most strikingly, we found separated men under 35 years of age had nearly nine times greater odds of suicide than married men of the same age.
Some men’s difficulties regulating the intense emotional stress of relationship breakdown can play a role in their suicide risk. For some men, the emotional pain tied to separation – deep sadness, shame, guilt, anxiety and loss – can be so intense it feels never-ending.
Overall, our research found relationship breakdown may lead to suicide for some men because of the complex interaction between the individual (emotional distress) and interpersonal (changes in their social network and availability of support) impacts of a breakup.
Many of these impacts don’t seem to feature in the paths to suicide after a breakup for women in the same way.
Breakups also impact social networks
As intimate relationships become more serious, we tend to spend less time investing in our friendships, especially if juggling the demands of a career and family.
This can create a risky situation if relationships break down, as it seems many men are left with little support to turn to. This rang true in our research, as men’s social disconnection and loneliness seemed to increase their suicide risk following relationship breakdown.
We also know people can struggle to know how to support men after a breakup. Research has found some men who ask for support are told to just “get back on the horse”. Such a response invalidates men’s pain and reinforces masculine stereotypes that relationship breakdown doesn’t affect them.
So, what can we do?
There is no simple answer to preventing suicide following relationship breakdown, but a range of opportunities exist.
We can embed support groups and other opportunities for connection and peer support in relationship services that are regularly in contact with those navigating separation, to help combat loneliness.
We can ensure mental health practitioners are equipped with the skills necessary to engage and respond effectively to men who seek help following a breakup, to help keep them safe until they can get back on their feet.
Most importantly, if men come to any of us seeking support after a breakup, we can remember that time is often a great healer. The best we can do is sit with men in their pain, rather than try and get them to stop feeling it. This connection could be life-saving.
Support and information is available at Relationships Australia and MensLine Australia. If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.
Michael Wilson works for The University of Melbourne and consults to Movember. He receives funding from the Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship, provided by the Australian Commonwealth Government and the University of Melbourne.
Jacqui Macdonald receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council’s Medical Research Future Fund and the Australian Research Council. She convenes the Australian Fatherhood Research Consortium and she is on the Movember Global Men’s Health Advisory Committee.
Zac Seidler has been awarded an NHMRC Investigator Grant. He is also the Global Director of Research with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health. He advises government on men’s suicide, masculinities, violence prevention and social media policy.
Tourists in Kathmandu are tempted everywhere by advertisements for trekking expeditions to Everest Base Camp. If you didn’t know better, you might think it’s just a nice hike in the Nepalese countryside.
Typically the lower staging post for attempts on the summit, the camp is still 5,364 metres above sea level and a destination in its own right. Travel agencies say no prior experience is required, and all equipment will be provided. Social media, too, is filled with posts enticing potential trekkers to make the iconic journey.
But there is a real risk of creating a false sense of security. An exciting adventure can quickly turn into a struggle for survival, especially for novice mountaineers.
Nevertheless, Sagarmatha National Park is deservedly popular for its natural beauty and the allure of the world’s highest peak, Chomolungma (Mount Everest). It is also home to the ethnically distinctive Sherpa community.
Consequently, the routes to Everest Base Camp are among the busiest in the Himalayas, with nearly 60,000 tourists visiting the area each year. There are two distinct trekking seasons: spring (March to May) and autumn (September to October).
High mountains require everyone to be properly prepared. Events which under normal conditions might be a minor inconvenience can be magnified in such an environment and pose a serious risk.
Even at the start of the trek in Lukla (2,860m), one is exposed to factors that can directly or indirectly affect one’s health, especially altitude mountain sickness or unfamiliar bacteria.
We interviewed 24 trekkers in May this year, as well as 60 residents and business owners in May 2023, to explore some of the safety issues anyone considering heading to base camp should be aware of.
Life at high altitude
First, it’s vital to choose goals within one’s technical and physical capabilities. While the human body can adapt to altitudes of up to 5,300m, the potential risk of altitude mountain sickness can occur at only 2,500m – lower than Lukla.
Proper acclimatisation above 3,000m means ascending no more than 500m a day and resting every two to three days at the same altitude. The optimal (though rarely followed) approach is the “saw tooth system” of climbing during the day but descending to sleep at a lower level.
Residents of the Khumbu region (on the Nepalese side of Everest) are familiar with the problem of tourists not acclimatising, or not paying attention to their surroundings. As one hotel owner said, pointing to a trekker setting out:
He’s going uphill and it’s already late. It’s going to get dark and cold soon. He won’t make it to the next settlement. We have to report this to the authorities or go after him ourselves.
Inexperienced trekkers should hire a local guide. Several we interviewed had needed medical evacuation, including a woman in her mid-20s who had to leave base camp after one night. She found her guides – not locals – online. But they never checked her vital signs during the trek:
[The doctors] said that I had high-altitude pulmonary edema […] it was just really important to come down the elevation. And if I had tried to go higher, it probably would have been really bad.
Health checks throughout the trek are imperative. This includes assessing the four main symptoms of altitude mountain sickness: headache, nausea, dizziness and fatigue. If they appear, the trekker shouldn’t go higher and might even need to descend.
A Sherpa woman at the market in Namche Bazar, Nepal: respect the culture, eat local food. Paula Bronstein/Getty Images
Take time to adapt
Using a reputable local trekking agency might be more expensive, but it will help ensure safety and also familiarise the visitor with the local culture, helping avoid negative impacts on the host community.
Too often, the primary goal of trekkers is a photo on the famous rock at base camp. Once obtained, many simply take a helicopter back to Kathmandu. As a helicopter tour agency owner said:
They don’t want to get back on their feet. The goal, after all, has been achieved. In general, tourists used to be much better prepared. Now they know they can return by helicopter.
Helicopter travel can be dangerous on its own, of course. But this tendency to view the trek as a one-way trip also affects host-guest relations and can irritate local communities.
It’s also important to monitor your food and drink intake and watch for signs of food poisoning. Diarrhoea at high altitudes is particularly dangerous because it leads to rapid dehydration – hard to combat in mountain conditions.
Low air pressure and reduced oxygen exacerbate the condition, weakening the body’s ability to recover. Also, the symptoms of dehydration can resemble altitude mountain sickness.
When travelling in other climate zones or countries with different sanitary standards, there is inevitable contact with strains of bacteria not present in one’s natural microbiome.
A good solution is to spend a few days naturally adapting to bacterial flora at a lower altitude in Nepal before heading to the mountains. Also, try to eat the local food, such as daal bhat, Nepal’s national dish. According to one hotel owner in Pangboche:
Tourists demand strange food from us – pizza, spaghetti, Caesar salad – and then are angry that it doesn’t taste the way they want. This is not our food. You should probably eat local food.
Most of the trekkers we interviewed during this spring season reported experiencing gastrointestinal issues, often for several days.
In the end, the commonest cause of failure or accident in the mountains is overestimating one’s abilities – what has been called “bad judgement syndrome” – when the route is too hard, the pace too fast, or there’s been too little time spent acclimatising.
A simple solution: walk slowly and enjoy the views.
Michal Apollo receives funding from the National Science Centre NCN Poland, the small-scale project awarded by the Institute of Earth Sciences, and the Research Excellence Initiative of the University of Silesia in Katowice. He is affiliated with the Global Justice Program, Yale University, and Academics Stand Against Poverty.
Heike Schanzel 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.
I once leapt out of a train carriage because two strangers were loudly discussing the ending of the last Harry Potter book. Okay – I didn’t leap, but I did plug my ears and flee to another carriage.
Recently, I found myself in a similar predicament, trapped on a bus, entirely at the mercy of two passengers dissecting the Severance season two finale.
But not everyone shares my spoiler anxiety. I have friends who flip to the last page of a book before they’ve read the first one, or who look up the ending before hitting play. According to them, they simply need to know.
So why do some of us crave surprise and suspense, while others find comfort in instant resolution?
