Originally known as 2JJ, or Double Jay, when it launched in Sydney at 11am on January 19 1975, Triple J has since become the national youth network. The station now encompasses broadcast radio, live events, social media and a huge digital and cultural influence. It’s been the beating heart (or beating drum, as its logo depicts) of generations of young Australians.

With a target audience of 18–24-year-olds (ish), what does it mean when the national youth broadcaster hits middle age?

A station for young Australians

Triple J was born out of the Whitlam government’s commitment to young Australians. In addition to lowering the voting age from 21 to 18, the introduction of a dedicated space for young people provided by the national broadcaster allowed for greater cultural and civic participation.

The first song played on air was You Just Like Me ‘Cos I’m Good in Bed by Skyhooks. Banned by commercial networks for its explicit sex and drug themes, the ABC – not beholden to advertisers – pushed boundaries by starting with this song.

The station became known as Triple J in 1981 when it shifted to FM radio, and the move to become a national network started in 1990, rolling out across the decade.

A station for Australian talent

People like Mark Colvin, Wil Anderson, Zan Rowe, Myf Warhurst, Judith Lucy, Roy and HG and Dr Karl all got their start at Triple J, often moving beyond the right “look or sound” for the commercial networks.

Triple J’s influence on Australian musical culture is almost impossible to understate.

Playlists for Australian music have been consistently and significantly higher than commercial competition.

The station has long run programs designed to support local artists. Cooking with George, a new Australian music show in the early 1980s hosted by George Wayne, created a platform for new artists to connect with audiences.

The Long Live the Evolution campaign in the early 1980s encouraged audiences to buy Australian music by offering a free Australian music compilation record with purchase of any Australian album.

The new talent competition Unearthed began in 1995 and now counts among its alumni Missy Higgins, Flume and Grinspoon.

One Night Stand is a semi-regular festival the station takes to different regional or rural Australian towns. The station’s coverage of festivals like Big Day Out and Splendour in the Grass provided a way for audiences who couldn’t afford to attend to still listen along.

A station for chaos, and youth politics

The appeal has always been the energy, if not occasional chaos, of having young people in charge and on air.

Clashes with ABC management have been inevitable. A memo distributed internally in 1976, and redistributed in 1979, gave “a very stroppy reminder to all staff of our self-imposed rule – NO DOPE IN THE OFFICE OR STUDIO!!”

In 1989, presenters protested the censorship of N.W.A.’s Fuck Tha Police. To show their objections, staff played N.W.A’s Express Yourself – a song rallying against censorship, and also the only song on the album without swear words – repeatedly for an entire day.

This again played out in the early 2000s when the presenters played The Herd’s 77% in full, complete with explicit lyrics which target the government and commercial broadcasters, saying “these cunts need a shake up”. ABC management argued that the language was unacceptable. But announcer Steve Cannane instead used the song to spark a 90 minute talkback special.

Overwhelmingly, Triple J presenters felt the strength of the language reflected the strength of the artists’ activist feelings.

Tracing the station’s approach to social issues is a way to trace the priorities of many young people in Australia. In 2017 the Hottest 100 countdown was moved away from January 26, following a listener petition and survey.

Over the years the station has promoted activists standing up against racism and homophobia. In 2023 after the Voice referendum, announcer Nooky gave an impassioned personal statement, followed by Yothu Yindi’s Treaty on repeat for the rest of the show.

A station for audiences

As I found studying Triple J’s impact during COVID, providing listeners with a range of listening options remains vital.

In May 2020 listeners across the country took over the program grid and requested songs – literally anything – as part of a week-long “Requestival”.

Hilariously the audience trolled the broadcaster, requesting everything from The Antiques Roadshow theme to Beethoven, as well as local artists and international pop.

Triple J became a clear place where the pent up energy, fear and loneliness of the young audience could be shared.

Room to grow

There were rumours Triple J was on its last legs even before it completed its first year on air.

While general and music outlets seem to periodically publish “is Triple J still relevant?” opinion pieces, most often these pieces are written by people who have aged out of the station’s target.

But commentators past the target demographic, judging it from their nostalgic perspective, aren’t the right people to decide if Australians 18–25 are getting what they feel they need.

Generational battles over the role and importance of Triple J continue to rage.

This is not to say older audiences should stop caring about Triple J. Nostalgia is powerful and important, shown by audiences who attended the sold out 20 year anniversary show by former breakfast hosts Adam Spencer and Wil Anderson.

Since 2015, the digital station Double J has served the “former” Triple J audience, complete with former Triple J presenters, music specials and music aimed at an older demographic.

Triple J is etched in the memories and forms a legacy for older Australians. Those who remember that first broadcast in 1975 will even get to relive it this weekend on Digital Double J, but Triple J is still a vital resource for its target audience.

At a time when media outlets are increasingly concentrated, more regularly incorporating AI and moving away from rigorous fact checking, there is even more need to promote and protect an outlet that embraces the distinctiveness of young Australians making new work now.

Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

This time of year, many of us love to get out and spend time in nature. This may include hiking through Australia’s many beautiful national parks.

Walking in nature is a wonderful activity, supporting both physical and mental health. But there can be risks and it’s important to be prepared.

You may have read the news about hiker, Hadi Nazari, who was recently found alive after spending 13 days lost in Kosciuszko National Park.

He reportedly survived for almost two weeks in the Snowy Mountains region of New South Wales by drinking fresh water from creeks, and eating foraged berries and two muesli bars.

So next time you’re heading out for a day of hiking, what foods should you pack?

Here are my three top foods to carry on a bushwalk that are dense in nutrients and energy, lightweight and available from the local grocery store.

1. Muesli bars

Nazari reportedly ate two muesli bars he found in a mountain hut. Whoever left the muesli bars there made a great choice.

Muesli bars come individually wrapped, which helps them last longer and makes them easy to transport.

They are also a good source of energy. Muesli bars typically contain about 1,500-1,900 kilojoules per 100 grams. The average energy content for a 35g bar is about 614kJ.

This may be a fraction of what you’d usually need in a day. However, the energy from muesli bars is released at a slow to moderate pace, which will help keep you going for longer.

Muesli bars are also packed with nutrients. They contain all three macronutrients (carbohydrate, protein and fat) that our body needs to function. They’re a good source of carbohydrates, in particular, which are a key energy source. An average Australian muesli bar contains 14g of whole grains, which provide carbohydrates and dietary fibre for long-lasting energy.

Muesli bars that contain nuts are typically higher in fat (19.9g per 100g) and protein (9.4g per 100g) than those without.

Fat and protein are helpful for slowing down the release of energy from foods and the protein will help keep you feeling full for longer.

There are many different types of muesli bars to choose from. I recommend looking for those with whole grains, higher dietary fibre and higher protein content.

2. Nuts

Nuts are nature’s savoury snack and are also a great source of energy. Cashews, pistachios and peanuts contain about 2,300-2,400kJ per 100g while Brazil nuts, pecans and macadamias contain about 2,700-3,000kJ per 100g. So a 30g serving of nuts will provide about 700-900kJ depending on the type of nut.

Just like muesli bars, the energy from nuts is released slowly. So even a relatively small quantity will keep you powering on.

Nuts are also full of nutrients, such as protein, fat and fibre, which will help to stave off hunger and keep you moving for longer.

When choosing which nuts to pack, almost any type of nut is going to be great.

Peanuts are often the best value for money, or go for something like walnuts that are high in omega-3 fatty acids, or a nut mix.

Whichever nut you choose, go for the unsalted natural or roasted varieties. Salted nuts will make you thirsty.

Nut bars are also a great option and have the added benefit of coming in pre-packed serves (although nuts can also be easily packed into re-usable containers).

If you’re allergic to nuts, roasted chickpeas are another option. Just try to avoid those with added salt.

3. Dried fruit

If nuts are nature’s savoury snack, fruit is nature’s candy. Fresh fruits (such as grapes, frozen in advance) are wonderfully refreshing and perfect as an everyday snack, although can add a bit of weight to your hiking pack.

So if you’re looking to reduce the weight you’re carrying, go for dried fruit. It’s lighter and will withstand various conditions better than fresh fruit, so is less likely to spoil or bruise on the journey.

There are lots of varieties of dried fruits, such as sultanas, dried mango, dried apricots and dried apple slices.

These are good sources of sugar for energy, fibre for fullness and healthy digestion, and contain lots of vitamins and minerals. So choose one (or a combination) that works for you.

Don’t forget water

Next time you head out hiking for the day, you’re all set with these easily available, lightweight, energy- and nutrient-dense snacks.

This is not the time to be overly concerned about limiting your sugar or fat intake. Hiking, particularly in rough terrain, places demands on your body and energy needs. For instance, an adult hiking in rough terrain can burn upwards of about 2,000kJ per hour.

And of course, don’t forget to take plenty of water.

Having access to even limited food, and plenty of fresh water, will not only make your hike more pleasurable, it can save your life.

Margaret Murray, Senior Lecturer, Nutrition, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

TikTok and Instagram influencers have been peddling the “Barbie drug” to help you tan.

But melanotan-II, as it’s called officially, is a solution that’s too good to be true. Just like tanning, this unapproved drug has a dark side.

Doctors, researchers and Australia’s drug regulator have been warning about its side effects – from nausea and vomiting to brain swelling and erection problems.

There are also safer ways of getting the tanned look, if that’s what you’re after.

What is melanotan-II?

No, it’s not a typo. Melanotan-II is very different from melatonin, which is a hormonal supplement used for insomnia and jet lag.

Melanotan-II is a synthetic version of the naturally ocurring hormone α-melanocyte stimulating hormone. This means the drug mimics the body’s hormone that stimulates production of the pigment melanin. This is what promotes skin darkening or tanning, even in people with little melanin.

Although the drug is promoted as a way of getting a “sunless tan”, it is usually promoted for use with UV exposure, to enhance the effect of UV and kickstart the tanning process.

Melanotan-II is related to, but different from, melanotan-I (afamelanotide), an approved drug used to treat the skin condition erythropoietic protoporphyria.

Melanotan-II is not registered for use with Australia’s Therapeutic Goods Administration (TGA). It is illegal to advertise it to the public or to provide it without a prescription.

However, social media has been driving unlicensed melanotan-II sales, a study published last year confirms.

There are many black market suppliers of melanotan-II injections, tablets and creams. More recently, nasal sprays have become more popular.

What are the risks?

Just like any drug, melanotan-II comes with the risk of side effects, many of which we’ve known about for more than a decade. These include changes in the size and pigmentation of moles, rapid appearance of new moles, flushing to the face, abdominal cramps, nausea, vomiting, chest pain and brain swelling.

It can also cause rhabdomyolysis, a dangerous syndrome where muscle breaks down and releases proteins into the bloodstream that damage the kidneys.

For men, the drug can cause priapism – a painful erection that does not go away and can damage the penis, requiring emergency treatment.

Its use has been linked with melanoma developing from existing moles either during or shortly after using the drug. This is thought to be due to stimulating pigment cells and causing the proliferation of abnormal cells.

Despite reports of melanoma, according to a study of social media posts the drug is often marketed as protecting against skin cancer. In fact, there’s no evidence to show it does this.

Social media posts about melanotan-II rarely mention health risks.

