Donald Trump has vowed to deport millions of immigrants if he is elected to a second term, claiming that, among other things, foreign-born workers take jobs from others. His running mate JD Vance has echoed those anti-immigrant views.
Social scientists and analysts tend to concur that immigration — both documented and undocumented — spurs economic growth. But it is almost impossible to calculate directly how much immigrants contribute to the economy. That’s because we don’t know the earnings of every immigrant worker in the United States.
We do, however, have a good idea of how much they send back to their home countries – more than US$81 billion in 2022, according to the World Bank. And we can use this figure to indirectly calculate the total economic value of immigrant labor in the U.S.
Given that, we estimate that the immigrants who remitted in 2022 had take-home wages of over $466 billion. Assuming their take-home wages are around 21% of the economic value of what they produce for the businesses they work for – like workers in similar entry-level jobs in restaurants and construction – then immigrants added a total of $2.2 trillion to the U.S. economy yearly.
That is about 8% of the gross domestic product of the United States and close to the entire GDP of Canada in 2022 – the world’s ninth-largest economy.
Immigration strengthens the US
Beyond its sheer value, this figure tells us something important about immigrant labor: The main beneficiaries of immigrant labor are the U.S. economy and society.
The $81 billion that immigrants sent home in 2022 is a tiny fraction of their total economic value of $2.2 trillion. The vast majority of immigrant wages and productivity – 96% – stayed in the United States.
The economic contributions of U.S. immigrants are likely to be even more substantial than what we calculate.
For one thing, the World Bank’s estimate of immigrant remittances is probably an undercount, since many immigrants send money abroad with people traveling to their home countries.
In prior research, my colleagues and I have also found that some groups of immigrants are less likely to remit than others.
One is white-collar professionals – immigrants with careers in banking, science, technology and education, for example. Unlike many undocumented immigrants, white-collar professionals typically have visas that allow them to bring their families with them, so they do not need to send money abroad to cover their household expenses back home.
Immigrants who have been working in the country for decades and have more family in the country also tend to send remittances less often.
Both of these groups have higher earnings, and their specialized contributions are not included in our $2.2 trillion estimate.
Additionally, our estimates do not account for the economic growth stimulated by immigrants when they spend money in the U.S., creating demand, generating jobs and starting businesses that hire immigrants and locals.
For example, we calculate the contributions of Salvadoran immigrants and their children alone added roughly $223 billion to the U.S. economy in 2023. That’s about 1% of the country’s entire GDP.
Considering that the U.S. economy grew by about 2% in 2022 and 2023, that’s a substantial sum.
These figures are a reminder that the financial success of the U.S. relies on immigrants and their labor.
Ernesto Castañeda does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – USA – By Angela L. Bos, Dean and Professor, School of Public Service, Boise State University, Boise State University
Voters hold clear and positive stereotypes of women politicians − while they don’t think as positively about men in politics. Artis777/iStock/Getty Images
If U.S. voters elect Kamala Harris – a Black, Asian American woman – president, it would be historic on multiple levels. This is now a real possibility due to voters’ positively evolving stereotypes of women politicians.
Stereotypes have long hindered female candidates, casting them as emotional, weak and sensitive. But now our political science research shows that voters in the U.S. increasingly see women leaders as synonymous with political leadership – and as more effective than men politicians.
This transformation reflects a broader change in what voters expect in political leaders. They are now more likely to see a woman candidate as a better “fit” for public office. This might help pave the way for Harris to break through the highest glass ceiling in U.S. politics.
The classic double bind
Gender stereotypes are the assumptions and expectations people have about men and women. They traditionally present an obstacle for women leaders, including in politics.
Among the many barriers to a woman becoming president in the U.S. are voters’ gender stereotypes. Men are generally assumed to have masculine traits such as being ambitious and competitive, while women are assumed to possess feminine traits such as being warm and compassionate. In applying gender stereotypes to politicians, voters end up with very different expectations for men and women candidates.
This presents a classic double bind for women leaders. If they behave like leaders and act dominantly and assertively, they violate expectations of femininity. But if they behave in a stereotypical way, they are not seen as strong leaders.
The double bind extends to politics. It was long the case that stereotypes of men politicians, but not women politicians, aligned with the leadership qualities that voters desire in political leaders. These traits include competence, strong leadership, empathy and integrity. A 2011 study showed that stereotypes of women politicians lacked clarity, meaning people had no clear expectations. Voters also did not see women politicians in alignment with those same four leadership qualities that voters seek.
But by 2021, prominent women political leaders such as Hillary Clinton, Nikki Haley and Nancy Pelosi had reshaped the landscape for women seeking office by shaping and solidifying public expectations.
More women politicians in the spotlight
More women have assumed political leadership roles in the U.S. over the past decade than in previous decades. The number of women in Congress increased from 90 to 145 between the 111th Congress, which met from 2009 to 2011, to the 117th Congress, which met from 2021 to 2023.
In addition, high-profile women politicians such as Democrats Pelosi and Clinton, as well as Liz Cheney, a Republican, have received considerable attention from both the media and the electorate. Gender stereotypes about women politicians evolved from being ambiguous to becoming both well defined and positive as voters grew more familiar with them. This has created a political landscape for Harris today that is notably different from the early 2010s.
1. Stereotypes of women politicians are increasingly positive
A decade ago, people did not agree on the traits that defined women politicians. While some people described them as tough, others thought they were weak. Similarly, some reported them as rational, while others saw them as unable to separate feelings from ideas. There were no traits that large groups of people agreed upon to describe women politicians.
When asked about the traits they associate with women politicians, respondents listed positive traits such as intelligent, rational, analytical, ambitious and moral. At the same time, women politicians are least associated with negative traits such as being weak and spineless.
While stereotypes of women politicians have become more positive, stereotypes of male politicians are now much more negative. Image Source/Getty Images
2. Stereotypes of men politicians have shifted to increased negativity and distrust
Male politicians were previously seen as confident, well educated, charismatic and driven. But there’s bad news for men in politics: This perception has shifted. Our study revealed that stereotypes of male politicians became much more negative over the decade we studied.
Today, male politicians are more commonly viewed as power-hungry, selfish, manipulative and self-interested. They are least associated with traits such as being sympathetic or caring about “people like me.” This indicates that voters have become more negative and distrustful toward male politicians.
3. Women politicians have gained ground on leadership perceptions, surpassing men politicians
In the past, stereotypes of women politicians were incompatible with leadership stereotypes. But our study shows that this mismatch has subsided. In fact, between 2011 and 2021, scores for women politicians increased on all four leadership traits valued by voters: competence, leadership, empathy and integrity.
Men politicians, in contrast, have lost ground on all four leadership traits. Women politicians now surpass men politicians in three out of the four leadership traits: competence, empathy and integrity. Expectations of men politicians concerning the fourth trait, strong leadership, are now equal to those of female politicians.
Kamala Harris may benefit
Gender stereotypes have long hindered women seeking political office, but more women in prominent leadership positions have fostered positive stereotype change.
Granted, highly visible women leaders such as Pelosi and Clinton excite both admiration and intense dislike. But seeing them and many other examples in their wake has familiarized voters with women holding power in politics. Voters are thus now more likely to view women candidates like Harris as fitting into leadership roles such as the presidency.
With growing distrust in politics, and of male politicians specifically, women political leaders – who are viewed as agents of change – may have an opportunity to restore trust in politics.
Daphne Joanna van der Pas receives funding from the Dutch Research Council.
Loes Aaldering receives funding from the Dutch Research Council. She is a member of Groenlinks, the Green party in the Netherlands.
Angela L. Bos 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.
Stories define people – they shape our relationships, cultures and societies. Unlike other skills replaced by technology, storytelling has remained uniquely human, setting people apart from machines. But now, even storytelling is being challenged. Artificial intelligence, powered by vast datasets, can generate stories that sometimes rival, or even surpass, those written by humans.
Creative professionals have been among the first to feel the threat of AI. Last year, Hollywood screenwriters protested, demanding – and winning – protections against AI replacing their jobs. As universityprofessors, we’ve seen student work that seems suspiciously AI-generated, which can be frustrating.
Beyond the threat to livelihoods, AI’s ability to craft compelling, humanlike stories also poses a societal risk: the spread of misinformation. Fake news, which once required significant effort, can now be produced with ease. This is especially concerning because decades of research have shown that people are often more influenced by stories than by explicit arguments and entreaties.
We set out to study how well AI-written stories stack up against those by human storytellers. We found that AI storytelling is impressive, but professional writers needn’t worry – at least not yet.
The power of stories
How do stories influence people? Their power often lies in transportation – the feeling of being transported to and fully immersed in an imagined world. You’ve likely experienced this while losing yourself in the wizarding world of Harry Potter or 19th-century English society in “Pride and Prejudice.” This kind of immersion lets you experience new places and understand others’ perspectives, often influencing how you view your own life afterward.
When you’re transported by a story, you not only learn by observing, but your skepticism is also suspended. You’re so engrossed in the storyline that you let your guard down, allowing the story to influence you without triggering skepticism in it or the feeling of being manipulated.
Given the power of stories, can AI tell a good one? This question matters not only to those in creative industries but to everyone. A good story can change lives, as evidenced by mythical and nationalist narratives that have influenced wars and peace.
Storytelling can be powerfully influential – especially if people sense the human behind the words. georgeclerk/E+ via Getty Images
Studying whether AI can tell compelling stories also helps researchers like us understand what makes narratives effective. Unlike human writers, AI provides a controlled way to experiment with storytelling techniques.
Head-to-head results
In our experiments, we explored whether AI could tell compelling stories. We used descriptions from published studies to prompt ChatGPT to generate three narratives, then asked over 2,000 participants to read and rate their engagement with these stories. We labeled half as AI-written and half as human-written.
Our results were mixed. In three experiments, participants found human-written stories to be generally more “transporting” than AI-generated ones, regardless of how the source was labeled. However, they were not more likely to raise questions about AI-generated stories. In multiple cases, they even challenged them less than human-written ones. The one clear finding was that labeling a story as AI-written made it less appealing to participants and led to more skepticism, no matter the actual author.
Why is this the case? Linguistic analysis of the stories showed that AI-generated stories tended to have longer paragraphs and sentences, while human writers showed more stylistic diversity. AI writes coherently, with strong links between sentences and ideas, but human writers vary more, creating a richer experience. This also points to the possibility that prompting AI models to write in more diverse tones and styles may improve their storytelling.
These findings provide an early look at AI’s potential for storytelling. We also looked at research in storytelling, psychology and philosophy to understand what makes a good story.
We believe four things make stories engaging: good writing, believability, creativity and lived experience. AI is great at writing fluently and making stories believable. But creativity and real-life experiences are where AI falls short. Creativity means coming up with new ideas, while AI is designed to predict the most likely outcome. And although AI can sound human, it lacks the real-life experiences that often make stories truly compelling.
Closing in?
It’s too early to come to a definitive conclusion about whether AI can eventually be used for high-quality storytelling. AI is good at writing fluently and coherently, and its creativity may rival that of average writers. However, AI’s strength lies in predictability. Its algorithms are designed to generate the most likely outcome based on data, which can make its stories appealing in a familiar way. This is similar to the concept of beauty in averageness, the documented preference people have for composite images that represent the average face of a population. This predictability, though limiting true creativity, can still resonate with audiences.
For now, screenwriters and novelists aren’t at risk of losing their jobs. AI can tell stories, but they aren’t quite on par with the best human storytellers. Still, as AI continues to evolve, we may see more compelling stories generated by machines, which could pose serious challenges, especially when they’re used to spread misinformation.
The authors 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.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Dominic Wilkinson, Consultant Neonatologist and Professor of Ethics, University of Oxford
The declaration of Helsinki recently turned 60, but don’t feel bad if you missed the celebrations. It probably passed unnoticed by most people not working in the medical field – and possibly even a good few in the field.
If you’re not familiar with the declaration – adopted by the World Medical Association on October 19 1964 – here is an explainer on this highly influential document: how it emerged, how it evolved and where it may be heading.
Agreed at a meeting in Finland in 1964, the first version of the declaration included principles that have become the cornerstone of global research ethics. These include the importance of carefully assessing the risks and benefits of research projects, and seeking informed consent from those taking part in research.
The declaration has been hugely influential and has been incorporated into national guidelines relating to medical research around the world. (For example, in the UK it is cited in legislation and policy relating to research.)
However, it is not legally binding. It has also, at times, been the focus of controversy. For example, following an intense debate in the early 2000s – about the use of placebos in drug trials and the ethics of conducting research in low-income countries – the US Food and Drug Administration removed reference to the declaration in its own guidance.
The declaration updated
It has been revised several times (the new version is the eighth edition), reflecting an evolving understanding of medical ethics, contemporary debates about when research would be ethical, as well changes in the nature and landscape of research.
Some of these reflect important shifts in values and language. In 1964, the declaration stated that clinical research “should be conducted … under the supervision of a qualified medical man” – sexist language that has long since gone by the wayside.
The 2024 version refers to “research participants” rather than “research subjects” – in response to a wider shift to greater inclusion of patients and research volunteers as partners in research. There are also new references to concern for the environment and sustainability, as well as attention to issues relating to stored data and biomaterial, such as tissue samples.
Continuing uncertainty
Some questions remain. One change in the recent document emphasises the importance of including participants from different backgrounds in research, including those who are potentially “vulnerable” in one or more ways.
Older versions of the declaration emphasised avoiding research wherever possible involving children, older patients, pregnant women, those with mental illness and prisoners. This came from a need to learn from past scandals and avoid exploiting vulnerable groups.
However, more recently, it has been recognised that excluding these groups can cause even greater harm, since it leads to a lack of evidence on how best to treat some patients. This then leads to disparities in health. For example, a large proportion of medicines commonly used for children lack high-quality evidence to support them.
The 2024 declaration tries to balance the priority to include vulnerable groups in research with the need to protect and avoid research that could be feasibly performed in other groups.
However, this highlights a deeper problem. Ethical problems arise when research is inhibited or discouraged.
Regulation of research (as encouraged by the declaration) is hugely important, but it can also make it extremely difficult, time consuming and resource intensive to perform. Doctors may change practice based on experience, intuition or inspiration. If they do so outside of a trial, they are not required to seek the approval of any review body.
As noted by a British paediatrician Richard Smithells in the 1970s: “I need permission to give a drug to half of my patients [to find out whether it does more good than harm], but not [if I want] to give it to them all.”
One particular form of research that can be important to drive improvements in care are so-called comparative effectiveness trials. Within many areas of medicine, there are variations in practice, where some professionals will take one approach, while others will take another.
Depending on which doctor you happen to see, (perhaps which clinic you attend, or which day of the week you become unwell), you might receive one treatment or the other.
Since variations like this affect many patients, it would be important to determine which is the better option, potentially involving a randomised controlled trial, where one group of patients is randomly selected to receive the treatment and another group (the control group), a placebo. These trials take years to conduct and are very expensive to run.
However, the declaration seems to encourage a one-size-fits-all approach and potentially implies that such trials should go through a formal and lengthy research ethics approval process, with participants providing explicit informed consent. However, many ethicists and researchers have argued in favour of a more slimmed-down regulatory approach focusing on what matters: do trials meaningfully add risk or burden to those that patients would have encountered outside the trial. And would taking part in research restrict patients’ ability to make meaningful decisions, and to make choices that would ordinarily have been offered?
For example, imagine a trial of two different antiseptics that are commonly used for surgery. Being involved in the trial wouldn’t impose additional risk (since patients ordinarily receive those antiseptics), and it wouldn’t remove an ordinary choice, since it would be rare for medical professionals to ask patients which antiseptic they would like.
The Declaration of Helsinki may be 60 years old, but it continues to both stimulate debate and inspire ethical practice in medical research. It has been newly revised but it is likely that innovations in research, such as the growing use of AI in medicine, will require further changes in the years ahead. It isn’t time to retire it yet.
Dominic Wilkinson receives funding from The Wellcome Trust. He is a member of the British Medical Association Medical Ethics Committee (the views in this article are his own).
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Rob Flint, Senior Lecturer Nottingham in the School of Art and Design, Nottingham Trent University
Audiovisual art is changing rapidly. Increasingly powerful projectors, screens and lighting rigs with integrated control systems, pervade the interwoven worlds of cinema, gallery and concert halls. These changes blur the borders of the art form with gaming, club and gig visuals, semi-permanent immersive experiences, and giant outdoor screens and projection-mapped buildings.
I’m fascinated by electronic light and sound in art, music and cinema, and so was curious to experience Eclipse, “a spatial light and sound experience” by Japanese art studio Nonotak (Noemi Schipfer and Takami Nakamoto).
You enter the exhibition into a darkened lounge bar that features the first of three separate experiences: a flat, wall-based light work titled Highway that gives a powerful sense of horizontal motion from the stepped sequence of flashing white bands of light.
The next, Dual, is a large sound and light space that uses the kind of directional lighting seen onstage at concerts to make deep spatial patterns with beams of light against a soft haze.
The third, Hidden Shadow, returns us to an image-based experience with directional seating and a large flat LED wall, on which shifting and dissolving points continually redefine a circle, linked to powerful overhead strobe-type lights in a way that seems to reference the installation title.
These are all monochrome, programmed in sequences, with continuous repetition. Although the timed-entry system seems to encourage the viewer’s movement through the spaces, roughly corresponding to their duration, ending again in the lounge and bar area.
Immersed in pulsing light and sound, I look for coordinates to ground my experience. There’s a long history of artists making light and sound do things simultaneously. Psychedelia seems an obvious ancestor.
Even before Hoppy Hopkins made liquid light swirl to the sound of Pink Floyd at London’s UFO club in the 1960s, pioneers in the US and Europe had constructed “colour organs” to play coloured lights in a musical way and painted glass slides for theatre projection, to access the synaesthesia (a neurodivergent condition that links the senses in unexpected ways) which was believed by some to be buried deep in all of us.
Animated film is part of this story, with Disney’s Fantasia the best-known union of music and visual movement in early popular film history, though modernists like Oskar Fischinger (who contributed to Fantasia) and Viking Eggeling made more austere abstract combinations of rhythm and graphic object for avant-garde audiences.