What’s in a spoiler?
Spoilers have become a cultural flashpoint in the age of streaming, social media and shared fandoms.
Researchers define “spoiler” as undesired information about how a narrative’s arc will conclude. I often hear “spoilers!” interjected mid-sentence, a desperate protest to protect narrative ignorance.
Hitchcock’s twist-heavy Psycho elevated spoiler sensitivity. Its release came with an anti-spoilers policy including strict viewing times, lobby warnings recorded by the auteur himself, and even real policemen urging “total enjoyment”. A bold ad campaign implored audiences against “cheating yourselves”.
The twists were fiercely protected.
Even the Star Wars cast didn’t know Darth Vader’s paternity twist until premiere night. Avenger’s Endgame filmed multiple endings and used fake scripting to mislead its stars. And Andrew Garfield flat-out lied about his return to Spider-Man: No Way Home – a performance worthy of an Oscar – all for the sake of fan surprise and enjoyment.
But do spoilers actually ruin the fun, or just shift how we experience it?
The satisfaction of a good ending
In 2014, a Dutch study found that viewers of unspoiled stories experienced greater emotional arousal and enjoyment. Spoilers may complete our “mental models” of the plot, making us less driven to engage, process events, or savour the unfolding story.
But we are also likely to overestimate the negative effect of a spoiler on our enjoyment. In 2016, a series of studies involving short stories, mystery fiction and films found that spoiled participants still reported high levels of enjoyment – because once we’re immersed, emotional connection tends to eclipse what we already know.
But suspense and enjoyment are complex bedfellows.
American media psychology trailblazer Dolf Zillmann said that suspense builds tension and excitement, but we only enjoy that tension once the ending lands well.
The thrill isn’t fun while we’re hanging in uncertainty – it’s the satisfying resolution that retroactively makes it feel good.
That could be why we scramble for an “ending explained” when a film or show drops the ball on closure. We’re trying to resolve uncertainty and settle our emotions.
Spoilers can also take the pressure off. A 2009 study of Lost fans found those who looked up how an episode would end actually enjoyed it more. The researchers found it reduced cognitive pressure, and gave them more room to reflect and soak in the story.
Spoilers put the audience back in the driver’s seat – even if filmmakers would rather keep hold of the wheel. People may seek spoilers out of curiosity or impatience, but sometimes it’s a quiet rebellion: a way to push back against the control creators hold over when and how things unfold.
That’s why spoilers are fertile ground for power dynamics. Ethicists even liken being spoiled to kind of moral trespass: how dare someone else make that decision for me?!
But whether you avoid spoilers or seek them out, the motive is often the same: a need to feel in control.
Shaping your emotions
Spoiler avoiders crave affect: they want emotional transportation.
When suspense is part of the pleasure, control means choosing when and how that knowledge lands. There’s a mental challenge to be had in riding the story as it unfolds, and a joy in seeing it click into place.
That’s why people get protective, and even chatter about long-aired shows can spark outrage. It’s an attempt to police the commentary and preserve the experience for those still waiting to be transported.
Spoiler seekers want control too, just a different kind. They’re not avoiding emotion, they’re just managing it. A spoiler affords control over our negative emotions, but also softens the blow, and inoculates us against anxiety.
Psychologists dub this a “non-cognitive desensitisation strategy” to manage surprise, a kind of “emotional spoiler shield” to protect our attachments to shows and characters, and remind us that TV, film and book narratives are not real when storylines hit close to home.
Knowing what happens turns into a subtle form of self-regulation.
So, what did I do when Severance spoilers floated by? Did I get off the bus? Nope, I stayed put and faced the beast. As I tried to make sense of the unfamiliar plot points (The macrodata means what? Mark stays where?), I found the unexpected chance to dive deeper.
Maybe surprise is not the sum of what makes something entertaining and worth engaging with. Spoiler alert! It’s good to have an end to journey towards, but it’s the journey that matters, in the end.
Anjum Naweed 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Rachel Fitzgerald, Associate Professor and Deputy Associate Dean (Academic), Faculty of Business, Economics and Law, The University of Queensland
Artificial intelligence is rapidly becoming an everyday part of lives. Many of us use it without even realising, whether it be writing emails, finding a new TV show or managing smart devices in our homes.
But apart from a handful of computing-focused and other STEM programs, most Australian university students do not receive formal tuition in how to use AI critically, ethically or responsibly.
Here’s why this is a problem and what we can do instead.
But this does not teach students how these tools work or what responsible use involves.
Using AI is not as simple as typing questions into a chat function. There are widely recognised ethical issues around its use including bias and misinformation. Understanding these is essential for students to use AI responsibly in their working lives.
So all students should graduate with a basic understanding of AI, its limitations, the role of human judgement and what responsible use looks like in their particular field.
We need students to be aware of bias in AI systems. This includes how their own biases could shape how they use the AI (the questions they ask and how they interpret its output), alongside an understanding of the broader ethical implications of AI use.
For example, does the data and the AI tool protect people’s privacy? Has the AI made a mistake? And if so, whose responsibility is that?
What about AI ethics?
The technical side of AI is covered in many STEM degrees. These degrees, along with philosophy and psychology disciplines, may also examine ethical questions around AI. But these issues are not a part of mainstream university education.
This is a concern. When future lawyers use predictive AI to draft contracts, or business graduates use AI for hiring or marketing, they will need skills in ethical reasoning.
Ethical issues in these scenarios could include unfair bias, like AI recommending candidates based on gender or race. It could include issues relating to a lack of transparency, such as not knowing how an AI system made a legal decision. Students need to be able to spot and question these risks before they cause harm.
In healthcare, AI tools are already supporting diagnosis, patient triage and treatment decisions.
For example, if a teacher relies on AI carelessly to draft a lesson plan, students might learn a version of history that is biased or just plain wrong. A lawyer who over-relies on AI could submit a flawed court document, putting their client’s case at risk.
How can we do this?
There are international examples we can follow. The University of Texas at Austin and University of Edinburgh both offer programs in ethics and AI. However, both of these are currently targeted at graduate students. The University of Texas program is focused on teaching STEM students about AI ethics, whereas the University of Edinburgh’s program has a broader, interdiscplinary focus.
Implementing AI ethics in Australian universities will require thoughtful curriculum reform. That means building interdisciplinary teaching teams that combine expertise from technology, law, ethics and the social sciences. It also means thinking seriously about how we engage students with this content through core modules, graduate capabilities or even mandatory training.
It will also require investment in academic staff development and new teaching resources that make these concepts accessible and relevant to different disciplines.
Government support is essential. Targeted grants, clear national policy direction, and nationally shared teaching resources could accelerate the shift. Policymakers could consider positioning universities as “ethical AI hubs”. This aligns with the government-commissioned 2024 Australian University Accord report, which called for building capacity to meet the demands of the digital era.
Today’s students are tomorrow’s decision-makers. If they don’t understand the risks of AI and its potential for error, bias or threats to privacy, we will all bear the consequences. Universities have a public responsibility to ensure graduates know how to use AI responsibly and understand why their choices matter.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
In the thrilling finale of the TV series The Americans, set during the Reagan administration, deep-cover KGB operatives Philip and Elizabeth Jennings are faced with a difficult decision. Posing as an ordinary American married couple, for decades they have raised children, filed tax returns and slipped effortlessly into the rhythms and routines of everyday suburban existence in Washington, D.C.
All the while, they’ve been spying – gathering intelligence and surreptitiously feeding it to their communist masters in Soviet Moscow. Now, with the FBI closing in and their cover on the brink of collapse, they must decide whether to stay and face arrest or flee the country they’ve come to call home. There’s also their teenage children to consider.
The story seemed too incredible to be true – but in fact it was based in part on Donald Heathfield and Ann Foley, subsequently outed as Andrei Bezrukov and Elena Vavilova, a Russian couple who had spent more than 20 years masquerading as Canadians. At the time of their unmasking, they were living quietly in the United States with Tim and Alex, their two sons.
