Sport supplements are hard to get away from if you like to exercise regularly. Even if you’re not interested in them, there’s a good chance your gym will have posters extolling their virtues or your sporty friends will want to talk to you about them.
In a new study, my colleagues and I found it may be possible to counter the negative effects of l-cartinine by eating pomegranate with it.
First, it’s important to understand what l-carnitine is. Your body produces a small amount of l-carnitine naturally. This happens in the kidneys, liver and brain.
When l-carnitine was first identified in humans in 1952, it was thought to be a vitamin and it was referred to as vitamin BT. After years of research on this compound, l-carnitine is now considered a quasi-vitamin because for most people the human body can produce enough l-carnitine itself.
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L-carnitine can be bought as a dietary supplement, but the nutrient is also added to energy drinks and some protein powders by manufacturers to try and enhance the value of their products. Manufacturers normally clearly state it on the product if it contains l-carnitine – it’s not something a company will try to hide.
Some foods naturally contain l-carnitine, such as meat and in tiny amounts in dairy products. L-carnitine is not fed to livestock but it is present in muscle tissue. L-carnitine was first found in meat in 1905. It is for this reason that the name carnitine is derived from the Latin word carnis, meaning “of the flesh”.
It is not thought to be intrinsically harmful. Your gut microbes are to blame for the risks associated with l-carnitine.
Less than 20% of l-carnitine supplements can be taken in by the human body. The unabsorbed l-carnitine travels down the gastrointestinal tract and reaches the colon. The colon is home to trillions of microbes, including bacteria, viruses and fungi.
When the remaining 80% of the l-carnitine supplement arrives in the colon, the microbes start absorbing the nutrient and they use it to produce something else: trimethylamine (TMA). TMA is a compound the human body can efficiently absorb, and that is where the potentially harmful effects of l-carnitine supplements arise.
For example, a research group at the Cleveland Clinic in the US gave human participants a nutrient similar to l-carnitine that is also converted into TMA by gut microbes. The researchers found that the nutrient caused an increased risk of thrombosis (blood clots) in their participants.
L-carnitine itself is a beneficial nutrient. When it is produced by our bodies, which happens in the kidneys, brain and liver, it’s not metabolised by the gut microbiota and isn’t converted to TMAO. Your body can absorb more l-carnitine from meat than from supplements, which makes it less harmful as that means less of it ends up in the colon.
Dietary intervention can reduce harmful effects
In my team’s lab at the Quadram Institute in Norwich, England, we simulated what happens when the l-carnitine supplement reaches the microbes in the colon. We fed a culture of gut microbes with l-carnitine and measured the TMA that the microbes produced.
Then, we fed a culture of gut microbes with l-carnitine together with a pomegranate extract, which is rich in polyphenols. Polyphenols are plant compounds with antioxidant, antimicrobial, and anti-inflammatory properties that may help keep you healthy and protect you against diseases.
The main polyphenols in pomegranate belong to a group called ellagitannins, a type of polyphenol that can reach the colon almost entirely intact, where they can interact with the gut microbiota. When we measured the TMA that the gut microbes produced in the second experiment, we saw much less TMA.
Our experiments in the lab show that a polyphenol-rich pomegranate extract can reduce microbial TMA production and eliminate the potentially harmful effects of l-carnitine supplements.
Our laboratory experiments showed that the pomegranate extract can reduce the production of TMA. Ellagitannins are also abundant in other fruits and nuts, such as raspberries and walnuts. So, if you take l-carnitine supplements, our research suggests that it may be a good idea to include ellagitannin-rich foods in your diet. Eating more fruits and nuts can be good for your health, so including these in your diet will probably be beneficial anyway.
Our group is now moving the science outside of the lab. We are testing in human participants how effective the pomegranate extract is at reducing TMAO production from l-carnitine supplements. This study will tell us whether taking an l-carnitine supplement along with a pomegranate extract may be better than taking the supplement on its own.
Julia Haarhuis works at the Quadram Institute and receives funding from the Wellcome Trust.
Ebenezer Scrooge tried to wave away the ghost of Jacob Marley by blaming the apparition on “an undigested bit of beef … a crumb of cheese”. Charles Dickens might have been writing fiction, but the idea that late-night dairy can warp dreams has now gained scientific support.
Researchers in Canada surveyed 1,082 university students about their eating habits, sleep patterns and dreams. Remarkably, 40% reported that certain foods affected their sleep. Of that group, 20% blamed dairy – suggesting that Scrooge’s midnight cheese might have had more of an impact than he realised.
Just 5.5% believed food changed their dreams, but among those respondents dairy again loomed large, second only to sugary desserts as a perceived trigger for bizarre or disturbing dreams.
The researchers asked about everything from nightmare frequency to food allergies and intolerances. A clear pattern emerged: participants who reported lactose intolerance were significantly more likely to have frequent nightmares. And the link was strongest in people who also experienced bloating or cramps.
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Statistical modelling suggested the stomach distress partly explains the bad dreams. In other words, food that keeps the gut churning can also set the imagination spinning.
That gut–brain route makes physiological sense. Abdominal discomfort can jolt sleepers into lighter stages of sleep where vivid or negative dreams are most common. Inflammation and spikes in cortisol (a stress hormone) triggered by digestive upset may further shape the emotional tone of dreams, especially by amplifying anxiety or negativity.
Earlier work backs the idea. A 2015 survey of Canadian undergraduates found that nearly 18% linked what they ate to their dreams, with dairy the top suspect, while a 2022 online study of 436 dream enthusiasts reported that people who ate more sugary snacks remembered more nightmares.
The new study from Canada echoes a wider literature on diet and sleep. Diets rich in fibre, fruit and vegetables are associated with deeper, more refreshing sleep, whereas meals high in saturated fat and sugar predict lighter, more fragmented rest.
If future work confirms the cheese–nightmare connection, the implications could be practical. Nightmares affect about 4% of adults worldwide and are particularly common in post-traumatic stress disorder.
Drug treatments exist but carry side-effects. Adjusting the timing or composition of evening meals, or choosing low-lactose dairy options, would be a far cheaper, lower-risk intervention.
Gut-friendly diets such as the Mediterranean diet are already being explored for mood disorders; nightmares may be another frontier for nutritional psychiatry.
What the research can’t prove
That said, the new findings come with caveats. The sample was young, mostly healthy psychology students filling out online questionnaires. Food intake, lactose intolerance and nightmare frequency were all self-reported, so “recall biases” (inaccurate memory) or the power of suggestion could inflate the associations.
Only 59 participants believed food influenced their dreams, so small-number effects (unreliable results from too few data) are possible. And a survey can only reveal associations – it can’t prove that cheese causes bad dream.
Cheese keeps cropping up in nightmare stories, and people who struggle to digest dairy report the worst of it. Scientists still have to match meal diaries, gut clues and lab-monitored dreams to prove the link. In the meantime, try eating earlier or choosing low-lactose options. Your stomach – and your dreams – may calm down.
Timothy Hearn 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.
“We’re freeing John A.,” Ontario Premier Doug Ford recently announced, unveiling plans to return a statue of Sir John A. Macdonald to its place of prominence overlooking the south lawn of the Ontario legislature at Queen’s Park.
The statue’s return comes five years after activists, disgusted by the first Canadian prime minister’s racist policies, sprayed pink paint over the statue’s base.
Their objections have been part of passionate debates about whether racist and harmful figures from the past should be celebrated through statues, school and state institution names and public infrastructure projects.
For these conservatives, the issue is simple. Dismantling statues is dismantling Canada’s history.
Both sides to the debate, of course, are correct in their assessments of Canada’s first prime minister. Like all historical figures from the past, Macdonald was a complex human being operating at a particular historical moment. And his actions had important historical implications for the way Canada developed.
And yet, the debate misses a deeper and much more interesting set of questions about how we understand Canadian history, how we describe Canada’s past and ultimately how Canadians tell stories about themselves to each other.
It’s important to recognize from where and in what historical contexts Canada’s statues, commemorations and public infrastructure names come. Statues of figures like Macdonald, as well as the naming of public buildings, bridges and roads in his honour, appeared principally at two separate times.
The first came in the late 19th century, mostly commemorating Macdonald’s death in 1891. But statues were being erected during this period amid rising nationalism. They signalled a celebration of Canada’s membership in the British Empire, then at the zenith of its power and influence.
The second flurry of Macdonald commemoration was in the mid-1960s, another moment of heightened nationalism and Canadian pride. It coincided with Canada’s centenary in 1967, the Montréal Expo that same year, a new Canadian flag and a newfound confidence in the world through its active participation in international peacekeeping efforts.
Canada was also at that time grappling with a deeply dissatisfied Québec and its place in Confederation, a state of affairs that eventually resulted in a divisive sovereignty referendum in 1980 that threatened the very fabric of Canada.
Respecting the dissent
But just as Canadians need to understand the historical contexts in which citizens of the past have celebrated people like Macdonald, so too do they need to grasp the historical contexts in which Canadians past and present have questioned his legacy.
In 2013, the Black Lives Matter movement in the United States sparked critical re-evaluations of statues of Civil War-era figures from the American South and the continued use in some southern states of the highly offensive Confederate flag, along with many other symbols of racism, division and hatred.
The release of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s (TRC) final report a decade ago similarly forced Canadians to confront some the darkest chapters of the country’s past.
The point often missed here is that historical markers — like the TRC Commission and the Black Lives Matter movement — themselves become artefacts of the ongoing project involving how people tell stories about themselves to themselves, what those stories say about them in the present and how they want to define themselves in the future.
A more fulsome engagement with history demands Canadians refrain from conflating the story of John A. Macdonald, the statue, with the story of John A. Macdonald, the man, any more than we’d conflate a drawing of an apple with the one on our counter.
A true examination of Macdonald
It’s not a question of who Macdonald was or wasn’t. Instead, it’s about the historical context in which the commemorations of him were installed. But it’s also part of the continuing story of how we see ourselves today.
Claims that dismantling public statues and renaming roads and schools somehow erases Canadian history are ridiculous and profoundly misunderstand how history works.
As Canada Day approaches, it’s important to remember that Macdonald’s story and legacy live on exactly where they should — in the pages of history books, museums and classrooms, where his life and times can be examined, interpreted and debated with the kind of depth and nuance that Canadian history deserves.
Eric Strikwerda 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.
Tariffs imposed on Canada by the United States have fuelled a surge in nationalist sentiment that played a significant role in the outcome of April’s federal election.
Mark Carney’s new Liberal government has signalled an interest in pursuing nation-building projects that hearken back to an earlier period in Canadian history.
Economic, cultural and social policy in Canada has often served the purpose of building national unity to facilitate cohesion and collective action. But some commentators have cautioned Canadians to dampen their reinvigoratedsense of pride in their nation.
Those on the right view Canadian nationalism as an obstacle to neo-liberal economic policies while the left perceives it as irredeemably flawed.
For people on the right, free trade and globalization are thought to produce the best economic outcomes, and nationalism obstructs those outcomes. But those on the progressive left argue that Canada was founded on racist policies and settler colonialism, so nationalism should be rejected because of this original sin.
Both perspectives — and the public discussion of Canada’s national identity more generally — remain mired in confusion over the nature of nations. As a political philosopher, I have worked to clear up this confusion by determining what nations are and how they evolve.
In the 19th century, French scholar Ernest Renan outlined a definition of nation that has yet to be improved upon. For Renan, a nation consists of two things: the daily commitment of a people to continue to live and work together and a collective memory of a shared past together.
In contemporary times, Irish social scientist Benedict Anderson described nations as “imagined communities,” since the character of the nation is determined by the limits of the collective imagination of its citizens.
These are subjective definitions of nations because they define national communities in terms of the identification of their members with the community.
There are other, more common objective definitions of a nation involving identity, including shared ethnicity, religion or culture. But these definitions have long been criticized since many national identities transcend ethnicity, religion, culture or any other identity markers.
Nations vs. states
A national community is distinct from a state. The state constitutes the formal political institutions of a society, while the nation is the community of people within that society who view each other as compatriots. This is why the phrase “the people” is often used as a synonym for the national community.
While some nations are stateless, in other cases, multiple nations co-exist within a single state.
In Canada, there is the Québécois nation and many Indigenous nations within the Canadian nation. Although they are distinct, states and their governments will often build national identities around themselves to enable cohesion and collective action. Canada’s national identity was systematically shaped by successive governments — from Confederation onward — to build the society that Canadians live in today.
The character of a particular nation is not fixed.
The beliefs, practices and culture of the people who choose to live and work together can be shaped into anything they collectively decide on. A nation can adopt new values, redefine its membership or have one of its definitive characteristics fade from prominence.
Accordingly, there is no reason to think that moral failings of a national community’s past must compromise it forever. A nation can, and sometimes does, recognize its past failures and become something better.
For Orwell, patriotism is devotion to a particular way of life without the desire to force it on other people, while nationalism denotes an impulse to seek power for one’s nation. Patriotism, then, is a benign, ethical form of partiality to one’s nation.
The liberal nationalist, according to Tamir, seeks to construct a national identity that adopts the correct ethical values. They hope to harness the energy of nationalism to build a nation committed to liberty, inclusivity and progress.
In 1867, George-Étienne Cartier described the Canadian identity that he and the other Fathers of Confederation sought to create as a “political nationality.” He viewed Canadian identity as being defined by shared principles rather than language or ethnicity.
More than 150 years later, political theorist Michael Ignatieff made a similar distinction between ethnic and civic nationalism. In an ethnic nation, citizens identify with each other because they belong to the same ethnic, religious or cultural community. Meanwhile, in a civic nation, the people unite behind certain civic principles, like a commitment to democracy.
Cartier’s concept of a political nationality was crucial to making sense of the political experiment that was Confederation. Having mostly abandoned their efforts to assimilate the French-Canadians, the British settlers in North America would now join with them to build a new national identity instead.
Reshaping Canadian identity
In his recent book, historian Raymond Blake explains how Canada’s post-Second World War prime ministers, through their speeches and public statements, reshaped Canada’s national identity.
Up through Louis St-Laurent, various prime ministers would refer to the “deux nations” origin of Canada as inspirational. British and French settlers had come together despite their differences to build a new society together, they pointed out.
As time went on, it became clear this definition of Canada’s national identity wasn’t nearly inclusive enough, making no mention of Indigenous Peoples.
The multicultural character of Canadian society was increasingly acknowledged by the government and Canadians at large until it was central to Canada’s identity. Canada’s national narrative has been reframed in recent years to recognize Indigenous Peoples as one of the three founding pillars of Canadian society. This evolution exemplifies exactly the change citizens should expect in a national community.
This transformation in Canadian national identity shows that national communities can change over time — including, perhaps, in response to U.S. President Donald Trump’s threats against Canada.
In the end, Canadians decide what sort of nation they want to inhabit. Canada’s political nationality has proven more resilient than even some of its founders might have anticipated, but not for lack of effort. There will always remain the work of building a better nation — and it’s work worth doing.
Eric Wilkinson 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 recent resurgence of Canadian nationalism is a response to explicit threats made by United States President Donald Trump, who has repeatedly expressed his desire to make Canada the 51st American state.
Yet only a decade ago, the newly elected Justin Trudeau labelled Canada the first “post-national nation” in an interview with The New York Times. In essence, the prime minister suggested, Canada was moving beyond nationalism to some new phase of social identity. Nationalism, like a step in the launch of a spacecraft, would be jettisoned now that it was a vestigial and outdated feature of Canadian society.
As we argue in a recently presented paper to be published soon, Canadians are nowhere near either a homogeneous, popularly held identity, nor are they “beyond nationalism” as if it were an outdated hairstyle.
Instead, Canadian steps toward a united, widely held nationalism continue to be stymied by both substantial constitutional issues (Québec, western alienation, Indigenous aspirations to self-determination) but also by battles over banal symbols of national identity. Canadians are, in the words of journalist Ian Brown, “a unity of contradictions.”
The importance of symbols
In his influential book, Banal Nationalism, British social science scholar Michael Billig highlighted the role of symbols like stamps, currency and flags to identify barely noticed transmitters of national consciousness.
Writing in 1995, at a time of ethnic nationalist resurgence in the former Yugoslavia, Billig contrasted the understated, reserved nationalism of citizens of established states like Canada with the dangerous, passionate expressions of nationalism in the Balkans.
This genteel nationalism is barely noticed much of the time, but proposals to alter national symbols arouse debate — like during the great Canadian flag debate of the mid-1960s — and expose deep emotional attachments. Canadians, too, are nationalists.
But they’re also citizens of a liberal democracy where nationalistic narratives compete to define and unite the nation. Societies evolve and generational change can lead to new symbols reflecting changing values. The historical episodes of discontent pertaining to national symbols show how Canadian society has evolved since its drift away from Britain after the Second World War.
During the flag debate, Liberal Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson said Canada needed a new flag that would present a united nation rather than a confusing amalgamation of different people. Conservative Leader John Diefenbaker, on the other hand, argued Canada should be “all Canadian and all British” during the debate, adding that any Canadian who disagreed should “be denounced.”
The leaders could not agree, with Diefenbaker opting for something like the status quo and Pearson for a complete redesign that would represent all Canadians, regardless of national heritage. In a 1964 La Presse article on the debate, columnist Guy Cormier crudely voiced Québec’s concerns that Pearson’s handling of the flag debate was an attempt to “artificially inseminate” his agenda on the province. The Philadelphia Evening Bulletin reported on the debate, declaring that “tinkering with a nation’s flag is sort of like playing volleyball with a hornets nest.”
Despite government and RCMP support, public opinion was mixed. Racist lapel pins were sold with the message “Keep the RCMP Canadian” as some argued the old uniform should remain and that new recruits should adapt to it.
While few Canadians knew much about the design and history of the RCMP uniform, almost all Canadians consider it an iconic representation of Canada. Changes to it represent a threat to some, inclusion for others.
Removing images of the late Terry Fox in 2023 from the Canadian passport, a document few think about until checking its expiry date before a vacation, caused significant uproar.
Other images from Canadian history were also removed, but Fox’s removal was most notable since he was someone most Canadians consider the embodiment of a Canadian hero.
Far from trivial, these arguments over national symbols reveal how deeply some Canadians are attached to them. The nature of Canadian identity and nationalism will continue to be dated and contested. In that respect, Canadians are no different than the citizens of any other country.
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 – Canada – By Reuben Rose-Redwood, Professor of Geography and Associate Dean Academic, Faculty of Social Sciences, University of Victoria
On March 25, 2025, a Turkish PhD student at Tufts University, Rümeysa Öztürk, was walking in a Boston suburb when she was detained by plain-clothed federal agents. A video of the encounter went viral, sparking fear and outrage in the United States and beyond.
Since March, a growing number of international students in the U.S. have had their visas revoked or their legal status terminated for everything from engaging in political activism to minor infractions such as traffic tickets.
The tightening of restrictions is part of a broader effort by President Donald Trump’s administration to impose its political will on colleges and universities. These governmental interventions have caused deep concern about the future of higher education, democracy, scientific research and the rule of law in the U.S.
