Hundreds of years ago, it was common for married couples among the European upper classes to have separate bedrooms. Sleeping separately was a symbol of luxury and status historically reserved for royalty and the very wealthy.
Nowadays, it’s common for married couples and other couples in relationships to sleep in the same bed. But sometimes – for reasons from conflicting schedules to snoring to sleep talking – couples might choose to sleep separately in pursuit of a better night’s sleep.
This is known as “sleep divorce”. Though I prefer the term “sleep separation”, as this doesn’t have to be a permanent arrangement – but more on that later.
So why might couples choose to sleep separately? And what does the evidence say about the effects on sleep quality if you sleep alone versus with a partner?
Why do couples opt for a sleep separation?
Couples may choose to sleep apart if one partner’s sleep is disturbing the other’s, or both are disrupting one another. This can happen for a variety of reasons.
These include waking up frequently in the night, mismatched body clocks (for example, one person coming to bed later than the other), conflicting schedules (for example, shift workers), snoring, twitching legs or sleep talking.
Parents with babies and young children may choose to sleep separately to avoid both partners’ sleep being disturbed.
Those with conflicting preferences for sleeping environments, such as one partner liking a cool room with a fan and the other preferring warmth, may also decide to sleep apart.
What are the benefits of sleeping alone?
Many couples say they prefer to sleep – and sleep better – next to their partner.
But when scientists measure sleep objectively, such as via an electroencephalogram (EEG) to assess brain waves, the data actually shows poorer sleep quality when co-sleeping. So sleeping alone may, in fact, mean better quality and longer sleep.
Research also shows when one member of the couple has a sleep disorder, such as insomnia or sleep apnoea (where breathing is frequently interrupted during sleep), these people often inadvertently wake up their partnerwhen they wake in the night. So sleeping alone could be a good idea if your bed partner has a sleep disorder.
Finally, anyone who has struggled with their sleep will know anxiety around sleep is common. Many clients I have seen who experience insomnia report sleeping alone can alleviate some of their anxiety because at least they know they won’t disturb, or be disturbed by, their partner.
Are there any downsides to separate sleeping arrangements?
Some people dislike sleeping alone, reporting comfort, and feelings of safety and protection when sleeping alongside their partner – and loneliness when they don’t.
Sleeping separately also requires two rooms, or at least two beds. Many couples may not have these options available to them in their home.
Sleeping separately is often stigmatised, with some people seeing it as the death of a couple’s sex life. But while sleeping in separate beds may provide fewer opportunities for sex, this doesn’t necessarily mean the end of intimacy.
Sleeping apart could mean some couples actually have more sex. We know better sleep is linked to more positive feelings about relationships, so it’s possible the desire to be intimate could increase after a good night’s sleep in separate beds. Sleeping apart may even mean some couples have more energy to be intimate.
Nonetheless, if you choose to sleep separately from your partner, it’s important to have an open discussion and prioritise opportunities for connection and intimacy. One client I worked with referred to “visiting rights” where her partner came into her bed for a short period before sleep or in the morning.
Who should potentially consider a sleep separation?
You may wish to think about a “sleep separation” if you are disturbing each other’s sleep, have young children, or have different preferences in terms of temperature, light and noise, which are causing issues.
Ultimately, if sleeping in the same bed is leading to poor sleep then sleeping apart, if it’s possible, could help.
If you can’t sleep separately there may be other ways to reduce disturbance from a partner such as using an eye mask, white noise or earplugs.
If you decide to try a sleep separation, remember this can be a flexible arrangement or “re-set” and doesn’t have to be permanent, or every night. Some couples find sleeping separately during the working week but sharing a bed on the weekend works well for them.
Lastly, it’s important to talk to your GP about any persistent sleep problems, such as snoring, insomnia, or unusual behaviour during sleep (for example, shouting or walking around), as there may be an underlying sleep disorder which needs treating.
Alix Mellor works for the Monash University Healthy Sleep Clinic at the Turner Clinics as a provisional psychologist.
Imagine your friend hasn’t replied to a message in a few hours. Most people might think, “they are probably just busy”.
But someone with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) might spiral into a flood of thoughts like, “they must hate me!” or “I’ve ruined the friendship!”
These intense emotional reactions to real or imagined rejection are part of what’s called rejection sensitive dysphoria.
The term isn’t a formal diagnosis, but it’s gaining traction in both research and clinical work, especially among adults seeking to understand themselves better.
So, what is rejection sensitive dysphoria, how does it relate to ADHD, and how can we handle it with more compassion?
It’s more than just disliking criticism
Everyone feels hurt when they’re criticised or left out. But rejection sensitivity dysphoria isn’t just about “not liking” feedback. The word dysphoria refers to intense emotional distress.
People with rejection sensitivity dysphoria describe overwhelming reactions to perceived rejection, even if no one actually said or did anything cruel.
A passing comment such as “I thought you were going to do it this way” can trigger feelings of shame, embarrassment or self-doubt.
The emotional pain often feels immediate and consuming, leading some people to withdraw, over-apologise or lash out to protect themselves.
The ADHD brain and emotional hypersensitivity
ADHD is often associated with attention or impulsivity, but one major (and often overlooked) component is emotional dysregulation: difficulty managing and recovering from strong emotional responses.
This isn’t a character flaw; it’s a neurological difference. Brain imaging studies show people with ADHD tend to have differences in how their amygdala (the brain’s emotional alarm system) and prefrontal cortex (which regulates impulses and emotions) work together.
The amygdala is the brain’s emotional alarm system. The prefrontal cortex regulates emotions. chaiyo12/Shutterstock
The result? Emotional experiences hit harder and take longer to settle.
A 2018 study highlights this imbalance in emotional control circuits in people with ADHD, explaining why intense feelings can seem to “take over” before logical thinking kicks in.
What does the research say?
Recent research from 2024 reports a strong link between ADHD symptoms and rejection sensitivity. It found students with higher ADHD symptom levels also reported significantly more rejection sensitivity, including a heightened fear of being negatively evaluated or criticised.
Further evidence comes from a 2018 study which showed adolescents with ADHD symptoms were far more sensitive to peer feedback than their peers. Their brain activity revealed they were more emotionally reactive to both praise and criticism, suggesting they may perceive neutral social cues as emotionally charged.
This reflects what I see daily in my clinic. One 13-year-old boy I work with is creative, empathetic and full of potential, yet social anxiety tied to a deep fear of rejection often holds him back. He once told me, “if I say no, they won’t like me anymore”. That fear drives him to go along with things he later regrets, simply to keep the peace and avoid losing connection.
This constant social hypervigilance is mentally draining. Without support, it can spiral into shame, low confidence and ongoing mental health struggles.
Adults with ADHD aren’t immune either. A 2022 study explored how adults with ADHD experience criticism and found many linked it to persistent feelings of failure, low self-worth and emotional reactivity – even when the criticism was constructive or mild.
One client I support – a high-achieving professional diagnosed in her 50s – described learning about rejection sensitive dysphoria as “finding the missing piece of the puzzle”.
Despite consistently excelling in every role, she had long felt anxious about how she was perceived by colleagues. When she received a minor, formal complaint at work, she spiralled into intense self-doubt and shame.
Instead of brushing it off, she thought: “I’m too much”. This belief
had been silently reinforced for years by her emotional sensitivity to feedback.
What helps?
If you experience rejection sensitivity dysphoria, you’re not alone, and you’re not broken.
Here are some tools that may help:
name it. Saying to yourself, “This feels like rejection sensitivity,” can give you distance from the emotional flood
pause before reacting. Taking slow breaths, counting backwards, or stepping outside are simple grounding strategies that help calm the body’s stress response and restore balance to your nervous system. Research shows slowing your breath and grounding your senses can help shift your body out of fight-or-flight mode, supporting clearer thinking and emotional regulation
challenge the story. Ask yourself, “What else could be true?” or “How would I speak to a friend feeling this way?”
consider therapy. Working with a psychologist who understands ADHD and rejection sensitivity dysphoria can help untangle these reactions and develop healthy, self-compassionate responses. The Australian Psychological Society has a Find a Psychologist service: you can search by location, areas of expertise (such as anxiety, ADHD, trauma) and the type of therapy you’re interested in
start early with kids. Helping children with ADHD learn emotional language, boundary-setting and resilience can prevent rejection sensitivity from becoming overwhelming. For parents, resources such as Raising Children Network and books like The Whole-Brain Child by Daniel Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson offer practical ways to teach these skills at home
communicate gently. If you work or live with someone who has ADHD, try to give feedback clearly and kindly. Avoid sarcasm or vague phrasing. A little extra clarity can go a long way.
Rejection sensitivity dysphoria isn’t about being fragile or “weak”. It’s about how the ADHD brain processes emotional and social cues. With insight, tools and support, these experiences can become manageable.
Victoria Barclay-Timmis is a clinical psychologist and works in private practice.
To love and be loved is something most people want in their lives.
In the modern world, we often see stories about the difficulties of finding love and the trials of dating and marriage. Sometimes, the person we love doesn’t love us. Sometimes, we don’t love the person who loves us.
Ancient Greeks and Romans also had a lot to say about this subject. In fact, most of the issues people face today in their search for love are already mentioned in ancient Greek and Roman literature.
So, what did they say? And is the advice they put forward still relevant for modern people?
Advice for finding a lover
The Roman poet Ovid (43BCE–17CE) wrote a poem called The Art of Love (Ars Amatoria). In it, he offered advice for those who are still single.
First, Ovid says, you should make an effort to find someone you’re interested in. Your lover “will not come floating down to you through the tenuous air, she must be sought”.
As suitable places to find a lover, Ovid recommends walking in porticos and gardens, attending the theatre, or (surprisingly enough) lingering near law courts.
You need to catch someone’s eye and then invent an excuse to talk with them, he says.
Seek your lover in the daytime, says Ovid. Be careful of the night. You won’t choose the right person if you’re drunk. And you can’t see their face properly if it’s too dark – they might be uglier than you think.
Second, Ovid says you need to look presentable. Make sure your clothes are clean and you have a good haircut. Moreover, keep yourself groomed properly at all times:
Do not let your nails project, and let them be free of dirt; nor let any hair be in the hollow of your nostrils. Let not the breath of your mouth be sour and unpleasing.
Ovid’s The Art of Love may be regarded as a kind of love manual. But aside from making personal efforts to find a lover, people could also use matchmakers.
However, matchmaking was a difficult process. Sometimes matchmakers didn’t tell the truth about the situations of the parties involved. So the Athenian writer Xenophon (430–353 BCE) says people were sometimes “victims of deception” in the matchmaking process.
What if you’re not in love?
The ancients recognised that not being in love can be a problem. They thought it bad for your mental and physical health, but also for society more broadly.
For example, the Roman writer Claudius Aelian (2nd–3rd century CE) in his Historical Miscellany says soldiers who are in love will fight better than soldiers who are not in love:
In the heat of battle when war brings men into combat, a man who is not in love could not match one who is. The man untouched by love avoids and runs away from the man who loves, as if he were an outsider uninitiated into the god’s rites, and his bravery depends on his character and physical strength.
According to Aelian, the Spartans had a punishment for men who did not fall in love:
Any man of good appearance and character who did not fall in love with someone well-bred was also fined, because despite his excellence he did not love anyone […] lovers’ affection for their beloved has a remarkable power of stimulating the virtues.
So, when two people are in love, they can inspire each other and bring out the best in one another. Being in love can help a person become better and achieve more.
Fighting for and keeping a lover
If we are lucky, the person we love will also love us back, and we won’t have any love rivals.
But what happens when the person we love is also loved by someone else? We may need to put in more effort to win the affection of that person, but sometimes this brings us into conflicts.
For example, the Roman orator and politician Marcus Tullius Cicero (106–43 BCE), in his On the Orator, tells how Gaius Memmius, Roman tribune of the year 111 BCE, apparently took a bite out of his love rival’s arm, “when he had a quarrel with him at Tarracina over a girlfriend”.
Some ways to keep one’s lover interested that are mentioned in ancient sources include showing off one’s wealth.
For example, in one of the plays of the poet Alexis (375–275 BCE) a young man who is in love puts on a large banquet to impress his girlfriend with a display of wealth. Engagements were at that time sometimes cancelled if it turned out the husband was too poor.
Of course, things did not always work out, and people had grievances against former lovers. One particularly famous invective was from the poet Martial (38–104 CE) to a woman called Manneia:
Manneia, your little dog licks your face and lips. Small wonder that a dog likes eating dung!
Timeless concerns
Today, we often see debates about whether it’s better to stay single or get into a relationship.
The same goes for antiquity. In the 4th-century BCE play Arrephoros or The Pipe Girl by poet Menander, one character says:
If you’ve got any sense, you won’t get married […] I’m married myself – which is why I’m advising you not to do it.
Others lamented that they missed their opportunity for love. So the poet Pindar (6th–5th century BCE) wrote a poem regretting that he could not make the much younger Theoxenus his boyfriend:
You should have picked love’s flowers at the right time, my heart, when you were young. But as for the sparkling rays from Theoxenus’ eyes, whoever looks on them and is not roiled with longing has a black heart forged with cold fire out of steel or iron.
Clearly, finding a lover was as difficult then as it is now.
Konstantine Panegyres 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.
Reunited twins Esther (left) and ShuangjieBarbara Demick
At the end of a long road trip through rural China in 2009, American journalist Barbara Demick had an encounter that would change the course of her life. In the previous days, she had interviewed several parents whose children had been forcibly removed from them by government officials. Demick suspected there may be a link between the missing children and China’s booming international adoption industry.
She had enough for her story, but some instinct compelled her to follow the next lead to remote Gaofeng Village, high in the mountains of Hunan Province.
Her driver could only take her so far. The dirt road ended at a stream, where she was met by local woman Zanhua Zeng and her daughter Shuangjie. They guided her across a makeshift bridge and into the village where “everything was in the process of falling down or going up”.
Zanhua Zeng and daughter Shuangjie, meeting Barbara Demick in a moment that would change all their lives. Barbara Demick
There, she learnt about two-year-old Fangfang, daughter of Zanhua and twin sister of Shuangjie, violently taken from her aunt’s care in 2002. Government officials had told the family they were in breach of China’s One Child Policy and were not allowed to keep the baby. They had no idea what had happened to their daughter and sister.
Zanhua’s parting words were: “Come back again and next time bring my daughter.”
Review: Daughters of the Bamboo Grove: From China to America, A True Story of Abduction, Adoption, and Separated Twins – Barbara Demick (Text)
Extraordinary consequences
At the time, Demick had no premonition of the significance the Zeng family and their story would play in her life – and those of many others. But in writing a front-page report for the Los Angeles Times about the links between China’s stolen children and international adoptions, including a small piece about the missing twin Fangfang, she started a chain of events with extraordinary consequences.
Fangfang (renamed Esther), in the referral photo supplied by the orphanage.
For Zanhua and Shuangjie, it would eventually lead to a reunion with Fangfang, accompanied by Demick, who helped organise it. She was to develop an enduring connection with the family – and with Fangfang’s adoptive American family, too.
Daughters of the Bamboo Grove does what the best stories do: humanises a big issue. In this case, China’s one child policy and the international adoption industry it created.
Demick’s book is a story of China, and of incomprehensible government control. But as told through this case of the separated twins, it’s also a story of family, identity, loss and resilience.
It’s personal and moving, but also thoroughly researched, strengthened with compelling and confronting statistics and anecdotes.
The twins’ meeting as young women was documented by Barbara Demick for the Los Angeles Times.
Demick outlines the population growth that led to the introduction of the One Child Policy in 1979 and the rise of the State Family Planning Commission, set up to enforce the law limiting most Chinese families to one child.
“Family Planning morphed into a monstrous organization that dwarfed the police and military in manpower,” she writes. “By the 1990s, it was estimated that eighty-three million Chinese worked at least part-time for Family Planning.” (By comparison, China’s combined armed forces were estimated to number roughly three million at the time.)
The organisation was “intrusive in the extreme”, with female workers having to report when they had their periods and, in some cases, show their blood-stained sanitary pads. After giving birth to their first child, women were forced to have an IUD or were sterilised.
People who violated the law received fines of two to six times their annual income. If violators were civil servants, they could lose their jobs. In rural areas, where people were less reliant on government jobs, the policy was implemented with “brute force”.
People were beaten. Sometimes their homes were demolished or set on fire. “If you violate the policy, your family will be destroyed,” read a sign on a wall not far from the Zeng’s home. Family Planning officials regularly checked even the most remote villages, sometimes tipped off by neighbours.