Review: The Illegals: Russia’s Most Audacious Spies and the Plot to Infiltrate the West – Shaun Walker (Profile)
A new book, The Illegals, tells of a network of Russian agents operating across the US, during the late 20th and early 21st centuries – including Bezrukov and Vavilova. It opens with their dramatic 2010 arrest, part of ten Russian spies (mostly illegals like them) detained by the FBI.
Author Shaun Walker, the Guardian’s central and eastern Europe correspondent, draws on declassified archival material and first-hand interviews. The result is an engrossing, eye-opening account of the secret world of the Soviet “illegals programme”: embedded spies who lived surreptitiously in the West without the safety blanket of diplomatic protection.
As Walker explains, “legals” were Russian operatives working under official cover – as diplomats or embassy staff, privy to diplomatic immunity. By contrast, “illegals” operated off the grid. They crept silently into Western countries under false identities, often stolen from the dead. This made them harder to detect, but left them far more vulnerable if exposed.
One of the most high-profile figures in the 2010 spy bust was Anna Chapman. Unlike many other illegals, Chapman didn’t even bother to disguise her Russian identity. Instead, as Walker recounts, she entered America using a British passport – acquired through a brief marriage to a UK citizen – and worked as a New York real estate broker.
Her photogenic looks and media-friendly persona made her the public face of the scandal. After being deported, Chapman reinvented herself as a television host, runway model and pro-Kremlin influencer.
The real Americans
Walker outlines how Bezrukov and Vavilova first met in the early 1980s, as history students in Siberia. There, KGB “spotters” identified them for potential recruitment. Later, he adds,
they progressed to an arduous training programme lasting several years, moulding their language, mannerisms and identities into those of an ordinary couple. They left the Soviet Union separately in 1987, staged a meeting in Canada, and began a relationship as if they had just met.
Having married under their assumed names, Andrei and Elena adopted the habits and customs of an ordinary middle-class life. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the couple were cut off from Moscow, but by the end of the decade they were reactivated by the SVR, Russia’s new foreign intelligence agency. Around this time, Andrei won a place at Harvard’s Kennedy School, allowing the family to move to Massachusetts and integrate further into American society.
As Andrei networked in academic and policy circles, Elena maintained the illusion of domestic normality, fashioning herself as a doting “soccer mom”, raising the kids and keeping house. Meanwhile, she was secretly decoding encrypted radio messages in the back room.
This went on for years. Then, one day, an unexpected knock on the door as they celebrated their son Tim’s 20th birthday brought the charade crashing down. FBI agents burst in, handcuffed the couple in front of their sons and marched them out into the street.
Soon after their arrest, Andrei and Elena were deported to Russia in a high-profile spy swap. They were awarded state honours by Vladimir Putin and briefly became minor celebrities in Moscow. Their sons, both born in Canada, were left reeling.
In 2016, Walker tracked the sons down for a piece he was writing for The Guardian: they were in the process of suing the Canadian government to have their citizenship reinstated, having been stripped of it when everything kicked off. In 2019, a court ruled Tim and Alex (who was 16 when the FBI arrested his parents) could keep their citizenship. Both insisted they had known nothing about their parents’ espionage work.
Alex Valivov, son of Russian ‘illegal’ spies disguised as Americans, talked to the media after he won a court bid to keep his Canadian citizenship.
Putin ‘beside himself’
As Walker recounts, the raid had been coordinated by then-FBI director Robert Mueller. It had been timed to avoid derailing a carefully planned diplomatic summit.
In 2009, Barack Obama launched a high-profile “reset” of relations with Russia. Obama wanted to woo Dmitry Medvedev – a moderate political figurehead standing in for Putin, who remained the real power behind the scenes in Russia.
A planned summit in Washington intended to cement the spirit of renewed cooperation. But as the scale of Russia’s covert operation became apparent, the White House was faced with a dilemma: how to respond without jeopardising the reset.
According to Walker, Obama was irked by the whole situation. He quipped that it felt like something out of a John Le Carré novel. Eventually, a compromise was reached: the arrests would happen, but only after Medvedev’s visit, so as not to cause undue embarrassment.
Colonel Aleksandr Poteyev, deputy head of Directorate “S” of the SVR, was the man overseeing the illegals scheme. After the arrests were made, he quietly walked out of the agency headquarters in Yasenevo for the last time. He was the mole who had tipped off the Americans. From there, he made his way to Ukraine, where the CIA could safely extricate him to the US. On hearing the news, Putin was reportedly beside himself with rage, Walker writes.
Intrigued by this “twisted family story”, Walker started to look into the illegals venture in greater depth. He quickly realised “there was nothing quite like it in the history of espionage”. At times, various intelligence agencies had deployed operatives as foreign nationals, “but never with the scope or scale of the KGB programme”.
A century of dramatic, bloody history
The illegals were, in Walker’s reckoning, something uniquely Russian, rooted in the country’s complex historical experience. The more he read, the more he came to view the programme as a lens through which he could “tell a much bigger story, of the whole Soviet experiment and its ultimate failure, a century of dramatic and bloody history”.
To understand how the illegals project came about, Walker winds the clock all the way back to 1917, when the Bolsheviks seized power – and espionage became a cornerstone of the nascent Soviet state. He reminds us while Lenin and his comrades had won formal control of the nation, “they still faced the colossal task of implementing and retaining it across the vast Russian landmass”.
Lenin was sure that state institutions would eventually wither away, the evolving worker’s paradise rendering them meaningless. However, to achieve this happy end point, he believed an interim period of ruthless state violence was required.
The Cheka: precursor to the KGB
This helps to explain why he established the Cheka, a secret police force tasked with crushing counterrevolutionary activity and enforcing Bolshevik rule. At its head was Feliks Dzerzhinsky, a fanatical Polish ideologue who had spent years in Siberian exile. Far from a temporary measure, the Cheka “quickly grew to a huge fighting force that could be unleashed on political and class enemies”, Walker writes.
Feliks Dzierzynski was the head of the Cheka, the Russian secret police force that preceded the KGB. Wikimedia Commons
The Cheka was an important player in the Russian Civil War, which pitted Lenin’s Reds against the Whites – a loose alliance of pro-tsarist regiments and foreign mercenaries, often united by little more than their implacable hatred of Bolshevism. The situation on the ground was chaotic and unpredictable; both sides engaged in ruthless violence.
Here, in this blood-drenched crucible, the Bolsheviks honed their clandestine methods – konspiratsiya (subterfuge) – perfecting the use of disguises, false identities and underground communication. In areas where the Whites gained a territorial foothold, agents were ordered to stay behind and coordinate resistance, laying the groundwork for what would become the illegals programme.
When the Bolsheviks emerged victorious in 1921, the Cheka was not disbanded – but repurposed. The practice of planting operatives deep inside enemy lines survived the war and expanded in scope. Lenin’s idea of combining legal diplomatic work with illegal undercover infiltration became a defining feature of how the Soviet Union would run its intelligence services for the next 70 years.
Stalin’s secret police
Under Lenin’s successor, Joseph Stalin, the secret police was transformed into an all-encompassing instrument of surveillance, repression and domination.
Purges consumed the party. Ideological fervour curdled into show trials and murderous terror. And paranoia became an organising principle of Soviet political life. The demand for vigilance intensified – not just at home, where informants and denunciations became routine, but also abroad. Real and purported enemies were seen lurking in the democratic institutions of the West.
Ironies abound here. The very methods that helped to sustain the early Soviet state – secrecy, trickery, duplicity – soon became grounds for suspicion on Stalin’s watch. The generation of illegals trained and embedded during the 1920s and early 1930s were among those earmarked for liquidation, Walker writes. Stalin, ever wary of plots against him, came to view his own spies as potential traitors.