Many of the revoked student visas were restored in late April as a result of nearly 100 federal lawsuits. But the Trump administration continues to target international students for deportation.
Boston Globe video: Tufts student Rümeysa Öztürk detained by immigration authorities.
Other international students, scholars and permanent residents have also been detained for participating in pro-Palestinian protests on university campuses.
Just before the Gaza campus encampment movement arose in April 2024, we published an edited book, International Student Activism and the Politics of Higher Education. Our book brought together interdisciplinary scholars to examine how international students have engaged in political activism and advocacy through case studies.
This leads us to consider what lessons the history of international student politics might hold for addressing current challenges.
Host and home country relations
Although the backlash against international student activism has captured headlines recently, there’s a long history of international students participating in political life during their studies abroad.
These political activities have ranged from protests against tuition hikes to involvement in lobbying and demonstrations related to global geopolitical issues.
The first key lesson we have learned is that the very presence of international students on university campuses is a political matter that depends on a measure of good will between the host and home countries.
For instance, when diplomatic relations between Canada and Saudi Arabia broke down in 2018 due to a dispute over alleged Saudi human rights violations, the Saudi government ordered its students to leave Canada and study elsewhere. Despite this order, thousands of Saudi students chose to stay in Canada even after Saudi authorities withdrew government scholarships to support them.
Political courage in face of risks
A second lesson is that international student activists have often demonstrated extraordinary political courage when the risks of government retaliation are high.
After the First World War, Korean nationals studying in the U.S. took inspiration from the American Revolution to advocate for an independent Korea. At the time, participation in the independence movement was punishable by death in Japanese-occupied Korea.
Following the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989, Chinese students and scholars in the U.S. also protested against political repression in China at great risk of persecution if they returned to their home country.
Building political solidarity
A third important lesson is that the international student experience offers an opportunity for students to build political solidarity across national divisions.
The international solidarity movement for Palestine is a prime example.
During the 1960s, support for Palestine was widespread among international students of different nationalities in strongholds of student politics such as Paris. In recent years, international students have forged new alliances through the pro-Palestinian protest movement against the Gaza war on campuses around the world.
International students have engaged in diverse forms of “front-stage” and “back-stage” political action in different contexts.
Front-stage political activism includes participation in protests, demonstrations, occupations and other political acts that are publicly visible.
Some protests are responses to specific policy changes at colleges and universities. At the University of Victoria, where we both work, international students protested tuition increases in 2019, blockading administrative buildings and occupying the Senate chambers.
Other front-stage political actions — such as the 2024 Gaza campus protests — are part of global movements.
But front-stage protests are only half the story. They often ebb and flow throughout the school year and come with significant risks due to the precarious status of international students as visa holders.
Given the heightened risks under the Trump administration, some international students are advocating for more strategic back-stage political activism to minimize public attention.
In a recent editorial, Janhavi Munde, an international student at Wesleyan University, noted that within the current political environment, “it might be smarter and safer to create change in the background” in order to “provide more scope for impactful activism — as opposed to getting arrested the day of your first on-campus protest.”
Strengthening democratic culture
The current debate over international student activism in the U.S. raises broader questions about the very purpose of higher education in democratic societies.
When asked at a news conference why Öztürk, the Turkish student at Tufts University, was detained, U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio explained that “we gave you a visa to come and study and get a degree, not to become a social activist that tears up our university campuses.”
This narrow understanding of higher education reduces the richness of the educational experience — where learning occurs both within and beyond the classroom — to a one-dimensional focus on schooling to receive a credential.
One of the main aims of higher education in democracies is to foster critical thinking and civic engagement. When international students actively participate in campus political life, this strengthens the democratic culture of higher education and society.
More than a century ago, American philosopher John Dewey observed in Democracy and Education that education is essential to striving for the democratic ideal. He argued that “democracy is more than a form of government; it is primarily a mode of associated living.” For Dewey, education could foster democracy through “the breaking down of those barriers of class, race and national territory.”
Equal dignity of all people
As geographers, we take inspiration from Russian geographer Peter Kropotkin’s classic 1885 essay where he observed that, in a:
“time of wars, of national self-conceit, of national jealousies and hatreds … geography must be — in so far as the school may do anything to counterbalance hostile influences — a means of dissipating these prejudices and of creating other feelings more worthy of humanity.”
When international students such as Öztürk urge us to “affirm the equal dignity and humanity of all people,” they are displaying political courage by embodying the ideals of freedom and democracy at a time when these founding principles of the U.S. are increasingly under threat.
Reuben Rose-Redwood has received funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada.
CindyAnn Rose-Redwood has received funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada.
Canada faces a massive shortage of physicians. According to recent reports, Canadians require about 23,000 family doctors to meet current and emerging needs.
In the absence of effective solutions, mayors and municipal councils across the country are competing with each other to entice doctors to their communities.
It seems insurmountable, but options do exist and, no doubt, multiple approaches will be needed. What’s possible?
My clinical, administrative and educational roles over the years have provided an opportunity to work within and examine the doctor “pipeline” from multiple perspectives. There’s a disconnect between that pipeline and the urgent and growing need for doctors, which was a major motivation for my book The Doctors We Need: Imagining a New Path for Physician Recruitment, Training, and Support. Based on all this, at least seven approaches seem possible. All have their pros and cons.
In Canada, doctors are in demand and enjoy an excellent standard of living. Immigration to Canada, if offered, would likely be seen as a very attractive option.
Option 2: Short-track qualification of foreign-trained physicians already in Canada
Many foreign-trained doctors have already immigrated to Canada and are working at non-medical jobs, hoping to gain residency status that would allow them to undertake examinations or complete their training.
This approach would have many of the same disadvantages as above, but at least ensures these individuals already have some familiarity with Canadian work environment and a better awareness of the expectations facing physicians.
Option 3: Repatriate Canadians who have trained (or are training) abroad
It’s generally acknowledged that there are at least as many Canadians studying medicine outside Canada as within. These are people who were unsuccessful or chose not to engage in our highly competitive admission processes that annually turn away thousands of highly qualified students. They tend to enrol in well-established medical schools in countries such as Australia, Ireland and England.
Although no rigorous analysis or statistics are available, it’s increasingly recognized that the majority remain and practise in the countries where they trained, having established relationships and support structures. In fact, many are actively recruited to take up much needed primary care positions in those countries.
Attracting them back to Canada will require a targeted recruitment strategy and expansion of available post-graduate training positions. All that being said, this is potentially a workforce already prepared and willing to address Canadian health-care needs.
Option 4: Increase the efficiency and capacity of our current physicians
All doctors, particularly family physicians, face a burden of paperwork and administrative tasks that drastically reduces their capacity to assess and treat patients. Developing innovative processes and collaborations that allow them to focus their time on direct patient care will expand their impact and reduce the number of physicians required.
Option 5: Supplement doctor roles with non-physicians
We’re already seeing this strategy play out with nurses and pharmacists providing some primary care that was previously provided only by physicians.
This approach has many merits and can allow physicians to concentrate on key essential roles, as for Option 4, above. The keys will be to ensure that the health-care teams co-ordinate and integrate their work effectively, and that all essential services are provided.
Option 6: Collaborate with high-quality medical schools outside Canada to facilitate entry and training of willing and qualified Canadian students
If we’re not able to train sufficient physicians through our own medical school structure, we could partner with foreign, well-functioning medical schools to promote access for Canadians who wish to return to Canada and engage the types of practices that are in such demand.
This would require identifying appropriate schools and developing partnerships ensuring that the admission standards, curriculum and clinical training meet Canadian standards.
Option 7: Increase medical school admissions and training in Canada
The most obvious and intuitively appealing approach would be to simply ramp up the training pipeline within Canada’s medical schools. After all, we have excellent schools and certainly no shortage of very willing and capable applicants.
There are currently 18 medical schools in Canada. Plans are in place to expand to 20 schools over the next few years, but this will not be effective unless we change the current processes of training.
The supply of family doctors provided by our current admission and training processes falls far short of our needs. Recent studies also demonstrate that graduates from our current training programs are increasingly turning away from the comprehensive and community-based practices so much in need.
Consequently, even a dramatic expansion within the current training paradigm will fall far short of addressing our needs. To be effective, expansion must occur in conjunction with new approaches to admissions and training.
The major drawback of this approach, of course, is that it will take time to even begin to address the shortfall. However, it addresses the fundamental problem most directly and establishes a framework for ongoing sustainability.
While there is no single perfect solution, there are a number of approaches, all of which have potential to relieve Canada’s medical workforce crisis. It’s time to explore and pursue them all. It’s time to develop and empower a multi-disciplinary, pan-Canadian panel to decide which mix of the options will build the reliable, sustainable physician workforce that Canada needs and deserves.
Anthony Sanfilippo 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 Vivek Astvansh, Associate Professor of Quantitative Marketing and Analytics, McGill University
Many companies have turned to chatbots to manage customer service interactions.(Shutterstock)
Customers contact companies regularly to purchase products and services, inquire about orders, make payments and request returns. Until recently, the most common way for customers to contact companies was through phone calls or by interacting with human agents via company websites and mobile apps.
The advent of artificial intelligence (AI) has seen the profileration of a new kind of interface: chatbots. A chatbot is an intelligent software program that can carry out two-way conversations with customers.
Spurred by the potential of chatbots to communicate with customers round-the-clock, companies are increasingly routing customers to chatbots. As such, the worldwide chatbot market has grown from US$370 million in 2017 to about US$2.2 billion in 2024.
As these tools become more embedded in customer service systems, understanding customer preferences and behaviours is crucial.
Most companies today use chatbots as the first point of contact. Only when a chatbot cannot answer a question or a customer asks to speak with someone does the conversation shift to a human agent. (Shutterstock)
Most companies today use chatbots as the first line of customer support. Only when a chatbot fails to provide the necessary information or a customer asks to speak with someone does the conversation shift to a human agent.
While efficient, this one-size-fits-all approach may be sub-optimal because customers may prefer a human agent for some types of services and a chatbot for others.
I used machine learning methods to conduct three analyses on the chat transcripts.
The first focused on why customers reach out to customer service in the first place. I found most inquiries fell into six main categories: orders, coupons, products, shipping, account issues and payments. Customers rarely turned to chatbots for questions related to shipping or payment, seemingly preferring human agents when their issue involves more detailed or sensitive information.
The second analysis measured how closely the language used by customer service agents — both human and bot agents — matched the language of the customers they were interacting with. It found human agents showed a higher degree of linguistic similarity to customers than chatbots did.
This result was unexpected. Given the sophistication of today’s AI, I had anticipated chatbots would be able to closely mimic customer language. Instead, the findings suggest human agents are better able to follow customers’ varied and dynamically changing language use.
Customers want to feel understood and supported — and for now, that often still means talking to a real person. (Shutterstock)
The third analysis tested the thesis that similarity breeds liking — a concept that suggests human agents’ similarity with customers should increase customer’s engagement.
I measured customer engagement by the average number of seconds between a customer’s consecutive messages during a chat. The results show that when human agents displayed higher linguistic similarity, customers responded more quickly and frequently. The more the customer felt “understood,” the more engaged they were.
Recommendations for companies
My research findings make three recommendations to companies. First, companies should identify the reason behind each customer inquiry before assigning that customer to a chatbot or a human agent. The reason should determine whether the company matches the customer to a bot agent or a human agent.
Second, both chatbots and human agents should be trained to adapt their language and communication style to match that of the customer. For human agents, this kind of mirroring may come naturally, but for chatbots, it must be programmed.
My research shows that customers are more engaged when they feel that the agent they are chatting with understands them and communicates in a similar way. Doing this will keep customers engaged and lead to more effective and efficient interactions.
Third, businesses should ask technology companies for evidence on how much their chatbots increase effectiveness and efficiency relative to human agents. Specifically, how do their chatbots compare to human agents in terms of efficiency and customer satisfaction? Only if the metrics exceed a certain threshold should companies consider using chatbots.
Customers want to feel understood and supported — and for now, that often still means talking to a real person. Rather than seeing chatbots as a wholesale replacement, companies should treat them as part of a hybrid approach that respects customer preferences and aligns the right tool with the right task.
Vivek Astvansh 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.
Ruth First, born 100 years ago, was a South African freedom fighter, journalist and scholar who worked against the racist system of apartheid during white minority rule. She was assassinated by apartheid forces in her office at the Eduardo Mondlane University in Mozambique in 1982.
Her ideas, work and legacy live on. Sociologists Saleem Badat and Vasu Reddy have edited a new book called Research and Activism: Ruth First & Activist Research. We asked them about her and their project.
Who was Ruth First?
Heloise Ruth First was born on 4 May 1925 in Johannesburg to Jewish parents who had migrated from eastern Europe to South Africa in the early 1900s. Her parents were founder members of the South African Communist Party.
She joined the Young Communist League and the Federation of Progressive Students and graduated from the University of the Witwatersrand in 1946 with a Bachelor of Arts degree.
At 21, First joined the left-wing South African newspaper The Guardian. When it was banned, the New Age took its place until it too was banned in 1962. She served as the newspaper’s Johannesburg editor for 17 years.
In 1963, First was arrested at the University of the Witwatersrand library and held in solitary confinement for 117 days, during which time she was ruthlessly interrogated. The following year she and her three children left South Africa for England on an exit permit, where they joined her partner, the activist and politician Joe Slovo. She would not set foot again in South Africa. Continuing with her activist research in England, she taught at Durham University and then joined Eduardo Mondlane University until hear death.
The mid-1940s to early 1960s were tumultuous years in South Africa. With the rise of formal apartheid in 1948, racial segregation was intensified.
First’s intrepid and penetrating journalistic research exposed her to the brutality of labour exploitation and control on the mines and the farms. It reinforced her understanding of South Africa in Marxist terms.
The will to fight is born out of the desire for freedom.
She was confident that:
The power of the people is greater than the power of any government.
First believed that ignorance is “the enemy of progress and justice” and that knowledge and education are “key to empowering individuals and challenging oppressive systems”. These words ring true in today’s global events driven by right-wing authoritarianism, US imperialism and acts of genocide.
On learning of her death, former South African President Nelson Mandela recalled:
I was in prison when Ruth First was assassinated, felt almost alone. Lost a sister in arms … It is no consolation to know that she lives beyond her grave.
What is activist research and how is it applied in the book?
As authors, we revisit Ruth First’s life, work and ideas and its relevance for the current context. We focus especially on the nature of her scholarship and how she navigated the tensions between her activism and her research – whether journalistic or for her books on South West Africa (today’s Namibia), Libya or western investment in apartheid. Other of her acclaimed books included The Barrel of a Gun: Political Power in Africa and the Coup d’etat and, during her Mozambican sojourn, Black Gold: The Mozambican Miner, Proletarian and Peasant.
In the process we invite renewed critical reflection about her life and work. Inspired by First’s contributions, the book considers how universities and scholars engage with institutions and social movements beyond the university.
For example, in the book a research group from Durham University in the UK considers how to balance objectivity (showing no bias) with more politically participatory research methods and how objectivity can be enhanced despite the difficulties faced by activist research.
Other scholars reflect on the work of the assassinated South African anti-apartheid activist scholar and lecturer Rick Turner; on climate change; and on the complexities of undertaking activist research in Marikana with a women’s organisation, Sikhala Sonke. Marikana was the site where South African police opened fire on and killed 34 striking mineworkers in 2012.
There is examination of a research partnership between University of Cape Town activist scholars and some Khoi-San communities, reflection on the challenges of legal practice and education, and critical analysis of the decolonisation challenges of the KwaZulu-Natal Society of the Arts.
How do you frame activist research in your book?
The book shows that there is a difference between engaged research, critical research and activist research.
Engaged research tries to connect knowledge produced by academics with institutions, movements and experts outside the university to collaboratively address issues and promote cooperation.
Critical research uses radical critical theory to critique oppression and injustice, to show the gap between what exists today and more just ways of living. However, it does not necessarily connect with political and social movements.
First’s research was not only engaged, but also critical in orientation and activist in nature. As activist research it challenged oppression and inequality.
It both critiqued the status quo in South Africa and elsewhere and tried to change it. It was linked with movements and connected to political activism that was anti-colonial, anti-imperialist, and committed to socialism.
First’s activist research did not confine itself to the academic arena but engaged with larger, wider and more diverse publics. It used this experience to critique dominant and often limited thinking at universities and promoted other ways of producing knowledge. The expertise developed was used to improve scholarship in various ways.
What do you want readers to take away?
There is much talk about the “engaged university” and engaged research. However, only certain connections and engagements seem to be valued.
Prior to democracy in 1994, South African researchers connected with social movements for change. Now this is seldom the case. Universities and scholars largely engage with those with money – the state, business, elites and donors.
This raises questions about the roles of researchers in South Africa, whose interests are prioritised and the place of critical and activist research in the engaged university.
How should Ruth First be remembered?
We must honour her for her intellectual and practical activism. What matters is not just her knowledge archive, but also her example as both an outstanding interpreter of the world and an activist scholar committed to changing society in the interests of the downtrodden, marginalised and voiceless.
First was a critical and independent thinker who refused to accept anything as settled and beyond questioning. But that intellect was committed to loyalty to the national liberation movement of which she was an invaluable cadre.
The views expressed in this piece do not reflect or represent the position of the university to which Badat and Reddy are affiliated.
Saleem Badat receives funding from the National Institute for Humanities and Social Sciences and the Andrew W Mellon Foundation. He is a board member of the International Consortium for Critical Theory Programs and Alameda.
Vasu Reddy currently receives no external funding. He serves on the board of the Human Sciences Research Council Press
Ruth First, born 100 years ago, was a South African freedom fighter, journalist and scholar who worked against the racist system of apartheid during white minority rule. She was assassinated by apartheid forces in her office at the Eduardo Mondlane University in Mozambique in 1982.
Her ideas, work and legacy live on. Sociologists Saleem Badat and Vasu Reddy have edited a new book called Research and Activism: Ruth First & Activist Research. We asked them about her and their project.
Who was Ruth First?
Heloise Ruth First was born on 4 May 1925 in Johannesburg to Jewish parents who had migrated from eastern Europe to South Africa in the early 1900s. Her parents were founder members of the South African Communist Party.
She joined the Young Communist League and the Federation of Progressive Students and graduated from the University of the Witwatersrand in 1946 with a Bachelor of Arts degree.
At 21, First joined the left-wing South African newspaper The Guardian. When it was banned, the New Age took its place until it too was banned in 1962. She served as the newspaper’s Johannesburg editor for 17 years.
In 1963, First was arrested at the University of the Witwatersrand library and held in solitary confinement for 117 days, during which time she was ruthlessly interrogated. The following year she and her three children left South Africa for England on an exit permit, where they joined her partner, the activist and politician Joe Slovo. She would not set foot again in South Africa. Continuing with her activist research in England, she taught at Durham University and then joined Eduardo Mondlane University until hear death.
