Late in the evening, the Antarctic sky flushes pink. The male leopard seal wakes and slips from the ice into the water. There, he’ll spend the night singing underwater amongst the floating ice floes.
For the next two months he sings every night. He will sing so loudly, the ice around him vibrates. Each song is a sequence of trills and hoots, performed in a particular pattern.
In a world first, we analysed leopard seal songs and found the predictability of their patterns was remarkably similar to the nursery rhymes humans sing.
We think this is a deliberate strategy. While leopard seals are solitary animals, the males need their call to carry clearly across vast stretches of icy ocean, to woo a mate.
Solitary leopard seals want their call to carry. Ozge Elif Kizil/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images
Leopard seals are especially vocal during breeding season, which lasts from late October to early January. A female leopard seal sings for a few hours on the days she is in heat. But the males are the real showstoppers.
Each night, the males perform underwater solos for up to 13 hours. They dive into the sea, singing underwater for about two minutes before returning to the water’s surface to breathe and rest. This demanding routine continues for weeks.
Within a leopard seal population, the sounds themselves don’t vary much in pitch or duration. But the order and pattern in which the sounds are produced varies considerably between individuals.
Our research examined these individual songs. We compared them to that of other vocal animals, and to human music.
Listening to songs from the sea
The data used in the study was collected by one author of this article, Tracey Rogers, in the 1990s.
Rogers rode her quad bike across the Antarctic ice to the edge of the sea and marked 26 individual male seals with dye as they slept. Then she returned to record their songs at night.
The new research involved analysing these recordings, to better understand their structure and patterns. We did this by measuring the “entropy” of their sequences. Entropy measures how predictable or random a sequence is.
What stood out was the similarity between the predictability of human nursery rhymes and leopard seal calls. Nursery rhymes are simple, repetitive and easy to remember — and that’s what we heard in the leopard seal songs.
The range of “entropy” was similar to the 39 nursery rhymes from the Golden Song Book, a collection of words and sheet music for classic children’s songs, which was first published in 1945. It includes classics such:
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star
Frère Jacques
Ring Around a Rosy
Baa, Baa, Black Sheep
Humpty Dumpty
Three Blind Mice
Rockabye Baby.
For humans, the predictable structure of a nursery rhyme melody helps make it simple enough for a child to learn. For a leopard seal, this predictability may enable the individual to learn its song and keep singing it over multiple days. This consistency is important, because changes in pitch or frequency can create miscommunication.
Like sperm whales, leopard seals may also use song to set themselves apart from others and signal their fitness to reproduce. The greater structure in the songs helps ensure listeners accurately receive the message and identify who is singing.
Male leopard seals produce high-pitched cricket-like trills.
An evolving song?
Leopard seals sound very different to humans. But our research shows the complexity and structure of their songs is remarkably similar to our own nursery rhymes.
Communication through song is a very common animal behaviour. However, structure and predictability in mammal song has only been studied in a handful of species. We know very little about what drives it.
Understanding animal communication is important. It can improve conservation efforts and animal welfare, and provide important information about animal cognition and evolution.
Technology has advanced rapidly since our recordings were made in the 1990s. In future, we hope to revisit Antarctica to record and study further, to better understand if new call types have emerged, and if patterns of leopard seal song evolve from generation to generation.
Tracey Rogers receives funding from ARC.
Lucinda Chambers 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.
Jason Momoa’s historical epic Chief of War, launching August 1 on Apple TV+, is a triumph of Hawaiians telling their own stories – despite the fact their film and TV production industry now struggles to be viable.
The series stars Momoa (Aquaman, Game of Thrones) as Kaʻaina, an ali’i (chief) who fights for – and later rises against – King Kamehameha I during the bloody reunification of Hawaii.
Already receiving advance praise, the nine-episode first season co-stars New Zealand actors Temeura Morrison, Cliff Curtis and Luciane Buchanan, alongside Hawaiian actors Kaina Makua, Brandon Finn and Moses Goods.
A passion project for Momoa, the Hawaiian star co-created the series with writer Thomas Pa’a Sibbett after years in development. With a reported budget of US$340 million, it is one of the most expensive television series ever produced.
It is also a milestone in Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian) representation onscreen. Controversially, however, the production only spent a month in Hawaiʻi, and was mostly shot in New Zealand with non-Hawaiian crews.
Momoa has even expressed an interest in New Zealand citizenship, but the choice of location is more a reflection of the troubled state of the film industry in Hawaiʻi. On the other hand, it is a measure of the success of the New Zealand screen industry, with potential lessons for other countries in the Pacific.
Ea o Moʻolelo – story sovereignty
Set at the turn of the 19th century, Chief of War tells the moʻolelo (story, history) of King Kamehameha I’s conquest of the archipelago.
Hawaiʻi was historically governed by aliʻi nui (high chiefs), and each island was ruled independently. Motivated by the threat of European colonisation and empowered by Western weaponry, Kamehameha established the Hawaiian Kingdom, culminating in full unification in 1810.
The series is an important example of what authors Dean Hamer and Kumu Hinaleimoana Wong-Kalu have called “Ea o Moʻolelo”, or story sovereignty, which emphasises Indigenous peoples’ right to control their own narrative by respecting the “the inalienable right of a story to its own unique contents, style and purpose”.
Chief of War is also the biggest Hawaiian television series ever produced. Although Hawaiʻi remains a popular setting onscreen, these productions have rarely involved Hawaiians in key decision-making roles.
Sea of troubles
The series hits screens at a time of major disruption in Hollywood, with streaming services upending established business models.
“Linear” network television faces declining viewership and advertising revenue. Movie studios struggle to draw audiences to theatres. The consequences for workers in the the industry have been severe, as the 2023 writers strike showed.
Those changes have had a catastrophic impact on the Hawaiʻi film industry, too.
Long a popular location – Hawaii Five-O (1968-1980, 2010-2020), Magnum P.I. (1980-1988, 2018-2024) and Lost (2004-2010) were all shot on location in Hawaiʻi – it is an expensive place to film.
Actors, crew and production equipment often have to be flown in from the continental United States, and producers compete with tourism for costly accommodation.
Kaina Makua as King Kamehameha and New Zealand actor Luciane Buchanan as Ka’ahumanu in Chief of War. Apple TV+
An industry in transition
These are not uncommon problems in distant locations, and many governments try to attract screen productions through tax incentives and rebates on portions of the production costs.
New Zealand, for example, offers a 20-25% rebate for international productions and 40% for local productions. Hawaiʻi offers a 22-27% rebate.
But this is less than other US states offer, such as Georgia (30%), Louisiana (40%) and New Mexico (40%). Hawaiʻi also has an annual cap of US$50 million on rebates.
To make things even harder, Hawaiʻi offers only limited support for Indigenous filmmakers. Governments in Australia and New Zealand provide targeted funding and support for Aboriginal, Torres Strait Islander and Māori filmmakers.
By contrast, the Hawaiʻi Film Commission doesn’t provide direct grants to local filmmakers or producers (Indigenous or otherwise). Small amounts of government funding have been administered through the Public Broadcasting Service, but this is now in jeopardy after US President Donald Trump recently cut federal funding.
The Hawaiʻi screen industry faces a perfect storm. For the first time since 2004, film and TV production has ground to a halt. Many workers now doubt the long-term sustainability of their careers.
Lessons from Aotearoa NZ
While there are lessons Hawaiʻi legislators and industry leaders could learn from New Zealand’s example, there should also be a measure of caution.
The Hawaiʻi tax credit system is out of date. But despite industry lobbying, legislation to update it failed to reach the floor of the legislature earlier this year. New tax settings would help make local production viable again.
Secondly, decades of investment in Māori cinema have seen it become diverse, engaging and creatively accomplished. Hawaiʻi could benefit from greater direct investment in Hawaiian storytelling, respecting its cultural value even if it doesn’t turn a commercial profit.
On the other hand, New Zealand has a favourable currency exchange rate with the US which can’t be replicated in Hawaiʻi. And New Zealand film production workers have seen their rights to unionise watered down compared to their American peers.
But if Hawaiʻi can get its settings right, a possible second season of Chief of War may yet be filmed there, which could mark a genuine rejuvenation of its own film industry.
Duncan Caillard 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.
Without even realising it, your world sometimes gradually gets smaller: less walking, fewer days in the office, cancelling on friends. Watching plans disintegrate on the chat as friends struggle to settle on a date or place for a catch-up.
You might start to feel a bit flat or disconnected. Subtle changes in habit and mood take hold. Could you be … lonely?
It’s not a label many of us identify with easily, especially if you know you’ve got friends, or are in a happy relationship.
But loneliness can happen to us all from time to time – and identifying it is the first step to fixing it.
So, what is loneliness?
Loneliness is the distress we feel when our relationships don’t meet our needs – in quality or quantity.
It’s not the same as being objectively alone (otherwise known as “social isolation”).
You can feel deeply lonely even while surrounded by friends, or totally content on your own.
Loneliness is subjective; many people don’t realise they’re lonely until the feeling becomes persistent.
What are some of the signs to look for?
You may feel a physicalcoldness, emptiness or hollowness (I’ve heard it described as feeling like you are missing an organ). Some research shows social pain is experienced similarly in the brain to physical pain.
In the past, being separated from your tribe meant danger and risk from predators, so our brains developed a way to push us back towards connection.
The pain of loneliness is designed to keep us connected and safe.
Why is it often hard to recognise loneliness?
Sadly, there’s still a lot of stigma around admitting loneliness, especially for men.
Many people resist identifying as lonely, or feel this marks them as a “loser”.
But this silence can make the problem worse.
When no one talks about it, it becomes harder to break the cycle of loneliness, and the stigma remains.
While passing loneliness is normal, chronic or persistent loneliness can hurt our health.
Research shows chronic loneliness is associated with:
depression
anxiety
weakened immunity
heart disease
earlier death.
Loneliness can also become self-reinforcing. When loneliness feels normal, it can start to shape how you see the world: you expect rejection, withdraw more and the cycle deepens.
The earlier you notice you’re lonely, the easier it is to break.
But I’m in a relationship, have loads of friends and a rewarding job
Yes, but you can still be lonely.
Most of us need different kinds of relationships to thrive. It’s not about how many people you know, but whether you feel connected and have a meaningful role in these relationships.
You may feel lonely even with strong friendships if you are lacking deeper connection, shared identity or a sense of community.
This doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful, or a bad friend.
It just means you need more or different kinds of connection.
OK, I’ve realised I am lonely. Now what?
Start by asking yourself: what kind of connection am I missing?
Is it one-to-one friendships? A partner? Casual social interactions? A shared purpose or community?
Then reflect on what’s helped you feel more connected in the past. For some, it’s joining a choir, a book club or a sports group. For others, it may be volunteering or just saying “yes” to small social moments, like chatting with your local barista or learning the name of the local butcher.
If you’re still struggling, a psychologist can help with tailored strategies for building connection.
The structural causes of loneliness
It’s also important to remember loneliness is often not because of personal failings or overall mental health.
We are also learning more about how climate change can disrupt social connection and worsen loneliness due to, for example, higher temperatures or bushfires.
Loneliness is normal, common, human and completely solvable.
Start by noticing it in yourself and reach out if you can.
Let’s start talking about it more, so others can feel less alone too.
Marlee Bower receives funding from the Henry Halloran Urban and Regional Research Initiative, the BHP Foundation, AHURI and NHMRC. She is affiliated with the University of Sydney Matilda Centre for Research in Mental Health and Substance Use and Australia’s Mental Health Think Tank.
The money is easy to trace. Scroll back through tech entrepreneur Peter Thiel’s political donations and you’ll soon hit US$15 million worth of transfers sent to Protect Ohio Values, JD Vance’s campaign fund. The donations, made in 2022, are a staggering contribution to an individual senate race, and helped put Vance (Thiel’s former employee at tech fund Mithril Capital) on a winning trajectory.
But if money matters, so do ideas. Scroll back through Vance’s speeches, and you’ll hear echoes of Thiel’s voice. The decline of US elites (and by extension, the nation) is supposedly a result of technological stagnation: declining innovation, trivial distractions, broken infrastructure. To make the nation great again, Thiel believes, tech should come first, corporates should be unshackled, and the state should resemble the startup. For Vance, who has now risen to the office of US vice-president, a Thiel talk on these topics at Yale Law was “the most significant moment” of his time there.
Thiel’s influence on politics is at once financial, technical and ideological. In the New York Times, he was recently described as the “most influential right-wing intellectual of the last 20 years”. And his potent cocktail of networks, money, strategy and support exerts a rightward force on the political landscape. It establishes a powerful pattern for up-and-coming figures to follow.
To “hedge fund investor” and “tech entrepreneur”, Thiel has recently added a new label: Republican kingmaker.
Who is Peter Thiel?
Thiel was born in Germany but grew up in the United States, with a childhood sojourn in apartheid South Africa. Max Chafkin’s critical but balanced biography, The Contrarian, claims Thiel was bullied growing up and protected himself by becoming resolutely “disdainful”. He studied philosophy and then law at Stanford, where he founded The Stanford Review, a libertarian–conservative student paper that signalled his early interest in controversial politics and culture wars.
While difficult to pin down precisely, Thiel’s Christianity shapes his belief in a declining or even apocalyptic world that can only be countered with unapologetic interventions and technological innovations. God helps those who help themselves – but could always use additional help from ambitious tech elites.
In 1998, Thiel cofounded his first tech company, Confinity, which launched its flagship product PayPal in 1999 and merged with Elon Musk’s X.com in 2000. In 2002, eBay bought PayPal for $1.5 billion and Thiel became a multimillionaire. He invested in several startups, including Facebook, and established his hedge fund, Clarium, and his venture capital firm, Founders Fund.
In their own ways, each of these developments is a response to Thiel’s thesis that the world is stuck. In his 2011 essay The End of the Future, he decries the “soft totalitarianism of political correctness in media and academia” and the “sordid world” of entertainment. The result is “50 years of stagnation” that has transformed humanity “into this more docile kind of a species”.
Thiel’s answer is more risk, more tech and more ambition. It’s exemplified most clearly by Palantir Technologies, the data analytics firm he cofounded in 2004.
Palantir has worked closely with US armed forces and intelligence agencies for 14 years. It is currently working closely with the Trump administration to create a “super-database” of combined data from all federal agencies, and building a platform for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) “to track migrant movements in real time”.
Investing in right-wing politics
Thiel’s political interventions have ramped up over time. Libertarianism generally takes an arms-length approach to politics in favour of individual freedom and market determination. But even in “purely” financial spaces, politics creeps in.
Clarium’s macroeconomic approach meant the political landscape had to be factored in: “high-conviction, directional investments based on key drivers of the global economy and fundamental themes underappreciated by the marketplace”.
If politics, like technology, had stagnated – into a non-choice between similar parties – how could it be “disrupted”? Thiel began making political donations in December 2011, with contributions totalling at least $2.6 million, to the third presidential campaign of Ron Paul, a longstanding conservative congressman in Texas.
While Paul would ultimately be unsuccessful, Thiel recognised something others had missed. Voters had not been attracted to some idealistic libertarian, as the media portrayed him, but to the old Ron Paul, a neoconservative whose newsletters published in his name in the 1980s and ‘90s suggested 95% of Black men in Washington DC were criminals. (He denied writing them in 2011, calling the statements “terrible”.) His appeal was never “merely” about economic freedom, but about race and class, fear and grievance.
Donald Trump took this dark undercurrent, a strain that has always underpinned parts of US politics, and ran with it. Dog-whistles were dispensed with in favour of overt claims that most illegal immigrants were rapists, certain Latin American countries were shitholes, women were bitches, and white supremacists were “very fine people”. Trump, noted one article, was “weaponizing the conservative id”.
In these visions, multiculturalism and progressivism are not just cultural threats, but economic ones. They undermine the ability of company founders to exploit labour, blow past regulations, and obey the brutal logic of the market.
“A world safe for capitalism is presumably one of monopoly companies and patriarchal networks,” note media scholars Ben Little and Alison Winch in their profile of Thiel. It’s a world “where ‘the multiculture’ has been transformed into racialised domination”.
Thiel has certainly contributed to the rise of Trump and the new breed of right-wing politicians through his vast wealth. In 2016, Thiel contributed $1.25 million to Trump’s campaign, thinking “he had a 50-50 chance of winning”. This earned him a speaking slot at the Republican convention. But his influence extends beyond mere money.
Thiel’s endorsement of Trump at the 2016 Republican convention was hugely significant for garnering support. So was his famous declaration there that he was proud to be gay, Republican and American. After Trump won his first term, Thiel continued to be involved. He joined the transition team and recommended aligned individuals for key positions, such as Michael Kratsios, who would become chief technology officer.
So, Thiel’s support of Trump should be understood as an investment, just like his early investments in PayPal and Facebook. As Chafkin notes, Thiel’s bet on Trump is a wager with high upsides and low risk. Thiel’s outspoken views in favour of “seasteading” (floating independent city-states) and against immigration and women’s emancipation had already alienated the more progressive sectors of Silicon Valley.