He ignored – or wilfully dismissed – much of the intelligence they had risked their lives to gather, often with disastrous consequences. When advance warnings of Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s secret plan to betray Stalin and launch a massive invasion of the Soviet Union, landed on his desk in 1941, for instance, they were waved away as provocation or outright fabrication. In some cases, he had his spies tortured or shot. Loyalty was no protector against paranoia.
Dmitry Bystrolyotov was a legend in Soviet intelligence circles. Alchetron
Among the casualties was Dmitry Bystrolyotov, who Walker describes as “perhaps the most talented illegal in the history of the programme”. A truly chameleonic figure, Bystrolyotov was a dashing and multilingual agent whose exploits in Western Europe made him a legend in Soviet intelligence circles. “His speciality was the recruitment of agents who had access to diplomatic codes and ciphers,” the Russian scholar Emil Draitser attests, “and his modus operandi involved women”.
Through a series of painstakingly crafted affairs, Bystrolyotov gained access to confidential dispatches, internal memos and state secrets. His work offered Stalin a rare glimpse into the inner workings of Europe’s ruling elite. But when The Great Terror rolled around in 1937, none of it mattered. He was arrested, sentenced and dispatched to the Gulag, callously tossed aside by the system he had served with such distinction.
Walker emphasises:
the history of the illegals offers a neat reflection of the story of Russia itself. The early programme, with its soaring ambition, its obsession with subterfuge, and its disregard for the well-being of individuals, holds up a mirror to the fiery utopianism of the early Soviet Union.
Did the Cold War really end?
These were people expected to vanish into enemy territory, sacrifice their identifies and live double lives, all in service of a revolutionary vision. But by the time the Soviet Union spluttered to an ignominious halt in 1991, that dream had long since died.
As Walker shows, most of the operatives who followed in the footsteps of Bystrolyotov were not darkly romantic infiltrators scaling embassy walls or charming secrets out of countesses. They were “sleepers” – often efficient, occasionally incompetent – blending quietly into Western cities and suburbs, awaiting a call to action that, in many cases, never came. The glitz had given way to the grind.
The Americans ends with Phillip and Elizabeth, the couple based on Bezrukov and Vavilova, gazing out across the Moscow skyline. Two weary spies coming in from the cold, they have returned to a rapidly unravelling motherland that may not understand – let alone appreciate – the sacrifices they have made in the service of its ideology.
As Walker discovered, Berzukov, when he isn’t being paid handsomely by an oil company, now lectures in international relations at one of Russia’s most prestigious universities. Vavilova, fittingly enough, now writes spy fiction.
Yet in real life, the story doesn’t end quite there. Under Putin, a former KGB officer who cut his teeth in the culture of espionage, Russia’s intelligence services have returned to the illegals programme with a renewed sense of purpose (though stripped of the ideological zeal that once propelled it).
Walker is careful not to indulge in idle speculation, but he points to compelling evidence suggesting the illegals programme has evolved rather than vanished. High-profile attacks on UK soil – including the poisoning of form spy Sergei Skripal – suggest Russian intelligence agencies remain willing to operate far beyond their national borders.
In the same breath, Walker describes what might be termed the digital turn of the illegals programme. In the place of suburban sleepers decoding radio signals, Russia has backed teams of online operatives – “troll illegals” – tasked with wrecking havoc across Western social media platforms.
These paid agents don’t gather intelligence so much as sow discord. They stoke culture wars, amplify political divisions and undermine trust in democratic institutions. Walker offers Russia’s meddling in the rancorous 2016 American election as an illustrative case in point.
In Putin’s merciless autocracy, secrecy has once again became a virtue – and the spy, far from being a dusty relic of the 20th century, is once again a symbol of national strength.
In that sense, The Illegals is not just a history of espionage. It is a timely reminder that, at least for some, the Cold War never really ended. It just burrowed deeper underground.
Alexander Howard 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.
The kettle is a household staple practically everywhere – how else would we make our hot drinks?
But is it okay to re-boil water that’s already in the kettle from last time? While bringing water to a boil disinfects it, you may have heard that boiling water more than once will somehow make the water harmful and therefore you should empty the kettle each time.
Such claims are often accompanied by the argument that re-boiled water leads to the accumulation of allegedly hazardous substances including metals such as arsenic, or salts such as nitrates and fluoride.
This isn’t true. To understand why, let’s look at what is in our tap water and what really happens when we boil it.
What’s in our tap water?
Let’s take the example of tap water supplied by Sydney Water, Australia’s largest water utility which supplies water to Sydney, the Blue Mountains and the Illawarra region.
From the publicly available data for the January to March 2025 quarter for the Illawarra region, these were the average water quality results:
pH was slightly alkaline
total dissolved solids were low enough to avoid causing scaling in pipes or appliances
fluoride content was appropriate to improve dental health, and
it was “soft” water with a total hardness value below 40mg of calcium carbonate per litre.
The water contained trace amounts of metals such as iron and lead, low enough magnesium levels that it can’t be tasted, and sodium levels substantially lower than those in popular soft drinks.
These and all other monitored quality parameters were well within the Australian Drinking Water Guidelines during that period. If you were to make tea with this water, re-boiling would not cause a health problem. Here’s why.
It’s difficult to concentrate such low levels of chemicals
To concentrate substances in the water, you’d need to evaporate some of the liquid while the chemicals stay behind. Water evaporates at any temperature, but the vast majority of evaporation happens at the boiling point – when water turns into steam.
During boiling, some volatile organic compounds might escape into the air, but the amount of the inorganic compounds (such as metals and salts) remains unchanged.
While the concentration of inorganic compounds might increase as drinking water evaporates when boiled, evidence shows it doesn’t happen to such an extent that it would be hazardous.
Let’s say you boil one litre of tap water in a kettle in the morning, and your tap water has a fluoride content of 1mg per litre, which is within the limits of Australian guidelines.
You make a cup of tea taking 200ml of the boiled water. You then make another cup of tea in the afternoon by re-boiling the remaining water.
On both occasions, if heating was stopped soon after boiling started, the loss of water by evaporation would be small, and the fluoride content in each cup of tea would be similar.
But let’s assume that when making the second cup, you let the water keep boiling until 100ml of what’s in the kettle evaporates. Even then, the amount of fluoride you would consume with the second cup (0.23mg) would not be significantly higher than the fluoride you consumed with the first cup of tea (0.20mg).
The same applies to any other minerals or organics the supplied water may have contained. Let’s take lead: the water supplied in the Illawarra region as mentioned above, had a lead concentration of less than 0.0001mg per litre. To reach an unsafe lead concentration (0.01mg per litre, according to Australian guidelines) in a cup of water, you’d need to boil down roughly 20 litres of tap water to just that cup of 200ml.
Practically that is unlikely to happen – most electric kettles are designed to boil briefly before automatically shutting off. As long as the water you’re using is within the guidelines for drinking water, you can’t really concentrate it to harmful levels within your kettle.
But what about taste?
Whether re-boiled water actually affects the taste of your drinks will depend entirely on the specifics of your local water supply and your personal preferences.
The slight change in mineral concentration, or the loss of dissolved oxygen from water during boiling may affect the taste for some people – although there are a lot of other factors that contribute to the taste of your tap water.
The bottom line is that as long as the water in your kettle was originally compliant with guidelines for safe drinking water, it will remain safe and potable even after repeated boiling.
Faisal Hai 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.
Breakups hurt. Emotional and psychological distress are common when intimate relationships break down. For some people, this distress can be so overwhelming that it leads to suicidal thoughts and behaviours.
This problem seems especially the case for men. Intimate partner problems including breakups, separation and divorce feature in the paths to suicide among one in three Australian men aged 25 to 44 who end their lives.
Men account for three in every four suicides in many nations worldwide, including Australia. So improving our understanding of links between relationship breakdown and men’s suicide risk has life-saving potential.
Our research, published today, is the first large-scale review of the evidence to focus on understanding men’s risk of suicide after a breakup. We found separated men were nearly five times more likely to die by suicide compared to married men.
What did we find?