The mid-1940s to early 1960s were tumultuous years in South Africa. With the rise of formal apartheid in 1948, racial segregation was intensified.
First’s intrepid and penetrating journalistic research exposed her to the brutality of labour exploitation and control on the mines and the farms. It reinforced her understanding of South Africa in Marxist terms.
The will to fight is born out of the desire for freedom.
She was confident that:
The power of the people is greater than the power of any government.
First believed that ignorance is “the enemy of progress and justice” and that knowledge and education are “key to empowering individuals and challenging oppressive systems”. These words ring true in today’s global events driven by right-wing authoritarianism, US imperialism and acts of genocide.
On learning of her death, former South African President Nelson Mandela recalled:
I was in prison when Ruth First was assassinated, felt almost alone. Lost a sister in arms … It is no consolation to know that she lives beyond her grave.
What is activist research and how is it applied in the book?
As authors, we revisit Ruth First’s life, work and ideas and its relevance for the current context. We focus especially on the nature of her scholarship and how she navigated the tensions between her activism and her research – whether journalistic or for her books on South West Africa (today’s Namibia), Libya or western investment in apartheid. Other of her acclaimed books included The Barrel of a Gun: Political Power in Africa and the Coup d’etat and, during her Mozambican sojourn, Black Gold: The Mozambican Miner, Proletarian and Peasant.
In the process we invite renewed critical reflection about her life and work. Inspired by First’s contributions, the book considers how universities and scholars engage with institutions and social movements beyond the university.
For example, in the book a research group from Durham University in the UK considers how to balance objectivity (showing no bias) with more politically participatory research methods and how objectivity can be enhanced despite the difficulties faced by activist research.
Other scholars reflect on the work of the assassinated South African anti-apartheid activist scholar and lecturer Rick Turner; on climate change; and on the complexities of undertaking activist research in Marikana with a women’s organisation, Sikhala Sonke. Marikana was the site where South African police opened fire on and killed 34 striking mineworkers in 2012.
There is examination of a research partnership between University of Cape Town activist scholars and some Khoi-San communities, reflection on the challenges of legal practice and education, and critical analysis of the decolonisation challenges of the KwaZulu-Natal Society of the Arts.
How do you frame activist research in your book?
The book shows that there is a difference between engaged research, critical research and activist research.
Engaged research tries to connect knowledge produced by academics with institutions, movements and experts outside the university to collaboratively address issues and promote cooperation.
Critical research uses radical critical theory to critique oppression and injustice, to show the gap between what exists today and more just ways of living. However, it does not necessarily connect with political and social movements.
First’s research was not only engaged, but also critical in orientation and activist in nature. As activist research it challenged oppression and inequality.
It both critiqued the status quo in South Africa and elsewhere and tried to change it. It was linked with movements and connected to political activism that was anti-colonial, anti-imperialist, and committed to socialism.
First’s activist research did not confine itself to the academic arena but engaged with larger, wider and more diverse publics. It used this experience to critique dominant and often limited thinking at universities and promoted other ways of producing knowledge. The expertise developed was used to improve scholarship in various ways.
What do you want readers to take away?
There is much talk about the “engaged university” and engaged research. However, only certain connections and engagements seem to be valued.
Prior to democracy in 1994, South African researchers connected with social movements for change. Now this is seldom the case. Universities and scholars largely engage with those with money – the state, business, elites and donors.
This raises questions about the roles of researchers in South Africa, whose interests are prioritised and the place of critical and activist research in the engaged university.
How should Ruth First be remembered?
We must honour her for her intellectual and practical activism. What matters is not just her knowledge archive, but also her example as both an outstanding interpreter of the world and an activist scholar committed to changing society in the interests of the downtrodden, marginalised and voiceless.
First was a critical and independent thinker who refused to accept anything as settled and beyond questioning. But that intellect was committed to loyalty to the national liberation movement of which she was an invaluable cadre.
The views expressed in this piece do not reflect or represent the position of the university to which Badat and Reddy are affiliated.
Saleem Badat receives funding from the National Institute for Humanities and Social Sciences and the Andrew W Mellon Foundation. He is a board member of the International Consortium for Critical Theory Programs and Alameda.
Vasu Reddy currently receives no external funding. He serves on the board of the Human Sciences Research Council Press
Ruth First, born 100 years ago, was a South African freedom fighter, journalist and scholar who worked against the racist system of apartheid during white minority rule. She was assassinated by apartheid forces in her office at the Eduardo Mondlane University in Mozambique in 1982.
Her ideas, work and legacy live on. Sociologists Saleem Badat and Vasu Reddy have edited a new book called Research and Activism: Ruth First & Activist Research. We asked them about her and their project.
Who was Ruth First?
Heloise Ruth First was born on 4 May 1925 in Johannesburg to Jewish parents who had migrated from eastern Europe to South Africa in the early 1900s. Her parents were founder members of the South African Communist Party.
She joined the Young Communist League and the Federation of Progressive Students and graduated from the University of the Witwatersrand in 1946 with a Bachelor of Arts degree.
At 21, First joined the left-wing South African newspaper The Guardian. When it was banned, the New Age took its place until it too was banned in 1962. She served as the newspaper’s Johannesburg editor for 17 years.
In 1963, First was arrested at the University of the Witwatersrand library and held in solitary confinement for 117 days, during which time she was ruthlessly interrogated. The following year she and her three children left South Africa for England on an exit permit, where they joined her partner, the activist and politician Joe Slovo. She would not set foot again in South Africa. Continuing with her activist research in England, she taught at Durham University and then joined Eduardo Mondlane University until hear death.
The mid-1940s to early 1960s were tumultuous years in South Africa. With the rise of formal apartheid in 1948, racial segregation was intensified.
First’s intrepid and penetrating journalistic research exposed her to the brutality of labour exploitation and control on the mines and the farms. It reinforced her understanding of South Africa in Marxist terms.
The will to fight is born out of the desire for freedom.
She was confident that:
The power of the people is greater than the power of any government.
First believed that ignorance is “the enemy of progress and justice” and that knowledge and education are “key to empowering individuals and challenging oppressive systems”. These words ring true in today’s global events driven by right-wing authoritarianism, US imperialism and acts of genocide.
On learning of her death, former South African President Nelson Mandela recalled:
I was in prison when Ruth First was assassinated, felt almost alone. Lost a sister in arms … It is no consolation to know that she lives beyond her grave.
What is activist research and how is it applied in the book?
As authors, we revisit Ruth First’s life, work and ideas and its relevance for the current context. We focus especially on the nature of her scholarship and how she navigated the tensions between her activism and her research – whether journalistic or for her books on South West Africa (today’s Namibia), Libya or western investment in apartheid. Other of her acclaimed books included The Barrel of a Gun: Political Power in Africa and the Coup d’etat and, during her Mozambican sojourn, Black Gold: The Mozambican Miner, Proletarian and Peasant.
In the process we invite renewed critical reflection about her life and work. Inspired by First’s contributions, the book considers how universities and scholars engage with institutions and social movements beyond the university.
For example, in the book a research group from Durham University in the UK considers how to balance objectivity (showing no bias) with more politically participatory research methods and how objectivity can be enhanced despite the difficulties faced by activist research.
Other scholars reflect on the work of the assassinated South African anti-apartheid activist scholar and lecturer Rick Turner; on climate change; and on the complexities of undertaking activist research in Marikana with a women’s organisation, Sikhala Sonke. Marikana was the site where South African police opened fire on and killed 34 striking mineworkers in 2012.
There is examination of a research partnership between University of Cape Town activist scholars and some Khoi-San communities, reflection on the challenges of legal practice and education, and critical analysis of the decolonisation challenges of the KwaZulu-Natal Society of the Arts.
How do you frame activist research in your book?
The book shows that there is a difference between engaged research, critical research and activist research.
Engaged research tries to connect knowledge produced by academics with institutions, movements and experts outside the university to collaboratively address issues and promote cooperation.
Critical research uses radical critical theory to critique oppression and injustice, to show the gap between what exists today and more just ways of living. However, it does not necessarily connect with political and social movements.
First’s research was not only engaged, but also critical in orientation and activist in nature. As activist research it challenged oppression and inequality.
It both critiqued the status quo in South Africa and elsewhere and tried to change it. It was linked with movements and connected to political activism that was anti-colonial, anti-imperialist, and committed to socialism.
First’s activist research did not confine itself to the academic arena but engaged with larger, wider and more diverse publics. It used this experience to critique dominant and often limited thinking at universities and promoted other ways of producing knowledge. The expertise developed was used to improve scholarship in various ways.
What do you want readers to take away?
There is much talk about the “engaged university” and engaged research. However, only certain connections and engagements seem to be valued.
Prior to democracy in 1994, South African researchers connected with social movements for change. Now this is seldom the case. Universities and scholars largely engage with those with money – the state, business, elites and donors.
This raises questions about the roles of researchers in South Africa, whose interests are prioritised and the place of critical and activist research in the engaged university.
How should Ruth First be remembered?
We must honour her for her intellectual and practical activism. What matters is not just her knowledge archive, but also her example as both an outstanding interpreter of the world and an activist scholar committed to changing society in the interests of the downtrodden, marginalised and voiceless.
First was a critical and independent thinker who refused to accept anything as settled and beyond questioning. But that intellect was committed to loyalty to the national liberation movement of which she was an invaluable cadre.
The views expressed in this piece do not reflect or represent the position of the university to which Badat and Reddy are affiliated.
Saleem Badat receives funding from the National Institute for Humanities and Social Sciences and the Andrew W Mellon Foundation. He is a board member of the International Consortium for Critical Theory Programs and Alameda.
Vasu Reddy currently receives no external funding. He serves on the board of the Human Sciences Research Council Press
View of the United Nations logo at a 2022 conference of the Parties to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons.Angela Weiss/AFP via Getty Images)
While the U.S. military’s strikes on Iran on June 21, 2025, are believed to have damaged the country’s critical nuclear infrastructure, no evidence has yet emerged showing the program to have been completely destroyed. In fact, an early U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency assessment surmised that the attack merely delayed Iran’s possible path to a nuclear weapon by less than six months. Further, Rafael Mariano Grossi, director of the United Nations’ International Atomic Energy Agency, stated that Iran may have moved its supply of enriched uranium ahead of the strikes, and assessed that Tehran could resume uranium enrichment “in a matter of months.”
As a scholar of nuclear nonproliferation, my research indicates that military strikes, such as the U.S. one against Iran, tend not to work. Diplomacy — involving broad and resolute international efforts — offers a more strategically effective way to preempt a country from obtaining a nuclear arsenal.
Yet neither military operation reliably or completely terminated the targeted program. Many experts of nuclear strategy believe that while the Israeli strike destroyed the Osirak complex, it likely accelerated Iraq’s fledgling nuclear program, increasing Saddam Hussein’s commitment to pursue a nuclear weapon.
In a similar vein, while Israeli airstrikes destroyed Syria’s nascent nuclear facility, evidence soon emerged that the country, under its former leader, Bashar Assad, may have continued its nuclear activities elsewhere.
Based on my appraisal of similar cases, the record shows that diplomacy has been a more consistently reliable strategy than military force for getting a targeted country to denuclearize.
The tactics involved in nuclear diplomacy include bilateral and multilateral engagement efforts and economic tools ranging from comprehensive sanctions to transformative aid and trade incentives. Travel and cultural sanctions – including bans on participating in international sporting and other events – can also contribute to the effectiveness of denuclearization diplomacy.
The high point of denuclearization diplomacy came in 1970, when the majority of the world signed the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. The treaty obliged nonnuclear weapons states to refrain from pursuing them, and existing nuclear powers to share civilian nuclear power technology and work toward eventual nuclear weapons disarmament.
I’ve found that in a majority of cases since then – notably in Argentina, Brazil, Libya, South Africa, South Korea and Taiwan – diplomacy played a pivotal role in convincing nuclear-seeking nations to entirely and permanently relinquish their pursuit of nuclear weapons.
Case studies of nuclear diplomacy
In the cases of U.S. allies Argentina, Brazil, South Korea and Taiwan, the military option was off the table for Washington, which instead successfully used diplomatic pressure to compel these countries to discontinue their nuclear programs. This involved the imposition of significant economic and technological sanctions on Argentina and Brazil in the late-1970s, which substantially contributed to the denuclearization of South America. In the South Korea and Taiwan cases, the threat of economic sanctions was effectively coupled with the risk of losing U.S. military aid and security guarantees.
In the case of Iraq, the Hussein regime eventually did denuclearize in the 1990s, but not through a deal negotiated directly with the U.S. or the international community. Rather, Hussein’s decision was motivated by the damaging economic and technological costs of the U.N. sanctions and his desire to see them lifted after the first Gulf War.
In the 11 countries in which diplomacy was used to reverse nuclear proliferation, only in the cases of India and Pakistan did it fail to induce any nuclear reversal.
Consistent with the historical track record for diplomacy concerning other nuclear powers, Iran offers compelling evidence of what diplomacy can achieve in lieu of military force.
Diplomatic negotiations between the U.S, Iran and five leading powers yielded the landmark Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action in 2015. The so-called Iran deal involved multilateral diplomacy and a set of economic sanctions and incentives, and persuaded Iran to place stringent limits on its nuclear program for at least 10 years and ship tons of enriched uranium out of the country. A report from the International Atomic Energy Agency in 2016 confirmed that Iran had abided by the terms of the agreement. Consequently, the U.S., European Union and U.N. responded by lifting sanctions.
Representatives of the nations involved in signing the 2015 Iran nuclear deal pose for a group photo following talks in July 2015. AP Photo/Ronald Zak
Trump signaled quickly after the recent attack on Iran a willingness to engage in direct talks with Tehran. However, Iran may rebuff any agreement that effectively contains its nuclear program, opting instead for the intensified underground approach Iraq took after the 1981 Osirak attack.
Indeed, my research shows that combining military threats with diplomacy reduces the prospects of successfully reaching a disarmament agreement. Nations will be more reluctant to disarm when their negotiating counterpart adopts a threatening and combative posture, as it heightens their fear that disarmament will make it more vulnerable to future aggression from the opposing country.
A return to an Iran nuclear deal?
Successful denuclearization diplomacy with Iran will not be a panacea for Middle East stability; the U.S. will continue to harbor concerns about Iran’s military-related actions and relationships in the region.
It is, after all, unlikely that any U.S. administration could strike a deal with Tehran on nuclear policy that would simultaneously settle all outstanding issues and resolve decades of mutual acrimony.
But by signing and abiding to the terms of the JCPOA, Iran has demonstrated a willingness to cooperate on the nuclear issue in the past. Under the agreement, Iran accepted a highly limited and low-proliferation-risk nuclear program subject to intrusive inspections by the international community.
That arrangement was beneficial for regional stability and for buttressing the global norm against nuclear proliferation. A return to a JCPOA-type agreement would reinforce a diplomatic approach to relations with Iran and create an opening for progress with the country on other areas of concern.
Stephen Collins 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.
View of the United Nations logo at a 2022 conference of the Parties to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons.Angela Weiss/AFP via Getty Images)
While the U.S. military’s strikes on Iran on June 21, 2025, are believed to have damaged the country’s critical nuclear infrastructure, no evidence has yet emerged showing the program to have been completely destroyed. In fact, an early U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency assessment surmised that the attack merely delayed Iran’s possible path to a nuclear weapon by less than six months. Further, Rafael Mariano Grossi, director of the United Nations’ International Atomic Energy Agency, stated that Iran may have moved its supply of enriched uranium ahead of the strikes, and assessed that Tehran could resume uranium enrichment “in a matter of months.”
As a scholar of nuclear nonproliferation, my research indicates that military strikes, such as the U.S. one against Iran, tend not to work. Diplomacy — involving broad and resolute international efforts — offers a more strategically effective way to preempt a country from obtaining a nuclear arsenal.
Yet neither military operation reliably or completely terminated the targeted program. Many experts of nuclear strategy believe that while the Israeli strike destroyed the Osirak complex, it likely accelerated Iraq’s fledgling nuclear program, increasing Saddam Hussein’s commitment to pursue a nuclear weapon.
In a similar vein, while Israeli airstrikes destroyed Syria’s nascent nuclear facility, evidence soon emerged that the country, under its former leader, Bashar Assad, may have continued its nuclear activities elsewhere.
Based on my appraisal of similar cases, the record shows that diplomacy has been a more consistently reliable strategy than military force for getting a targeted country to denuclearize.
The tactics involved in nuclear diplomacy include bilateral and multilateral engagement efforts and economic tools ranging from comprehensive sanctions to transformative aid and trade incentives. Travel and cultural sanctions – including bans on participating in international sporting and other events – can also contribute to the effectiveness of denuclearization diplomacy.
The high point of denuclearization diplomacy came in 1970, when the majority of the world signed the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. The treaty obliged nonnuclear weapons states to refrain from pursuing them, and existing nuclear powers to share civilian nuclear power technology and work toward eventual nuclear weapons disarmament.
I’ve found that in a majority of cases since then – notably in Argentina, Brazil, Libya, South Africa, South Korea and Taiwan – diplomacy played a pivotal role in convincing nuclear-seeking nations to entirely and permanently relinquish their pursuit of nuclear weapons.
Case studies of nuclear diplomacy
In the cases of U.S. allies Argentina, Brazil, South Korea and Taiwan, the military option was off the table for Washington, which instead successfully used diplomatic pressure to compel these countries to discontinue their nuclear programs. This involved the imposition of significant economic and technological sanctions on Argentina and Brazil in the late-1970s, which substantially contributed to the denuclearization of South America. In the South Korea and Taiwan cases, the threat of economic sanctions was effectively coupled with the risk of losing U.S. military aid and security guarantees.
In the case of Iraq, the Hussein regime eventually did denuclearize in the 1990s, but not through a deal negotiated directly with the U.S. or the international community. Rather, Hussein’s decision was motivated by the damaging economic and technological costs of the U.N. sanctions and his desire to see them lifted after the first Gulf War.
In the 11 countries in which diplomacy was used to reverse nuclear proliferation, only in the cases of India and Pakistan did it fail to induce any nuclear reversal.
Consistent with the historical track record for diplomacy concerning other nuclear powers, Iran offers compelling evidence of what diplomacy can achieve in lieu of military force.
Diplomatic negotiations between the U.S, Iran and five leading powers yielded the landmark Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action in 2015. The so-called Iran deal involved multilateral diplomacy and a set of economic sanctions and incentives, and persuaded Iran to place stringent limits on its nuclear program for at least 10 years and ship tons of enriched uranium out of the country. A report from the International Atomic Energy Agency in 2016 confirmed that Iran had abided by the terms of the agreement. Consequently, the U.S., European Union and U.N. responded by lifting sanctions.
Representatives of the nations involved in signing the 2015 Iran nuclear deal pose for a group photo following talks in July 2015. AP Photo/Ronald Zak
Trump signaled quickly after the recent attack on Iran a willingness to engage in direct talks with Tehran. However, Iran may rebuff any agreement that effectively contains its nuclear program, opting instead for the intensified underground approach Iraq took after the 1981 Osirak attack.