If the bet paid off, Thiel and his empire could benefit handsomely. And this is exactly what has played out. Since Trump has taken office in his second term, Palantir has already netted more than $113 million in federal government spending.
Palantir: from information to domination
Palantir’s origin story reflects its blend of technical expertise and political ambition. To combat rising fraud, members of PayPal developed a software tool that could mine vast amounts of transactions and find the connections between them, homing in on a handful of culprits in a deluge of data.
Thiel was prescient in spinning this core idea from finance to intelligence, where analysts were searching for patterns and anomalies amid the noise – a needle in a haystack. Palantir commercialised and expanded this concept, bringing a leaner, data-driven Silicon Valley approach to a sector dominated by established Washington incumbents.
Thiel and Palantir chief executive Alex Karp believe Silicon Valley has lost its way, frittering away its vast talents and ingenuity on trivial pursuits: advertising, gaming, social media. For them, the era of ambitious scientific projects and unapologetic military industrial collaborations – the Manhattan Project, the Moon landing — needs to be revived.
In his book, the Technological Republic, Karp calls for a state that looks more like a startup – lean, technology-driven, and led authoritatively by a founder-like figure who is not afraid to “move fast and break stuff” (the Silicon Valley motto), especially when it comes to dominating enemies and ensuring the safety of a nation’s citizens.
Palantir, of course, answers this call. It combines machine learning with military spending, data-driven “intelligence” with naked violence. This is most clear in its longstanding collaboration with ICE, which is now carrying out notorious immigration raids at the behest of the Trump administration. “On the factory floor, in the operating room, on the battlefield,” states a recent Palantir recruitment ad placed across US college campuses, “we build to dominate.”
Palantir’s blueprint has been emulated by a growing array of others. Anduril, Skydio and Shield AI are all founded on developing information technologies for military and intelligence use. Last week, Rune Technologies closed a $24 million Series A round of funding to move warfare logistics away from the “Excel era” and towards AI-augmented tools.
Answering Karp’s call, these startups are unapologetic in leveraging engineering expertise for more substantial, authoritarian and historically controversial areas.
Playing the scapegoat
One of the clearest outlines of Thiel’s political philosophy is laid out in the Straussian Moment, a 30-page essay he published in 2007.
For Thiel, the spectacular violence of the September 11 terrorist attacks was a wake-up call, rousing the citizenry from that “very long and profitable period of intellectual slumber and amnesia that is so misleadingly called the Enlightenment”.
In Thiel’s view, the Enlightenment project – to advance knowledge, cultivate tolerance, and elevate humanity as a whole – rested on a naive understanding of human nature. Like Curtis Yarvin and other influential Silicon Valley political thinkers, he asserts that humanity is brutal and a shift from Enlightenment optimism to Dark Enlightenment pessimism is required.
It is unsurprising, then, that Thiel looks to René Girard (once called “the new Darwin of the human sciences”) for inspiration; he even organised a symposium at Stanford with Girard in attendance. Girard begins from a bleak view of human nature, a Hobbesian world where life is nasty, brutish and short. For Girard, mimesis or imitation is at the heart of the human. This mirroring quality means violence is always threatening to escalate, to constantly ramp up with no inherent limit.
To corral this violence, ancient cultures created the scapegoat, a sacrificial system where all-against-all was replaced by all-against-one. Yet the scapegoat is no longer viable – the revelation of Christ is that the scapegoat is an innocent victim.
Thiel takes Girard’s insights and twists them to his own ends. First, Thiel asserts that even if violence begets more violence, nonviolence is not an option. Enemies must not be allowed to prevail. In the face of uncompromising adversaries, such as the 9/11 attackers, who threaten to dismantle some idealised way of life, preemptively responding to violence is “urgently demanded”.
Second, Thiel takes the concept of the scapegoat and flips it. In this judo-like manoeuvre, the real victims are not the marginalised or the minority, but the hegemonic class (whites, males, liberals, conservatives), who are being pressured by cancel culture, political correctness, diversity initiatives and so on.
Shortly after graduating, Thiel coauthored a book, The Diversity Myth, about alleged political intolerance at Stanford. In it, he rails against a rampant multiculturalism that he claims stifles freedom of speech and derails education and entrepreneurialism. Here, scapegoating is weaponised. It’s mobilised toward a conservative advance in the ongoing cultural wars, which are always also political wars.
Contradiction or evolution?
Thiel is a walking paradox. He bemoans cancel culture and political correctness, while waging a highly expensive and clearly personal war to bankrupt a media outlet that offended him. (After Gawker printed the “open secret” of Thiel’s gay status in 2007, Thiel funded lawsuits against them until they were shut down.)
He calls himself a libertarian, but has founded a company that derives millions in contracts from the bloated budgets of the many military agencies (the National Security Agency, the FBI, the US Army) that now comprise the sprawling state.
He celebrates capitalism and the free hand of the market, but always stresses that the path to business success rests on establishing monopolies with no real competition. He is a German-born immigrant who actively supports technologies (Palantir) and candidates (Trump) that establish xenophobic environments and seek to deport those deemed “other”. And, most personally, he is both a conservative Republican and an openly gay man.
At a purely logical level, these elements are incompatible. There is a perceived gap between Thiel’s words and actions, a gulf between his ideologies and his activities. For staunch libertarians at Thiel’s companies, his manoeuvrings at the state level make no sense. For queer scholars, Thiel’s exclusionary rather than liberatory politics mean he is a man who has sex with other men, rather than being gay.
For these critics, both things cannot be true; therefore, some labels, identities and activities are fake, marginal or impossible. Yet one of Thiel’s many lessons is that contradiction is a strength rather than a weakness.
Thiel’s philosophy, which journalists have called techno-fascism, recalls philosopher Umberto Eco, who described fascism as a “beehive of contradictions” and “a collage of different philosophical and political ideas”. The radical right, in particular, has no problem mashing together many views that at face value should not fit: scavenger ideologies that are opportunistic in grabbing elements that work for them.
Instead of contradictions, these hybrid forms need to be understood as evolutions. They are tensions, held within the body and the mind of the subject, that push monolithic frameworks like conservatism beyond their existing limits. Thiel’s power – and his political blueprint for others – is insisting you can be a philosophical entrepreneur, an illiberal patriot, and a queer conservative.
Luke Munn 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 Roman baths at Sabratha, Libya, were damaged in the earthquake and tsunami of 365 ADReza / Getty Images
The Greek poet Crinagoras of Mytilene (1st century BC–1st century AD) once addressed a little poem to an earthquake. He asked the quake not to destroy his house:
Earthquake, most dread of all shocks … spare my new-built house, for I do not know of any terror equal to the quivering of the earth.
Like us, ancient people had many things to say about natural disasters. So, what information did they leave behind for us, and what can we learn from them?
The story of Nicomedia
One of the most vivid ancient accounts of an earthquake is found in the writings of the Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus (c. 330–395 AD).
On August 24 358 AD, there was a huge earthquake at Nicomedia, a city in Asia Minor.
A terrific earthquake completely overturned the city and its suburbs … since most of the houses were carried down the slopes of the hill, they fell one upon another, while everything resounded with the vast roar of their destruction.
The human effect was devastating.
The palace of the emperor Diocletian at Nicomedia was damaged in the quake of 358 AD. G. Berggren / Getty Images
Most people were “killed at one blow”, says Ammianus. Others, he tells us, were “imprisoned unhurt within slanting house roofs, to be consumed by the agony of starvation”.
Hidden in the rubble “with fractured skulls or amputated arms or legs”, injured survivors “hovered between life and death”, but most could not be recovered, “despite their pleas and protestations” resounding from beneath the rubble, according to Ammianus.
Famous natural disasters in the ancient world
A number of natural disasters involving earthquakes and tsunamis were especially famous in ancient Greek and Roman times.
In 464 BC, in Sparta, there was a huge earthquake. People at the time said it was greater than any earthquake that had ever occurred beforehand.
According to the Greek writer Plutarch (c. 46–119 AD), the earthquake “tore the land of the Lacedaemonians into many chasms”, collapsed the peaks of the surrounding mountains, and “demolished the entire city with the exception of five houses”.
In 373–372 BC, the Greek coastal cities of Helice and Buris were destroyed by tsunamis. They were permanently submerged beneath the waves.
An anonymous Greek poet evocatively wrote that the walls of these cities, which had once been thriving with many people, were now silent under the waves, “clad with thick sea-moss”.
But arguably the most famous ancient tsunami occurred on July 21 365 AD on the northern coast of Africa, at that time controlled by the Romans.
Again according to Ammianus, early in the morning there was a huge earthquake. Then, not long after, the water retreated from the shore:
the sea with its rolling waves was driven back and withdrew from the land, so that in the abyss of the deep thus revealed people saw many kinds of sea-creatures stuck fast in the slime … and vast mountains and deep valleys, which nature had hidden in the unplumbed depths.
Then, suddenly, the sea returned with a vengeance. As Ammianus tells us, it smashed over the land destroying everything in its path:
The great mass of waters killed many thousands of people by drowning … the lifeless bodies of shipwrecked persons lay floating on their backs or on their faces … great ships, driven by the mad blasts, landed on the tops of buildings, and some were driven almost two miles inland.
Earthquakes were famous for their sound. The Roman scholar Pliny the Elder (23–79 AD) explained that earthquakes have a “terrible sound” – like “the bellowing of cattle or the shouts of human beings or the clash of weapons struck together”.
Ancient ideas about what causes earthquakes and tsunamis
Like today, ancient people wanted to know what caused these phenomena. There were various different theories.
Some people thought Poseidon, god of the sea, earthquakes and horses, was responsible.
As the Greek writer Plutarch (c. 46–119 AD) comments, “men sacrifice to Poseidon when they wish to put a stop to earthquakes”.
An ancient statue of Poseidon, god of the sea and earthquakes, from the island of Milos. Sepia Times / Getty Images
However, other people looked beyond divine explanations.
One interesting theory held by the philosopher Anaximenes (6th century BC) was that the earth itself was the cause of earthquakes.
According to Anaximenes, huge parts of the earth beneath the ground can move, collapse, detach or tear away, thus causing shaking.
“Huge waves”, said Anaximenes, are “produced by the weight [of falling earth] crashing down into the [waters] from above”.
Ancient people knew nothing of tectonic plates and continental drift. These were discovered much later, mainly through the pioneering work of Alfred Wegener (1880–1930).
Preparing for natural disasters
Ancient Greeks and Romans had little way of predicting or preparing for earthquakes and tsunamis.
Pherecydes of Samos (6th century BC) was said to have predicted an earthquake “from the appearance of some water drawn from a well”, according to the Roman statesman Cicero (106–43 BC).
For the most part, though, ancient people had to live at the mercy of these occurrences.
As the anonymous author of a treatise titled On the Cosmos once wrote, natural disasters are part of life on earth:
Violent earthquakes before now have torn up many parts of the earth; monstrous storms of rain have burst out and overwhelmed it; incursions and withdrawals of the waves have often made seas of dry land and dry land of seas…
While our understanding of these events (and our ability to prepare for them, and recover afterward) has improved immeasurably since ancient times, earthquakes and tsunamis are things we will always have to deal with.
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.
The announcement this week by UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer on the recognition of a Palestininian state has been welcomed by many who want to see a ceasefire in Gaza and lasting peace in the region.
In contrast to other recent statements on the status of Palestine, however, the UK has said it will recognise Palestine as a state in September
unless the Israeli government takes substantive steps to end the appalling situation in Gaza and commits to a long term sustainable peace, including through allowing the UN to restart without delay the supply of humanitarian support to the people of Gaza to end starvation, agreeing to a ceasefire, and making clear there will be no annexations in the West Bank.
Until this week, the UK’s position had been that recognition would only follow a negotiated two-state solution in Israel-Palestine. Other countries have now begun to shift from that position, too.
The latest UK statement was preceded by announcements from France on July 25 and Canada on July 31 that they too would recognise Palestine as a state in September.
But the UK position is different in one important way: it is conditional on Israel failing to comply with its international humanitarian obligations in Gaza and the West Bank.
In other words, recognition of Palestine as a state by the UK is being used as a stick to persuade Israel to agree to a ceasefire. Should Israel agree to those conditions, the UK will presumably not recognise Palestine as a state in September, but will revert to its original position on a two-state solution.
Conditional recognition subject to action by Israel – a third state – represents an unwelcome and arguably dangerous departure from international practice.
While recognition (or otherwise) of states is inherently political – as demonstrated by the unique status of Taiwan, for example – it is not and should not be made conditional on the action or inaction of third states.
How states are recognised
According to the Convention on the Rights and Duties of States, a state must have a permanent population, territory, an independent government, and the capacity to enter into relations with other states, as well as self-determination.
Palestine has arguably met all these criteria, with the possible exception of an independent government, given the level of Israeli intervention in the West Bank and the current situation in Gaza.
Although recognition by other states is arguably not a formal criterion of statehood, it is very difficult to function as a state without reasonably widespread recognition by other states.
Some 147 countries – two-thirds of UN members – now recognise the State of Palestine, including Spain, Ireland and Norway, which made announcements in 2024.
Those choosing not to formally recognise a Palestinian state are now in a small minority, including Australia and New Zealand. This is inevitably leading to calls in those countries to change position.
Australia is considering such a shift, subject to conditions similar to those set out by Canada – including the release of Israeli hostages, the demilitarisation of Hamas, and reform of the Palestinian Authority.
New Zealand is currently maintaining its longstanding position of recognising Palestine within the context of a two-state solution. On July 30, Foreign Minister Winston Peters and 13 of his counterparts issued a joint statement – the “New York Call” – demanding an immediate ceasefire in Gaza and reiterating “unwavering commitment to the vision of the two-State solution”.
The statement also asserted that “positive consideration” to recognise the state of Palestine is “an essential step towards the two-state solution”.
Better options are available
The UK’s position, however, introduces another dynamic. By using recognition of Palestine as a tool to punish Israel for its actual and alleged breaches of international law in Gaza, it is implicitly failing to respect Palestine’s right to self-determination.
If Palestine deserves statehood, it is on its own terms, not as a condition of Israel’s policies and actions.
But it is also setting a dangerous precedent. Countries could choose to recognise (or not recognise) states to pressure or punish them (or indeed other states) for breaches of international law. Such breaches may or may not be connected to the state actually seeking recognition.
This is important, because the post-colonial settlement of geographical boundaries remains deeply insecure in many regions. As well, low-lying island nations at risk of losing territory from sea-level rise may also find their status challenged, as territory has traditionally been a requirement of statehood.
The UK’s apparent conditional recognition of Palestine is only likely to increase this international instability around statehood.
While the UK’s announcement may be “clever politics” from a domestic perspective, and avoids outright US opposition internationally, it has conflated two separate issues.
The better option would be for the UK to recognise Palestine as a state, joining a growing number of countries that plan to do so in advance of the UN General Assembly meeting in September. It could make this subject to conditions, including the release of hostages and exclusion of Hamas from Palestinian governance.
And it should continue to press Israel to agree to a ceasefire in addition to the other demands set out in its announcement, and hold Israel accountable for its gross breaches of international law in Gaza. It can back up those demands with appropriate diplomatic and trade sanctions.
New Zealand, too, has a range of options available, and can help increase the pressure on Israel by using them.
Karen Scott 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.
Driven by a desire to explore Nigeria’s literary and cultural history beyond the metropolis of Lagos, I took a road trip to Ibadan, once the most important university town in the country. Ibadan, in Oyo State, was the first city in Nigeria to have a university set up in 1948.
It’s the city where celebrated Nigerian artist and architect Demas Nwoko imagined and built his utopias. Where the Oxford University Press and Heinemann Educational Books established their west African headquarters.
Books have always been a form of cultural currency in Ibadan. The presence of major publishers meant that bookshops were not just retail outlets, but intellectual salons, sites of encounter and exchange.
So while in Ibadan I visited cultural spaces and independent bookshops but it was the charms of the University campus that mostly captured my imagination. And my favourite place was the University of Ibadan Bookshop. At this campus bookshop I lingered the most, in awe and wonder. Its eclectic range of books, journals, public lecture pamphlets, novels, poetry collections and monographs excited me.
Today, when the global publishing economy has increasingly digitised and centralised, the bookshop feels almost radical just by existing. It’s a reminder that intellectual life in Africa is not peripheral or derived from the west. It is present, prolific and profoundly local. To walk through the shelves of this bookshop was to encounter a history of African thought written and produced on its own terms.
As a scholar of African literature and archives, my research traces the hidden lives of spaces that have shaped publishing and archives. University bookshops have been overlooked but are essential nodes in the continent’s intellectual history.
A snapshot of Nigeria
This campus bookshop gives a snapshot of Nigeria as a print country. Here we witness the nation through its printed matter. A nation of prolific publishing. I found the literary output in the Ibadan campus bookshop not only vast but exuberant and unrelenting. It reflects the texture of the Nigerian personality: loud, boisterous, layered and insistent. Stacks upon stacks of books.