If a woman was discovered to be pregnant after having a child, she would be forced to undergo an abortion. The methods were “crude, often barbaric,” Demick writes. “Doctors would sometimes induce labor and then kill the baby with an injection of formaldehyde into the cranium before the feet emerged.”
Although Chinese people, particularly those from rural communities, often wanted to have bigger families, they had no power to fight the authorities. Those who tried to quietly subvert the system were ruthlessly punished.
These practices were so common, they were generally accepted. But when government officials started to take babies from families who had defied the policy, resistance grew. Other families started reporting cases like what had happened to Fangfang. Family Planning had forcibly removed children, refusing to provide any details about their whereabouts.
Officials miscalculated in 2005 when they dared to take a boy, Demick writes. He lived in a town, attended school and was not as poor as some of the other affected families. The school made a complaint, which was supported by a local politician. The boy was returned to his family after 29 days.
Hearing about this case emboldened other families to mobilise and fight back. These were among the first families Demick met when she travelled to cover the story of the missing children in 2009.
Child trafficking by ‘good Samaritans’
In the meantime, news was starting to emerge about the child trafficking of children through Chinese orphanages, with “good Samaritans” who “rescued” babies being paid increasingly large amounts of money. “The orphanages were competing with one another to procure babies,” Demick writes.
Chinese babies were in high demand for international adoption, and it had become a lucrative business. One Hunan orphanage director later told police they started a service to allow foreigners to adopt babies in 2001; they were charged a US$3,000 cash donation per baby. In some cases, the babies genuinely needed homes and families, Demick writes, but the payment was “in effect a bounty that incentivised a wave of kidnapping of female babies and toddlers”.
Shaoyang Social Welfare Institute, where Esther spent the last six months of her life in China. Barbara Demick
It gradually became clear that many of the children removed by Family Planning officials were among the wave of Chinese babies and toddlers adopted by families from other countries, all of whom paid significant fees to do so, as well as donating to the orphanages. It was later revealed that orphanages routinely fabricated information about how and where the babies had been reportedly left.
By the time Demick’s reports were published in 2009, nearly 100,000 babies had been sent out of China, more than half to the US. The worldwide number would reach 160,000 by 2024, when China ended its international adoption program.
Demick’s story about stolen babies, plus other reports from within China and elsewhere, stunned the international adoption community and parents of Chinese adoptees around the world. Until then, China was perceived to be the most ethical choice for international adoption. For adoptive parents who now feared their adopted children could be taken from them, the revelations were terrifying, Demick says.
Marsha and Esther (background) in their Texas kitchen. Barbara Demick
One of these parents was a Texan women named Marsha. She and her husband Al had adopted two Chinese girls: Victoria in 1999 and Esther in 2002. Through developing connections among families who had adopted from China, Demick came across Marsha – and realised Esther may be Fangfang: the missing twin.
She was correct. However, the story was far from resolved, which explains, in part, why Demick had plenty of material for her book.
Reporter as dogged detective
Daughters of the Bamboo Grove is a testament to dogged reporting. Demick’s skills as a researcher, interviewer – and effectively, a detective – imbue the book with substance and credibility.
She handles difficult subject matter sensitively, portraying the Zeng family in China and adoptive mother Marsha in the US with empathy. She acknowledges the challenges they faced and recognises their devotion to their children.
Her descriptions of the twin sisters, Shuangjie and Esther, are perceptive and gentle. Restraint is a powerful writing tool and Demick uses it here to great effect.
This is the moment where the twins first meet, outside the Zeng family home in China:
When everybody was out of the van, the two of them stood next to each other, side by side, facing the photographer. Nobody embraced. Nobody spoke. I imagined the twins as bride and groom in an arranged marriage, meeting for the first time, willing to pose for the photographer but not yet able to engage in conversation.
Twins Esther (left) and Shaungjie, separated most of their lives, meet for the first time since babyhood. Barbara Demick
Demick came to this story with the perspectives and limitations of an American journalist, but has gone to remarkable lengths to hear and convey the voices of Chinese people impacted by the One Child Policy.
At the same time, she challenges Western paternalistic ideas around adoption, questioning the view expressed by many she encounters that the Chinese children adopted by Westerners were lucky, guaranteed to have better lives elsewhere.
China’s One Child Policy was not formally abolished until 2015. In its 35 years, it did almost unimaginable damage, concludes Demick:
the policy shattered marriages, led to the deaths of countless children and suicides of parents, and left China with a population expected to continue declining into the next century. It was all encompassing, leaving almost everyone a victim or perpetrator or both.
For the hundreds of thousands of children sent out of China during this period, the legacy of One Child endures. As Demick writes, they are
citizens of their adopted countries but tethered by blood to another family and country they struggle to comprehend. Living in this in-between space between worlds.
In dedicating Daughters of the Bamboo Grove to Chinese adoptees around the world, Demick says she hopes in some small way it helps them to understand where they came from, and how they got to where they are today.
Kathryn Shine 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.
As tools such as ChatGPT, Copilot and other generative artificial intelligence (AI) systems become part of everyday workflows, more companies are looking for employees who can answer “yes” to this question. In other words, people who can prompt effectively, think with AI, and use it to boost productivity.
In fact, in a growing number of roles, being “AI fluent” is quickly becoming as important as being proficient in office software once was.
But we’ve all had that moment when we’ve asked an AI chatbot a question and received what feels like the most generic, surface level answer. The problem isn’t the AI – you just haven’t given it enough to work with.
Think of it this way. During training, the AI will have “read” virtually everything on the internet. But because it makes predictions, it will give you the most probable, most common response. Without specific guidance, it’s like walking into a restaurant and asking for something good. You’ll likely get the chicken.
Your solution lies in understanding that AI systems excel at adapting to context, but you have to provide it. So how exactly do you do that?
Crafting better prompts
You may have heard the term “prompt engineering”. It might sound like you need to design some kind of technical script to get results.
To get the most out of your AI conversations, it’s important that you convey a few basics about what you want, and how you want it. Our approach follows the acronym CATS – context, angle, task and style.
Context means providing the setting and background information the AI needs. Instead of asking “How do I write a proposal?” try “I’m a nonprofit director writing a grant proposal to a foundation that funds environmental education programs for urban schools”. Upload relevant documents, explain your constraints, and describe your specific situation.
Angle (or attitude) leverages AI’s strength in role-playing and perspective-taking. Rather than getting a neutral response, specify the attitude you want. For example, “Act as a critical peer reviewer and identify weaknesses in my argument” or “Take the perspective of a supportive mentor helping me improve this draft”.
Task is specifically about what you actually want the AI to do. “Help me with my presentation” is vague. But “Give me three ways to make my opening slide more engaging for an audience of small business owners” is actionable.
Style harnesses AI’s ability to adapt to different formats and audiences. Specify whether you want a formal report, a casual email, bullet points for executives, or an explanation suitable for teenagers. Tell the AI what voice you want to use – for example, a formal academic style, technical, engaging or conversational.
In a growing number of roles, being able to use AI is quickly becoming as important as being proficient in office software once was. Shutterstock
Context is everything
Besides crafting a clear, effective prompt, you can also focus on managing the surrounding information – that is to say on “context engineering”. Context engineering refers to everything that surrounds the prompt.
That means thinking about the environment and information the AI has access to: its memory function, instructions leading up to the task, prior conversation history, documents you upload, or examples of what good output looks like.
You should think about prompting as a conversation. If you’re not happy with the first response, push for more, ask for changes, or provide more clarifying information.
Don’t expect the AI to give a ready-made response. Instead, use it to trigger your own thinking. If you feel the AI has produced a lot of good material but you get stuck, copy the best parts into a fresh session and ask it to summarise and continue from there.
Always retain your professional distance and remind yourself that you are the only thinking part in this relationship. And always make sure to check the accuracy of anything an AI produces – errors are increasingly common.
AI systems are remarkably capable, but they need you – and human intelligence – to bridge the gap between their vast generic knowledge and your particular situation. Give them enough context to work with, and they might surprise you with how helpful they can be.
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 offer pops up in your social media feed. The website is professional and the imagery illustrates an Australian coastal region, or chic inner-CBD scene.
The brand name indicates this exclusive fashion retailer is based in Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, or an exclusive enclave such as Double Bay or Byron Bay.
The businesses have history, having apparently been “established” 30–40 years ago, and a story. The owners have reluctantly decided to close or relocate, resulting in significant discounts.
However, behind the illusion of prestige and luxury, is cheap, poorly manufactured clothing from Chinese factories.
The ACCC’s Targeting Scams report estimated Australians lost A$2.74 billion in 2023. Most losses were from investment scams ($1.3 billion), remote access scams ($256 million), and romance scams ($201.1 million).
However, online ghost store scams are so new, researchers and government agencies have not yet had time to measure the financial impact these businesses are having on consumers or legitimate fashion businesses.
It is possible a consumer, once stung by a ghost store scam, will be less likely to shop with a legitimate online fashion retailer.
This type of emerging scam was touched on in a 2015 report called Framework for a Taxonomy of Fraud. The report noted there were businesses selling “worthless or non-existent products”. Their sites made:
misleading claims about products that are exaggerated, undervalued, or non-existent.
Since the beginning of 2025, the ACCC reports it has received at least 360 complaints about 60 online ghost retailers. It says many more may be operating across several social media sites.
Tricky tactics
Ghost stores use a variety of tactics to attract unsuspecting customers.
Price: Customers regularly assume higher prices mean higher quality. Most customers seeing a “leather” jacket for $19.74 on Temu would expect low quality. However, a silk maxi-dress from Everly Melbourne reduced from $209.95 to $82.95 – a 60% saving – seems reasonable and reflective of normal mid-season clearance pricing. That fact it’s still priced at more than $80 also implies good quality.
Cosmopolitan localism: Researchers have reported that so-called cosmopolitan localism fosters meaningful consumer relationships with brands. Consumers are more likely to trust a business based in Melbourne or Byron Bay over one based internationally.
Adding images of a physical store front creates credibility and “realness”. Customers feel confident to buy from a little business based in Melbourne, Sydney or somewhere well known to them.
Storytelling: Storytelling can influence shoppers’ emotions and affect purchasing. It helps stimulate deeper emotional connections to a brand. Ghost stores will regularly create a narrative around “going out of business” to justify price discounts and pull on heart-strings.
Layout: A professionally developed website, with high-quality images, detailed product information, online payment methods and order tracking, creates the illusion of authenticity. Researchers have found luxury brand website designs can create a strong sense of luxury. This increases a willingness to buy.
How to spot a “ghost”
When the post indicates “closing today” or “closing down sale ends tonight”, it is very easy to impulsively jump in to take advantage of the savings. However, before you click, check for these red flags:
The website does not provide a contact phone number or physical address for the store. There might just be an email address or web form. Simply entering the suspected store into google maps will indicate no physical location.
The website domain is “.com” rather than “.com.au”. This indicates the store is not an Australian-based business.
Is the business registered? ABN Lookup is the free public view of the Australian Business Register – a quick search will identify that the Double Bay designer isn’t registered locally.
Review platforms, including Trustpilot, often have negative reviews for the business, whereas the business’ website only features very positive reviews.
The images of products or even the owner maybe AI generated. For example, Harry – Melbourne, is apparently an artisan watchmaker. However, simply right-clicking on the image reveals Harry is an AI-generated image.
A cautionary note
Online shopping is risky. You can’t physically touch or interact with the product to determine its quality. Three types of risks are common when shopping online. These are performance risk (it doesn’t work, doesn’t fit well, or the quality is poor), financial risk (losing your money on a poor-quality product), and time-loss risk (refund processing takes weeks).
As such, customers must trust the online retailer to act honestly and describe products accurately. When trust is breached, consumers will naturally become cautious even about legitimate online retailers.
As ghost stores scams increasingly populate social media feeds, unsuspecting consumers will continue to get caught out. This will leave legitimate retailers exposed to scepticism and mistrust.
Gary Mortimer receives funding from the Building Employer Confidence and Inclusion in Disability Grant, AusIndustry Entrepreneurs’ Program, National Clothing Textiles Stewardship Scheme, National Retail Association and Australian Retailers Association.
NZ Post committed to cutting its emissions by 32% by 2030 (based on 2018 levels), but recently announced it would abandon its climate target.
The company was part of the Science Based Target initiative (SBTi), the leading international body allowing businesses worldwide to set and validate targets which they can then promote as backed by science.
More than 10,000 businesses have joined SBTi and the database currently includes 36 New Zealand businesses with active targets or commitments.
NZ Post was one of the early adopters of SBTi in New Zealand. Its initial commitment in 2018 included not only the company’s own direct emissions (known as scope 1) but also purchased energy (scope 2) and other indirect emissions (known as scope 3, such as emissions from air freight or waste disposal).
In the past few years, NZ Post has signalled its intention to update its target to pursue even greater reductions of 42%. In 2023, it made a commitment to align itself with a pathway to achieve net zero by 2050.
But the company has now decided to fully withdraw from SBTi. NZ Post’s website announcement states:
After careful consideration and a thorough assessment of both technical feasibility and financial implications, it has become clear that our target is no longer feasible at a technical level and, given the scale of investment required, under present economic conditions.
NZ Post seems to have found itself in the contradiction between economic objectives and climate action. Ambitious climate action seems to rarely win such a battle.
The company was already questioning its ability to meet its SBTi targets in its 2022 and 2023 climate disclosures. Its parcel volumes were growing and it struggled with emissions associated with heavy freight and aviation.
It also stated its emissions had increased due to the acquisition of Fliway Group, improved supply-chain data, and emission factor changes. This indicated it would struggle to meet even less ambitious climate targets.
Why this is a problem
One might commend NZ Post for their transparency in disclosing their decision to withdraw from SBTi. However, so far the announcement hasn’t been included in the company’s media releases and remains tucked away in the sustainability section.
The broader issue is that businesses can use SBTi to gain reputational value without following up with required decarbonisation. The current SBTi setup has some limitations that allow such behaviour.
For instance, companies can make an SBTi commitment and promote it for two years before having to submit an actual target for validation. Businesses can also promote their SBTi targets for years without making required progress. Finally, some SBTi businesses provide limited reporting, making assessment of their progress difficult.
In a 2025 consultation, SBTi acknowledged some of these problems and signalled its plan to enhance tracking and accountability.
Climate action vs profitability
There are other issues that make transparency limited. For instance, businesses such as Air New Zealand seem to be able to withdraw from the SBTi and fully disappear from the SBTi public target dashboard, making it difficult to track those that have decided to withdraw.
In business contexts, climate action remains subordinate to profitability and revenue growth objectives. Hence, not many businesses are willing to pursue all potential ways to meet their targets as this would require making difficult decisions around economic objectives.
Many companies struggle to make progress towards science-based goals or don’t have credible transition plans aligned with the goal to keep overall warming at 1.5°C.
The question remains whether the current SBTi engagement of businesses genuinely reflects ambitious climate action or whether it is merely designed to give stakeholders the impression of global progress through symbolic commitments.
The more organisations committed to the science-based reductions, the greater our collective ability to achieve decarbonisation.
The opposite is true as well. The decision of NZ Post and other companies to drop their SBTi targets may diminish the collective ability of businesses in New Zealand to achieve decarbonisation aligning with global climate goals.
SBTi’s plan to implement new monitoring and reporting mechanisms would enhance accountability. However, it will not make meeting targets any easier. Committing to and promoting ambitious but potentially unrealistic targets can cause reputational damage.
A safer pathway for many businesses wanting to do as much as they can within the boundaries of the current economic system may be a public disclosure of their support for climate action, transparency about the actions the business is taking, and providing transparent and detailed emissions reporting.
Pii-Tuulia Nikula 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.
In the new Netflix documentary Shark Whisperer, the great white shark gets an image makeover – from Jaws villain to misunderstood friend and admirer.
But the star of the documentary is not so much the shark, but the model and marine conservationist Ocean Ramsey (yes, that’s her real name).
The film centres on Ramsey’s self-growth journey, with the shark co-starring as a quasi-spiritual medium for finding meaning and purpose (not to mention celebrity status).
The film, and some in it, are happy to attribute Ramsey’s success as a shark conservation activist to how driven and photogenic she is. Ramsey says “People look first and listen second. I’ll use my appearance, I’ll put myself out there for a cause.”
Her husband, the photographer Juan Oliphant, enthuses she is good for sharks partly because she is so beautiful and uses all the attention she attracts in the selfless service of sharks.
The image of the long-haired, long-limbed young woman in a bikini swimming above an outsized great white shark is not a new one.