Indeed, my research shows that combining military threats with diplomacy reduces the prospects of successfully reaching a disarmament agreement. Nations will be more reluctant to disarm when their negotiating counterpart adopts a threatening and combative posture, as it heightens their fear that disarmament will make it more vulnerable to future aggression from the opposing country.
A return to an Iran nuclear deal?
Successful denuclearization diplomacy with Iran will not be a panacea for Middle East stability; the U.S. will continue to harbor concerns about Iran’s military-related actions and relationships in the region.
It is, after all, unlikely that any U.S. administration could strike a deal with Tehran on nuclear policy that would simultaneously settle all outstanding issues and resolve decades of mutual acrimony.
But by signing and abiding to the terms of the JCPOA, Iran has demonstrated a willingness to cooperate on the nuclear issue in the past. Under the agreement, Iran accepted a highly limited and low-proliferation-risk nuclear program subject to intrusive inspections by the international community.
That arrangement was beneficial for regional stability and for buttressing the global norm against nuclear proliferation. A return to a JCPOA-type agreement would reinforce a diplomatic approach to relations with Iran and create an opening for progress with the country on other areas of concern.
Stephen Collins 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.
View of the United Nations logo at a 2022 conference of the Parties to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons.Angela Weiss/AFP via Getty Images)
While the U.S. military’s strikes on Iran on June 21, 2025, are believed to have damaged the country’s critical nuclear infrastructure, no evidence has yet emerged showing the program to have been completely destroyed. In fact, an early U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency assessment surmised that the attack merely delayed Iran’s possible path to a nuclear weapon by less than six months. Further, Rafael Mariano Grossi, director of the United Nations’ International Atomic Energy Agency, stated that Iran may have moved its supply of enriched uranium ahead of the strikes, and assessed that Tehran could resume uranium enrichment “in a matter of months.”
As a scholar of nuclear nonproliferation, my research indicates that military strikes, such as the U.S. one against Iran, tend not to work. Diplomacy — involving broad and resolute international efforts — offers a more strategically effective way to preempt a country from obtaining a nuclear arsenal.
Yet neither military operation reliably or completely terminated the targeted program. Many experts of nuclear strategy believe that while the Israeli strike destroyed the Osirak complex, it likely accelerated Iraq’s fledgling nuclear program, increasing Saddam Hussein’s commitment to pursue a nuclear weapon.
In a similar vein, while Israeli airstrikes destroyed Syria’s nascent nuclear facility, evidence soon emerged that the country, under its former leader, Bashar Assad, may have continued its nuclear activities elsewhere.
Based on my appraisal of similar cases, the record shows that diplomacy has been a more consistently reliable strategy than military force for getting a targeted country to denuclearize.
The tactics involved in nuclear diplomacy include bilateral and multilateral engagement efforts and economic tools ranging from comprehensive sanctions to transformative aid and trade incentives. Travel and cultural sanctions – including bans on participating in international sporting and other events – can also contribute to the effectiveness of denuclearization diplomacy.
The high point of denuclearization diplomacy came in 1970, when the majority of the world signed the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. The treaty obliged nonnuclear weapons states to refrain from pursuing them, and existing nuclear powers to share civilian nuclear power technology and work toward eventual nuclear weapons disarmament.
I’ve found that in a majority of cases since then – notably in Argentina, Brazil, Libya, South Africa, South Korea and Taiwan – diplomacy played a pivotal role in convincing nuclear-seeking nations to entirely and permanently relinquish their pursuit of nuclear weapons.
Case studies of nuclear diplomacy
In the cases of U.S. allies Argentina, Brazil, South Korea and Taiwan, the military option was off the table for Washington, which instead successfully used diplomatic pressure to compel these countries to discontinue their nuclear programs. This involved the imposition of significant economic and technological sanctions on Argentina and Brazil in the late-1970s, which substantially contributed to the denuclearization of South America. In the South Korea and Taiwan cases, the threat of economic sanctions was effectively coupled with the risk of losing U.S. military aid and security guarantees.
In the case of Iraq, the Hussein regime eventually did denuclearize in the 1990s, but not through a deal negotiated directly with the U.S. or the international community. Rather, Hussein’s decision was motivated by the damaging economic and technological costs of the U.N. sanctions and his desire to see them lifted after the first Gulf War.
In the 11 countries in which diplomacy was used to reverse nuclear proliferation, only in the cases of India and Pakistan did it fail to induce any nuclear reversal.
Consistent with the historical track record for diplomacy concerning other nuclear powers, Iran offers compelling evidence of what diplomacy can achieve in lieu of military force.
Diplomatic negotiations between the U.S, Iran and five leading powers yielded the landmark Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action in 2015. The so-called Iran deal involved multilateral diplomacy and a set of economic sanctions and incentives, and persuaded Iran to place stringent limits on its nuclear program for at least 10 years and ship tons of enriched uranium out of the country. A report from the International Atomic Energy Agency in 2016 confirmed that Iran had abided by the terms of the agreement. Consequently, the U.S., European Union and U.N. responded by lifting sanctions.
Representatives of the nations involved in signing the 2015 Iran nuclear deal pose for a group photo following talks in July 2015. AP Photo/Ronald Zak
Trump signaled quickly after the recent attack on Iran a willingness to engage in direct talks with Tehran. However, Iran may rebuff any agreement that effectively contains its nuclear program, opting instead for the intensified underground approach Iraq took after the 1981 Osirak attack.
Indeed, my research shows that combining military threats with diplomacy reduces the prospects of successfully reaching a disarmament agreement. Nations will be more reluctant to disarm when their negotiating counterpart adopts a threatening and combative posture, as it heightens their fear that disarmament will make it more vulnerable to future aggression from the opposing country.
A return to an Iran nuclear deal?
Successful denuclearization diplomacy with Iran will not be a panacea for Middle East stability; the U.S. will continue to harbor concerns about Iran’s military-related actions and relationships in the region.
It is, after all, unlikely that any U.S. administration could strike a deal with Tehran on nuclear policy that would simultaneously settle all outstanding issues and resolve decades of mutual acrimony.
But by signing and abiding to the terms of the JCPOA, Iran has demonstrated a willingness to cooperate on the nuclear issue in the past. Under the agreement, Iran accepted a highly limited and low-proliferation-risk nuclear program subject to intrusive inspections by the international community.
That arrangement was beneficial for regional stability and for buttressing the global norm against nuclear proliferation. A return to a JCPOA-type agreement would reinforce a diplomatic approach to relations with Iran and create an opening for progress with the country on other areas of concern.
Stephen Collins 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.
The US president, Donald Trump, says that Israel has agreed to terms for a 60-day ceasefire in Gaza. If that sounds familiar, it is.
The idea of a two-month truce has been discussed since the collapse of the last shortlived ceasefire in March. A similar proposal was floated in May, but Hamas viewed it as an enabling mechanism for Israel to continue the war after a brief pause, rather than reaching a permanent peace deal.
As the devastation in Gaza worsens by the day, will this time be any different?
The proposal, put forward by Qatari mediators, reportedly involves Hamas releasing ten living hostages and the bodies of 18 deceased hostages over the 60-day period, in exchange for the release of a number of Palestinian prisoners.
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The remaining 22 hostages would be released if a long-term deal is reached. The 60-day ceasefire period would also involve negotiations for a permanent end to hostilities and a roadmap for post-war governance in Gaza.
But the plan is similar to the eight-week, three-phase ceasefire from January to March of this year, which collapsed after the first phase of hostage exchanges. Since then peace talks have hit a recurrent impasse.
For Hamas, a long-term ceasefire means the permanent end to the war and the withdrawal of Israeli forces from Gaza. Israel, meanwhile, wants to see the complete removal of Hamas from power, the dismantling and disarming of its military wing and the exile of remaining senior Hamas leaders.
But despite the persistent challenges, there are several reasons that this attempt for a ceasefire might be different. First and foremost is the recent so-called “12-day war” between Israel and Iran, which Israel has trumpeted as a major success for degrading Iran’s nuclear capabilities (although the reality is more nuanced).
The perceived win gives Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, political maneuverability to pursue a ceasefire over the objections of far-right hardliners in his coalition who have threatened to bring down the government in previous rounds.
The Iran-Israel war, in which the US controversially carried out strikes on Iran’s nuclear sites, also revived Trump’s interest in the Middle East. Trump entered office just as the phased Gaza ceasefire deal was being agreed. But Trump put little diplomatic pressure on Israel to engage in serious talks to get from the first phase of the agreement to phase two, allowing the war to resume in March.
Now however, after assisting Israel militarily in Iran, Trump has significant leverage he can use with Netanyahu. He will have the chance to use it (if he chooses) when Netanyahu visits Washington next week.
Both men also view Iran’s weakened position as an opportunity for expanding the Abraham accords. This was the set of agreements normalising relations between Israel and several Arab states, including the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Sudan and Morocco, which Trump brokered at the end of his first term.
Netanyahu has long eyed a US-backed deal with Saudi Arabia, and a smaller-scale declaration with Syria is reportedly now under discussion as well. But those deals can’t move forward while the war in Gaza is going.
Additional obstacles
However, the recurrent obstacles to a deal remain – and it’s unclear if the proposed terms will include guarantees to prevent Israel resuming the war after the 60-day period.
New issues have also arisen since the last round of talks that could create further challenges. Hamas is demanding a return to traditional humanitarian aid distribution in Gaza – or at least the replacement of the controversial US and Israeli-backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF).
The GHF’s four distribution sites, located in militarised zones, replaced over 400 previously operating aid points, and more than 400 people have been killed while seeking aid near the sites, since May 26. More than 170 international non-governmental organisations and charities have called for the GHF to be shut down.
Israel’s military control over Gaza has also become further entrenched since the last ceasefire. More than 80% is thought to be covered by evacuation orders – and new orders for north Gaza and Gaza City were issued on June 29 and July 2 respectively.
Israeli officials have described the renewed operations as military pressure on Hamas to accept a ceasefire. But Netanyahu has also spoken openly about long-term military occupation of Gaza.
He recently stated that Israel would remain in “full security control of Gaza” even after the war. Even if a temporary ceasefire is agreed, the road ahead is strewn with difficulties in moving towards a long-lasting ceasefire or reaching an acceptable “day-after” agreement.
Still, the current moment offers an opportunity for a breakthrough. Trump has a renewed interest in getting to a ceasefire and Netanyahu has a rare political window to enter an agreement and get hostages home. Hamas, meanwhile, has been weakened, not only by Israel’s relentless military pounding, but by increasing disillusionment from the people of Gaza, who are desperate for an end to the war.
There is no shortage of reasons to end the war in Gaza. The only question is if Israel and Hamas have the will to do so.
Julie M. Norman 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 US president, Donald Trump, says that Israel has agreed to terms for a 60-day ceasefire in Gaza. If that sounds familiar, it is.
The idea of a two-month truce has been discussed since the collapse of the last shortlived ceasefire in March. A similar proposal was floated in May, but Hamas viewed it as an enabling mechanism for Israel to continue the war after a brief pause, rather than reaching a permanent peace deal.
As the devastation in Gaza worsens by the day, will this time be any different?
The proposal, put forward by Qatari mediators, reportedly involves Hamas releasing ten living hostages and the bodies of 18 deceased hostages over the 60-day period, in exchange for the release of a number of Palestinian prisoners.
Get your news from actual experts, straight to your inbox.Sign up to our daily newsletter to receive all The Conversation UK’s latest coverage of news and research, from politics and business to the arts and sciences.
The remaining 22 hostages would be released if a long-term deal is reached. The 60-day ceasefire period would also involve negotiations for a permanent end to hostilities and a roadmap for post-war governance in Gaza.
But the plan is similar to the eight-week, three-phase ceasefire from January to March of this year, which collapsed after the first phase of hostage exchanges. Since then peace talks have hit a recurrent impasse.
For Hamas, a long-term ceasefire means the permanent end to the war and the withdrawal of Israeli forces from Gaza. Israel, meanwhile, wants to see the complete removal of Hamas from power, the dismantling and disarming of its military wing and the exile of remaining senior Hamas leaders.
But despite the persistent challenges, there are several reasons that this attempt for a ceasefire might be different. First and foremost is the recent so-called “12-day war” between Israel and Iran, which Israel has trumpeted as a major success for degrading Iran’s nuclear capabilities (although the reality is more nuanced).
The perceived win gives Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, political maneuverability to pursue a ceasefire over the objections of far-right hardliners in his coalition who have threatened to bring down the government in previous rounds.
The Iran-Israel war, in which the US controversially carried out strikes on Iran’s nuclear sites, also revived Trump’s interest in the Middle East. Trump entered office just as the phased Gaza ceasefire deal was being agreed. But Trump put little diplomatic pressure on Israel to engage in serious talks to get from the first phase of the agreement to phase two, allowing the war to resume in March.
Now however, after assisting Israel militarily in Iran, Trump has significant leverage he can use with Netanyahu. He will have the chance to use it (if he chooses) when Netanyahu visits Washington next week.
Both men also view Iran’s weakened position as an opportunity for expanding the Abraham accords. This was the set of agreements normalising relations between Israel and several Arab states, including the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Sudan and Morocco, which Trump brokered at the end of his first term.
Netanyahu has long eyed a US-backed deal with Saudi Arabia, and a smaller-scale declaration with Syria is reportedly now under discussion as well. But those deals can’t move forward while the war in Gaza is going.
Additional obstacles
However, the recurrent obstacles to a deal remain – and it’s unclear if the proposed terms will include guarantees to prevent Israel resuming the war after the 60-day period.
New issues have also arisen since the last round of talks that could create further challenges. Hamas is demanding a return to traditional humanitarian aid distribution in Gaza – or at least the replacement of the controversial US and Israeli-backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF).
The GHF’s four distribution sites, located in militarised zones, replaced over 400 previously operating aid points, and more than 400 people have been killed while seeking aid near the sites, since May 26. More than 170 international non-governmental organisations and charities have called for the GHF to be shut down.
Israel’s military control over Gaza has also become further entrenched since the last ceasefire. More than 80% is thought to be covered by evacuation orders – and new orders for north Gaza and Gaza City were issued on June 29 and July 2 respectively.
Israeli officials have described the renewed operations as military pressure on Hamas to accept a ceasefire. But Netanyahu has also spoken openly about long-term military occupation of Gaza.
He recently stated that Israel would remain in “full security control of Gaza” even after the war. Even if a temporary ceasefire is agreed, the road ahead is strewn with difficulties in moving towards a long-lasting ceasefire or reaching an acceptable “day-after” agreement.
Still, the current moment offers an opportunity for a breakthrough. Trump has a renewed interest in getting to a ceasefire and Netanyahu has a rare political window to enter an agreement and get hostages home. Hamas, meanwhile, has been weakened, not only by Israel’s relentless military pounding, but by increasing disillusionment from the people of Gaza, who are desperate for an end to the war.
There is no shortage of reasons to end the war in Gaza. The only question is if Israel and Hamas have the will to do so.
Julie M. Norman 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 US president, Donald Trump, says that Israel has agreed to terms for a 60-day ceasefire in Gaza. If that sounds familiar, it is.
The idea of a two-month truce has been discussed since the collapse of the last shortlived ceasefire in March. A similar proposal was floated in May, but Hamas viewed it as an enabling mechanism for Israel to continue the war after a brief pause, rather than reaching a permanent peace deal.
As the devastation in Gaza worsens by the day, will this time be any different?
The proposal, put forward by Qatari mediators, reportedly involves Hamas releasing ten living hostages and the bodies of 18 deceased hostages over the 60-day period, in exchange for the release of a number of Palestinian prisoners.
Get your news from actual experts, straight to your inbox.Sign up to our daily newsletter to receive all The Conversation UK’s latest coverage of news and research, from politics and business to the arts and sciences.
The remaining 22 hostages would be released if a long-term deal is reached. The 60-day ceasefire period would also involve negotiations for a permanent end to hostilities and a roadmap for post-war governance in Gaza.
But the plan is similar to the eight-week, three-phase ceasefire from January to March of this year, which collapsed after the first phase of hostage exchanges. Since then peace talks have hit a recurrent impasse.
For Hamas, a long-term ceasefire means the permanent end to the war and the withdrawal of Israeli forces from Gaza. Israel, meanwhile, wants to see the complete removal of Hamas from power, the dismantling and disarming of its military wing and the exile of remaining senior Hamas leaders.
But despite the persistent challenges, there are several reasons that this attempt for a ceasefire might be different. First and foremost is the recent so-called “12-day war” between Israel and Iran, which Israel has trumpeted as a major success for degrading Iran’s nuclear capabilities (although the reality is more nuanced).
The perceived win gives Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, political maneuverability to pursue a ceasefire over the objections of far-right hardliners in his coalition who have threatened to bring down the government in previous rounds.
The Iran-Israel war, in which the US controversially carried out strikes on Iran’s nuclear sites, also revived Trump’s interest in the Middle East. Trump entered office just as the phased Gaza ceasefire deal was being agreed. But Trump put little diplomatic pressure on Israel to engage in serious talks to get from the first phase of the agreement to phase two, allowing the war to resume in March.
Now however, after assisting Israel militarily in Iran, Trump has significant leverage he can use with Netanyahu. He will have the chance to use it (if he chooses) when Netanyahu visits Washington next week.
Both men also view Iran’s weakened position as an opportunity for expanding the Abraham accords. This was the set of agreements normalising relations between Israel and several Arab states, including the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Sudan and Morocco, which Trump brokered at the end of his first term.
Netanyahu has long eyed a US-backed deal with Saudi Arabia, and a smaller-scale declaration with Syria is reportedly now under discussion as well. But those deals can’t move forward while the war in Gaza is going.
Additional obstacles
However, the recurrent obstacles to a deal remain – and it’s unclear if the proposed terms will include guarantees to prevent Israel resuming the war after the 60-day period.
New issues have also arisen since the last round of talks that could create further challenges. Hamas is demanding a return to traditional humanitarian aid distribution in Gaza – or at least the replacement of the controversial US and Israeli-backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF).
The GHF’s four distribution sites, located in militarised zones, replaced over 400 previously operating aid points, and more than 400 people have been killed while seeking aid near the sites, since May 26. More than 170 international non-governmental organisations and charities have called for the GHF to be shut down.
Israel’s military control over Gaza has also become further entrenched since the last ceasefire. More than 80% is thought to be covered by evacuation orders – and new orders for north Gaza and Gaza City were issued on June 29 and July 2 respectively.
Israeli officials have described the renewed operations as military pressure on Hamas to accept a ceasefire. But Netanyahu has also spoken openly about long-term military occupation of Gaza.
He recently stated that Israel would remain in “full security control of Gaza” even after the war. Even if a temporary ceasefire is agreed, the road ahead is strewn with difficulties in moving towards a long-lasting ceasefire or reaching an acceptable “day-after” agreement.