In these stacks, it dawned on me that beneath the surface lies a vibrant, ongoing literary discourse that is unmistakably Nigerian, and sadly not resonant far beyond its borders. These are books you don’t see on reference lists of “popular” and “influential” scholarship that privileges work produced and imported to Africa from the Euro-American academy.
I was especially intrigued with how the Nigerian academic and writer does not tire in producing academic and cultural journals. There are journals for every subject under the sun.
While the critical framework of African literature is too often shaped by the global north (see critiques by Ato Quayson, Biodun Jeyifo, Simon Gikandi and Grace Musila) in Ibadan, I saw a distinctly local and deeply African critical discourse rooted in place, language and lived experience. To walk into the University of Ibadan Bookshop is to step into legacy. Its shelves bear the weight of decades of African thought, theory and storytelling.
Despite being housed in an ageing building, it has stayed defiant. Even though floods destroyed books and computers worth a small fortune in 2019, the bookshop is still standing proudly. And there was pride too among the staff who were eager to help or answer any questions about the books.
More than bookshops
The University of Ibadan bookshop reminded me of the bookshop from my undergraduate days in Zimbabwe. Even though our campus bookshop was much smaller, I used to find pleasure going there in between lectures. It often felt like walking into a vault of African knowledge and memory.
Our bookshop at Midlands State University stocked old, canonical books alongside current literature. On occasion, rare, out-of-print secondhand books would appear on the shelves. The bargain sales also meant I spent most of my money there.
But to call these spaces on African university campuses “bookshops” hardly does them justice. They are hybrid cultural ecosystems that function as part bookshop, part print shop, stationer, library and sometimes even archive. They have long served as vital nodes in the circulation of African knowledge and thought.
Yet this ecosystem is rapidly eroding, undermined by the rise of internet culture, artificial intelligence, piracy and harsh economic conditions. The result is a slow but devastating disappearance of African intellectual memory. As scholars remind us, digital platforms are not neutral. They are structured by algorithms that often marginalise black and African knowledge. So, the loss of these analogue spaces is more than nostalgic, it is epistemic erasure.
In this digital age, there is something vital about the physical presence of bookshops on African campuses. Thanks to them, as a student, for me literature was the serendipity of discovery, the tactile feel of books, the beautiful persistence of a local knowledge system that was relatable and produced by people like me.
On the way out of the city, we stopped at Bower’s Tower. From there you can see Ibadan’s sprawling layout, the ancient hills from which the settlement was built, and its red roofs.
The view reflected the complexity and density of ideas the city has nurtured. And despite shifts in Nigeria’s publishing geography from here to Lagos and Abuja, Ibadan still matters. It’s a city that remembers, that archives, that holds on to knowledge.
Tinashe Mushakavanhu does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Stuart J. Murray, Professor of Rhetoric and Ethics | Professeur titulaire en rhétorique et éthique, Carleton University
Why do images of Donald Trump as a galactic emperor or Luigi Mangione as a Catholic saint resonate so deeply with some people? Memes don’t just entertain — they shape how we identify with power, grievance and justice in the digital age.
A meme is a decontextualized video or image — often captioned — that circulates an idea, behaviour or style, primarily through social media. As they spread, memes are adapted, remixed and transformed, helping to solidify the communities around them.
Trump, the meme pope
Days after Pope Francis’s death in April 2025, Trump posted an AI-generated image of himself in papal regalia on Truth Social. The White House’s official X account then shared it, amplifying its reach.
Trump quickly dismissed it as a joke, but the image lingered.
Two days later, another emerged: Trump as galactic emperor, blending Star Wars aesthetics with the visual rhetoric of Warhammer 40,000, a popular dystopian sci-fi franchise featuring authoritarian rulers, imperial armies and endless war.
Trump memes like these once circulated semi-ironically in social media subcultures like Reddit and 4chan under the banner “God Emperor Trump.”
But what might previously have seemed like absurdist cosplay now carries the symbolic weight of executive power, blending religious and imperial imagery to project Trump as a mythical figure, not just a politician.
Fact-checking can’t stop them. We know they are factually untrue, but they feel true and consolidate a shared sentiment among Trump’s base.
The meme is not a joke — it’s an in-joke only the in-group understands.
And that’s the point.
A meme is an accelerant, delivering compressed emotional payloads, short-circuiting debate and reinforcing people’s political identifications. Propelled by algorithms and designed to go viral, memes solicit immediate responses — outrage, loyalty, disgust, amusement.
Memes don’t ask what’s true or what’s just.
Instead, they curate — and encode — emotional alignment, replacing liberalism’s democratic ideal of reasoned public discourse with viral attachment: grievance recoded as identity.
Elon Musk and weaponizing empathy
On Feb. 20, 2025, days after Trump appointed Elon Musk to head his new Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), the Tesla founder appeared at the Conservative Political Action Conference, an annual gathering of conservative activists and officials from across the U.S.
At the conference, Musk brandished a chainsaw, declaring: “I have become the meme!.” An image of him holding the chainsaw later actually became a meme.
The image projects libertarian efficiency and masculine bravado, but it more than just mocks bureaucracy — it glorifies cutting ties to domestic, global and humanitarian responsibilities.
Far from being merely a meme, it advances a policy of neglect that intentionally lets others die.
Experts estimate that DOGE’s purge of USAID could result in 14 million preventable deaths over the next five years, disproportionately affecting marginalized populations whose historical exploitation helped generate the wealth now wielded as power.
Individuals vs. the collective
But we are not meant to feel empathy. In early 2025, Musk called empathy “the fundamental weakness of western civilization,” claiming it is “weaponized by the left.”
Yet Musk doesn’t reject empathy entirely — only empathy for individuals, which he said risks “civilizational suicide.”
Instead, Musk believes we must have empathy for “civilization as a whole.” Such rhetoric — sacrificing individuals for the collective — recalls a chilling Nazi-era slogan: Du bist nichts, dein Volk ist alles (“You are nothing, your people are everything”). Musk has also drawn criticism for making public Nazi salutes and ethno-nationalist statements advocating for white people.
If Trump and Musk memes stage fantasies of absolute power, Mangione memes reply with fantasies of redemptive rupture.
Accused of killing UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson, Mangione has been lionized in memes that champion vulnerability and social justice, opposing the billionaire class — figures like Trump and Musk — who put profits over people.
These memes appear to oppose the MAGA meme machine, encoding class struggle as quiet defiance and anti-authoritarianism. Unlike Musk’s chainsaw-wielding bravado, which seems to mask a fragile ego, Mangione memes project a humble, rebellious heartthrob.
Yet, like Trump and Musk, Mangione has become a brand. His face adorns T-shirts and “St. Luigi” prayer candles, capitalizing on the popular meme that emerged soon after his arrest. This commodification mirrors right-wing meme economies, even if the message differs.
They don’t just reflect feeling — they organize it, channelling it into cultural, political and literal currency, including a Luigi crypto coin ($LUIGI) and a musical.
These memes share MAGA meme tactics: relentless repetition and emotional saturation. Instead of encouraging thoughtful debate, they rally communities around shared grievances, acts of defiance and collective faith.
Feeling our way through the feed
From MAGA to Mangione, meme-mythologies often function as rationalizations of violence — whether framed as righteous, purifying or revolutionary. But what unites Trump’s papal cosplay, Musk’s chainsaw and Mangione’s martyrdom isn’t their message but their form.
Whether cloaked in MAGA nostalgia or social justice sentiments, memes that appear to resist power often reproduce the structures that made that power so intoxicating in the first place.
We’ve seen how official White House and Department of Homeland Security social media memes have become increasingly cruel, sinister, polarizing and even radicalizing.
Meanwhile, some liberals on the left continue to promote what is known as the “marketplace of ideas” — the belief that truth will prevail if all ideas are allowed to circulate freely. But reason doesn’t always triumph over power. And memes aren’t just ideas: they’re technologies that bypass deliberation to shape our feelings, identities and ways of communicating.
Musk’s “I have become the meme” therefore reveals a paradox: he claims to master the meme, but no one can control its circulation or uptake. Trump and Mangione, too, are less individuals than avatars — produced by a digital culture that pre-shapes our perceptions of them.
The violence, however, is very real. If one violent act doesn’t justify counter-violence, it nonetheless structures and occasions it. Each side claims it is just.
Memes don’t ask: can we intentionally let others die and still be just? Answering this question is nearly impossible in a meme world. The answer will be a meme. And it will be a joke.
Stuart J. Murray receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
The response of Canada’s legacy news media to the Israeli government’s military action in Gaza for more than 640 days points to a problem within major Canadian news organizations, according to a new Canadian book, When Genocide Wasn’t News.
In the book, journalists — some writing under pseudonyms — say their newsrooms have been severely hampered by a culture of fear and an adherence to a notion of objectivity that no longer serves the public.
As Carleton University journalism professor Duncan McCue argues, an unexamined adherence to objectivity can perpetuate colonial points of view. University of British Columbia journalism professors Candis Callison and Mary Lynn Young, authors of a book about journalism’s racial reckoning in Canada, also make this argument.
Accusations of antisemitism
Accusations of bias can have an outsized impact on reporting and be used to silence journalists.
Not only do journalists say they are facing threats, they also face a context in which governments, such as the province of Ontario, are adhering to definitions of antisemitism that equate it to criticism of Israel.
Reporters who focused on stories about human rights, questioned the tactics and budgets of the military industrial complex or challenged the mistreatment of socialist activists as being unpatriotic were accused of having a liberal, left-wing, even communist, slant.
This is another unprecedented set of events that should be reported on for Canadian audiences.
How will Canadian newsrooms do better? One idea could be that newsrooms join forces to fend off accusations of bias and antisemitism. They could start with reclaiming objectivity as a practice of information-gathering and moving away from objectivity as an ideal of dispassionate reporting.
Every inhabitant of Gaza remains in imminent peril today, and the media have a responsibility to inform us about it.
Gabriela Perdomo 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 yet another twist in his unpredictable decision making, US president Donald Trump has dramatically shortened his original 50-day ultimatum to Vladimir Putin to call a ceasefire in Ukraine to a mere ten days. It’s an unmistakable sign of Trump’s frustration with the Russian leader who he now appears to view as the main obstacle to ending the war.
Progress has been similarly limited on another of Trump’s flagship foreign policy projects: ending the war in Gaza. As a humanitarian catastrophe engulfs the territory, Trump and some of his Maga base are finally challenging Israel’s denials that, after almost two years of war, many Gazans now face a real risk of starvation.
In neither case have his efforts to mediate and bring an end to the violence borne any fruit. But not all of Trump’s efforts to stop violence in conflicts elsewhere in the world have been similarly futile. The administration brokered a ceasefire between Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), which the two countries’ foreign ministers signed in Washington on June 27.
The US president has also claimed to be behind the ceasefire between India and Pakistan in May after the two sides had engaged in several days of fierce combat following a terror attack in Indian-administered Kashmir by a Pakistan-backed rebel group. And, drawing a clear parallel between this conflict and the border clashes between Cambodia and Thailand in July, Trump announced he had pushed both countries’ leaders to negotiate a ceasefire.
Three factors can explain Trump’s mixed record of peacemaking to date. First, the US president is more likely to succeed in stopping the fighting where he has leverage and is willing to use it to force foreign leaders to bend to his will. For example, Trump was very clear that there would be no trade negotiations with Thailand or Cambodia “until such time as the fighting STOPS”.
The crucial difference, so far, with the situation in the war against Ukraine is that Trump has, and has used, similar leverage only with the Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelensky. This led to a US-Ukraine agreement on a 30-day ceasefire proposal just two weeks after the now-notorious row between Trump and Zelensky in the Oval Office.
The mere threat of sanctions against Russia, by contrast, has done little to persuade Putin to accept whatever deal might Trump offer him. Trump’s threats – which he has never followed through on – did not work in January or May. The Kremlin’s initial reactions to the latest ultimatum from the White House do not indicate a change in Putin’s attitude.
A second factor that may explain why Trump has had peacemaking success in some cases but not others is the level of complexity of US interests involved. When it comes to US relations with Russia and Israel, there is a lot more at stake for Trump.
The US president still appears keen to strike a grand bargain with Russia and China under which Washington, Beijing and Moscow would agree to recognise, and not interfere in, their respective spheres of influence. This could explains his hesitation so far to follow through on his threats to Putin.
Similarly, US interests in the Middle East – whether it’s over Iran’s nuclear programme or relations with America’s Gulf allies – have put strains on the alliance with Israel. Trump also needs to weigh carefully the impact of any move against, or in support of, Israel on his domestic support base.
In the deal Trump brokered between Rwanda and the DRC, the issues at stake were much simpler: access for US investors to the mineral riches of the eastern DRC. Just days into his second term, Trump acknowledged that the conflict was a “very serious problem”. Congo’s president, Felix Tshisekedi, responded by offering the US access to minerals in exchange for pushing Rwanda to a deal to end the invasion and stop supporting proxy forces in the DRC.
This leads to the third factor that has enabled Trump’s peace-making success so far: simpler solutions are easier to achieve. Thailand and Cambodia and India and Pakistan can go back to the situation before their recent fighting. That does not resolve any of the underlying issues in their conflicts, but returns their relations to some form of non-violent stability.
It is ultimately also in the interests of the conflict parties. They have had a chance to make their violent statements and reinforce what they will and won’t tolerate from the other side. The required investment by an external mediator to end battles that have achieved what the warring sides want anyway – to avoid further escalation – is consequently quite limited.
Complex conflicts
Getting to any kind of stability in Ukraine or the Middle East by contrast requires prolonged engagement and attention to detail. These conflicts are at a stage in which a return to how things were before is not in the interests of the parties or their external backers. Nudging warring parties along on the path to agreement under such conditions requires a well-designed process, which is absent in Ukraine and failing in Gaza.
Thanks to funding and personnel cuts, the US secretary of state, Marco Rubio, is now required to perform multiple roles. Trump relies on personal envoys with at best limited foreign policy expertise, while insisting he makes all the decisions. This ultimately suggests that the White House simply may not have the bandwidth for the level of engagement that would be necessary to get to a deal in Ukraine and the Middle East.
This is a self-inflicted opportunity lost, not only for the United States but also for the long-suffering people of Ukraine and the Middle East.
Stefan Wolff is a past recipient of grant funding from the Natural Environment Research Council of the UK, the United States Institute of Peace, the Economic and Social Research Council of the UK, the British Academy, the NATO Science for Peace Programme, the EU Framework Programmes 6 and 7 and Horizon 2020, as well as the EU’s Jean Monnet Programme. He is a Trustee and Honorary Treasurer of the Political Studies Association of the UK and a Senior Research Fellow at the Foreign Policy Centre in London.
Beneath churchyards in London and Lincolnshire lie the chemical echoes of famine, infection and survival preserved in the teeth of those who lived through some of the most catastrophic periods in English history.
In a new study, my colleagues and I examined over 270 medieval skeletons to investigate how early-life malnutrition affected long-term health and life expectancy.
We focused on people who lived through the devastating period surrounding the Black Death (1348-1350), which included years of famine during the little ice age and the great bovine pestilence (an epidemic that killed two-thirds of cattle in England and Wales). We found that the biological scars of childhood deprivation during this time left lasting marks on the body.
These findings suggest that early nutritional stress, whether in the 14th century or today, can have consequences that endure well beyond childhood.
Children’s teeth act like tiny time capsules. The hard layer inside each tooth, called dentine, sits beneath the enamel and forms while we’re growing up. Once formed, it stays unchanged for life, creating a permanent record of what we ate and experienced.
As our teeth develop, they absorb different chemical versions (isotopes) of carbon and nitrogen from our food, and these get locked into the tooth structure. This means scientists can read the story of someone’s childhood diet by analysing their teeth.
A method of measuring the chemical changes in sequential slices of the teeth is a recent advance used to identify dietary changes in past populations with greater accuracy.
When children are starving, their bodies break down their fat stores and muscle to continue growing. This gives a different signature in the newly formed dentine than the isotopes from food. These signatures make centuries-old famines visible today, showing exactly how childhood trauma affected health in medieval times.
We identified a distinctive pattern that had been seen before in victims of the great Irish famine. Normally, when people eat a typical diet, the levels of carbon and nitrogen in their teeth move in the same direction. For example, both might rise or fall together if someone eats more plants or animals. This is called “covariance” because the two markers vary together.
But during starvation, nitrogen levels in the teeth rise while carbon levels stay the same or drop. This opposite movement – called “opposing covariance” – is like a red flag in the teeth that shows when a child was starving. These patterns helped us pinpoint the ages at which people experienced malnutrition.
Lifelong legacy
Children who survived this period reached adulthood during the plague years, and the effect on their growth was recorded in the chemical signals in their teeth. People with famine markers in their dentine had different mortality rates than those who lacked these markers.