Nearby the Eclipse venue, the Tate Modern shows Anthony McCall’s 1970’s Solid Light installation works. Originally developed on clattering 16mm celluloid film for dusty and cigarette-smoke-filled social spaces, they play quietly and continually now on digital projectors with programmed haze machines in a clean, purpose-built gallery.
Closer in appearance (and in time) to the work of Nonotak are audiovisual artists like Carsten Nicolai and Ryoji Ikeda. They reconfigured the “visual music” tradition with a stripped-down and often monochromatic union of sound and light, bringing the precision of post-digital graphics to minimal techno and dub or the spookiness of glitch electronica to what is often now referred to as “a/v performance”.
Ikeda’s 2017 installation test pattern explored a similar aesthetic across the river at London’s 180 Strand Studios, home of another organisation dedicated to expanded audiovisual art.
Lumen Studios, who curated and presented the show, are aiming Eclipse at programmers, graphic designers and “edgy people”, literate in gaming, coding, NFTs, cryptocurrencies and other screen-based worlds and objects.
These are not necessarily the same people who would connect McCall’s lines of “solid light” to 1970s Materialist Cinema’s highly political demand to reject the “illusionistic” conventions of mainstream realist film. Nor should they have to.
The human eye is trained differently than it was when television ended before midnight and cinemas were not rivalled by streamed media on demand. This space could have entirely different reference points to those I am evoking. Set design, for example. On their website, Nonotak cites scenography, theatre, film, dance, architecture, and drawing among their areas of practice.
So maybe now it’s me that is the performer, on, or inside, a virtual stage or film set. Standing in the largest of the three installations, Dual, I feel as though I might be running from an alien on a giant transport ship heading for Mars.
I could also be in a more earth-bound comparison, standing at the back of a giant warehouse party, or a rave, away from the crush of dancing bodies while still in the synchronised cocoon of sensory electronics. It is visual, but also physical, and it creates a powerful kinetic dislocation from the space in which it is situated.
This last comparison highlights the “in-between” nature of the Eclipse installations in its temporary accommodation in Bermondsey. The cocktail bar points gently (and legally) towards the hedonism of gigs and raves, but the regulated entry system suggests a more institutional mode of attention, closer to the time-stamped immersive museum experience or even a live-action gaming environment, like an upmarket Laserquest.
Similarly, the audio, filled with effectively light-synchronised rhythmic pulsing, doesn’t have the gut-level bass of a contemporary club or music venue sound system. And while the slightly disembodied vitality of Dual made me think about dancing and moving in a slightly different way, it isn’t a dance floor.
Nor did it make promises of that kind. So this is less a criticism of the work than a recognition that my coordinates will always need updating, as the spaces we move through adapt to different forms of attention. If our species is fortunate enough to continue devoting time, technology, materials and labour to human sensory curiosity in the decades that follow, there will be more hybrid collisions of light, sound, image, rhythm, music, in real and imaginary, actual and virtual, space. I very much hope so.
Eclipse by Nonotak is on until December 8 2024 at 47 Tanner St, London
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Rob Flint 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 current US vice-president and Democratic presidential candidate, Kamala Harris, appears to have nudged ahead of her Republican rival, Donald Trump, in the race to the White House.
A poll of polls, which combines polls from different agencies, published on the website FiveThirtyEight on October 22 shows that Harris leads Trump by 48.1% to 46.3% in national voting intentions. So the race remains very tight.
There is naturally a lot of attention being paid to what is happening in swing states such as Pennsylvania, Michigan, Georgia and North Carolina. However, the polling in these states is not very helpful since it currently predicts a dead heat in practically all of them.
In the key swing state of Pennsylvania, for example, 47.8% of people intend to vote for Trump compared to 47.6% for Harris. This gap is well within the margin of error, so FiveThirtyEight calls it an even contest.
One of the surveys in the poll of polls was conducted by YouGov for the Economist newspaper. It shows that 19% of respondents have already voted in the election and a further 72% say they will definitely vote. When registered voters were asked which candidate they think is likely to win, the replies were a dead heat – 38% of them chose Harris and 38% Trump (24% are not sure).
Another way of judging the contest is to look at who has the advantage in the key drivers of the vote in the election. In an earlier article, I argued that Harris leads Trump in the presidential race in three of the four key measures that explain voting behaviour.
She is ahead in likeability, and is favoured by more moderates than Trump. Harris also has more support from Republican identifiers than Trump has among voters who identify as Democrats. However, in relation to the fourth driver, which is the issues voters care about, she is at a clear disadvantage.
The Economist/YouGov poll shows that 96% of respondents think that jobs, inflation and the economy are important issues in the election. In the same poll 84% think immigration is important and 75% think this about abortion.
Harris’s problem is that polling indicates she is well behind Trump on the issue of the economy. When asked if Harris or Trump would do the best job dealing with inflation, for example, 39% preferred Harris and 46% Trump. This is despite the fact that the most recent inflation rate is relatively low at 2.4%, and has been falling for some time.
On the issue of abortion she does much better. Some 50% of Americans approve her pledge to restore the right to abortion enshrined in the Roe v Wade case from 1973, which was reversed by a Supreme Court ruling in 2022. In comparison, only 33% of Americans approve of Trump’s position to uphold the court ruling.
The economy and voting
Does it really matter if Harris is behind on the economy? There is historical evidence to suggest that, if we look at the actual performance of the economy as opposed to polls, Harris may have an advantage.
The graph below shows the relationship between voting for an incumbent Democratic or Republican president (or his party’s nominee) and the state of the economy over a century of presidential elections from 1920 to 2020.
In the chart, the performance of the economy is captured by two measures. The first is economic growth in real terms and the second is the misery index (the sum of inflation and unemployment). Both are measured in the year of the elections.
There is a strong positive correlation between growth and voting for the incumbent president or his party’s nominee (+0.55). When growth is buoyant, the incumbent or his successor does well. And when it is weak, they do badly.
There is also a negative relationship between the misery index and presidential voting. But, in this case, the correlation is very weak (-0.05). This means that, while voters may complain about inflation and unemployment and blame the incumbent president’s administration, economic growth is the real driver of voting in these elections.
Economic growth is the real driver of voting in US elections
The Biden administration’s record on growth since 2020 has been very strong. Policies such as the Inflation Reduction Act and the Chips Act have boosted investment, particularly in high-tech industries. This fact may give Harris the edge in the election.
That said, Harris can still lose, and the odds that bookmakers are giving currently favour Trump to win. However, it is the American people who will decide the outcome, not betting markets, many of whom who live outside the US, who are trying to disrupt the process.
Paul Whiteley has received funding from the British Academy and the ESRC
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ilaria Di Gioia, Senior Lecturer in American Law and Associate Director of the Centre for American Legal Studies, Birmingham City University
With just two weeks to go until election day, Donald Trump’s presidential campaign filed a complaint with the US Federal Election Commission (FEC), requesting “an immediate investigation” into what it termed “blatant foreign interference” in the election by none other than the UK’s Labour party.
In the letter to the FEC’s acting general counsel, the Trump campaign accused the Labour party of “apparent illegal foreign national contributions” to Harris for President. This is the principal campaign committee of Vice-President Kamala Harris.
The contributions listed in the complaint are: meetings with Harris’ campaign team “to brief Ms Harris’ presidential campaign on Labour’s election-winning approach”, and Labour members’ trips to battleground states to help with the Harris campaign.
Put simply: members of the UK’s Labour party have been travelling to the US to help Harris, the Democratic party candidate, campaign for the presidency.
FEC rules state that foreign nationals “may participate in campaign activities as an uncompensated volunteer”. To that end, the prime minister, Keir Starmer, has said that Labour volunteers are helping the Harris campaign in their spare time, and are funding their own trips.
Indeed, there is a long history of volunteers from both the Labour and Conservative parties supporting their respective “sister” parties in the US, and vice versa.
What does US law say?
To understand the US legal landscape, we must refer both to statutes (laws on the books) and the judicial cases that have put these statutes to the test.
From a statutory point of view, foreign interference into elections is regulated by three main federal laws. These laws, enacted by Congress since 1938, came in response to various scandals involving foreign financing.
They are: the Foreign Agents Registration Act, the Federal Election Campaign Act and the Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act, all consolidated in the United States Code.
The law explicitly prohibits foreign nationals (excluding permanent residents) from making contributions or donations to elections. It reads:
It shall be unlawful for:
A foreign national, directly or indirectly, to make –
(A) a contribution or donation of money or other thing of value, or to make an express or implied promise to make a contribution or donation, in connection with a Federal, State, or local election;
(B) a contribution or donation to a committee of a political party; or
(C) an expenditure, independent expenditure, or disbursement for an electioneering communication.
The question is, therefore, whether the Labour engagement with the US election falls under the definition of “contribution or donation of money or other thing of value”.
A key legal case
It would seem, looking at judicial precedent, that “contribution or donation” amounts to financial contributions only.
The law was interpreted in 2011 by the US District Court for the District of Columbia (a federal court) in Bluman v FEC.
In this case, the plaintiffs Benjamin Bluman and Asenath Steiman were foreign citizens who lived and worked in the US on temporary visas. They wanted to donate money to candidates in elections and challenged the constitutionality of the law barring them from doing so.
The decision was authored by then Judge Brett Kavanaugh (who, seven years later, was appointed by Trump as Supreme Court justice). Kavanaugh argued that political contributions in the form of expenditure – so, financial contributions – were an integral part of the elections process. As such, it was right that foreign nationals be prohibited from making financial contributions.
He emphasised, however, that this decision was limited to expenditure, and that it should not be read as support for bans on other types of engagement with elections. These would be protected by First Amendment free speech protections, which apply to foreign nationals within the US.
We do not decide whether Congress could prohibit foreign nationals from engaging in speech other than contributions to candidates and parties, express-advocacy expenditures, and donations to outside groups … Plaintiffs … express concern that Congress might bar them from issue advocacy and speaking out on issues of public policy. Our holding does not address such questions, and our holding should not be read to support such bans.
This decision was affirmed by the Supreme Court and so constitutes a convincing precedent.
In a nutshell, US law prohibits foreign nationals from financing domestic election activity, but this is limited to financial contributions. The Labour campaign “contribution” so far does not appear to amount to financial contributions, so as long as this remains the case, it is not illegal.
Ilaria Di Gioia received research funding from the Eccles Centre at the British Library.
Naked protests are a form of public demonstration where individuals, often women, use the symbolic power of their naked bodies to challenge injustices. These protests have become an increasingly visible form of resistance, particularly in response to state violence, economic exploitation, and the oppression of women by men.
While naked protests might seem provocative or shocking, they have a long and storied history in Africa. They are not only a powerful statement but also a direct challenge to norms in society around decency, control and vulnerability.
As a research psychologist, I was drawn to the study of naked body protests because of their profound affective power. That’s to say I study how emotions like anger, fear, joy and empowerment are expressed and experienced by both the protester and the observer. I’ve interviewed numerous South African women who have taken part in naked protests in the past decade.
My studies, which take an African feminist approach, show that these protests are not just acts of desperation or shock tactics. They’re rooted in a long tradition of resistance and decolonisation, drawing on generational power and emotional expressions. They are a feminist tactic that embodies both vulnerability and strength, using the body as a site of resistance and empowerment.
Naked protests are complex – and, I argue, a powerful tool for reclaiming African women’s agency, dignity and voices.
Colonialism and nakedness
During colonialism, European countries ruled over African nations. Colonisers imposed their values, laws and social systems – including strict ideas about how women should behave and dress. These replaced many traditional African practices and beliefs. African women were required to cover their bodies because nakedness was seen as shameful or improper according to European moral standards.
By protesting naked, African women are rejecting these colonial ideas and reclaiming their bodies as a form of resistance. They’re saying they refuse to be controlled by these outdated beliefs. So, naked protests are a decolonial action.
African feminism sheds further light. It highlights the unique historical and social conditions that shape African women’s struggles. It recognises that African women’s bodies have been sites of both oppression and resistance for a long time, subjected to patriarchal and colonial control.
Naked body protests in South Africa
In South Africa, colonialism was followed by white minority rule. Apartheid was a system of racial segregation and discrimination, made law from 1948 to 1994. Black South Africans were denied political rights, restricted from owning land in white areas, and subjected to pass laws that controlled their movement. Black women bore the brunt of this oppression.
In Durban in 1959, South African women protested against the 1908 Native Beer Act, which banned them from brewing traditional beer. Protesters attacked state beerhalls and, in a bold act of defiance, exposed their bodies as they faced police barricades. The police were often hesitant to confront or harm the women.
In 1990, during the Dobsonville housing protest, women in Soweto stripped and protested against the demolition of their shacks by municipal police. They successfully drew media attention to their demands.
This form of protest has endured, even in the country’s democratic era. As recently as 2024, women from the South African Cleaners, Security and Allied Workers’ Union staged a naked protest against the sudden termination of their contracts by private security companies.
Psychology study
But a primary focus of my research was the South African student protests that began in 2015. The #FeesMustFall movement saw students protesting against sexual violence and the high cost of education. Naked protests took place at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg and related #RUReferenceList protests against rape at Rhodes University in Makhanda.
My PhD study set out to understand naked body protests and contribute to their psychological understanding. I wanted to find out why women in particular use this form of decolonialist protest and what its emotional and social role is during and after the actions.
I interviewed 16 women who participated in the protests, as well as drawing from podcast interviews with two other participants and a video of the 1990 Dobsonville protests.
Anger and confrontation
I found that anger and confrontation played a central role. During the #FeesMustFall protests, women’s decision to use their naked bodies was a deliberate, transgressive act aimed at disrupting structures that wanted to silence them.
They weaponised their vulnerability and exposed the contradictions within these systems – where women’s bodies are often sexually objectified but deemed unacceptable when used as instruments of protest. By baring their bodies, these women confronted the state, universities, and society at large by placing their physical bodies in direct opposition to deeply ingrained social hierarchies.
The anger expressed in these protests is not random; it’s rooted in a collective and historical sense of injustice. The women told me they were responding to both the immediate issue of being excluded from higher education facilities and also broader, generational experiences of gender-based violence, racism and economic disenfranchisement. Anger became a way to assert control over their bodies in spaces where their presence had been marginalised, ignored or actively suppressed.
By channelling their anger, these women redefined their relationship to both their own bodies and the public spaces they occupied. Their protests highlighted the connection between personal anger and systemic oppression.
Joy in struggle
Joy is another important affect in these protests. Women often experience a sense of joy and empowerment when they achieve the goals of their protests.
This joy is not just a personal feeling but a collective one that binds women together. Joy is a form of resistance in itself because it defies the narrative of women as passive victims.
Empowered and powerful
When women take part in naked protests, they show that they have the power to make their own decisions. They feel more confident and in control.
Participants made it clear that being part of these protests can deeply change how women feel about themselves. They discover their strength and ability to fight back.
The #IAmOneInThree hashtag was based on the United Nations estimate that one in three women around the world will be sexually abused in their lifetime. A #IAmOneInThree naked protest took place at the University of the Witwatersrand in solidarity with #RUReferenceList protests at Rhodes University. Sibu, who took part, shared how carrying a sjambok (a whip) and singing struggle songs with other women made her feel:
For me that moment was affirming … I felt powerful somehow. Because when you … have been raped … it made me feel weak … It made me feel like an object and not a person. And so I remember that moment feeling empowered, right, I have my sjambok, I have my sisters around me.
Naked body protests in South Africa are a powerful form of feminist resistance that draws on deep historical and cultural traditions. These protests are strategic and affective forms of resistance that challenge patriarchy, sexism and colonialism.
Mpho Mathebula 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 violence wrought by the Rwandan-backed rebel group M23 Movement is often narrowly framed as intended to control eastern Democratic Republic of Congo’s resource-rich mining sites. The rebel group launched its most recent offensive in 2021 and currently controls vast territories in the south-east of North Kivu province, surrounding and cutting off the main city of Goma.
Eastern DR Congo mines produce crucial raw materials such as tin, tantalum and tungsten, as well as abundant quantities of gold. It therefore seems logical to reduce explanations of conflict to the ambition by M23, and Rwanda behind it, to control the mines directly.
We belong to a team of researchers who examine the various dimensions of conflict from different perspectives. Our findings, based on fieldwork and conducted in collaboration with in-country experts, show that this popular analysis does not paint the full picture.
Conflict analysis often ignores historical and local dimensions. Our investigation with the Goma-based civil society organisation Association pour le Développement des Initiatives Paysannes therefore explored the local stakes and impacts of the M23 crisis. We interviewed more than 55 people in North Kivu (DR Congo), including members of M23, as well as soldiers and armed groups fighting them, local chiefs, state agents, teachers, taximen, traders and farmers who live on the frontline of the conflict.
Our research reveals that M23 employs a more profound strategy to boost its position and military strength (through Rwandan support) in local struggles over land, authority and rents. M23’s disruptive strategy aims to replace Congolese authorities and overhaul local governance in areas it controls in eastern DR Congo. Key to this strategy is:
undermining and replacing local (customary) authorities
taking over strategic trade routes
the installation of an elaborate taxation regime.
These strategies also allow M23 – and Rwanda – to generate revenues from the local economy, including rents from DR Congo’s mineral wealth, without necessarily directly controlling mines.
Historical struggles over land
Interviewees attached great importance to the historical context of the M23 conflict, explaining how struggles over land date back to independence in 1960. Going back to the 1930s and 1940s, the Belgian colonial administrators already organised large movements of migrant workers from Rwanda to work on plantations in DR Congo. The Rwandophone migrants and their descendants settled in North Kivu, becoming part of the local population.
After independence, Hutu and Tutsi (Rwandophone) communities began to jostle for control over North Kivu’s fertile farmland with the Hunde and Nyanga communities there. As grievances over access to land and property rights increased, Rwandophone communities were stigmatised as “non-indigenous” and their land claims as illegitimate.
As the Congo Wars broke out in the 1990s, people began seeking recourse to armed groups to settle land conflicts. Before the rise of M23 in 2012, two other groups (Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie and later Congrès National pour la Défense du Peuple) rose to protect the Rwandophone population in eastern DRC. They also grabbed and sold vast concessions of land – held by the state or other communities – to allied farmers and business people. These were typically from the Tutsi community.