We brought together findings from 75 studies across 30 countries worldwide, involving more than 106 million men.
We focused on understanding why relationship breakdown can lead to suicide in men, and which men are most at risk. We might not be able to prevent breakups from happening, but we can promote healthy adjustment to the stress of relationship breakdown to try and prevent suicide.
Overall, we found divorced men were 2.8 times more likely to take their lives than married men.
For separated men, the risk was much higher. We found that separated men were 4.8 times more likely to die by suicide than married men.
Most strikingly, we found separated men under 35 years of age had nearly nine times greater odds of suicide than married men of the same age.
Some men’s difficulties regulating the intense emotional stress of relationship breakdown can play a role in their suicide risk. For some men, the emotional pain tied to separation – deep sadness, shame, guilt, anxiety and loss – can be so intense it feels never-ending.
Overall, our research found relationship breakdown may lead to suicide for some men because of the complex interaction between the individual (emotional distress) and interpersonal (changes in their social network and availability of support) impacts of a breakup.
Many of these impacts don’t seem to feature in the paths to suicide after a breakup for women in the same way.
Breakups also impact social networks
As intimate relationships become more serious, we tend to spend less time investing in our friendships, especially if juggling the demands of a career and family.
This can create a risky situation if relationships break down, as it seems many men are left with little support to turn to. This rang true in our research, as men’s social disconnection and loneliness seemed to increase their suicide risk following relationship breakdown.
We also know people can struggle to know how to support men after a breakup. Research has found some men who ask for support are told to just “get back on the horse”. Such a response invalidates men’s pain and reinforces masculine stereotypes that relationship breakdown doesn’t affect them.
So, what can we do?
There is no simple answer to preventing suicide following relationship breakdown, but a range of opportunities exist.
We can embed support groups and other opportunities for connection and peer support in relationship services that are regularly in contact with those navigating separation, to help combat loneliness.
We can ensure mental health practitioners are equipped with the skills necessary to engage and respond effectively to men who seek help following a breakup, to help keep them safe until they can get back on their feet.
Most importantly, if men come to any of us seeking support after a breakup, we can remember that time is often a great healer. The best we can do is sit with men in their pain, rather than try and get them to stop feeling it. This connection could be life-saving.
Support and information is available at Relationships Australia and MensLine Australia. If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.
Michael Wilson works for The University of Melbourne and consults to Movember. He receives funding from the Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship, provided by the Australian Commonwealth Government and the University of Melbourne.
Jacqui Macdonald receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council’s Medical Research Future Fund and the Australian Research Council. She convenes the Australian Fatherhood Research Consortium and she is on the Movember Global Men’s Health Advisory Committee.
Zac Seidler has been awarded an NHMRC Investigator Grant. He is also the Global Director of Research with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health. He advises government on men’s suicide, masculinities, violence prevention and social media policy.
First Nations people please be advised this article speaks of racially discriminating moments in history, including the distress and death of First Nations people.
In 1997, Australia was confronted with the landmark Bringing Them Home report. It chronicled the country’s long, dark history of the forced removal of First Nations children.
The report also made recommendations on what to do next. Compensation was key among them. Every state and territory heeded that call in the years that followed, except Western Australia.
In the decades since, many have called for the recognition of, and compensation for, First Nations people in WA forcibly removed from their families, culture and Country. In May, Premier Roger Cook answered that call, announcing a redress scheme for living survivors of the Stolen Generations.
But the Stolen Generations aren’t just historical; they’re ongoing. Many still feel the reverberations of decades of trauma. WA will finally seek to redress some of it.
Generations forced apart
WA had the highest rates of forcible removal of Aboriginal children in this country. Today, more than 50% of Aboriginal people in WA are either Stolen Generations survivors or their direct descendants.
Historian Margaret Jacobs wrote that through the 1905 Aborigines Protection Act, “Indigeneity itself became inextricably associated with neglect”.
Aboriginal families, due solely to their Aboriginality, were regarded as inferior and their children were removed en masse to missions where traditional cultural practices were prohibited. Stolen Generations child removals continued until the 1970s.
In the missions where Aboriginal children were placed after removal, psychological, physical and sexual abuse was widespread. The children, often removed as infants, were institutionalised and raised by religious missionaries.
Speaking in traditional languages or engaging in cultural practices were prohibited, with the goal being to strip them of their Aboriginality so they could be fully assimilated into Western society. To minimise barriers to this, parents and families were prohibited from communicating or visiting their children.
The human consequences of these inhumane practices have been monumental.
The financial impact
Attachment theory attests to the importance of early childhood experiences of love, care and safety on an individual’s future life outcomes. The theory suggests infants develop one of four main attachment styles in response to the care they receive from their parents or other carers during infancy.
The significance of this in the context of generations of children being forcibly removed from their caregivers cannot be understated.
In addition, the majority of Stolen Generations children survived various forms of abuse within these institutions and live with the resulting trauma of that.
Under the 1905 act, any property or personal items owned by Aboriginal people could be confiscated at any time and money owing to Aboriginal peoples, including wages, was to be paid to the Chief Protector of Aborigines.
This prevented Aboriginal families from securing financial stability and establishing intergenerational wealth, despite their significant labour contributions to WA’s economic development.
A good indicator of intergenerational wealth consolidation can be found in rates of home ownership.
Currently, 45.8% of Aboriginal people in the greater Perth area own their home, compared with 70.4% of their non-Aboriginal counterparts.
Of those, 10.8% of Aboriginal households own their home outright, compared with 28.5% for non-Aboriginal owners.
This makes redress not just a symbolic move, but a deeply practical one too.
Compounding disadvantage
Overall, these circumstances have created a “gap within the Gap”.
This refers to the first gap, being that Aboriginal people have poorer life outcomes than their non-Aboriginal counterparts.
The gap within that gap is that Stolen Generations survivors and their descendants have poorer life outcomes than the general Aboriginal population.
Stolen Generations peoples and their descendants are more likely to have mental health disorders, to experience family violence, homelessness or criminal justice involvement, and to have an addiction, including substances and gambling, while also being less likely to have a support network.
This state scheme will make individual payments to living survivors of the Stolen Generations who were forcibly removed before July 1 1972.
It will deliver a one-off payment of $85,000 to survivors in recognition of the trauma and pain they suffered through their removal.
Registrations for Stolen Generations members who are eligible for this scheme will open in the latter half of 2025 and payments will commence by the end of the year.
It won’t fix everything, but it’s a welcome sign of progress.
13YARN is a free and confidential 24/7 national crisis support line for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who are feeling overwhelmed or having difficulty coping. Call 13 92 76.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Tourists in Kathmandu are tempted everywhere by advertisements for trekking expeditions to Everest Base Camp. If you didn’t know better, you might think it’s just a nice hike in the Nepalese countryside.
Typically the lower staging post for attempts on the summit, the camp is still 5,364 metres above sea level and a destination in its own right. Travel agencies say no prior experience is required, and all equipment will be provided. Social media, too, is filled with posts enticing potential trekkers to make the iconic journey.
But there is a real risk of creating a false sense of security. An exciting adventure can quickly turn into a struggle for survival, especially for novice mountaineers.
Nevertheless, Sagarmatha National Park is deservedly popular for its natural beauty and the allure of the world’s highest peak, Chomolungma (Mount Everest). It is also home to the ethnically distinctive Sherpa community.
Consequently, the routes to Everest Base Camp are among the busiest in the Himalayas, with nearly 60,000 tourists visiting the area each year. There are two distinct trekking seasons: spring (March to May) and autumn (September to October).
High mountains require everyone to be properly prepared. Events which under normal conditions might be a minor inconvenience can be magnified in such an environment and pose a serious risk.
Even at the start of the trek in Lukla (2,860m), one is exposed to factors that can directly or indirectly affect one’s health, especially altitude mountain sickness or unfamiliar bacteria.