There are no studies on long-term safety of melanotan-II use.

Then there’s the issue of the drug not held to the high safety standards as TGA-approved products. This could result in variability in dose, undeclared ingredients and potential microbial contamination.

The TGA has previously warned consumers to steer clear of the drug due to its “serious side effects that can be very damaging to your health”.

According to an ABC article published earlier this week, the TGA is cracking down on the illegal promotion of the drug on various websites. However, we know banned sellers can pop back up under a different name.

TikTok has banned the hashtags #tanningnasalspray, #melanotan and #melanotan2, but these products continue to be promoted with more generic hashtags, such as #tanning.

Part of a wider trend

Australia has some of the highest rates of skin cancer in the world. The “slip, slop, slap” campaign is a public health success story, with increased awareness of sun safety, a cultural shift and a decline in melanoma in young people.

However, the image of a bronzed beach body remains a beauty standard, especially among some young people.

Disturbingly, tan lines are trending on TikTok as a sought after summer accessory and the hashtag #sunburnttanlines has millions of views. We’ve also seen a backlash against sunscreen among some young people, again promoted on TikTok.

The Cancer Council is so concerned about the trend towards normalising tanning it has launched the campaign End the Trend.

You have other options

There are options beyond spraying an illegal, unregulated product up your nose, or risking unprotected sun exposure: fake tan.

Fake tan tends to be much safer than melanotan-II and there’s more long-term safety data. It also comes with potential side effects, albeit rare ones, including breathing issues (with spray products) and skin inflammation in some people.

Better still, you can embrace your natural skin tone.

Rose Cairns, Senior Lecturer in Pharmacy, NHMRC Emerging Leadership Fellow, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The church of Saint Ignatius in Rome (or San Ignazio) has become a viral selfie location. Tourists have been queuing out the doors for a chance to take a selfie in a mirror that reflects the church’s richly painted ceiling.

The vault was painted by the artist Andrea Pozzo between 1688 and 1694. In the centre we can see Saint Ignatius of Loyola (1491–1556), the founder of the Jesuit order. He is ascending through the clouds to heaven while a divine light pours into him and through him to representations of the four continents of the world, an allegory of the missionary work of the Jesuit order.

The real fascination of the painting is the optical illusion Pozzo created, which is probably also why it is gaining fans as an Instagram backdrop.

When you look up at the painting it seems the real architecture of the nave continue upwards to an impossible height and the roof has lifted off entirely.

Figures of angels dangle their legs from cloud, saints gaze down towards us or look towards heaven, putti (baby angels) hold symbolic objects and peek from beneath voluminous robes, while animals charge out from behind the architecture.

Even with the most critical eye it can seem impossible to tell where the real church ends and the illusion begins.

An ‘illusionistic’ ceiling painting

Pozzo’s masterpiece marks a significant moment in the history of illusionistic painting in Europe.

Since the 15th century, artists and architects had been interested in refining the use of a technique called “linear perspective” that allowed them to depict three-dimensional space on a two-dimensional surface. Anyone who has tried their hand at drawing lessons has probably had a go at depicting this kind of perspective.

A common exercise, found in a 15th-century book by the architect Leon Battista Alberti, shows the example of drawing straight lines that converge at a single point to create the illusion of depth.

Pozzo was one of the leading artists in the 17th century for this style of painting. He wrote a book, Rules and Examples of Perspective, explaining how he created these optical illusions using perspective.

For the ceiling of Saint Ignatius he first created a drawing on paper divided into squares. A grid was then suspended on the ceiling by attaching pieces of string to the cornice (the moulding between the wall and ceiling).

A central point on the floor (where the selfie mirror is) was chosen as the central viewing point and the design was copied line by line onto the ceiling. This was challenging as the ceiling is not flat, but curved.

If you could view it up close you would see that the figures and lines of architecture are distorted, stretched, curved and foreshortened, but when viewed from the central spot on the floor it creates a seamless illusion.

The science of vision

The fascination with illusionistic ceiling paintings in this period in Europe was in part a response to new scientific ideas about optics – the study of the properties of light.

Painting was regarded as an art that had its foundations in scientific reasoning. The best painters understood how shadows and light worked, understood colour theories and studied perspective and anatomy.

In 1604 the astronomer, mathematician and natural philosopher Johannes Kepler published a text proposing that vision was based on light passing through the cornea, pupil and lens to produce an image on the retina.

The philosopher Rene Descartes then proposed in two works, Dioptrique (Optics), published in 1637, and L'Homme (Treatise on Man), published posthumously in 1662, that these images were conducted to the brain – the idea of sensory projection.

Art played an important role in helping people conceptualise these new ideas. Both Descartes and Kepler used the metaphor of “painting” to describe how light created an image on the retina.

In the illustrations created for Descartes’ L'Homme we also see how theories about seeing were illustrated using geometry and linear perspective.

This new understanding of vision also led to the realisation the eye could be manipulated. Optical illusions in art prompted delight and anxiety about whether the eye could be trusted. They also prompted deeper reflection about the nature of truth and existence of god.

A theatre of religious visions

Illusionistic paintings in churches also had a religious purpose.

The Jesuits regarded performance and spectacle as a central part of their mission to educate and inspire religious devotion. Philosophers like Descartes believed that the experience of wonder prompted an emotional response that could transform the mind.

It is likely Pozzo was inspired by these popular ideas about wonder.

Visitors in the 17th century experienced the sense of amazement, as we still do, but the idea was this moment of wonder would translate into stronger religious faith.

These paintings helped to make abstract concepts – like religious faith and ascending to heaven – more real and tangible.

Why does a 350-year-old painting still hold such an attraction for modern visitors? For some, the religious message is still significant.

For many others it is the illusion that draws us in. We know what we see is not real, yet our brains register it as such. The visual dissonance delights and intrigues us.

And still for many it is just a popular Instagram or TikTok backdrop. But, hopefully, it is also a reminder that, in a world flooded with constructed and fake images, the eye is easily fooled.

Katrina Grant, Research Associate, Power Institute for Arts and Visual Culture, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Sad, anxious or lacking in motivation? Chances are you have just returned to work after a summer break.

January is the month when people are most likely to quit their jobs after having had time off.

And even though most people experience the return to work blues, the good news is there are ways to get through them. But first we have to understand why we experience them at all.

Holidays often promote idealised expectations of life, such as the freedom and joy that comes from reduced responsibilities and expectations from others.

Unsurprisingly, returning to work clashes with these expectations due to its inherent pressures and responsibilities. This mismatch between one’s expectations and reality creates psychological discomfort, or “cognitive dissonance”, which includes feelings of disappointment or frustration.

Cognitive dissonance can also occur when there is a mismatch between perceived identities or roles in life. For example, during the holidays I become “an avid watcher of TV shows I missed throughout the year” and “someone who is readily available to others”.

However, the return to work quickly shifts me to being “productive worker (who has no time for TV)” and “someone who needs to be mindful of how they spend their limited downtime and energy”. Managing this shift can be mentally taxing and quite stressful!

5 ways to ease your back to work blues

Self-determination theory further highlights the importance of autonomy, competence, and relatedness in maintaining psychological well-being.

People often have greater autonomy over their time and activities during the holidays, leading to a stronger sense of control and fulfilment. In contrast, returning to work may restrict this autonomy which in turn reduces feelings of competence and satisfaction.

An abrupt return to a demanding workplace can amplify cognitive dissonance and the negative consequences of reduced autonomy.

According to the effort-recovery model, the holidays are a time for people to replenish their physical and mental resources.

Not having enough time for a smooth transition back into work can make us feel any recovery and pleasure from being away has been lost. This makes us feel fatigued, unmotivated and less able to manage psychological stressors like cognitive dissonance.

Understanding why we experience “return to work blues” can help with managing this very common phenomena. Here are five strategies to make it easier.

1. Ease back into work gradually

Schedule a day between your return from vacation and your first day back at work to unpack, rest, and mentally prepare. If you have already started work, then consider taking the first few Fridays or Mondays off so you have a longer weekend. Also, break down your workload into manageable chunks, focusing on high-priority tasks to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

2. Incorporate elements of your holiday into daily life

Really enjoyed watching TV shows, being out in nature or trying new restaurants during the break? Then schedule time to regularly engage in these activities. You can even organise your next break so that you have something to look forward to.

3. Set meaningful goals

Use what you have learnt over the holidays to set personal and professional goals that align with your values and aspirations. For example, you might have discovered you really value social connection. So you could set a professional goal of connecting more with your colleagues by organising after-work drinks.

4. Reframe your perspective

Celebrate routine by recognising the stability and structure that work provides. You can also focus on the parts of your job that provide you with joy and fulfilment.

5. Maintain connections and prioritise self-care

Share holiday stories with your co-workers to foster camaraderie and ease the transition. Make healthy lifestyle choices, such as adopting a balanced diet, regular exercise and adequate sleep to support your mental and physical well-being.

Know that you are not alone in feeling sad or apprehensive about returning to work after the break. However, if these feelings persist or worsen, speak with a trusted friend, family member, call a support line like Beyond Blue, or seek support from a mental health professional such as a psychologist.

Kelvin (Shiu Fung) Wong, Senior Lecturer in Clinical Psychology, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

There is no denying times have been tough for small and medium-sized businesses, and 2025 is not looking that much better.

Gross domestic product per capita is continuing to decline in both Australia and New Zealand. Company liquidations are on the rise, hitting a ten-year high in New Zealand and nearing an 11-year high in Australia.

And while consumer confidence has inched up, it’s still below the long-term average.

But even in this tough economic climate, there are ways small and medium-sized businesses can improve their prospects in 2025.

A fresh look at customers

While it is tempting to chase all revenue in a downturn, it can come at a cost. This is particularly the case when businesses overextend resources, acquire less profitable customers or over-invest in marketing.

Bad customers – those who don’t pay, don’t know what they want, are not loyal, constantly demand exceptions or who engage in aggressive or abusive behaviour – can kill profitability in a business.

Small businesses can also lose money when emulating the marketing strategies of large firms, such as offering freebies or discounts.

Rather than investing significant effort in finding new customers, businesses can benefit from retaining existing customers. Research on earlier economic crises found a 5% increase in customer retention produces more than a 25% increase in profit.

Businesses need to better understand their most profitable customers — those who pay in full, on time and provide repeat business.

This means asking questions such as: “what do these customers value and could we get more of them?”

Indeed, businesses might first have to shrink by losing bad customers before becoming more profitable by targeting good ones.

A fresh look at the competition

Businesses also need to recognise they are not alone. Surviving 2025 might require a focus on collaboration rather than competition. Doing so could be the difference between closing and making it to 2026.

Collaborating with another business could mean sharing costs or the opportunity to pitch for a larger project.

These types of opportunities are easily dismissed when the economic climate is strong. But during an economic downturn, collaboration could mean the difference between surviving or not.

Other competitors might be looking at winding down. Every business has some “crown jewels” — key assets, employees or customers. These jewels become greatly undervalued if the business is dissolved.

Bluntly put, there might be a bargain or a great customer to secure from competitors who are on their way out.

A fresh look at digitalisation

Many businesses have delayed investments in technology as they try to weather the economic slowdown. This means there are often unrealised efficiency gains from digitalisation, or new sales channels, such as TikTok, Facebook and other social media platforms.