For example, babies born small, a possible sign of nutritional stress, seem to be more prone to illnesses such as heart disease and diabetes in adulthood than the population at large. These characteristics can also be passed to future offspring through changes in how genes are switched on or off, known as “epigenetic effects” – which can endure for three generations.
Epigenetics explained.
In medieval England, early nutritional deprivation may have been beneficial during catastrophic times by producing adults of short stature and the capacity to store fat, but these people were much more likely to die after the age of 30 than their peers with healthy childhood dentine patterns.
The patterns for childhood starvation increased in the decades leading up to the Black Death and declined after 1350. This suggests the pandemic may have indirectly improved living conditions by reducing population pressure and increasing access to food.
The medieval teeth tell us something urgent about today. Right now, millions of children worldwide are experiencing the same nutritional crises that scarred those long-dead English villagers – whether from wars in Gaza and Ukraine or poverty in countless countries.
Their bodies are writing the same chemical stories of survival into their growing bones and teeth, creating biological problems that will emerge decades later as heart disease, diabetes and early death.
Our latest findings aren’t just historical curiosities; they’re an urgent warning that the children we fail to nourish today will carry those failures in their bodies for life and pass them on to their own children. The message from the medieval graves couldn’t be clearer: feed the children now or pay the price for generations.
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Julia Beaumont receives funding from Arts and Humanities research council, British Academy/Leverhulme.
Over a fifth of people in the UK have tried to access a weight loss drug in the last year, according to a recent poll.
Weight loss jabs such as Mounjaro (tirzepatide) and Wegovy (semaglutide) are very effective in managing obesity. Clinical trials have shown that some people lose up to 26% of their body weight while using these drugs.
With this impact, it’s no wonder a growing number of people are seeking out these products – often buying them in private clinics or online. But with plans to expand access to these drugs through NHS prescriptions, there are concerns that supply may not meet demand – especially for those people in most need.
In the UK, NHS prescriptions for weight loss jabs are only approved for people who meet strict eligibility requirements. For example, to qualify early for Mounjaro from your GP, you must have health problems due to your weight and a body mass index greater than 40 (adjusted for ethnicity). People assessed by the NHS and given prescriptions will also have access to additional support – such as advice about diet and physical activity.
Weight loss drugs can be prescribed by specialist clinics and, increasingly, local GPs. But a lack of time and resources means even those who are eligible are left waiting. Consequently, people who can afford to do so are approaching private providers for access to these medicines – despite the potential risks to their health.
Demand for weight loss jabs is about to grow, as the provision of Mounjaro via GPs is imminent, pending the creation of an infrastructure to support safe local prescribing.
The number of monthly GP prescriptions in England for Mounjaro has already risen from under 3,000 in March 2024 (on introduction) to over 200,000 in May 2025. Mounjaro (also marketed in the US as Zepbound) is widely considered to be the best weight loss jab currently available and a great commercial success.
GP prescriptions of all forms of semaglutide (the active ingredient in Wegovy) are more stable, at around 130,000 items per month (including generics and products to treat diabetes).
While a number of GLP-1 drugs faced shortages last year (including Wegovy and Mounjaro), these shortages have now been resolved. Shortages were spurred by a spike in global demand for these drugs alongside stockpiling by private clinics to feed requests.
Still, there were reports early this year that certain strengths of Mounjaro were difficult to access. The reasons for this are not clear, but may be due to the novelty of access to this new medication or a lack of access to alternatives.
Wider NHS access to this drug is being phased to manage staff workload and ensure good support for patients. Phased rollout may also help to ensure there is enough supply for those who need to be prescribed one of these medications.
Future access
It’s likely that demand for these weight loss drugs will only continue to grow in the UK, so it’s important that supply is readily available.
Regulatory agencies have taken some steps to tighten controls of online prescribing of weight loss drugs and prevent misuse. Registered online pharmacies must seek independent verification of key clinical information (such as from a GP or through a person’s medical records) instead of relying on questionnaires or phone calls.
However, weight loss products remain easy to access for people with money and savvy search skills, but who may be clinically ineligible. The scale of demand from this group is difficult to quantify, but it’s clear more needs to be done to keep patients safe and manage demand.
Several new weight loss drugs are undergoing trials in the UK. These drugs will work similarly to those already available but may be administered differently (such as an oral tablet). The trials for these and subsequent approvals will not only increase market competition, but also improve patient access and choice.
Key patents for the manufacture of semaglutide are also due to expire in 2026 and 2031. Once a pharmaceutical product is outside of its patented time frame, other companies can be approved to manufacture it as a generic product.
A generic product is approved on the basis that it works in the same manner and has equal benefits to the original product. The generics market allows new entrants and new versions of these very popular products onto the market.
Generic products are usually less expensive and so are bought (where still clinically safe and effective) by the NHS. This change could provide greater access to weight loss medications and save the NHS and patients money in the long term.
Generic semaglutide products will probably be available in the UK from 2032 but will be initially authorised to treat diabetes rather than weight loss. Still, this should have a positive impact on the availability of prescription drugs used for both diabetes and weight management.
Generic liraglutide is already available on the NHS for the treatment of diabetes. The liraglutide brand Saxenda is also marketed for weight management. However, liraglutide is less effective than Wegovy or Mounjaro and requires daily injections.
The number of monthly NHS prescriptions for liraglutide has fallen from over 40,000 in July 2020 to 1,000 in May 2025. This fall was most likely influenced by the discontinuation of the Victoza brand for type 2 diabetes in late 2024. Shortages of all types of GLP-1 drugs, which lasted until the end of 2024, may also have impacted demand for liraglutide.
For now, NHS staff can report on known demand for these products to inform manufacturing quantities and procurement. What isn’t known is the future demand for online or private purchases of weight management drugs. It’s this “unknown” demand that may mean supply security is challenged and unsustainable.
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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.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ioanna Stamataki, Senior Lecturer in Hydraulics and Water Engineering, University of Greenwich
In recent years, I have all too often found myself passing over an active wildfire when flying from London to my family home in Greece during the summer months. The sky glows an eerie, apocalyptic red, and the scent of smoke fills the cabin. Silence falls as we become unwilling witnesses to a tragic spectacle.
Now wildfires are again raging across the Mediterranean. But the flames themselves are only part of the story. As wildfires become more intense and frequent, they’re setting off a dangerous chain reaction – one that also includes a rising risk of devastating floods.
Author’s photo from a plane landing in Athens last summer. Ioanna Stamataki
In January 2024, Nasa reported that climate change is intensifying wildfire conditions, noting that the frequency of the most extreme wildfires had more than doubled over the past two decades. While some of this is driven by natural weather variability, human-induced warming is clearly playing a major role. Decades of rising temperatures combined with longer and more severe droughts have created ideal conditions for wildfires to ignite and spread.
This year, another brutal Mediterranean wildfire season is unfolding right before our eyes, with numerous active wildfire fronts across the region. As of July 22 2025, 237,153 hectares have burned in the EU – an increase of nearly 78% from the same period last year. The number of fires rose by about 45%, and CO₂ emissions increased by 23% compared to 2024. These are terrifying statistics.
Climate phenomena are closely interconnected
The fires themselves are bad enough. But they’re also closely connected to other climate-related extremes, including floods.
Natural hazards often trigger chain reactions, turning one disaster into many. In the case of floods, wildfires play a big role both through weather patterns and how the land responds to rain.
On the weather side, higher temperatures lead to more extreme rainfall, as warmer air can hold more moisture and fuels stronger storms. Intense wildfires can sometimes get so hot they generate their own weather systems, like pyrocumulus clouds – towering storm clouds formed by heat, smoke and water vapour. These clouds can spark sudden, localised storms during or shortly after the fire.
The damage doesn’t end when the flames die down. Satellite data shows that burned land can remain up to 10°C hotter for nearly a year, due to lost vegetation and damaged soil.
As the world warms, the atmosphere is able to hold about 7% more moisture for every extra degree. Recent temperatures of 40°C or more in Greece suggest a capacity for more downpours and more flooding.
Wildfires also make the land itself more vulnerable to flooding. Burnt areas respond much faster to rain, as there is less vegetation to slow down the water. Wildfires also change the soil structure, often making it water-repellent. This means more water runs off the surface, erosion increases, and it takes less rain to trigger a flood.
Under these conditions, a storm expected once every ten years can cause the sort of catastrophic flooding expected only every 100 to 200 years. Water moves much faster across scorched landscapes without plants to slow it down. Wildfires also leave behind a lot of debris, which can be swept up by fast-moving floodwaters.
While EU-wide data on post-wildfire flood risk is still limited, various case studies from southern Europe offer strong evidence of the connection. In Spain’s Ebro River Basin, for example, research found that if emissions remain high and climate policy is limited, wildfires will increase the probability of high flood risk by 10%.
Nature’s ability to regenerate is nothing short of magical, but recovering from a wildfire takes time. Burnt soil takes years to return to normal and, during that time, the risks of extreme rainfall are higher. Beyond the impact of wildfires on soil and water, it is important not to overlook the devastating loss of plant and animal species or even entire ecosystems, making the natural world less biodiverse and resilient.
To reduce the frequency and severity of extreme events, we must focus on repairing climate damage. This means moving beyond isolated perspectives and adopting a multi-hazard approach that recognises how disasters are connected.
Flooding after wildfires is just one example of how one crisis can trigger another. We need to recognise these cascading risks and focus on long-term resilience over short-term fixes.
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Ioanna Stamataki currently receives funding from the Leverhulme Trust and the Royal Society for ongoing flood research. Previous research has been supported by the EPSRC and the Newton Fund (via the British Council) for career development and international collaboration.
When historians and the public think about the end of domestic slavery in west Africa, they often imagine colonial governors issuing decrees and missionaries working to end local traffic in enslaved people.
Two of my recent publications tell another part of the story. I am a historian of west Africa, and over the past five years, I have been researching anti-slavery ideas and networks in the region as part of a wider research project.
My research reveals that colonial administrations continued to allow domestic slavery in practice and that African activists fought this.
In one study I focused on Francis P. Fearon, a trader based in Accra, the Ghanaian capital. He exposed pro-slavery within the colonial government through numerous letters written in the 1890s (when the colony was known as the Gold Coast).
In another study I examined the Lagos Auxiliary, a coalition of lawyers, journalists and clergy in Nigeria. Their campaigning secured the repeal of Nigeria’s notorious Native House Rule Ordinance in 1914. That ordinance had been enacted by the colonial government to maintain local slavery in the Niger Delta region.
Considered together, the two studies demonstrate how local campaigners used letters, print culture, imperial pressure points and personal networks to oppose practices that had kept thousands of Africans in bondage.
The methods Fearon and the Lagos Auxiliary pioneered still matter because they show how marginalised communities can compel power‑holders to close the gap between laws and lived reality. They remind us that well‑documented local testimony, amplified trans-nationally, can still overturn official narratives, compel policy change, and keep institutions honest.
Colonial ‘abolition’ that wasn’t
West Africa was a major source of enslaved people during the transatlantic slave trade. The transatlantic trade was suppressed in the early 19th century, but this did not bring an end to domestic slavery.
Accordingly, when the Gold Coast was formally annexed as a British colony in 1874, the imperial government declared slave dealing illegal. And slave-dealing was criminalised across southern Nigeria in 1901. On paper these measures promised freedom, but in practice loopholes empowered slave-holders, chiefs and colonial officials who continued to demand coerced labour.
On the Gold Coast, the 1874 abolition law was never enforced. The British governor informed slave-owners that they might retain enslaved persons provided those individuals did not complain. By 1890, child slavery had become widespread in towns such as Accra. According to the local campaigners, it was even sanctioned by the colonial governor. This led to some Africans uniting to establish a network to oppose it.
The Niger Delta region of Nigeria had a similar experience. The colonial administration enacted the Native House Rule Ordinance to counteract the effects of the Slave-Dealing Proclamation of 1901 which criminalised slave dealing with a penalty of seven years’ imprisonment for offenders. The Native House Rule Ordinance required every African to belong to a “House” under a designated head. It went on to criminalise any person who attempted to leave their “House”. In the Niger Delta kingdoms such as Bonny, Kalabari and Okrika, the word “House” never referred to a single dwelling. Rather, it denoted a self-perpetuating, named corporation of relatives, dependants and slaves under a chief, which owned property and spoke with one voice. By the 1900s, “Houses” had become the primary units through which slave ownership was organised.
Therefore, the Native House Rule Ordinance compelled enslaved people in Houses to remain with their masters. The masters were empowered to use colonial authority to discipline them. District commissioners executed arrest warrants against runaways. In exchange, the House heads and local chiefs supplied the colonial administration with unpaid labour for public works.
African campaigners in Accra and Lagos organised to challenge what they perceived as the British colonial state’s support for slavery.
Fearon: an undercover abolitionist in Accra
Francis Fearon was an educated African, active in the Accra scene during the second half of the 19th century. He was highly literate and part of elite circles. He was closely associated with the journalist Edmund Bannerman. He regularly wrote to local newspapers, often expressing concerns about racism against Black people and moral decay.
On 24 June 1890, Fearon sent a 63-page letter, with ten appendices, to the Aborigines’ Protection Society in London. That dossier would form the basis of several further communications. He alleged that child trafficking continued.
As evidence, he transcribed the confidential court register of Accra and claimed that Governor W. B. Griffith had instructed convicted slave-owners to recover their “property”.
Fearon’s tactics were audacious. He remained anonymous, relied on court clerks for documents, and supplied the Aborigines’ Protection Society with evidence. He pleaded with the society to investigate the colonial administration in the Gold Coast.
Although the society publicised the scandal, subsequent narratives quietly effaced the African source.
Lagos elites organise – and name the problem
Like Fearon, Nigerian campaigners also wrote to the Anti-Slavery and Aborigines’ Protection Society. They denounced the colonial government in Nigeria for promoting slavery, but they did not remain anonymous.
By this time, the Native House Rule Ordinance had prompted some enslaved people to flee the districts in which it was enforced. They sought refuge in Lagos. Through these arrivals, Lagosian elites learned of the ordinance. They unleashed a vigorous campaign against the colonial state.
The principal figures in this movement included Christopher Sapara Williams, a barrister, and James Bright Davies, editor of The Nigerian Times. Others included politician Herbert Macaulay, Herbert Pearse, a prominent merchant, Bishop James Johnson and the Reverend Mojola Agbebi. Unlike Fearon’s lone-wolf strategy, they mounted a coordinated assault on the colonial administration. They drafted petitions, briefed sympathetic European organisations, and inundated local newspapers with commentary.
Their arguments blended humanitarian indignation with constitutional acumen. They insisted that the ordinance contravened both British liberal ideals and African custom.
After years of pressure the law was amended and then quietly repealed in 1914.
Why these stories matter now
Contemporary scholarship on abolition is gradually shifting from asking “what Britain did for Africa” to examining the role Africans played in ending slavery.
Many African abolitionists who fought and lost their lives in the struggle against slavery have long gone unacknowledged. This is beginning to change.
The two articles discussed here highlight the creativity of Africans who, decades before radio or civil-rights NGOs, used transatlantic information circuits. They exposed colonial governments that continued to rely on forced-labour economies long after slavery was supposed to have ended.
They remind us that grassroots documentation can overturn official narratives. Evidence-based advocacy, coalition-building, and the strategic use of global media remain potent instruments.
Research for these articles was funded by the European Research Council under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (Grant Agreement No. 885418).
If you were to walk through the corridors of some of the world’s leading cricket schools, you might hear the crack of leather on willow long before the bell for the end of the day rings.
Across the cricketing world, elite schools have served as key feeder systems to national teams for decades. They provide young players with superior training facilities, high-level coaching and competitive playing opportunities.
This tradition has served as cricket’s most dependable talent pipeline. But is it a strength or a symptom of exclusion?
My recent study examined the school backgrounds of 1,080 elite men’s cricketers across eight countries over a 30-year period. It uncovered telling patterns.
Top elite cricket countries such as South Africa, England and Australia continue to draw heavily from private education systems. In these nations, cricket success seems almost tied to one’s school uniform.
I argue that if cricket boards want to promote equity and competitiveness, they will need to broaden the talent search by investing in grassroots cricket infrastructure in under-resourced areas.
For cricket to be a sport that anyone with talent can succeed in, there will need to be more school leagues and entry-level tournaments as well as targeted investment in community-based hubs and non-elite school zones.
Findings
South Africa is a case in point. My previous study in 2020 outlined that more than half of its national players at One-Day International (ODI) World Cups came from boys-only schools (mostly private).
These schools are often well-resourced, with turf wickets, expert coaches and an embedded culture of competition. Unsurprisingly, the same schools tend to produce a high number of national team batters, as they offer longer game formats and better playing surfaces. Cricket’s colonial origins have influenced the structure and culture of school cricket being tied to a form of privilege.
In Australia and England, the story is not very different. Despite their efforts to diversify player sourcing, private schools still dominate. Even in cricketing nations that celebrate working-class grit, such as Australia, private school players continue to shape elite squads.