Given the country’s complex and under-enforced land laws, land claims became exceedingly difficult to verify or prove. This has strengthened the belief that the only way to secure access to land is by resorting to armed groups. Thus, M23 is perceived as the guardian of the Tutsi community’s access to land.
This perception is well illustrated by a testimony of a local leader in Masisi territory:
The wars of the last three decades have been motivated by a struggle for control over land … Indigenous people are driven out, dispossessed of their land in favour of others who are considered foreigners and refugees. … the M23 is made up of (Tutsi) pastoralists … and there are fields that their rivals had seized … it was one of their (M23) first concerns to start exploiting them.
Most Congolese Tutsi have not asked for this “protection” by M23. But the ensuing grievances and ethnic tensions will haunt the relations between communities for years to come.
Struggles over customary authority
In DR Congo, customary chiefs play an important role in local land governance. They also adjudicate conflicts, bind people together through rituals, and represent the symbolic claim by a specific community to a given place.
Many Congolese we spoke to perceive M23’s main aim to be control of power at the local level — undermining the existing authorities. The group has indeed sought to replace customary authorities with M23-appointed ones, at times assassinating Congolese chiefs. Local sources said M23 even burnt chiefdom archives, destroying evidence of claims to customary authority.
M23’s economic grip
Wherever M23 has a foothold, it installs an elaborate taxation regime. This involves checkpoint tolls, household taxes, dues on business, harvest taxes and forced labour. In doing so, the group generates the revenues to sustain the conflict. But this also strengthens its politico-administrative hold on the population, as taxation is a symbolic interface of public authority.
Local armed groups that joined with the Congolese army to combat M23 deepen the problem. Called wazalendo (“patriots”), they are often unpaid and therefore rely on payments from the population to sustain their counter-offensive. As a result, taxation in eastern Congo has become heavily “militiarised”. Taxed by government forces, wazalendo and M23, civilians pay a heavy toll.
The military nature of local governance could jeopardise future efforts to bring peace to eastern DRC.
What about minerals?
M23 has an impact on all aspects of local governance in eastern DR Congo. It has found ways to control and profit from the local economy in North Kivu, including mineral supply chains. It operates checkpoints along arteries and taxes minerals smuggled to Rwanda, alongside other trade flows.
Having M23 control strategic trade routes in DR Congo, including those crossing into Uganda, is a benefit for Rwanda. From Kigali’s perspective, the resurgence of M23 in 2021 came at a perfect time to block Uganda’s efforts to improve the road network in eastern DR Congo towards its own territory. Rwanda and Uganda are locked in intense competition for Congolese informal trade, re-exporting its timber and minerals as their own, gaining taxes and foreign earnings that ought to benefit the Congolese treasury and population.
What must be done?
DR Congo’s resources play a large role in the M23 conflict, but our study underscores the historical roots of the conflict and its profound local impacts. These findings should inform locally meaningful and sustainable conflict resolution strategies.
Since the M23 revival, land access, trade and security have become increasingly mediated by armed actors. Even after a possible M23 defeat, it will take years of local dialogue and mediation to undo this involvement of militia in local governance, resolve land issues, repair inter-community relations and remake customary authority. But that’s the only way to reach sustainable peace in North Kivu.
Ken Matthysen works for the International Peace Information Service (IPIS)
This publication has been produced with the financial assistance of the Belgian Directorate-General for Development Cooperation and Humanitarian Aid (DGD). The contents of this document are the sole responsibility of IPIS and can under no circumstances be regarded as reflecting the position of the Belgian Development Cooperation.
A white-browed sparrow weaver looks up at a neighbouring roost. Wolfgang Kaehler/LightRocket via Getty Images
From afar, the acacia trees look like they have been decorated with grass pom-poms. The birds have been busy, building shelters of straw and grass. Up close the real shape of the “pom-poms” becomes clear: grass tubes in the form of an upside down “U”, with an opening at each end.
White-browed sparrow weavers are cooperative breeders. Within a multi-generational family group, only one dominant pair will reproduce; all other birds, which are mostly kin (related), will help with the rearing of chicks. These birds do everything together: forage, defend their territory, feed new chicks – and build each of the many roosts that decorate the acacia trees they live in. The birds are found throughout central and north-central southern Africa.
Year after year, family groups get bigger and, as they do, the number of roosts they build increases. Families might have as many as 14 individuals, so the birds need to build multiple roosts, including a few “spares”.
There’s something intriguing about these roosts. Sometimes different families set up territories next to each other, in trees as close together as 10 metres.
How do you tell families apart? By their roosts. Some families build roosts that are very long, with long entrance and exit tubes; others will build roosts that are much shorter, with hardly any tubes. Essentially, it looks like different white-browed sparrow weaver families have different architectural styles. Why?
To find out, we studied more than 400 roosts built by 43 families in the Tswalu Kalahari Reserve in South Africa’s Northern Cape province. We confirmed that the roosts and nests built by groups that live next to each other have their own architectural style, and that environmental, physical or genetic attributes of these different family groups do not influence the structures’ configuration.
We think that the birds’ building behaviour and the shape of the structures might be the result of social interactions. Animals often learn from each other how to do things, whether it is how to use tools (chimpanzees), how to sing the correct song (some bird species, humpback whales), or how to exploit new food resources (cockatoos). Learning from others within a group often results in animals showing group-specific behaviours, or animal cultures. In this sense animals, like humans, develop their own cultures.
Measuring various factors
There is a lot of diversity in the nests different bird species build, both in the shapes and the materials used, as well as the number of nests an individual might build.
For example, sociable weavers (Philetairus socius) build massive multiple occupant “apartment buildings” made out of grass. Cape penduline tits (Anthoscopus minutus) build nests that look like satchels made out of vegetable fibres with the texture of a wool sweater. Male southern mask weavers (Ploceus velatus) will weave thousands of grass leaves to build multiple nests at one time, and swallows collect and stack together one mud pellet at a time to build their pottery nests.
To better understand the lack of uniformity among different white-browed sparrow weaver families’ roosts, we measured 400 roosts, all still on the trees, built by 43 families in the Tswalu Kalahari Reserve. Some were new – less than a year old – and others were at least two years old. (All structures that we measured were also identified with a small ring. We did this for three years in a row, so we could tell if a structure was there before we started measuring and marking the structures or if it was built during our time there.)
Those measurements confirmed that different families build roosts with different sizes and that, across years, families maintain their own architectural style.
At the same time, we measured the temperature and wind speed at each of the families’ territories, the size of the birds, the height of the trees, how genetically related different families were to each other, and how far away the different families lived from each other.
This allowed us to determine whether any of these factors could explain why different families build different roosts. For instance, maybe families living in hotter territories build roosts with shorter tubes than in cooler areas, since they would not need much material to insulate them from the cold at night. The similarity in their environment, we reasoned, might explain why weaver families living in close proximity to each other created similar roosts. Or perhaps families that were more closely related to each other (something like cousins and second cousins) would build similar structures?
However, one by one, we excluded all environmental and genetic explanations for the differences in the structures built by different families.
So what happens next?
We plan to continue documenting the architectural styles of different white-browed sparrow weaver families and to record their building behaviour so we can determine how these birds coordinate their behaviour when building together.
Looking in more detail at how the roosts built by these birds across Africa might differ could help us understand to what extent the environment, material availability, individual experiences, and social interactions between individuals affect the building behaviour of these birds.
Maybe, like humans, some species of birds have their own architectural traditions passed on across generations through social interactions.
Coffee is a drink that punctuates many of our lives. Millions of us depend on this dark liquid to start the morning, or to break up the day.
It has also become quite an expensive habit. But before we baulk at paying £5 for a flat white, it’s worth thinking about the price paid by the coffee farmers who provide its base ingredient.
For behind every latte and espresso lies the toil and stress of coffee farmers, who face serious challenges to bring their popular product to the rest of the world. Harvests can be devastated by extreme weather events or pests and plant diseases, while volatile market prices add another layer of worry, making future income uncertain.
This volatility exists in other crops, but especially so for coffee, the price of which is extremely unpredictable. It can rise and fall frequently because of the weather, market demand and the state of the global economy.
Coffee trees take up to four years to grow and produce beans, and cutting them down is expensive, so farmers can’t easily change how much coffee they produce based on price changes.
But price volatility means that farmers can’t be sure about their income at harvest time, which can be incredibly stressful. And our research shows just how much that unpredictability affects farmers’ mental health.
Our work focused on farmers in Vietnam, a country where coffee production has soared over the last three decades. From accounting for just 1.2% of world output in 1989, Vietnam is currently the second largest producer in the world (after Brazil) producing just under 30 million 60kg bags a year. Vietnam produces mainly “robusta” coffee beans, grown by small farmers in the central highlands region of the country.
Using data from a long-running observational survey to assess mental health, we looked at how Vietnamese coffee farmers experienced symptoms of depression including sadness, hopelessness, lack of concentration and poor sleep – and how these were linked to monthly international robusta coffee prices.
Using a range of techniques to interpret the data, we found clear evidence that being exposed to coffee price fluctuations increased depressive symptoms among farmers of the crop. They also had lower overall wellbeing because of greater mental stress and worry over their economic future – and drank more alcohol.
The impact of all of this uncertainty is significant. According to the World Health Organization, poor mental health is a major contributor to the global burden of disease, especially in low-income countries where mental illness and poverty are closely linked.
Estimates suggest that as much as 80% of the world’s depressive disorder burden is borne by low and middle income countries. But these issues are often overlooked, even though they are crucial to addressing poverty.
What can coffee drinkers do?
There are ways to tackle the mental health effects of coffee price volatility. Initiatives to promote price stability in the global coffee markets and financial literacy among farmers, would be worth pursuing. So too would work to improve mental health support within farming communities, providing resources for coping with stress and building resilience.
Coffee lovers around the world can also play their part by choosing the their drink carefully. Fairtrade certification for example, was set up to help reduce coffee price volatility and the resulting poverty it caused.
It guarantees a minimum price for certified coffee, covering the average cost of sustainable production and reducing the financial risks farmers face. Fairtrade-certified farmers also receive a premium to invest in projects that improve the quality of life for their communities.
And research suggests it is succeeding. A 2005 study of coffee farmers in Nicaragua revealed that Fairtrade farmers are less concerned about the possibility of losing their farm in the coming year compared to conventional farmers. And using data from Costa Rica, research from 2022 has found fair trade certification was effective in increasing farmers’ income.
So the next time you savour your morning cup of coffee, take a moment to consider the people who cultivated the beans which made the drink. Coffee farmers deserve our appreciation – but also our help in establishing fairer, more stable market conditions which safeguard their livelihoods and mental health.
Saurabh Singhal received funding from the University of Copenhagen.
Finn Tarp has over the years received funding from a variety of donors and research funding agencies for work in Vietnam on on development issues . This is relevant only in the sense that is has helped inform about living conditions in the country.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jesica Lopez, PhD Candidate, Centre for Environmental and Climate Research, Lund University
Colombia hosts 18% of the world’s bird species – more than any other country.Ariboen / shutterstock
The city of Cali, in Colombia, is hosting the UN’s 16th biodiversity summit, known as Cop16. The summit, which runs until Friday, November 1, is focused on how countries will fulfil previous pledges to protect at least 30% of the world’s land and water and restore 30% of degraded ecosystems by 2030.
It’s a noble aim, yet Colombia itself shows just how far we have to go.
If you travel south east from Cali, over the Andes mountains, you drop into the Amazon basin. From there, rainforest stretches for hundreds of kilometres to the border with Brazil – and far beyond. This rainforest is the main reason Colombia ranks as the fourth most biodiverse country in the world. Nowhere else has as many species of birds. Only Brazil and China have more trees.
But the region is experiencing an environmental crisis. I recently completed a PhD on the northern Colombian Amazon, in which I tracked how the rainforest is fast being deforested and turned into pastures for cattle ranches. I particularly looked at how this affects hotspots of plant and animal life in rugged valleys on the Amazonian side of the Andes – spectacularly biodiverse places even by Colombian standards – and looked at what can be done to protect them.
This is not an easy part of the world in which to do such work – the NGO Global Witness ranks Colombia as the single most dangerous country for environmental defenders. While documenting legal and illegal cattle ranching, I was often reminded to be aware of exactly who I was contacting and to be wary of which questions I was asking.
Activists and researchers often face violence from those who profit from deforestation, and I had to work closely with organisations and authorities that secured own safety. Very harrowing experiences are not uncommon.
Despite these risks, many continue their efforts, driven by a deep commitment to protecting the Amazon and its biodiversity. Their bravery only underscores the urgent need for stronger protections and enforcement.
Peace led to more deforestation
For decades, the region was mostly controlled by the Farc guerrilla army. The Farc was largely funded by kidnappings and the drug trade, and wasn’t interested in large-scale farming.
All this changed after the government of Colombia signed a peace agreement with the Farc in 2016. Since then, deforestation has increased, as both legal and illegal land tenants have acquired land for farming through what they call “sustainable development” practices. This mostly involves turning forest into pasture for cattle, the main driver of deforestation across Latin America.
Cattle ranches are the main driver of deforestation. Jordi Romo / shutterstock
Things peaked in 2018, when 2,470 square kilometres of forest was lost in Colombia – equivalent to a circular area more than 50 kilometres across. Rates of deforestation have reduced slightly since then (though the data isn’t very reliable), but appear to be increasing once again in 2024.
The recent increase might be attributed to the demand to produce more coca or rear more cattle, along with pressure from extractive industries like mining. The spread of roads and other infrastructure further into the rainforest have also opened up new opportunities.
Billions more needed to stop deforestation
In its 2018 Living Forest Report, the WWF included Colombia’s Chocó-Darién and Amazon forests in its list of 11 “deforestation fronts” across the planet. These fronts are where it projected the largest concentrations of forest loss or severe degradation would occur in the period till 2030.
No wonder then that Colombia’s environmental crisis has drawn international attention. Countries like Germany, Norway and the UK have supported its efforts to reduce deforestation, pledging about €22 million under the UN’s reducing emissions from deforestation and forest degradation scheme (known as REDD+). This is a good start, but much more is needed.
The Amazon winds through dense forest on the border between Colombia and Peru. Jhampier Giron M / shutterstock
Indeed, the Global Biodiversity Framework, the international treaty that underlies the Cop16 negotiations in Cali, estimates we’ll need an extra US$700 billion each year to protect biodiversity.
An important issue at the summit is therefore how to mobilise sufficient financial resources, particularly for developing countries. The previous global biodiversity summit, held in Canada in 2022, established that wealthy countries should provide US$30 billion annually to low-income countries by 2030.
Ahead of this year’s summit, countries were expected to submit new national biodiversity plans detailing how they’ll meet the 30% protection goals. Most failed to do so – including Colombia. Despite this setback, delegates in Cali will hopefully develop robust mechanisms to monitor progress and ensure countries are held accountable for meeting their targets.
Other critical issues include reforms to benefit small-scale farmers in the Amazon. The region’s current economic model is centred on reshaping the land and extracting resources, but it has not generated prosperity for these more sustainable farmers. That same economic model has also failed to protect the forest itself.
The summit should also work towards recognising indigenous peoples’ rights and traditional knowledge, and including their voices in policy decisions, and must address violence against environmental defenders.
These are all huge issues in Colombia and indeed any country where cattle farmers are eyeing up pristine rainforest. The summit in Cali represents a great opportunity for the world to seriously tackle the dual biodiversity and climate crisis.
Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?
Elon Musk, whose company SpaceX recently made history by catching a Starship rocket booster as it careened back to Earth, wants you to vote for Donald Trump for many reasons. That includes not just what Trump will do here on this planet, but also for what he’ll achieve that’s outside this world. “Vote for @real DonaldTrump,” Musk recently tweeted, “if you want humanity to be a spacefaring civilization”.
Back inside the Earth’s orbit, the CEO of Tesla and X, and one of the richest men in the world, makes an odd foil for Democrats. In a parallel universe, his work in commercial space flights, inventing the most advanced electric cars on the planet, advocacy for sustainable energy, and long record of voting “100 percent Dem until a few years ago” would seem make him a hero of the left. Instead, Musk has taken on the role of comic book supervillain whose full-throated support for Trump has turned him into a pariah among progressives.
Musk purports to be baffled by the backlash, since he insists that nothing that he represents is particularly controversial. He considers himself a political “moderate” who, in backing Trump, is simply standing up for common-sense, middle-of-the-road positions: belief in free speech, deference to the US Constitution, and the right of countries to control their borders. “I’ve been told at times that they are like right-wing values,” Musk said. “These are the fundamental values that made America what it is today.”
Of course, Musk knows better. In between burning the midnight oil at his multiple corporate enterprises, Musk finds the time to tweet dozens of times a day, often trolling critics, heralding Trump, and only rarely apologising for outlandish, crass, conspiracy-laden and sometimes even false posts. Musk has acknowledged that some of his tweets are “extremely dumb”, though he refuses to apply a filter.
In describing Musk, one journalist fretted what could happen when “the world’s richest man runs a communications platform in a truly vengeful, dictatorial way … to promote extreme right-wing agendas and to punish what he calls brain-poisoned liberals”.
Elon Musk owns SpaceX.
Musk’s power lies in his willingness to say just about anything — backstopped by his ownership of part of the internet’s de facto public square. In a now-deleted tweet, Musk pondered sarcastically that “no one is trying to assassinate” Kamala Harris or Joe Biden. Outside of X, Musk admits he’s been “trashing Kamala nonstop” and that, if Harris wins, he’s “fucked”.
Throwing money and power around
Musk is a Maga convert. In 2022, the same year that he bought Twitter and reinstated Trump’s privileges, Musk said that it was “time for Trump to hang up his hat & sail into the sunset”. Pulling no punches, Trump once called Musk “another bullshit artist”.
Musk claims to have supported Democrats in recent elections, including Joe Biden in 2020. In July of this year, however, Musk announced that he was endorsing Trump, in large part because of how the former president’s reacted after an assassination attempt on his life. “This is a man who has courage under fire!” Musk said.
Musk represents a new crop of politically charged billionaires who aren’t content to stay on their mega-yachts, and instead want to throw their money — and power — around in support of conservative causes.