We interviewed 24 trekkers in May this year, as well as 60 residents and business owners in May 2023, to explore some of the safety issues anyone considering heading to base camp should be aware of.
Life at high altitude
First, it’s vital to choose goals within one’s technical and physical capabilities. While the human body can adapt to altitudes of up to 5,300m, the potential risk of altitude mountain sickness can occur at only 2,500m – lower than Lukla.
Proper acclimatisation above 3,000m means ascending no more than 500m a day and resting every two to three days at the same altitude. The optimal (though rarely followed) approach is the “saw tooth system” of climbing during the day but descending to sleep at a lower level.
Residents of the Khumbu region (on the Nepalese side of Everest) are familiar with the problem of tourists not acclimatising, or not paying attention to their surroundings. As one hotel owner said, pointing to a trekker setting out:
He’s going uphill and it’s already late. It’s going to get dark and cold soon. He won’t make it to the next settlement. We have to report this to the authorities or go after him ourselves.
Inexperienced trekkers should hire a local guide. Several we interviewed had needed medical evacuation, including a woman in her mid-20s who had to leave base camp after one night. She found her guides – not locals – online. But they never checked her vital signs during the trek:
[The doctors] said that I had high-altitude pulmonary edema […] it was just really important to come down the elevation. And if I had tried to go higher, it probably would have been really bad.
Health checks throughout the trek are imperative. This includes assessing the four main symptoms of altitude mountain sickness: headache, nausea, dizziness and fatigue. If they appear, the trekker shouldn’t go higher and might even need to descend.
A Sherpa woman at the market in Namche Bazar, Nepal: respect the culture, eat local food. Paula Bronstein/Getty Images
Take time to adapt
Using a reputable local trekking agency might be more expensive, but it will help ensure safety and also familiarise the visitor with the local culture, helping avoid negative impacts on the host community.
Too often, the primary goal of trekkers is a photo on the famous rock at base camp. Once obtained, many simply take a helicopter back to Kathmandu. As a helicopter tour agency owner said:
They don’t want to get back on their feet. The goal, after all, has been achieved. In general, tourists used to be much better prepared. Now they know they can return by helicopter.
Helicopter travel can be dangerous on its own, of course. But this tendency to view the trek as a one-way trip also affects host-guest relations and can irritate local communities.
It’s also important to monitor your food and drink intake and watch for signs of food poisoning. Diarrhoea at high altitudes is particularly dangerous because it leads to rapid dehydration – hard to combat in mountain conditions.
Low air pressure and reduced oxygen exacerbate the condition, weakening the body’s ability to recover. Also, the symptoms of dehydration can resemble altitude mountain sickness.
When travelling in other climate zones or countries with different sanitary standards, there is inevitable contact with strains of bacteria not present in one’s natural microbiome.
A good solution is to spend a few days naturally adapting to bacterial flora at a lower altitude in Nepal before heading to the mountains. Also, try to eat the local food, such as daal bhat, Nepal’s national dish. According to one hotel owner in Pangboche:
Tourists demand strange food from us – pizza, spaghetti, Caesar salad – and then are angry that it doesn’t taste the way they want. This is not our food. You should probably eat local food.
Most of the trekkers we interviewed during this spring season reported experiencing gastrointestinal issues, often for several days.
In the end, the commonest cause of failure or accident in the mountains is overestimating one’s abilities – what has been called “bad judgement syndrome” – when the route is too hard, the pace too fast, or there’s been too little time spent acclimatising.
A simple solution: walk slowly and enjoy the views.
Michal Apollo receives funding from the National Science Centre NCN Poland, the small-scale project awarded by the Institute of Earth Sciences, and the Research Excellence Initiative of the University of Silesia in Katowice. He is affiliated with the Global Justice Program, Yale University, and Academics Stand Against Poverty.
Heike Schanzel 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.
The Albanese government has faced an increasingly uncertain world since its re-election in May.
US President Donald Trump has cast a long shadow over the Australia–US alliance, raising fresh questions about Canberra’s long-term regional strategy.
Against this backdrop, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s approach to foreign policy is reflecting a careful recalibration – one that seeks to balance security partnerships with the pursuit of economic opportunities, especially with Australia’s largest trading partner, China.
Albanese has wrapped up a six-day visit to China which was characterised by a highly pragmatic approach to dealing with the problems and irritants in the bilateral relationship.
Economic engagement
Albanese’s visit to Beijing, Shanghai and Chengdu – cities emblematic of Australia’s political, economic and cultural connections with China – was more than symbolic.
But it was more than a leaders’ summit. A large team of key business leaders in banking, manufacturing, mining and education were on the trip to meet their Chinese counterparts and seek more cooperation.
Economic engagement dominated the visit. As Albanese highlighted before his trip, “my priority is jobs”.
Broader partnerships spanning multiple sectors, including healthcare, education and green energy, were canvassed. The two nations also explored closer cooperation on energy transition and climate change.
Chinese Ambassador to Australia Xiao Qian has even floated a collaboration on artificial intelligence.
However, the suggestion has been met with caution in Canberra due to ongoing concerns around national security and data governance.
Cooperate where we can
Beyond trade and investment, the visit also marked an effort to rebuild people-to-people exchanges.
Since last year, Australian citizens have been able to visit China for up to 30 days without a visa. In turn, Australia will welcome more Chinese visitors under a new Memorandum of Understanding promoting Australia as a premier tourist destination for Chinese travellers.
Albanese’s meetings with Xi Jinping and Li Qiang also yielded concrete results.
The official joint statement emphasised economic cooperation, particularly in climate-related areas such as steel decarbonisation, dryland farming and the green economy.
These outcomes align with the Albanese government’s guiding principle: cooperate where we can.
The deeper economic cooperation has been noted in China, where there is an expectation collaboration will continue to accelerate on the back of improved relations.
As James Laurenceson of the Australia–China Relations Institute recently noted, a stronger economic partnership will help foster more resilient ties across the board.
More independent foreign policy
Other analysts also see increased mutual benefits in the bilateral relationship.
China-watcher James Curran suggests the visit may signal a maturing, more independent Australian foreign policy.
The primary role of Australian statecraft is to do everything we possibly can to avoid a conflict. To avoid ever getting close to a decision about following the Americans into a war of that kind.
This was best illustrated by Albanese’s refusal to provide Washington with a wide-ranging and largely open-ended commitment to support the US in any conflict with China over Taiwan.
Indeed, as Curran observes, Albanese has tried to steer the relationship away from disagreement and towards pragmatic engagement.
Following his meeting with Xi, Albanese was repeatedly asked by Australian journalists if he raised sensitive issues such as Taiwan, China’s military build-up and the South China Sea.
While he confirmed these topics were addressed, he emphasised a preference for peaceful engagement:
[…] we want peace and security in the region. That is in the interest of both Australia and in the interest of China.
Unsurprisingly, the joint statement made no reference to these issues, reflecting a mutual decision to sidestep confrontation in favour of stabilising the relationship.
Quietly managing differences
This diplomatic posture toward China would appear to be a defining feature of the Albanese government’s second term: strengthening cooperation while quietly managing differences.
Rather than highlighting points of contention, the government is opting to avoid open disagreement where possible.
Overt disputes risk destabilising bilateral ties. If issues are raised publicly, it is unlikely to shift entrenched positions on either side. This explains why the ownership of the Port of Darwin, for example, was not mentioned during Albanese’s meeting with Xi.
Critics, however, argue this risks projecting weakness towards China.
Justin Bassi, executive director of the Australian Strategic Policy Institute, warns the government is staying silent in the face of ongoing Chinese coercion:
Australia is only complying with China’s desires when the government says nothing and leaves the public to trust that the threats posed by China are all being dealt with in the classified realm. This is not viable policy. Australia’s sovereignty must not be contingent on Beijing’s preferences.
Even within China, analysts are cautious about Albanese’s approach. As one Chinese scholar told us, “a stable relationship does not necessarily mean a friendly one”.