The statistics say as much; for example: about 44% of Australian Ashes test series players since 2010 attended private schools, and for England, the figure is 45%. That’s not grassroots, it could be regarded as gated turf…
Yet not all countries follow this route. The West Indies, Pakistan and Sri Lanka reflect very different models. Club cricket, informal play and community academies provide their players with opportunities to rise. These countries have lower reliance on private schools. Some of their finest players emerged from modest public schooling or neighbourhood cricketing networks.
India provides an interesting hybrid. Although elite schools such as St. Xavier’s and Modern School contribute players, most national stars emerge from public institutions or small-town academies. The explosion of the Indian Premier League since 2008 has also democratised access, pulling in talent from previously overlooked and underdeveloped cities.
In these regions, scouting is based on potential, not privilege.
So why does this matter?
At first glance, elite schools producing elite cricketers might appear logical. These institutions have the resources to nurture talent. But scratch beneath the surface and troubling questions appear.
Are national teams truly reflecting their countries? Or are they simply echo chambers of social advantage?
In South Africa, almost every Black African cricketer to represent the country has come through a private school (often on scholarship). That suggests that talent without access remains potentially invisible. It also places unfair pressure on the few who make it through, as if they carry the hopes of entire communities.
I found that in England, some county systems have started integrating players from state schools, but progress is slow. In New Zealand, where cricket is less centralised around private institutions, regional hubs and public schools have had more success in spreading opportunities. However, even there, Māori and Pasifika players remain underrepresented in elite squads.
Four steps that can be taken
1. One solution lies in recognising that schools don’t have a monopoly on talent. Cricket boards must increase investment in grassroots infrastructure, particularly in under-resourced areas. Setting up community hubs, supporting school-club partnerships and more regional competitions could discover hidden talent.
2. Another step is to improve the visibility and reach of scouting networks. Too often, selection favours players from known institutions. By diversifying trial formats and leveraging technology (such as video submissions or performance-tracking apps), selectors can widen their net. It’s already happening in India, where IPL scouts visit the most unlikely of places.
3. Coaching is another stumbling block. In many countries, high-level coaches are clustered in elite schools. National boards should consider optimising salaries as well as rotating certified coaches into public schools and regional academies. They should also ensure coaches are developed to be equipped to work with diverse learners and conditions.
4. Technology offers other exciting possibilities too. Virtual simulations, motion tracking and AI-assisted video reviews are now common in high-performance centres. Making simplified versions available to lower-income schools could level the playing field. Imagine a township bowler in South Africa learning to analyse their technique using only a smartphone and a free app?
Fairness in sport
The conversation about schools and cricket is not just about numbers or stats. It is about fairness. Sport should be the great leveller, not another mechanism of exclusion. If cricket is to thrive, it needs to look beyond scoreboards and trophies. It must ask who gets to play and who never gets seen?
A batter from a village school in India, a wicket-keeper from a government school in Sri Lanka or a fast bowler in a South African township; each deserves the chance to be part of the national story. Cricket boards, policymakers and educators must work together to make that possible.
The game will only grow when it welcomes players from all walks of life. That requires more than scholarships. It requires a reset of how we think about talent. Because the next cricket superstar may not wear a crest on their blazer. They may wear resilience on their sleeve.
Habib Noorbhai 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 John Kenneth Paranada, Curator of Art and Climate Change, University of East Anglia
Water is at the heart of the disruption wrought by climate change. The seas, once seen as vast and stable, are now unpredictable and restless.
That tidy, looping diagram of the water cycle once pinned up in primary school classrooms – clouds, rivers, evaporation and rain – now reads more like a fragmented recollection than a dependable process. Human impact has cracked that once-stable loop wide open.
Sea levels inch upward year on year. Droughts grow more prolonged and severe. Rainfall becomes erratic and violent. What was once spoken of in future tense is now present and pressing.
In Norfolk, land and sea have long coexisted in an uneasy truce. Here, the threat of sea level rise is not a speculative concern, it is data-backed, visible and accelerating.
According to research from the Tyndall Centre for Climate Change Research, vast swathes of Norfolk risk being submerged by rising seas if global temperatures rise by even two degrees celsius. It is one of the most at-risk areas in the UK.
Against this backdrop comes the Sainsbury Centre’s exhibition, A World of Water (part of the Can the Seas Survive Us? season). In the show, water is explored as subject, medium and metaphor. It is both agent and witness, shaping civilisations, sustaining life, and now challenging our ability to coexist with it.
Curated through an interdisciplinary lens, the exhibition was shaped by deep collaboration with scientists, artists, ecologists, activists and coastal communities. Rooted in lived experience, from a two-day walk along the Wherry Man’s Way to a 36-hour sail aboard a 1921 fishing smack, the curatorial process traced fragile coastlines and the North Sea’s rapid transformation into an industrial nexus of energy infrastructures.
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The curatorial approach to the show embraces the multifaceted nature of water by weaving together maritime history, Indigenous knowledge and contemporary works rooted in the artists’ experiences.
Many of the participating artists hail from communities already wrestling with rising tides and the realities of climate disruption. Their contributions form three thematic currents: Mudplume, Water Water Everywhere and In a State of Flux.
These overlapping threads investigate how water connects, nourishes and imperils. Rather than positioning the sea as a line of division, the exhibition reframes it as a living, connective tissue linking culture, history and ecology.
A curatorial geomorphology of the sea
Guidance for the exhibition’s conceptual framework came, fittingly, from water itself. Its mutable nature – solid, liquid, vapour – shaped the rhythm of the curatorial process. Rather than impose a rigid thesis, the exhibition offers an ever-shifting constellation of perspectives.
The exhibition journey begins with sound. Visitors are welcomed by a low murmur, tides lapping, water dripping, echoing through the museum entrance. This leads to Spiral Fosset (2024), a sculptural work by the Dutch collective De Onkruidenier.
Mirroring the central staircase of the museum, the piece suggests the brackish confluence where fresh and saltwater mingle. From here, the viewer descends into the lower galleries, reimagined as an estuary.
Within the lower galleries, artworks unfold like coastal mudflats at low tide. Seventeenth-century Dutch seascapes hang alongside photographs, video works and sculptures made from plastic waste. Sands from the beaches of Cromer, Happisburgh and Cley are featured, anchoring the exhibition in local terrain.
East Anglia’s centuries-old ties with the Low Countries form a steady through line. Hendrick van Anthonissen’s View of Scheveningen Sands (1641) shares space with works by Norwich School masters such as John Sell Cotman, John Crome and Robert Ladbrooke.
This approach privileges resonance over chronology. The exhibition avoids a linear march through time in favour of prioritising association, connection and drift. For instance, Shore Compass by Olafur Eliasson (2019) sits in subtle dialogue with Jodocus Hondius’s 1589 Drake Map an early cartographic rendering of Sir Francis Drake’s circumnavigation of the world.
Created during the height of European maritime expansion and colonialism, the map illustrates the interplay between empire, navigation and power. Time, like tide, is allowed to meander.
The exhibition adopts what might be called a “curatorial geomorphology”: a way of curating that draws on the sculpting force of water. In the natural sciences, geomorphology examines how landscapes are formed and reshaped by flowing water, storms and tides, while hydrology traces water’s movement through the environment.
This curatorial approach translates those scientific ideas into a cultural and creative practice. Like a river, it flows through histories, stories and meanings. What unfolds is a tidal narrative, an estuary of thought where time loosens, the present deepens and new futures begin to surface.
Visitors to A World of Water can expect something different from a traditional gallery experience. It invites you to think with the seas, to tune into their rhythms, tensions and secret lives.
As you wander through the galleries, you enter a realm shaped by flux, expect to feel and reimagine a world where land, water and life move as one. And perhaps, by moving as water does, we may begin to sense an answer to the question: Can the Seas Survive Us? Not in certainty, but through our collective and individual actions toward a more regenerative and sustainable future.
A World of Water is at the Sainsbury Centre Norwich until August 3. It’s part of a six-month season of interlinked exhibitions and events that explore the question: “Can the seas survive us?”
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John Kenneth Paranada received funding from the John Ellerman Foundation; the Art Fund’s Jonathan Ruffer Curatorial Grant; the Association of Art Museum Curators’ EPIC Curatorial Fellowship Award; the Mondriaan Fund’s International Art Presentation Grant; the Kingdom of the Netherlands’ Cultural Diplomacy Grant; and Arts Council England’s National Lottery Fund for the project A World of Water: Can the Seas Survive Us? at the Sainsbury Centre.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Matthew Blackett, Reader in Physical Geography and Natural Hazards, Coventry University
After a massive earthquake off the coast of Kamchatka, a peninsula in the far east of Russia, on July 30 2025, the world watched as the resultant tsunami spread from the epicentre and across the Pacific Ocean at the speed of a jet plane.
In some local areas, such as in Russia’s northern Kuril Islands, tsunami waves reached heights of over three metres. However, across the Pacific there was widespread relief in the hours that followed as the feared scenario of large waves striking coastal communities did not materialise. Why was this?
Not all underwater earthquakes result in tsunamis. For a tsunami to be generated, the Earth’s crust at the earthquake site must be pushed upwards in a movement known as vertical displacement. This typically occurs during reverse faulting, or its shallow-angled form known as thrust faulting, where one block of the Earth’s crust is forced up and over another, along what is called a fault plane.
It is no coincidence that this type of faulting movement occurred at a subduction zone on “the Pacific ring of fire”, where the dense oceanic Pacific plate is being forced beneath the less dense Eurasian continental plate.
These zones are known for generating powerful earthquakes and tsunamis because they are sites of intense compression, which leads to thrust faulting and the sudden vertical movement of the seafloor. Indeed, it was the ring of fire that was also responsible for the two most significant tsunami-generating earthquakes of recent times: the 2004 Indonesian Boxing Day and March 2011 Tohoku earthquakes.
Why did the Indonesian and Japanese earthquakes generate waves over 30 metres high, but the recent magnitude 8.8 earthquake off Kamchatka (one of the strongest ever recorded) didn’t? The answer lies in the geology involved in these events.
In the case of the 2004 Indonesian tsunami, the sea floor was measured to have risen by up to five metres within a rupture zone of 750,000 sq km.
For the tsunami that struck Japan in March 2011, estimates indicate the seafloor was thrust upwards by nearly three metres within a rupture zone of 90,000 sq km.
Preliminary data from the recent Kamchatka event has been processed into what geologists call a finite fault model. Rather than representing the earthquake as a single point, these models show where and how the crust ruptured, including the length of that rupture in Earth’s crust, its depth and what direction it followed.
The model results show that the two sides of the fault slipped by up to ten metres along a fault plane of 18°, resulting in about three metres of vertical uplift. Think of it like walking ten metres up an 18° slope: you don’t rise ten metres into the air, you only rise about three metres, because most of your movement is forward rather than upward.
However, since much of this occurred at depths greater than 20km (over an area of 70,000 sq km) the seabed displacement would probably have been reduced as the overlying rock layers absorbed and diffused the motion before it reached the surface.
For comparison, the associated slippage for the Tohoku and Indonesian events was as shallow as 5km in places.
An added complication
So, while the size of sea floor uplift is key to determining how much energy a tsunami begins with, it is the processes that follow – as the wave travels and interacts with the coastline – that can transform an insignificant tsunami into a devastating wall of water at the shore.
As a tsunami travels across the open ocean it is often barely noticeable – a long, low ripple spread over tens of kilometres. But as it nears land, the front of the wave slows down due to friction with the seabed, while the back continues at speed, causing the wave to rise in height. This effect is strongest in places where the sea floor gets shallow quickly near the coast.
The shape of the coastline is also important. Bays, inlets and estuaries can act like funnels that further amplify the wave as it reaches shore. Crescent City in California is a prime example. Fortunately however, when the wave arrived in Crescent City on July 30 2025, it reached a height of just 1.22 metres – still the highest recorded in the continental US.
So, not every powerful undersea earthquake leads to a devastating tsunami — it depends not just on the magnitude, but on how much the sea floor is lifted and whether that vertical movement reaches the ocean surface.
In the case of the recent Russian quake, although the slip was substantial, much of it occurred at depth, meaning the energy wasn’t transferred effectively to the water above. All of this shows that while earthquake size is important, it’s the precise characteristics of the rupture that truly decide whether a tsunami becomes destructive or remains largely insignificant.
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Matthew Blackett 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 Laura Elin Pigott, Senior Lecturer in Neurosciences and Neurorehabilitation, Course Leader in the College of Health and Life Sciences, London South Bank University
Your dog tilts its head when you cry, paces when you’re stressed, and somehow appears at your side during your worst moments. Coincidence? Not even close.
Thousands of years of co-evolution have given dogs special ways to tune in to our voices, faces and even brain chemistry. From brain regions devoted to processing our speech to the “love hormone” or oxytocin that surges when we lock eyes, your dog’s mind is hardwired to pick up on what you’re feeling.
The evidence for this extraordinary emotional intelligence begins in the brain itself. Dogs’ brains have dedicated areas that are sensitive to voice, similar to those in humans. In a brain imaging study, researchers found that dogs possess voice-processing regions in their temporal cortex that light up in response to vocal sounds.
Dogs respond not just to any sound, but to the emotional tone of your voice. Brain scans reveal that emotionally charged sounds – a laugh, a cry, an angry shout – activate dogs’ auditory cortex and the amygdala – a part of the brain involved in processing emotions.
Dogs are also skilled face readers. When shown images of human faces, dogs exhibit increased brain activity. One study found that seeing a familiar human face activates a dog’s reward centres and emotional centres – meaning your dog’s brain is processing your expressions, perhaps not in words but in feelings.
Dogs don’t just observe your emotions; they can “catch” them too. Researchers call this emotional contagion, a basic form of empathy where one individual mirrors another’s emotional state. A 2019 study found that some dog-human pairs had synchronised cardiac patterns during stressful times, with their heartbeats mirroring each other.
This emotional contagion doesn’t require complex reasoning – it’s more of an automatic empathy arising from close bonding. Your dog’s empathetic yawns or whines are probably due to learned association and emotional attunement rather than literal mind-mirroring.
The oxytocin effect
The most remarkable discovery in canine-human bonding may be the chemical connection we share. When dogs and humans make gentle eye contact, both partners experience a surge of oxytocin, often dubbed the “love hormone”.
In one study, owners who held long mutual gazes with their dogs had significantly higher oxytocin levels afterwards, and so did their dogs.
This oxytocin feedback loop reinforces bonding, much like the gaze between a parent and infant. Astonishingly, this effect is unique to domesticated dogs: hand-raised wolves did not respond the same way to human eye contact. As dogs became domesticated, they evolved this interspecies oxytocin loop as a way to glue them emotionally to their humans. Those soulful eyes your pup gives you are chemically binding you two together.
Beyond eye contact, dogs are surprisingly skilled at reading human body language and facial expressions. Experiments demonstrate that pet dogs can distinguish a smiling face from an angry face, even in photos.
Dogs show a subtle right-hemisphere bias when processing emotional cues, tending to gaze toward the left side of a human’s face when assessing expressions – a pattern also seen in humans and primates.
Dogs rely on multiple senses to discern how you’re feeling. A cheerful, high-pitched “Good boy!” with a relaxed posture sends a very different message than a stern shout with rigid body language. Remarkably, they can even sniff out emotions. In a 2018 study, dogs exposed to sweat from scared people exhibited more stress than dogs that smelled “happy” sweat. In essence, your anxiety smells unpleasant to your dog, whereas your relaxed happiness can put them at ease.
Bred for friendship
How did dogs become so remarkably attuned to human emotions? The answer lies in their evolutionary journey alongside us. Dogs have smaller brains than their wild wolf ancestors, but in the process of domestication, their brains may have rewired to enhance social and emotional intelligence.
Clues come from a Russian fox domestication experiment. Foxes bred for tameness showed increased grey matter in regions related to emotion and reward. These results challenge the assumption that domestication makes animals less intelligent. Instead, breeding animals to be friendly and social can enhance the brain pathways that help them form bonds.
In dogs, thousands of years living as our companions have fine-tuned brain pathways for reading human social signals. While your dog’s brain may be smaller than a wolf’s, it may be uniquely optimised to love and understand humans.
Dogs probably aren’t pondering why you’re upset or realising that you have distinct thoughts and intentions. Instead, they excel at picking up on what you’re projecting and respond accordingly.
So dogs may not be able to read our minds, but by reading our behaviour and feelings, they meet us emotionally in a way few other animals can. In our hectic modern world, that cross-species empathy is not just endearing; it’s evolutionary and socially meaningful, reminding us that the language of friendship sometimes transcends words entirely.
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Laura Elin Pigott 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.
China’s already vast infrastructure programme has entered a new phase as building work starts on the Motuo hydropower project.
The dam will consist of five cascade hydropower stations arranged from upstream to downstream and, once completed, will be the world’s largest source of hydroelectric power. It will be four times larger than China’s previous signature hydropower project, the Three Gorges Dam, which spans the Yangtse river in central China.