Primal fears and fantasies
Since Jaws (1975), generations have been fascinated and titillated by filmic images and promotional materials of bikini-clad young women juxtaposed with dangerous sharks.
The heroine of Deep Blue Sea (1999) is a neuroscientist – however the film and its promotional materials still require her to appear in a wet t-shirt and underwear while pursued by a massive shark monster.
The Shallows (2016) presents countless images of its bikini-clad heroine, with partially exposed bottom and long legs marked by bite marks as a kind of meat to be consumed – not least by the voyeuristic lens of the camera.
The poster for 47 Meters Down: Uncaged (2019) features a bikini-clad young woman with legs dangling precariously in front of the gaping jaws of an unnaturally large great white.
I have previously explored the psychosexual symbolism of these films and images. These films were never really about actual sharks. They are about very human fears and fantasies about being exposed and vulnerable.
Whisperer and the Ocean Ramsey website tap into the collective fascination with dangerous sharks fuelled by popular culture. Many online images show Ramsey in a bikini or touching sharks – she’s small, and vulnerable in the face of great whites. As with forms of celebrity humanitarianism, what I have dubbed “sexy conservationism” leaves itself open to criticism about its methods – even if its intentions are good.
The paradox of Shark Whisperer – and indeed the whole Ocean Ramsey empire – is it both resists and relies on Jaws mythology and iconography to surf the image economy of new media.
Saving, not stalking
Ramsey and Oliphant are on a mission not just to save individual sharks, but to change the public perception of great whites to a more positive one.
This mission is reiterated in Shark Whisperer and in the Saving Jaws documentary linked to the website, which also promotes a book, accessories and shark-diving tours.
Shark Whisperer both resists and relies on the mythical status of the shark brought to us by Jaws. Netflix
It is reassuring to know proceeds from the bikini you buy from the official website are donated to shark conservation. But the (often sexualised) media attention which fuels the whole enterprise still depends on tapping into the legacy of popular culture representations of great whites as fearsome monsters.
In footage, Ramsey seems to spend most of her time with smaller tiger sharks, yet her website and the Shark Whisperer film foreground her rare close encounters with an “enormous” or “massive” great white as the climax and cover shot.
Shark Whisperer also includes the kind of “money shots” we have come to expect: images of a large great white tearing at flesh (here, a whale carcass) with blood in the water. Images like these arouse our collective cultural memory of the filmic great white as the ultimate bestial predator.
In its climactic scene, Whisperer strategically deploys eerie music to build the suspense and foretell the appearance of the enormous great white which rises from the depths. Again echoes of Jaws are used to stimulate viewing pleasures and sell the mixed messages of sexy shark conservation.
A story of (personal) growth
The self-growth narrative which underpins Whisperer will feel familiar to shark film fans. Jaws was always about overcoming fears and past traumas, as in the scene where Quint and Brody compare their real and metaphorical scars.
The poster for the 2022 film Shark Bait. IMDB
Over the past decade, a new generation of post-feminist shark films have used sharks as metaphorical stalkers to tell stories about women overcoming past trauma, grief, “inner darkness” or depression.
In The Reef: Stalked (2022) the heroine must overcome the murder of her sister. In Shark Bait (2022) the heroine must rise above a cheating partner. In The Shallows, the heroine is processing grief.
Whisperer also leans into the idea of Ramsey fighting inner demons on a journey to self-actualisation.
And while Ramsey has undoubtedly raised the profile of shark conservation, as a model-designer-conservationist-entrepreneur she has also disseminated another more dubious message: that the way to enact influence and activism is through instagrammable images of beautiful models in high risk situations.
Happy endings
The end credits of Whisperer are a montage of happy endings: Ramsey frolics with sharks and shows off her diamond ring. There is even an ocean-themed wedding scene.
Yet beneath all the glossy surface lies a sombre reality: globally at least 80 million sharks are killed every year.
The Ramsey website and the film rightly remind us of this. They also remind us that, thanks in part to the hashtag activism of Ocean Ramsey and her millions of fans and followers, Hawaii was the first state in the United States to outlaw shark fishing.
So, Ramsey may be right to argue her ends justify the means.
Susan Hopkins 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.
Given the number of times this has happened already, it should come as little surprise that we’re now faced with yet another new subvariant of SARS-CoV-2, the virus responsible for COVID.
This new subvariant is known as XFG (nicknamed “Stratus”) and the World Health Organization (WHO) designated it a “variant under monitoring” in late June. XFG is a subvariant of Omicron, of which there are now more than 1,000.
A “variant under monitoring” signifies a variant or subvariant which needs prioritised attention and monitoring due to characteristics that may pose an additional threat compared to other circulating variants.
While recombination and other spontaneous changes happen often with SARS-CoV-2, it becomes a problem when it creates a subvariant that is changed in such a way that its properties cause more problems for us.
Most commonly this means the virus looks different enough that protection from past infection (and vaccination) doesn’t work so well, called immune evasion. This basically means the population becomes more susceptible and can lead to an increase in cases, and even a whole new wave of COVID infections across the world.
XFG has four key mutations in the spike protein, a protein on the surface of SARS-CoV-2 which allows it to attach to our cells. Some are believed to enhance evasion by certain antibodies.
The earliest XFG sample was collected on January 27.
As of June 22, there were 1,648 XFG sequences submitted to GISAID from 38 countries (GISAID is the global database used to track the prevalence of different variants around the world). This represents 22.7% of the globally available sequences at the time.
This was a significant rise from 7.4% four weeks prior and only just below the proportion of NB.1.8.1 at 24.9%. Given the now declining proportion of viral sequences of NB.1.8.1 overall, and the rapid rise of XFG, it would seem reasonable to expect XFG to become dominant very soon.
According to Australian data expert Mike Honey, the countries showing the highest rates of detection of XFG as of mid-June include India at more than 50%, followed by Spain at 42%, and the United Kingdom and United States, where the subvariant makes up more than 30% of cases.
In Australia as of June 29, NB.1.8.1 was the dominant subvariant, accounting for 48.6% of sequences. In the most recent report from Australia’s national genomic surveillance platform, there were 24 XFG sequences with 12 collected in the last 28 days meaning it currently comprises approximately 5% of sequences.
The big questions
When we talk about a new subvariant, people often ask questions including if it’s more severe or causes new or different symptoms compared to previous variants. But we’re still learning about XFG and we can’t answer these questions with certainty yet.
Some sources have reported XFG may be more likely to course “hoarseness” or a scratchy or raspy voice. But we need more information to know if this association is truly significant.
Notably, there’s no evidence to suggest XFG causes more severe illness compared to other variants in circulation or that it is necessarily any more transmissible.
Will vaccines still work against XFG?
Relatively frequent changes to the virus means we have continued to update the COVID vaccines. The most recent update, which targets the JN.1 subvariant, became available in Australia from late 2024. XFG is a descendant of the JN.1 subvariant.
Fortunately, based on the evidence available so far, currently approved COVID vaccines are expected to remain effective against XFG, particularly against symptomatic and severe disease.
Because of SARS-CoV-2’s continued evolution, the effect of this on our immune response, as well as the fact protection from COVID vaccines declines over time, COVID vaccines are offered regularly, and recommended for those at the highest risk.
One of the major challenges we face at present in Australia is low COVID vaccine uptake. While rates have increased somewhat recently, they remain relatively low, with only 32.3% of people aged 75 years and over having received a vaccine in the past six months. Vaccination rates in younger age groups are significantly lower.
Although the situation with XFG must continue to be monitored, at present the WHO has assessed the global risk posed by this subvariant as low. The advice for combating COVID remains unchanged, including vaccination as recommended and the early administration of antivirals for those who are eligible.
Measures to reduce the risk of transmission, particularly wearing masks in crowded indoor settings and focusing on air quality and ventilation, are worth remembering to protect against COVID and other viral infections.
Paul Griffin has been the principal investigator for clinical trials of 8 COVID-19 vaccines. He has previously participated in medical advisory boards for COVID-19 vaccines. Paul Griffin is a director and medical advisory board member of the immunisation coalition.
Could you ever be truly alone in the woods of ancient Greece or Rome? According to myth, the ancient world was filled with wild animals, terrifying monsters, and mischievous deities. Among them were nymphs: semi-divine female figures that personified elements of the natural world.
But nymphs offer us more than just stories of sexy nature spirits.
They can reveal how ancient people thought about their world and connected with their landscape through mythology.
Personifying elements of nature
Nymph was a broad category in myth. It encompassed almost every semi-divine woman and girl in myth, including a number of goddesses. The sea goddess Thetis and the underworld river Styx were both sea nymphs as well as goddesses.
Nymphs were typically portrayed as young, exceptionally beautiful women in art and literature. The word “nymph” in ancient Greek could even be used to mean “young girl” or “unmarried woman” when applied to mortal women.
Despite this etymological connection, many nymphs were married or mothers or gods. Amphitrite was the wife of Poseidon, and her sister Metis, the personification of wisdom, was Zeus’ first wife, according to Hesiod’s Theogony. Maia was the mother of Hermes, the messenger god.
What links all nymphs was their connection with the natural world. Nymphs typically personified elements of nature, like bodies of water, mountains, forests, the weather, or specific plants.
One of the most quintessential nymphs was Daphne (or Laurel, in Latin). According to the Roman poet Ovid in his poem the Metamorphoses, Daphne was a stunningly beautiful nymph who lived in the forest.
Daphne had chosen to follow in the footsteps of Artemis (Diana), the goddess of the hunt, by being a huntress and abstaining from sex and marriage. But her beauty would be her downfall.
One day the god Apollo saw Daphne and immediately tried to pursue her. Daphne did not feel similarly and fled through the forest. Apollo chased and nearly caught her.
But Daphne’s father Peneus, a river god, saved his daughter by transforming her into the laurel tree.
Like many nymphs, Daphne’s myth was an origin story for her namesake tree and its significance to the god Apollo.
But her story also followed one of the most common tropes in nymph myths – the trope a nymph transformed into her namesake after running away from a male deity.
Different nymphs for trees, water, mountains, stars
There were even special names for different types of nymph.
Daphne was a dryad, or tree nymph. Oreads (mountain nymphs) are referenced in Homer’s Iliad. There were three different types of water nymph: the saltwater oceanids and nereids, and the freshwater naiads.
Nymphs lived in the wilderness. These untamed places could be dangerous but they also held precious natural resources that nymphs personified, such as special trees and springs.
Spring nymphs personified one of the most precious resources of all: freshwater.
It was hard to find freshwater in the ancient world, especially in places without human infrastructure. Cities were often built around springs.
The nymph Arethusa was the personification of the spring Arethusa in Sicily. Today, you can visit the Fountain of Arethusa in modern day Syracuse.
No matter where you looked in the ancient landscape, there were nymphs – even in the sky.
The Pleiades and Hyades were two sets of daughters of the god Atlas who eventually were transformed into stars.
Their myths gave an origin for two sets of constellations that were used for navigation and divination.
The Pleiades and Hyades constellations were visible to the naked eye, and can still be seen today.
Although myths may feel like a fictional story told to kids, nymph myths show that ancient myth is inseparable from the ancient landscape and ancient people.
The natural world was imbued with a divine presence from the gods who physically made it – Gaia (Earth) was literally the soil underfoot. Nymphs were a part of this divine presence.
This divine presence brought with it a very special boon: the gift of inspiration.
Some writers (such as Plato) referred to this sort of natural inspiration as being “seized by the nymphs” (νυμφόληπτος or nympholeptus).
Being present in nature and present in places with nymphs could bring about divine inspiration for philosophers, poets and artists alike.
So, if you ever do find yourself alone in a Grecian wood, you may find yourself inspired and in good company – as long as you remain respectful.
Kitty Smith is a member of the Australian Society for Classical Studies and of Australasian Women in Ancient World Studies.
For a long time, universities worked off a simple idea: knowledge was scarce. You paid for tuition, showed up to lectures, completed assignments and eventually earned a credential.
That process did two things: it gave you access to knowledge that was hard to find elsewhere, and it signalled to employers you had invested time and effort to master that knowledge.
The model worked because the supply curve for high-quality information sat far to the left, meaning knowledge was scarce and the price – tuition and wage premiums – stayed high.
Now the curve has shifted right, as the graph below illustrates. When supply moves right – that is, something becomes more accessible – the new intersection with demand sits lower on the price axis. This is why tuition premiums and graduate wage advantages are now under pressure.
According to global consultancy McKinsey, generative AI could add between US$2.6 trillion and $4.4 trillion in annual global productivity. Why? Because AI drives the marginal cost of producing and organising information toward zero.
Large language models no longer just retrieve facts; they explain, translate, summarise and draft almost instantly. When supply explodes like that, basic economics says price falls. The “knowledge premium” universities have long sold is deflating as a result.
Employers have already made their move
Markets react faster than curriculums. Since ChatGPT launched, entry-level job listings in the United Kingdom have fallen by about a third. In the United States, several states are removing degree requirements from public-sector roles.
In Maryland, for instance, the share of state-government job ads requiring a degree slid from roughly 68% to 53% between 2022 and 2024.
In economic terms, employers are repricing labour because AI is now a substitute for many routine, codifiable tasks that graduates once performed. If a chatbot can complete the work at near-zero marginal cost, the wage premium paid to a junior analyst shrinks.
But the value of knowledge is not falling at the same speed everywhere. Economists such as David Autor and Daron Acemoglu point out that technology substitutes for some tasks while complementing others:
codifiable knowledge – structured, rule-based material such as tax codes or contract templates – faces rapid substitution by AI
tacit knowledge – contextual skills such as leading a team through conflict – acts as a complement, so its value can even rise.
Data backs this up. Labour market analytics company Lightcast notes that one-third of the skills employers want have changed between 2021 and 2024. The American Enterprise Institute warns that mid-level knowledge workers, whose jobs depend on repeatable expertise, are most at risk of wage pressure.
So yes, baseline knowledge still matters. You need it to prompt AI, judge its output and make good decisions. But the equilibrium wage premium – meaning the extra pay employers offer once supply and demand for that knowledge settle – is sliding down the demand curve fast.
What’s scarce now?
Herbert Simon, the Nobel Prize–winning economist and cognitive scientist, put it neatly decades ago: “A wealth of information creates a poverty of attention.” When facts become cheap and plentiful, our limited capacity to filter, judge and apply them turns into the real bottleneck.
That is why scarce resources shift from information itself to what machines still struggle to copy: focused attention, sound judgement, strong ethics, creativity and collaboration.
I group these human complements under what I call the C.R.E.A.T.E.R. framework:
critical thinking – asking smart questions and spotting weak arguments
resilience and adaptability – staying steady when everything changes
emotional intelligence – understanding people and leading with empathy
accountability and ethics – taking responsibility for difficult calls
teamwork and collaboration – working well with people who think differently
entrepreneurial creativity – seeing gaps and building new solutions
reflection and lifelong learning – staying curious and ready to grow.
These capabilities are the genuine scarcity in today’s market. They are complements to AI, not substitutes, which is why their wage returns hold or climb.
What universities can do right now
1. Audit courses: if ChatGPT can already score highly on an exam, the marginal value of teaching that content is near zero. Pivot the assessment toward judgement and synthesis.
2. Reinvest in the learning experience: push resources into coached projects, messy real-world simulations, and ethical decision labs where AI is a tool, not the performer.
3. Credential what matters: create micro-credentials for skills such as collaboration, initiative and ethical reasoning. These signal AI complements, not substitutes, and employers notice.
4. Work with industry but keep it collaborative: invite employers to co-design assessments, not dictate them. A good partnership works like a design studio rather than a boardroom order sheet. Academics bring teaching expertise and rigour, employers supply real-world use cases, and students help test and refine the ideas.
Universities can no longer rely on scarcity setting the price for the curated and credentialed form of information that used to be hard to obtain.
The comparative advantage now lies in cultivating human skills that act as complements to AI. If universities do not adapt, the market – students and employers alike – will move on without them.
The opportunity is clear. Shift the product from content delivery to judgement formation. Teach students how to think with, not against, intelligent machines. Because the old model, the one that priced knowledge as a scarce good, is already slipping below its economic break-even point.
Patrick Dodd 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 “mushroom murder trial”, as it has popularly become known, has gripped Australia over the past 11 weeks. More than that, it’s prompted worldwide headlines, multiple daily podcasts, and even YouTube videos of self-proclaimed “body language experts” assessing defendant Erin Patterson’s every move.
There’s an ABC drama series in the works. Acclaimed Australian author Helen Garner has been in the courtroom.
But why did this tragedy, in which three people died and a fourth was lucky to survive, grip the public consciousness in way no other contemporary Australian case has?