While critics have called the move illegal, pointing to federal election law that bars paying “or offer[ing] to pay … for registration to vote or for voting”. Musk insists there’s a loophole: he isn’t technically tying his giveaways to voting – and the US Justice Department has said this could violate federal electoral law.
Musk has changed his short-term residency to mobilise support for Trump. As of October, Musk has hunkered down in Pennsylvania, the swing state he calls the “linchpin” in the 2024 US election, where his campaigning has included giving a surprise speech for Trump in Butler, Pennsylvania – where there was previously an assassination attempt on Trump.
Musk has painted doomsday scenarios of what could happen if the election doesn’t turn out how he likes. In a just-released interview with former Fox News journalist Tucker Carlson, Musk surmised that “if Trump doesn’t win this election, it’s the last election we’re going to have”. The comment comes as Republicans have pilloried Democrats’ dialled-up rhetoric that democracy is “at stake” in 2024.
Beyond the election, there’s more than speculation that Musk could be tapped for a role in a potential Trump 2.0 administration. He’s openly campaigned to serve as the new head of a department for government efficiency. Trump has already announced that, if elected, Musk will direct a task force to conduct a “complete financial and performance audit of the entire federal government” and offer “recommendations for drastic reforms”.
True to form, Musk promises that his public service won’t stop at the edge of Earth’s outer orbit. “Washington DC has become an ever-increasing ocean of brake pedals stopping progress,” he says. “Let’s change those brake pedals to accelerators, so we can get great things done in America and become a spacefaring civilization!” One thing’s for sure: Musk’s politics are, quite literally, out of this world.
Thomas Gift 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.
Americans will soon elect their next president after a race for the White House that is essentially tied. From a marketing perspective, think of Republican Donald Trump and Democrat Kamala Harris as each holding 45 per cent market share. The remaining 10 per cent includes undecided voters and people disinclined to vote.
My political marketing class at the University of Windsor is using a marketing lens to understand the variables that will influence the outcome on Nov. 5. My recent road trip to the battleground state of Pennsylvania gave me insight into the strength of both the Democratic and Republican brands.
I am viewing the parties as long-established brands. There is brand loyalty to both parties. Those brands’ current success, however, is influenced by the ongoing campaign.
In terms of the Democratic Party, voters obviously aren’t being asked to buy it, but they are being asked to buy the party as augmented or diminished by Harris, its current presidential candidate. The same can be said for Trump’s Republican party.
From a marketing perspective, we can monitor promotional efforts that include traditional media, social media, debates, interviews and rallies, and we receive updates on the parties’ fundraising efforts — essentially a promotional budget. We’ll see the results of these efforts on Nov. 5.
Predicting results
This is the third time I’ve offered a political marketing course based on an American presidential election. The class focuses on understanding the core party brands, and the impact of candidates, debates, media coverage and Political Action Committees. Students forecast the election results the day before the election.
The presidency is not decided by the national popular vote. It is a state-by-state competition, with each state assigned votes in the Electoral College. There are 538 Electoral College votes, so 270 are needed to win.
Most states are predictable. California will undoubtedly vote Democrat (54 votes); Texas will more than likely vote Republican once again (40 votes). The election therefore comes down to seven swing states: Nevada, Arizona, Georgia, North Carolina, Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania.
The Democrats, with 226 safe Electoral College votes, have 20 possible routes to 270 — and 19 of them require a Pennsylvania win. Republicans, with 219 safe Electoral College votes, have 21 possible routes to 270 — 19 also require a Pennsylvania win. That’s why I decided to drive through Pennsylvania and speak to voters.
First I went to Erie, a bellwether county with a long history of having the same voting pattern as the full state of Pennsylvania, so it’s a strong predictor of statewide results. I went to a Pittsburgh suburb, and then to the borough of State College, home of Penn State University. I periodically left the interstate to drive through other towns to see the signs, grab lunch and talk.
Each time, my introduction was simple:
“I’m a marketing professor from Canada running a class about the U.S. presidential election. Would you mind explaining to me how you think Pennsylvania will vote? I do not need to know how you will vote.”
The university students I spoke to were juniors and seniors. Other than the students, the people I spoke to would be considered working class, a mix of blue collar and white collar. The non-students were 35 to retirement age. Everyone I spoke said they’d voted in the 2022 mid-term election and intended to vote this year.
At an Erie car show, voters I interviewed were evenly split between a group of 50-plus men with vintage cars and male university students with newer vehicles. I heard from both groups that Pennsylvania was divided, but that the mood between the parties differed.
Both argued that people voting Democrat were brand-loyal or rejecting the Trump brand. Both age groups, including Democratic voters, noted that Trump supporters were primarily focused only on him as the current Republican brand offering.
Economic concerns
Most said the biggest issue that will most influence undecided voters is the economy, followed closely by a more narrow economic concern — inflation.
One Democrat conveyed a simple message that was representative. Asked who would take Erie County: “Democrats.” Asked why they would win, he replied: “I’m just hoping.”
Contrast that with a visit to a diner in Erie. One woman explained that she supports Harris because of reproductive rights. Everyone else backed Trump because of his policies on the economy, the southern border, international wars and crime.
One diner patron had been to a recent Trump rally in Erie. He described it as a rock concert and spoke of the excitement, and hearing Trump say the exact same lines he always says. “It was your favourite rock band playing their hits,” he said.
I left Erie understanding that Democrats were brand loyal or voting to avoid Trump. Republicans, however, never referenced past voting or leaders. They were simply Trump supporters.
The Pittsburgh scene
Pittsburgh was a bust. I chose the wrong town outside Pittsburgh. While I spoke to dozens of voters in Erie, I found only two people to speak to in Smithton.
State College was different. My hotel was close to Penn State University, and there was a restaurant/sports bar on the hotel property.
I entered at 4 p.m. The bartender asked why I was in town. A nearby patron said that he would answer questions. Then another person volunteered. I left seven hours later. People were asking to be next.
I spoke to people from all political spectrums. Of the 40-plus people I spoke with, one couple illustrated the mood in the state particularly well. She is a Republican. He is a Democrat. He explained: “There is too much going on — inflation, the hurricanes, the Longshoremen strike, steel and fracking, illegal immigration. Too much.”
He shrugged his shoulders, discouraged. She smiled, eager for Election Day.
Conclusions from talking to voters
If the election were held today, I believe Republicans would win Pennsylvania based on my conversations with voters. But that could change if there is a change in one of the key topics: strong or unanticipated positive economic news, perhaps, or if a new issue or story develops that has not yet impacted the race.
The road trip provided insights into voter decision-making. It highlighted the importance of brand loyalty and enthusiasm. A substantial portion of voters indicated they wished both parties had different leaders. This could impact voter turnout.
It also illuminated a key difference between traditional consumer decision-making and voter decision-making. If, on Black Friday, I prefer Walmart’s offering over Amazon’s, I am not impacted by my neighbour’s purchase decision.
In politics, however, how my neighbour votes will influence my life for the next four years.
Dave Bussiere does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Christopher Hill, Associate Professor (Research and Development), Faculty of Business and Creative Industries, University of South Wales
Nuclear detonations were the backdrop to Teeua and Teraabo’s childhood. By the time the sisters were eight and four, the Pacific island on which they grew up, Kiritimati, had hosted 30 atomic and thermonuclear explosions – six during Operation Grapple, a British series between 1957 and 1958, and 24 during Operation Dominic, led by the US in 1962.
The UK’s secretary of state for the colonies, Alan Lennox-Boyd, had claimed the Grapple series would put Britain “far ahead of the Americans, and probably the Russians too, in super-bomb development”. Grapple, the country’s largest tri-service operation since D-Day, also involved troops from Fiji and New Zealand. It sought to secure the awesome power of the hydrogen bomb: a thermonuclear device far more destructive than the atomic bomb.
Britain’s seat at the top table of “super-bomb development” was emphatically announced in April 1958 with Grapple Y: an “H-bomb” 200 times more powerful than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945. This remains Britain’s largest nuclear detonation – one of more than 100 conducted by the UK, US and Soviet Union in 1958 alone.
More than six decades later, the health effects on former servicemen based on Kiritimati, as well as at test locations in South and Western Australia, remain unresolved. Greater Manchester’s mayor, Andy Burnham, has called the treatment of UK nuclear test veterans “the longest-standing and, arguably, the worst” of all the British public scandals in recent history.
Over the past year, the life stories of British nuclear test veterans have been collected by researchers, including myself, for an oral history project in partnership with the British Library. Whether from a vantage point of air, land or sea, the veterans all recall witnessing nuclear explosions with startling clarity, as if the moment was seared on to their memories. According to Doug Herne, a ship’s cook with the Royal Navy:
When the flash hit you, you could see the X-rays of your hands through your closed eyes. Then the heat hit you, and it was as if someone my size had caught fire and walked through me. To say it was frightening is an understatement. I think it shocked us into silence.
British servicemen describe their nuclear test experiences. Video: Wester van Gaal/Motherboard.
But what of the experiences of local people on Kiritimati? I have recently interviewed two sisters who are among the few surviving islanders who witnessed the nuclear tests. This is their story.
‘A mushroom cloud igniting the sky’
At the start of Operation Grapple in May 1957, around 250 islanders lived on Kiritimati – the world’s largest coral reef atoll, slap bang in the centre of the Pacific Ocean, around 1,250 miles (2,000km) due south of Hawaii. The island’s name is derived from the English word “Christmas”, the atoll having been “discovered” by the British explorer James Cook on Christmas Eve 1777.
In May 2023, I visited Kiritimati for a research project on “British nuclear imperialism”, which investigated how post-war Britain used its dwindling imperial assets and resources as a springboard for nuclear development. I sought to interview islanders who had remained on the atoll since the tests, including Teeua Tekonau, then aged 68. In 2024, I visited her younger sister, Teraabo Pollard, who lives more than 8,000 miles away in the contrasting surroundings of Burnley, north-west England.
Far from descriptions of fear and terror, both Teeua and Teraabo looked back on the tests with striking enthusiasm. Teraabo recalled witnessing them from the local maneaba (open-air meeting place) or tennis court as a “pleasurable” experience full of “excitement”.
She described having her ears plugged with cotton wool before being covered with a blanket. As if by magic, the blanket was then lifted to reveal a mushroom cloud igniting the night sky – a sight accompanied by sweetened bread handed out by American soldiers. So vivid was the light that Teraabo, then aged four, described “being excited about it being daytime again”.
An Operation Grapple thermonuclear test near Kiritimati, 1957-58. Video: Imperial War Museums.
In view of the violence of the tests, I was struck that Teeua and Teraabo volunteered these positive memories. Their enthusiasm seemed in marked contrast to growing concerns about the radioactive fallout – including those voiced by surviving test veterans and their descendants. As children, the tests seem to have offered the sisters a spectacle of fantasy and escapism – glazed with the saccharine of American treats and Disney films on British evacuation ships.
Yet they have also lived through the premature deaths of family members and, in Teraabo’s case, a malignant tumour dating from the time of the tests. And there have been similar stories from other families who lived in the shadow of these very risky, loosely controlled experiments. Teraabo told me about a friend who had peeked out from her blanket as a young girl – and who suffered from eye and health problems ever since.
‘Only a very slight health hazard’
Kiritimati forms part of the impossibly large Republic of Kiribati – a nation of 33 islands spread over 3.5 million square kilometres; the only one to have territory in all four hemispheres and, until 1995, on either side of the international date line. Before independence from Britain in 1979, Kiribati belonged to the Gilbert and Ellice Island Colony, which in effect made Kiritimati a “nuclear colony” for the purpose of British and American testing.
In 1955, Teeua and Teraabo’s parents, Taraem and Tekonau Tetoa, left their home island of Tabiteuea, a small atoll belonging to the Gilbert group of islands in the western Pacific. They boarded a British merchant vessel bound for Christmas Island nearly 2,000 miles away. Setting sail with new-born Teeua in their arms, the family looked forward to a future cutting copra on Kiritimati’s British coconut plantation.
The scale of this journey, with four young children, was immense. Just how the hundred or so Gilbertese passengers “managed to live [during the voyage] was better not asked”, according to one royal engineer who described a similar voyage a few years later. “There were piles of coconuts everywhere – perhaps they were for both food and drink.”
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Within two years of their arrival, the family faced more upheaval as mother Taraem and her children were packed aboard another ship ahead of the first three sets of British nuclear tests in the Pacific. Known as Grapple 1, 2 and 3, they were to be detonated over Malden Island, an atoll some 240 miles to the south of Kiritimati – but still too close for the comfort of local residents.
According to Teeua, the evacuation was prompted by disillusioned labourers brought to Kiritimati without their families, who went on strike after learning how much the British troops were being paid. But the islanders’ perspectives do not feature much in the colonial records, which give precedence to British disputes about logistical costs and safety calculations.
The Grapple task force resolved that the safe limit set by the International Commission on Radiological Protection should be reduced, to limit the cost of evacuations. A meeting in November 1956 noted that “only a very slight health hazard to people would arise from this reduction – and that only to primitive peoples”.
Shocking as this remark sounds, it is typical of the disregard that nuclear planners appear to have had, both for Indigenous communities and the mostly working-class soldiers. These lives did not seem to matter much in the context of Britain’s quest for nuclear supremacy. William Penney, Britain’s chief nuclear scientist, had bemoaned how critics during tests in Australia were “intent on thwarting the whole future of the British Empire for the sake of a few Aboriginals”.
Tekonau, Teeua’s father, was one of the 30 or so I-Kiribati people to stay behind on Kiritimati during the Malden tests in May and June 1957. As one of the only labourers to speak English, he had gained the trust of the district commissioner, Percy Roberts, who invited Tekonau to accompany him during inspections of villagers’ houses in Port London, then the island’s only village. On one occasion, Teeua said, the islanders did not recognise her father as he had been given a “flat top” haircut like the Fijian soldiers. “This means he had a nice relationship with the soldiers,” she told me. “Thank God for giving me such a good and clever dad.”
Since the initial tests did not produce a thermonuclear explosion, the task force embarked on further trials between November 1957 and September 1958, known as Grapple X, Y and Z. In view of expense and time, these were conducted on Kiritimati rather than Malden Island – and this time, the residents were not evacuated to other islands. Rather, families were brought aboard ships in the island’s harbour and shown films below deck.
After these tests, the islanders returned to find the large X and Y detonations had cracked the walls of their homes and smashed their doors and furniture. One islander found their pet frigate bird, like so many of the wild birds on Kiritimati, had been blinded by the flash of Grapple Y. No compensation was ever paid to the islanders, although the Ministry of Supply did reimburse the colony for deterioration of “plantation assets”, including £4 for every damaged coconut tree (equivalent to £120 today).
A month before Grapple Y, Teraabo was born. Her earliest and most vivid childhood memories are of the US-led Operation Dominic four years later, by which time evacuation procedures had been abandoned altogether.
This series of tests was sanctioned by Britain in exchange for a nuclear-powered submarine and access to the Nevada Proving Grounds in the US – regarded as pivotal to the future of British weapons technology ahead of the signing of the Test Ban Treaty in October 1963, which would prohibit atmospheric testing.
Dominic’s 24 detonations on Kiritimati – which usually took place after sunset around 6pm, between April and November 1962 – were “awesome”, according to Teraabo. Recalling the suspense as the “tannoy announced the countdown”, she described “coming out of cover [and] witnessing the bomb [as] an amazing experience … When the bomb set off, the brilliance of the light was tremendous.”
Each explosion’s slow expiration would re-illuminate the Pacific sky. One, Starfish Prime, became known as a “rainbow bomb” because of the multi-coloured aurora it produced over the Pacific, having been launched into space where it exploded.
So spectacular were these descriptions that I almost felt I had to suspend disbelief as I listened. At one point in my interview with Teraabo, she leaned in to reassure me that she had no interest in exaggerating these events: “I’m a very proud person,” she whispered, “I would never lie.”
‘In our blood’
More than six decades on from the Grapple tests, I was sitting in Teeua’s kitchen in the village of Tabwakea (meaning “turtle”), near the northern tip of Kiritimati. I had driven here in a Subaru Forester, clapped-out from the many potholes on the island’s main road, itself built by royal engineers over 60 years ago.
Teeua Tekonau in her kitchen during the author’s visit to Kiritimati in 2023. Christopher R. Hill., CC BY
Teeua’s home, nestled down a sand track, had a wooden veranda at the front where she would teach children to read and write under shelter from the hot equatorial sun. Handcrafted mats lined the sand and coral floor, fanning out from the veranda to the kitchen at the back.
The house felt full of the sounds of the local community, from the chatter of neighbours to the laughter of children outdoors. No one could feel lonely here, despite the vastness of the ocean that surrounds Kiritimati.
As Teeua cooked rice and prepared coffee, we discussed the main reason for my visit: to understand the impacts of the nuclear tests on the islanders, their descendents, and the sensitive ecosystem in which they live. Teeua is chair of Kiritimati’s Association of Atomic Cancer Patients, and one of only three survivors of the tests still living on Kiritimati. She pulled up a seat and looked at me:
Many, many died of cancer … And many women had babies that died within three months … I remember the coconut trees … when you drank [from the coconuts], you [were] poisoned.
Both Teeua’s parents and four of her eight siblings had died of cancer or unexplained conditions, she said. Her younger brother, Takieta, died of leukaemia at the age of two in November 1963 – less than a year after Operation Dominic ended. Her sister Teraabo, who discovered a tumour in her stomach shortly after the trials, was only able to have her stomach treated once she moved to the UK in 1981, by which time the tumour had turned malignant.
Teeua’s testimony pointed to the gendered impacts of the nuclear tests. She referred to the prevalence of menstrual problems and stillbirths, evidence of which can be inferred from the testimony of another nuclear survivor, Sui Kiritome, a fellow I-Kiribati who had arrived on Kiritimati in 1957 with her teacher husband. Sui has described how their second child, Rakieti, had “blood coming out of all the cavities of her body” at birth.
A rare military hospital record from 1958 – stored in the UK’s National Archives at Kew in London – also refers to the treatment of a civilian woman for ante-partum haemorrhage and stillbirth, though it is unclear whether this was a local woman or one of the soldier’s wives on the passenger ship HMT Dunera, which visited briefly to “boost morale” after Grapple X.