Digitalisation helps small and medium-sized businesses to respond to crises, such as enabling cost savings and growth to increase chances of survival.

Artificial intelligence (AI), in particular, has significant potential to help small businesses bridge gaps in content creation, insights and productivity.

Although the Australian and New Zealand governments have begun supporting AI transition for small and medium-sized businesses, overall buy-in remains cautious.

Half of small and medium enterprises in both countries have yet to adopt AI. So while AI holds the potential to level the playing field and drive productivity by equipping these businesses with tools and capabilities typically reserved for large firms, it may deepen the divide.

Digitalisation can also increase flexibility and spark an entrepreneurial mindset. As employees of large companies return to the office in droves, some skilled and entrepreneurial employees seek opportunities to maintain the freedom of remote work.

Hiring this talent creates a win-win: working for your business can help them to hone their skills, while their skills can yield a competitive edge for your business.

These shifts can help businesses attract and keep talent, and reduce the need for physical assets.

A fresh look at oneself

How a business performs in a crisis is determined by the quality of its management. The value of good management is often underestimated. It lies in doing the basics well: setting clear goals, monitoring progress and encouraging performance.

A crisis is the perfect time to take a fresh look at customers, competition and costs. Leaders need to examine what their blind spots are so the business doesn’t fall short at the management level.

Personal success in business depends on achieving balance across work, home, community and self. What matters most to me? Where do I see the business in three years? Where do I see myself?

Taking the time to think about these questions is vital — not just for your business, but for you.

Antje Fiedler, Senior Lecturer, Management and International Business, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau; Benjamin Fath, Senior Lecturer, Management and International Business, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau, and Martie-Louise Verreynne, Professor in Innovation and Associate Dean (Research), The University of Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Getting casual work over summer, or a part-time job that you might continue once your tertiary course starts, can be a great way to get workplace experience and earn some extra money.

But it’s important to be cautious and to ensure you don’t get caught up with an unscrupulous employer who might take advantage of a young, inexperienced job-seeker.

The most common red flags to be aware of are unpaid or underpaid wages, unsafe working conditions or unfair treatment. But, before we get into that, where do you start?

How to find a casual or summer job

Recruitment agencies

Register with recruitment agencies that specialise in temporary or seasonal work – they can match you with employers looking for short-term staff, ideal for summer jobs.

It’s free to join, and all you need to do is submit your resume and contact details. A quick tip: a recruitment agent makes their income from matching prospective job seekers to roles, so make sure your resume is tailored to the industry you’re interested in.

Local papers and community boards

Despite the rise of social media, many summer jobs can be found in local newspapers or newsletters, or your community bulletin boards, especially for smaller companies and in regional areas.

Check your local libraries, supermarkets and shopping centres. Some businesses will also place a notice in their front window.

Social media

Follow your favourite organisations and brands on social media, as many will use their sites to advertise vacancies. Studies have shown more than 90% of employers have used, or are planning to use, social media to find candidates.

Online job portals

Employment websites such as SEEK, Indeed, GradConnection and Prosple allow you to filter roles by location, industry and job type. If you want to work for a particular company, go directly to its website and check the careers page.

Personal networks

Use your personal and professional networks. Let your friends, family and acquaintances know you are looking. People will often help or recommend you. Most job vacancies are filled via the hidden job market, without being advertised.

Now you’ve found a job…

Getting a job is the first step. Ensuring your wages, hours and other conditions are legal under the Fair Work Act is the next.

Carefully read job descriptions

If an advertisement is vague and offers a promise of earning a lot of money for very little effort, as in the case of some work-from-home or remote jobs, it’s probably too good to be true.

Legitimate job ads provide detailed information about the role, responsibilities, required qualifications and experience, working hours and application process. Most importantly, an advertisement should include an email or phone number you can contact to get further information.

Do your research

Before you apply for a job, take the time to research the organisation. Look for reviews on websites such as Glassdoor – where former employees share their experiences.

Take a look at the company’s website, if it has one, to get an idea of the culture and values. If you find negative information, be wary. Sometimes a simple Google search will produce articles on a businesses questionable behaviour.

Ask for an employment contract

A written contract is necessary to protect your rights. A contract must outline your pay, working hours, working conditions, work health and safety issues. Before starting a job, the contract should be signed by both parties.

Read the Fair Work Ombudsman’s Guide to starting a new job.

Once you start working, keep written records of your hours and tasks. Keep a notebook or spreadsheet and track your hours and tasks daily. Also, keep records of all your payslips in case there’s an issue with your pay.

Safety and wellbeing

Safety is very important, especially if you are doing physical labour. Look for signs that your workplace follows local regulations and provides a safe work environment.

As well as physical safety, it is also important to protect your mental health. Watch for signs of bullying, intimidation or other inappropriate behaviour by bosses or colleagues.

Trust your gut

If something doesn’t feel right throughout the process, it probably isn’t. If a potential employer can’t answer simple questions, or is reluctant to give you written documentation, those are red flags.

It’s better to walk away than risk being put in an uncomfortable situation. If in doubt, talk to someone you trust, such as family, friends or mentors.

If you don’t have anyone you can talk to, you can always contact the office of the Fair Work Ombudsman.

Grozdana Manalo, Career Services Manager (Education), University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Once, borrowing money to make a purchase was a relatively tedious process, not a spur-of-the-moment thing.

True, some stores offered lay-by plans that would let you pay for goods in instalments. But if they didn’t, and you didn’t already have a credit card, you’d have to go to a bank and apply for one.

That would mean providing a range of supporting documents, negotiating an appropriate credit limit, and waiting for approval. It’s unlikely you’d apply for credit just for a single, small purchase.

In recent years, though, the financial technology or “fintech” revolution in the customer credit market has changed all that, with the meteoric rise of buy-now-pay-later (BNPL) services.

BNPL credit allows consumers to split their purchases into smaller, interest-free instalments. It is often directly integrated into online checkouts with fast approval, making it easy to purchase something instantly and spread the cost over coming months.

There are some obvious risks. Many BNPL providers charge less visible fees, such as late payment fees and account maintenance fees. In many countries, the BNPL sector is also less regulated than traditional credit.

But does it also change our spending habits? Our recent research uncovered a concerning insight: consumers who use BNPL services end up spending more money online than those who don’t. This effect is particularly strong among younger shoppers and those with lower incomes.

Our research

We analysed data from an online retailer in the Nordic region that offered customers three payment options for online purchases: card, pay on delivery and BNPL.

We found that consumers who used BNPL spent an average of 6.42% more than those who didn’t.

This increase was particularly noticeable for low-ticket items, suggesting that BNPL may encourage customers to buy more when shopping for smaller, everyday things.

Why might this be the case? For one, BPNL spending is constrained by the size of the loans on offer. In the US, the average BNPL loan amount is US$135 (A$217).

It may also be related to what’s known in economics as the “lipstick effect”, where customers under financial strain tend to reduce spending on big-ticket items in favour of lower-priced luxuries.

Selling such low-ticket items doesn’t always give online retailers the biggest profit margins. But it can play a crucial role in acquiring and retaining customers, and creating opportunities to upsell.

Our research also showed that younger, lower-income customers were more likely to spend more when using BNPL services, likely because it provides them with additional “liquidity” – access to cash.

Why might they be spending more?

It’s easy to see why so many consumers like BNPL. Some even think of it as more of a way of payment than a form of credit.

The core feature of such services - offering interest-free instalment payments for online purchases - has a significant psychological impact on customers.

It leverages the principle that the perceived benefit of spending in the present outweighs the displeasure associated with future payments.

This behaviour aligns with theories of “hyperbolic discounting” – our preference for smaller immediate rewards over larger later ones – and the related “present bias” phenomenon.

Our results also suggest customers with high category experience – that is, more familiar with the larger product categories carried by a retailer – and those more sensitive to deals and promotions are likely to spend more when online retailers provide BNPL as a payment option.

A growing influence on spending

The economic impact of BNPL is substantial in the countries that have pioneered its adoption.

In Australia, birthplace of Afterpay, Zip, Openpay, and Latitude, it’s estimated that (allowing for flow-on effects) BNPL services contributed A$14.3 billion to gross domestic product (GDP) in the 2021 financial year.

Industry research firm Juniper Research projects the number of BNPL users will exceed 670 million globally by 2028, an increase of more than 100% on current levels.

Substantial projected growth in the sector is attributed to multiple factors. These include increasing e-commerce usage, economic pressures, the flexibility of payment options and widespread adoption by merchants.

Buyer, beware

BNPL services can be a convenient way to pay for online purchases. But it’s important to use them responsibly.

That means understanding the potential risks and benefits to make your own informed decisions. Be mindful of your spending. Don’t let the allure of easy payments let you get carried away.

Customers should explore beyond the marketing tactics of interest-free split payments and pay close attention to terms and conditions, including any fees and penalties. They should treat BNPL like any other form of credit.

Whether you’re a shopper considering using BNPL or a business thinking about offering it, our research highlights that it may have the power to significantly influence spending patterns – for better or worse.

Ashish Kumar, Senior Lecturer, RMIT University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Hot on the heels of a spectacular comet late last year, another celestial visitor is set to put on a show. And Southern Hemisphere observers have a ringside seat.

Comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) has just experienced a very close encounter with the Sun, and will become visible low in the western sky after sunset in the coming days. With luck, it will prove to be a spectacular sight.

It is often said that comets are like cats – their behaviour is notoriously hard to predict. So while astronomers have been awaiting the arrival of C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) for several months, they have been cautious of raising expectations too high.

Over the past couple of days, the comet has swung past the Sun, and survived its close encounter intact. The time has come for it to emerge to our evening skies.

A Sun-skirting snowball

At the heart of comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) is a dirty snowball or “cometary nucleus” only a few hundred metres to a couple of kilometres across. When it was discovered, in April 2024, it was still more than 600 million kilometres from Earth and the Sun.

In the days following the comet’s discovery, astronomers worked out its orbit – and it turned out to be a “Sun-skirter” that would pass less than 14 million kilometres from our star on January 13.

As a comet approaches the Sun, it begins to heat up. The ice on and near the surface “sublimes”, causing jets of gas and dust to erupt from the nucleus’ surface. This shrouds the nucleus in a vast cloud of gas and dust, which is then blown away from the Sun, creating the comet’s tails.

Comets that get particularly close to the Sun can become spectacular. This is what happened with comet C/2006 P1 (McNaught), which put on an incredible show for observers in the Southern Hemisphere in early 2007.

For that reason, astronomers often get excited when a new comet is found that will pass particularly close to the Sun. However, comets are also notoriously fragile and friable. Many small comets on Sun-skirting orbits simply fall apart in a puff of dust and disappointment.

When comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) was discovered it was very faint, which suggested its nucleus is relatively small. As a result, it seemed likely to fall apart during its close approach to the Sun.

One piece of evidence gave astronomers hope. The comet’s orbit indicated it had passed this way at least once before – and survived.

Now the time has come – as I write this, the comet has passed its closest approach to the Sun intact. It has already put on an incredible show as the third brightest comet ever observed by NASA’s space-based solar observatory SOHO, and even been imaged by keen astrophotographers in broad daylight. Over the coming days, it will move into the evening sky as it moves away from the Sun.