On July 29 2023, in a sleepy town called Leongatha in the foothills of the Strzelecki Ranges in Victoria, a very normal woman called Erin Patterson made an ostensibly very normal lunch of beef Wellington.
She was cooking for her in-laws, Gail and Don Patterson, Gail’s sister Heather Wilkinson, and Heather’s husband Ian. Erin’s estranged husband, Simon Patterson, was also invited, but chose not to attend.
Simon and Erin had two children, a boy and a girl, who did not attend the lunch either.
Shortly after the lunch, all four guests were admitted to hospital with suspected gastroenteritis. Erin Patterson also presented to hospital, but refused to be admitted.
Within a few days, Gail, Don, and Heather all died as a result of what was later confirmed as poisoning with Amanita phalloides, better known as death cap mushrooms.
Ian survived, but he was lucky. He spent seven weeks in hospital and needed a liver transplant.
The questions became, how did the mushrooms get into the beef Wellington? Was this an awful accident or something more sinister?
Public obsession
These questions became the focus of very significant public and media attention.
Erin Patterson spoke to the media in the days after the incident. She presented as your typical, average woman of 50.
That is, in my opinion, where the obsession with this case began.
This case had the feel of a Shakespearean drama: multiple deaths within one family, death by poison, and a female protagonist.
The juxtaposition between the normality of a family lunch (and the sheer vanilla-ness of the accused) and the seriousness of the situation sent the media into overdrive.
Then there were the lies. Patterson lied about foraging for mushrooms, and about having cancer to encourage the guests to attend.
The location also played a huge part. Leongatha is known for its staggering natural beauty and thriving food and wine scene. It’s hardly a place where the world expected a mass murderer to live.
However, the perception that rural areas are utopias of safety and social cohesion, and cities are dark and dangerous places, is a myth.
One study by the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare paints a different picture.
For serious assault cases that resulted in hospitalisation, for major cities the rates were 65 per 100,000 people. In rural areas, this rose to 1,244 people per 100,000. And for murder, in very remote areas the rate was five per 100,000 population, but fewer than one per 100,000 in urban areas.
Then there was Erin Patterson’s unusual behaviour. She disposed of the desiccator in which the mushrooms she had foraged were dehydrated. She used multiple phones, one of which underwent multiple factory resets on in the days following the lunch. One of these resets was done remotely after police seized her phone.
There are also the much-discussed plates. The court heard she prepared her meal on a different-coloured plate to those of her other guests so they were easily identifiable.
The public latched onto these details, each providing a new talking point around water coolers or spurring new Reddit threads dedicated to unpacking their significance.
The courtroom as a stage
Ultimately, after three months, Erin Patterson was charged with three counts of murder and one count of attempted murder. She pleaded not guilty.
The trial lasted 40 days. The prosecution alleged Patterson intentionally poisoned her guests, whereas the defence suggested it was all an awful, tragic accident.
The jury took six and a half days to deliberate. During that time, various media outlets did everything they could to keep the story on the front page.
Bizarre pieces began appearing online from credible sources such as the ABC, profiling people who had attended court. They included stories of people turning down work to attend the court daily, cases of friendships blossoming during the trial between regular attendees, and the outfit choices of locals turning up every day to watch the drama unfold.
There were also articles profiling local cafe owners and how they felt about being at the centre of the legal theatrics. The daily podcasts continued even when news from the courtroom didn’t.
The vibe felt more appropriate for a royal visit than a triple murder trial.
It seemed everyone in Australia was gripped by one event, united in a way few other things could manage. We all waited with bated breath to see what the 12 men and women of the jury would decide.
The end to this strange and unique criminal case came on Monday July 7.
The result? Guilty on all four counts. Erin Patterson is formally a mass murderer, though many in the court of public opinion had reached the same conviction months earlier.
Leongatha will always be known for being the setting of (arguably) the most infamous multiple murder case in Australian history. It will join Snowtown in South Australia (home of the “bodies in the barrell” murder case), Kendall in New South Wales (where William Tyrrell disappeared), and Claremont in Western Australia (the murder or disappearance of three women) as places forever linked to tragic crimes.
While the trial is over, there’s much more content still to come, the public’s appetite yet to be satiated.
But the final word should be saved for the Patterson and Wilkinson families. This is an awful tragedy, and there are no winners. Ian and Simon have lost loved ones. The Patterson children have lost grandparents and now have to come to terms with the fact their mother caused those deaths intentionally.
Amid the spectacle, it’s easy to lose sight of the humanity at the centre. As the media spotlight dims, may the families get the privacy and respect they deserve.
Xanthe Mallett 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 Susan Hopkins, Senior Lecturer in Education (Curriculum and Pedagogy), University of the Sunshine Coast
Netflix
In the new Netflix documentary Shark Whisperer, the great white shark gets an image makeover – from Jaws villain to misunderstood friend and admirer.
But the star of the documentary is not so much the shark, but the model and marine conservationist Ocean Ramsey (yes, that’s her real name).
The film centres on Ramsey’s self-growth journey, with the shark co-starring as a quasi-spiritual medium for finding meaning and purpose (not to mention celebrity status).
The film, and some in it, are happy to attribute Ramsey’s success as a shark conservation activist to how driven and photogenic she is. Ramsey says “People look first and listen second. I’ll use my appearance, I’ll put myself out there for a cause.”
Her husband, the photographer Juan Oliphant, enthuses she is good for sharks partly because she is so beautiful and uses all the attention she attracts in the selfless service of sharks.
The image of the long-haired, long-limbed young woman in a bikini swimming above an outsized great white shark is not a new one.
Primal fears and fantasies
Since Jaws (1975), generations have been fascinated and titillated by filmic images and promotional materials of bikini-clad young women juxtaposed with dangerous sharks.
The heroine of Deep Blue Sea (1999) is a neuroscientist – however the film and its promotional materials still require her to appear in a wet t-shirt and underwear while pursued by a massive shark monster.
The Shallows (2016) presents countless images of its bikini-clad heroine, with partially exposed bottom and long legs marked by bite marks as a kind of meat to be consumed – not least by the voyeuristic lens of the camera.
The poster for 47 Meters Down: Uncaged (2019) features a bikini-clad young woman with legs dangling precariously in front of the gaping jaws of an unnaturally large great white.
I have previously explored the psychosexual symbolism of these films and images. These films were never really about actual sharks. They are about very human fears and fantasies about being exposed and vulnerable.
Whisperer and the Ocean Ramsey website tap into the collective fascination with dangerous sharks fuelled by popular culture. Many online images show Ramsey in a bikini or touching sharks – she’s small, and vulnerable in the face of great whites. As with forms of celebrity humanitarianism, what I have dubbed “sexy conservationism” leaves itself open to criticism about its methods – even if its intentions are good.
The paradox of Shark Whisperer – and indeed the whole Ocean Ramsey empire – is it both resists and relies on Jaws mythology and iconography to surf the image economy of new media.
Saving, not stalking
Ramsey and Oliphant are on a mission not just to save individual sharks, but to change the public perception of great whites to a more positive one.
This mission is reiterated in Shark Whisperer and in the Saving Jaws documentary linked to the website, which also promotes a book, accessories and shark-diving tours.
Shark Whisperer both resists and relies on the mythical status of the shark brought to us by Jaws. Netflix
It is reassuring to know proceeds from the bikini you buy from the official website are donated to shark conservation. But the (often sexualised) media attention which fuels the whole enterprise still depends on tapping into the legacy of popular culture representations of great whites as fearsome monsters.
In footage, Ramsey seems to spend most of her time with smaller tiger sharks, yet her website and the Shark Whisperer film foreground her rare close encounters with an “enormous” or “massive” great white as the climax and cover shot.
Shark Whisperer also includes the kind of “money shots” we have come to expect: images of a large great white tearing at flesh (here, a whale carcass) with blood in the water. Images like these arouse our collective cultural memory of the filmic great white as the ultimate bestial predator.
In its climactic scene, Whisperer strategically deploys eerie music to build the suspense and foretell the appearance of the enormous great white which rises from the depths. Again echoes of Jaws are used to stimulate viewing pleasures and sell the mixed messages of sexy shark conservation.
A story of (personal) growth
The self-growth narrative which underpins Whisperer will feel familiar to shark film fans. Jaws was always about overcoming fears and past traumas, as in the scene where Quint and Brody compare their real and metaphorical scars.
The poster for the 2022 film Shark Bait. IMDB
Over the past decade, a new generation of post-feminist shark films have used sharks as metaphorical stalkers to tell stories about women overcoming past trauma, grief, “inner darkness” or depression.
In The Reef: Stalked (2022) the heroine must overcome the murder of her sister. In Shark Bait (2022) the heroine must rise above a cheating partner. In The Shallows, the heroine is processing grief.
Whisperer also leans into the idea of Ramsey fighting inner demons on a journey to self-actualisation.
And while Ramsey has undoubtedly raised the profile of shark conservation, as a model-designer-conservationist-entrepreneur she has also disseminated another more dubious message: that the way to enact influence and activism is through instagrammable images of beautiful models in high risk situations.
Happy endings
The end credits of Whisperer are a montage of happy endings: Ramsey frolics with sharks and shows off her diamond ring. There is even an ocean-themed wedding scene.
Yet beneath all the glossy surface lies a sombre reality: globally at least 80 million sharks are killed every year.
The Ramsey website and the film rightly remind us of this. They also remind us that, thanks in part to the hashtag activism of Ocean Ramsey and her millions of fans and followers, Hawaii was the first state in the United States to outlaw shark fishing.
So, Ramsey may be right to argue her ends justify the means.
Susan Hopkins 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 Tanya M. Smith, Professor in the Australian Research Centre for Human Evolution & Griffith Centre for Social and Cultural Research, Griffith University
The climate we live in affects our lives in profound ways: hot summers, cold winters, dry spells and wet weather all leave their mark.
For growing children, one way seasons and storms are recorded is in their teeth. As we have shown in new research, teeth contain a week-by-week climatic history of their owner’s childhood.
To establish this, we studied the teeth of wild chimpanzees, captive macaque monkeys, and a woman born in Brisbane in January 1990. Her infancy included distinctive weather events – but its more powerful use is to reveal the climates that shaped individual lives thousands or even millions of years ago.
How does it work?
You wouldn’t know it, but changes in rainfall and temperature cause subtle changes in drinking water. Specifically, they affect the proportions of different atomic variants of oxygen (the isotopes oxygen-18 and oxygen-16).
Under a microscope, you can see tiny lines inside teeth that correspond to daily layers of growth. Using a machine called the Sensitive High Resolution Ion MicroProbe (SHRIMP) at the Australian National University, we vaporised spots of enamel corresponding to these lines and analysed the oxygen isotopes in the vapour.
Once we know about the balance of oxygen isotopes, we can work backwards to determine changes in drinking water and the corresponding climatic conditions.
Top: Teeth start to develop before birth, forming mineralised layers with visible growth lines. Middle: the balance of oxygen isotopes from tiny spots in the enamel are sampled with the SHRIMP. Bottom: isotopic values reveal cycles of wetter (dark blue) and drier (light blue) seasons during the development of the tooth. Smith et al. 2025 / Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta
Brisbane, 1990
Our Australian tooth donor began her life during a wet summer during which a cyclone dumped enormous amounts of rain on Brisbane and surrounds, and months of high rainfall in the region persisted through to autumn.
Oxygen isotopes (red) in a child’s tooth enamel compared to local rainfall (blue). Isotopic values decrease with rainfall and become higher during dry seasons. Smith et al. 2025 / Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta
Her tooth enamel formed during the summer of 1990 showed oxygen isotope trends that were consistent with the rainfall patterns at the time. The minimum values occurred close in time to the wettest period, and the maximum values happened towards the end of the long dry spell that began later in the year.
After she reached her first birthday, these climate markers became more challenging to interpret. This likely happened because she began to consume more cooked foods, which carry a different isotope balance from raw food and breast milk.
Diet records
Thankfully, the SHRIMP can also help us learn more about these dietary changes by measuring nitrogen isotopes in the tooth dentine (which is found under the outer layer of enamel). There is a known relationship between the balance of nitrogen-15 and nitrogen-14 and the protein in a child’s diet.
In an earlier study, we looked at these records in the same tooth. Mothers’ milk contains high levels of nitrogen-15, and our donor showed a clear signal of rising values from birth. Shortly after six months of age, her nitrogen isotope ratio began to fall, as her mother gradually began offering her fruits and vegetables to supplement her exclusive milk diet.
Nitrogen isotopes (red) in a child’s tooth compared to breastfeeding history (grey bars), showing higher values during intensive nursing and decreases as milk was gradually replaced with weaning foods. Smith et al. 2024 / American Journal of Biological Anthropology
During our donor’s second year of life, she was fed more solid foods, including bread, cheese, eggs, and yogurt – leading to a further decline in the isotopic ratio. She continued breastfeeding at night for a few months into her third year, and finally as she ceased nursing entirely, her nitrogen values reached a minimum.
From 35 years ago to 17 million years ago
Fine-scaled isotopic studies such as these are a world first. Teeth are typically sampled with hand-held drills or small saws to measure inputs from water and food.
These coarse sampling methods are relatively common and inexpensive, but they cannot show short-term changes in the composition of teeth. This limits how well they can be used to identify important environmental or dietary changes.
Our new technique has many applications. We’ve studied Neanderthal children from the Rhône basin of southeastern France, who experienced some rough seasons 250,000 years ago. By SHRIMPing thin tooth slices, and relating this to enamel formation ages, we were even able to estimate the seasons in which one child was born and weaned 2.5 years later.
Designed for geological studies, the Sensitive High Resolution Ion MicroProbe (SHRIMP) can be used to determine the balance of different atomic variants in many different kinds of material – including teeth. Tanya Smith / Australian Academy of Science
We have just begun to produce isotopic weaning curves for humans who lived several hundred to several thousand years ago, yielding new insights into ancient maternal behaviour and infant health.
This technology can also be applied to much more ancient fossils, including apes who lived in Africa 17 million years ago. In this instance, isotopic differences between fossils were consistent with other evidence that a changing climate played an important role in influencing the anatomy and development of humanity’s forebears.
Teeth hold many more tales, and technological breakthroughs such as those at the Australian National University will continue to reveal hidden details of our ancient humanity as well as the unintended consequences of our modern lifestyles.
Tanya M. Smith receives funding from the Australian Research Council.
Ian Stuart Williams has previously received funding from the Australian Research Council.
Northern Territory Coroner Elizabeth Armitage’s inquest findings into the death of Kumanjayi Walker have sparked conversations across Australia.
The coroner found the NT police officer who shot Walker, Zachary Rolfe, was “racist”, and she couldn’t exclude the possibility that his “values […] contributed to his decision to pull the trigger”.
For many, the findings have raised questions about the history, role, purpose and limitations of coronial inquests. So what are they, and what do they do?
What is a coroners court?
The office of coroner emerged in England in 1194. Coroners were powerful officers of the realm – collecting taxes, adjudicating treasure troves and investigating deaths.
In the 21st century, each state and territory in Australia has its own coroners court. A coroners court consists of a state coroner or chief coroner, who is the equivalent of a judge, and other coroners, who hold the position of a magistrate (beneath a judge in the court hierarchy).
All coroners are legally trained. In the 19th century, all coroners in Australia were doctors. There is no longer a requirement for coroners to have medical qualifications.
The office of the coroner came about in England centuries ago. Getty
Coroners investigate unexpected, unnatural, violent and accidental deaths. In Victoria, for instance, this is about 7,400 deaths each year.
Legislation requires coroners to determine the who, when, where, what and how of such “reportable” deaths.
This means they need to determine the identity of the deceased, when and where that person died, what caused their death, and the circumstances or manner in which they died. In many instances, they make recommendations for reducing preventable deaths in the future.
Police help coroners in their investigations by providing a brief of evidence, but the coroners court is separate from the police, just as other law courts are. Forensic pathologists assist coroners in finding the medical cause of death.
Since 2005, first in Victoria and then elsewhere in Australia, forensic pathologists and radiologists have used postmortem CT scans to determine cause of death. This has greatly reduced the need for invasive autopsies.
Coroners can make findings “on the papers” – which means investigations won’t proceed to an inquest – or deliver findings at the conclusion of an inquest.
So what is a coronial inquest?
A coronial inquest is a formal public hearing into why someone (or sometimes a group of people) died. It’s often held across multiple days, during which the facts can be examined, witnesses can be questioned, and the community can come together to understand how a person died.
What is unique about the Coroners Court is that it’s inquisitorial, not adversarial. This means there shouldn’t be any warring parties.