Members of the Kiritimati Association of Atomic Cancer Patients. Courtesy: Teeua Taukaro., CC BY-ND
Having re-established the Association of Atomic Cancer Patients in 2009, Teeua has continued much of the work that Ken McGinley, first chair of the British Nuclear Tests Veterans Association, did after its establishment in 1983. She has documented the names of all I-Kiribati people present during the tests, along with their spouses, children and other relatives. And she has listed the cancers and illnesses from which they have suffered.
In the absence of medical records at the island hospital, these handwritten notes are the closest thing on the atoll to epidemiological data about the tests. But according to Teeua, concerns about the health effects of the tests date back much longer, to 1965 when a labourer named Bwebwe spoke out about poisonous clouds. “Everyone thought he was crazy,” Teeua recalled.
But Bwebwe’s speculations were lent credibility by Sui Kiritome’s testimony, and by the facial scars she bore that were visible for all to see. In an interview with her daughter, Sui explained how she was only 24 when she started to lose her hair, and “burns developed on my face, scalp and parts of my shoulder”.
In a similar manner to claims made by British nuclear test veterans, Sui attributed her health problems to being rained on during Grapple Y – which may have been detonated closer to the atoll’s surface than the task force was prepared to admit.
When I asked Teeua why her campaigning association was only reformed in 2009, she explained it had been prompted by a visit from British nuclear test veterans who “told us that everyone [involved in the tests] has cancer – blood cancer”. They had been told this in the past but, she said, “we did not believe it. But after years … after our children [also] died of cancer, then we remembered what they told us.”
After some visiting researchers explained to Teeua and the community that the effects of the tests were “not good”, she concluded that “our kids died of cancer because of the tests … That’s why we start to combine together … the nuclear survivors, to talk about what they did to our kids”.
I found Teeua’s testimony deeply troubling: not only because of the suffering she and other families have been through, but in the way that veterans had returned to Kiritimati as civilians, raising concerns among locals that may have lain dormant or been forgotten. The suggestion that radiation was “in her blood” must have been deeply disturbing for Teeua and her community.
But I reminded myself that the veterans who came looking for answers in 2009 were also victims. They made the long journey seeking clues about their health problems, or a silver bullet to prove their government’s deception over the nuclear fallout.
As young men, they were unwittingly burdened with a lifetime of uncertainty – compounded by endless legal disputes with the Ministry of Defence or inconclusive health studies that jarred with their personal medical histories. And, like the islanders, some of these servicemen died young after experiencing agonising illnesses.
The scramble for the Pacific
My research on British nuclear imperialism also sheds light on how imperial and settler colonial perceptions of “nature” shaped how these nuclear tests were planned and operationalised.
British sites were selected on the basis of in-depth environmental research. When searching the site for Britain’s first atomic bomb (the Montebello Islands off the west coast of Australia), surveyors discovered 20 new species of insect, six new plants, and a species of legless lizard.
Monitoring of radioactive fallout from nuclear tests fed into the rise of ecosystem ecologies as an academic discipline. In the words of one environmental specialist on the US tests, it seemed that “destruction was the enabling condition for understanding life as interconnected”.
Since H-bombs would exceed the explosive yield deemed acceptable by Australia, Winston Churchill’s government in the mid-1950s had been forced to look for a new test site beyond Western and South Australia. British planners drew on a wealth of imperial knowledge and networks – but their proposal to use the Kermadec Islands, an archipelago 600 miles north-east of Auckland, was rejected by New Zealand on environmental grounds.
So, when Teeua and her family landed on Kiritimati in 1955, their journey was part of “the scramble for the Pacific”: a race between Britain and the US to lay claim to the sovereignty of Pacific atolls in light of their strategic significance for air and naval power.
The British government archives include some notable environmental “what ifs?” Had the US refused the UK’s selection of Kiritimati because of its own sovereignty claim, then it would have been probable, as Lennox-Boyd, Britain’s colonial secretary, admitted, that “the Antarctic region south of Australia might have to be used” for its rapidly expanding nuclear programme.
Instead, this extraordinary period in global history recently took me to a Victorian mansion in the Lancashire town of Burnley, where I interviewed Teeua’s younger sister, Teraabo, about her memories of the Kiritimati tests.
‘No longer angry’
Teraabo’s home felt like the antithesis of Teeua’s island abode 8,300 miles away: ordered instead of haphazard, private instead of communal, spacious instead of crowded. And our interview had a more detached, philosophical tone.
Teraabo Pollard with her father’s nuclear test veteran medal. Christopher R. Hill., CC BY-ND
Like her sister, Teraabo has worked to raise awareness about the legacy of the nuclear tests, including with the Christmas Island Appeal, an offshoot of the British Nuclear Test Veterans Association that sought to publicise the extent of the waste left on Kiritimati from the nuclear test period.
The appeal succeeded in persuading Tony Blair’s UK government to tackle the remaining waste in Kiritimati – most of which was non-radiological, according to a 1998 environmental assessment. The island was “cleaned up” and remediated between 2004 and 2008, at a cost of around £5 million to the Ministry of Defence. Much of the waste was flown or shipped back to the UK, where 388 tonnes of low-grade radioactive material were deposited in a former salt mine at Port Clarence, near Middlesbrough.
Yet Teraabo’s views have evolved. She told me she is “no longer angry” about the tests, a stark contrast to her position 20 years ago, when she told British journalist Alan Rimmer how islanders had “led a simple life with disease virtually unknown. But after the tests, everything changed. I now realise the whole island was poisoned.”
Whereas the Teraabo of 2003 blamed “the British government for all this misery”, she has since become more reflective. In the context of the cold war and the nuclear arms race, she even told me she could understand the British rationale for selecting Kiritimati as a test site. This seemed a remarkable statement from a survivor who had lost so much.
Over the course of the interview, it became clear Teraabo had grown tired of being angry – and that she had felt “trapped” by the tragic figure she was meant to represent in the campaigns of veterans and disarmers. Each time Teraabo rehearsed the doom-laden script of radiation exposure, she admitted she was also suppressing the joy of her childhood memories.
A turning point for Teraabo seems to have come in 2007, when she last visited Kiritimati and met her sister Teeua. By this time, the atoll’s population was 4,000 – quite a leap from the 300 residents she grew up with. “It is no longer the island I remember,” she said.
The Kiritimati of Teraabo’s memory was neat and well-structured. The one she described encountering in 2007 was chaotic and unkempt. She had come to the realisation that the Kiritimati she had been campaigning for – the pristine, untouched atoll of her parents – had long since moved on, so she should move on with it. The sorrow caused by the test operations would not define her.
Radioactive colonialism
Not long after I left Kiritimati in June 2023, the global nuclear disarmament organisation Ican began researching the atoll ahead of a major global summit to discuss the UN Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons. Descendants of Kiritimati’s nuclear test survivors were asked a series of questions, with those who provided the “right” answers being selected for a sponsored trip to UN headquarters in New York.
The chosen representatives included Teeua’s daughter, Taraem. I wondered if the survivors of Kiritimati are doomed to forever rehearse the stories of their nuclear past – a burden that Teeua and Teraabo have had to carry ever since they stood in awe of atomic and thermonuclear detonations more than 60 years ago.
They have had to deal with “radioactive colonialism” all their adult lives – the outside world demanding to see the imprint of radioactivity on their health and memories. But the sisters’ fondness for British order, despite all they have been through, prevails.
Their positive memories of Britain may in part reflect the elevated role of their father, Tekonau Tetoa – a posthumous recipient of the test veteran medal – within the British colonial system. During my visit, I happened upon an old photo of Tekonau, looking immaculate as he hangs off the side of a plantation truck in a crisp white shirt. Knowing Teeua did not possess a photo of her parents, I took a scan and raced to her house down the road.
“Do you recognise this man?” I asked, holding up my phone.
She flickered with recognition. “Is that my father?”
I nodded, and she shed a tear of joy.
Tekonau Tetoa, father of Teeua and Teraabo, hangs off the door of a coconut plantation truck in Kiritimati. Courtesy: John Bryden., CC BY-ND
Memories of Teeua and Teraabo’s father are preserved in the island landscape of their youth: pristine, regimented by the ostensible tidiness of colonial and military order.
But such order masked contamination: an unknown quantity that would only become evident years later in ill-health and environmental damage. It was not only the nuclear tests: from 1957 to 1964, the atoll was sprayed four times a week with DDT, a carcinogenic insecticide, as part of attempts to reduce insect-borne disease. In the words of one of the pilots: “I had many a wave from the rather fat Gilbo ladies sitting on their loos as I passed overhead, and gave them some spray for good measure!” British tidiness concealed a special brand of poison.
Today, the prospect of a meaningful response from the UK to the concerns raised by the islanders and servicemen alike seems slim. In October 2023, the UK and France followed North Korea and Russia in vetoing a Kiribati and Kazakhstan-proposed UN resolution on victim assistance and environmental remediation for people and places harmed by nuclear weapons use and testing.
Over in Kiritimati, meanwhile, Teeua still tends to a small plot where Prince Philip planted a commemorative tree in April 1959, shortly after the British-led nuclear tests had ended. It is rumoured he did not drink from the atoll’s water while he was there.
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Christopher Hill receives funding from the Office for Veterans’ Affairs, UK Cabinet Office. The research for this article was also supported by funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC), UKRI. The author wishes to thank the following for their support with this article: Fiona Bowler, Ian Brailsford, Joshua Bushen, John Bryden, Jon Hogg, Brian Jones, Rens van Munster, Wesley Perriman, Maere Tekanene, Michael Walsh, Rotee Walsh and Derek Woolf. Sincere thanks to Teeua Tekonau and Teraabo Pollard for sharing their family stories.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Philip Murphy, Director of History & Policy at the Institute of Historical Research and Professor of British and Commonwealth History, School of Advanced Study, University of London
That the recent visit of King Charles to Australia – his first as the country’s sovereign – attracted protests will have come as a surprise to very few people.
But the message from the most prominent protester was, perhaps, less expected. At the end of a speech by the king at Parliament House in Canberra on October 21, he was heckled by Lidia Thorpe, an independent senator of Aboriginal (Djab Wurrung, Gunnai and Gunditjmara) origin.
She told him: “You committed genocide against our people. Give us our land back. Give us what you stole from us – our bones, our skulls, our babies, our people.”
Earlier in the day, Thorpe had issued a statement outlining her position. In it, she claimed:
As First Peoples, we never ceded our Sovereignty over this land. The crown invaded this country, has not sought treaty with First Peoples, and committed a genocide of our people. King Charles is not the legitimate sovereign of these lands. Any move towards a republic must not continue this injustice. Treaty must play a central role in establishing an independent nation. A republic without a treaty must not happen.
Historic treaties
The recognition of the rights of Aboriginal peoples through a formal treaty has been a demand of Australian indigenous rights campaigners for decades. Indeed, Australia is unusual among British settler colonies in the failure of the crown to forge treaties with Indigenous peoples in the process of imperial occupation. In New Zealand and Canada these treaties continue to be invoked as an historical underpinning of indigenous rights.
The 1840 Treaty of Waitangi between Māori leaders and the crown as well as the rights and principles that followed from it are certainly politically contentious in New Zealand. Yet the Treaty is still widely regarded as the country’s founding document and a key symbolic basis for inclusion and reconciliation.
In Canada, the treaties signed by the crown with First Nations peoples are explicitly referenced in the country’s 1982 constitution and are cited by the Canadian government as “a framework for living together and sharing the land Indigenous peoples traditionally occupied.”
It should not come as much of a surprise that the issue of the the absence of similar treaties in Australia has been raised during the king’s visit. The rather dull itineraries of royal visits provide activists with a perfect opportunity to have their voices heard by journalists desperate for something interesting to write about. There is a history of Aboriginal protesters using them in this way.
In 1972, the Larrakia people, the traditional owners of the Darwin region in the Northern Territory, used a visit by Princess Margaret to draw attention to a petition asking Queen Elizabeth II to assist them in their demand for land rights and political representation.
The palace and the governments of the Realms are keenly aware of these sensitivities and plan royal tours accordingly. During his visit to Canada in 2022, for example, while he was still Prince of Wales, Charles made a point of meeting the survivors of the country’s notorious residential schools where thousands of indigenous children suffered abuse.
Ironically, indigenous treaties with the crown have complicated the republican issue, forcing campaigners for a republic in both New Zealand and Canada to offer assurances that the rights and obligations in those treaties would not be lost if the monarchy was to be abolished.
The question of reparations
Charles has followed his Australia visit by flying to Samoa for the summit of the Commonwealth Heads of Government. Again, the UK press sensed trouble ahead, predicting that as head of the Commonwealth Charles might be caught up in a row between the British government and Caribbean nations over the call for reparations for slavery.
The UK is not the only government in the Commonwealth having to wrestle with colonial legacy issues. But there is no avoiding them.
Britain has a monarchy steeped in imperial history, with a king who is quite separately sovereign of 14 other realms. Its government continues to profess a belief in the value of the Commonwealth, when its members have little else in common except that most of them were colonised by Britain.
A recent report by the UK thinktank Policy Exchange, which imagined the Commonwealth playing a greater role in British diplomatic, defence and trade policy, seemed blithely unaware of the tensions within the organisation and the barriers to collective action.
In a similar vein, UK prime minister Keir Starmer has claimed that he wants to “look forward” and focus on issues such as climate change and boosting prosperity rather than reparations.
But the Commonwealth is simply not a logical framework for the discussion of these matters. On the other hand, it is uniquely qualified to debate the impact of colonialism and the question of reparatory justice. And even if Britain doesn’t want to have that conversation, other Commonwealth countries certainly do.
Philip Murphy has received funding from the AHRC. He belongs to the European Movement UK.
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Frederick John Packer, Associate Professor of Law and Director of the Human Rights Research and Education Centre, L’Université d’Ottawa/University of Ottawa
Global freedom has been in decline for nearly two decades, according to Freedom House, an American non-profit organization devoted to supporting democracy around the world.
That means the role of high-profile freedom activists, including activists in exile — people who are displaced from their countries of origin due to their activism but continue to affect change through various means — has become ever more crucial.
A recent incident involving Alexander Lapshin, a Soviet-born Israeli travel journalist turned human rights advocate, at Armenia’s Yerevan airport highlights the ongoing persecution faced by activists even in seemingly secure environments.
On Sept. 21, during Armenia’s Independence Day celebrations, Lapshin said he was detained at the request of Belarusian authorities, accused of insulting the honour and dignity of Belarusian President Aleksandr Lukashenko by highlighting the authoritarian nature of his regime in social media posts.
Though not formally expelled from any one country, Lapshin’s circumstances have effectively left him with no safe or stable place to settle. He says legal and political pressures in both Ukraine and Israel prevent him from returning.
Armenia ultimately refused to arrest him, but Lapshin and his family were forced to endure four hours of distressing uncertainty at the Yerevan police station before his release was formally registered by Armenia’s Prosecutor General’s Office.
This provocation underscored the persistent threats activists face even in countries offering relative safety.
Extradited to Azerbaijan
Just weeks before his arrest in Yerevan, we met with Lapshin in Ottawa to learn about his odyssey, and by extension, the suffering of his family resulting from his work as a travelling journalist.
It’s not the first time Lapshin had been targeted by authoritarians. In 2016, while in Minsk, the capital of Belarus, Lapshin was detained by the authorities at the request of the Azerbaijani government. He was subsequently extradited to Azerbaijan on charges related to his travel in 2012 to the disputed region of Nagorno-Karabakh/Artsakh — an area claimed by both Armenia and Azerbaijan.
The Azerbaijani government accused Lapshin of violating its laws by entering the enclave without permission and promoting its independence. However, at that point Lapshin had never been involved in politics nor called for the region’s independence. The Azerbaijani court dropped this charge, though convicted him of taking an unauthorized journalistic trip.
The story of Lapshin’s arrest and extradition drew widespread condemnation from human rights organizations and various governments, who viewed it as a blatant violation of his rights to freedom of movement and expression.
Lapshin was nevertheless found guilty and sentenced to three years in prison. However, following significant international pressure and diplomatic negotiations, he was pardoned and released in September 2017.
Lapshin’s Azerbaijani ordeal
In his subsequent testimony to the Centre for Truth and Justice, a U.S.-based non-profit organization, Lapshin detailed the severe abuse he endured during his imprisonment in Azerbaijan.
Upon arrival at Kurdakhani prison — known for holding political prisoners — Lapshin was subjected to humiliating strip searches and invasive medical checks. For seven months, he was confined to a small, windowless cell, kept under constant artificial light and allowed only one hour of exercise in a similarly confined yard. His diet was minimal and of poor quality, leading to significant physical and psychological distress.
Lapshin testifies about how he was treated in Azerbaijan. (The Centre for Truth and Justice YouTube channel)
The most harrowing part of his imprisonment came on Sept. 10, 2017, when four masked men brutally assaulted him in his cell. Lapshin described the attack in detail:
“I felt three of them holding my legs and chest while one strangled me. They punched my ribs, my head and my genitals. I lost consciousness within seconds.”
He sustained severe injuries, including broken ribs, a broken wrist and multiple broken teeth. Azerbaijani authorities maintained that he had attempted suicide.
Lapshin’s further testimony about how he was treated in Azerbaijan. (The Centre for Truth and Justice YouTube channel)
According to Lapshin, Azerbaijan released him not because of the European Court’s decision, but due to his near death following an attempted murder in custody. He believes the president of Azerbaijan decided to release him without formalities to avoid international tension if he’d died in prison.
Broader implications
Lapshin’s recent detention in Armenia is part of a continued pattern of harassment against him as he’s morphed from a travel blogger to a human rights advocate.
Despite the ordeal, Lapshin sees these provocations as an opportunity to create greater public awareness. The media coverage generated from such incidents often works to his advantage, drawing more attention to the plight of political prisoners and the excesses of authoritarian regimes.
Lapshin sees his ordeals as helping to raise public awareness about authoritarians. (WikiMedia), CC BY
Lapshin’s collaboration with Jivan Avetisyan, a prominent film director focusing on human rights issues, exemplifies his strategic approach to advocacy — turning personal trauma into powerful narratives that reach a global audience.