Still, the current moment offers an opportunity for a breakthrough. Trump has a renewed interest in getting to a ceasefire and Netanyahu has a rare political window to enter an agreement and get hostages home. Hamas, meanwhile, has been weakened, not only by Israel’s relentless military pounding, but by increasing disillusionment from the people of Gaza, who are desperate for an end to the war.
There is no shortage of reasons to end the war in Gaza. The only question is if Israel and Hamas have the will to do so.
Julie M. Norman 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.
After the Egyptian pharaoh Hatshepsut died around 1458 BCE, many statues of her were destroyed. Archaeologists believed that they were targeted in an act of revenge by Thutmose III, her successor. Yet the condition of the statues recovered in the vicinity of her mortuary temple varies and many survive with their faces virtually intact.
Now a new study by archaeologist Jun Yi Wong re-examines the original excavations and offers an alternative explanation. Much of the damage may in fact be from the “ritual deactivation” of the statues and their reuse as raw material. We asked him to explain.
Who was Queen Hatshepsut and why was she important?
Hatshepsut ruled as the pharaoh of Egypt around 3,500 years ago. Her reign was an exceptionally successful one – she was a prolific builder of monuments, and her reign saw great innovations in art and architecture. As a result, some regard her as one of the greatest rulers – male or female – in ancient Egypt. She has also been described as the “first great woman in history”.
Hatshepsut was the wife and half sister of pharaoh Thutmose II. Following the premature death of her husband, she acted as regent for her stepson, the young Thutmose III. However, about seven years later, Hatshepsut ascended the throne and declared herself ruler of Egypt.
Why was it believed her statues were destroyed in revenge?
After her death, Hatshepsut’s names and representations such as statues were systematically erased from her monuments. This event, often called the “proscription” of Hatshepsut, is currently part of my wider research.
There’s little doubt that this destruction began during the time of Thutmose III, since some of Hatshepsut’s erased representations were found concealed by his new constructions.
The statues that formed the subject of my recently published study were discovered in the 1920s. By this time, Thutmose III’s proscription of Hatshepsut was already well known, so it was immediately (and rightly) assumed it was caused during his reign. Some of the broken statues were even found underneath a causeway built by Thutmose III, so there is little doubt that their destruction took place during his reign.
Because the statues were found in fragments, early archaeologists assumed that they must have been broken up violently, perhaps due to Thutmose III’s animosity towards Hatshepsut. For instance, Herbert Winlock, the archaeologist who led the excavations of 1922 to 1928, remarked that Thutmose III must have “decreed the destruction of every portrait of (Hatshepsut) in existence” and that
Every conceivable indignity had been heaped on the likeness of the fallen Queen.
The problem with such an interpretation is that some of Hatshepsut’s statues have survived in relatively good condition, with their faces virtually intact. Why was there such a great variation in the treatment of the statues? That was essentially the main question of my research.
How did you go about finding the answer?
It was clear that the damage to Hatshepsut’s statues was not caused solely by Thutmose III. Many of them were left exposed and not buried, and many were reused as building material. Indeed, not far from where the statues were discovered, the archaeologists found a stone house that was partially built using fragments of her statues.
Of course, the question is to what extent these reuse activities added to the damage of the statues. Fortunately, the archaeologists who excavated the statues left behind field notes that are quite detailed.
Based on this archival material, it is possible to reconstruct the locations in which many of these statues were found.
The results were quite intriguing: statues that are scattered over large areas, or have significant missing parts, tend to have sustained significant damage to their faces. In contrast, statues found in a relatively complete condition typically have their faces fully intact.
In other words, statues that were subjected to heavy reuse activities are far more likely to have sustained facial damage.
Therefore, it is likely that Thutmose III was not responsible for the facial damage sustained by the statues. Instead, the destruction that he was responsible for was far more specific, namely the breaking of these statues across their neck, waist and knees.
This form of treatment is not unique to Hatshepsut’s statues.
Fascinating. So what does this mean?
The practice of breaking royal statues across their neck, waist and knees is common in ancient Egypt. It’s often referred to as the “deactivation” of statues.
For the ancient Egyptians, statues were more than just images. For example, newly made statues underwent a rite known as the opening of the mouth, where they were ritually brought to life. Since statues were regarded as living and powerful objects, their inherent power had to be neutralised before they could be discarded.
Indeed, one of the most extraordinary discoveries in Egyptian archaeology is the Karnak Cachette, where hundreds of royal statues were found buried in a single deposit. The vast majority of the statues have been “deactivated”, even though most of them depict pharaohs who were never subjected to any hostilities after their death.
This suggests that the destruction of Hatshepsut’s statues was motivated mainly by ritualistic and pragmatic reasons, rather than revenge or animosity. This, of course, changes the way that her relationship with Thutmose III is understood.
Jun Yi Wong receives funding from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.
Satellite photo of rural Saga prefecture, Japan, showing farmland disuse, consolidation and intensification and urban development.Google Earth Pro, CC BY-NC-ND
Since 1970, 73% of global wildlife has been lost, while the world’s population has doubled to 8 billion. Research shows this isn’t a coincidence but that population growth is causing a catastrophic decline in biodiversity.
Yet a turning point in human history is underway. According to UN projections, the number of people in 85 countries will be shrinking by 2050, mostly in Europe and Asia. By 2100, the human population is on course for global decline. Some say this will be good for the environment.
In 2010, Japan became the first Asian country to begin depopulating. South Korea, China and Taiwan are following close behind. In 2014, Italy was the first in southern Europe, followed by Spain, Portugal and others. We call Japan and Italy “depopulation vanguard countries” on account of their role as forerunners for understanding possible consequences in their regions.
Given assumptions that depopulation could help deliver environmental restoration, we have been working with colleagues Yang Li and Taku Fujita to investigate whether Japan is experiencing what we have termed a biodiversity “depopulation dividend” or something else.
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Since 2003, hundreds of citizen scientists have been collecting biodiversity data for the Japanese government’s Monitoring Sites 1,000 project. We used 1.5 million recorded species observations from 158 sites.
These were in wooded, agricultural and peri-urban (transitional spaces on outskirts of cities) areas. We compared these observations against changes in local population, land use and surface temperature for periods of five to 20 years.
Our study, published in the journal Nature Sustainability, includes birds, butterflies, fireflies, frogs and 2,922 native and non-native plants. These landscapes have experienced the greatest depopulation since the 1990s.
Due to the size of our database, choice of sites and the positioning of Japan as a depopulation vanguard for north-east Asia, this is one of the largest studies of its kind.
Japan is not Chernobyl
Biodiversity continued to decrease in most of the areas we studied, irrespective of population increase or decrease. Only where the population remains steady is biodiversity more stable. However, the population of these areas is ageing and will decline soon, bringing them in line with the areas already seeing biodiversity loss.
Unlike in Chernobyl, where a sudden crisis caused an almost total evacuation which stimulated startling accounts of wildlife revival, Japan’s population loss has developed gradually. Here, a mosaic pattern of changing land use emerges amid still-functioning communities.
While most farmland remains under cultivation, some falls into disuse or abandonment, some is sold for urban development or transformed into intensively farmed landscapes. This prevents widespread natural succession of plant growth or afforestation (planting of new trees) that would enrich biodiversity.
In these areas, humans are agents of ecosystem sustainability. Traditional farming and seasonal livelihood practices, such as flooding, planting and harvesting of rice fields, orchard and coppice management, and property upkeep, are important for maintaining biodiversity. So depopulation can be destructive to nature. Some species thrive, but these are often non-native ones that present other challenges, such as the drying and choking of formerly wet rice paddy fields by invasive grasses.
Vacant and derelict buildings, underused infrastructure and socio-legal issues (such as complicated inheritance laws and land taxes, lack of local authority administrative capacity, and high demolition and disposal costs) all compound the problem.
An abandoned house, or akiya, in Niigata prefecture, Japan. Peter Matanle, CC BY-NC-ND
Even as the number of akiya (empty, disused or abandoned houses) increases to nearly 15% of the nation’s housing stock, the construction of new dwellings continues remorselessly. In 2024, more than 790,000 were built, due partly to Japan’s changing population distribution and household composition. Alongside these come roads, shopping malls, sports facilities, car parks and Japan’s ubiquitous convenience stores. All in all, wildlife has less space and fewer niches to inhabit, despite there being fewer people.
What can be done?
Data shows deepening depopulation in Japan and north-east Asia. Fertility rates remain low in most developed countries. Immigration provides only a short-term softer landing, as countries currently supplying migrants, such as Vietnam, are also on course for depopulation.
Our research demonstrates that biodiversity recovery needs to be actively managed, especially in depopulating areas. Despite this there are only a few rewilding projects in Japan. To help these develop, local authorities could be given powers to convert disused land into locally managed community conservancies.
Nature depletion is a systemic risk to global economic stability. Ecological risks, such as fish stock declines or deforestation, need better accountability from governments and corporations. Rather than spend on more infrastructure for an ever-dwindling population, for example, Japanese companies could invest in growing local natural forests for carbon credits.
Depopulation is emerging as a 21st-century global megatrend. Handled well, depopulation could help reduce the world’s most pressing environmental problems, including resource and energy use, emissions and waste, and nature conservation. But it needs to be actively managed for those opportunities to be realised.
Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?
Kei Uchida received funding from JSPS Kakenhi 20K20002.
Masayoshi K. Hiraiwa 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.
When asked what MAGA means to him, Trump, in a 2017 interview with The Washington Post said, “To me, it meant jobs. It meant industry, and meant military strength. It meant taking care of our veterans. It meant so much.”
But Democratic leaders have a different interpretation of the slogan.
Former President Bill Clinton in 2016 said of MAGA: “That message where ‘I’ll give you America great again’ is if you’re a white Southerner, you know exactly what it means, don’t you? What it means is ‘I’ll give you an economy you had 50 years ago, and I’ll move you back up on the social totem pole and other people down.”
While MAGA is ubiquitous, little is known about what it means to the American public. Ten years on, what do Americans think when they hear or read this phrase?
Based on the analysis of Americans’ explanations of what “Make America Great Again” means to them, we found evidence suggesting that the public’s views of MAGA mirror the perspectives offered by both Trump and Clinton.
Republicans interpret this phrase as a call for the renewal of the U.S. economy and military might, as well as a return to “traditional” values, especially those relating to gender roles and gender identities. Democrats, we found, view MAGA as a call for a return to white supremacy and growing authoritarianism.
Donald Trump rides an escalator to a press event to announce his candidacy for the U.S. presidency at Trump Tower on June 16, 2015, in New York City. Christopher Gregory/Getty Images
The survey question was open-ended, allowing respondents to define this phrase in any way they saw fit. We used AI-based thematic analysis and qualitative reading of the responses to better understand how Democrats and Republicans define the slogan.
For our AI-based thematic analysis, we instructed ChatGPT to provide three overarching themes most touched upon by Democratic and Republican respondents. This approach follows recent research demonstrating that, when properly instructed, ChatGPT reliably identifies broad themes in collections of texts.
Republican interpretation of MAGA
Our analysis shows that Republicans view the slogan as representing the “American dream.” In part, MAGA is about restoring the nation’s pride and economic strength. Reflecting these themes, one Republican respondent wrote that MAGA means “encouraging manufacturers to hire Americans and strengthen the economy. Making the USA self-sufficient as it once was.”
MAGA is also closely related among Republicans with an “America First” policy. This is partly about having a strong military – a common theme among Republican respondents – and “making America the superpower” again, one respondent wrote.
Republicans also wrote that putting America first means emphasizing strict enforcement of immigration laws against “illegals” and cutting off foreign aid. For example, one Republican respondent said that MAGA meant “stopping illegals at the border, ending freebies for illegals, adding more police and building a strong military.”
Finally, Republicans see the slogan as calling for a return to “traditional” values. They expressed a strong desire to reverse cultural shifts that Republican respondents perceive as a threat.
As one Republican put it, MAGA “means going back to where men would join the military, women were home raising healthy minded children and it was easy to be successful, the crime rate was extremely low and it used to be safe for kids to hang out on the streets with other kids and even walk themselves places.”
Another Republican made the connection between MAGA and traditional gender roles even more explicit, highlighting the link between MAGA and opposition to transgender rights: “MAGA people know there are only 2 sexes and a man can never be a woman. If you believe otherwise you are destroying AMERICA.”
A banner showing a picture of President Donald Trump is displayed outside of the U.S. Department of Agriculture building on June 3, 2025, in Washington, D.C. Kevin Carter/Getty Images
Democratic MAGA views
Democrats have a very different understanding of the MAGA slogan. Many Democrats view MAGA as a white supremacist movement designed to protect the status of white people and undermine the civil rights of marginalized groups.
One Democrat argued that “‘Make America Great Again’ is a standard borne by people who’ve seen a decrease in the potency of their privilege (see: cisgendered white men) and wish to see their privilege restored or strengthened. In essence, it’s a chant for all racist, fascist and otherwise bigoted actors to unite under.”
Another Democrat wrote that MAGA was a call to “take us backwards as a society in regards to women’s, minority’s, and LGBTQ people’s rights … It would take us to a time when only White men ruled.”
Democrats also view MAGA as a form of nostalgia for a heavily mythologized past. Many Democratic respondents described the past longed for by Republicans as a “myth” or “fairytale.” Others argued that this mythologized past, though appealing on the surface, was repressive for many Americans.
One Democrat said that MAGA meant “returning America to a fantasy version of the past with the goal of advancing the success of white, straight, wealthy men by any means necessary and almost always to the detriment of other segments of the population.”
A person holds a ‘Trump won’t erase us’ sign while walking in the WorldPride Parade on June 7, 2025, in Washington, D.C. Kevin Carter/Getty Images
Finally, many Democrats interpret the slogan as reflecting an authoritarian cult of personality. In this vein, a Democratic respondent said of MAGA, “It’s a call to arms for MAGA cult members, who believe that Trump and the Republicans party will somehow improve their lives by targeting people and policies they don’t like, even when it is against their best interests and any rational thought process.”
While some Republicans expressed racist, xenophobic or anti-trans sentiments in their understanding of MAGA, some Democrats revealed outright condescension toward MAGA believers.
“The MAGA’s are brainwashed, idiotic members of society who know nothing more than to follow the lead of an idiotic president who has the vocabulary of a 3rd grader,” one Democrat wrote. “It is nonsense idiots parrot,” another respondent said.
In all, in the 10 years since Donald Trump burst onto the political scene, much has been written about the conflicting visions of past, present and future at the heart of America’s partisan divisions.
With the Trump administration’s proclaimed commitment to return the U.S. to its “golden age” and a strong resistance to his efforts, only time will tell which vision of America will prevail.
Jesse Rhodes has received funding from the National Science Foundation, the Spencer Foundation, and Demos. He is a member of the American Civil Liberties Union.
Douglas Rice has received funding from the National Science Foundation.
Adam Eichen, Gregory Wall, and Tatishe Nteta do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Ancient wooden tools found at a site in Gantangqing in southwestern China are approximately 300,000 years old, new dating has shown. Discovered during excavations carried out in 2014–15 and 2018–19, the tools have now been dated by a team of archaeologists, geologists, chronologists (including me) and paleontologists.
The rare wooden tools were found alongside an assortment of animal and plant fossils and stone artifacts.
Taken together, the finds suggest the early humans at Gantangqing were surprisingly sophisticated woodworkers who lived in a rich tropical or subtropical environment where they subsisted by harvesting plants from a nearby lake.
The location of the Gantangqing site and excavation trenches. Liu et al. / Science
Why ancient wooden tools are so rare
Wood usually decomposes relatively rapidly due to microbial activity, oxidation, and weathering. Unlike stone or bone, it rarely survives more than a few centuries.
Wood can only survive for thousands of years or longer if it ends up buried in unusual conditions. Wood can last a long time in oxygen-free environments or extremely dry areas. Charred or fire-hardened wood is also more durable.
At Gantangqing, the wooden objects were excavated from low-oxygen clay-heavy layers of sediment formed on the ancient shoreline of Fuxian Lake.
Wooden implements are extremely rare from the Early Palaeolithic period (the first part of the “stone age” from around 3.3 million years ago until 300,000 years ago or so, in which our hominin ancestors first began to use tools). Indeed, wooden tools more than even 50,000 years old are virtually absent outside Africa and western Eurasia.
As a result, we may have a skewed understanding of Palaeolithic cultures. We may overemphasise the role of stone tools, for example, because they are what has survived.
What wooden tools were found at Gantangqing?
The new excavations at Gantangqing found 35 wooden specimens identified as artificially modified tools. These tools were primarily manufactured from pine wood, with a minority crafted from hardwoods.
Some of the tools had rounded ends, while others had chisel-like thin blades or ridged blades. Of the 35 tools, 32 show marks of intentional modification at their tips, working edges, or bases.
Two large digging implements were identified as heavy-duty digging sticks designed for two-handed use. These are unique forms of digging implements not documented elsewhere, suggesting localised functional adaptations. There were also four distinct hook-shaped tools — likely used for cutting roots — and a series of smaller tools for one-handed use.
Nineteen of the tools showed microscopic traces of scraping from shaping or use, while 17 exhibit deliberately polished surfaces. We also identified further evidence of intensive use, including soil residues stuck to tool tips, parallel grooves or streaks along working edges, and characteristic fracture wear patterns.
The tools from Gantangqing are more complete and show a wider range of functions than those found at contemporary sites such as Clacton in the UK and Florisbad in South Africa.
The team used several techniques to figure out the age of the wooden tools. There is no way to determine their age directly, but we can date the sediment in which they were found.
Using a technique called infrared stimulated luminescence, we analysed more than 10,000 individual grains of minerals from different layers. This showed the sediment was deposited roughly between 350,000 and 200,000 years ago.
Dating the different layers of sediment excavated at the site produced a detailed timeline. Liu et al. / Science
We also used different techniques to date a mammal tooth found in one of the layers to roughly 288,000 years old. This was consistent with the mineral results.
Next we used mathematical modelling to bring all the dating results together. Our model indicated that the layers containing stone tools and wooden implements date from 360–300,000 years ago to 290–250,000 years ago.
What was the environment like?
Our research indicates the ancient humans at Gantangqing inhabited a warm, humid, tropical or subtropical environment. Pollen extracted from the sediments reveals 40 plant families that confirm this climate.
Plant fossils further verify the presence of subtropical-to-tropical flora dominated by trees, lianas, shrubs and herbs. Wet-environment plants show the local surroundings were a lakeside or wetlands.
Animal fossils also fit this picture, including rhinoceros and other mammals, turtles and various birds. The ecosystem was likely a mosaic of grassland, thickets and forests. Evidence of diving ducks confirms the lake must have been at least 2–3 metres deep during human occupation.
The site contained evidence of plants such as storable pine nuts and hazelnuts, fruit trees such as kiwi, raspberry-like berries, grapes, edible herbs and fern fronds.
There were also aquatic plants that would have provided edible leaves, seeds, tubers and rhizomes. These were likely dug up from shallow mud near the shore, using wooden tools.