In addition, inquests have an expansive scope compared to a criminal trial. They can investigate the wider institutional, social and economic contexts of a death, examining what may have contributed to it, and comment on factors connected to the death, such as public health and safety.
Not all investigations proceed to an inquest. In fact, the number of inquests across Australia has been steadily declining since the early 2000s. In New South Wales there were 142 held in 2013 and only 103 in 2023. This is despite the number of investigations over that period increasing by 37%.
The former Deputy State Coroner of NSW, Hugh Dillon, cites a lack of funding, delays due to backlog, and structural design flaws as some reasons for the decline in holding inquests into reportable deaths.
Juries were a feature of inquests in Australia in the 19th century. They were no longer compulsory in the early 20th century, and were formally abolished in NSW in 1999.
Coroners must hold an inquest in certain circumstances. For example:
where the deceased was in custody or care immediately before death
where the identity of the deceased is unknown
or where there is suspicion that the death was due to homicide (though in this situation an inquest will most likely be superseded by a criminal trial).
Coroners are prohibited from making findings of guilt or liability. The purpose of the investigation is to issue findings of facts about unnatural deaths, not to determine questions of law.
Researcher Rebecca Scott Bray points out that coronial proceedings have the potential to be positive experiences, especially for grieving families.
But these processes can fail to live up to that potential, particularly with respect to inquests into deaths in custody.
Why does all this matter?
There is little understanding of the purpose of the Coroners Court in Australian society. More research is required to ascertain why this is the case, but even law graduates have a low level of literacy about the powers and limitations of coroners. They are seldom taught about the coroner in law school.
This results in misunderstandings that coroners can find someone guilty of causing a death, or that coronial recommendations for preventing similar deaths in the future must be implemented.
It isn’t mandatory, for instance, for the NT government to implement any of Coroner Armitage’s 32 recommendations for preventing deaths in custody in the future.
Coronial investigations matter for families and friends of the bereaved: discovering the “truth” of how a person died, memorialising their life, and hoping their death prevents similar deaths from occurring in future.
It also matters for Australian society: improving health and safety for all, healing a community amid tragedy, and giving voice to the dead.
Marc Trabsky’s research for this article received funding from an Australian Research Council Discovery Early Career Researcher Award (DE220100064).
Could you ever be truly alone in the woods of ancient Greece or Rome? According to myth, the ancient world was filled with wild animals, terrifying monsters, and mischievous deities. Among them were nymphs: semi-divine female figures that personified elements of the natural world.
But nymphs offer us more than just stories of sexy nature spirits.
They can reveal how ancient people thought about their world and connected with their landscape through mythology.
Personifying elements of nature
Nymph was a broad category in myth. It encompassed almost every semi-divine woman and girl in myth, including a number of goddesses. The sea goddess Thetis and the underworld river Styx were both sea nymphs as well as goddesses.
Nymphs were typically portrayed as young, exceptionally beautiful women in art and literature. The word “nymph” in ancient Greek could even be used to mean “young girl” or “unmarried woman” when applied to mortal women.
Despite this etymological connection, many nymphs were married or mothers or gods. Amphitrite was the wife of Poseidon, and her sister Metis, the personification of wisdom, was Zeus’ first wife, according to Hesiod’s Theogony. Maia was the mother of Hermes, the messenger god.
What links all nymphs was their connection with the natural world. Nymphs typically personified elements of nature, like bodies of water, mountains, forests, the weather, or specific plants.
One of the most quintessential nymphs was Daphne (or Laurel, in Latin). According to the Roman poet Ovid in his poem the Metamorphoses, Daphne was a stunningly beautiful nymph who lived in the forest.
Daphne had chosen to follow in the footsteps of Artemis (Diana), the goddess of the hunt, by being a huntress and abstaining from sex and marriage. But her beauty would be her downfall.
One day the god Apollo saw Daphne and immediately tried to pursue her. Daphne did not feel similarly and fled through the forest. Apollo chased and nearly caught her.
But Daphne’s father Peneus, a river god, saved his daughter by transforming her into the laurel tree.
Like many nymphs, Daphne’s myth was an origin story for her namesake tree and its significance to the god Apollo.
But her story also followed one of the most common tropes in nymph myths – the trope a nymph transformed into her namesake after running away from a male deity.
Different nymphs for trees, water, mountains, stars
There were even special names for different types of nymph.
Daphne was a dryad, or tree nymph. Oreads (mountain nymphs) are referenced in Homer’s Iliad. There were three different types of water nymph: the saltwater oceanids and nereids, and the freshwater naiads.
Nymphs lived in the wilderness. These untamed places could be dangerous but they also held precious natural resources that nymphs personified, such as special trees and springs.
Spring nymphs personified one of the most precious resources of all: freshwater.
It was hard to find freshwater in the ancient world, especially in places without human infrastructure. Cities were often built around springs.
The nymph Arethusa was the personification of the spring Arethusa in Sicily. Today, you can visit the Fountain of Arethusa in modern day Syracuse.
No matter where you looked in the ancient landscape, there were nymphs – even in the sky.
The Pleiades and Hyades were two sets of daughters of the god Atlas who eventually were transformed into stars.
Their myths gave an origin for two sets of constellations that were used for navigation and divination.
The Pleiades and Hyades constellations were visible to the naked eye, and can still be seen today.
Although myths may feel like a fictional story told to kids, nymph myths show that ancient myth is inseparable from the ancient landscape and ancient people.
The natural world was imbued with a divine presence from the gods who physically made it – Gaia (Earth) was literally the soil underfoot. Nymphs were a part of this divine presence.
This divine presence brought with it a very special boon: the gift of inspiration.
Some writers (such as Plato) referred to this sort of natural inspiration as being “seized by the nymphs” (νυμφόληπτος or nympholeptus).
Being present in nature and present in places with nymphs could bring about divine inspiration for philosophers, poets and artists alike.
So, if you ever do find yourself alone in a Grecian wood, you may find yourself inspired and in good company – as long as you remain respectful.
Kitty Smith is a member of the Australian Society for Classical Studies and of Australasian Women in Ancient World Studies.
Have you ever gone to toss something into the recycling bin – a jam jar, a pizza box, a takeaway container encrusted with yesterday’s lunch – and wondered if you’re doing it right? Perhaps you asked yourself: should I scrub the jar with hot water? Scrape the mozzarella off the box? Wash off that palak paneer?
Research shows most Australians believe they are good recyclers. But only 25% of people separate waste correctly and up to 35% of recycling goes to landfill unnecessarily. And one in four Australians tends not to rinse or empty food containers before sending them to the bin.
So just how well does recycling need to be rinsed? What should you do with your plastic lids and pizza boxes? And will robots one day work it all out for us?
One in four Australians tends not to rinse or empty food containers before recycling them. ThamKC/Shutterstock
The problem of contamination
Mechanical recycling methods – such as shredding and melting – struggle to operate when food and other residues are present.
In fact, one spoiled item might ruin the entire cycling batch. Queensland’s Goondiwindi Regional Council, for example, said nearly a quarter of its kerbside recyclables collected in 2022–23 was contaminated and sent to landfill.
Some councils use “advanced materials recovery” that can tolerate lightly soiled recyclables. These facilities use mechanical and automated sorting processes, including optical sorters and artificial intelligence.
But other councils still rely on human sorting, or basic mechanical systems, which require items to be relatively clean.
While local recycling capabilities come into play, as a general rule, rinse containers when you can. As well as avoiding contamination, it helps reduce smells and keep bins clean.
The best pre-cleaning method for recycling depends on the type of packaging.
Paper and cardboard: these items must be clean and dry – no exceptions. Paper and cardboard absorbs contamination more than other materials. So if it gets wet or greasy, it can’t be recycled – though it may be compostable.
So for pizza boxes, for example, recycle the clean parts and bin the parts that are greasy or have food stuck to them.
Unfortunately, traditional cardboard coffee cups are not usually recyclable in Australia. That’s because the plastic lining inside is bonded tightly to the paper, making it difficult to separate during standard paper recycling.
However in some areas, programs such as Simply Cups collect coffee cups and recycle them into sustainable products such as asphalt, concrete and building products.
And in some states, such as South Australia and Western Australia, single-use cups lined with polymer are banned and only compostable cups can be used.
The plastic lining in disposable coffee cups is tightly bonded to the paper, making recycling difficult. maxbelchenko/Shutterstock
Glass and metals: these items are washed and processed at extremely high temperatures, so can tolerate a bit of residue. But too much residue can contaminate paper and cardboard in the bin. So rinse glass and plastic to remove visible food and empty liquids. Just a quick rinse is enough – there’s no need to scrub or use hot water.
But not all glass and metals can be recycled. Mirrors and light bulbs, for instance, are treated in such a way that they melt at different temperatures to other glass. So check before you chuck.
Plastics: rinse plastics before putting them in the recycling bin. It’s important to know that the numbers 1 to 7 on plastics, inside a recycling symbol, do not necessarily mean the item can be recycled in your area. The number is a code that identifies what plastic the item is made from. Check if your council can recycle that type of plastic.
Complicating matters further is the question of plastic lids. On this, guidelines differ across Australia, so check your local rules.
Likewise, the rules on plastic bottle lids differ. Some councils allow bottle-lid recycling, but even then, the processes vary. In the Australian Capital territory, for example, a lid larger than a credit card can be put in the recycling bin, but consumers are asked to remove the lid from the bottle. But Brisbane City Council asks consumers to leave the lids on.
Meanwhile, organisations such as Lids4Kids collect plastic lids and make them into new products.
Advanced chemical recycling breaks plastic down into its chemical building blocks. It can process plastic types that traditional methods can’t, such as soft plastics, and turn it into valuable new products.
AI and automation are also reshaping recycling, by improving sorting and reducing contamination. And closed-loop washing systems, which filter and reuse water, can clean lightly soiled recyclables.
Other innovations are emerging, too, such as dissolvable packaging and AI-enabled “smart bins” that might one day identify and sort materials – and maybe even tell consumers if items need rinsing!
But upcycling still requires clean, well-sorted streams to be viable. And until all these technologies are widespread, each of us must help keep our recycling systems working well.
Pooria Pasbakhsh is also affiliated with Monash University Malaysia as an Adjunct Associate Professor. He received funding from CRC-P project entitled “Upcycling of Convoluted Subsea Flexible Flow Lines”, Grant number: 108439.
Have you ever gone to toss something into the recycling bin – a jam jar, a pizza box, a takeaway container encrusted with yesterday’s lunch – and wondered if you’re doing it right? Perhaps you asked yourself: should I scrub the jar with hot water? Scrape the mozzarella off the box? Wash off that palak paneer?
Research shows most Australians believe they are good recyclers. But only 25% of people separate waste correctly and up to 35% of recycling goes to landfill unnecessarily. And one in four Australians tends not to rinse or empty food containers before sending them to the bin.
So just how well does recycling need to be rinsed? What should you do with your plastic lids and pizza boxes? And will robots one day work it all out for us?
One in four Australians tends not to rinse or empty food containers before recycling them. ThamKC/Shutterstock
The problem of contamination
Mechanical recycling methods – such as shredding and melting – struggle to operate when food and other residues are present.
In fact, one spoiled item might ruin the entire cycling batch. Queensland’s Goondiwindi Regional Council, for example, said nearly a quarter of its kerbside recyclables collected in 2022–23 was contaminated and sent to landfill.
Some councils use “advanced materials recovery” that can tolerate lightly soiled recyclables. These facilities use mechanical and automated sorting processes, including optical sorters and artificial intelligence.
But other councils still rely on human sorting, or basic mechanical systems, which require items to be relatively clean.
While local recycling capabilities come into play, as a general rule, rinse containers when you can. As well as avoiding contamination, it helps reduce smells and keep bins clean.
The best pre-cleaning method for recycling depends on the type of packaging.
Paper and cardboard: these items must be clean and dry – no exceptions. Paper and cardboard absorbs contamination more than other materials. So if it gets wet or greasy, it can’t be recycled – though it may be compostable.
So for pizza boxes, for example, recycle the clean parts and bin the parts that are greasy or have food stuck to them.
Unfortunately, traditional cardboard coffee cups are not usually recyclable in Australia. That’s because the plastic lining inside is bonded tightly to the paper, making it difficult to separate during standard paper recycling.
However in some areas, programs such as Simply Cups collect coffee cups and recycle them into sustainable products such as asphalt, concrete and building products.
And in some states, such as South Australia and Western Australia, single-use cups lined with polymer are banned and only compostable cups can be used.
The plastic lining in disposable coffee cups is tightly bonded to the paper, making recycling difficult. maxbelchenko/Shutterstock
Glass and metals: these items are washed and processed at extremely high temperatures, so can tolerate a bit of residue. But too much residue can contaminate paper and cardboard in the bin. So rinse glass and plastic to remove visible food and empty liquids. Just a quick rinse is enough – there’s no need to scrub or use hot water.
But not all glass and metals can be recycled. Mirrors and light bulbs, for instance, are treated in such a way that they melt at different temperatures to other glass. So check before you chuck.
Plastics: rinse plastics before putting them in the recycling bin. It’s important to know that the numbers 1 to 7 on plastics, inside a recycling symbol, do not necessarily mean the item can be recycled in your area. The number is a code that identifies what plastic the item is made from. Check if your council can recycle that type of plastic.
Complicating matters further is the question of plastic lids. On this, guidelines differ across Australia, so check your local rules.
Likewise, the rules on plastic bottle lids differ. Some councils allow bottle-lid recycling, but even then, the processes vary. In the Australian Capital territory, for example, a lid larger than a credit card can be put in the recycling bin, but consumers are asked to remove the lid from the bottle. But Brisbane City Council asks consumers to leave the lids on.
Meanwhile, organisations such as Lids4Kids collect plastic lids and make them into new products.
Advanced chemical recycling breaks plastic down into its chemical building blocks. It can process plastic types that traditional methods can’t, such as soft plastics, and turn it into valuable new products.
AI and automation are also reshaping recycling, by improving sorting and reducing contamination. And closed-loop washing systems, which filter and reuse water, can clean lightly soiled recyclables.
Other innovations are emerging, too, such as dissolvable packaging and AI-enabled “smart bins” that might one day identify and sort materials – and maybe even tell consumers if items need rinsing!
But upcycling still requires clean, well-sorted streams to be viable. And until all these technologies are widespread, each of us must help keep our recycling systems working well.
Pooria Pasbakhsh is also affiliated with Monash University Malaysia as an Adjunct Associate Professor. He received funding from CRC-P project entitled “Upcycling of Convoluted Subsea Flexible Flow Lines”, Grant number: 108439.
Given the number of times this has happened already, it should come as little surprise that we’re now faced with yet another new subvariant of SARS-CoV-2, the virus responsible for COVID.
This new subvariant is known as XFG (nicknamed “Stratus”) and the World Health Organization (WHO) designated it a “variant under monitoring” in late June. XFG is a subvariant of Omicron, of which there are now more than 1,000.
A “variant under monitoring” signifies a variant or subvariant which needs prioritised attention and monitoring due to characteristics that may pose an additional threat compared to other circulating variants.
While recombination and other spontaneous changes happen often with SARS-CoV-2, it becomes a problem when it creates a subvariant that is changed in such a way that its properties cause more problems for us.
Most commonly this means the virus looks different enough that protection from past infection (and vaccination) doesn’t work so well, called immune evasion. This basically means the population becomes more susceptible and can lead to an increase in cases, and even a whole new wave of COVID infections across the world.
XFG has four key mutations in the spike protein, a protein on the surface of SARS-CoV-2 which allows it to attach to our cells. Some are believed to enhance evasion by certain antibodies.
The earliest XFG sample was collected on January 27.
As of June 22, there were 1,648 XFG sequences submitted to GISAID from 38 countries (GISAID is the global database used to track the prevalence of different variants around the world). This represents 22.7% of the globally available sequences at the time.
This was a significant rise from 7.4% four weeks prior and only just below the proportion of NB.1.8.1 at 24.9%. Given the now declining proportion of viral sequences of NB.1.8.1 overall, and the rapid rise of XFG, it would seem reasonable to expect XFG to become dominant very soon.
According to Australian data expert Mike Honey, the countries showing the highest rates of detection of XFG as of mid-June include India at more than 50%, followed by Spain at 42%, and the United Kingdom and United States, where the subvariant makes up more than 30% of cases.
In Australia as of June 29, NB.1.8.1 was the dominant subvariant, accounting for 48.6% of sequences. In the most recent report from Australia’s national genomic surveillance platform, there were 24 XFG sequences with 12 collected in the last 28 days meaning it currently comprises approximately 5% of sequences.