Such collaborations contribute significantly to keeping human rights abuses in the spotlight.
Activists like Lapshin are crucial figures in the global struggle against authoritarianism. Despite enduring harsh persecution, they persist in their advocacy efforts from the relative safety of democracies, and work to raise awareness among policymakers and the public.
Lapshin’s recent trip to Ottawa is one example of this. He met with Global Affairs Canada officials and presented them with a sanctions list targeting Azerbaijani officials he alleges are responsible for war crimes and abuses, including those involved in his prison mistreatment.
Impact and challenges
Activists like Lapshin employ diverse strategies to advance their causes, such as social media engagement and public mobilization, as well as partnerships with global human rights organizations.
These efforts often result in positive changes, including the release of detained activists and the imposition of sanctions on oppressive governments. Lapshin’s resilience, along with that of notable exiled activists like Chinese-born Chen Guangcheng and Belarus’ Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, demonstrates the power and influence that individuals can wield against repressive regimes from afar.
Activists, in particular those in exile, face numerous challenges, including transnational repression and a lack of resources. Authoritarian regimes employ measures like surveillance, intimidation, physical assaults and even murder to target activists beyond their borders. These activists must also navigate legal, financial and cultural barriers in foreign countries when they seek asylum, find work and try to integrate into new societies, all while continuing their advocacy.
Lapshin’s experiences illustrate these challenges. The ongoing threats and harassment against him continue even today. Nonetheless, his dedication to human rights advocacy remains unwavering.
I am a member of various professional / academic associations and some human rights NGOs including (pro bono) the Canada Committee of Human Rights Watch. None of these would be affected by this article nor would I gain any benefit as a result.
Philip Leech-Ngo 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 most people think about caring for their mental health, they may think about getting more exercise, getting more sleep and making sure they’re eating healthy. Increasingly, research is showing that spending time in nature surrounded by plants and wildlife can also contribute to preventing and treating mental illness.
Our research focuses on the importance of birds and trees in urban neighbourhoods in promoting mental well-being. In our study, we combined more than a decade of health and ecological data across 36 Canadian cities and found a positive association between greater bird and tree diversity and self-rated mental health.
The well-being benefits of healthy ecosystems will probably not come as a great surprise to urban dwellers who relish days out in the park or hiking in a nearby nature reserve. Still, the findings of our study speak to the potential of a nature-based urbanism that promotes the health of its citizens.
Across cultures and societies, people have strong connections with birds. The beauty of their bright song and colour have inspired art, music and poetry. Their contemporary cultural relevance has even earned them an affectionate, absurdist internet nickname: “birbs”.
There’s something magical about catching a glimpse of a bird and hearing birdsong. For many urbanites, birds are our daily connection to wildlife and a gateway to nature. In fact, even if we don’t realize it, humans and birds are intertwined. Birds provide us with many essential services — controlling insects, dispersing seeds and pollinating our crops.
People have similarly intimate connections with trees. The terms tree of life, family trees, even tree-hugger all demonstrate the central cultural importance trees have in many communities around the world. In cities, trees are a staple of efforts to bring beauty and tranquility.
Contact with nature and greenspace have a suite of mental health benefits.
Natural spaces reduce stress and offer places for recreation and relaxation for urban dwellers, but natural diversity is key. A growing amount of research shows that the extent of these benefits may be related to the diversity of different natural features.
Finally, we compared both of these data sets to a long-standing health survey that has interviewed approximately 65,000 Canadians each year for over two decades.
We found that living in a neighbourhood with higher than average bird diversity increased reporting of good mental health by about seven per cent. While living in a neighbourhood with higher than average tree diversity increased good mental health by about five per cent.
Importance of urban birds and trees
The results of our study, and those of others, show a connection between urban bird and tree diversity, healthy ecosystems and people’s mental well-being. This underscores the importance of urban biodiversity conservation as part of healthy living promotion.
Protecting wild areas in parks, planting pollinator gardens and reducing pesticide use could all be key strategies to protect urban wildlife and promote people’s well-being. Urban planners should take note.
We’re at a critical juncture: just as we are beginning to understand the well-being benefits of birds and trees, we’re losing species at a faster rate than ever before. It’s estimated that there are three billion fewer birds in North America compared to the 1970s and invasive pests will kill 1.4 million street trees over the next 30 years.
By promoting urban biodiversity, we can ensure a sustainable and healthy future for all species, including ourselves.
Rachel Buxton receives funding from Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada, National Institutes of Health, and Environment and Climate Change Canada.
Emma J. Hudgins received funding from the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada and the Fonds de Recherche du Québec – Nature et Technologies for this work. She currently receives funding from Plant Health Australia.
Stephanie Prince Ware has received funding from the Canadian Institutes of Health Research.
In a world where artificial intelligence is rapidly shaping the future, California has found itself at a critical juncture. The US state’s governor, Gavin Newsom, recently blocked a key AI safety bill aimed at tightening regulations on generative AI development.
The Safe and Secure Innovation for Frontier Artificial Intelligence Models Act (SB 1047) was seen by many as a necessary safeguard on the technology’s development. Generative AI covers systems that produce new content in text, video, images and music – often in response to questions, or “prompts”, by a user.
But Newsom said the bill risked “curtailing the very innovation
that fuels advancement in favour of the public good”. While agreeing the public needs to be protected from threats posed by the technology, he argued that SB 1047 was not “the best approach”.
What happens in California is so important because it is the home of Silicon Valley. Of the world’s top 50 AI companies, 32 are currently headquartered within the state. California’s legislature therefore has a unique role in efforts to ensure the safety of AI-based technology.
But Newsom’s decision also reflects a deeper question: can innovation and safety truly coexist, or do we have to sacrifice one to advance the other?
California’s tech industry contributes billions of dollars to the state’s economy and generates thousands of jobs. Newsom, along with prominent tech investors such as Marc Andreessen, believes too many regulations could slow down AI’s growth. Andreessen praised the veto, saying it supports “economic growth and freedom” over excessive caution.
However, rapidly advancing AI technologies could bring serious risks, from spreading disinformation to enabling sophisticated cyberattacks that could harm society.
One of the significant challenges is understanding just how powerful today’s AI systems have become.
Generative AI models, like OpenAI’s GPT-4, are capable of complex reasoning and can produce human-like text. AI can also create incredibly realistic fake images and videos, known as deepfakes, which have the potential to undermine trust in the media and disrupt elections. For example, deepfake videos of public figures could be used to spread disinformation, leading to confusion and mistrust.
AI-generated misinformation could also be used to manipulate financial markets or incite social unrest. The unsettling part is that no one knows exactly what’s coming next. These technologies open doors for innovation – but without proper regulation, AI tools could be misused in ways that are difficult to predict or control.
Traditional methods of testing and regulating software fall short when it comes to generative AI tools that can create artificial images or video. These systems evolve in ways that even their creators can’t fully anticipate, especially after being trained on vast amounts of data from interactions with millions of people, such as ChatGPT.
SB 1047 sought to address this concern by requiring companies to implement “kill switches” in their AI software that can deactivate the technology in the even of a problem. The law would also have required them to create detailed safety plans for any AI project with a budget over US$100 million (£77.2m).
Critics said the bill was too broad, meaning it could affect even lower-risk projects. But its main goal was to set up basic protections in an industry that’s arguably moving faster than lawmakers can keep up with.
California as a global leader
What California decides could affect the world. As a global tech leader, the state’s approach to regulating AI could set a standard for other countries, as it has done in the past. For example, California’s leadership in setting stringent vehicle emissions standards through the California Consumer Privacy Act (CCPA), and its early regulation of self-driving cars, have influenced other states and countries to adopt similar measures.
But by vetoing SB 1047, California may have sent a message that it’s not ready to lead the way in AI regulation. This could leave room for other countries to step in – countries that may not care as much as the US about ethics and public safety.
Tesla’s CEO, Elon Musk, had cautiously supported the bill, acknowledging that while it was a “tough call”, it was probably a good idea. His stance shows that even tech insiders recognise the risks AI poses. This might be a sign the industry is ready to work with policymakers on how best to regulate this new breed of technology.
The notion that regulation automatically stifles innovation is misleading. Effective laws can create a framework that not only protects people, but allows AI to grow sustainably. For example, regulations can help ensure that AI systems are developed responsibly, with considerations for privacy, fairness and transparency. This can build public trust, which is essential for the widespread adoption of AI technologies.
The future of AI doesn’t have to be a choice between innovation and safety. By implementing reasonable safeguards, we can unlock the full potential of AI while keeping society safe. Public engagement is crucial in this process. People need to be informed about AI’s capabilities and risks to participate in shaping policies that reflect society’s values.
The stakes are high and AI is advancing rapidly. It’s time for proactive action to ensure we reap the benefits of AI without compromising our safety. But California’s killing of the AI bill also raises a wider question on the increasing power and influence of tech companies, given they raised objections that subsequently led to its veto.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jieling Xiao, Reader in Architecture and Sensory Environments, School of Architecture and Design, Birmingham City University
Apart from the breathtaking sight of vast blue waters or the rhythmic sound of crashing waves, the vivid smell of the sea ties us to the rhythms of nature and the ebb and flow of the tides. The salty freshness of a coastal breeze or the distinctive scent of seaweed can transport us back to memories of seaside holidays, fishing trips, or childhood adventures.
My research investigates how smells trigger feelings, imaginations and memories in places. As geographer Paul W. Rodaway noted 30 years ago, “olfaction gives us not just a sensuous geography of places and spatial relationships, but also an emotional one of love and hate, pain and joy, attachment and alienation”.
There’s no single ocean smell. Smellscapes of the sea are multi-layered; they are shaped by interactions between water, marine life and environmental conditions. Every time we breathe in sea air, we receive information from the marine environment – the chemicals generated from the ecological processes or contaminants produced by human activities.
Swimming, sailing, even just building a sandcastle – the ocean benefits our physical and mental wellbeing. Curious about how a strong coastal connection helps drive marine conservation, scientists are diving in to investigate the power of blue health.
This article is part of a series, Vitamin Sea, exploring how the ocean can be enhanced by our interaction with it.
The main chemical that contributes to that distinctive sea smell is dimethyl sulphide. This volatile organic compound containing sulphur that’s present in air and water in all marine areas.
Dimethyl sulphide, along with the evaporation of salty sea spray, creates that sharp, tangy smell that’s synonymous with the coastal experience. The concentration of dimethyl sulphide depends on many biological processes in the ocean. Marine algae produce a chemical called dimethylsulfoniopropionate (DMSP) which helps regulate their internal conditions during times of environmental stress. When algae die, that DMSP is released into the surrounding water where bacteria and enzymes convert it into dimethyl sulphide.
The Moon also affects the smell of the sea because the growth of algae changes with the tides. American marine biologist Rachel Carson described the impact of moon cycle on the ocean smell in her book The Sea Around Us (1951):
…for a time each spring, the waters may become blotched with brown, jellylike masses, and the fishermen’s nets come up dripping a brown slime and containing no fish, for the herring have turned away from these waters as though in loathing of the viscid, foul-smelling algae. But in less time than passes between the full moon and the new, the spring flowering of Phaeocystis is past and the waters have cleared again.
Changing smells reflect the changes in dynamics between marine life, water, the atmosphere and human activities. The foul smell from algae indicates decomposition and anaerobic activity in the water. The smell of decay often accompanies oxygen-deprived environments where organic matter breaks down. Monitoring the olfactory signals of ecosystems, such as the concentration of dimethyl sulphide or the smell of decaying algae, can provide insights into the health of marine environments and signal potential problems like low oxygen levels or contamination.
Scientists have started to explore the impact of climate change on the sea smells. Recent research by Matthew Salter, a marine biogeochemist at Stockholm University, investigates the volatile organic compounds (gaseous chemicals) emitted by cyanobacteria and other plankton that inhabit coastlines of the Baltic Sea. His team studies how these chemicals contribute to the formation of aerosols leading to climate change.
Researchers at Stockholm University explain how the smell of the sea is linked to the climate.
Saving healthy smellscapes
Preserving the natural scents of the sea requires concerted efforts to reduce sewage pollution and plastic waste reaching the sea. That involves promoting sustainable fishing practices and urban development, and mitigating climate change that causes extreme weather and rising sea levels that threaten marine habitats and coastal landscapes. Oceans are becoming more acidic as more carbon dioxide enters the atmosphere.
New findings suggest that ocean acidification may affect how sea creatures detect smells, which, in turn, affects their ability to detect predators, find food and track mates.
Melting ice caps and thawing permafrost are also releasing bacteria and other microbes that have been dormant for thousands or even millions of years. So how the sea smellscapes might change over the coming decades and centuries is unpredictable.
Meanwhile, creatives are pioneering ways to document ocean smellscapes. In the tidalectics project, Norwegian chemist Sissel Tolaas collected oceanic smells from the Caribbean and the Pacific coasts of Costa Rica, analysed the key chemicals and reproduced them. At her exhibition, she presented smells from waves to pollution to alert people about ecological change through their noses.
Researcher and artist Kate Mclean creates maps to illustrate smellscapes. In Newport, a seaside city on Rhode Island in the US, she documented the ocean-based smells to build a visual-olfactory catalogue. Different colour codes represent different collective responses to smells from people who joined Mclean on a smell walk. Blue lines show ocean smells spreading across the island as they are encountered frequently by residents and visitors.
As the environment changes, documenting smellscapes of the ocean could provide insight into the state of our seas and our relationship with coastal waters. So next time you take a breath of fresh air, by the sea or otherwise, take a moment to think about scent ecology. Our relationships with smells play a crucial role in connecting us to nature and telling us more about the health of our oceans.
Jieling Xiao 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.
If you live in the UK or are familiar with its wide range of accents and dialects, you can probably tell the difference between a posh or upper-class accent, (think the “King’s English”) and one more associated with the working class (such as Cockney).
Besides accents, it is a popular view, reinforced in media and pop culture, that certain words are used specifically by people of certain classes. For example, in the book Watching the English, social anthropologist Kate Fox comments that the word “sofa” is used by upper-middle-class speakers or above.
In the 1950s, Alan Ross, a professor of linguistics at the University of Birmingham, claimed to identify behaviour that distinguished England’s upper classes from the rest of society. These included, among other things, not playing tennis in braces and an aversion to high tea.
He also identified features of pronunciation, grammar and use of specific words which he thought differed. This was not based on empirical research, but solely on his own perceptions (“armchair linguistics”). While Ross’s claims are often referenced in the media, there has not been much research to see if these views hold up today.
Through two studies carried out with our colleagues George Bailey and Eddie O’Hara Brown, we tried to find out. We investigated the use of words that Ross and others have identified as indicators of class: the supposedly upper-class words loo, napkin and sofa, with their supposedly non-upper-class counterparts, toilet, serviette and settee.
In the first study, we used spot-the-difference tasks to prompt 80 participants of different ages, genders and social classes to say these words. For example, “the sofa is a different colour in that picture” or “the toilet is green in the left picture and white in the right one”. This meant that participants were focused more on the task than the actual words, so we were able to examine their natural usage.
While the supposedly upper-class napkin and sofa were more common than serviette or settee, the supposedly non-upper-class toilet was more common than loo. For example, where napkin was used by 72 participants, only 18 used serviette (some speakers used multiple words). This challenges Ross’s claims that words distinguish the upper class from the rest of society. If most people use a word, that word cannot be a reliable indicator of upper classness.
In terms of social variation, we found that the usage of these words varied, but not in a way associated with social class. For example, there were some interesting results relating to age. While, on the one hand, the reportedly upper-class loo is used more by older speakers, the supposedly non-upper-class serviette and settee are also more commonly used by older speakers.
Perception of words and class
We also wanted to examine the perception of these words, as in whether people think certain words are associated with social characteristics, such as education level, professionalism, formality and poshness, which are traits associated with class.
So, in a second experiment, we asked 100 participants to evaluate several social media posts, asking them to judge the writers. Half of the participants read the “upper-class word” and half read the “non-upper-class” word within an otherwise identical phrase, adapted from genuine posts on social media.
For example, one message was: “My flatmate went to a wedding and I brought takeaway, was almost done eating before I saw something that looks like a fried egg, put it in my mouth and it was a napkin/serviette. God why me!?”
From this experiment, we found that the perception of these words is not uniform across social groups. For example, the higher socioeconomic group thought sofa to be more posh, while the lower socioeconomic group perceived settee as more posh.
There were no perceptual differences between toilet/loo. And serviette was perceived as more posh than napkin, despite being identified by Ross and others as the non-upper-class form.
Both of our studies, as well as complementary analysis of the spoken British National Corpus (a 10 million word database of spoken English), show that there is little consistency in the way that each of the investigated variables are used and perceived.
Of course, this is not to say that there are no class-based vocabulary markers in contemporary British English, or that the effects of such perceptions do not have an effect. As much other linguistic research shows, class-based accent and dialect discrimination are unfortunately still alive and well.
While the view that some words are posher than others has endured, our findings show that the claims popularised by Ross in the 1950s are not reflected in the reality of England today.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Louis Bayman, Associate Professor in Department of Film Studies, University of Southampton
This year’s London Film Festival boasted 254 feature and short films, with an all-time high of 44% of the films screened by female and non-binary directors. But the festival’s most newsworthy event concerned a film that wasn’t screened at all.
To the dismay of its director, Havana Marking, the documentary Undercover: Exposing the Far Right was cancelled at the last minute with festival staff citing safety concerns in the wake of the summer riots. The documentary seeks to expose the political influence of a shadowy US-UK network that promotes racist scientific views. Although it missed out on its opportunity for a theatrical showing, the film is now airing on Channel 4 and is receiving good reviews.
Like all festivals, there were prizes to be won and the festival jury awarded best feature film to Memoir of a Snail. This is the first time that a stop-motion animation has won the award. Directed by Adam Elliot and featuring the voice of Succession star Sarah Snook, the jury praised it as “emotionally resonant and constantly surprising”, adding that it “tackles pertinent issues such as bullying, loneliness and grief head-on.”