In fact, while the Chinese media has stressed Australia and China’s shared commitment to regional stability, this was barely mentioned in the official joint statement.
Mutual interests
Still, there is recognition on both sides that pragmatism rather than ideological grandstanding is the more sustainable path forward.
In sum, Albanese’s visit does not mark a dramatic reset or bold new direction in Australia–China relations. Rather, it signals a shift toward greater realism.
In an increasingly complex and multipolar world, diplomacy grounded in mutual interests, rather than ideology, is not just practical, but may be a growing trend across the globe.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
The U.S. Senate narrowly approved on July 16, 2025, a bill that would claw back federal funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, which distributes money to NPR, PBS and their affiliate stations. The US$9 billion rescission package will withdraw $1.1 billion Congress had previously approved for the CPB to receive in the 2026 and 2027 fiscal years. In addition, it makes deep foreign aid cuts. All Democrats present voted against the measure, joined by two Republicans: Sens. Susan Collins of Maine and Lisa Murkowski of Alaska. As long as the House, which approved a previous version, votes in favor of the Senate’s version of the bill by midnight July 18, Trump will be able to meet a budgetary deadline by signing the measure into law in time for it to take effect.
What will happen to NPR, PBS and local stations?
NPR and PBS provide programming to local public television and radio stations across the country. The impact on them will be direct and indirect.
Both NPR and PBS receive money from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, an independent nonprofit corporation Congress created in 1967 to receive and distribute federal money to public broadcasters. More than 70% of the money it distributes flows directly to local stations. Some stations get up to half of their budgets from the CPB.
But NPR and PBS get much of their funding from foundation grants, viewers’ and listeners’ donations, and corporate underwriting. And local public radio and TV stations also get support from an array of sources besides CPB.
“There’s nothing more American than PBS,” said the network’s CEO, Paula Kerger, at a congressional hearing on March 26, 2025.
The nearly 1,500 public media stations in the U.S. rely on a mix of NPR, PBS and third-party producer programming, such as American Public Media and PRX, for the programs they offer. Local stations also produce and air regional news and provide emergency broadcasts for the government.
In rural areas with few broadcast stations and spotty cellphone coverage, public broadcast stations are vital sources of information about important community news and updates during emergencies. Federal support is essential for the programming and day-to-day operations of many local stations and allows for the maintenance of equipment and personnel to operate these vital community resources.
We believe that stations in communities that most need them, especially in rural locations, would be hit especially hard because they rely heavily on CPB funding.
Why is public media necessary when there’s news on the internet?
As journalism revenue has plummeted, public broadcasting has remained a vital source for news in communities across the nation. This is especially true in rural communities, where economic and political pressures have threatened the survival of local journalism.
In addition, with much online news coverage placed behind paywalls, public radio and television plays an important role in making quality journalism available to the American public.
Want crucial information about water systems in your drought-prone community? Public radio station KVMR in Nevada City, Calif., has a program for you. KVMR screenshot
Why did Congress approve these funds 2 years ahead?
Dozens of Native American stations are at risk of closing once the CPB is defunded. Native Public Media, a network of 57 radio stations and four TV stations, is a key source of news and information for tribal communities across the nation and relies on CPB support.
U.S. Sen. Mike Rounds, a South Dakota Republican, publicly stated that he secured an agreement with the White House to move $9.4 million in Interior Department funding to two dozen Native American stations. But there is no provision related to this promise within the legislation.
Allison Perlman is the co-chair of the Scholars Advisory Committee of the American Archive of Public Broadcasting.
Josh Shepperd and Allison Perlman are under contract to co-author an update of the history of public broadcasting for Current, public media’s trade journal, and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Josh and Allison are not paid employees or vendors of either institution.
I once leapt out of a train carriage because two strangers were loudly discussing the ending of the last Harry Potter book. Okay – I didn’t leap, but I did plug my ears and flee to another carriage.
Recently, I found myself in a similar predicament, trapped on a bus, entirely at the mercy of two passengers dissecting the Severance season two finale.
But not everyone shares my spoiler anxiety. I have friends who flip to the last page of a book before they’ve read the first one, or who look up the ending before hitting play. According to them, they simply need to know.
So why do some of us crave surprise and suspense, while others find comfort in instant resolution?
What’s in a spoiler?
Spoilers have become a cultural flashpoint in the age of streaming, social media and shared fandoms.
Researchers define “spoiler” as undesired information about how a narrative’s arc will conclude. I often hear “spoilers!” interjected mid-sentence, a desperate protest to protect narrative ignorance.
Hitchcock’s twist-heavy Psycho elevated spoiler sensitivity. Its release came with an anti-spoilers policy including strict viewing times, lobby warnings recorded by the auteur himself, and even real policemen urging “total enjoyment”. A bold ad campaign implored audiences against “cheating yourselves”.
The twists were fiercely protected.
Even the Star Wars cast didn’t know Darth Vader’s paternity twist until premiere night. Avenger’s Endgame filmed multiple endings and used fake scripting to mislead its stars. And Andrew Garfield flat-out lied about his return to Spider-Man: No Way Home – a performance worthy of an Oscar – all for the sake of fan surprise and enjoyment.
But do spoilers actually ruin the fun, or just shift how we experience it?
The satisfaction of a good ending
In 2014, a Dutch study found that viewers of unspoiled stories experienced greater emotional arousal and enjoyment. Spoilers may complete our “mental models” of the plot, making us less driven to engage, process events, or savour the unfolding story.
But we are also likely to overestimate the negative effect of a spoiler on our enjoyment. In 2016, a series of studies involving short stories, mystery fiction and films found that spoiled participants still reported high levels of enjoyment – because once we’re immersed, emotional connection tends to eclipse what we already know.
But suspense and enjoyment are complex bedfellows.
American media psychology trailblazer Dolf Zillmann said that suspense builds tension and excitement, but we only enjoy that tension once the ending lands well.
The thrill isn’t fun while we’re hanging in uncertainty – it’s the satisfying resolution that retroactively makes it feel good.
That could be why we scramble for an “ending explained” when a film or show drops the ball on closure. We’re trying to resolve uncertainty and settle our emotions.
Spoilers can also take the pressure off. A 2009 study of Lost fans found those who looked up how an episode would end actually enjoyed it more. The researchers found it reduced cognitive pressure, and gave them more room to reflect and soak in the story.
Spoilers put the audience back in the driver’s seat – even if filmmakers would rather keep hold of the wheel. People may seek spoilers out of curiosity or impatience, but sometimes it’s a quiet rebellion: a way to push back against the control creators hold over when and how things unfold.
That’s why spoilers are fertile ground for power dynamics. Ethicists even liken being spoiled to kind of moral trespass: how dare someone else make that decision for me?!
But whether you avoid spoilers or seek them out, the motive is often the same: a need to feel in control.
Shaping your emotions
Spoiler avoiders crave affect: they want emotional transportation.
When suspense is part of the pleasure, control means choosing when and how that knowledge lands. There’s a mental challenge to be had in riding the story as it unfolds, and a joy in seeing it click into place.
That’s why people get protective, and even chatter about long-aired shows can spark outrage. It’s an attempt to police the commentary and preserve the experience for those still waiting to be transported.
Spoiler seekers want control too, just a different kind. They’re not avoiding emotion, they’re just managing it. A spoiler affords control over our negative emotions, but also softens the blow, and inoculates us against anxiety.
Psychologists dub this a “non-cognitive desensitisation strategy” to manage surprise, a kind of “emotional spoiler shield” to protect our attachments to shows and characters, and remind us that TV, film and book narratives are not real when storylines hit close to home.
Knowing what happens turns into a subtle form of self-regulation.
So, what did I do when Severance spoilers floated by? Did I get off the bus? Nope, I stayed put and faced the beast. As I tried to make sense of the unfamiliar plot points (The macrodata means what? Mark stays where?), I found the unexpected chance to dive deeper.