A bright comet, low in the west after sunset

Comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) will begin to appear in the evening sky, low to the west-southwest. For observers in the Northern Hemisphere, it will remain lost in the Sun’s glare. But for those south of the equator, it has the potential to be easily visible for the next few evenings, as the sky darkens after the Sun sets.

Unfortunately, the comet’s orbit is also taking it away from Earth, so it will fade relatively quickly. At its closest to the Sun, the comet was almost as bright as the planet Venus (currently a spectacular sight in the western evening sky). Within a couple of weeks, the comet will cease to be visible to the naked eye.

What does that mean? If you want to get the best possible view, you need to seize your chance in the next few days. Each evening, the comet will set later, and be farther from the Sun in the sky. But it will also be fainter from one night to the next.

So when, and where, should I look?

If you want to see comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS), you’re going to need to find somewhere with a clear, unobstructed view of the horizon slightly to the south of due west. Using a planetarium app or website like Stellarium will allow you to work out what time the Sun and the comet will set from your location, so you can plan your observations.

The videos below show the comet’s location a little after sunset at three different latitudes (around Cairns, Brisbane and Melbourne/Auckland) over the evenings from January 16 to 23.

Note the position of the comet in these videos is just the location of the comet’s head. The tail will rise upwards from the comet into the sky, leaning a bit to the right. The videos also don’t give a real feel for how bright the comet will be – you’ll just have to go out and see.

Get to your chosen viewing location around sunset, to maximise your chances of spotting the comet. As soon as the Sun is below the horizon, you can start scanning for the comet with binoculars, your camera, or the naked eye.

At first, the sky will be too bright, but the comet should eventually reveal itself, low to the horizon, before it sets.

From my own experience with comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan-ATLAS) last year, seeing a comet low in the twilight sky can be challenging. I found it was easy to spot the comet through my camera. Once found, I could find it with the unaided eye.

The time-lapse video I shot, below, shows that comet rising in the morning sky in early October 2024. You can see how the comet gets easier to see the darker the sky becomes. For the new comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS), imagine the video running backwards, with the comet setting as the sky becomes darker, to get a feel for how the comet might look.

Of course it is hard to say just how bright and easy to spot comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) will be.

With each night that passes, the comet will get higher in the sky, and so in theory be easier to spot. It will be dimming, however, so the best view will be had during the next week.

Jonti Horner, Professor (Astrophysics), University of Southern Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

When I (Nathan Brooks English) was six years old, I snuck a starfish home from the beach and hid it in my closet. I regret that now, as my parents did then when the smell of rotting starfish overwhelmed the house. I regret it also because that starfish had a place and a purpose – and dying in a hot, dark closet next to my Hot Wheels was not it.

Likewise, the beautiful shells and natural flotsam that decorate Australian beaches have a place and a purpose. For many of us, summer at the beach is a cherished memory and collecting seashells is probably a part of that memory.

On most beaches in Australia, collecting shells without living creatures in them is legal, but let me convince you there are better options that ensure future Sallies will still find seashells by the seashore.

Someone needs that shell more than you

For native wildlife, both occupied and unoccupied shells provide important shelter and sources of calcium and grit.

Taking that beautiful snail shell could increase the cost of housing for a hermit crab or the small shrimp that needs it next. The beautiful conch shell that calls to you is actually an octopus caravan.

For these reasons, never pick up shells in the water or in tidal pools; chances are they are being used or will be shortly.

Likewise, collecting shells in marine parks is strictly prohibited.

Shells have spiritual and cultural importance

For the island Woppaburra People of central Queensland, beaches and shells have spiritual and cultural importance as part of Dreaming stories, dance and ceremonies.

In addition to their place and purpose in my (Robert Muir) stories and culture, shells can also provide valuable insight and context to our history on the island.

Middens (deep piles of shells left on the beach after being used to produce food or tools) provide archaeological evidence that the islands have been occupied for at least the past 5,000 years.

Back then, Woppa (also known as Great Keppel Island, in Queensland) and its beaches could sustainably support the 100 to 200 people who lived on the island for more than five millenia.

Today, Woppa hosts tens of thousands of visitors a year on three small beaches. And while people are welcome to pick up, examine and play with the shells, to preserve their place and purpose they must be left on the shore where they were found.

If everyone took a shell…

Increasing pressure on beaches and their natural resources isn’t just felt on Woppa.

The global population now exceeds 8 billion people and our collective (pun intended) impact on beaches is magnified. That’s twice as many people as when I (Nathan Brooks English) was a child in the late 1970s.

For example, in 2019 Bondi Beach had more than 2.1 million visitors (not that anyone is looking at shells). If everyone took a shell, there’d be hardly any left.

Even smaller beaches need time to accumulate shells and a summer rush of collectors can quickly deplete beaches of shells until the next cyclone or winter storm washes more up.

What to do instead of collecting shells

So how do we balance wanting a tangible reminder of the beach in our own yards or homes (the destination of many shells) versus not damaging the natural beauty and function of beach ecosystems?

Instead of taking a shell, take a picture instead. You can photograph unoccupied shells in place along the beach where the tide has collected, or arrange them together for a photographic collage.

Include them in your sandcastles as gates, windows, or little people to populate the castle.

For your artsy children (or adults), use crayons or coloured pencils and a small sketch pad to draw the shells.

Taking a few shells at a time to your umbrella to sketch them and then returning them to the tide line will sate the urge to collect and leave the beach unchanged.

You may even find you have a gifted scientific illustrator on your hands.

When you’re done with the shells, leave them by the shore. Wind, tides and time (or tomorrow’s small visitor) will sweep them back into natural circulation, continuing their storied lives as creature homes or fine grit for our beautiful Australian beaches, their purpose and place preserved.

If you absolutely must pick something up and take it home, please pick up some of the vast amount of plastic found on Australian beaches.

Nathan Brooks English, Associate professor; Flora, Fauna & Freshwater Research Cluster Lead, CQUniversity Australia and Robert Muir, Project Officer at the Woppaburra TUMRA Aboriginal Corporation, Indigenous Knowledge

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Cycling, in its most familiar form, dates back to at least the 19th century. One example of an early bicycle was known as the “hobby horse”, and it later became the “Dandy horse” and then the “accelerator”. Early cycling was reserved for the upper-classes and was seen as highly fashionable and decorous – particularly for men.

Women’s cycling, on the other hand, was viewed as trivial and unbecoming. When women were portrayed cycling, they were often eroticised and undressed.

The early development of women’s bicycles and cycle-wear was impeded by debates on women’s morality and sexual innocence. The bicycle was said to cause “bicycle face” (a face of muscular tension), harm reproductive organs and diminish what supposedly little energy women had.

Cycling women were viewed as sexually promiscuous both for the “unnatural” straddling of the bicycle and for the freedom cycling offered them. Where were they all cycling to, men wondered.

New women

The development in 1885 of the Rover “safety bicycle” revolutionised women’s cycling. It featured a lower mounting position and inspired somewhat of a cycling craze. By the 1890s, several million women around the world were cycling.

The influx of female cyclists on the streets created a moral panic for the Victorians. The image of the cycling woman came to represent a new type of woman with feminist ambition. This led to a discourse known simply as the “woman question”.

The fear caused by this cycling “new woman” is made clear in postcards from the time. The new woman in the example above is abandoning her husband and children for a day out and charging her husband with domestic tasks – a highly provocative notion to a Victorian audience. God forbid, perhaps she is also on her way to a suffragist rally. Cycling women were seen as radicals who threatened the “natural order of things”.

Such was the symbiotic relationship between feminism and women’s cycling, that the bicycle became emblematic of the suffrage movement. This photograph, taken in 1897, was taken at the height of the “woman problem” debate.

An effigy of a cycling woman hangs above a crowd at Cambridge University, as they await the result of a vote on whether female students ought to receive a degree upon completion of study. The vote was defeated and the effigy triumphantly torn down. Women could not receive a degree from Cambridge University until 1948.

This photograph captures the cultural rejection of cycling, educated women.

The effigy, dressed in collegiate striped stockings, cap and rational dress is a stereotypical new woman. Akin to a Guy Fawkes dummy in November, during this time the cycling woman momentarily joined Britain’s long history of reviled figures of rebellion.

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Mobile women

In her book Women and the Machine (2001), art historian Julie Wosk documents the history of a “cultural longing to represent women as safely stationary” in visual culture.

At the turn of the century, cycling women were often depicted as incompetant, either falling off their bicycle, cycling into something or being attacked while cycling.

The intention behind these images was to showcase women’s supposed technical and physical inability. The Victorian equivalent of the sexist modern-day stereotype that “women can’t drive”. At the base of such claims is a fear of mobile women. Images like these served as visual warnings for women who wished to exercise their physical freedom on two wheels.

After 1900, women’s cycling went through another transition. While in its early years cycling was considered an upper-class pursuit, by the 20th century bicycles were becoming democratised as the motorcar became the in thing for the wealthy.

Bicycles became a form of functional transport for the working classes. The need for an expanded female workforce during the first world war had also helped to normalise women’s cycling.

As shown in the above special munitions edition of Cycling magazine, the bicycle was seen as the ideal “energy saving” mode of transport for female workers. While the advertisement copy shows that the 19th-century concerns over women’s “energies” endured during the war, the visual of a woman successfully cycling to her workplace confirms some progress.

By the 1930s, cycling manufacturers were offering women’s ranges more in line with men’s and leading brands offered speed and sports models to women. Marketing copy focused less on issues of morality and decorum and worries of “bicycle face” had long ceased to exist.

This was surely progress? Unfortunately, it isn’t so straightforward. The discourse around women cycling was still concerned with health and beauty more than sporting achievement. But now instead of being thought to damage femininity, cycling now supposedly ensured it.

In 1938 Billie Dovey was named British bicycle manufacturer Rudge-Whitworth’s “Keep Fit Girl” after she peddled almost 30,000 miles around Britain. But rather than focus on her remarkable achievement, the press described Dovey’s “fine physique”, “healthy” skin and “tan”.

Images of the past can tell us a lot about the culture which produced it. These images show a cultural discomfort with physically mobile women. And it’s a discomfort that hasn’t entirely disappeared.

A gender gap in British cycling persists. Nine in ten British women are reportedly “scared of cycling in towns and cities”. The UK’s poor cycling infrastructure matched with an increase in violence against women on the streets together make for an unappealing prospect for would-be female cyclists.

As well as safety fears, women have less leisure time – despite more flexible post-pandemic working structures – and societal pressures regarding their physical appearance when cycling still linger. That’s all despite the number of female cyclists adding to medal tallies for British teams in recent years which made household names of some athletes.

Whatever the future for women’s cycling, it is critical to understand and redress these long-held assumptions about women’s “paltry” abilities regarding technology, sports and cycling. It is important to recognise the bicycle as an agent for progress whilst acknowledging the historic and contemporary challenges facing female cyclists.

Tamsin Johnson, PhD candidate in visual cultures, Nottingham Trent University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Multiculturalism is central to Australia’s identity, with more than half the population coming from overseas or having parents who did.

Most Australians view multiculturalism positively. However, many experience a declining sense of belonging and ongoing discrimination. When surveyed in 2024, one in three migrants from non-English-speaking backgrounds reported dealing with racial, ethnic or religious discrimination in the past 12 months.