This may turn out to be an unpopular decision with critics, given how many of them complained about the emotional nature of the festival’s opening night gala film, Steve McQueen’s wartime drama Blitz. McQueen’s genius for realising the restrictive nature of particular historical moments is always achieved with a special intensity, whether with Irish political prisoners in Hunger or the pre-emancipation US of 12 Years a Slave.
Blitz takes as its setting three days in London in 1940, featuring a child who manages to flee evacuation and has to find his way through a bombed-out London back home to his mother. The film even alludes to Charles Dickens as the boy tries to dodge the ne’er-do-wells of the city streets.
The boy is bi-racial and the film’s representation of the Black life of the city is a corrective to more commonplace images of a monocultural wartime Britain. But its family drama conjures more pathos than is usual for McQueen. The film thus revises, if not destroys, the myth of national unity that has grown up around the blitz. It incorporates racial and class divisions but the critical consensus seemed to be that its sentimentality let the film down.
Alternatively, The Apprentice, the true story of the rise of Donald Trump under the tutelage of cutthroat lawyer Roy Cohn, showed considerable restraint depicting its uniquely polarising protagonist. The film finds Trump dodging lawsuits in the crisis-ridden New York of the 1970s, only to prosper in the greed-is-good real estate boom of the 1980s.
Sebastian Stan’s Trump avoids caricature, almost garnering affection before eventually becoming the babbling fountain of profound vacuity that we recognise today. With excellent performances from Jeremy Strong as Cohn and Maria Bakalova as Ivana Trump the film succeeds most as a revisitation of the iconic images of New York’s modern history through the prism of Trump. This revisitation occurs first in its retro imitation of early Martin Scorsese films and then with the grain of a boardroom melodrama shot on VHS.
The festival also included some righteously powerful political denunciations.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig deserves special mention as an acutely powerful portrait of a family undergoing the increasingly suspenseful stirrings of rebellion amid the “women, life, freedom” protests in Iran.
I’m Still Here, a return to directing from City of God’s Walter Salles, presents the intersection of the personal and the political in a very different way. The film tells the true story of the leftwing congressman Rubens Paiva’s disappearance by the Brazilian military dictatorship in 1971 and the heartbreaking tension of his family’s life-long search for answers.
Other notable returns from veteran directors included Mike Leigh’s depiction of the struggles of mental illness in Hard Truths, a blend of social realism and fairytale set in Gravesend, and Pedro Almodóvar’s first English-language film The Room Next Door. Two films that achieved a particular buzz among festival attendees and that are set to achieve a wide general release are Anora, Sean Baker’s comedy drama about a mismatched marriage between a lapdancer and a Russian oligarch’s son, and Conclave, set around the choosing of a new Pope starring Ralph Fiennes and Stanley Tucci.
I had some personal favourites of the films that garnered fewer headlines. The first is All We Imagine As Light, an allusive portrait of the dislocating effects of modern city life among three female friends in Mumbai. Another is Four Mothers, a remake of the Italian comedy Mid-August Lunch transposed to Ireland. Featuring an aspiring writer whose friends go on holiday and leave their elderly mothers for him to look after, its blend of humour and sensitivity achieves exquisite delicacy.
And finally, The Surfer wins my award for the cinema’s potential for delirious incoherence. Set entirely in a car park overlooking a beach, this comedy-thriller-folk horror explores suburban aspirational masculinity through a characteristically demented star turn by Nicolas Cage.
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Louis Bayman 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 – Africa – By Kevin P. Gallagher, Professor of Global Development Policy and Director, Global Development Policy Center, Boston University
At the 2021 UN Climate Summit, Barbados prime minister Mia Mottley called for more and better use of special drawing rights (SDRs), the International Monetary Fund’s reserve asset.
The special drawing right is an international reserve asset created by the IMF. It is not a currency – its value is based on a basket of five currencies, the biggest chunk of which is the US dollar, followed by the euro. It is a potential claim on the freely usable currencies of IMF members. Special drawing rights can provide a country with liquidity.
Countries can use their special drawing rights to pay back IMF loans, or they can exchange them for foreign currencies.
As Mottley is the newest president of the Climate Vulnerable Forum and Vulnerable Group of 20 (V20) finance ministers, which represents 68 climate-vulnerable countries that are among those with the most dire liquidity needs, including 32 African countries, her call would be directly beneficial to African countries.
In August 2021, as the shock from the COVID-19 pandemic battered their economies, African countries received a lifeline of US$33 billion from special drawing rights. This amounts to more than all the climate finance Africa receives each year, and more than half of all annual official development assistance to Africa.
This US$33 billion did not add to African countries’ debt burden, it did not come with any conditions, and it did not cost donors a single cent to provide.
IMF members can vote to create new issuances of special drawing rights. They are then distributed to countries in proportion to their quotas in the IMF. Quotas are denominated in special drawing rights, the IMF’s unit of account.
Quotas are the building blocks of the IMF’s financial and governance structure. An individual member country’s quota broadly reflects its relative position in the world economy. Thus, by design, the poorest and most vulnerable countries receive the least when it comes to quotas and voting shares.
Special drawing rights cannot solve all of Africa’s economic challenges. And their highly technical nature means they are not always well understood. But at a time when African countries are facing chronic liquidity challenges – most countries in the region are spending more on debt service payments than they are on health, education, or climate change – our new research shows that special drawing rights can play an important role in establishing financial stability and enabling investments for development.
Financial stability includes macroeconomic stability (such as low inflation, healthy balance of payments, sufficient foreign reserves), a strong financial system and resilience to shocks.
African leaders are approaching a critical year-long opportunity: in November, the first Group of 20 (G20) summit will convene (with the African Union in attendance as a member for the first time). Then in December South Africa assumes the G20 presidency.
As African leaders advocate for reforms to the international financial architecture, maximising the potential of special drawing rights should be a central component of their agenda.
The problem
African countries’ finances are facing tough times. External debt in sub-Saharan Africa has tripled since 2008. The average government is now spending 12% of its revenue on external debt service. The COVID-19 pandemic, Russia’s war in Ukraine, and rises in interest rates and the prices of commodities, like food and fertiliser, have all contributed to this trend.
Debt restructuring mechanisms have also proved inadequate. Countries like Zambia and Ghana got stuck in lengthy restructurings. Weak institutional capacity and poor governance also impede efficient use of public resources.
At the same time, African economies need to increase investment to advance development, support a young and growing population, develop climate resilience and take advantage of the opportunity presented by the energy transition.
To meet the resources for a just energy transition and the attainment of the UN 2030 Sustainable Development Goals, investment in climate and development will have to increase from around 24% of GDP (the average for Africa in 2022) to 37%.
Special drawing rights have proved to be an important tool in addressing these challenges. Research by the IMF and others shows that African countries significantly benefited from the special drawing rights they received in 2021 to stabilise their economies. And this happened without worsening debt burdens or costing advanced economies any money, particularly as they cut development aid.
However, advanced economies exercise significant control over the availability of special drawing rights. The IMF’s quota system determines both voting power and their distribution. Advanced economies control most of the IMF’s quotas.
The advanced economies made the right decision in 2021 and in 2009 to issue new special drawing rights and the time has come again.
The solution
African and other global south leaders need to make a strong case for another issuance of special drawing rights at the IMF and World Bank meetings in Washington.
In addition to a new issuance of special drawing rights, advanced economies still need to be pressured to re-channel the hundreds of billions of special drawing rights sitting idle on their balance sheets into productive purposes.
The 2021 allocation of special drawing rights amounted to US$650 billion in total. But only US$33 billion went to African countries due to the IMF’s unequal quota distribution. Meanwhile advanced economies with powerful currencies and no need for special drawing rights received the lion’s share.
The African Development Bank has spearheaded one such proposal alongside the Inter-American Development Bank. Under this plan, countries with unused special drawing rights could re-channel them to the African Development Bank as hybrid capital, allowing the bank to lend around $4 for each $1 of special drawing rights it receives.
The IMF approved the use of special drawing rights as hybrid capital for multilateral development banks in May. But it set an excessively low limit of 15 billion special drawing rights across all multilateral development banks.
Even so, advanced economies have been slow to re-channel special drawing rights. The close to $100 billion that have been re-channelled – mostly to IMF trust funds – is meaningful.
But it still falls short of what should have been re-channelled.
In the long term, IMF governance reforms are needed to avoid a repeat of the inefficient distribution of special drawing rights.
As African countries rightly push to change shortcomings of the international financial architecture, new special drawing rights issuances should be at the centre of such a strategy. The IMF’s 2021 special drawing rights issuance showed the tool’s scale and importance. And special drawing rights re-channelling has had positive effects in easing debt burdens and freeing up financing to recover from the COVID-19 pandemic.
With 2030 approaching and the window shrinking for climate action, global leaders should be using all the tools at their disposal, including special drawing rights, to build a more resilient future.
Abebe Shimeles received funding from African Economic Research Consortium. He is affiliated with Institute of Labor Studies, IZA
Kevin P. Gallagher 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 spend a lot of our time online, making us vulnerable to scammers.Media Lens King
Whether we’re socialising, shopping, banking, studying or working, billions of people around the world spend hours each day online.
This digital immersion has many benefits – and plenty of pitfalls, too. Here are just a few of the articles we’ve published by academics who specialise in various aspects of online safety. They’re packed full of cautionary tales and expert advice for keeping your digital spaces safe.
Identifying online scams
Think it’s only the digitally unsophisticated who get trapped by online scammers? Think again. Cybersecurity expert Thembekile Olivia Mayayise warns that even some of the most seasoned internet users she knows have fallen prey to phishing scams. They hand over sensitive information like login credentials and credit card details to “seasoned and cunning scammers who have honed their skills in the world of phishing over an extended period. Some work alone; others belong to syndicates.”
Given that some people make a career out of running online scams, it shouldn’t be a surprise that there’s a market for training aspirant cyber crooks. Cybercrime scholars Suleman Lazarus and Mark Button shine a spotlight on west Africa’s “hustle kingdoms”, which are becoming common in Ghana and Nigeria. At these informal academies, people are taught to carry out digital scams. Sextortion – coercing victims into sharing sexually explicit content and threatening to make it public if the scammer is not paid – is one such strategy.
Luckily, researchers are developing new ways to understand the psychology of online scammers. Rennie Naidoo, a professor of information systems, explains how behavioural science and data science could join forces to combat cybercrime. While data science can be used to identify patterns that indicate potential cyber threats, he points out, it cannot recognise the human factors that drive cybercriminal behaviour. That’s where behavioural science comes in.
Disinformation and misinformation have become depressingly common in online spaces. Misinformation arises from people unwittingly spreading falsehoods; disinformation involves the deliberate, planned dissemination of lies. Fabrice Lollia’s experience as a disinformation expert means he’s well placed to offer handy tips for sorting lies from truth.
It’s not just adults who are at risk online. Children are, in many respects, more vulnerable than their parents and caregivers even though they tend to have a better practical grasp of internet technology than previous generations. Lucy Jamieson, Heidi Matisonn and Wakithi Mabaso have researched various aspects of the ethics of new and emerging technologies, with a focus on how children are affected. The trio provide practical, simple advice for helping children navigate the risks, identify the ethical pitfalls and enjoy the benefits of social media platforms.
The assessment system for children and young people with additional needs in England is failing.
More people than ever are on waiting lists for autism and specific learning difficulties. Some NHS trusts are closing waitlists for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Services are overloaded and past breaking point.
Based on my expertise in neurodiversity and educational inclusion, I believe a different approach is needed to identify and support those with additional needs in schools.
In the current education system, when there are concerns about a child’s progress, behaviour or wellbeing, schools follow a multi-step process to assess the child’s strengths and needs.
This process involves trying school-based approaches such as literacy, mathematics and nurture groups, before seeking help from external specialists if this does not lead to improvement. Specialists may include educational and clinical psychologists, occupational therapists, specialist teachers and community paediatricians, among others.
The right support
Making accurate and timely referrals to these specialists is a complex task. A crucial role is played by the school’s special educational needs coordinators (Sencos)– qualified teachers who are responsible for the strategic development and provision of assistance for children with special educational needs and disabilities across a school.
A Senco’s decisions are pivotal in determining which specialists to involve and when. Mistakes at this stage can have significant emotional and financial consequences. Misdirected referrals can strain school budgets and leave the child’s needs unmet.
Introducing a more detailed assessment process within schools would help bridge the gap between education and specialist services. It would provide a comprehensive and holistic understanding of each child’s needs.
I took this approach in my recent research based on tracking three cases from first referral to final conclusion. Rather than being referred directly to a specialist following the Senco’s observations, three children with different learning and development needs were referred instead to a developmental psychologist who made their own assessment of the child’s overall needs. This was unusual and occurred as part of my research.
In each case, the developmental psychologist collected detailed background histories. They also conducted thorough observations and assessed cognition, achievement and behaviour using both standardised and “gold standard” diagnostic tools. The resulting reports offered a comprehensive overview of each child’s strengths and challenges, directing them to the most appropriate specialist.
One assessment outcome confirmed the Senco’s initial concern of autism. One revealed additional co-occurring diagnoses of dyslexia and dyspraxia. The third identified ADHD, differing from the Senco’s initial judgment. Without the developmental psychologist’s input, some of these children’s needs would have been missed.
Following the developmental psychologist’s thorough assessments and full profiles of each child, diagnoses were made immediately or within six months. Rapid targeted recommendations were provided in each case.
Skilled practitioners in schools could help children get more appropriate support more quickly. Drazen Zigic/Shutterstock
To address the inefficiencies of the current system, which leads to long waiting lists, I believe a skilled educational inclusion practitioner should become part of the school environment. This would be someone with expertise across various areas, and with strong connections to both educational and health services.
This role would span a number of schools and does not necessarily require a developmental psychologist. Specialist teachers or Sencos could receive additional training in developmental psychology. By doing so, they could help promote greater understanding of neurodiversity in schools, where the foundations of relationships and learning begin.
This educational inclusion practitioner would create a profile of the child’s strengths and difficulties. They would take on the role of diagnosing specific learning difficulties and identifying appropriate specialists for likely neurodivergence, and recommending interventions – thereby streamlining referrals and reducing guesswork.
My research highlights the value of having a skilled practitioner in schools or trusts with expertise beyond that of what a Senco would bring. A skilled generalist who connects education, home and health services can foster better collaboration between health and education, and more thoroughly assess a child’s needs.
The costs would be minimal compared with the significant benefits of avoiding late, missed or incorrect diagnoses in childhood. This, ultimately, would have a positive impact on children’s lives and futures.
Penelope Hannant does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Nicolas Forsans, Professor of Management and Co-director of the Centre for Latin American & Caribbean Studies, University of Essex
Cuba’s national grid collapsed four times in as many days last week, after the island’s largest power plant, Antonio Guiteras, failed. Millions of Cubans are still without power, with food rotting in powerless fridges and many lacking access to clean water.
The Communist government closed schools on October 18 and ordered non-essential public sector activities to stop as work began on restoring the grid. But this was hindered by the arrival of Hurricane Oscar on Sunday night, which unleashed heavy rain and strong winds across eastern Cuba.
Antonio Guiteras is now back online, and Cuban energy officials say electricity has been restored in most of the capital city, Havana, and some outlying areas. But they have warned against too much optimism.
Cuba’s five thermoelectric power plants are obsolete and crumbling. And with oil products accounting for over 80% of power generation, the island depends on Venezuela for fuel shipments. But shipments have been cut in half this year as Venezuela struggles to ensure its own supply, forcing the Cuban government to seek far more expensive fuel on the spot market.
The problem is that the Cuban government is running out of money as it grapples with the island’s worst economic crisis in 30 years, so power cuts of up to 20 hours a day are now common. Indeed, Lazaro Guerra, Cuba’s top electricity official, has said that Cubans “should not expect that when the system comes back online the blackouts will end”.
How did Cuba get here?
The roots of this crisis can be traced back to the cold war when Fidel Castro overthrew the US-backed government of Fulgencio Batista in January 1959. Convinced that the Cuban revolution was the most advanced among all far-left movements in Latin America, the former Soviet Union sided with the island and provided it with industrial goods and technical assistance.
Cuba’s relations with the US worsened dramatically, and by July 1960 it had announced the expropriation of US industrial, banking and commercial operations on the island. Within a few months, the Cuban state had taken over all sugar mills, most industry and trade, half of the land, and every bank and communication network in the country.
Retaliation swiftly followed. The US introduced its first embargo on all exports to Cuba in 1960, with exceptions for food and medicine. And this was followed in 1962 by a ban on all trade and financial transactions with the island. In 1964, the then US president, Lyndon B. Johnson, ordered a multilateral policy of “economic denial”, severely inhibited Cuba’s efforts to foster economic relations with other countries.
The island would receive considerable amounts of aid from the Soviet bloc over the next 30 years. But this only deepened Havana’s dependence on a single export product: sugar, which was purchased at an inflated price as part of the aid programme. In return, Cuba purchased the crude oil it needed to operate its electricity plants.
But, by the time the Soviet Union disintegrated in 1991, Cuba had failed to diversify its industrial structure and move away from its low productivity, monocultural economy. The country enjoyed limited self-sufficiency even in the production of food, with all means of production in the state’s hands.
With the disappearance of its main oil supplier, Cuba was also forced to increase its domestic oil production and turn to Venezuela to meet its energy needs. The US embargo, which has been in place for 62 years, has cost Cuba an estimated US$130 billion (£100 billion), and has limited its access to basic goods and services.
During Barack Obama’s second term as US president, there was a step change in relations between the two countries. Diplomatic relations resumed from 2014 and the embargo was eased, including restrictions on the ability of Cuban-Americans to travel back to the island and send remittances.
In March 2016, Barack Obama became the first US president to visit Cuba since Calvin Coolidge in 1928. Kimberly Shavender / Shutterstock
This kicked off a boom in private sector activities in Cuba and prompted reforms by the Cuban government aimed at restructuring the economy. However, the government was unwilling to reduce its grip on the centrally planned economy, and the reforms moved too slowly to produce any meaningful improvement.
Then, in his final week in office in 2021, Donald Trump reimposed trade restrictions targeting tourism, remittances, and energy supplies, as well as adding Cuba to the list of “state sponsors of terrorism”. The move led to severe shortages and inflation, both of which were worsened by the pandemic.