The big questions
When we talk about a new subvariant, people often ask questions including if it’s more severe or causes new or different symptoms compared to previous variants. But we’re still learning about XFG and we can’t answer these questions with certainty yet.
Some sources have reported XFG may be more likely to course “hoarseness” or a scratchy or raspy voice. But we need more information to know if this association is truly significant.
Notably, there’s no evidence to suggest XFG causes more severe illness compared to other variants in circulation or that it is necessarily any more transmissible.
Will vaccines still work against XFG?
Relatively frequent changes to the virus means we have continued to update the COVID vaccines. The most recent update, which targets the JN.1 subvariant, became available in Australia from late 2024. XFG is a descendant of the JN.1 subvariant.
Fortunately, based on the evidence available so far, currently approved COVID vaccines are expected to remain effective against XFG, particularly against symptomatic and severe disease.
Because of SARS-CoV-2’s continued evolution, the effect of this on our immune response, as well as the fact protection from COVID vaccines declines over time, COVID vaccines are offered regularly, and recommended for those at the highest risk.
One of the major challenges we face at present in Australia is low COVID vaccine uptake. While rates have increased somewhat recently, they remain relatively low, with only 32.3% of people aged 75 years and over having received a vaccine in the past six months. Vaccination rates in younger age groups are significantly lower.
Although the situation with XFG must continue to be monitored, at present the WHO has assessed the global risk posed by this subvariant as low. The advice for combating COVID remains unchanged, including vaccination as recommended and the early administration of antivirals for those who are eligible.
Measures to reduce the risk of transmission, particularly wearing masks in crowded indoor settings and focusing on air quality and ventilation, are worth remembering to protect against COVID and other viral infections.
Paul Griffin has been the principal investigator for clinical trials of 8 COVID-19 vaccines. He has previously participated in medical advisory boards for COVID-19 vaccines. Paul Griffin is a director and medical advisory board member of the immunisation coalition.
Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Jesse Cale, Associate Professor of Criminology, Deputy Director Research (Griffith Youth Forensic Service), Griffith University
When we think about who’s responsible for sexual abuse in Australia, we usually picture adults.
But young people are responsible for a substantial proportion of sexual offences nationwide. Up to a third of all child sexual abuse is perpetrated by people under 18. So too are a quarter of sexual assaults against both teens and adults.
New research shows there are effective treatment options for perpetrators under the age of 18 to help prevent them offending again in future.
Our study found young people who received specialist forensic treatment were up to 90% less likely to sexually reoffend, compared with similar peers who did not receive the service.
The findings suggest more children can be protected from the harms of sexual abuse by preventing repeat offending. It also shows many young people who commit these crimes can be safely treated in the community.
Our study
In our paper, published in the Journal of Criminal Justice, we evaluated administrative data from more than 1,400 young people who were processed for sexual offences, such as indecent treatment of a child and sexual assault, in Queensland between 2010 and 2024.
We securely accessed more than a decade of anonymised youth justice records and applied advanced statistical techniques across treatment and control groups.
Across five separate statistical approaches, the findings were consistent. Griffith Youth Forensic Service treatment significantly reduced reoffending across different categories of offending, and most importantly, sexual offences.
Key findings showed a 78–90% reduction in sexual reoffending, a 34–44% reduction in overall offending, and additional reductions in violent and non-violent offending.
The treatment group also showed longer follow-up periods without offending. This indicates not just fewer offences, but sustained behavioural change.
The study is among the most scientifically rigorous to look into this issue, which is often hard to research due to the sensitivity of the subject and lack of high-quality data.
What did the treatment involve?
The Griffith Youth Forensic Service has operated in Queensland since 2001. It delivers specialised assessment and treatment for young people aged 10–17 who have been sentenced for sexual offences.
Supported by a partnership between the Department of Youth Justice and Victim Support and Griffith University, the service runs statewide, often in remote or under-resourced communities, and prioritises high-risk cases.
Clinicians at the service use trauma-informed, evidence-based methods. But what makes the service unique is its individualised approach. Each young person is treated in the context of their family, school, peer group and community.
The treatment is highly tailored to the circumstances of the young person involved. Shutterstock
Two young people referred to treatment for sexually abusive behaviour may present with very different life histories and contributing factors. They therefore require tailored intervention approaches.
The goal is to address the underlying drivers of offending, not just to manage behaviour.
The service also helps produce research aimed at improving policy and frontline responses to youth sexual offending.
Why it matters
Sexually harmful and abusive behaviours often occur in the context of trauma, family dysfunction or developmental disruption, and do not always continue into adulthood.
But without intervention, some young people go on to reoffend. The consequences for victims and communities can be devastating.
This study offers evidence that specialist, community-based treatment can help break that cycle.
And because the treatment model also appears to reduce general reoffending, its benefits likely extend beyond preventing sexual harm to preventing other types of harm too.
It’s a flow-on effect: this treatment is promoting safer outcomes across the board.
Treatment over jail time
The study comes at a time of growing public concern about youth crime, and growing interest in solutions that go beyond punishment.
In Queensland, where this research was done, “adult time for adult crime” laws trying to drive down the rate of youth offending featured prominently in the 2024 election campaign.
The measures have been roundly criticised, including by the United Nations.
This research shows properly resourced rehabilitative strategies can be highly effective in reducing youth offending, often more so than punishment.
Other studies also show community-based ways to deal with the problem, albeit not looking at sexual offending specifically.
We know mental health support is hugely helpful for reducing recidivism through keeping children out of a cycle of incarceration.
There have also been studies of preschool programs that suggest specific types of early childhood education can prevent children going on to commit crimes.
Where to from here?
The particular focus of our study, the Griffith Youth Forensic Service, is only in Queensland, but the findings are relevant for other jurisdictions.
In New South Wales, New Street Services provide therapeutic interventions across the state for adolescents aged 10–17 who have engaged in harmful sexual behaviour.
Importantly, specialised services aren’t available in all states, and very few include the same built-in research and evaluation components as the Griffith Youth Forensic Service.
The results of our study support continued national investment in:
specialist, evidence-based programs tailored to young people
community-based and trauma-informed approaches
improving service accessibility, especially in remote or underserved areas.
The study also highlights the importance of rigorous evaluation in guiding youth justice and broader government policy and funding decisions.
This service works, and now we have data to prove it.
Jesse Cale is the Deputy Director of the Griffith Youth Forensic Service.
Benoit Leclerc is Director of the Griffith Youth Forensic Service
Francisco Perales works for the Queensland Department of Youth Justice and Victim Support. The contributions made to this piece and the underlying research are however in his capacity as Adjunct Professor at Griffith University and are independent of his role at the department. The views expressed in this piece are therefore those of the author and may not reflect those of the department.
Tyson Whitten is a Senior Research Fellow at Childlight, UNSW.
Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Kylie Walker, Visiting Fellow, National Centre for the Public Awareness of Science, Australian National University
Stellalevi / Getty Images
Science in the United States in in trouble. The National Science Foundation, a key research funding agency, has suffered devastating funding cuts under the current administration. Critics say the cuts risk losing an entire generation of young scientists.
The US has long been the global destination for science. But perhaps no longer. The rest of the world, including Australia, is looking to lure scientists from the US.
And many of those scientists are looking to move. In March, a Nature survey suggested more than 75% of US researchers were considering leaving the country.
What moves are under way to capitalise on this American brain drain? Where does Australia sit – and, importantly, are we doing enough?
What are other countries doing?
In May, the European Commission announced a two-year, €500 million package to woo scientists and researchers called Choose Europe. The announcement of the package highlighted how “academic and scientific freedom is increasingly under threat”, and offers researchers higher allowances, longer contracts and reduced regulatory barriers to innovation.
Canada also has active efforts. The Toronto-based University Hospital Network, for example, aims to raise C$30 million to attract and recruit clinician scientists and medical talent.
Programs such as the EU’s and Canada’s ostensibly aim to attract and recruit top talent from “around the world”. Given the timing, however, it’s no secret which country’s scientists they have their eyes on.
What about Australia?
In Australia, the scientific community is understandably concerned about events in the US and their impact on Australian research. The US is Australia’s largest research partner, with a conservatively estimated A$386 million in funding for Australian research organisations coming from the US government.
At the same time, the US cuts represent an opportunity for Australia as for other countries. The Australian Academy of Science recently launched its Global Talent Attraction Program to take advantage of “a rare opportunity to strengthen our nation by attracting world-leading researchers to our shores”. The program will offer relocation packages for selected researchers, together with research funding, access to Australian infrastructure and family relocation support.
As well as attracting US talent, it may also be an opportunity to reverse the brain drain and bring back talented Australians who may have moved to the US for what were once better career prospects.
The global picture
Attracting, recruiting and retaining US researchers and innovators at all levels is the right thing for Australia to pursue right now. But broader international relationships are also worth some effort, including with countries in our region such as Japan, South Korea and Singapore, as well as in Europe.
These can be facilitated through existing initiatives such as the strategic arm of the Global Science and Technology Diplomacy Fund. Backed by the Australian government and delivered by the Australian Academy of Technological Sciences and Engineering (where I am the CEO) and the Australian Academy of Science, the fund brings together innovators and research initiatives in priority partner countries and Australia. Areas of interest include advanced manufacturing, artificial intelligence and hydrogen production.
With the US pulling out of international collaborations, there is a chance for Australia to establish itself as a science and technology hub within our region.
We have huge clout in renewable energy and battery technologies. Australian-invented solar panels represent the majority of household solar around the world and Australian batteries technology is among the best.
Australian researchers, policymakers and citizens are right to be concerned by what’s happening in the US. But we don’t need to wait anxiously. We have an extremely rare opportunity to foster talent in Australia on our terms.
Kylie Walker is CEO of the Australian Academy of Technological Sciences and Engineering and previously worked for the Australian Academy of Science (2011–2016).
Source: The Conversation – USA – By Francis Ryan, Associate Professor of Labor Studies and Employment Relations, Rutgers University
Curbside trash collection has been on pause in Philadelphia since July 1, 2025.AP Photo/Matt Slocum
As the Philadelphia municipal worker strike enters its second week, so-called “Parker piles” – large collections of garbage that some residents blame on Mayor Cherelle Parker – continue to build up in neighborhoods across the city.
Some city residents are referring to the garbage build-up sites as ‘Parker piles.’ AP Photo/Tassanee Vejpongsa
How successful are trash strikes in Philly or other U.S. cities?
As I describe in my book, Philadelphia has a long history of sanitation strikes that goes back to March 1937. At that time, a brief work stoppage brought about discussions between the city administration and an early version of the current union.
This strike was a major event because it showed how damaging a garbage strike could be. The fact that strikers were willing to fight in the streets to stop trash services showed that such events had the potential for violence, not to mention the health concerns from having tons of trash on the streets.
There was another two-week trash strike in Philadelphia in 1944, but there wouldn’t be another for more than 20 years.
However, a growing number of sanitation strikes popped up around the country in the 1960s, the most infamous being the 1968 Memphis Sanitation Strike.
Black sanitation workers peacefully march wearing placards reading ‘I Am A Man’ during the Memphis sanitation strike in 1968. Bettmann via Getty Images
In Memphis, a majority African American sanitation workforce demanded higher wages, basic safety procedures and recognition of their union. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. rallied to support the Memphis workers and their families as part of his Poor Peoples’ Campaign, which sought to organize working people from across the nation into a new coalition to demand full economic and political rights.
Following the Memphis strike, AFSCME began organizing public workers around the country and through the coming years into the 1970s, there were sanitation strikes and slowdowns across the nation including in New York City, Atlanta, Cleveland and Washington, D.C. Often, these workers, who were predominantly African American, gained the support of significant sections of the communities they served and secured modest wage boosts.
By the 1980s, such labor actions were becoming fewer. In 1986, Philadelphia witnessed a three-week sanitation strike that ended with the union gaining some of its wage demands, but losing on key areas related to health care benefits.
Workers begin removing mounds of trash after returning to work after the 18-day strike in Philadelphia in July 1986. Bettmann via Getty Images
How do wages and benefits for DC33 workers compare to other U.S. cities?
Unlike other eras, the fact that social media makes public these personal narratives and perspectives – like from former sanitation worker Terrill Haigler, aka “Ya Fav Trashman” – is shaping the way many citizens respond to these disruptions. I see a level of support for the strikers that I believe is unprecedented going back as far as 1938.
What do you think is behind this support?
The pandemic made people more aware of the role of essential workers in society. If the men and women who do these jobs can’t afford their basic needs, something isn’t right. This may explain why so many people are seeing things from the perspective of striking workers.
At the same time, money is being cut from important services at the federal, state and local levels. The proposed gutting of the city’s mass transit system by state lawmakers is a case in point. Social media allows people to make these broader connections and start conversations.
If the strike continues much longer, I think it will gain more national and international attention, and bring discussions about how workers should be treated to the forefront.
Francis Ryan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Patrick Dodd, Professional Teaching Fellow, Business School, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau
For a long time, universities worked off a simple idea: knowledge was scarce. You paid for tuition, showed up to lectures, completed assignments and eventually earned a credential.
That process did two things: it gave you access to knowledge that was hard to find elsewhere, and it signalled to employers you had invested time and effort to master that knowledge.
The model worked because the supply curve for high-quality information sat far to the left, meaning knowledge was scarce and the price – tuition and wage premiums – stayed high.
Now the curve has shifted right, as the graph below illustrates. When supply moves right – that is, something becomes more accessible – the new intersection with demand sits lower on the price axis. This is why tuition premiums and graduate wage advantages are now under pressure.
According to global consultancy McKinsey, generative AI could add between US$2.6 trillion and $4.4 trillion in annual global productivity. Why? Because AI drives the marginal cost of producing and organising information toward zero.
Large language models no longer just retrieve facts; they explain, translate, summarise and draft almost instantly. When supply explodes like that, basic economics says price falls. The “knowledge premium” universities have long sold is deflating as a result.
Employers have already made their move
Markets react faster than curriculums. Since ChatGPT launched, entry-level job listings in the United Kingdom have fallen by about a third. In the United States, several states are removing degree requirements from public-sector roles.
In Maryland, for instance, the share of state-government job ads requiring a degree slid from roughly 68% to 53% between 2022 and 2024.
In economic terms, employers are repricing labour because AI is now a substitute for many routine, codifiable tasks that graduates once performed. If a chatbot can complete the work at near-zero marginal cost, the wage premium paid to a junior analyst shrinks.
But the value of knowledge is not falling at the same speed everywhere. Economists such as David Autor and Daron Acemoglu point out that technology substitutes for some tasks while complementing others:
codifiable knowledge – structured, rule-based material such as tax codes or contract templates – faces rapid substitution by AI
tacit knowledge – contextual skills such as leading a team through conflict – acts as a complement, so its value can even rise.
Data backs this up. Labour market analytics company Lightcast notes that one-third of the skills employers want have changed between 2021 and 2024. The American Enterprise Institute warns that mid-level knowledge workers, whose jobs depend on repeatable expertise, are most at risk of wage pressure.
So yes, baseline knowledge still matters. You need it to prompt AI, judge its output and make good decisions. But the equilibrium wage premium – meaning the extra pay employers offer once supply and demand for that knowledge settle – is sliding down the demand curve fast.
What’s scarce now?
Herbert Simon, the Nobel Prize–winning economist and cognitive scientist, put it neatly decades ago: “A wealth of information creates a poverty of attention.” When facts become cheap and plentiful, our limited capacity to filter, judge and apply them turns into the real bottleneck.
That is why scarce resources shift from information itself to what machines still struggle to copy: focused attention, sound judgement, strong ethics, creativity and collaboration.
I group these human complements under what I call the C.R.E.A.T.E.R. framework:
critical thinking – asking smart questions and spotting weak arguments
resilience and adaptability – staying steady when everything changes
emotional intelligence – understanding people and leading with empathy
accountability and ethics – taking responsibility for difficult calls
teamwork and collaboration – working well with people who think differently
entrepreneurial creativity – seeing gaps and building new solutions
reflection and lifelong learning – staying curious and ready to grow.
These capabilities are the genuine scarcity in today’s market. They are complements to AI, not substitutes, which is why their wage returns hold or climb.
What universities can do right now
1. Audit courses: if ChatGPT can already score highly on an exam, the marginal value of teaching that content is near zero. Pivot the assessment toward judgement and synthesis.
2. Reinvest in the learning experience: push resources into coached projects, messy real-world simulations, and ethical decision labs where AI is a tool, not the performer.