Maybe surprise is not the sum of what makes something entertaining and worth engaging with. Spoiler alert! It’s good to have an end to journey towards, but it’s the journey that matters, in the end.
Anjum Naweed 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.
Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Rachel Fitzgerald, Associate Professor and Deputy Associate Dean (Academic), Faculty of Business, Economics and Law, The University of Queensland
Artificial intelligence is rapidly becoming an everyday part of lives. Many of us use it without even realising, whether it be writing emails, finding a new TV show or managing smart devices in our homes.
But apart from a handful of computing-focused and other STEM programs, most Australian university students do not receive formal tuition in how to use AI critically, ethically or responsibly.
Here’s why this is a problem and what we can do instead.
But this does not teach students how these tools work or what responsible use involves.
Using AI is not as simple as typing questions into a chat function. There are widely recognised ethical issues around its use including bias and misinformation. Understanding these is essential for students to use AI responsibly in their working lives.
So all students should graduate with a basic understanding of AI, its limitations, the role of human judgement and what responsible use looks like in their particular field.
We need students to be aware of bias in AI systems. This includes how their own biases could shape how they use the AI (the questions they ask and how they interpret its output), alongside an understanding of the broader ethical implications of AI use.
For example, does the data and the AI tool protect people’s privacy? Has the AI made a mistake? And if so, whose responsibility is that?
What about AI ethics?
The technical side of AI is covered in many STEM degrees. These degrees, along with philosophy and psychology disciplines, may also examine ethical questions around AI. But these issues are not a part of mainstream university education.
This is a concern. When future lawyers use predictive AI to draft contracts, or business graduates use AI for hiring or marketing, they will need skills in ethical reasoning.
Ethical issues in these scenarios could include unfair bias, like AI recommending candidates based on gender or race. It could include issues relating to a lack of transparency, such as not knowing how an AI system made a legal decision. Students need to be able to spot and question these risks before they cause harm.
In healthcare, AI tools are already supporting diagnosis, patient triage and treatment decisions.
For example, if a teacher relies on AI carelessly to draft a lesson plan, students might learn a version of history that is biased or just plain wrong. A lawyer who over-relies on AI could submit a flawed court document, putting their client’s case at risk.
How can we do this?
There are international examples we can follow. The University of Texas at Austin and University of Edinburgh both offer programs in ethics and AI. However, both of these are currently targeted at graduate students. The University of Texas program is focused on teaching STEM students about AI ethics, whereas the University of Edinburgh’s program has a broader, interdiscplinary focus.
Implementing AI ethics in Australian universities will require thoughtful curriculum reform. That means building interdisciplinary teaching teams that combine expertise from technology, law, ethics and the social sciences. It also means thinking seriously about how we engage students with this content through core modules, graduate capabilities or even mandatory training.
It will also require investment in academic staff development and new teaching resources that make these concepts accessible and relevant to different disciplines.
Government support is essential. Targeted grants, clear national policy direction, and nationally shared teaching resources could accelerate the shift. Policymakers could consider positioning universities as “ethical AI hubs”. This aligns with the government-commissioned 2024 Australian University Accord report, which called for building capacity to meet the demands of the digital era.
Today’s students are tomorrow’s decision-makers. If they don’t understand the risks of AI and its potential for error, bias or threats to privacy, we will all bear the consequences. Universities have a public responsibility to ensure graduates know how to use AI responsibly and understand why their choices matter.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
One of Aotearoa New Zealand’s oldest settlement sites is at risk of being washed away by rising seas, according to new research.
Te Pokohiwi o Kupe (Wairau Bar) near Blenheim is a nationally significant archaeological site. It dates back to the first arrival of people and holds the remains of first-generation Polynesian settlers as well as many cultural artefacts.
The site is significant for the local iwi, Rangitāne o Wairau, because of its history of colonial exploitation and the eventual repatriation of koiwi tangata (ancestral remains) in 2009, which marks an important moment in the modern history of Rangitāne.
Coastal flooding is already a hazard at Te Pokohiwi o Kupe, but this increases dramatically as sea level rises. The study, led by Te Rūnanga a Rangitāne o Wairau in partnership with researchers at Earth Sciences NZ, shows about 20% of the site could be inundated during a 100-year storm event under current sea levels.
But with 50 centimetres of climate-driven sea-level rise, which could occur as soon as the 2050s under high-emissions scenarios, more than half of the site could flood in the same event. If sea levels rise to a metre, which could be reached during the early 2100s, three-quarters of the site will be inundated and subject to significant erosion.
From grave robbers to collaborators
During the first part of the 20th century, the site was raided by fossickers searching for curios. In 1939, they uncovered an urupa (cemetery) and disinterred the remains of one of the earliest ancestors, along with their sperm whale tooth necklace and moa egg.
Further “discoveries” drew Roger Duff, then an ethnologist at the Canterbury Museum, to the site in 1942. He led several excavations until the summer of 1963-64.
The Rangitāne community protested the excavations. Tribal elder Hohua Peter MacDonald was particularly vocal, but the tribe was unable to prevent the digs and the removal of ancestors and their burial goods.
In 2003, Rangitāne presented their Treaty of Waitangi claims before the Waitangi Tribunal. The tribunal agreed the Crown had breached the treaty in its dealings with the tribe and subsequent negotiations saw land at Te Pokohiwi returned to Rangitāne. These land parcels were close to where ancestors had been taken and the remains were eventually returned in 2009.
Prior to the repatriation, the University of Otago, Canterbury Museum and Rangitāne agreed that research, including genetic sequencing of the koiwi tangata and an archaeological survey of the site, would take place before the reburial. Due to their past experiences, Rangitāne had little trust in the scholastic community. But in a first of its kind, a memorandum of understanding was signed between the parties.
Before the reburial of the koiwi tangata, the iwi agreed to genetic sequencing and an archaeological survey of the site. Veronika Meduna, CC BY-SA
Maintaining connections
Our study used high-resolution, local-scale analysis of sea-level rise and coastal change to assess the risk to archaeological taonga (treasures) and wāhi tapu (sacred sites) at Te Pokohiwi o Kupe.
Results suggest climate-driven shoreline changes and permanent inundation will increasingly threaten this culturally and archaeologically significant site.
While this research focused on relative and extreme sea-level inundation risks, earlier palaeo-tsunami studies show the area is also known to be exposed to tsunami hazards.
Ongoing research supported by a Natural Hazards Commission grant seeks to expand on our findings by integrating multiple inundation types with iwi-led experiences of impacts and mitigation. The goal is to develop new inclusive approaches for quantifying the effects of compounding inundation hazards.
The integrated place-based approach underpinning this research supports dialogue about adaptation and rescue options for protecting sacred sites threatened by climate change through a combination of locally led and nationally supported interventions.
For Rangitāne, Te Pokohiwi o Kupe is a place where relationships are maintained, responsibilities upheld and identity reaffirmed. While its archaeological value is widely recognised, its deeper significance lies in the enduring connection Rangitāne maintain with the whenua (land) and with the stories, knowledge and obligations it carries.
Over time, the nature of that relationship has evolved. What was once marked by protest and exclusion has shifted into a place of active management and leadership, in part supported through the return of the land as part of the iwi’s treaty settlement.
Now, with growing threats posed by sea-level rise and coastal erosion, that connection faces a different kind of challenge. The concern is not only for what may be physically lost, but for what it might mean to lose the ability to stand in that place, to gather there and to sustain the relationship that has grounded generations of Rangitāne people in Wairau.
The focus is not only on preserving what remains, but on ensuring the connection to Te Pokohiwi continues, even as the landscape changes. More than protecting a site, this is about protecting the ability of Rangitāne to remain in meaningful relationship with Te Pokohiwi o Kupe, its stories and its significance.
Peter N. Meihana is a trustee of Te Runanga a Rangitāne o Wairau.
Ongoing research is supported through the Natural Hazards Commission (Toka Tū Ake EQC Project No. 4045).
Corey Hebberd 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.