Logistical bottlenecks disrupted supplies and inflated shipping costs further. Heavily dependent on tourism, Cuba suffered a severe depletion of its foreign currency reserves.
Patience is running out
The economic situation has continued to decline. Export earnings in 2023 were still US$3 billion short of their pre-pandemic level, and Cuba’s economic output is not expected to return to its level before the pandemic until after 2025.
Half a million people – most of whom were young – left the country for the US between 2021 and 2022. And thousands more have made their way to Brazil, Russia, Uruguay and elsewhere in an exodus that is unprecedented in the history of the island.
The future outlook looks bleak, yet the government is keen to quash dissent. Speaking during the latest blackouts, Cuba’s current president, Miguel Díaz-Canel, said: “We will not accept or allow anyone to act by provoking acts of vandalism, and much less disturbing the civil tranquillity of our people … And that is a principle of our revolution.”
Díaz-Canel was reelected by lawmakers in April 2023 for a second and final term. But the weak state of Cuba’s economy will pose significant challenges for his government, testing its strength and the legitimacy of its hold on power.
Cuba’s relations with the US are also likely to remain strained. In an attempt to curb Cuba’s outreach to Russia and China for predominantly economic assistance, the US president, Joe Biden, has loosened some sanctions. But this could all change with a Republican victory in the upcoming US election.
Nicolas Forsans does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
In 1893, the American Journal of the Medical Sciences reported on ten patients whose large and hitherto incurable cancers had been injected with bacteria taken from skin infections. In every case, striking improvement was seen, marking the birth of “cancer immunotherapy” – using the power of the immune system to attack cancer.
The immune system is the body’s most powerful weapon against cancer and infection. For a cancer cell, surviving long enough to divide and eventually form a lump or tumour is the result of a brutal Darwinian process. To reach this point, cancer must adapt, hiding from immune detection and co-opting patients’ immune machinery to betray its original programming and instead protect the cancer.
Immunotherapy – which really started to take off just over a decade ago – is an attempt to artificially tip the balance back in favour of tumour elimination. Sometimes this can be done by taking off the brakes from immune cells already in the cancer.
This works because cancers have fooled the body by using its own natural safety switches, or “checkpoints”, that usually keep our immune systems under control. Blocking these switches using specially chosen antibodies – biological drugs – turns the immune response back on. This approach is called “immune checkpoint blockade”.
Mutations are alterations in genetic code that can lead to cancer. All cancers fall on a spectrum, depending on how many mutations the cells have. Typically, cancers caused by exposure to toxic or harmful things have higher numbers of mutations than those which are not – examples include melanoma, a type of skin cancer, and some types of colon cancer.
From the perspective of the immune system, the more mutations there are, the “hotter” the cancer is. This may make a cancer more aggressive, but it also increases the chances that the immune system will have detected it and mounted a response. This is why immune checkpoint blockade therapy works well for these high-mutation cancers, but less well for others.
The other type of immunotherapy does not rely on the natural activity of the immune system. This approach uses immune machinery that is designed in a laboratory, a bit like biological Lego. Scientists take pieces of existing immune mechanisms and combine them to make new ones, which enhance the way the body’s defence system responds.
When put into the patient’s T-cells (a type of immune cell that usually fights viruses), this machinery allows them to attack and kill cancer. Called cell therapy, this approach has cured patients with previously incurable leukaemia.
The new machinery, called a “chimeric antigen receptor” or “Car”, transforms a diverse T-cell population into Car-T, where the engineered cells all respond to the same cancer-associated marker.
Victims of their own success
Both types of immunotherapy have been victims of their own success. This has led to the replication of existing technology rather than riskier diversification. Of 11 immune checkpoint blockade treatments approved by American regulators, nine target the same immune interaction. And of the Car-T cell treatments approved in the US since their debut in 2017, all target one of two markers found exclusively on blood cancers.
Substantial effort has been spent on iterative developments of the existing Car concept. Examples include changing the target or tuning the signals that stimulate the T-cells.
This has yielded important advances, but the saturation of both academic and commercial research space has contributed to a diminishing appetite for funding more celltherapy programmes.
Success against solid cancers has also been extremely low. The Darwinian adaptiveness shown by cancer creates a suppressive environment in a cancer lump, where it is hard for Car-T to work properly. So, reliance on a single technology has not delivered on its initial promise.
This phenomenon is not new. In the 1950s, confidence in chemotherapy was low because single drugs failed to produce lasting cures. But by the 1960s, combination chemotherapy began to deliver durable patient benefit, and multi-drug regimens now form a mainstay of cancer therapy.
Immunotherapies that use combination approaches are now emerging. Recent research from University College London demonstrated how engineered immune cells called gamma-delta T-cells could act as delivery vehicles for anti-cancer antibodies.
In this approach, not only did the engineered cells kill cancer in mice, they also empowered other cells to join the fight. Also, gamma-delta T-cells can be safely taken from a healthy donor and given to several patients.
So there is hope.
Cell therapies that can be made beforehand from healthy donor cells and then stored, ready to use, are receiving more interest. For example, the number of trials using gamma delta T-cells doubled between 2022 and 2023, the fastest-growing area of activity.
This could remove the waiting time for treatment manufacture, reducing the chance of disease worsening in the interim. A move away from reliance on single-axis immune interventions, such as immune checkpoint blockade or Car-T in isolation, should yield better outcomes.
The immune system is highly complex. Our attempts to manipulate it must live up to this complexity if we are to deliver lasting patient benefit.
Jonathan Fisher works for University College London and is an inventor on patents pertaining to gamma-delta T cell immunotherapy. In the past 5 years he has received research funding from UKRI, the Academy of Medical Sciences, Cancer Research UK, CCLG, and the UCL Technology Fund.
Deaths from drug use in England and Wales have risen by 11%, according to the latest annual data published by the Office for National Statistics (ONS). In 2023, there were 5,448 fatalities (93 deaths per million people) – the highest number of drug-related deaths since records began in 1993.
Over half these deaths involved opiates, such as heroin and morphine. The highest rate of deaths from opiate misuse was among those aged between 40 and 49 years old.
It’s unknown how many opiate deaths last year were due to synthetic opiates, such as nitazenes. Delays in when the data on synthetic opiate deaths was published meant it could not be included in this latest report. But while these drugs remain of serious concern, and related deaths may be being under-counted, heroin remains the opiate associated with most harm.
Those born in the 1970s (referred to as “generation X”) are more likely to die from drug misuse than any other age group. It’s not entirely clear why drug deaths are higher in this age group, but it could be due to people beginning to develop a number of physical and mental health problems in their forties that make them more vulnerable to a fatal overdose. For example, breathing problems could make someone more vulnerable to an opiate overdose, as these drugs have a depressant effect on the respiratory system.
Men of any age outnumber women two-to-one in deaths from drug misuse – a finding which has been true since records began. Men are more likely to use drugs than women, which may account for the difference in fatalities.
There are also stark regional differences in drug-related deaths. For example, the north-east of England continues to have much higher rates of deaths from drug misuse, compared with other parts of the country.
There were 174.3 drug-related deaths per million people in the north-east, compared with 58.1 drug-related deaths per million people in London. The rate of drug-poisoning deaths reported in the north-east were the highest they have been for the past 11 years. In the main, these deaths will have been due to an instant fatal overdose, while other deaths will have been cumulative.
As the popularity of cocaine has increased over the past decade – it is now the second-most used drug in England after cannabis – so too have fatalities. Although it’s not possible to distinguish from the data whether these fatalities were from crack or powder cocaine, the ONS recorded the 12th consecutive rise in deaths due to cocaine, with such deaths rising almost 31% year-on-year. This is a large rise, even in the context of increasing drug-related deaths over the past 20 years.
One possible explanation for this sharp increase could be that the purity of cocaine has been increasing without the cost going up. This makes cocaine not only more potent, but more affordable to more people than it was. Yet despite high levels of cocaine use throughout England, there have been no coordinated prevention and harm reduction campaigns. Treatments also remain underdeveloped compared with other drugs.
Many of the drug deaths deaths published in the ONS’s report involved multiple substances, including alcohol. So we can’t be certain in many cases which drug was the cause of a death.
And some of these deaths occurred in people who had other physical health problems – such as respiratory problems, heart issues and liver disease. These health problems are exacerbated by use of drugs such as heroin and cocaine. This again makes it hard to attribute some deaths entirely to drug use.
What can be done?
The UK government is funding research to explore whether artificial intelligence could help reduce drug overdoses. Some of the projects that have received funding involve using wearable devices that would alert emergency services if signs of an overdose are detected.
Existing interventions could also be more widely adopted. Naloxone, a medication that can reverse the effects of opiates, should be made more widely available. While some emergency services carry Naloxone, there’s scope to broaden this so those most at risk have timely access to this life-saving medication.
There’s also a pressing need to change how health services are provided to people struggling with drug misuse – and the kind of services they can access. For example, people that use heroin daily can find it difficult to keep appointments with health services. Tailoring when and where health support is provided could help engage this group of people.
Stigma around drug use can also prevent people seeking help – or when they do, they can feel judged by others. But there are ways of providing these necessary services that would make it easier for people who are struggling to get the help they need without judgment.
Improving the knowledge and skills of staff in specialist drug treatment services about physical health problems would be one positive step. Being able to directly intervene by assessing and treating cardiac and respiratory issues, for instance, would eliminate the need for drug users to attend multiple appointments in different locations. This would make them more likely to continue accessing services.
The Labour government has made it clear that it will be difficult to ensure public services receive all the resources they need. Yet every year, we are seeing record levels of drug-related deaths across the UK.
It’s clear that what is currently being done is not enough. More money needs to be invested in specialist drug treatment services, both to save lives and improve the quality of life for all those who face problems with drugs. This will provide economic savings in the long term, and reduce the suffering that too many families experience.
Harry Sumnall receives funding from public grant awarding bodies for alcohol and other drugs research, and fees from (international) not-for-profit organisations and government departments for consultation work. He is an unpaid member of the Scientific Advisory Board of the Mind Foundation, the Scientific Advisory Board of the International Society of Substance Use Professionals, an unpaid advisor to the UK Drug Education Forum, and an unpaid co-opted member of the UK Government Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs (ACMD) Working Groups.
Ian Hamilton does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Claire Isabella Gilmour, PhD Candidate, Anthropology and Archaeology, University of Bristol
Twelve skeletons have been found in a large, 2,000-year-old tomb directly in front of the Khazneh (“Treasury”) in the city of Petra in Jordan. Alongside them, excavators have discovered grave goods made of pottery, bronze, iron and ceramics. There is much excitement among archaeologists because of what the rare opportunity to investigate this site might tell us about Petra’s ancient people, the Nabataeans, and their culture.
One of the most headline-grabbing discoveries has been dubbed a “holy grail” in many reports, suggesting that the vessel is similar to the fictional cup from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, also discovered at the Khazneh. In fact, it’s a humble jug, not a cup offering the drinker eternal life.
The similarities between the vessels aren’t a case of art imitating life, but the result of painstaking research into Nabataean pottery carried out by Deborah Fine, who was the director of archives at Lucasfilm Ltd.
Nabataean pottery is very fine – often only 1.5mm thick – and best suited to ceremonial purposes or local use than the thicker, more robust contemporary Roman wares which could travel better. Nabataean pottery is also often painted with images such as flowers, figures and geometric motifs. These styles reflect Petra’s status as an important trading point, and the Nabataeans’ skill in creation and invention.
We do not know anything yet about the identities of those buried, although their interment in separate sarcophagi and their placement at the Khazneh suggest high status.
The work on analysing and interpreting these new finds is only beginning. The pottery, sediments, and skeletal material will hopefully narrow down construction dates for the site. Their discovery confirms that there is more to be found at the Khazneh.
The history of Petra
Petra is a Unesco World Heritage Site, and millions of people visit it each year. The city has been inhabited since 7000BC, but it really flourished in the 1st century AD.
Home to the Nabataeans (a nomadic Arab group who called it Raqmu) for around 300 years, Petra was a hub of commercial activity and a key location for trade route, connecting Egypt, the Mediterranean and the Arabian Peninsula. The site’s many still-existing structures display this unique blending of cultures.
The decline of the city began after the Romans took it over in AD106. Its decreasing importance followed the opening of sea routes and a devastating earthquake in the 4th century, which destroyed many buildings and led to the city eventually being abandoned.
Petra’s desert location had allowed the Nabataeans to develop an impressive and ingenious water management infrastructure to master the arid landscape. But this also meant that after the city fell into disuse, it was effectively lost. Enclosed within moutain passages and entered via a natural cleft in the rock, it was completely unknown to the west until 1812, when it was rediscovered by the Swiss geographer Johann Ludwig Burckhardt.
The Khazneh, where these burials were discovered, is the most recognisable part of the city. It is cut from the surrounding red sandstone and displays an intriguing fusion of eastern and Hellenistic architectural features. This decorated structure is a facade for the rock-cut space behind it, thought to have been built during the reign of Nabataean king Aretas IV Philopatris circa AD40, perhaps as a tomb.
According to myth, the front of the decorated urn over the entrance was magically created by the pharaoh for all the gold of Egypt, during his escape when Moses parted the Red Sea. It bears the marks of bullets as people have tried over the centuries to reveal the treasure.
Surveys and excavations have been conducted at Petra since the turn of the 20th century. The current US-Jordan expedition, led by Pearce Paul Creasman, is aiming to uncover further secrets of the city. One of the enduring mysteries is the true purpose of the Khazneh – these burials could help answer that question, while revising our understanding of this cosmopolitan ancient city.
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Claire Isabella Gilmour does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Donald Trump is leading Kamala Harris by 11 percentage points with male voters, according to a recent New York Times poll. Trump is carving out a definitive advantage with US men.
While Trump’s core support comes from white men, he has also made notable gains with Hispanic-American and African-American men. Though Trump has repeatedly denigrated Hispanics and regularly uses anti-immigrant rhetoric, this has not been a deal breaker for the Latino community. Surveys have shown that around 50% of Hispanic men think that Trump is “tough” enough to be president.
Trump helped ramp up disinformation around Barack Obama’s qualification to run as president by claiming that he had concerns about Obama’s birth certificate. Trump also defended white supremacists marching in Charlottesville, Virginia, but these moves have not deterred some young African American men from supporting him. About one in four African American men under the age of 50 plan to vote for Trump, polls suggest.
Why young men like Trump
A lot of Trump’s support comes from young men, in particular. Pollsters noted that when President Joe Biden was still in the race, he had lost one particular category of Democrats – people who liked podcaster Joe Rogan – a demographic that is mostly young men aged 18-29.
Harris is underperforming compared with Joe Biden in 2020, and this is almost entirely due to losing support with young men. The same New York Times poll showed that Trump leads Harris among young men by 58% to 37%, more or less the same as Biden before he dropped out of the race.
One of the reasons why some men are flocking to Trump is that young American men have moved more to the right in general.
In 2024, young men are more likely to be Republican and more likely to see themselves as conservative than in the past, while the most progressive group in US history are young women. In fact, the gap between young men and young women and the politics they believe in has almost doubled in the past 25 years.
Young men may be drawn to Trump because he pushes against societal pressure that men need to be apologetic for being themselves. Almost two-thirds of American men believe that men should be represented and valued more in society, according to a YouGov study.
J.D. Vance and his childless cat ladies comment.
Another issue may be that some men face tremendous pressure to live up to certain expectations. Past research argued that most men who found Trump appealing were finding it difficult to live up to social standards of masculinity, referred to as a fragile masculinity hypothesis.
This connection was not associated with male support for Mitt Romney in 2012 or support for John McCain in 2008, but did correlate with support for Trump in 2016 and for Republicans in the midterm elections.
Trump has bolstered his macho image by increasingly acting on the campaign trail as if he is speaking to a bunch of guys in a locker room. He has become more profane and vulgar, even talking about the size of pro golfer Arnold Palmer’s penis in a bizarre campaign moment.
Trump also makes no attempt to be politically correct in the post-MeToo era, even complaining that noted sexual offender Harvey Weinstein got a raw deal .
Though many women were repelled by Trump’s running mate J.D. Vance’s past videos where he claimed Washington was run by childless cat ladies, it did little to turn off Trump’s supporters.
For some men, these ideas play into their fears about women becoming too powerful, and that men are facing a major threat to their social status. Some of these men that Vance has been trying to appeal to are Christian extremists who would like to overturn the 19th amendment (which gave US women the right to vote), and see women return to roles as homemakers.
Trump also taps into the fears that some men may have about the threats posed to them by women’s advancement. One-third of men who support Trump believe that women have made gains at men’s expense, rising to 40% for men under 50 who support Trump, according to Pew Research from 2024.
A survey from the Survey Center on American Life demonstrated that 19% of men say that women have it easier than men do, but it is men aged 18-29 who are twice as likely as men over the age of 64 to believe that this is the case.
Indeed, some of the struggles young American men face are not just imagined. A Pew Research survey from 2023 found that young men in the US were less likely than in years gone by to be financially independent or have a full-time job by the age of 25.
Young men are also less likely than young women to be enrolled in university, and have higher rates of suicide.
Why do most women not like Trump?
While Trump is doing well with some men, he has been haemorrhaging support from women. In particular, women have been mobilised by Trump and Vance’s misogynistic rhetoric, and by the Supreme Court’s 2022 decision to overturn Roe v Wade, which had given American women the right to an abortion.
Support for reproductive rights does not differ much by gender with about 61% of men in support, compared to 64% of women, but the issue is more salient for women than men.
Sensing the issue of abortion could be a problem for Trump with female voters, he tried to connect with women claiming that he would be their “protector” and that he was the “father of IVF”.
But so far these strange statements, and Trump’s boorish comments may be turning off female voters – even white women – who were a core part of Trump’s support in 2016 and 2020. Trump only leads with white women by one percentage point in 2024, compared to seven points in 2020.
In a historic election that has been defined by a notable gender gap, the two candidates’ communication styles could not be more different. However, it remains to be seen which candidate’s gender advantage will propel them to victory.
Natasha Lindstaedt 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.
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