3. Credential what matters: create micro-credentials for skills such as collaboration, initiative and ethical reasoning. These signal AI complements, not substitutes, and employers notice.
4. Work with industry but keep it collaborative: invite employers to co-design assessments, not dictate them. A good partnership works like a design studio rather than a boardroom order sheet. Academics bring teaching expertise and rigour, employers supply real-world use cases, and students help test and refine the ideas.
Universities can no longer rely on scarcity setting the price for the curated and credentialed form of information that used to be hard to obtain.
The comparative advantage now lies in cultivating human skills that act as complements to AI. If universities do not adapt, the market – students and employers alike – will move on without them.
The opportunity is clear. Shift the product from content delivery to judgement formation. Teach students how to think with, not against, intelligent machines. Because the old model, the one that priced knowledge as a scarce good, is already slipping below its economic break-even point.
Patrick Dodd 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.
In the early 2000s, golden eagles soared once again over the hills of Donegal in northwest Ireland, for the first time in nearly a century. Their return was celebrated as a landmark in Irish conservation, a hopeful sign that one of the island’s most iconic predators was back.
But two decades on, the reality is sobering. The population remains small with just five territorial pairs and an estimated total population of just 20-25 birds. Breeding success is poor, and the golden eagle’s future in Ireland is uncertain. So what went wrong?
Our research published in the Irish Naturalists’ Journal suggests the problem isn’t with the eagles themselves – it’s with the landscape they were released into. On paper, Donegal’s uplands looked ideal: open terrain, low human disturbance and ample wild prey. But over time, key parts of that ecosystem have quietly unravelled.
Golden eagles rely on a steady supply of prey to thrive and raise chicks – notably red grouse and Irish hares. Yet, during our recent surveys along transects (predetermined lines through an area) and footage from camera traps in and around Glenveagh national park, the uplands seemed eerily quiet. Not just quiet of eagles, but of the smaller animals they prey on for food. The landscape looked wild, but had lost some of its vital living components.
When comparing the available prey biomass, that’s the combined weight of grouse and hares per unit area, Donegal had 74-83% less prey than equivalent areas in the Scottish Highlands where golden eagles are thriving. That’s an enormous shortfall. Without enough food, adult eagles must travel further to hunt and spend more energy – and so are less likely to raise chicks successfully. A few lean years can tip a small population like this into crisis.
Why is prey so scarce? One of the main culprits is overgrazing. Red deer numbers have exploded across Ireland in recent decades. In places such as Donegal, their constant browsing and grazing has severely degraded upland habitats. This damages the heather moorlands that grouse and hares depend on, leaving them with less cover and fewer food sources.
Red deer were the most common species recorded during camera trap surveys. Queen’s University Belfast
Add to this the growing pressure from medium-sized predators, including foxes and badgers. Without apex predators such as wolves or lynx to keep them in check, these “mesopredators” flourish. This well-documented phenomenon is known as mesopredator release where populations of mid-sized predators increase after the loss of top predators, often leading to greater pressure on prey species, such as ground-nesting birds and young hares, compounding the challenges for these struggling prey species.
And while Ireland’s conservation laws look strong on paper, implementation often lags behind. Some protected areas remain heavily grazed, burned or unmanaged. Management plans are either missing, unenforced or outdated. This weakens the very protections meant to sustain wildlife.
A lesson for rewilding
The reintroduction of golden eagles was based on the best available knowledge at the time. But ecosystems aren’t static. What may have been viable habitat in the 1990s no longer meets the needs of a breeding eagle population today.
Reintroducing a species isn’t enough. The systems that sustain it also need to be restored. The clichéd paradigm that nature-is-good and humans-are-bad isn’t helpful. Instead modern landscapes are often so degraded that they can’t recover if left alone.
Upland areas within Glenveagh national park are overgrazed, leading to exposed peat and erosion. Fiona McAuliffe
Conservation can facilitate active recovery. Real rewilding is about more than simply “putting animals back” and “letting nature take its course”. It is about putting systems back: predators, prey, plants and the processes that connect them.
Despite the challenges, the golden eagle population has not failed in Ireland – not yet at least. To turn the tide, conservation efforts must go beyond charismatic species and focus on landscape restoration. That means reducing overgrazing, supporting prey recovery, rebalancing predator dynamics and making sure protected areas are actually protected.
Encouragingly, Glenveagh national park has begun some of this work, by reducing deer overgrazing and regenerating native woodlands. If this landscape restoration is sustained and expanded, golden eagles could still thrive in a more balanced, functioning upland ecosystem.
These birds are more than just a symbol of wildness. They are a litmus test of ecosystem health. Right now, they’re telling us something important. Something those calling for the reintroduction of other top predators, including wolves, would do well to consider.
Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?
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.
American filmmaker David Cronenberg is a leading figure in body horror, a film genre that explores disturbing and often grotesque aspects of the human body. Films such as The Fly (1986), eXistenZ (1999) and Crimes of the Future (2022) depict scenes of physical mutilation, illness and technological invasion to represent deeper fears about identity, society and the human condition.
Through intense bodily imagery, Cronenberg’s films raise powerful questions about human relationships with technology and nature. As our relationship with technology rapidly evolves alongside escalating environmental catastrophe, there is a timely significance in these ideas.
His latest film, The Shrouds, evokes the writing of Stacy Alaimo, a scholar known for her work exploring the connections between the human body, the environment, and the social forces that shape both. Alaimo’s work combines feminist and materialist ideas and examines how our bodies are physically connected to the world around us – not separate from nature or society, but shaped by both ecological systems and social structures.
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Like Cronenberg, Alaimo is interested in the entanglement of human flesh with more-than-human worlds, alongside the interplay between bodies and objects.
In The Shrouds, the body, specifically that of Becca (Diane Kruger) is placed firmly at the centre of the story. Appearing both as a decaying corpse and naked in dream sequences, her body bears fresh surgical scars which are unbandaged and exposed.
Becca’s body is shown as intensely vulnerable, a gendered depiction of femaleness which is controlled literally by the male gaze through the “shroud”, a piece of sci-fi wearable tech. It comprises a suit of MRI and X-ray cameras which encases a corpse, allowing decomposition to be monitored through a live video link with an app.
This conceit embeds Becca both in the Earth and in technology, creating deeply memorable imagery which challenges viewers to think about death, grief and the environmental ethics surrounding human burial.
The presentation of Becca’s body evokes Alaimo’s concept of transcorporeality. In her 2010 book Bodily Natures, Alaimo describes transcorporeality as the idea that “the human is ultimately inseparable from ‘the environment’” – continually transformed through interactions with the landscape, chemicals, technology and non-human forces. Becca’s corpse, decaying in real-time on a live link, highlights this connection.
Grief: the fictional and the personal
The film opens with Karsh (Vincent Kassel), Becca’s bereaved husband, in a dentist’s chair being told, “Grief is rotting your teeth”. The film as a whole can be read as a meditation on how grief seeps into and changes the body.
Written following the death of David Cronenberg’s wife (and initially conceived of as a Netflix series), Cronenberg has rejected the idea that it is fully autobiographical. It is, however, difficult to fully separate the director from the story.
Cassel as Karsh physically resembles Cronenberg in the film, blurring the boundary between fiction and the personal. Physical duplication is a disorienting motif of the film. Kruger reappears as Becca’s sister Terri and as an animated AI assistant named Honey.
Alongside the grotesque images of her decaying body, these versions of Kruger are especially striking. Cassel’s performance as the controlling and obsessive Karsh is nuanced and understated. His desire to monitor Becca’s decomposition is presented as a logical step to regain possession of her from her illness, and is deeply disturbing.
It also has ominous and timely resonance in our modern world, where controversial technology exists that permits artificial intelligence to create avatars of the dead to comfort the bereaved.
The film becomes a mimetic piece on grief, where boundaries between imagination and reality dissolve. Cronenberg’s frequent collaborator Howard Shore provides an ambient score that reinforces this dissolution. Ethereal and bass-rich, it features spacious, slowly evolving melodies wrapped in velvety synth textures which evoke a dream-like soundscape.
As the plot progresses into a tangle of conspiracy theories, lines blur between Karsh’s dreams and reality. Background plots drift unresolved, characters are vaguely sketched. Themes of environmental activism versus capitalist enterprise, the exploitation of technology, illegal surveillance and government corruption are all threaded through the story, but none are fully realised. This is not a film which offers a straightforward narrative or closure. Like grief, it remains raw, fluid and difficult to contain.
Throughout, the film returns to Becca’s decaying body, encased in a shroud that is described as both toxic and radioactive, an object of controversy for eco-activists. “She’s dead, remember, she can’t do anything,” Karsh’s companion reminds him.
But this is not true for Becca. In death, her body is watched and consumed by systems of surveillance and ecological anxiety. Symbolising Alaimo’s concept of transcorporeality, Becca’s decaying corpse, wrapped in technology, but buried in the Earth, is deeply connected to the environment and cannot be separated from it. Her body is influenced by both its natural surroundings and social factors such as the shroud’s technology, outside interference and Karsh’s control.
Karsh asserts that burial is a complex matter, converging politics, religion and economics. The Shrouds raises questions that touch on all of these, but provides no tangible answers. Some viewers will be frustrated by the film’s lack of logical structure and resolution. But it is also fair to say that this is how it mirrors the pathways of grief itself: unwieldy, unpredictable and consuming.
Laura O’Flanagan 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 Brics group of nations has just concluded its 17th annual summit in the Brazilian city of Rio de Janeiro. But, despite member states adopting a long list of commitments covering global governance, finance, health, AI and climate change, the summit was a lacklustre affair.
The two most prominent leaders from the group’s founding members – Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa – were conspicuously absent. Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin, only attended virtually due to an outstanding arrest warrant issued by the International Criminal Court over his role in the war in Ukraine.
China’s Xi Jinping avoided the summit altogether for unknown reasons, sending his prime minister, Li Qiang, instead. This was Xi’s first no-show at a Brics summit, with the snub prompting suggestions that Beijing’s enthusiasm for the group as part of an emerging new world order is in decline.
Perhaps the most notable takeaway from the summit was a statement that came not from the Brics nations but the US. As Brics leaders gathered in Rio, the US president, Donald Trump, warned on social media: “Any Country aligning themselves with the Anti-American policies of BRICS, will be charged an ADDITIONAL 10% Tariff. There will be no exceptions to this policy.”
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Trump has long been critical of Brics. This is largely because the group has consistently floated the idea of adopting a common currency to challenge the dominance of the US dollar in international trade.
Such a move makes sense if we focus on trade figures. In 2024, the value of trade among the Brics nations was around US$5 trillion, accounting for approximately 22% of global exports. Member nations have always felt their economic potential could be fully realised if they were not reliant upon the US dollar as their common currency of trade.
During their 2024 summit, which was held in the Russian city of Kazan, the Brics nations entered into serious discussions around creating a gold-backed currency. At a time when the Trump administration is waging a global trade war, the emergence of an alternative to the US dollar would be a very serious pushback against US economic hegemony.
But the freshly concluded Brics summit did not present any concrete move towards achieving that objective. In fact, the 31-page Rio de Janeiro joint declaration even contained some reassurances about the global importance of the US dollar.
There are two key obstacles hindering Brics from translating its vision of a common currency into reality. First is that some founding member nations are uncomfortable with adopting such an economic model, in large part due to internal rivalries within Brics itself.
India, currently the fourth-largest economy in the world, has a history of periodic confrontation and strategic competition with China. It is reticent about adopting an alternative to the US dollar, concerned that this could make China more powerful and undercut India’s long-term interests.
Second is that the Brics member nations are dependent on their bilateral trade with the US. Simply put, embracing an alternative currency is counterproductive when it comes to the current economic interests of individual countries. Brazil, China and India, for example, all export more to the US than they import from it.
In December 2024, following his election as US president, Trump said: “We require a commitment from these countries that they will neither create a new Brics currency nor back any other currency to replace the mighty US dollar or they will face 100% tariffs and should expect to say goodbye to selling into the wonderful US economy”. This blunt message all but killed any enthusiasm that was there for this grand economic model.
Caught in contradiction
The Brics group is a behemoth. Its full 11 members account for 40% of the world’s population and economy. But the bloc is desperately short of providing any cohesive alternative global leadership.
While Brazil used its position as host to highlight Brics as a truly multilateral forum capable of providing leadership in a new world order, such ambitions are thwarted by the many contradictions plaguing this bloc.
Among these are tensions between founding members China and India, which have been running high for decades.
There are other contradictions, too. In their joint Rio declaration, the group’s members decried the recent Israeli and US attacks on Iran. Brazil’s president, Luiz Inácio “Lula” da Silva, also used his position as summit host to criticise the Israeli offensive in Gaza.
But this moral high ground appears hollow when you consider that the Russian Federation, a key member of Brics, is on a mission to destroy Ukraine. And rather than condemning Russia, Brics leaders used the Rio summit to criticise recent Ukrainian attacks on Russia’s railway infrastructure.
Brics declared intention to address the issue of climate change is also problematic. The Rio declaration conveyed the group’s support for multilateralism and unity to achieve the goals of the Paris agreement. But, despite China making significant advances in its green energy sector, Brics contains some of the world’s biggest emitters of greenhouse gases as well as several of the largest oil and gas producers.
Brics can only stay relevant and provide credible leadership in a fast-changing international order when it addresses its many inner contradictions.
Amalendu Misra is a recipient of British Academy and Nuffield Foundation Fellowships.
The US government “remains upbeat” about the prospects for at least a ceasefire in Gaza, according to the latest reports from Washington, where the Israeli prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, has been meeting the US president, Donald Trump.
Netanyahu handed the US president a letter nominating him for the Nobel peace prize, saying he deserved it for “forging peace, as we speak, in one country in the region after another”. But as yet there are no signs that either Hamas or Israel have moved any closer to accepting each other’s terms.
In fact, reports emerging from the White House meeting are that the two leaders discussed the displacement of much of the Palestinian population. And a plan revealed by the Israeli foreign minister, Israel Katz, proposed the contruction of a “humanitarian city” at Rafah in the north of the Gaza Strip to house more than 600,000 Palestinians.
The Conversation’s senior international affairs editor, Jonathan Este, spoke with Middle East expert, Scott Lucas, of University College Dublin to address this and other questions.
The two leaders’ discussions in Washington seemed to centre around displacement of the Palestinian population in lieu of a two-state solution. What does this tell you about the chance of a ceasefire deal?
I am fascinated – and sometimes disillusioned – by how some media outlets, led by the nose, miss the main story. Last week Donald Trump pronounced on social media that Israel had agreed to a 60-day ceasefire and Hamas “should take this deal”.
But the Netanyahu government has not accepted the framework, circulated by Trump’s envoy Steve Witkoff, let alone consented to a halt of their attacks, which have continued even as the Israeli prime minister travelled to Washington to meet the US president.
As Trump hosted Netanyahu in the White House on Monday, the line was that the US president was “upbeat on Gaza ceasefire talks”. Meanwhile, few of them seemed to notice the important development. Hamas responded to the US framework with proposals for the staged release of 28 of the remaining 50 Israeli hostages over the 60 days while Israeli troops withdrew from positions inside the Strip and humanitarian aid was restored.
But the Israeli government has thus far not given a substantive response. Instead, while pursuing a plan for the long-term military occupation of Gaza, it may also be seeking the displacement of a large portion of the more than 2.2 million population.
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Hard-right members of Netanyahu’s cabinet, such as finance minister, Bezalel Smotrich, and internal security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, have long called for more than a million Gazans to be moved out of the territory. Reports over the weekend confirmed that this is not rhetoric. Israeli businessmen and venture capitalists have reportedly been working on plans for postwar Gaza, to include a “Trump riviera”, mirroring the displacement declaration by the US President, and an “Elon Musk smart manufacturing zone”.
Meanwhile, citing the killing of five Israeli soldiers in Gaza on Sunday night by an improvised explosive device, Ben-Gvir said: “We should not negotiate with those who kill our soldiers. They should be crushed to pieces, starved to death, and not resuscitated with humanitarian aid that gives them oxygen.”
He called for “a complete siege, crushing them militarily” and reiterated the plan for “encouraging [Palestinian] immigration and [Jewish] settlement — these are the keys to complete victory”.
Smotrich also called for a ban on any aid to Gaza: “In addition, I demand … that any territory that was conquered and cleansed of terror with the blood of our fighters not be abandoned.”
So I am not optimistic at the moment.
Looking at the region as a whole, two events have ‘reset’ the Middle East: the October 7 Hamas attacks and Israel’s recent 12-day war. Can you tell me more about the kaleidoscope effect these two events had?