The Chinese premier, Li Qiang, has described the proposed mega dam as the “project of the century”. In several ways, Li’s description is apt. The vast scale of the project is a reflection of China’s geopolitical status and ambitions.
Possibly the most controversial aspect of the dam is its location. The site is on the lower reaches of the Yarlung Zangbo river on the eastern rim of the Tibetan plateau. This is connected to the Brahmaputra river which flows into the Indian border state of Arunachal Pradesh as well as Bangladesh. It is an important source of water for Bangladesh and India.
Both nations have voiced concerns over the dam, particularly since it can potentially affect their water supplies. The tension with India over the dam is compounded by the fact that Arunachal Pradesh has been a focal point of Sino-Indian tensions. China claims the region, which it refers to as Zangnan, saying it is part of what it calls South Tibet.
At the same time, the dam presents Beijing with a potentially formidable geopolitical tool in its dealings with the Indian government. The location of the dam means that it is possible for Beijing to restrict India’s water supply.
This potential to control downstream water supply to another country has been demonstrated by the effects that earlier dam projects in the region have had on the nations of the Mekong river delta in 2019. As a result, this gives Beijing a significant degree of leverage over its neighbours.
One country restricting water supply to put pressure on another is by no means unprecedented. In fact in April 2025, following a terror attack by Pakistan-based The Resistance Front in Kashmir, which killed 26 people (mainly tourists), India suspended the Indus waters treaty, restricting water supplies to Pakistani farmers in the region. So the potential for China’s dam to disrupt water flows will further compound the already tense geopolitics of southern Asia.
Concrete titans
The Motuo mega dam is an advertisement of China’s prowess when it comes to large-scale infrastructure projects. China’s expertise with massive infrastructure projects is a big part of modern Chinese diplomacy through its massive belt and road initiative.
This involves joint ventures with many developing nations to build large-scale infrastructure, such as ports, rail systems and the like. It has caused much consternation in Washington and Brussels, which view these initiatives as a wider effort to build Chinese influence at their expense.
The completion of the dam will will bring Beijing significant symbolic capital as a demonstration of China’s power and prosperity – an integral feature of the image of China that Beijing is very keen to promote. It can also be seen as a manifestation of both China’s aspiration and its longstanding fears.
Harnessing the rivers
The Motuo hydropower project also represents the latest chapter of China’s long battle for control of its rivers, a key story in the development of Chinese civilisation.
France 24 report on the construction of the mega dam project.
Such struggles have been embodied in Chinese mythology in the form of the Gun-Yu myth. This tells the story of the way floods displaced the population of ancient China, probably based on an actual flooding at Jishi Gorge on the Yellow River in what is now Qinghai province in 1920BC.
This has led to the common motif of rivers needing human control to abate natural disaster, a theme present in much classical Chinese culture and poetry.
The pursuit of controlling China’s rivers has also been one of the primary influences on the formation of the Chinese state, as characterised by the concept of zhishui 治水 (controlling the rivers). Efforts to control the Yangtze have shaped the centralised system of governance that has characterised China throughout its history. In this sense, the Motuo hydropower project represents the latest chapter in China’s quest to harness the power of its rivers.
Such a quest remains imperative for China and its importance has been further underlined by the challenges of climate change, which has seen natural resources such as water becoming increasingly limited. The Ganges river has already been identified as one of the world’s water scarcity hotspots.
As well as sustaining China’s population, the hydropower provided by the dam is another part of China’s wider push towards self-sufficiency. It’s estimated that the dam could generate 300 billion kilowatt-hours of electricity every year – about the same about produced by the whole UK. While this will meet the needs of the local population, it also further entrenches China’s ability to produce cheap electricity – something that has enabled China to become and remain a manufacturing superpower.
Construction has only just begun, but Motuo hydropower project has already become a microcosm of China’s wider push towards development. It’s also a gamechanger in the geopolitics of Asia, giving China the potential to exert greater control in shaping the region’s water supplies. This in turn will give it greater power to shape the geopolitics of the region.
At the same time, it is also the latest chapter of China’s longstanding quest to harness its waterways, which now has regional implications beyond anything China’s previous dynasties could imagine.
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Tom Harper 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 Maha Rafi Atal, Adam Smith Senior Lecturer in Political Economy, School of Social and Political Sciences, University of Glasgow
The trade deal between the US and the European Union, squeezed in days before the re-introduction of Donald Trump’s “liberation day” tariffs, is reflective of the new politics of global trade. Faced with the threat of 30% baseline tariffs from Washington, as well as additional levies on specific sectors, the EU has secured a partial reprieve of a flat 15% tariff on all goods.
Was this the best the bloc could have achieved? In the time available, it may well have been. The 15% rate is higher than the UK secured earlier this year, but it’s significantly below the level applied to China and Mexico, and on par with Japan.
The EU has also managed a “zero-for-zero” tariffs deal on some hi-tech goods, notably semiconductors vital for products like phones and laptops. This is something the UK did not push for or secure in its own framework agreed with the US president.
What’s more, EU leaders have argued that agreeing to the deal has security benefits in protecting dwindling US support for European defence. The urgency of Europe’s security concerns in Ukraine made these talks different from trade negotiations in the first Trump administration, when Europe could afford to be more aggressive.
The biggest winners in this deal are Europe’s carmakers. The US has collapsed various sector-specific duties on goods like aircraft, cars and automotive parts into the 15% ceiling. This effectively reduces tariffs on EU-made cars (from 27.5%).
American automakers, meanwhile, rely heavily on parts from Mexico and China – still subject to higher tariffs at the time of writing. This makes EU vehicles more competitive for US consumers than “American” cars that rely on overseas parts.
Most importantly however, like the UK deal before it, the new EU agreement is a statement of understanding between the White House and the European Commission, rather than a formal treaty. A treaty would be subject to parliamentary ratification on both sides.
But the semi-formal nature of this agreement allows both Trump and European leaders to portray the deal as a “win” by playing fast and loose with what’s actually in it.
For example, the Trump administration will celebrate an EU commitment to buy US$250 billion (£189 billion) in US energy imports annually. Yet the concession holds no legal weight in the EU. The European Commission, which negotiated with Trump, does not buy any energy nor does it manage the power grid inside its 27 member states.
The commission can encourage, but cannot compel, those states to buy American. (Indeed, it might want to do so anyway, since it helps it to pivot away from Russian gas). But ultimately, member states and businesses decide where their energy supply comes from, and they are not direct parties to the deal. Only a formal treaty ratified by the European parliament would compel them.
No guarantees from Trump
The informal nature of this agreement also allows EU member states to protest against what they see as capitulation to Trump’s demands without real consequence. After all, there is not yet a treaty text they would be required to vote on or implement.
The Trump administration similarly imposed its sweeping tariff threats in early spring without a vote from Congress, and has been making ad hoc changes to the rates in the same way.
On the one hand, this means European countries may not ultimately be required to implement some of the deal’s less savoury elements such as the energy purchases or lowering the bloc’s own tariffs on US goods.
On the other hand, this means the Trump administration – notorious for abrupt changes of turn – can also renege at any time. In reality, there is little the EU can do about this. The question of leverage looms large. Trump’s longstanding antipathy towards the EU – seeing it less as an ally and more as a rival – meant that Brussels was never negotiating from a position of strength.
The fact that the EU avoided the worst-case scenario, protected key sectors and secured other sector-specific advantages suggests a deal shaped not by triumph, but by containment of Trump. Since the deal was announced, the picture emerging from many European leaders has been one of gloom. True, the EU didn’t win – but it survived. And that, for now, is probably enough.
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Maha Rafi Atal 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 Jonathan Este, Senior International Affairs Editor, Associate Editor, The Conversation
This article was first published in The Conversation UK’s World Affairs Briefing email newsletter. Sign up to receive weekly analysis of the latest developments in international relations, direct to your inbox.
It feels as if things are moving at completely different speeds in Gaza and in the outside world. From the embattled Gaza Strip the narrative is depressingly familiar. Dozens more Palestinian civilians have been killed in the past 24 hours as they try to get hold of scarce supplies of food.
Aid agencies report that despite air drops of supplies and “humanitarian pauses” in the fighting, the amount of food getting through to the starving people of Gaza remains pitifully insufficient.
Two more children are reported to have died of starvation, bringing the total number of hunger-related deaths to 159, according to Palestinian sources quoted by al-Jazeera.
US envoy Steve Witkoff arrived in Jerusalem for more talks as the US president Donald Trump posted his latest bout of social media diplomacy on his TruthSocial site, a message which appears pretty faithful to the Netanyahu government’s position: “The fastest way to end the Humanitarian Crises in Gaza is for Hamas to SURRENDER AND RELEASE THE HOSTAGES!!”
Both sides continue to reject the other side’s demands, bringing ceasefire negotiations to an effective standstill.
In the outside world, meanwhile, events seem to be gathering pace. A “high-level conference” at the United Nations in New York brought together representatives of 17 states, the European Union and the Arab League, resulting in “a comprehensive and actionable framework for the implementation of the two-state solution and the achievement of peace and security for all”.
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What first catches the eye about this proposal, which was signed by Saudi Arabia,
Qatar, Egypt and Jordan, is that it links a peace deal with the disarming and disbanding of Hamas. It also condemns the militant group’s savage attack on southern Israel on October 23 2023, which was the catalyst for the latest and arguably most grievous chapter of this eight-decade conflict. It’s the first time the Arab League has taken either of these positions.
The New York declaration, as it has been dubbed, envisages the complete withdrawal of Israeli security forces from Gaza and an end to the displacement of Palestinians. Government will be the responsibility of the Palestinian Authority (PA), and a conference to be scheduled in Egypt will design a plan for the reconstruction of Gaza, much of which has been destroyed in the 20-month assault by the Israel Defense Forces.
It is, writes Scott Lucas, a “bold initiative” which, “in theory could end the Israeli mass killing in Gaza, remove Hamas from power and begin the implementation of a process for a state of Palestine. The question is whether it has any chance of success.”
Lucas, an expert in US and Middle East politics at the Clinton Institute of University College Dublin, is not particularly sanguine about the short-term prospects for a ceasefire and the alleviation of the desperate conditions for the people of Gaza. But what it represents more than anything else, is “yet another marker of Israel’s increasing isolation”.
He points to recent announcements that France, the UK (subject to conditions) and Canada will recognise the state of Palestine at the UN general assembly in September. The prospect of normalisation between Israel and Arab states, at the top of the agenda a few short years ago, is now very unlikely. And in the US, which remains Israel’s staunchest ally, a Gallup poll recently found that public opinion is turning against Israel and its prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu.
But how important are the declarations by France, the UK and Canada of intent to potentially recognise Palestinian statehood, asks Malak Benslama-Dabdoub. As expert in international law at Royal Holloway University of London, who has focused on the question of Palestinian statelessness, Benslama-Dabdoub thinks that the French and British pledges bear closer examination.
The French declaration was made on July 24 on Twitter by the president, Emmanuel Macron. Macron envisages a “demilitarised” state, something Benslama-Dabdoub sees as a serious problem, as it effectively denies the fundamental right of states to self-determination and would rob a future Palestinian state of the necessary right to self-defence.
The declaration by the UK prime minister that Britain may also recognise Palestinian statehood in September is framed as a threat rather than a pledge. Unless Israel agrees to a ceasefire, allows the UN to recommence humanitarian efforts and engages in a long-term sustainable peace process, the UK will go ahead with recognising Palestine at the UN.
You have to consider that the UK government’s statement said that the position has always been that “Palestinian statehood is the inalienable right of the Palestinian people”. So to frame this as a threat rather than a demand is arguably to deny that “inalienable right”.
Paul Rogers also sees serious problems with the pledges to recognise Palestinian statehood. Demands for Hamas to disarm and play no further role in Palestinian government he sees as a non-starter as is the thought of a demilitarised Palestine. “Neither plan has the slightest chance of getting off the ground.”
Rogers, who has researched and written on the Middle East for more than 30 years, also thinks that without the full backing of the US there is very little chance that a peace plan could succeed.
Rogers finds it hard to believe that Washington will change tack on the Palestinian question, “unless the US president somehow gets the idea that his own reputation is being damaged”. There’s always a chance of this. News from the Gaza Strip is relentlessly horrifying and the aforementioned polls suggest many voters are reassessing their views of the conflict. But Trump is heavily indebted for his re-election to the far-right Christian Zionist movement, who wield a great deal of power with the White House.
The other thing that might influence the conflict is if enough of the IDF’s top brass recognise the futility of waging what has always been an unwinnable conflict. This, writes Rogers, is whispered about in Israel’s military circles and one eminent retired general, Itzhak Brik, has come out and said: “Hamas has defeated us.”
These, writes Rogers, are currently the only routes to an end to the conflict.
We mentioned earlier that the Canadian prime minister, Mark Carney, has also pledged to recognise the state of Palestine in September. This was immediately greeted by Trump with the threat that he does so it will derail a trade deal with the US. Whether this will cut any ice with Carney, who had to make concessions to get the trade deal done in the first place, remains to be seen.
But there’s a broader point here, writes Stefan Wolff. As Wolff reports, this week the foreign ministers of the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda got together in Washington to sign a ceasefire deal, brokered by the US. Trump also claims to have successfully ended a conflict between India and Pakistan at the end of May and hostilities between Thailand and Cambodia earlier this month.
Meanwhile his efforts to secure peace deals, or even a lasting ceasefire, in Gaza or Ukraine have been unsuccessful.
Wolff considers why some countries respond to Trump’s diplomatic efforts while others don’t. There are a number of reasons, principally the US president’s ability to apply leverage through trade deals or sanctions and the differing complexity of the conflicts.
He also points to the depleted resources of the US state department, Trump’s use of personal envoys with little foreign affairs experience and the US president’s insistence on making all the important decisions himself. He concludes: “The White House simply may not have the bandwidth for the level of engagement that would be necessary to get to a deal in Ukraine and the Middle East.”
One US government department whose resources haven’t been depleted under Donald Trump is the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency, known as Ice. Part of the Department of Homeland Security, Ice has been responsible for identifying and detaining non-citizens and undocumented migrants.
Their agents carry guns, wear masks and typically operate in plain clothes, although they often wear military kit. The agency received massive funding via Trump’s One Bzig Beautiful Bill Act earlier this month, which will allow the agency to recruit hundreds, if not thousands, of new agents. The number of arrests is increasing steadily, as is the disquiet their operations are prompting in many American cities, where opposition protests are also growing.
Dafydd Townley, an expert in US politics at the University of Portsmouth, explains how Ice operates and where it sits in Donald Trump’s plan to deport millions of illegal migrants from the US.
Simple things like avoiding chemical pesticides and leaving leaves where they fall can help make your garden a more welcoming environment for wildlife and support biodiversity. (Jeffrey Hamilton/Unsplash)
Biodiversity is essential to mitigating and adapting to climate change, enhancing the resilience of ecosystems and safeguarding the ecological functions that all living beings depend on for survival.
Cultivating a garden for biodiversity is not an all-in or nothing task. In fact, there is a wide range of simple actions anyone can take to regenerate and conserve biodiversity right at home.
We are currently organizing a biodiversity public literacy campaign at the National Environmental Treasure, a people’s trust fund devoted to funding Canadian environmental organizations.
Educational, ecologically informed signage can help interpret the garden for visitors. These signs serve as a practical tool to share gardening practices and highlight the garden’s environmental benefits with the community. (Nina Marie Lister)
Together, we’ve created a series of free, fact-based guides to help people learn how to cultivate biodiversity and support for wildlife habitat in private gardens.
This series currently includes four comprehensive booklets, each focusing on key aspects of biodiversity gardening:
While there are plenty of great garden practices out there, these are five easy and impactful ways to boost biodiversity and cultivate a garden safe for urban wildlife, taken directly from our booklets.
Use alternatives to pesticides
Pesticides in your garden can harm beneficial insects and can be detrimental to the environment, wildlife and human health. Instead of using chemical-based pesticides, try natural alternatives like biopesticides, horticultural oils and insecticidal soaps that can be just as effective.
Likewise, attracting predatory insects and wildlife into your garden who will actively feed on the harmful pest is also an effective starting point as this is a process of pest-control that occurs naturally in healthy ecosystems.
There are also DIY pesticides, such as sea salt spray, water-vinegar mixtures and coffee grounds.
A rewilded habitat meadow featuring a selection of native wildflowers and habitat logs left to enrich the soil, support pollinators and offer seating for visitors. (Nina Marie Lister)
Leave the leaves
Decomposing plant litter, like fallen dead leaves, tree bark, needles and twigs, is an important component of maintaining soil health, nutrient cycling and biodiversity.
By choosing to leave the leaves in your garden, you will support the variety of species who overwinter in them, from bees and caterpillars, to butterflies, spiders and more.
Prioritize pollinator-attractive plants
In addition to pollination, insects are beneficial for a variety of other reasons including for pest control, seed dispersal and decomposition.