In this context, cultural festivals present a valuable opportunity. They help remove barriers between different communities and build understanding across cultures.

We studied two cultural festivals in Sydney, the Africultures Festival and the New Beginnings Festival, to investigate the impact they had on communities.

Through interviews and surveys, we found cultural festivals are meaningful to the people they celebrate and enriching for non-migrants who attend them. These events help cultivate a sense of hope and optimism for Australia’s future as a multicultural society.

A chance for cultural enrichment

The Africultures Festival has been held each year since 2009. Led by a passionate all-women African-Australian committee, this event connects African communities with the broader Australian public.

The New Beginnings Festival is organised by the not-for-profit organisation Settlement Services International. It celebrates the diversity of migrant, refugee, multicultural and First Nations communities with themes of home, belonging, resilience and creativity.

Both festivals present unique opportunities for the general public to learn about different cultures and traditions. And for those whose cultures are being celebrated, they offer space to express one’s cultural identity and counteract negative stereotypes.

At the Africultures Festival, visitors can eat traditional foods, dance to African beats and even partake in African drumming workshops. As individuals from different backgrounds dance side-by-side, cultural barriers begin to dissolve.

The New Beginnings Festival features music, dance, visual arts, crafts and cuisine, celebrating the creativity and cultural heritage of artists and communities from diverse backgrounds.

As one attendee at New Beginnings told us:

You feel that you’re sharing your culture and art and your background in a new society and with new people. They will learn about it […] they will become interested and maybe it can change their mind about […] migrants and refugees. So they challenge themselves and they think that: ‘Oh, it’s not all about what media says and all about what politicians say. It’s about the depth of the culture’.

Apart from appreciating different cultures, these shared experiences also help remind people of what they have in common. They do more than entertain; they promote cultural understanding and personal growth.

Community building and connections

For migrant communities, in particular, we found cultural festivals create three levels of connection.

Preserving ethnic roots

Festivals such as Africultures allow migrants to celebrate and showcase their cultural traditions and heritage. This helps strengthen their sense of belonging in Australia, allowing them to feel more “at home”.

One attendee at New Beginnings said:

It just makes you feel like you’re in your own country […] You stay in another part of the world, far away, but still you can have part of your country and part of yourself. So your identity is still there and many people see you.

Bonding between migrant groups

Gatherings such as New Beginnings bring migrants from diverse backgrounds together. Despite coming from different countries and cultural backgrounds, attendees can connect over the shared journeys of settlement and adapting to life in Australia.

One attendee at New Beginnings said:

because I’m an immigrant I have more similarities with them [other migrant attendees] and I feel attracted to them as we have gone through the same thing.

Bridging gaps with the wider Australian community

Cultural festivals help establish meaningful connections between migrant and non-migrant Australians. At Africultures, nearly all of the Africans we surveyed (96.7%) said the event left them feeling more positive about other cultural groups.

For non-migrants, the festival allowed them to feel more connected to people from diverse backgrounds. Our findings suggest it also encouraged many of them to become open to different viewpoints.

One non-migrant attendee at Africultures told us:

I hope Australia can be a welcoming place for others. It is wonderful to experience other cultures and I hope that everyone can call Australia home.

Empowering entrepreneurs and artists

Beyond the wellbeing and personal growth aspects, cultural festivals also help migrants build their careers and businesses.

At last year’s Africultures Festival, we found nearly half the attendees spent more than A$75 at food and market stalls, directly supporting small business owners from migrant backgrounds.

Similarly, New Beginnings offers business owners and artists opportunities to showcase their work, meet potential customers and build professional networks.

Performers, too, highlight the career opportunities these festivals provide. One told us:

[Africultures has] given me the hope that I have a chance to expand my music to a whole lot of different audiences.

Such festivals have been stepping stones for notable successes. Yellow Wiggle Tsehay began performing at the Africultures Festival. Little Lagos, a Nigerian restaurant in Sydney’s Inner West, also got its start there in the form of a stall.

Shaping Australia

Cultural festivals are more than just celebrations. They are powerful tools for shaping a more inclusive Australia. By bringing people together to share their stories, food, music and traditions, these events help strengthen and connect communities.

The most impactful cultural festivals actively engage with and respond to the needs and aspirations of the communities they represent. They provide meaningful opportunities for cultural and ethnic minorities to share their experiences, ensuring their perspectives shape the direction of the event.

When festivals focus on these values, they become catalysts for a more united, inclusive Australia – one where everyone feels they belong.

Najmeh Hassanli, Senior Lecturer at UTS Business School, University of Technology Sydney and Pavlina Jasovska, Senior Lecturer in International Business & Strategy, University of Technology Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

It’s unlikely you’ve missed the story. In recent weeks, US President-elect Donald Trump has again repeatedly voiced his desire for the United States to take “ownership and control” of Greenland – an autonomous territory of the Kingdom of Denmark.

Trump first floated the idea of the US buying Greenland back in 2019. At the time, he argued, quite correctly, that he was not the first US president to come up with the idea.

Modern-day territory sales are rare. Whether Trump will revive them remains to be seen. But the question is intriguing – how would one decide what to offer for an entire state, territory or nation?

Not a new idea

Greenland’s strategic position has been of great value to the US since the early days of the Cold War.

In 1946, then-President Harry Truman offered to buy the Danish territory for US$100 million in gold. It is reported the Danes had much the same reaction to that offer as they did in 2019, and again in 2025: “No, thank you.”

One sovereign nation buying territory from another may seem strange today, but there are many instances where this has happened over time.

The US purchased much of its Western expansion in the early 19th century.

This included the “Louisiana Purchase”, vast swathes of land in North America, bought from France in 1803 for US$15 million (an estimated US$416 million in 2024 figures).

About half a century later, the US paid Mexico for large amounts of territory after the Mexican-American War. The US also bought Alaska from Russia in 1867, for US$7.2 million (over US$150 million today).

And it bought the US Virgin Islands from Denmark in 1917 for US$25 million (over US$600 million today) in gold coin.

It isn’t just the US. Japan, Pakistan, Russia, Germany and Saudi Arabia have all purchased territory, transferring jurisdiction over local inhabitants and gaining land, access to critical waterways or simply geographical buffers.

What is a country’s value?

Valuing a country (or an autonomous territory like Greenland) is no simple task. Unlike companies or assets, countries embody a mix of tangible and intangible elements that resist straightforward economic measurement.

A logical place to start is gross domestic product, or “GDP”. Simply put, GDP is the value of all the final goods and services produced in an economy in a given time (usually one year).

But does this really capture the true “value” of an economy? When we buy something, the benefits derived from it last – we hope – into the future.

So, basing a purchase price on the value produced in a given time period may not adequately reflect the value of that object (in this case, an entire economy) to the buyer. We need to consider the ability to continue to generate value into the future.

Greenland’s productive resources include not only the existing businesses, governments and workers used to generate its current GDP (estimated at about US$3.236 billion in 2021), but also its (difficult to measure) ability to change and improve its future GDP. This will depend on how productive these resources are expected to be in the future.

There are other attributes of value not captured in GDP. These include the quality of its capital (both human and infrastructure), quality of life, natural resources and strategic position.

Unexploited resources

Beyond what is already there, from a market perspective, it’s the as-yet unexploited resources that make Greenland valuable.

Greenland has been mining coal for decades, with large, confirmed reserves. The subsoil has been shown to contain rare earths, precious metals, graphite and uranium.

In addition to coal mining, there is gold, silver, copper, lead, zinc, graphite and marble.

Finally, there is the potential for major oil exploitation off the waters of Greenland. None of this potential is reflected in Greenland’s current GDP.

National assets are easier

Putting a price on a large national asset, such as the Panama Canal (which Trump also wants under US control), is a much easier prospect.

The theory of asset valuation is a fundamental part of the finance discipline and dates back to the 18th century.

The “asset pricing model” has evolved over time, but fundamentally, it’s about estimating the future net income flows from an asset, based on a few inputs.

For the Panama Canal, this would involve estimating the future net income that could be generated, based on factors such as fees generated by its use and the level of anticipated traffic.

You’d then take steps to subtract the anticipated costs of maintaining the equipment and any expected damage to the health of the waterway. Another factor in determining what you would pay is the risk of actually realising that net income.

The value or “price tag” of such an asset is usually determined by working out the present value of all of these future (net) income flows.

Modern territory sales are rare

The decline in territorial sales is tied to several factors. Historically, land sales often benefited ruling elites rather than ordinary citizens. In modern democracies, it is nearly impossible to sell land if local citizens oppose the idea.

Such democracies operate on the principle that national assets should serve the people, not the government’s coffers. Selling a territory today would require demonstrating clear, tangible benefits to the population, a difficult task in practice.

Nationalism also plays a powerful role. Land is deeply tied to national identity and selling it off is often seen as a betrayal. Governments, as custodians of national pride, are reluctant to entertain offers, no matter how tempting.

Compounding this is a strong international norm against changing borders, born of fears that one territorial adjustment could trigger a cascade of claims and conflicts elsewhere.

In today’s world, buying a country or one of its territories may be little more than a thought experiment. Nations are political, cultural and historical entities that resist commodification.

Greenland may theoretically have a price, but the real question is whether such a transaction could ever align with modern values and realities.

Susan Stone, Credit Union SA Chair of Economics, University of South Australia and Jonathan Boymal, Associate Professor of Economics, RMIT University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Travellers have always faced health hazards when far from home. Medieval people were no exception. Pilgrims, crusaders and others were warned by preachers such as 13th century Jacques de Vitry of “dangers on land, dangers at sea, the dangers of thieves, the dangers of predators, the dangers of battles”.

There were also dangers to health: disease, lack of good nutrition and water, injury, accident and poisoning. Medieval travellers were active and innovative in trying to prevent ill health while away.

Although the adjective “medieval” continues to be used disparagingly to imply backwardness in medical and scientific knowledge, this history of preventive medicine shows us something different.

From good sleep to ‘good’ leeches

One especially interesting set of practical health care instructions for travellers is the De regimine et via itineris et fine peregrinatium (About the regimen and way of the journey for the traveller). The text was composed by Adam of Cremona in about 1227–28 for the German emperor Frederick II, who was about to set out on crusade.

Unedited and surviving in a single manuscript, Adam draws heavily on Ibn Sina’s 11th century Canon of Medicine, used for medical teaching in medieval universities.

Adam advised bloodletting (phlebotomy) should be performed prior to the emperor’s journey and then regularly throughout, depending on the “will and mood” of the stars.

Bloodletting was central to medieval medical practice. It used leeches or sharp knife-like instruments to nick the vein and cause blood to drain from the body. It was performed both preventatively and, in the case of some medieval religious communities, periodically as part of monastic bodily regulation and discipline.

Devoting some 25 chapters of his text to phlebotomy, Adam drew on the idea that bloodletting would regulate the humours (the four fluids thought to make up the body: blood, yellow bile, black bile and phlegm), evacuating “bad” ones and setting the body in balance to prepare for healthy travel.

While the concept of the four humours has since been abandoned by modern medicine, bloodletting and “leech therapy” continue to be performed in some medical settings for specific purposes.