These findings suggest the Gantangqing hominins may have made expeditions to the lake shore, carrying purpose-made wooden digging sticks to harvest underground food sources. To do this, they would have had to anticipate seasonal plant distributions, know exactly what parts of different plants were edible, and produce specialised tools for different tasks.
Why the Gantangqing site is important
The wooden implements from Gantangqing represent the earliest known evidence for the use of digging sticks and for the exploitation of underground plant storage organs such as tubers within the Oriental biogeographic realm. Our discovery shows the use of sophisticated wood technology in a very different environmental context from what has been seen at sites of similar age in Europe and Africa.
The find significantly expands our understanding of early hominin woodworking capabilities.
The hominins who lived at Gantangqing appear to have lived a heavily plant-based subsistence lifestyle. This is in contrast to colder, more northern settings where tools of similar age have been found (such as Schöningen in Germany), where hunting large mammals was the key to survival.
The site also shows how important wood – and perhaps other organic materials – were to “stone age” hominins. These wooden artifacts show far more sophisticated manufacturing skill than the relative rudimentary stone tools found at sites of similar age across East and Southeast Asia.
The excavation, curation, and research of the Gantangqing site were supported by
National Cultural Heritage Administration (China), Yunnan Provincial Institute of
Cultural Relics and Archaeology, Yuxi Municipal Bureau of Culture and Tourism,
Chengjiang Municipal Bureau of Culture and Tourism, Australian Research Council
(ARC) Discovery Projects, Strategic Priority Research Program of the Chinese
Academy of Sciences, Hong Kong Research Grants Council (RGC), National Natural
Science Foundation of China (NSFC).
The U.S. Capitol is seen shortly after the Senate passed its version of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act on July 1, 2025. Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images
As the U.S. House of Representatives voted to approve President Donald Trump’s sweeping domestic tax and spending package, many critics are wondering how the president retained the loyalty of so many congressional Republicans, with so few defections.
Just three Republican senators – the maximum allowed for the One Big Beautiful Bill Act to still pass – voted against the Senate version of the bill on July 1, 2025. In the House, only two Republicans voted against the bill, which passed the chamber on July 3.
Trump is not the first president to bend Congress to his will to get legislation approved.
Presidential supremacy over the legislative process has been on the rise for decades. But contrary to popular belief, lawmakers are not always simply voting based on blind partisanship.
Increasingly, politicians in the same political party as a president are voting in line with the president because their political futures are as tied up with the president’s reputation as they have ever been.
Even when national polling indicates a policy is unpopular – as is the case with Trump’s budget reconciliation bill, which an estimated 55% of American voters said in June they oppose, according to Quinnipiac University polling – lawmakers in the president’s party have serious motivation to follow the president’s lead.
Or else they risk losing reelection.
Speaker of the House Mike Johnson speaks to reporters at the Capitol building on July 3, 2025. Alex Wong/Getty Images
Lawmakers increasingly partisan on presidential policy
Over the past 50 years, lawmakers in the president’s party have increasingly supported the president’s position on legislation that passes Congress. Opposition lawmakers, meanwhile, are increasingly united against the president’s position.
These patterns are unheard of in the modern Congress. In 2022, for example – a year of significant legislative achievement for the Biden administration – the Democratic majority in Congress voted the same way as the Democratic president 99% of the time. Republicans, meanwhile, voted with Biden just 19% of the time.
Elections can tell us why
Over the past half-century, the two major parties have changed dramatically, both in the absolutist nature of their beliefs and in relation to one another.
Both parties used to be more mixed in their ideological outlooks, for example, with conservative Democrats and liberal Republicans playing key roles in policymaking. This made it easier to form cross-party coalitions, either with or against the president.
A few decades ago, Democrats and Republicans were also less geographically polarized from each other. Democrats were regularly elected to congressional seats in the South, for example, even if those districts supported Republican presidents such as Nixon or Ronald Reagan.
These changes have ushered in a larger phenomenon called political nationalization, in which local political considerations, issues and candidate qualifications have taken a back seat to national politics.
Ticket splitting
From the 1960s through most of the 1980s, between one-quarter and one-half of all congressional districts routinely split tickets – meaning they sent a politician of one party to Congress while supporting a different party for president.
These are the same few districts in Nebraska and New York, for example, that supported former Vice President Kamala Harris for president in 2024 but which also elected a Republican candidate to the House that same year.
Since the Reagan years, however, these types of districts that could simultaneously support a Democratic presidential nominee and Republicans for Congress have gone nearly extinct. Today, only a handful of districts split their tickets, and all other districts select the same party for both offices.
The past two presidential elections, in 2020 and 2024, set the same record low for ticket splitting. Just 16 out of 435 House districts voted for different parties for the House of Representatives and president.
Members of Congress follow their voters
The political success of members of Congress has become increasingly tied up with the success or failure of the president. Because nearly all Republicans hail from districts and states that are very supportive of Trump and his agenda, following the will of their voters increasingly means being supportive of the president’s agenda.
Not doing so risks blowback from their Trump-supporting constituents. A June 2025 Quinnipiac University poll found that 67% of Republicans support the bill, while 87% of Democrats oppose it.
These electoral considerations also help explain the unanimous opposition to Trump’s legislation by the Democrats, nearly all of whom represent districts and states that did not support Trump in 2024.
Thanks to party polarization in ideologies, geography and in the electorate, few Democrats could survive politically while strongly supporting Trump. And few Republicans could do so while opposing him.
But as the importance to voters of mere presidential support increases, the importance of members’ skill in fighting for issues unique to their districts has decreased. This can leave important local concerns about, for example, unique local environmental issues or declining economic sectors unspoken for. At the very least, members have less incentive to speak for them.
Charlie Hunt 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.
The U.S. Capitol is seen shortly after the Senate passed its version of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act on July 1, 2025. Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images
As the U.S. House of Representatives voted to approve President Donald Trump’s sweeping domestic tax and spending package, many critics are wondering how the president retained the loyalty of so many congressional Republicans, with so few defections.
Just three Republican senators – the maximum allowed for the One Big Beautiful Bill Act to still pass – voted against the Senate version of the bill on July 1, 2025. In the House, only two Republicans voted against the bill, which passed the chamber on July 3.
Trump is not the first president to bend Congress to his will to get legislation approved.
Presidential supremacy over the legislative process has been on the rise for decades. But contrary to popular belief, lawmakers are not always simply voting based on blind partisanship.
Increasingly, politicians in the same political party as a president are voting in line with the president because their political futures are as tied up with the president’s reputation as they have ever been.
Even when national polling indicates a policy is unpopular – as is the case with Trump’s budget reconciliation bill, which an estimated 55% of American voters said in June they oppose, according to Quinnipiac University polling – lawmakers in the president’s party have serious motivation to follow the president’s lead.
Or else they risk losing reelection.
Speaker of the House Mike Johnson speaks to reporters at the Capitol building on July 3, 2025. Alex Wong/Getty Images
Lawmakers increasingly partisan on presidential policy
Over the past 50 years, lawmakers in the president’s party have increasingly supported the president’s position on legislation that passes Congress. Opposition lawmakers, meanwhile, are increasingly united against the president’s position.
These patterns are unheard of in the modern Congress. In 2022, for example – a year of significant legislative achievement for the Biden administration – the Democratic majority in Congress voted the same way as the Democratic president 99% of the time. Republicans, meanwhile, voted with Biden just 19% of the time.
Elections can tell us why
Over the past half-century, the two major parties have changed dramatically, both in the absolutist nature of their beliefs and in relation to one another.
Both parties used to be more mixed in their ideological outlooks, for example, with conservative Democrats and liberal Republicans playing key roles in policymaking. This made it easier to form cross-party coalitions, either with or against the president.
A few decades ago, Democrats and Republicans were also less geographically polarized from each other. Democrats were regularly elected to congressional seats in the South, for example, even if those districts supported Republican presidents such as Nixon or Ronald Reagan.
These changes have ushered in a larger phenomenon called political nationalization, in which local political considerations, issues and candidate qualifications have taken a back seat to national politics.
Ticket splitting
From the 1960s through most of the 1980s, between one-quarter and one-half of all congressional districts routinely split tickets – meaning they sent a politician of one party to Congress while supporting a different party for president.
These are the same few districts in Nebraska and New York, for example, that supported former Vice President Kamala Harris for president in 2024 but which also elected a Republican candidate to the House that same year.
Since the Reagan years, however, these types of districts that could simultaneously support a Democratic presidential nominee and Republicans for Congress have gone nearly extinct. Today, only a handful of districts split their tickets, and all other districts select the same party for both offices.
The past two presidential elections, in 2020 and 2024, set the same record low for ticket splitting. Just 16 out of 435 House districts voted for different parties for the House of Representatives and president.
Members of Congress follow their voters
The political success of members of Congress has become increasingly tied up with the success or failure of the president. Because nearly all Republicans hail from districts and states that are very supportive of Trump and his agenda, following the will of their voters increasingly means being supportive of the president’s agenda.
Not doing so risks blowback from their Trump-supporting constituents. A June 2025 Quinnipiac University poll found that 67% of Republicans support the bill, while 87% of Democrats oppose it.
These electoral considerations also help explain the unanimous opposition to Trump’s legislation by the Democrats, nearly all of whom represent districts and states that did not support Trump in 2024.
Thanks to party polarization in ideologies, geography and in the electorate, few Democrats could survive politically while strongly supporting Trump. And few Republicans could do so while opposing him.
But as the importance to voters of mere presidential support increases, the importance of members’ skill in fighting for issues unique to their districts has decreased. This can leave important local concerns about, for example, unique local environmental issues or declining economic sectors unspoken for. At the very least, members have less incentive to speak for them.
Charlie Hunt 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.
In the build-up to the 2024 election, Keir Starmer worked hard to show that his party could run Britain better than the Tories. He promised his government would offer stability after years of chaos – but also change. He stood for honesty but also a technocratic approach that resisted the easy answers of the populist right. The grown ups would be back in charge.
A year on, as he marks his first year in office, we might ask: how much difference did Labour’s 2024 election win make in the longer trajectory of British life? Are historians in future likely to say (as they often do about the 1945 and 1979 elections) that it led to political and social transformation?
Of course, it’s too early to say for certain, but not too early to look for signs.
In electoral terms, Labour gained a stonking 174-seat majority in 2024. But this victory came off the back of a remarkably slim vote share of 33.7% in an election with a near-historically low turnout. That suggests an emotional connection had not been made with the electorate (although it also reflected the way that the traditional two-party system is falling apart).
This result has defined Labour since then. It is a government that is undoubtedly in power but with a leader who few really understand. At a conference on the Starmer government held at Anglia Ruskin University in June 2025, I asked the audience how many could produce a one-sentence summary of what the government’s ideology was. Only a few felt they could do so.
In July 2024, Labour promised change. But what did “change” mean? Starmer’s Labour has failed to really spell out its sense of purpose. Starmer admits that he finds ideas difficult. In this sense (and this sense alone) he resembles President George H.W. Bush, who admitted he had trouble with the “vision thing”.
Starmer looks for solutions to particular problems rather than offering a view of the kind of Britain he wants to create. Without some kind of clear ideological purpose, however, the government ends up merely reacting to events whereas it should be shaping the narrative.
The good, the bad, and the not-very-Labour
When Labour returned to power in 1945, 1964 and 1997, there had been extensive discussions about the direction of Labour policy and how it could change society. In 1945, Clement Attlee’s focus was on welfare. Harold Wilson in 1964 drew on Tony Crosland’s revisionist approach to socialism, while in 1997 Tony Blair promised a “third way” in politics, reflecting the ideas of intellectuals such as Anthony Giddens.
This openness to new ideas barely happened between 2020 and 2024 beyond a sense that Labour needed to re-connect with the “red wall” voters it had lost.
On top of this, the government has become known for doing some remarkably un-Labour things. In September 2024, it changed the rules on winter fuel benefits to limit them to only some pensioners (although it has since partially backtracked under immense pressure from Labour MPs).
It continues to resist calls to abolish the two child-benefit cap that restricts some forms of support to families with a maximum of two children, despite clear evidence that doing so is an easy way to reduce child poverty. Most catastrophically, it has been humiliated by a backbench rebellion which forced it to gut its welfare bill.
The government claims it is having to correct the dismal economic inheritance left by the Tories, preventing it from splashing the cash in the way Labour supporters want. Chancellor of the exchequer Rachel Reeves talks about “hard choices” in order to show how disciplined Labour is, thus hopefully reassuring investors and the bond market.
The result was the winter fuel payment crisis, which (despite a u-turn) threatens to become Labour’s poll tax – an iconic policy the electorate refuses to forgive.
Starmer and Reeves demonstrated very limited understanding of the politics of this decision: they seemed prepared to hurt poorer people while apparently leaving the wealthy largely untouched.
Starmer would argue that his government’s ideology has been expressed through its five missions, the most important of which is to stimulate economic growth. The June 2025 spending review was aimed at directing investment particularly towards the north of England and building infrastructure, including investment in transport. The government has also retained its focus on getting to net zero (which suggests a degree of radicalism).
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Another mission that is also more obviously Labour in character is rebuilding the NHS, particularly by reducing waiting lists. Breaking down barriers to opportunity (another mission) has led to investment in education and the creation of breakfast clubs so that all children start the day properly fed.
Labour still talks the language of class, recognising how poorer people face obstacles. Similarly, the focus on stopping crime and making Britain’s streets safe has echoes of both Jim Callaghan and Tony Blair. The government’s preparedness (so far) to negotiate increased pay awards in the public sector also suggests a distinctive Labour approach – evidence that it is not simply offering austerity-lite. Starmer has even started the process of renationalising the railways.
Despite claims that it is maintaining austerity, the government has increased public expenditure by the highest level in decades. In that sense, the 2024 election has led to a new direction for the country.
Labour can make the claim that it is building a state that can respond to the demands of an ageing population, in a challenging global environment, who will be affected by the results of climate change. This (in one sentence) should be its message.
A familiar refrain
If we look at the new government in historical perspective, we should note that it is not unusual for people to complain that Labour lacks ideology or a moral purpose: such things were said about every prime minister the party has produced, from Ramsay MacDonald onwards. Starmer may well seem better in retrospect.
The overall impression of the prime minister, however, is that he is consumed by caution. Much of the time his government seems to chase the talking points put out by Reform UK, the best example being the “island of strangers” speech.
It may be that future historians will argue that the real significance of the 2024 election was not Labour’s capture of seats but the way it exposed the latent support for Nigel Farage’s new party that had been building across the country. However, there are still several years to recover this legacy, should Starmer commit to learning from the mistakes made in the first year of his tenure.
Rohan McWilliam is affiliated with The Labour Party (ordinary member).
Now imagine living that kind of isolation all the time.
For millions of Americans with serious mental health conditions, being unable to engage in meaningful activities is not just a temporary crisis – it’s daily life.
Community inclusion refers to everyone’s right to participate in meaningful social roles. This includes working, going to school, practicing one’s faith or simply connecting with others in shared activities.
Yet, for the estimated 15.4 million U.S. adults living with significant mental health conditions – about 6% of the adult population – community inclusion is far from guaranteed. Compared with the general population, they are far less likely to be involved in social activities that bring purpose and connection, as well as health benefits.
I am a psychologist who has worked in inpatient and outpatient psychiatric settings, and I directed a federally funded research and training center at Temple University in Philadelphia for more than 20 years that focuses on independent living and participation of people with serious mental illnesses.
My colleagues and I have conducted research which demonstrates that people with such conditions want to participate in their community just like everyone else. We also found that they can do so – with proper supports like medications, therapy, rehabilitation services and communities making reasonable accommodations for them. And furthermore, they should: Community inclusion is good for their health.
Benefits of community life
Community involvement gets people with mental illness out of bed and out of the house. It encourages movement and activity, which enhances physical health.
Some people may assume that people with severe mental illnesses are restricted from active participation in their communities solely due to the mental health symptoms themselves.
For example, they might think that cognitive issues related to schizophrenia make it too difficult for people to work or go to school; or that mania, anxiety and depression prevent them from having good relationships with others.
But environment also plays a major role.
The social model of disability suggests that people are not disabled by their diagnosis. Instead, they experience a disability through limitations in their communities because of physical, structural and social barriers.
For example, someone with anxiety or depression may be penalized in a college class that deducts points for students who do not speak up.
A person with a disability that causes fluctuating moods or low energy might not succeed in a rigid nine-to-five job without accommodations.
And a churchgoer who talks to themselves or has to walk around during services because their medications make them jittery – a condition called akathisia – or who is known to have been diagnosed with schizophrenia might be asked to leave because their presence makes others uncomfortable.
The result is that people are unable to participate not simply because of an impairment, but because of an environment that does not accommodate or appreciate their unique attributes.
Helping people with mental illness rejoin community life
Some programs here in Pennsylvania are working to change that.
Education Plus helps Philadelphia residents with mental health conditions complete college and financial aid application forms, obtain school accommodations for their disability, and develop good study habits or learn to ask for help from their instructors.
Pathways to Housing PA offers transitional job opportunities to people who have been homeless, and organizes picnics, trips to Phillies baseball games and other fun activities that create a sense of community belonging.
A voter access initiative at an inpatient psychiatric facility in Pennsylvania helps patients check their voter registration status, register to vote and apply for mail-in ballots.
The nonprofit Compeer in suburban Philadelphia connects community volunteers to people with mental illnesses to engage in mutual leisure or educational interests. This oftentimes leads to long-term friendships.
And a current study I am conducting is examining ways to support faith communities in Montgomery County to be more welcoming and embracing of individuals with mental illnesses.
Family members, friends and mental health professionals can simply ask people with mental illnesses about their interests – whether it’s employment, going to school, dating or making new friends – and then encourage and support them in pursuing those interests.
Creating inclusive communities means not just offering services to people with serious mental illness, but also changing negative beliefs and behaviors toward them. This includes embracing people who might express emotions differently, require flexibility or simply behave in ways we’re not used to.
For example, say you’re in a coffee shop and encounter a person who is muttering to themselves and may not have bathed in a few days. Maybe you make eye contact, smile and say hello. Certainly reconsider complaining.
It takes empathy, open-mindedness and patience to create a community that welcomes people with mental illness and increases the likelihood that they can participate in society like everyone else.
Mark Salzer receives funding from the National Institute on Disabilities, Independent Living, and Rehabilitation Research. He previously served on the Board of Directors for Pathways to Housing PA and works closely with Horizon House, including in the development of the Education Plus program mentioned in the article.
The greenhouse effect was discovered more than 150 years ago and the first scientific paper linking carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere with climate change was published in 1896.
But it wasn’t until the 1950s that scientists could definitively detect the effect of human activities on the Earth’s atmosphere.
In 1956, United States scientist Charles Keeling chose Hawaii’s Mauna Loa volcano for the site of a new atmospheric measuring station. It was ideal, located in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and at high altitude away from the confounding influence of population centres.