The best way to attract insects largely depends on which insect you are trying to attract. But as a general rule, it is always a good practice to source plants locally and prioritize native species.
Next best to native plants are benign ornamentals and non-natives. Cultivating a diverse range of flowers, especially native plants and herbs, promotes a resilient ecosystem. It also helps natives out-compete invasive species and to reverse the downward trends of mass species decline.
Birds contribute to healthy ecosystems: they pollinate plants, disperse seeds and prey on insects. Unfortunately, North American bird populations are experiencing a rapid decline due to habitat loss, degradation and other global pressures.
Organic gardening without pesticides or herbicides, keeping cats indoors, removing potential entanglement hazards and using bird-collision prevention markers on reflective surfaces can not only attract birds, but also ensure their safety as well.
Birds contribute to healthy ecosystems: they pollinate plants, disperse seeds and prey on insects. (Unsplash/Richard Bell)
These disputes over the scope and application of bylaws have brought attention to various legal contradictions and outcomes that negatively impact progress on biodiversity recovery, all the while undermining and negating related environmental objectives on private land.
By advocating and encouraging your municipal leaders to adopt science-based biodiversity-supportive bylaws, you help to establish the legal frameworks and political agendas that directly impact long-term ecological health and promote sustainable development and the regeneration of biodiversity.
Ann Dale receives funding from the CRC Secretariat, the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the Hewlett Foundation.
Sabrina Careri 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.
Summer is popularly imagined as bringing joy to all young people. Yet it is not an equal break or of the same quality for all students.
Learning loss is the decline in academic skills and knowledge that can occur when students are not engaged in structured learning, especially during extended breaks like summer.
Black families face challenges in accessing culturally relevant and affirming summer opportunities. As work by education researcher Obianuju Juliet Bushi and others has documented, for many Black families, the question isn’t just “what will my child do this summer?” It’s “where can my child go to be safe, affirmed and supported?”
As the manager of research with the charitable, Black-led non-profit organization Youth Association for Academics, Athletics and Character Education (YAAACE) in the Jane Finch area of Toronto, I share insights about how culturally responsive community programs can address opportunity gaps, and how parents in Black families can support their kids’ successful transition back to school.
This article draws on insights from conversations I have had with various YAAACE program participants, parents and educators, as well as leadership, including Devon Jones, Nene, and Dave Mitchell.
The opportunity gap refers to the unequal access to resources, supports and learning experiences that affect students’ ability to succeed, often based on race, income and geography.
While these experiences shape the mental health and academic outcomes of students, schools often lack culturally relevant supports or trauma-informed responses.
Summer programs are one important part of countering anti-Black racism in schools. These can support student transitions by mitigating learning loss and helping to close the opportunity gap.
Programs that centre Africentricity and Black excellence led by staff with lived experiences provide culturally responsive and emotionally supportive environments that affirm Black identities.
This builds confidence in Black students and ensures students return to school in the fall better prepared to thrive academically, socially, emotionally and culturally.
YAAACE’s seven-week Summer Institute offers a model that affirms identity, cultivates belonging and accelerates achievement. Each summer, approximately 300 students from grades 3 through 12 attend the institute, which blends literacy and numeracy instruction with culturally responsive learning, arts-based programming, robotics, mentorship and athletics.
Students are taught by Ontario certified teachers and supported by Black staff and practitioners trained in trauma-informed care. For families who can’t afford camp fees, the program is free or subsidized.
YAAACE’s Inspire Academy Mathematics Program provides early access to high school math courses. Grade 8 graduates earn a high school math credit through an intensive summer course led by a team of teachers and teacher assistants in a supportive, inclusive environment. In cases where students are behind provincial standards, they receive additional supports with low staff-to-student ratios.
Summer is a crucial time to support children’s learning and well-being, especially for Black families navigating systems that often overlook their strengths.
Below are three practical ways to support your child during the summer break and when school starts in September.
Create routines that balance learning and Black joy: Set daily routines that include reading, writing or problem solving but just as much make space for rest, play, creativity and movement rooted in Black joy. Learning should be holistic and joyful. It’s important as parents, guardians and community leaders that we not only talk about this but more importantly model it.
‘Refresh, Revive, Thrive: Black Joy in Education’ with Andrew B. Campbell, assistant professor at the University of Toronto.
Stay engaged and be an advocate: Get to know your child’s teachers and school administrators, review school policies to be familiar with how to navigate them (for example, getting accommodations for your child’s needs) and request culturally affirming resources. Don’t hesitate to raise concerns, as your advocacy helps create more supportive learning environments and shows your child that their success is worth fighting for.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Amin Saikal, Emeritus Professor of Middle Eastern and Central Asian Studies, Australian National University; and Vice Chancellor’s Strategic Fellow, Victoria University
When it comes to dealing with two of the biggest current crises in the Muslim world – the devastation of Gaza and the Taliban’s draconian rule in Afghanistan – Arab and Muslim states have been staggeringly ineffective.
Their chief body, the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), in particular, has been strong on rhetoric but very short on serious, tangible action.
The OIC, headquartered in Saudi Arabia, is composed of 57 predominantly Muslim states. It is supposed to act as a representative and consultative body and make decisions and recommendations on the major issues that affect Muslims globally. It calls itself the “collective voice of the Muslim world”.
Yet the body has proved to be toothless in the face of Israel’s relentless assault on Gaza, triggered in response to the Hamas attacks of October 7 2023.
The OIC has equally failed to act against the Taliban’s reign of terror in the name of Islam in ethnically diverse Afghanistan.
Many strong statements
Despite its projection of a united umma (the global Islamic community, as defined in my coauthored book Islam Beyond Borders), the OIC has ignominiously been divided on Gaza and Afghanistan.
True, it has condemned Israel’s Gaza operations. It’s also called for an immediate, unconditional ceasefire and the delivery of humanitarian aid to the starving population of the strip.
It has also rejected any Israeli move to depopulate and annex the enclave, as well as the West Bank. These moves would render the two-state solution to the long-running Israeli–Palestinian conflict essentially defunct.
Further, the OIC has welcomed the recent joint statement by the foreign ministers of 28 countries (including the United Kingdom, many European Union members and Japan) calling for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza, as well as France’s decision to recognise the state of Palestine.
The OIC is good at putting out statements. However, this approach hasn’t varied much from that of the wider global community. It is largely verbal, and void of any practical measures.
What the group could do for Gaza
Surely, Muslim states can and should be doing more.
For example, the OIC has failed to persuade Israel’s neighbouring states – Egypt and Jordan, in particular – to open their border crossings to allow humanitarian aid to flow into Gaza, the West Bank or Israel, in defiance of Israeli leaders.
Nor has it been able to compel Egypt, Jordan, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Sudan and Morocco to suspend their relations with the Jewish state until it agrees to a two-state solution.
Further, the OIC has not adopted a call by Malaysian Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim and the United Nations special rapporteur on Palestinian territories, Francesca Albanese, for Israel to be suspended from the UN.
Nor has it urged its oil-rich Arab members, in particular Saudi Arabia and the UAE, to harness their resources to prompt US President Donald Trump to halt the supply of arms to Israel and pressure Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to end the war.
Stronger action on Afghanistan, too
In a similar vein, the OIC has failed to exert maximum pressure on the ultra-extremist and erstwhile terrorist Taliban government in Afghanistan.
Since sweeping back into power in 2021, the Taliban has ruled in a highly repressive, misogynist and draconian fashion in the name of Islam. This is not practised anywhere else in the Muslim world.
In December 2022, OIC Secretary General Hissein Brahim Taha called for a global campaign to unite Islamic scholars and religious authorities against the Taliban’s decision to ban girls from education.
But this was superseded a month later, when the OIC expressed concern over the Taliban’s “restrictions on women”, but asked the international community not to “interfere in Afghanistan’s internal affairs”. This was warmly welcomed by the Taliban.
In effect, the OIC – and therefore most Muslim countries – have adopted no practical measures to penalise the Taliban for its behaviour.
It has not censured the Taliban nor imposed crippling sanctions on the group. And while no Muslim country has officially recognised the Taliban government (only Russia has), most OIC members have nonetheless engaged with the Taliban at political, economic, financial and trade levels.
Why is it so divided?
There are many reasons for the OIC’s ineffectiveness.
For one, the group is composed of a politically, socially, culturally and economically diverse assortment of members.
But more importantly, it has not functioned as a “bridge builder” by developing a common strategy of purpose and action that can overcome the geopolitical and sectarian differences of its members.
In the current polarised international environment, the rivalry among its member states – and with major global powers such as the United States and China – has rendered the organisation a mere talking shop.
This has allowed extremist governments in both Israel and Afghanistan to act with impunity.
It is time to look at the OIC’s functionality and determine how it can more effectively unite the umma.
This may also be an opportunity for its member states to develop an effective common strategy that could help the cause of peace and stability in the Muslim domain and its relations with the outside world.
Amin Saikal 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 Dafydd Townley, Teaching Fellow in US politics and international security, University of Portsmouth
There are masked men, and some women, on the streets in American cities, sometimes travelling in unmarked cars, often carrying weapons and wearing military-style kit. They have the power to identify, arrest, detain non-citizens and deport undocumented immigrants. They also have the right to interrogate any individual who they believe is not a citizen over their right to remain in the US.
These are agents from US Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency, known as Ice. This is a federal law enforcement agency, which falls under the control of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), and is playing a significant and contentious role in the implementation of Donald Trump’s tough immigration policy.
On the campaign trail Trump promised “the largest domestic deportation operation in American history”. And he is giving Ice more power to deliver his plans.
Since Trump took office in January, Ice funding has been significantly increased. Trump’s “big beautiful bill”, passed by Congress in July 2025, gave Ice US$75 billion (£55 billion) of funding for the next four years, up from around US$8 billion a year.
This funding boost will allow the agency to recruit more agents as well as adding thousands more beds plus extensions to buildings to increase the capacity of detention centres. There is also new funding for advanced surveillance tools including AI-assisted facial recognition and mobile data collection. There’s another US$30 billion going to frontline operations, covering removing immigrants and transport to detention centres.
The president has committed to deporting everyone who is in the US illegally, that is estimated by the Wall Street Journal to be about 4% of the current US population. For the past five months, the numbers of people being picked up by Ice agents has been ticking up fast.
Average daily arrests were up 268% to about 1,000 a day in June 2025, compared with the same month a year earlier. This was also a 42% rise on May 2025, according to data analysis from the Guardian and the Deportation Data Project. However, this is still considerably short of the 3,000 a day ordered by secretary of homeland security Kristi Noem and White House deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller.
Ice’s tactics have already attracted significant criticism. Right-leaning broadcaster Fox News has reported on how masked agents are not showing ID or naming their agency when picking up people in raids. Other reporting has highlighted allegations that American citizens are also sometimes being swept up in the raids.
The agency, currently led by acting director Todd M. Lyons, has three main divisions: the Enforcement and Removal Operations division, which identifies and deports undocumented immigrants as well as manages detention centres. The Homeland Security Investigations, which investigates criminal activities with an international or border nexus such as human trafficking, narcotics, and weapons smuggling. The Office of the Principal Legal Advisor provides legal advice to Ice and prosecutes immigration cases in court.
Lyons claimed that mask wearing was necessary because of Ice agents being “doxed” – when a person’s personal information such as names and home addresses are revealed online without their permission. Assaults on Ice agents have risen, he claimed. DHS data suggested that there were 79 assaults on Ice agents from January to June 2025, compared to ten in the same period in 2024.
Democratic House minority leader Hakeem Jeffries compared mask wearing by Ice agents to secret police forces in authoritarian regimes. “We’re not behind the Iron Curtain. This is not the 1930s.”
The Ice agency was established in 2003 by the George W. Bush administration, partly as a result of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and was part of a broader reorganisation of federal agencies under the then newly created DHS. It incorporated parts of the former Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) and some elements of the US Customs Service.
According to the agency’s website, Ice’s core mission is “to protect America through criminal investigations and enforcing immigration laws to preserve national security and public safety”.
News coverage of Ice agents wearing masks and not identifying themselves.
What’s changed?
At the start of the administration in January, the White House gave Ice the authority to hasten the deportation of immigrants that had entered the country with government authorisation during the previous administration. This “expedited removal” authority allowed Ice to deport individuals without requiring an appearance before an immigration judge.
As arrests have grown in the past months, Lyons told CBS News that Ice would detain any undocumented immigrant, even if they did not have a criminal record.
And the Trump administration has also allowed Ice agents to make arrests at immigration courts, which had previously been off limits. This restriction was introduced by the Biden administration in 2021 to ensure witnesses, victims of crimes and defendants would still appear in court without fear of arrest for immigration violations, unless the target was a national security threat.
Protests over Ice raids have spread across California.
However, Lyons rescinded those restrictions in May, part of a broader shift towards aggressive enforcement.
Much of the time, Ice has targeted illegal immigrants. But the agency has also arrested and detained some individuals who were residents (green card holders) or tourists – and, in some cases, citizens.
In recent weeks, according to the Washington Post, Ice has been ordered to increase the number of immigrants shackled with GPS-enabled ankle monitors. This would significantly increase the number of immigrants that are under surveillance. Ankle monitors also restrict where people can travel.
Sparking protests
There have been numerous public protests about Ice raids, most notably in California. This peaked on June 6 after Ice had conducted numerous raids in Los Angeles, resulting in clashes between agents and protesters. This led to the White House sending around 2,000 National Guard troops and 700 Marines to Los Angeles, despite opposition from California governor Gavin Newsom.
Part of the friction between the Trump administation and the state is that Los Angeles and San Francisco have adopted local policies to limit cooperation with federal immigration authorities including Ice. California has sanctuary laws, such as SB 54, that prohibit local police and sheriffs from assisting Ice with civil immigration enforcement.
However, Trump shows every sign of pushing harder and faster to crack down on illegal immigrants, and Ice agents are clearly at the forefront of how he aims to do it.
Dafydd Townley 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.
Donald Trump’s lawyers are pushing to get Rupert Murdoch deposed, and quickly.
The US president is suing the billionaire media owner, alongside the Wall Street Journal and Dow Jones and others, for libel after it published an article alleging that Trump once wrote a “bawdy” birthday letter to the convicted sex offender, the late Jeffrey Epstein.
Trump and Murdoch have a transactional friendship that goes back decades. Despite past tensions, this rupture is something new in a relationship that has continued to serve both men’s interests.
In this episode of The Conversation Weekly podcast, professor of journalism Andrew Dodd at the University of Melbourne takes us back to where their relationship began in 1970s New York, to understand how Murdoch helped to build brand Trump.
Murdoch was already a very successful media magnate in Australia and the UK before he made his move to America. In 1976, after dabbling in two newspapers in Texas, he bought the New York Post.
“ Murdoch wanted to make it big in the US and to do that he really needed to break into New York,” says Dodd. US television networks were all based in US, he explains, “so by influencing what was going on in Manhattan, he was influencing the entire country’s media.”
Meanwhile, Trump was a young property developer from Queens. “ He’s wanting to develop and build, and he’s also wanting a profile because the profile will help him along the way,” says Dodd. “But he’s also an egomaniac. He needs publicity for its own sake, and so he’s attracted to the media.” Trump became easy and frequent fodder for the new Page Six gossip column of Murdoch’s New York Post.
Dodd says that both men saw in each other “opportunities for their own advancement”. For Trump, it was about access to notoriety. For Murdoch, a newcomer and foreigner in New York, he needed to make friends quickly and start establishing relationships. “He’s becoming ingratiated with power in the city, and so they’re all using one another,” he says.
Listen to the conversation with Andrew Dodd about Trump and Murdoch and the power they now wield over each other, on The Conversation Weekly podcast.
This episode of The Conversation Weekly was written and produced by Mend Mariwany and Gemma Ware with assistance from Ashlynne McGhee. Mixing and sound design by Eloise Stevens and theme music by Neeta Sarl.
Listen to The Conversation Weekly via any of the apps listed above, download it directly via our RSS feed or find out how else to listen here. A transcript of this episode is available on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.
Andrew 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.
Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Arie Perliger, Director of Security Studies and Professor of Criminology and Justice Studies, UMass Lowell
An Israeli soldier prays in the Evyatar outpost in the Israeli-occupied West Bank on July 7, 2024. AP Photo/Ohad Zwigenberg
Since Oct. 7, 2023, as Israel’s war against Hamas drags on in the Gaza Strip, a quieter but escalating war has unfolded in the West Bank between Israelis and Palestinians.
Attacks include harassment of Palestinian villagers trying to access their crops or work outside their villages, as well as more extreme and organized violence, such as raiding villages to vandalize property. While many of the attacks are unprovoked, some are what settlers call “price tag” actions: retaliation for Palestinian violence against Israelis, such as car-rammings, rock-throwing and stabbings.
Mourners attend the funeral of three Palestinians who were killed when Jewish settlers stormed the West Bank village of Kafr Malik, on June 26, 2025. AP Photo/Leo Correa
As a scholar who has studied Jewish religious extremism for over two decades, I contend this campaign is not merely a result of rising tension between the settlers and their Palestinian neighbors amid the Gaza conflict. Rather, it is fueled by a confluence of ideological fervor, opportunism and far-right Israelis’ political vision for the region.