Adam advised all travellers should be mindful of the instruments of bloodletting – especially leeches – while on the road. His writing included warnings to distinguish between leeches: good (round and shiny) and bad (black or blue in colour and found near fetid water).

He also gave careful instruction on how to desalinate water, as well as advice about diet (as close as possible to the traveller’s home diet, with plenty of fruit and vegetables), the importance of rest and adequate sleep, and the importance of regular bathing.

Dysentery was a well known hazard of travel, especially for crusaders, and Adam’s guide reflected all travellers’ wish to avoid it by keeping the digestive system in balance.

Balancing body and spirit

Knowledge about water supplies was especially important for travellers.

One pilgrimage guide informed travellers one of the best sources of water in the holy land was just outside Haifa, in modern-day Israel.

Theodoric’s Guide for the Holy Land reminded travellers there was no water in Jerusalem other than the rainwater collected by inhabitants and stored in cisterns for daily use.

Medieval travellers were also reminded to take particular care of their feet. In 1260, Vincent of Beauvais gave instructions to travellers to use poultices (a dressing for wounds) made of oil, plants and quicksilver (mercury) to prevent and manage blisters – an all too frequent ailment experienced by pilgrims walking long distances.

Adam of Cremona suggested travellers regulate their pace as they walked, especially on unfamiliar and rough roads.

The overall benefit of exercise was generally understood. Preachers such as Jacques de Vitry told his congregations movement made the body healthy both physically and spiritually, so should be undertaken regularly before and during a journey.

Different climates and environments meant encounters with dangerous fauna. The holy land was said to be home to poisonous serpents.

Travellers took with them theriac, an antidote made in part from snake flesh in case of a bite. This would be ingested or smeared on the wound.

Crocodiles in Egypt were also often mentioned as a hazard. There were no antidotes for an attack, but forewarning travellers with knowledge helped them to remain alert.

Medieval travellers did not leave their fate entirely in God’s hands. Even the crusaders took precautionary measures to balance both bodily and spiritual health before and during their journeys.

They confessed sins, sought blessings to protect their property and baggage and carried with them charms and amulets that were thought to ensure “the health of body and protection of the soul”, as one 12th century Italian blessing explained. This “divine prophylaxis” ran alongside more practical care of the physical body – a holistic view of health as corporeal and spiritual.

The actions and remedies available to medieval pilgrims and other travellers may seem limited and perhaps dangerous to modern readers. But like all travellers, medieval people used the knowledge they had and tried hard to maintain good health in sometimes difficult conditions.

The urge to remain well is a very human one, and its long medieval history reminds us that good health has always been carefully managed through prevention just as much as cure.

Megan Cassidy-Welch, Professor of History and Dean of Research Strategy

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Martyrs of Compiègne, a group of 16 Discalced Carmelite nuns executed during the Reign of Terror in the French Revolution, were canonised by Pope Francis on December 18.

Their extraordinary faith and courage in the face of death offer timeless lessons on conviction and resilience.

These nuns, led by their prioress Mother Teresa of St. Augustine, embraced their fate with a profound sense of spiritual purpose, leaving an enduring legacy.

Religion and the French Revolution

Established in the 16th century by two saints, Teresa of Ávila and John of the Cross, the Order of Discalced Carmelites is a Catholic religious order. The name of the Order includes the designation “discalced”, meaning “without shoes”, referring to their rule to go about barefoot or wearing sandals.

The Carmelite nuns dedicate themselves entirely to a contemplative way of life and live in cloistered monasteries.

The French Revolution, marked by its anti-clericalism and radical reorganisation of society, profoundly disrupted religious life. The Civil Constitution of the Clergy in 1790 made religious vows illegal, forcing the majority of monastic communities to disband.

The religious community of the Carmel of Compiègne, established in 1641 and renowned for its piety, refused to break up. In August 1792, the revolutionary government decreed the closure of all monasteries occupied by women.

The nuns’ expulsion from their cloister followed in September 1792. The nuns maintained their communal life in secret, relying on the support of the local community. They continued their prayers and acts of devotion.

The nuns’ commitment was inspired by a prophetic vision experienced in 1693 by Sister Élisabeth-Baptiste, who saw her sisterhood destined to follow Jesus Christ in a profound act of sacrifice. The written record of this vision, preserved in the monastery’s archives, deeply resonated with the Carmel’s prioress, Mother Teresa, as Catholics endured the turmoil of the Revolution.

In November 1792, the prioress proposed an extraordinary act of consecration: the nuns would offer their lives for the salvation of France and the Church. Since then, each nun daily offered herself for the salvation of France, praying for peace and unity.

Arrest and trial

The Revolution’s intensifying hostility toward religious communities led to the nuns’ arrest in June 1794 at the height of massacres and public executions known as the “Reign of Terror”.

Accused of being “enemies of the people” for their continued religious practices and perceived loyalty to the monarchy, they were transferred to Paris’s notorious Conciergerie prison that held such prisoners as Queen Marie Antoinette.

At their trial on July 17 the public prosecutor, the notorious Antoine Quentin Fouquier de Tinville, charged them with fanaticism, defined as their steadfast attachment to their faith.

The nuns confronted the prosecutor, demanding a definition of fanaticism. This act of defiance highlighted the absurdity of the charges and revealed the regime’s persecution of religious belief as a threat to its revolutionary ideals.

Execution and legacy

That evening the nuns were paraded through Paris in open carts on the way to execution. They sang hymns such as Salve Regina and Miserere.

In doing so, they continued to proclaim their adherence to their faith, preparing to give their lives so the terror might end and French Catholics would no longer face persecution.

Upon reaching the guillotine at the Place du Trône Renversé, they renewed their vows. Sister Constance, the youngest at 29 and still a novice due to revolutionary laws banning religious professions, was the first to ascend the scaffold. As she approached her death, she began chanting Laudate Dominum omnes gentes, a hymn proclaiming God’s mercy.

One by one, the nuns followed.

The executioner and witnesses reported their extraordinary composure and the solemn silence of the crowd. Mother Teresa, the last to die, upheld her role as a spiritual leader to the very end, completing the community’s sacrificial offering.

Ten days later, the revolutionary leader and architect of the Terror Maximilien Robespierre was arrested and executed, effectively ending the Reign of Terror. The nuns’ martyrdom has been interpreted by French Catholics as hastening Robespierre’s demise, their sacrifice seen as a powerful act of intercession for a nation in turmoil.

Lessons on conviction and resilience

In 1906 Pope Pius X beatified the Martyrs of Compiègne. Beatification means the Church recognised their entrance to heaven, and that they could intercede on behalf of those who pray in their name.

Last December, Pope Francis canonised the women via equipollent canonisation. Also known as equivalent canonisation, this is a process by which the Pope declares a person to be a saint without the usual judicial procedures and formal attributions of miracles typical in the canonisation process.

This rare procedure is used for individuals who have been venerated since their death and whose sanctity and heroic virtues are already firmly established in Church tradition.

The Martyrs of Compiègne’s feast day is celebrated on July 17, the anniversary of their ultimate act of faith.

The Martyrs of Compiègne exemplify unwavering faith and courage. Their decision to offer their lives as a collective sacrifice underscores the transformative power of conviction. Faced with the threat of death, they demonstrated remarkable unity and spiritual fortitude, finding strength in their shared commitment to God and their community.

Their story challenges us to reflect on the nature of resilience and the values we uphold in times of crisis. By standing firm in their beliefs, they revealed the profound impact of faith and the capacity of the human spirit to endure adversity.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Historian, Australian Catholic University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Journalist Simon Townsend has died aged 79 only a few months after being diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. A statement released by his family reported “In his final days, Simon was surrounded by his family and a mix of journalists, writers, actors, political activists and Italians”.

Townsend is best remembered for hosting the Logie-winning children’s show Wonder World from 1979 until 1987.

But it is equally important to focus on his time as a political activist and conscientious objector during the Vietnam War. When Townsend was a fledgling journalist in his early 20s, he fought fearlessly against the draft and was imprisoned twice for his pacifist beliefs.

Conscientious objection

On November 24 1964, Liberal prime minister Robert Menzies re-introduced conscription through the National Service Act. It became mandatory for men turning 20 to register for national service.

Of the more than 800,000 who registered, 64,000 eventually served.

Approximately 14,000 refused to register for a variety of reasons. Refusal was a crime punishable by up to two years in prison, unless an exemption was granted on the grounds of conscientious objection, generally connected to religious belief.

Others registered, but claimed conscientious objection before they attended their standard military medical examination. Townsend registered as required by law in 1965 and immediately attempted to claim conscientious objector status on the grounds of pacifism.

This was refused by a judge in 1966 who said he was “not sincere”. The judge ordered Townsend to attend his medical examination. Townsend refused. He was sent to serve a one month prison sentence at Sydney’s Long Bay Gaol in early 1967.

On his release, Townsend again applied for an exemption. Again, he was unsuccessful. In February 1968, he refused to attend his next medical. In March, Townsend disobeyed an order to report for military duty. He was charged in the Special Federal Court in Sydney on May 15 and imprisoned again.

The Abolish Conscription Campaign

Four days later, Townsend wrote a letter to the Sydney protest group Abolish Conscription Campaign, reporting eight prison guards constantly watched over him and woke him up every two hours for his “wellbeing”.

He said he was “pretty miserable”, but his brother had sought help from Labor politicians Gough Whitlam and Len Devine, who paid Townsend a visit in support.

On June 10 1968 the Abolish Conscription Campaign organised a “major protest” to “demonstrate for the release of all conscientious objectors and the abolition of conscription”. Activists marched from Liverpool Station to Ingleburn Military Camp, where Townsend was being held ahead of his June 14 court date.

On this date, Townsend’s application for conscientious objector status was accepted – the court no doubt influenced by the increasing public attention his case had attracted.

Townsend approached his legal difficulties with courage and generosity. Between his two stints in prison, he formed Sydney’s Conscientious Objectors’ Group. Townsend, along with fellow activists including Quakers, feminists and pacifists, used their time and energy providing information to conscientious objectors facing court.

‘The Unconscriptables’

After Townsend’s release, he continued to fight against the National Service Act.

In August 1968 he joined the Caravan Against Conscription, which saw Sydney activists travel through rural New South Wales to spread the anti-war message.

In the next month Townsend helped to form a group called The Unconscriptables, “open to all those young men who face civil gaol because of a responsible and conscientious decision not to comply with the National Service Act”.

Townsend later supported Unconscriptable Geoff Mullen when he unsuccessfully stood for the federal seat of Wentworth in the October 1969 election. In an act of resistance, Mullen was running against Liberal minister for labour and national service, Leslie Bury.

Selfless action

During my State Library of New South Wales Fellowship research into quiet protest during the Vietnam War, I came across a court summons addressed to teacher, activist and former NSW Teachers Federation President Samuel Phineas Lewis, signed by Simon Townsend.

I became fascinated not only by Townsend’s personal story, but also his willingness to selflessly act on behalf of other young men impelled to fight in a war they did not believe in.

This court summons represents one of many protest actions performed by Townsend as Secretary of the Committee in Defiance of the National Service Act, formed in July 1969.