Data collected by Mauna Loa from 1958 onward let us clearly see the evidence of climate change for the first time. The station samples the air and measures global CO₂ levels. Charles Keeling and his successors used this data to produce the famous Keeling curve – a graph showing carbon dioxide levels increasing year after year.
But this precious record is in peril. US President Donald Trump has decided to defund the observatory recording the data, as well as the widespread US greenhouse gas monitoring network and other climate measuring sites.
We can’t solve the existential problem of climate change if we can’t track the changes. Losing Mauna Loa would be a huge loss to climate science. If it shuts, other observatories such as Australia’s Kennaook/Cape Grim will become even more vital.
The first year of measurements at Mauna Loa revealed something incredible. For the first time, the clear annual cycle in atmospheric CO₂ was visible. As plants grow in summer, they absorb CO₂ and draw it out of the atmosphere. As they die and decay in winter, the CO₂ returns to the atmosphere. It’s like Earth is breathing.
Most land on Earth is in the Northern Hemisphere, which means this cycle is largely influenced by the northern summer and winter.
The annual cycle of carbon dioxide is largely due to plant growth and decay in the northern hemisphere.
It only took a few years of measurements before an even more profound pattern emerged.
Year on year, CO₂ levels in the atmosphere were relentlessly rising. The natural in-out cycle continued, but against a steady increase.
Scientists would later figure out that the ocean and land together were absorbing almost half of the CO₂ produced by humans. But the rest was building up in the atmosphere.
Crucially, isotopic measurements meant scientists could be crystal clear about the origin of the extra carbon dioxide. It was coming from humans, largely through burning fossil fuels.
Mauna Loa has now been collecting data for more than 65 years. The resulting Keeling curve graph is the most iconic demonstration of how human activities are collectively affecting the planet.
When the last of the Baby Boomer generation were being born in the 1960s, CO₂ levels were around 320 parts per million. Now they’re over 420 ppm. That’s a level unseen for at least three million years. The rate of increase far exceeds any natural change in the past 50 million years.
The reason carbon dioxide is so important is that this molecule has special properties. Its ability to trap heat alongside other greenhouse gases means Earth isn’t a frozen rock. If there were no greenhouse gases, Earth would have an average temperature of -18°C, rather than the balmy 14°C under which human civilisation emerged.
The greenhouse effect is essential to life. But if there are too many gases, the planet becomes dangerously hot. That’s what’s happening now – a very sharp increase in gases exceptionally good at trapping heat even at low concentrations.
Greenhouse gases are the reason Earth isn’t an icebox. But the rate humans are emitting them is leading to very rapid changes. Reid Wiseman/NASA, CC BY-NC-ND
Keeping our eyes open
It’s not enough to know CO₂ is climbing. Monitoring is essential. That’s because as the planet warms, both the ocean and the land are expected to take up less and less of humanity’s emissions, letting still more carbon accumulate in the air.
Continuous, high-precision monitoring is the only way to spot if and when that happens.
This monitoring provides the vital means to verify whether new climate policies are genuinely influencing the atmospheric CO₂ curve rather than just being touted as effective. Monitoring will also be vital to capture the moment many have been working towards when government policies and new technologies finally slow and eventually stop the increase in CO₂.
The US administration’s plans to defund key climate monitoring systems and roll back green energy initiatives presents a global challenge.
Without these systems, it will be harder to forecast the weather and give seasonal updates. It will also be harder to forecast dangerous extreme weather events.
Scientists in the US and globally have sounded the alarm about what the closure would do to science. This is understandable. Stopping data climate collection is like breaking a thermometer because you don’t like knowing you’ve got a fever.
If the US follows through, other countries will need to carefully reconsider their commitments to gathering and sharing climate data.
Australia has a long record of direct atmospheric CO₂ measurement, which began in 1976 at the Kennaook/Cape Grim Baseline Air Pollution Station in north-west Tasmania. This and other climate observations will only become more valuable if Mauna Loa is lost.
It remains to be seen how Australia’s leaders respond to the US retreat from climate monitoring. Ideally, Australia would not only maintain but strategically expand its monitoring systems of atmosphere, land and oceans.
Alex Sen Gupta receives funding from the Australian Research Council.
Katrin Meissner receives funding from the Minderoo Foundation and has received funding from the Australian Research Council in the past.
Timothy Raupach receives funding from QBE Insurance, Guy Carpenter, and the Australian Research Council.
The trend for naming summers has become something of a cultural phenomenon. Think for example of 2019, which was branded a “hot girl summer”, inspired by rapper Megan Thee Stallion’s song.
In 2021 there was the much-ridiculed “white boy summer” (named after a song of the same name by Tom Hanks’s son, Chet). Then 2022 was “feral girl summer” and 2024, of course, was a “brat summer”, after Charli XCX’s cultural phenomenon album Brat.
And this summer? Well, with the likes of Oasis, Pulp, Supergrass, Suede, Shed Seven and Cast all playing UK dates between June and August, it’s “Britpop summer”, of course. The question is, though, whether these names are actually (and accurately) representing the zeitgeist, or if they are just the result of savvy marketing strategies.
Such things may now be occurring more frequently, but they’re nothing new. The year 1967 was famously coined “the summer of love”, a moniker supposedly invented by the Californian local government to put a positive spin on the druggy, hairy, hippy gatherings taking place across the state.
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Such un-psychedelic appetites also spilled over into mainstream music. Although it’s now the UK’s bestselling album ever, in 1967, The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was only the sixth-biggest album of the year in terms of sales. It was bested by the very suitably non-flower-power Herb Alpert, The Monkees and The Sound of Music soundtrack.
The same year, 1967, also saw the “best double-A side ever released”, The Beatles’ Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields Forever. It was kept off the number one spot by Engelbert Humperdinck’s Please Release Me.
Inside the so-called ‘second summer of love’.
It seems, then, that for most of the British public, it was less a “summer of love” and more a “summer of Humperdinck”. Fast-forward five decades, and we see the same kinds of things happening. The year 2019 was a “hot girl summer”, Megan Thee Stallion’s song only peaked at 40 in the UK singles charts and her gigs sold poorly.
Like our “summer of Humperdinck”, were such things based on popularity, we may have expected a “Sheeran summer”, with Ed Sheeran’s duet with Justin Bieber, I Don’t Care, dominating the charts and airwaves.
Pulp performed a secret set at Glastonbury 2025 to huge crowds.
We may all have become more cynical in the intervening years, but in the midst of another heatwave, with Pulp at Glastonbury, and the Gallaghers reunited, it does feel like there’s something in the air again.
Indeed, standing among tens of thousands of fellow music fans in the sweltering heat watching Jarvis Cocker strutting his gangly stuff, if I ignored the grey in his beard, the iPhones in the crowd, and the aching in my legs, it could have been the nineties all over again.
Britpop summer? I’m all for it. And maybe this will be one time that the name really does represent the nation’s mood.
Glenn Fosbraey 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.
Somalia ranks among the lowest scoring countries in the United Nations Human Development Index. The index of 195 countries is a summary measure of average achievement in key dimensions of human development: a long and healthy life, years of schooling, and access to a decent standard of living. Ali A. Abdi, a scholar of social development education, examines Somalia’s failure to advance social development programmes.
What is socio-economic development and how does Somalia stack up?
Despite the pomp and circumstance, though, the country’s social development indicators are dismal.
Social development generally means visible improvements in the quality of life. People’s well-being is based on aspects of national progress like:
universally available good quality education and adequate healthcare
employment opportunities that generate liveable incomes and upward socioeconomic mobility
governance structures that protect people’s rights to security.
Somalia has failed to meet these human development targets.
Its low score in the UN index can be understood by looking at the statistics relating to education and health. In any society these act as foundational blocks for social development. But in Somalia:
children can expect to get an average of 1.72 years of education (the continental African average is 7.7 years)
the capital city, Mogadishu, with a population of 2.8 million, has only two fully public hospitals and they lack specialist services; patients who require specialist care must go to private hospitals
With these social development liabilities, it’s no wonder that the country is the biggest per capita producer of both global refugees and internally displaced persons.
How did Somalia come to this?
The Somali state collapsed as a cohesive national entity in 1991. The military government that had been in power since 1969 was overthrown by armed opposition forces. The country slowly fragmented into quasi-self-governing regions. Transitional national governments have come and gone.
The current federal political structure came into being in August 2012. The Federal Republic of Somalia comprised five founding member states (there are now six).
The depressed social development situation is not the only obstacle facing Somalia. Other complexities include:
A governance system built on cronyism and political loyalty: Somalia’s national political leadership entrenched cronyism. In fairness, the same selectively applies to sub-national, federal member states leadership. This corrupt system has found traction in a country where professionals, young graduates and traditional leaders lack legitimate sources of income. This undermines good governance while creating discord within and among the federal government and federal member states.
Discord at national level and between national and sub-national leaders: The most recent example of this revolves around the national leadership’s 2024 attempt to change the interim constitution. The unilaterally proposed one-person-one-vote proposal runs counter to the 2012 framework through which the current federal system was created. This has fuelled yet another national controversy with less than a year to the next presidential election.
Externally constructed political and economic interventions: Somalia receives significant international aid to address political and developmental challenges. But the strings attached include the management of these funds by external entities. These donor priorities can be detached from immediate social development needs. And aid creates and sustains dependency and entrenches poverty.
What should the government prioritise and why?
The political class always says fighting terrorism is the top policy priority. This thinking, while viable for the current situation, ignores the potential to minimise terrorism by putting the basic needs of the public first, and especially the youth.
Somali leaders are duty-bound to shift focus. A good place to start is the basis of social development: security, education and healthcare. It falls upon them to marshal the country’s resources and capacities to improve the well-being of its citizens.
The national leadership also needs to restructure its relationship with federal member states. Distribution of development resources (including foreign aid) must be fair, not based on political alliances.
Somalia also needs to reform the government’s policy on public appointments. People must get jobs based on their educational background, professional experience, incorruptible character and institutional accountability.
The country has impressive natural resources. There’s huge untapped potential for fisheries and agriculture, which is the country’s economic backbone. The country also has untapped minerals and hydrocarbons wealth.
The above observations are not to say that the federal government should lose sight of the fight against the terrorist organisations. But the welfare of people, including job creation for young people, must be equally prioritised. That will surely advance much needed social development while also reducing the appeal of terrorism among the youth.
Ali A. Abdi 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.
Speedballing – the practice of combining a stimulant like cocaine or methamphetamine with an opioid such as heroin or fentanyl – has evolved from a niche subculture to a widespread public health crisis. The practice stems from the early 1900s when World War I soldiers were often treated with a combination of cocaine and morphine.
As these dangerous combinations of drugs increasingly flood the market, I see an urgent need and opportunity for a new approach to prevention and treatment.
Why speedballing?
Dating back to the 1970s, the term speedballing originally referred to the combination of heroin and cocaine. Combining stimulants and opioids – the former’s “rush” with the latter’s calming effect – creates a dangerous physiological conflict.
According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, stimulant-involved overdose fatalities increased markedly from more than 12,000 annually in 2015 to greater than 57,000 in 2022, a 375% increase. Notably, approximately 70% of stimulant-related overdose deaths in 2022 also involved fentanyl or other synthetic opioids, reflecting the rising prevalence of polysubstance involvement in overdose mortality.
The rise in speedballing is part of a broader trend of polysubstance use in the U.S. Since 2010, overdoses involving both stimulants and fentanyl have increased 50-fold, now accounting for approximately 35,000 deaths annually.
The conflicting effects of stimulants and opioids can also exacerbate mental health issues. Users may experience heightened anxiety, depression and paranoia. The combination can also impair cognitive functions, leading to confusion and poor decision-making.
Speedballing can also lead to severe cardiovascular problems, including hypertension, heart attack and stroke. The strain on the heart and blood vessels from the stimulant, combined with the depressant effects of the opioid, increases the risk of these life-threatening conditions.
Addressing the crisis
Increasing awareness about the dangers of speedballing is crucial. I believe that educational campaigns can inform the public about the risks of combining stimulants and opioids and the potential for unintentional fentanyl exposure.
Implementing harm reduction strategies by public health officials, community organizations and health care providers, such as providing fentanyl test strips and naloxone – a medication that reverses opioid overdoses – can save lives.
These measures allow individuals to test their drugs for the presence of fentanyl and have immediate access to overdose-reversing medication. Implementing these strategies widely is crucial to reducing overdose deaths and improving community health outcomes.
Andrew Yockey 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.
In 1962, poet and Auschwitz survivor Yehiel Dinur took the stand in Jerusalem in the trial of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann. Dinur was a much-anticipated witness, bearing the audience’s hope this man, a poet, would be able to explain – to capture and to transmit – the experience of Auschwitz, and of the Holocaust; that he could speak the unspeakable. Prosecutor Gideon Hausner hoped such a witness might “do justice to the six million personal tragedies”.
Dinur used the name Katzetnik 135633 in his writings, also translated as “Prisoner 135663”. On the stand, he said: “I believe wholeheartedly that I have to continue to bear this name until the world awakens.”
Awakening, understanding, empathy and change are the sentiments many survivors hope for, or ask for, during and after periods of trauma. The 20th century saw many of those pleas. The 21st century has done no better at honouring the promise, captured in the title of the 1984 Argentinian commission report on forced disappearances, Nunca Mas: never again. No matter how many such pleas appear before the courts, before the aggressors, before those in solidarity, the horrors of war, torture, starvation and genocide seem to happen again – and again.
Three recent books from the region where war was been raging since the Hamas attacks on Israel on October 7 2023, and the ensuing war on Gaza, are part of these pleas.
Review: Eyes on Gaza – Plestia Alaqad (Macmillan), Letters from Gaza – edited by Mohammed Al-Zaqzooq & Mahmoud Alshaer (Penguin), Gates of Gaza – Amir Tibon (Scribe)
Eyes on Gaza is an on-the-ground account of the death and destruction of the first 45 days of the war by now 23-year-old Palestinian journalist Plestia Alaqad, who moved to Melbourne with her family in November 2023. Letters from Gaza is a collection of 50 stories, poems and fragments from Palestinian writers enduring the past 20 months. And Gates of Gaza is the story of Israeli journalist Amir Tibon, a resident of Nahal Oz, one of the border kibbutz attacked by Hamas on October 7.
Plestia Alaqad. Plestia
These are all first-person testimonies of experiences of being under attack, though those attacks differ. We might say they fit into the genre adopted in truth commissions, such as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa: a response to the nation’s years of living under the apartheid laws, discarded when Nelson Mandela took power in 1994.
The commission was one effort to heal from this past. But, like the Eichmann trial, it needed stories to explain the histories of violence, and it needed the pain to be voiced to explain its impacts on communities, families and relationships.
The use of people’s narratives to “bear witness” to the complex layers of legally sanctioned and militarily executed pain, loss and the traumas they can produce, is sometimes effective in helping audiences understand them. The Bringing Them Home Report in 1997 used this form to explain the incidence and impacts of the forced removal of Indigenous children by the Australian state. It was effective as one form of creating a shared reality for all in Australia, who then understood the term “stolen generations” and the pain, loss and genocidal intent to which this phrase refers.
More recently, the Yoorrook Justice Commission in Victoria, Australia’s first formal truth-telling inquiry into historic and ongoing systemic injustices perpetrated against First Nations Peoples by colonisation, has also brought histories of loss, dispossession and abuse to light, using stories. Stories can make sense of the impact incurred through the intertwined web of policies, statistics, discrimination and quotidian violence at the hands of the state.
The work of testimony
The narratives in these books written since October 7 2023 are part of this genre of testimony or storytelling. But at least two of these books are not attempting to explain the past. They might be described better as pleas to stop what the International Court of Justice has called “a plausible genocide” happening in the present.
They are, in one reading, wishes for the world to understand the experience of pain, rage, loss, fear, distress and defeat that accompanies destruction and unbearable loss. A wish for the world to hear, or perhaps feel, the words on the page – and make the pain stop.
They wish the world would “awaken” to what is happening right now.
The dynamic of awakening is the stock in trade of truth commissions. One party testifies or speaks to an experience, and the audience wakes up to what has been happening. As a result, they either change or facilitate change. The truth, captured as testimony, is supposed to set people free. Not just the speaker, but the community of speakers weighed down by history – or by the struggles of the past or the present.
In legal forms the reason to speak is clear. The reason to speak in literature, biographies and works of nonfiction is less clear. What does the author want from us, the readers? But perhaps more importantly, what can we offer?
She wants the genocide to stop. She wants a free Palestine. She wants her home and her life back. The stories in this book show readers outside Gaza some of the life and death of those first six and a half weeks.
Her last entry before she leaves Gaza for Egypt – and then Australia – is dated Day 45. During those 45 days, she puts on a press helmet and jacket, which both give her protection and weigh her down. And then she speaks: to cameras, to followers, to anyone who will listen. Her social media feeds documenting the war gained worldwide attention, her Instagram following rising from around 3,700 to 4.1 million today.
There are too many deaths to be witnessed – by her and the reader. She describes genocide as an understatement for what is occurring in Gaza: “we lose more people than our hearts can handle”. She has seen so much death, heard so many screams. By day 30,
all you can hear is a voice crying for help from under the rubble. You turn your back and walk away, because there’s nothing you can do to help.
But Plestia’s project is more than documenting death. She is careful to show many aspects of life in Gaza. She shows how Palestinians retain relationships, family and pets. How a young boy just needs his “pot plant” from his destroyed house, under skies filled with drones and bombs. This is a plea for the genocide to stop, but it is also a celebration of being Palestinian. It is an homage to life in Gaza.
It is also a plea to see Palestinians as more than numbers – and more than how they are depicted by Israel.
“The world,” she says, “sometimes treats us like terrorists, trying to justify its complacency in allowing us to be massacred. And we know the perception, we read the propaganda just like everyone else. But the reality is that we’re the opposite.”
She describes gentle moments of love and care between her fellow journalists and the people they interview. The children they bring sweets for, the “bird lady” who renames her tortoise “Plestia” after her. Both Plestia the tortoise and the “bird lady” are now living in a tent. She speaks of the doctors who work tirelessly.
In the midst of brutal amputations and unimaginable burns, she recounts the care of a doctor giving cream for a skin rash that has tormented her, diagnosed as a product of her anxiety. Anxiety seems a gentle diagnosis for symptoms produced by witnessing and documenting such brutality.
Anxiety over her helplessness, perhaps, over the lack of sleep, of nourishing food: dwindling even in those first 45 days. Anxiety seems like a Western preoccupation, from this writing distance. What Plestia experiences seems more like layers of embodied distress. Her empathy allows her to feel, perhaps too much. Empathy can be an enemy.
Around page 100, she begins to deteriorate. “It’s funny how genocide changes a person,” she writes, describing herself as “Genocide Plestia”. She’s devastated, exhausted. She has lost hope. The journal entries are shorter, more repetitive.
They recite her helplessness with what Jacqueline Rose, co-director of the Birkbeck Institute for the Humanities, has called the “repetitive thud of referentiality”.