Religious redemption
Israel has occupied the West Bank since 1967’s Six-Day War against Egypt, Jordan and Syria, transforming this small region of around 2,000 square miles (5,200 square kilometers) to an amalgam of Jewish and Palestinian enclaves. Most countries other than Israel consider Jewish settlements illegal, but they have rapidly expanded in recent decades, becoming a major challenge for any settlement of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
The ideological roots of violence lie within religious Zionism: a worldview embraced by about 20% of Israel’s Jewish population, including most West Bank settlers.
The great majority of the leaders of the early Zionist movement held strong secular views. They pushed for the creation of a Jewish state over the objections of Orthodox figures, who argued that it should be a divine creation rather than a human-made polity.
Religious Zionists, on the other hand, view the creation of modern-day Israel and its military victories as steps in a divine redemption, which will culminate in a Jewish kingdom led by a heaven-sent Messiah. Adherents believe contemporary events, particularly those asserting Jewish control over the entire historical land of Israel, can accelerate this process.
In recent decades, influential religious Zionist leaders have argued that final redemption requires Israel’s total military triumph and the annihilation of its enemies, particularly the Palestinian national movement. From this perspective, the devastation of Oct. 7 and the subsequent war are a divine test – one the nation can only pass by achieving a complete victory.
The violence in the West Bank reflects an extension of the same beliefs. Extreme groups within the settler population aim to solidify Jewish control by making Palestinian communities’ lives in the region unsustainable.
Opportunistic violence
Hamas’ Oct. 7 massacre, which killed over 1,200 Israelis, traumatized the nation. It also hardened many Jewish Israelis’ conviction that a Palestinian state would be an existential threat, and thus Palestinians cannot be partners for peace.
This shift in sentiment created a permissive environment for violence. While settler attacks previously drew criticism from across the political spectrum, extremist violence faces less public condemnation today – as does the government’s lack of effort to curb it.
This increase in violence is also enabled by a climate of impunity. Israeli security forces have been stretched thin by operations in Gaza, Syria, Iran and beyond. In the West Bank, the military increasingly relies on settler militias known as “Emergency Squads,” which are armed by the Israeli military for self-defense, and army units composed primarily of religious Zionist settlers, such as the Netzah Yehuda Battalion. Such groups have little incentive to stop attacks on Palestinians, and at times, they have participated.
Together, violence from below and policy from above advance a clear strategic goal: the coerced depopulation of Palestinians from rural areas to solidify Israeli sovereignty over the entire West Bank.
Instead, such policies seem to entrench many Israelis’ perception of international bias and double standards: the sense that critics are antisemitic, or that few outsiders understand the country’s challenges – particularly in light of threats from entitles like Iran, Hamasand Hezbollah, which openly seek Israel’s elimination.
More targeted policies aim specifically at the Israeli far right, including sanctions – economic, political or cultural – directed at settler communities and their infrastructure. Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Norway and the U.K. have imposed travel bans on Ben-Gvir and Smotrich, and frozen their assets in those countries. Similarly, I believe decisions to ban goods produced in the West Bank settlements, as Ireland has recently debated, would be more effective than banning all Israeli products.
This targeted approach, I would argue, would allow the international community to cultivate stronger alliances with the many Israelis concerned about the settlements and Palestinians’ rights in the West Bank.
Arie Perliger 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.
As Thomas Friedman pointed out in The New York Times on June 3, 2025, “In Trump I, the president surrounded himself with some people of weight who could act as buffers. In Trump II, he has surrounded himself only with sycophants who act like amplifiers.”
As a scholar of Greco-Roman antiquity, I have spent many years studying the demise of truth-telling in periods of political upheaval. Spanning the period from 27 B.C.E. to 476 C.E., the Roman Empire still offers insights into what happens to political leaders when they interpret possibly helpful advice as dissent.
Particularly telling is the case of Nero, Rome’s emperor from 54 to 68 C.E., who responded to a disastrous fire in 64 with extreme cruelty and self-worship that did nothing to help desperate citizens.
Suppressing honest advice under Nero
Rome’s first emperor, Augustus, established a handpicked circle of advisers – called the consilium principis in Latin, meaning emperor’s council – to give a republican look to his autocratic regime. Augustus became the emperor of Rome in 27 B.C.E. and ruled over the empire, which stretched from Europe and North Africa to the Middle East at its peak, until his death in 14 C.E.
Augustus wanted to hear what others thought about the empire’s needs and his policies. At least some of Augustus’ advisers were bold enough to assert themselves and risk incurring his displeasure. Some, such as Cornelius Gallus, paid for their boldness with their lives, Gallus apparently took his own life, so that might not be the best example – unless it was a forced suicide while others, such as Cilnius Maecenas, managed to push their political agendas in softer ways that allowed them to maintain their influence.
But the Roman emperors who came after Augustus were either less skilled at maintaining a republican facade, or less interested in doing so.
Nero was the last of the emperors from the noble Julio-Claudian dynasty in ancient Rome at its peak of power. Historians who describe Nero’s rise and fall from power describe the first five years of his reign, or the quinquennium neronis in Latin, as a period of relative calm and prosperity for the empire.
Because Nero was just 16 years old when he acceded to power, he was assigned advisers to guide his policies. Their opinions carried significant weight.
But five years into his reign, chafing at their continued oversight, Nero began to purge these advisers from his life, via execution, forced suicide and exile.
Nero instead collected a small cadre of self-interested enablers who derived power for themselves by encouraging their leader’s delusions, such as his desire to project himself as the incarnation of the sun god, Apollo.
The single most unspeakably corrupt and nefarious of these preferred advisers was Ofonius Tigellinus. Tigellinus had caught Nero’s eye early in 62 by urging the senate to convict a Roman magistrate of treason for having composed poems that he deemed insulting to the emperor. Later that year, Tigellinus was appointed the head of the emperor’s personal army.
As praetorian prefect, Tigellinus was charged not only with protecting Nero from physical harm, but also with crafting and guarding the leader’s public image. Tigellinus urged Nero to stage an ongoing series of public spectacles – like theatrical performances and athletic competitions – that featured him as a divine ruler and a god on Earth.
The Roman Emperor Nero surveys the city of Rome after the disastrous fire in 64 C.E. Hulton Archive/Getty Images
Up in flames
It was likely at Tigellinus’ urging that, in the aftermath of the great fire of 64 that raged for six days in Rome, Nero staged an exorbitant garden party where Christians were soaked in flammable oils and lit as human torches to illuminate a decadent late-night feast.
But, try as he might, Nero couldn’t outrun the fire and its aftermath by indulging in clever cruelties. Huge swathes of the city had been razed by the fire. Thousands of citizens lacked clothing. They were hungry, displaced and homeless.
For answers, the fire’s countless victims looked to Nero, their earthly Apollo, for help. But they did not encounter a sympathetic leader sweeping in to address their needs. Instead, they found a man desperate to place blame on others – in this case, foreigners from the east.
In order to squelch rumors that Nero had lit the fire, Tigellinus’ army unit rounded up Christians, falsely blamed them for starting the fire and executed them.
But this move just showcased Nero’s failure to focus on the dire needs of the poor, the very people who worshipped him. Instead, he sought to rise above the ashes by doubling down on his divine pretensions.
Once the rubble left by the fire was cleared away, Nero built a magnificent new home for himself. This palace, called the domus aurea in Latin, meaning house of gold, covered more than 120 acres in the heart of Rome. It featured spectacular water fountains, elaborate works of art and, standing tall in the entryway, a 120-foot bronze statue of Nero as the sun god, Apollo.
No truth-teller was there to tell Nero that maybe he shouldn’t rub his people’s noses in their suffering. (can we say ‘Maybe he shouldn’t exploit his people’s suffering in this way’?) this suggestion needs either accepted or rejected
Nero’s delusional response to the fire did not put an end to his career, but it did much to hasten its end.
Less than four years later, with armies bearing down on the city, Nero committed suicide. Rome tumbled into civil war.
President Donald Trump appears at an Independence Day event at the Mount Rushmore national monument near Keystone, S.D., in 2020. Saul Loeb/AFP via Getty Images
Self-worship in the Trump era
Trump has long expressed a desire to have his face carved on Mount Rushmore, a national memorial in South Dakota that features the likenesses of legendary American presidents George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson and Theodore Roosevelt.
As far away as the Roman Empire might seem, Nero’s rise and fall offers a lesson in what can happen when honest criticism of a political leader is sidelined in favor of idolatry.
Instead of honest solutions to real problems, what Romans got was a colossal statue that portrayed their leader as a god on Earth.
Kirk Freudenburg 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.
Imagine this: You’re at your doctor’s office with a sore throat. The nurse asks, “Any allergies?” And without hesitation you reply, “Penicillin.” It’s something you’ve said for years – maybe since childhood, maybe because a parent told you so. The nurse nods, makes a note and moves on.
But here’s the kicker: There’s a good chance you’re not actually allergic to penicillin. About 10% to 20% of Americans report that they have a penicillin allergy, yet fewer than 1% actually do.
I know from my research that incorrectly being labeled as allergic to penicillin can prevent you from getting the most appropriate, safest treatment for an infection. It can also put you at an increased risk of antimicrobial resistance, which is when an antibiotic no longer works against bacteria.
The good news? It’s gotten a lot easier in recent years to pin down the truth of the matter. More and more clinicians now recognize that many penicillin allergy labels are incorrect – and there are safe, simple ways to find out your actual allergy status.
A steadfast lifesaver
Penicillin, the first antibiotic drug, was discovered in 1928 when a physician named Alexander Fleming extracted it from a type of mold called penicillium. It became widely used to treat infections in the 1940s. Penicillin and closely related antibiotics such as amoxicillin and amoxicillin/clavulanate, which goes by the brand name Augmentin, are frequently prescribed to treat common infections such as ear infections, strep throat, urinary tract infections, pneumonia and dental infections.
Penicillin antibiotics are a class of narrow-spectrum antibiotics, which means they target specific types of bacteria. People who report having a penicillin allergy are more likely to receive broad-spectrum antibiotics. Broad-spectrum antibiotics kill many types of bacteria, including helpful ones, making it easier for resistant bacteria to survive and spread. This overuse speeds up the development of antibiotic resistance. Broad-spectrum antibiotics can also be less effective and are often costlier.
Figuring out whether you’re really allergic to penicillin is easier than it used to be.
Why the mismatch?
People often get labeled as allergic to antibiotics as children when they have a reaction such as a rash after taking one. But skin rashes frequently occur alongside infections in childhood, with many viruses and infections actually causing rashes. If a child is taking an antibiotic at the time, they may be labeled as allergic even though the rash may have been caused by the illness itself.
Some side effects such as nausea, diarrhea or headaches can happen with antibiotics, but they don’t always mean you are allergic. These common reactions usually go away on their own or can be managed. A doctor or pharmacist can talk to you about ways to reduce these side effects.
People also often assume penicillin allergies run in families, but having a relative with an allergy doesn’t mean you’re allergic – it’s not hereditary.
Finally, about 80% of patients with a true penicillin allergy will lose the allergy after about 10 years. That means even if you used to be allergic to this antibiotic, you might not be anymore, depending on the timing of your reaction.
Why does it matter if I have a penicillin allergy?
Believing you’re allergic to penicillin when you’re not can negatively affect your health. For one thing, you are more likely to receive stronger, broad-spectrum antibiotics that aren’t always the best fit and can have more side effects. You may also be more likely to get an infection after surgery and to spend longer in the hospital when hospitalized for an infection. What’s more, your medical bills could end up higher due to using more expensive drugs.
Penicillin and its close cousins are often the best tools doctors have to treat many infections. If you’re not truly allergic, figuring that out can open the door to safer, more effective and more affordable treatment options.
A penicillin skin test can safely determine whether you have a penicillin allergy, but a health care professional may also be able to tell by asking you some specific questions. BSIP/Collection Mix: Subjects via Getty Images
How can I tell if I am really allergic to penicillin?
Start by talking to a health care professional such as a doctor or pharmacist. Allergy symptoms can range from a mild, self-limiting rash to severe facial swelling and trouble breathing. A health care professional may ask you several questions about your allergies, such as what happened, how soon after starting the antibiotic did the reaction occur, whether treatment was needed, and whether you’ve taken similar medications since then.
These questions can help distinguish between a true allergy and a nonallergic reaction. In many cases, this interview is enough to determine you aren’t allergic. But sometimes, further testing may be recommended.
One way to find out whether you’re really allergic to penicillin is through penicillin skin testing, which includes tiny skin pricks and small injections under the skin. These tests use components related to penicillin to safely check for a true allergy. If skin testing doesn’t cause a reaction, the next step is usually to take a small dose of amoxicillin while being monitored at your doctor’s office, just to be sure it’s safe.
A study published in 2023 showed that in many cases, skipping the skin test and going straight to the small test dose can also be a safe way to check for a true allergy. In this method, patients take a low dose of amoxicillin and are observed for about 30 minutes to see whether any reaction occurs.
With the right questions, testing and expertise, many people can safely reclaim penicillin as an option for treating common infections.
Elizabeth W. Covington 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 – USA (3) – By Nicole Amoyal Pensak, Researcher of Caregiver Stress Management and Clinical Psychologist, University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus
Panel members discussed adding a so-called black box warning to the drugs – which the agency uses to indicate severe or life-threatening side effects – about the risk they pose to developing fetuses. Some of the panelists who attended had a history of expressing deep skepticism on antidepressants.
SSRIs include drugs like Prozac and Zoloft and are the most commonly used medicines for treating clinical depression. They are considered the first-line medications for treating depression in pregnancy, with approximately 5% to 6% of North American women taking an SSRI during pregnancy.
The panel did not address the safety of SSRIs following delivery, but numerous studies show that taking SSRI antidepressants while breastfeeding is low risk, usually producing low to undetectable drug levels in infants.
Clinical depression interferes with brain plasticity, such that the brain becomes “stuck” in patterns of negative thoughts, emotions and behaviors.
This leads to impairment in brain functions that are essential to motherhood. New mothers with depression have decreased brain activity in regions responsible for motivation, regulation of emotion and problem-solving. They are often withdrawn or overprotective of their infants, and they struggle with the relentless effort needed for tasks that arise with child-rearing like soothing, feeding, stimulating, planning and anticipating the child’s needs.
Prescription drugs like SSRIs are just one aspect of treating pregnant women struggling with mental illness. Evidence-based psychotherapy, such as cognitive behavioral therapy, can also induce adaptive brain changes. But women with severe symptoms often require medication before they can reap the benefits of psychotherapy, and finding properly trained, accessible and affordable psychotherapists can be challenging. So sometimes, SSRIs may be the most appropriate treatment option available.
The FDA-convened panel heavily focused on potential risks of SSRI usage, with several individuals incorrectly asserting that these drugs cause autism in exposed youth, as well as birth defects. At least one panelist discussed clinical depression as a “normal” part of the “emotional” experience during pregnancy and following birth. This perpetuates a long history of of women being dismissed, ignored and not believed in medical care. It also discounts the rigorous assessment and criteria that medical professionals use to diagnose reproductive mental health disorders.
Compared with these very serious risks, the risks of using SSRIs in pregnancy turn out to be minimal. While women used to be encouraged to stop taking SSRIs during pregnancy to avoid some of these risks, this is no longer recommended, as it exposes women to a high chance of depression relapse. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that all perinatal mental health treatments, including SSRIs, continue to be available.
Many women are already reluctant to take antidepressants during pregnancy, and given the choice, they tend to avoid it. From a psychological standpoint, exposing their fetus to the side effects of antidepressant medications is one of many common reasons for women in the U.S. to feel maternal guilt or shame. However, the available data suggests such guilt is not warranted.
Taken together, the best thing one can do for pregnant women and their babies is not to avoid prescribing these drugs when needed, but to take every measure possible to promote health: optimal prenatal care, and the combination of medications with psychotherapy, as well as other evidence-based treatments such as bright light therapy, exercise and adequate nutrition.
The panel failed to address the latest neuroscience behind depression, how antidepressants work in the brain and the biological rationale for why doctors use them in the first place. Patients deserve education on what’s happening in their brain, and how a drug like an SSRI might work to help.
Should the FDA, as a result of this recent panel, decide to place a black-box warning on antidepressants in pregnancy, researchers like us already know from history what will happen. In 2004, the FDA placed a warning on antidepressants describing potential suicidal ideation and behavior in young people.
I receive royalties for the sales of my book RATTLED, How to Calm New Mom Anxiety with the Power of the Postpartum Brain.
Dr Novick has a career development award from the National Institute of Child Health and Development (K23HD110435) to study the neurobiology of hormonal contraception. This funding was not used to support the preparation or publication of this article. The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent those of the National Institutes of Health or the University of Colorado School of Medicine.
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