At their first meeting in Sydney Town Hall, Townsend, along with Committee leader Ken Thomas (an activist and businessman who, in 1946, established KW Thomas Transport, later known as Thomas Nationwide Transport or TNT), and 70 others including barristers, academics, unionists, housewives and clergymen, publicly signed a Statement of Defiance proclaiming their ongoing support for men who evaded conscription.

In encouraging others to break the law, they intentionally contravened the Crimes Act in the hope the time taken to prosecute them in court would delay any legal action towards young conscientious objectors.

Eventually 8,000 Australians made Statements of Defiance, were reported by Committee members to authorities and were fined or summonsed to appear in court. The Liberal Government soon became wise to the Committee’s scheme and ceased reacting.

These relatively quiet protest acts were hugely impactful and incredibly brave.

Townsend continued to fight against the National Service Act until Prime Minister Gough Whitlam abolished conscription as his first order of business following his December 2 1972 election win. This was while working as a reporter for This Day Tonight, a position he held from 1970 until the launch of Wonder World.

The loss of Simon Townsend is deeply felt in this country, not only for his journalism but also for his fearless activism. Vale.

Effie Karageorgos, Senior Lecturer in History, University of Newcastle

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Originally known as 2JJ, or Double Jay, when it launched in Sydney at 11am on January 19 1975, Triple J has since become the national youth network. The station now encompasses broadcast radio, live events, social media and a huge digital and cultural influence. It’s been the beating heart (or beating drum, as its logo depicts) of generations of young Australians.

With a target audience of 18–24-year-olds (ish), what does it mean when the national youth broadcaster hits middle age?

A station for young Australians

Triple J was born out of the Whitlam government’s commitment to young Australians. In addition to lowering the voting age from 21 to 18, the introduction of a dedicated space for young people provided by the national broadcaster allowed for greater cultural and civic participation.

The first song played on air was You Just Like Me ‘Cos I’m Good in Bed by Skyhooks. Banned by commercial networks for its explicit sex and drug themes, the ABC – not beholden to advertisers – pushed boundaries by starting with this song.

The station became known as Triple J in 1981 when it shifted to FM radio, and the move to become a national network started in 1990, rolling out across the decade.

A station for Australian talent

People like Mark Colvin, Wil Anderson, Zan Rowe, Myf Warhurst, Judith Lucy, Roy and HG and Dr Karl all got their start at Triple J, often moving beyond the right “look or sound” for the commercial networks.

Triple J’s influence on Australian musical culture is almost impossible to understate.

Playlists for Australian music have been consistently and significantly higher than commercial competition.

The station has long run programs designed to support local artists. Cooking with George, a new Australian music show in the early 1980s hosted by George Wayne, created a platform for new artists to connect with audiences.

The Long Live the Evolution campaign in the early 1980s encouraged audiences to buy Australian music by offering a free Australian music compilation record with purchase of any Australian album.

The new talent competition Unearthed began in 1995 and now counts among its alumni Missy Higgins, Flume and Grinspoon.

One Night Stand is a semi-regular festival the station takes to different regional or rural Australian towns. The station’s coverage of festivals like Big Day Out and Splendour in the Grass provided a way for audiences who couldn’t afford to attend to still listen along.

A station for chaos, and youth politics

The appeal has always been the energy, if not occasional chaos, of having young people in charge and on air.

Clashes with ABC management have been inevitable. A memo distributed internally in 1976, and redistributed in 1979, gave “a very stroppy reminder to all staff of our self-imposed rule – NO DOPE IN THE OFFICE OR STUDIO!!”

In 1989, presenters protested the censorship of N.W.A.’s Fuck Tha Police. To show their objections, staff played N.W.A’s Express Yourself – a song rallying against censorship, and also the only song on the album without swear words – repeatedly for an entire day.

This again played out in the early 2000s when the presenters played The Herd’s 77% in full, complete with explicit lyrics which target the government and commercial broadcasters, saying “these cunts need a shake up”. ABC management argued that the language was unacceptable. But announcer Steve Cannane instead used the song to spark a 90 minute talkback special.

Overwhelmingly, Triple J presenters felt the strength of the language reflected the strength of the artists’ activist feelings.

Tracing the station’s approach to social issues is a way to trace the priorities of many young people in Australia. In 2017 the Hottest 100 countdown was moved away from January 26, following a listener petition and survey.

Over the years the station has promoted activists standing up against racism and homophobia. In 2023 after the Voice referendum, announcer Nooky gave an impassioned personal statement, followed by Yothu Yindi’s Treaty on repeat for the rest of the show.

A station for audiences

As I found studying Triple J’s impact during COVID, providing listeners with a range of listening options remains vital.

In May 2020 listeners across the country took over the program grid and requested songs – literally anything – as part of a week-long “Requestival”.

Hilariously the audience trolled the broadcaster, requesting everything from The Antiques Roadshow theme to Beethoven, as well as local artists and international pop.

Triple J became a clear place where the pent up energy, fear and loneliness of the young audience could be shared.

Room to grow

There were rumours Triple J was on its last legs even before it completed its first year on air.

While general and music outlets seem to periodically publish “is Triple J still relevant?” opinion pieces, most often these pieces are written by people who have aged out of the station’s target.

But commentators past the target demographic, judging it from their nostalgic perspective, aren’t the right people to decide if Australians 18–25 are getting what they feel they need.

Generational battles over the role and importance of Triple J continue to rage.

This is not to say older audiences should stop caring about Triple J. Nostalgia is powerful and important, shown by audiences who attended the sold out 20 year anniversary show by former breakfast hosts Adam Spencer and Wil Anderson.

Since 2015, the digital station Double J has served the “former” Triple J audience, complete with former Triple J presenters, music specials and music aimed at an older demographic.

Triple J is etched in the memories and forms a legacy for older Australians. Those who remember that first broadcast in 1975 will even get to relive it this weekend on Digital Double J, but Triple J is still a vital resource for its target audience.

At a time when media outlets are increasingly concentrated, more regularly incorporating AI and moving away from rigorous fact checking, there is even more need to promote and protect an outlet that embraces the distinctiveness of young Australians making new work now.

Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Cycling, in its most familiar form, dates back to at least the 19th century. One example of an early bicycle was known as the “hobby horse”, and it later became the “Dandy horse” and then the “accelerator”. Early cycling was reserved for the upper-classes and was seen as highly fashionable and decorous – particularly for men.

Women’s cycling, on the other hand, was viewed as trivial and unbecoming. When women were portrayed cycling, they were often eroticised and undressed.

The early development of women’s bicycles and cycle-wear was impeded by debates on women’s morality and sexual innocence. The bicycle was said to cause “bicycle face” (a face of muscular tension), harm reproductive organs and diminish what supposedly little energy women had.

Cycling women were viewed as sexually promiscuous both for the “unnatural” straddling of the bicycle and for the freedom cycling offered them. Where were they all cycling to, men wondered.

New women

The development in 1885 of the Rover “safety bicycle” revolutionised women’s cycling. It featured a lower mounting position and inspired somewhat of a cycling craze. By the 1890s, several million women around the world were cycling.

The influx of female cyclists on the streets created a moral panic for the Victorians. The image of the cycling woman came to represent a new type of woman with feminist ambition. This led to a discourse known simply as the “woman question”.

The fear caused by this cycling “new woman” is made clear in postcards from the time. The new woman in the example above is abandoning her husband and children for a day out and charging her husband with domestic tasks – a highly provocative notion to a Victorian audience. God forbid, perhaps she is also on her way to a suffragist rally. Cycling women were seen as radicals who threatened the “natural order of things”.

Such was the symbiotic relationship between feminism and women’s cycling, that the bicycle became emblematic of the suffrage movement. This photograph, taken in 1897, was taken at the height of the “woman problem” debate.

An effigy of a cycling woman hangs above a crowd at Cambridge University, as they await the result of a vote on whether female students ought to receive a degree upon completion of study. The vote was defeated and the effigy triumphantly torn down. Women could not receive a degree from Cambridge University until 1948.

This photograph captures the cultural rejection of cycling, educated women.

The effigy, dressed in collegiate striped stockings, cap and rational dress is a stereotypical new woman. Akin to a Guy Fawkes dummy in November, during this time the cycling woman momentarily joined Britain’s long history of reviled figures of rebellion.

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Mobile women

In her book Women and the Machine (2001), art historian Julie Wosk documents the history of a “cultural longing to represent women as safely stationary” in visual culture.

At the turn of the century, cycling women were often depicted as incompetant, either falling off their bicycle, cycling into something or being attacked while cycling.

The intention behind these images was to showcase women’s supposed technical and physical inability. The Victorian equivalent of the sexist modern-day stereotype that “women can’t drive”. At the base of such claims is a fear of mobile women. Images like these served as visual warnings for women who wished to exercise their physical freedom on two wheels.

After 1900, women’s cycling went through another transition. While in its early years cycling was considered an upper-class pursuit, by the 20th century bicycles were becoming democratised as the motorcar became the in thing for the wealthy.

Bicycles became a form of functional transport for the working classes. The need for an expanded female workforce during the first world war had also helped to normalise women’s cycling.

As shown in the above special munitions edition of Cycling magazine, the bicycle was seen as the ideal “energy saving” mode of transport for female workers. While the advertisement copy shows that the 19th-century concerns over women’s “energies” endured during the war, the visual of a woman successfully cycling to her workplace confirms some progress.

By the 1930s, cycling manufacturers were offering women’s ranges more in line with men’s and leading brands offered speed and sports models to women. Marketing copy focused less on issues of morality and decorum and worries of “bicycle face” had long ceased to exist.

This was surely progress? Unfortunately, it isn’t so straightforward. The discourse around women cycling was still concerned with health and beauty more than sporting achievement. But now instead of being thought to damage femininity, cycling now supposedly ensured it.

In 1938 Billie Dovey was named British bicycle manufacturer Rudge-Whitworth’s “Keep Fit Girl” after she peddled almost 30,000 miles around Britain. But rather than focus on her remarkable achievement, the press described Dovey’s “fine physique”, “healthy” skin and “tan”.

Images of the past can tell us a lot about the culture which produced it. These images show a cultural discomfort with physically mobile women. And it’s a discomfort that hasn’t entirely disappeared.

A gender gap in British cycling persists. Nine in ten British women are reportedly “scared of cycling in towns and cities”. The UK’s poor cycling infrastructure matched with an increase in violence against women on the streets together make for an unappealing prospect for would-be female cyclists.

As well as safety fears, women have less leisure time – despite more flexible post-pandemic working structures – and societal pressures regarding their physical appearance when cycling still linger. That’s all despite the number of female cyclists adding to medal tallies for British teams in recent years which made household names of some athletes.

Whatever the future for women’s cycling, it is critical to understand and redress these long-held assumptions about women’s “paltry” abilities regarding technology, sports and cycling. It is important to recognise the bicycle as an agent for progress whilst acknowledging the historic and contemporary challenges facing female cyclists.

Tamsin Johnson, PhD candidate in visual cultures, Nottingham Trent University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

This time of year, many of us love to get out and spend time in nature. This may include hiking through Australia’s many beautiful national parks.

Walking in nature is a wonderful activity, supporting both physical and mental health. But there can be risks and it’s important to be prepared.

You may have read the news about hiker, Hadi Nazari, who was recently found alive after spending 13 days lost in Kosciuszko National Park.