You feel Plestia’s effort to try to speak with some life in the pages, to use writing as a therapeutic tool. You wish it for her, but she has trouble summoning the energy, the life, any hope. As she poignantly quips: “Fake it till you make it doesn’t work during a Genocide”. What is there to say in such relentless days of loss?
You want Plestia to get up, you want a happy ending, for a conclusion to the painful story, but the problem is time. The reader’s time, the reality of time since she wrote her book.
Day 45, her last day in Gaza, is Monday November 20 2023. I read this book in June 2025, 646 days later – and it hasn’t stopped. When Plestia leaves Gaza and finally arrives here in Melbourne, the conditions she describes have been ongoing for more than 20 months. A recently released survey by the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research estimates almost 84,000 people died in Gaza between October 2023 and early January 2025, as a result of the war. And that was six months ago.
50 letters from Gaza
The numbers are a way of reducing the experience of grief, devastation, loss (and the viewer’s guilt) to simple digits. Digits have no face and no sound. This is helpful to viewers, but it does not do justice to the 84,000, as Gideon Hausner knew well. No one awakens by hearing the numbers. But they matter.
In Letters from Gaza, psychologist Ahmed Mortaja fears becoming a news story, “a dull number … I don’t want my name and my family name to be reduced to mere numbers, whether odd or even”.
This book, a fragmented collection of 50 poems, stories and accounts, is devoted to giving life to those numbers. To animating the loss, so readers can apply their own imaginations, so we can understand the incomprehensible. It is a collection of fragments of lives since October 7 2023, squeezed into expressive pages. There is no “letter” more than six pages long. They are backed up against each other, permeating one another.
Each letter tells a different story and the same story. Each finds a detail that has no language: flowers in a girl’s hair, dreams of careers that will perhaps never be, the sounds of explosions. They are stories of the impossible search for bread, the longing for a bed and a pillow. And, as in Plestia’s account, they evoke the relentless buzz of the drones in the sky in Gaza: everywhere, all day, every day since October 7 2023. Like tinnitus, like torture.
The book begins with an effort to give names to numbers. On the first page, in the publisher’s note, we read that two of the authors, Sara al-Assar and Basma al-Hor, cannot be contacted. Because of communication lines and constant displacements, the details “may not reflect their current location or circumstances”. Authors may have died or been further displaced. Communication towers are destroyed. Tents are moved as people are moved on. Tents are destroyed.
In Plestia’s accounts, there are displacements to safe zones that then become unsafe, so they move again and again – until the only choice is tents, often without food or blankets. She describes seeing 33,000 people in a displacement shelter, this number increasing daily. Just as numbers are not people, tents are not homes. In Letters from Gaza, the displaced tents are character, metaphor and reality.
The stories are different, as are the deaths and losses within them, but these painful accounts help explain each other. The personal stories help animate words like displacement, refugee camp, genocide, so they do not fall into the pile of legal terms disconnected from names.
But after the United Nations declarations in the opening pages, we hear no more of law – and little of justice. As Palestinian human rights lawyer and founder of the Palestinian Centre for Human Rights, Raji Sourani said: Gaza is in danger of becoming “the graveyard of international law”. What is left are stories. The short stories, poems and brief accounts are packaged so they do not ask too much of the reader – just enough to provoke tears, and perhaps donations. Many readers will feel some of the helplessness in these pages.
There are stories of hunger; the loss of grandmothers and children. I cried many times reading this book, but the next story would quickly arrive and sometimes bring relief. There is something sad, but ordinary, about details like a cat who finds a tent too hot. Unlike Plestia’s clear analysis and summation of the genocide in Gaza, the politics of this book are comparably quiet. Not absent, but quiet. The word genocide is mentioned four times, “Holocaust” only once. (I counted.)
In Letters from Gaza, no one says Israel, only “the occupiers”. Husam Maarouf writes, “we no longer want anything from you […] Only to die in safety.” His entry is dated March 1 2024; he may well be dead. Batool Abu Akleen makes simple requests of the reader (or perhaps of God): “I want a grave, I don’t want my corpse to rot in the open road.” But the book seems to intentionally not accuse. We are told:
this is not a book about war. It is a book about human souls that strive to avoid being hunted down by war. It is about how innocents are forced to learn how to survive when everything around them is about killing, destruction and death.
But the accusation is there. How could it not be? Against Israel as occupier and aggressor – and the reader as bystander.
Accusation sometimes comes embedded in questions. “Is one person’s pain greater than another’s?” asks Gaza poet and teacher Doha Kahlout. This question resonates with one inscribed on the Holocaust Memorial Tree in Hungary: “Whose agony is greater than mine?”
When comparing agony, only one can live
Jewish author, philosopher and psychoanalyst Jessica Benjamin, writing on Palestine and Israeli peace struggles, cautions against pitting stories from Israel and Palestine against each other, such that “only one can live”. Only one story, one narrative, one version of pain and loss.
Holding multiple stories of suffering in mind is very difficult: for the survivor, for the listener and even for the psychoanalyst. Many survivors suffer symptoms of trauma that reduce the world to interpretation through their experience of its painful histories.
In Eyes of Gaza, writing from Melbourne, Plestia shows a moment of this:
On the train home, I see a lady with a suitcase, and the first thing that I think of is displacement, imagining how everyone in Gaza carries their whole life in their bag […] Then the announcement: Next Stop […] And I’m snapped back into reality.
In this moment, the suitcase is only read through the lens of the past. It’s what is described colloquially as living in the past – a type of banal flashback, often a symptom of trauma. But when pain colonises bodies and narratives, recognising the pain of others is difficult to see. It may be impossible to see the experiences of the other’s world through any other lens than one’s own pain. Whose agony is greater than mine? is a competitive statement, not a question.
In the war of greater pain, an Israeli child in fear may be read against a Palestinian child enduring the loss of their limbs and their whole family. Only one (story) can live.
To hold two competing stories of pain, loss and agony in mind requires a feat of mental health endurance few are capable of: the Nelson Mandelas of this world. Working in the field of transitional justice, I have met a few.
Most have experienced great loss and know there is no comparison at the level of agony. They resist “the repetitive thud of referentiality” because it drowns out conversation, annihilating curiosity and empathy alike. They know all stories must have their time.
In October 2023, “liberal” London Jewish journalist and filmmaker Michael Segalov, once a “staunch defender of Israel”, tried to hold competing stories. He wrote about seeing Israel–Palestine through the lens of “fear and trauma – of the Shoah, of the Nakba, of generations now born into perpetual fear”.
Early Jewish settlers were not “imperial soldiers”, but “a persecuted population failed by global governments pre and post Holocaust”, he points out. But by 1948, the year after the UN resolution that called for Palestine to be divided into Arab and Jewish states, “more than 750,000 Palestinians were made refugees, 15,000 killed”.
“While these lands might well feel a Jewish ancestral home,” he wrote, “within living memory, it was shared with another people: the majority.” In 1922, in the first census carried out under the British Mandate, the population of Palestine was 763,550: 89% were Arabs and 11% Jewish.
As Palestinian psychiatrist Eyad El Sarraj stressed while talking with Jessica Benjamin during peace negotiations, we must “stand simultaneously for the recognition of all injuries, while at the same time being clear that one side was coming from the position of Occupied and less powerful, the other Occupying and dominating”. Stories matter, politics matters.
And some stories take more time than others – some stories are given more time than others. This is a matter of politics and practicality.
Surviving the October 7 attacks
Israeli journalist Amir Tibon and his family survived the October 7 attack on Kibbutz Nahal Oz, on the Gaza border; they are now internal refugees in northern Israel. He and his partner settled in Nahal Oz and raised a family. On the morning of October 7, they heard the sounds of the attack and raced to their safe room, spending the next five hours in there trying to keep their children – Galia, 3 years old and Carmel, aged 19 months – quiet.
Amir Tibon and his family survived the Oct 7 attack on Kibbutz Nahal Oz, on the Gaza border. Scribe
In discussing Tibon’s book, Gates of Gaza: a story of betrayal, survival and hope in Israel’s borderlands, I risk comparison and competition. Sometimes stories speak to each other, even when they speak to the silences. I resisted this one’s proximity to the above stories. But that is also to resist reality. It is to resist the importance of difference. All experience is valuable, but sometimes comparison reveals inequality.
Plestia knows this well. The survivor guilt of which she writes is part of the hierarchy experienced by all survivors of mass violence. That she and her family survived, that she migrated, is to feel guilt for escaping the fate of those who have been starved, tortured, obliterated.
Yehiel Dinur spoke from this position of guilt on the stand in 1962, saying he was speaking for those who died in Auschwitz. In the face of others’ death, all survivors struggle with justification. Competition is one form of this: Whose agony is greater than mine?
Tibon was a resident of Nahal Oz, having moved there with his partner because of its beauty, nine years before October 7. He describes it as having “a strong, left-wing, liberal political leaning”, and says residents of the border areas are “some of the strongest advocates of Israeli–Palestinian peace”. He writes that the kibbutz movement has, “for decades”, been in favour of “a compromise that would allow Jews and Arabs to share this land, with agreed-upon borders – borders that, of course, would have to be protected”.
In the 300-plus pages, Tibon describes the morning of October 7 in detail. The fear of his children and his partner as they stayed quiet in a safe room for some five hours. The sounds of shootings and desperation as he read pleas and accounts from other residents on the community’s WhatsApp group as the attacks unfolded.
The narrative of that morning is interspersed with accounts from people who survived in his community: his parents, some of those who attended the Nova music festival, and Israeli Defense Force (IDF) soldiers. The narrative moves between that morning and a history of the kibbutz, framed in a history of Israel’s political lurching between right and left – and back again – over the 87 years since its recognition as a nation state by the UN.
In one reading, this is a history book of 87 years – not just an account of five hours. It is a particular history.
The narrative of those five hours is intense, peppered with stories of his parents racing from Tel Aviv to the kibbutz. Tibon’s father is a crucial figure in this narrative. A retired IDF general with “more than three decades” in the military, including combat experience, he seemingly has the capacity to assess situations and navigate a war zone with skill. It is his father who finally knocks on the “safe room” door in the afternoon (about halfway through the book). Tibon reports hearing “a strong bang and a familiar voice” from inside.
The father, we could say, is the embodiment of Tibon’s feelings for – and belief in – a strong, kind Israel. An army general, protective husband and grandfather (in Hebrew, Saba), he is longed for by Tibon’s young children, who “loved their grandparents”, particularly his father, “who pampered and spoiled them at every opportunity”. This grandfather’s presence at the safe-room door allows the family to re-enter the safety of Israel.
If the father is Israel, the sleeping children are its citizens. Carmel and Galia slept through much of the conflict, barely awakened by gunshots. They were rushed to the safe room the moment the shots were heard.
Once you know the stories from Letters of Gaza, it is hard not to compare this to the waking of Mohammed Al Zaqzooq’s three boys – Baraa, Jawad and Basil – to the sound of “Huge missiles in large numbers making terrifying sounds” and the need to flee. Not least, because Amir’s children were barely awakened by shots outside. Their safe room kept the noise muffled and the danger at bay. This is not to say their fear won’t impact on their actions later. Transgenerational trauma has a way of influencing the future.
Mohammed’s children moved quickly, within half an hour, to a refugee camp. At the time of writing, they remain there. His story is five pages long. Amir’s is 300-plus. Amir, an author and award-winning diplomatic correspondent for Haaretz, Israel’s liberal paper of record, has access to a computer, electricity and the security required to think, research and write.
But why does he write this book? In the acknowledgements, he describes himself as needing to be encouraged, unsure of the worth of telling the story of his five hours in the safe room. But he describes much more than five hours.
His book is a story of Israel – and particularly, of its informal settlements. In the early 1950s, he writes, 20 young soldiers – ten men and ten women – were taken by bus to this site to settle it. Nahal Oz is so close to Gaza, it has “agricultural lands which literally touch the border fence”. The kibbutzim functioned as a kind of human border, with increased populations: the 20 broke into couples, then families. Within a few years, they had a small farming community, with a person devoted to security.
Empty land?
This is not a story of military invasion and colonisation, however. It is a story of settlement on land represented as empty. We know this story well in Australia. In this context, it can be a plea for a recognition of innocence.
As Amir tells it, there were no Palestinians in the place before: no one was removed or relocated. Only in passing does he mention the Bedouin who passed through the area before.
In Australia, Irene Watson and Aileen Moreton-Robinson have, in different ways, explained lands do not need to be sites of permanent agriculture to be crucial to the survival of some groups or nations. Borders and settlements can disturb land, law and life regardless of whether houses are demolished or not.
The beauty of Nahal Oz, Amir writes, was due to its access to water and its site on fertile land, where trees provided shelter and probably food. Its loss was likely no small thing to people who required sustenance and shelter as they moved through. After the settlement, they no longer could.
After Israel set up its border there, only Israelis could pass through without being subject to the checkpoints that are well documented sites of humiliation and arbitrary punishment for Palestinians.
By 1997, the walls went up near Nahal Oz. But the walls to shield Nahal Oz from Gaza – and particularly from its people – were not enough. Amir describes the elaborate and extensive tunnels used by Palestinian soldiers to enter Israel (he calls them “terrorists” and “suicide bombers”).
The tunnels became the problem of Palestinian attacks on Israeli settlers. To deal with this problem, the concrete walls were built, reaching 160 metres underground, preventing any permeation. Then, on October 7, the walls could not provide security. Then, there was only the safe room.
The safe room is an obvious metaphor in this book. It is Israel under attack. One of these rooms has been built into every house in the kibbutz, so families can be safe from the mortar attacks from Gaza – a regular occurrence since the 1987 Intifada.
Plestia tells us that the materials for a safe room are not allowed to be brought into Gaza. There are no safe rooms there. Tibon doesn’t mention this; maybe he doesn’t even know this fact, which is its own symptom of the political and social environment in Israel.
He does describe “the unimaginable destruction that Israel has unleashed on Gaza in the aftermath” of the October 7 attacks. He is critical of this “destruction”, though he does not use the term genocide. (There are those who wait for the International Court of Justice to decide if it was more than “plausible” – and there are those who cannot wait.)
Tibon is critical of Israel’s right wing, which cultivates war. He wants peace. But peace here is its own violence.
Like the rhetoric of reconciliation in South Africa, calls for peace can do violence to historical experiences of injustice. There, reconciliation discourse has been criticised, along with its apolitical leanings. Reconciliation in South Africa has largely meant people subject to historical injustices must reconcile themselves to their losses and their reality.
A story attributed to Father Mxolisi Mapanbani, of Tom and Bernard and the bicycle, has been used many times to critique “reconciliation” rhetoric in South Africa. It is helpful here.
Tom and Bernard are friends and live opposite each other. One day, Tom stole Bernard’s bicycle. Every day, Bernard saw Tom cycling to school on it. After some time, Tom went up to Bernard and said, “Let us reconcile and put the past behind us.” Bernard said, “Okay, let’s reconcile – what about the bicycle?” “Oh no,” said Tom, “I’m not talking about the bicycle, I’m talking about reconciliation.”
In the Australian context, after Kevin Rudd’s apology to the stolen generations in 2008, human rights and social justice campaigner Tom Calma described this form of reconciliation as the “unfinished business of justice”.
The apology might have offered some form of acknowledgement, and gone some way toward creating a shared reality on the injustices of the past, but while justice remains unfinished, many are not at peace.
Amir wants peace. He doesn’t want to live in a safe house – but he wants his house and his family to live securely in Nahal Oz. He wants Palestinians to be at peace with this reality.
The word “peace”, like “reconciliation”, does a lot of work to present Tibon on the side of “the good”. Just like, in Letters From Gaza, the relative lack of the word “genocide” keeps the accusation at bay and politics in the background – and it keeps its calls for recognition of suffering at the fore. In this book about “human souls”, the editors call for a recognition of shared humanity.
Tibon is careful not to group “terrorists” under that name – though he uses a Hebrew word that means exactly that. (Mehablim, he calls the people who attacked Nahal Oz.) Why? Though he writes in English and undoubtably spoke Hebrew throughout the siege, why does he speak of the Palestinian attackers as Mehablim?
The answer might be found in the fact no Palestinian name, beyond former Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat, appears in these pages. He has interviewed many people, but none of them are Palestinian. Their narrative remains outside his text.
We must find the humanity of the Palestinians in other stories.
If the safe room is a metaphor for Israel, the tent – as described in so many of the stories in Letters from Gaza, and in Plestia’s account of those 45 days – is a metaphor for the lives of Palestinians in Israel, and perhaps the world’s eyes.
A tent is permeable, fragile, disposable. Bodies within it are subject to displacement, starvation, genocide. Every house in Tibon’s kibbutz has a safe room. There have been at least seven bombings of tent camps in Gaza. How can you not do the maths?
Stories, awakening and halting the bombs
Stories demand people are not reduced to mathematics. They place the reader in the scene and plead for identification and understanding. Writing on the Eichmann trial, Holocaust historian and legal scholar Lawrence Douglas describes “the words of the survivors that built a bridge from the accused to the world of ashes”.
Afrikaaner journalist and poet Antje Krog writes, on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa, “In all the stories a landscape is created.”
But this landscape, if it is to have any effect, must be mapped across previous perceptions. For that, it must do damage to the secure world – the pre-existing imaginative landscape – of the reader or of the listener.
Moral philosopher Rai Gaita describes remorse as “a dying to the world”: a little death is required of the listener or reader who is implicated as a bystander, encountering the suffering of others. A death of complacency. A small disintegration that may mean our own peaceful worlds are no longer tenable.
This is why stories, particularly, are mobilised in truth commissions. They animate the impossible numbers – the dry policies and repetitive loss – with scenes of humanity. Testimony – personal stories – link the words (genocide, massacre, terror) to an imagination of a scene, a person, a child or a parent. To people we can identify or empathise with.
Like the two worlds connected in Ahmed Mortaja’s poem, Hubb and Harb, In Letters from Gaza:
tonight I will fall asleep telling myself that the noise outside is fireworks, a celebration and nothing more.
That the frightened screams of children are the gleeful terror of suspense before something long-awaited, like Eid.
Tonight, I will fall asleep scrolling through the photos on my phone, telling myself that my evening with friends wasn’t that great – really, I was bored – so now I’m skimming through memories to pass the time.
If empathy were all it took to halt the counting of the 646 days in Gaza, then Letters from Gaza and Eyes on Gaza would achieve their aim. But empathy rarely produces political change.
Stories – the 50 voices in Letters from Gaza, accounts like Plestia’s – make us cry, perhaps make us donate, but they do not halt the bombs. This, and more, might be what Yehiel Dinur meant when he asked for the world to “awaken”, that it change, that it stop what Tibon calls “the unimaginable destruction”.
Until then, Dinur pledged to remain Katzetnik 135633. Until then, we will likely only know “Genocide Plestia”: “it’s funny how genocide changes a person”.
Juliet Rogers 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.