In October 2023, there was no open-ended war in Gaza. Benjamin Netanyahu’s focus was on curbing the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank, blocking any possibility of a two-state solution. His tactic was to ease the economic pressure on Gaza and Hamas, maintaining that organisation as a balance against its West Bank rivals.
Hamas ripped up that approach with its mass murder on October 7 – the first of the two kaleidoscope moments which changed the whole picture in a matter of hours. The attack triggered the deadly Israeli response that continues 21 months later. That response did not “destroy” Hamas, as Netanyahu pledged, but it led the Israelis to take on other foes in the region.
Pursuing its “octopus doctrine”, Israel severely damaged one of the tentacles, Hezbollah, when it destroyed much of the Lebanese group’s leadership in the autumn of 2024. It assassinated senior Iranian commanders and officials in Damascus, and received a further boost when Turkish-backed factions toppled the Assad regime in December.
The 12-day war in June aimed to destroy the head of the octopus: Iran. Israel’s strikes and assassinations killed much of the country’s military leadership and many of its top nuclear scientists. The supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, hid in a bunker, only emerging on July 6. But Israel failed to topple his regime, as it had hoped.
The war was another kaleidoscope moment. Israel had its regional victory. But paradoxically, because there has been no resolution in Gaza, this has come at the cost of further international isolation. Gulf States, having moved away from “normalisation” with Israel, put out tougher statements about “genocide” of Gazans and the violation of Iranian sovereignty. Saudi Arabia’s state media highlighted a letter from Iranian foreign minister Abbas Araghchi to Saudi counterpart Faisal bin Farhan for “ways to support and enhance [relations] across all fields”.
This implies that for any normalisation to occur, Israel must end its military operation in Gaza?
That question cuts to the chase. The Gulf states, with the notable exception of Qatar, are no friends of Hamas. They might even have accepted the destruction of the group if Israel had been able to accomplish it quickly.
But there is no way that they can publicly acquiesce in the killing of almost 60,000 Gazans, the large majority of them civilians, and the humanitarian blockade that threatens every single person living in the Gaza Strip. Nor will they want to see Israel export Gazans across the region in an echo of the 1948 “Nakba” whose legacy is the millions of Palestinians living in refugee camps across the Middle East.
Netanyahu can pursue his “absolute destruction” of Hamas by pursuing the destruction and displacement of Gazans. Or he can try to capitalise on his war with Iran through links with Arab countries. He cannot do both.
Will Donald Trump get his Nobel peace prize?
I don’t know, for that is a question which does not have a logical answer.
Herny Kissinger was the US secretary of state who oversaw an escalation of the Vietnam war in which up to 3 million Vietnamese, 310,000 Cambodians, 62,000 Laotians and 58,220 US service members died. The singer-songwriter Tom Lehrer aptly noted: “Political satire became obsolete when Henry Kissinger was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.”
We are in a world where having caused so much disorder and chaos, having enabled violence, including Israel’s open-ended war, Donald Trump may succeed in a pose as “peacemaker”.
Meanwhile, in the past 24 hours, according to the Hamas-run Gaza health ministry, the number of casualties in Gaza rose to 57,575 people killed and 136,879 wounded. Twenty hostages spent another day in limbo. That’s what matters here.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Lucy Poxon, Senior Lecturer in Counselling Psychology, Department of Social Work Counselling & Social Care , School of Childhood and Social Care, University of East London
When someone we care about is grieving the loss of a loved one, our natural instinct is to ease their pain. But when words feel clumsy and gestures fall short, it can be hard to know how to help.
Drawing on both my research as a counselling psychologist and 18 years of supporting bereaved clients in therapy, I’ve identified five compassionate, research-backed ways to walk alongside someone who is mourning.
Whether you’re a close friend, family member, or caring colleague, these approaches will help you offer support in meaningful and authentic ways.
1. Grief wears many disguises
Our expectations of how grief should look are often shaped by culture, the media or personal experience, and they may bear little resemblance to how grief is actually lived.
Grief can appear as physical symptoms like exhaustion, loss of appetite, or insomnia; as behaviour like withdrawing from others or drinking more; and as thoughts or emotions ranging from apathy and numbness to anger or intense sadness.
It can be loud and overwhelming or quiet and barely perceptible. Some people feel deep sorrow immediately; others feel nothing for weeks or even months. A lack of overt sadness isn’t necessarily cause for concern; it may reflect relief that a loved one is no longer suffering, or be a sign of early adjustment.
One of the most compassionate things you can do is validate whatever shape grief takes. Reassure the person that there’s no “right” way to grieve and support them in tuning into what their body and emotions need.
2. Acknowledge the death and don’t rush the tears
Nearly every grieving client I’ve worked with has described someone, often a friend, colleague, or even family member, who avoided or ignored them after the loss. It’s one of the most painful experiences for someone already feeling vulnerable.
Often, the avoidance isn’t malicious. It’s driven by fear of saying the wrong thing or not knowing how to help. But by avoiding the subject, we send an unintended message: your grief is too much.
Acknowledging the death, even simply by saying “I’m so sorry to hear about your loss”, is not a reminder of their pain, it’s a sign that you see it and honour it. Inviting someone out, even if they decline, communicates that they still belong and are welcome.
If someone begins to cry, it’s natural to want to fix things, to offer comfort, or even to pass a tissue. But giving a tissue too soon can inadvertently signal that they should stop crying. Sometimes the most supportive thing you can do is to sit with your own discomfort, and simply be present. That silent witness can help a grieving person feel less alone.
3. Let go of the “stages of grief” myth
Many people are still taught to expect a tidy progression of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, popularised by Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in the 1960s. While these emotions are real and common, research shows that most people don’t experience them in a neat order, or even experience all five at all.
Despite being widely critiqued, stage-based models are still found in healthcare training manuals and TV scripts, and they can leave people feeling like they’re grieving “wrong”.
If your loved one is worried they should feel more sadness, or wonders why they haven’t yet felt angry, remind them: grief is personal and unpredictable. There’s no timeline, no script and no shame in not following one.
Helping someone let go of these expectations may ease guilt, reduce internal pressure and encourage gentler self-care.
4. Encourage communication – with the living and the lost
Grief often comes with emotional loneliness, a deep sense of aloneness that persists even in the presence of others. It’s different from social isolation; it’s the ache of missing someone irreplaceable.
While you can’t fix that loneliness, you can help the bereaved maintain a continuing bond with their loved one. This might include writing letters to the person who has died, speaking to them at a graveside or special place, saying prayers or engaging in meditation or creating memory boxes or rituals.
These forms of connection can help integrate the loss into a new reality. You might offer to visit a meaningful place together, or support them in planning a small memorial gesture.
5. Make specific, practical offers
It’s common to say “Let me know if you need anything”, but for someone in deep grief, reaching out can feel impossible. Emotional overwhelm, fatigue and even shame can prevent them from asking for help, even when they desperately need it.
Instead, make intentional, concrete offers that remove decision-making and emotional labour. These might include:
messaging with a clear “no need to reply” reassurance
If you live far away, sending a card, text, or voice note can still be powerful; just be mindful that they may receive many, and feel pressure to respond. A line like, “No need to write back, just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you” can go a long way.
Grief is not a puzzle to solve or a wound to fix. It’s a human response to love and loss – and it’s different for everyone.
The most powerful thing you can do? Be there. Stay present. Listen without judgement. And remember that it’s okay not to have the perfect words. Showing up with authenticity, patience and compassion is what matters most.
Lucy Poxon 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 – UK – By Jane Hamlett, Professor of Modern British History, Royal Holloway University of London
King Edward VII, the son of Queen Victoria, ascended the throne upon her death in 1901, but unlike his mother, he ruled for a very short period and died in 1910. His reign, along with the years immediately before the outbreak of the first world war in 1914, are known as the Edwardian period.
Taking in this particular era, The Edwardians: Age of Elegance at the King’s Gallery in Buckingham Palace, focuses on the artistic patronage of Edward VII and his wife Alexandra of Denmark, and their son George V and his wife Mary of Teck.
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Edward and Alexandra were married in 1863, and as Prince and Princess of Wales the pair were leading tastemakers in Victorian upper-class society in the years before Edward came to the throne at the beginning of the 20th century.
This is often regarded as a golden age before the carnage and disruption of the great war saw the world indelibly change. However, the exhibition is not confined to these years and also reaches back into the Victorian period (1837-1901).
Those hoping to experience some of the glamour of the royal family won’t be disappointed. The first room takes visitors into the heady atmosphere of the Marlborough House set which centred around Edward and Alexandra’s residence in St James’s. One case commemorates the 1871 Waverley Ball which marked the centenary of popular Scottish novelist Sir Walter Scott. Alexandra’s elaborate Mary Queen of Scots costume – a silk dress with gold lacings – is on display.
This theme is picked up in the second large room, which focuses on the lavish world of the court. Here, the opulent 1911 coronation robes of George and Mary and a case of necklaces and jewellery take centre stage. This exhibit is the star of the show with plenty of visitors posing for photographs in front of it.
Royals as art collectors
But beneath all the glitz and glamour there’s a subtler story about how the royal family worked as collectors and their wider role in Britain and beyond. One of the most interesting things about the exhibition is that it reveals the personal taste of the royals, through what they chose to collect.
Horses, dogs and yachts are prominent. Edward’s dog Caesar, the wire-haired fox terrier who famously followed his funeral procession in 1910, appears in several images, and his race horse Persimmon is also represented.
Edward and Alexandra were patrons of leading artists of the day – he owned a number of works by the popular Victorian painter Frederic Leighton, while she collected art by the Pre-Raphaelite artist Edward Burne Jones. Alexandra also supported Minton’s pottery studio in the 1870s, which employed many women artists.
The exhibition also reveals Alexandra’s personal artistic activities. Like many upper-class Victorian women, she was a keen photographer and creator of photo albums. In the second half of the 19th century, album-making offered women an outlet for creativity and emotional expression. An album of designs made by Alexandra in the 1860s features photos arranged in a spiders web, with family and friends transformed into butterflies and insects.
Royal patronage was often about international connections. Alexandra’s Danish heritage is expressed through pieces from the Royal Copenhagen porcelain manufacturing company, including a massive porcelain cabinet, featuring an ornamental roof topped by a group of dancing monkeys surrounding a large swan.
A larger room is devoted to objects amassed on visits and through diplomatic exchange with the colonies which at the time included India, part of Africa, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Increasingly speedy travel networks brought the world closer in the late 19th century and the royal family were able to travel further and more frequently than ever before. These visits played an important role in Britain’s imperial identity, and underlined the nation’s global power.
Between 1875 and 1876 Edward toured India. This trip produced a dazzling array of diplomatic gifts, such as a case filled with ornately decorated Indian weapons. After the visit Edward created a special Indian room for them at Marlborough House. Today, they sparkle in their cabinet for the exhibition’s visitors.
The exhibition does a good job of revealing the importance of imperial connections to the royal collections and the role of the royals in the larger colonial project, but in places I would have liked to know more about the stories behind these objects.
There’s a tension between the precise attribution of the work of British and European artists and the objects that have been gifted from the colonies – almost all labelled “unidentified maker”.
The absence of such information is the product of longstanding curatorial habits that shaped these collections in the past and continue to determine what we know about them today. This does mean that there are some absences about the origins and makers of these things, which could have been acknowledged more in some of the exhibition text.
This was particularly evident when looking at a large portrait of the Maori dancer Terewai Horomona by Gottfried Lindauer. The image has an elaborate frame with a plaque declaring it was presented to the Prince of Wales by the New Zealand commissioner for the Colonial and India Exhibition, 1886.
The commentary states that Edward was “enchanted” with the portrait which was “promptly gifted” to him. But this might have been better used as an opportunity to give some thought to the woman whose image was framed, presented and exchanged.
Overall, though, this is an enjoyable exhibition that reveals the royal social world, patronage and imperial connections, and tells a fascinating story about the artistic taste and activities of the lesser-known monarchs of the early 20th century.
Jane Hamlett 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 – UK – By Martin Farr, Senior Lecturer in Contemporary British History, Newcastle University
No man more embodied Thatcherism in the eyes of the public in the 1980s than Norman Tebbit, who died on July 7, aged 94.
Though certainly no yuppie, Lord Tebbit entitled his memoirs Upwardly Mobile. Margaret’s Thatcher’s triumph was also his. She saw in the Essex MP just the uncompromising approach to transforming Britain to which she too was committed.
Both had been disgusted by the Conservative government of Edward Heath blinking when it sought to face down trade unions in the early 1970s. The experience was elemental to their plan for government.
Others were more important to the New Right/neoliberal project elected in 1979: Conservative minister Keith Joseph, and Thatcher’s two chancellors, Geoffrey Howe and Nigel Lawson.
But Tebbit provided something no one else in Thatcher’s cabinet could: an innate connection with white, working-class voters, who may once have been Labour – Tebbit lauded Clement Attlee and Ernest Bevin – but whose values were held to have been washed away in the postwar tide of union militancy, social permissiveness, European integration, and mass immigration.
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He became a Conservative almost because, rather than in spite, of his background. “Essex man” was a presiding personification of the period.
Unlike almost all of Thatcher’s ministers, Tebbit did not go to university, but left school at 16 to encounter the “closed shop”: that one had to be a member of a particular union to work in a particular workplace. He became determined at that moment to end this practice, and with it so much else of postwar social democracy.
Thirty years later he did, as Thatcher’s secretary of state for employment. Tebbit’s 1982 Employment Act avenged the unions’ defeat of Heath. Union rights were weakened, never to be restored, and those of employers emboldened. It was a significant contribution to Thatcherism’s ledger.
As secretary of state for trade and industry, Tebbit pursued privatisation – the return (as its proponents, simply, put it) of nationalised industries to the private sector – with passion. The postwar settlement in Britain was being upended.
Public image
In an age before the televising of parliament (much less 24-hour news and social media), Tebbit cut through in a way few politicians did.
At at a time of inner-city violence, the public knew Tebbit’s unemployed father, decades earlier, didn’t riot but “got on his bike and looked for work”. No one else could have been called – in the words of Labour’s Michael Foot – a “semi-house-trained polecat”. TV’s puppet satire Spitting Image portrayed him as the “Chingford Strangler”, dressed in biker leathers.
Tebbit felt no need for his contempt for socialism to be leavened by charm or humour. There was invariably a slight sense of menace. He had no interest in ingratiating or propitiating. And so he was as loved by Conservative party members as he was hated by the left. He welcomed their hatred.
Tebbit in particular despised the swinging 60s – fittingly, he entered parliament in the election in which Harold Wilson’s government was unexpectedly ejected – and its legacy of “insufferable, smug, sanctimonious, naive, guilt-ridden, wet, pink orthodoxy”. Thus his trenchancy on immigration, overseas aid (a “sink of iniquity, corruption and violence”), sexuality (he was one of the few still to use the word “sodomite”) and Europe (he was a Eurosceptic before Euroscepticism).
In 1990 Tebbit asked of British-born people of Asian heritage: “Which side do they cheer for? Are you still harking back to where you came from or where you are?”. Tebbit’s “cricket test” is second only to Enoch Powell’s “rivers of blood” speech in the annals of inflammatory – they and their supporters would say candid – rhetoric relating to immigration. Neither would mind the association.
What silenced most – if not quite all – of his critics, was Tebbit at his most vulnerable. Following the IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel Brighton in 1984, live television footage of him, only partially clad in his pyjamas, covered in dust, being stretchered out of the rubble, became the defining image of the atrocity.
The following year Thatcher moved him from trade and industry to, less happily, chairman of the Conservative party. It was a job that required a lighter touch than Tebbit’s.
Nevertheless, as chairman, he delivered the Conservatives’ third election victory, of 1987 – ensuring the permanence of the transformation – only to immediately retire to the backbenches. Margaret, his wife, had been paralysed by the bomb, and he devoted himself to her care for more than 30 years until her death.
As warranted as his departure from government may have been, Thatcher “bitterly regretted” losing him, a feeling she felt for few. Her defenestration in November 1990 is much harder to imagine had Tebbit still been in the cabinet.
Norman Tebbit’s conservatism and nationalism harked back to an earlier age, yet presaged the populism of the 2020s. In his remarks following the news of Tebbit’s death, Nigel Farage said he thought him “a great man”.
Tebbit’s values endure in public discourse, in more ways than he might have expected even a few years ago. But in his last months he was either unable, or unwilling, to say whether those values were those of the Conservatives, the traditional party of the right, or of another project. That may be a final Tebbit “test”.
Martin Farr 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.