He reportedly survived for almost two weeks in the Snowy Mountains region of New South Wales by drinking fresh water from creeks, and eating foraged berries and two muesli bars.

So next time you’re heading out for a day of hiking, what foods should you pack?

Here are my three top foods to carry on a bushwalk that are dense in nutrients and energy, lightweight and available from the local grocery store.

1. Muesli bars

Nazari reportedly ate two muesli bars he found in a mountain hut. Whoever left the muesli bars there made a great choice.

Muesli bars come individually wrapped, which helps them last longer and makes them easy to transport.

They are also a good source of energy. Muesli bars typically contain about 1,500-1,900 kilojoules per 100 grams. The average energy content for a 35g bar is about 614kJ.

This may be a fraction of what you’d usually need in a day. However, the energy from muesli bars is released at a slow to moderate pace, which will help keep you going for longer.

Muesli bars are also packed with nutrients. They contain all three macronutrients (carbohydrate, protein and fat) that our body needs to function. They’re a good source of carbohydrates, in particular, which are a key energy source. An average Australian muesli bar contains 14g of whole grains, which provide carbohydrates and dietary fibre for long-lasting energy.

Muesli bars that contain nuts are typically higher in fat (19.9g per 100g) and protein (9.4g per 100g) than those without.

Fat and protein are helpful for slowing down the release of energy from foods and the protein will help keep you feeling full for longer.

There are many different types of muesli bars to choose from. I recommend looking for those with whole grains, higher dietary fibre and higher protein content.

2. Nuts

Nuts are nature’s savoury snack and are also a great source of energy. Cashews, pistachios and peanuts contain about 2,300-2,400kJ per 100g while Brazil nuts, pecans and macadamias contain about 2,700-3,000kJ per 100g. So a 30g serving of nuts will provide about 700-900kJ depending on the type of nut.

Just like muesli bars, the energy from nuts is released slowly. So even a relatively small quantity will keep you powering on.

Nuts are also full of nutrients, such as protein, fat and fibre, which will help to stave off hunger and keep you moving for longer.

When choosing which nuts to pack, almost any type of nut is going to be great.

Peanuts are often the best value for money, or go for something like walnuts that are high in omega-3 fatty acids, or a nut mix.

Whichever nut you choose, go for the unsalted natural or roasted varieties. Salted nuts will make you thirsty.

Nut bars are also a great option and have the added benefit of coming in pre-packed serves (although nuts can also be easily packed into re-usable containers).

If you’re allergic to nuts, roasted chickpeas are another option. Just try to avoid those with added salt.

3. Dried fruit

If nuts are nature’s savoury snack, fruit is nature’s candy. Fresh fruits (such as grapes, frozen in advance) are wonderfully refreshing and perfect as an everyday snack, although can add a bit of weight to your hiking pack.

So if you’re looking to reduce the weight you’re carrying, go for dried fruit. It’s lighter and will withstand various conditions better than fresh fruit, so is less likely to spoil or bruise on the journey.

There are lots of varieties of dried fruits, such as sultanas, dried mango, dried apricots and dried apple slices.

These are good sources of sugar for energy, fibre for fullness and healthy digestion, and contain lots of vitamins and minerals. So choose one (or a combination) that works for you.

Don’t forget water

Next time you head out hiking for the day, you’re all set with these easily available, lightweight, energy- and nutrient-dense snacks.

This is not the time to be overly concerned about limiting your sugar or fat intake. Hiking, particularly in rough terrain, places demands on your body and energy needs. For instance, an adult hiking in rough terrain can burn upwards of about 2,000kJ per hour.

And of course, don’t forget to take plenty of water.

Having access to even limited food, and plenty of fresh water, will not only make your hike more pleasurable, it can save your life.

Margaret Murray, Senior Lecturer, Nutrition, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Obesity is linked to many common diseases, such as type 2 diabetes, heart disease, fatty liver disease and knee osteoarthritis.

Obesity is currently defined using a person’s body mass index, or BMI. This is calculated as weight (in kilograms) divided by the square of height (in metres). In people of European descent, the BMI for obesity is 30 kg/m² and over.

But the risk to health and wellbeing is not determined by weight – and therefore BMI – alone. We’ve been part of a global collaboration that has spent the past two years discussing how this should change. Today we publish how we think obesity should be defined and why.

As we outline in The Lancet, having a larger body shouldn’t mean you’re diagnosed with “clinical obesity”. Such a diagnosis should depend on the level and location of body fat – and whether there are associated health problems.

What’s wrong with BMI?

The risk of ill health depends on the relative percentage of fat, bone and muscle making up a person’s body weight, as well as where the fat is distributed.

Athletes with a relatively high muscle mass, for example, may have a higher BMI. Even when that athlete has a BMI over 30 kg/m², their higher weight is due to excess muscle rather than excess fatty tissue.

People who carry their excess fatty tissue around their waist are at greatest risk of the health problems associated with obesity.

Fat stored deep in the abdomen and around the internal organs can release damaging molecules into the blood. These can then cause problems in other parts of the body.

But BMI alone does not tell us whether a person has health problems related to excess body fat. People with excess body fat don’t always have a BMI over 30, meaning they are not investigated for health problems associated with excess body fat. This might occur in a very tall person or in someone who tends to store body fat in the abdomen but who is of a “healthy” weight.

On the other hand, others who aren’t athletes but have excess fat may have a high BMI but no associated health problems.

BMI is therefore an imperfect tool to help us diagnose obesity.

What is the new definition?

The goal of the Lancet Diabetes & Endocrinology Commission on the Definition and Diagnosis of Clinical Obesity was to develop an approach to this definition and diagnosis. The commission, established in 2022 and led from King’s College London, has brought together 56 experts on aspects of obesity, including people with lived experience.

The commission’s definition and new diagnostic criteria shifts the focus from BMI alone. It incorporates other measurements, such as waist circumference, to confirm an excess or unhealthy distribution of body fat.

We define two categories of obesity based on objective signs and symptoms of poor health due to excess body fat.

1. Clinical obesity

A person with clinical obesity has signs and symptoms of ongoing organ dysfunction and/or difficulty with day-to-day activities of daily living (such as bathing, going to the toilet or dressing).

There are 18 diagnostic criteria for clinical obesity in adults and 13 in children and adolescents. These include:

• breathlessness caused by the effect of obesity on the lungs

• obesity-induced heart failure

• raised blood pressure

• fatty liver disease

• abnormalities in bones and joints that limit movement in children.

2. Pre-clinical obesity

A person with pre-clinical obesity has high levels of body fat that are not causing any illness.

People with pre-clinical obesity do not have any evidence of reduced tissue or organ function due to obesity and can complete day-to-day activities unhindered.

However, people with pre-clinical obesity are generally at higher risk of developing diseases such as heart disease, some cancers and type 2 diabetes.

What does this mean for obesity treatment?

Clinical obesity is a disease requiring access to effective health care.

For those with clinical obesity, the focus of health care should be on improving the health problems caused by obesity. People should be offered evidence-based treatment options after discussion with their health-care practitioner.

Treatment will include management of obesity-associated complications and may include specific obesity treatment aiming at decreasing fat mass, such as:

• support for behaviour change around diet, physical activity, sleep and screen use

• obesity-management medications to reduce appetite, lower weight and improve health outcomes such as blood glucose (sugar) and blood pressure

• metabolic bariatric surgery to treat obesity or reduce weight-related health complications.

Should pre-clinical obesity be treated?

For those with pre-clinical obesity, health care should be about risk-reduction and prevention of health problems related to obesity.

This may require health counselling, including support for health behaviour change, and monitoring over time.

Depending on the person’s individual risk – such as a family history of disease, level of body fat and changes over time – they may opt for one of the obesity treatments above.

Distinguishing people who don’t have illness from those who already have ongoing illness will enable personalised approaches to obesity prevention, management and treatment with more appropriate and cost-effective allocation of resources.

What happens next?

These new criteria for the diagnosis of clinical obesity will need to be adopted into national and international clinical practice guidelines and a range of obesity strategies.

Once adopted, training health professionals and health service managers, and educating the general public, will be vital.

Reframing the narrative of obesity may help eradicate misconceptions that contribute to stigma, including making false assumptions about the health status of people in larger bodies. A better understanding of the biology and health effects of obesity should also mean people in larger bodies are not blamed for their condition.

People with obesity or who have larger bodies should expect personalised, evidence-based assessments and advice, free of stigma and blame.

Louise Baur, Professor, Discipline of Child and Adolescent Health, University of Sydney; John B. Dixon, Adjunct Professor, Iverson Health Innovation Research Institute, Swinburne University of Technology; Priya Sumithran, Head of the Obesity and Metabolic Medicine Group in the Department of Surgery, School of Translational Medicine, Monash University, and Wendy A. Brown, Professor and Chair, Monash University Department of Surgery, School of Translational Medicine, Alfred Health, Monash University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Over the past two years, generative artificial intelligence (AI) has captivated public attention. This year signals the beginning of a new phase: the rise of AI agents.

AI agents are autonomous systems that can make decisions and take actions on our behalf without direct human input. The vision is that these agents will redefine work and daily life by handling complex tasks for us. They could negotiate contracts, manage our finances, or book our travel.

Salesforce chief executive Marc Benioff has said he aims to deploy a billion AI agents within a year. Meanwhile Meta chief Mark Zuckerberg predicts AI agents will soon outnumber the global human population.

As companies race to deploy AI agents, questions about their societal impact, ethical boundaries and long-term consequences grow more urgent. We stand on the edge of a technological frontier with the power to redefine the fabric of our lives.

How will these systems transform our work and our decision-making? And what safeguards do we need to ensure they serve humanity’s best interests?

AI agents take the control away

Current generative AI systems react to user input, such as prompts. By contrast, AI agents act autonomously within broad parameters. They operate with unprecedented levels of freedom – they can negotiate, make judgement calls, and orchestrate complex interactions with other systems. This goes far beyond simple command–response exchanges like those you might have with ChatGPT.

For instance, imagine using a personal “AI financial advisor” agent to buy life insurance. The agent would analyse your financial situation, health data and family needs while simultaneously negotiating with multiple insurance companies’ AI agents.

It would also need to coordinate with several other AI systems: your medical records’ AI for health information, and your bank’s AI systems for making payments.

The use of such an agent promises to reduce manual effort for you, but it also introduces significant risks.

The AI might be outmanoeuvred by more advanced insurance company AI agents during negotiations, leading to higher premiums. Privacy concerns arise as your sensitive medical and financial information flows between multiple systems.

The complexity of these interactions can also result in opaque decisions. It might be difficult to trace how various AI agents influence the final insurance policy recommendation. And if errors occur, it could be hard to know which part of the system to hold accountable.

Perhaps most crucially, this system risks diminishing human agency. When AI interactions grow too complex to comprehend or control, individuals may struggle to intervene in or even fully understand their insurance arrangements.

A tangle of ethical and practical challenges

The insurance agent scenario above is not yet fully realised. But sophisticated AI agents are rapidly coming onto the market.

Salesforce and Microsoft have already incorporated AI agents into some of their corporate products, such as Copilot Actions. Google has been gearing up for the release of personal AI agents since announcing its latest AI model, Gemini 2.0. OpenAI is also expected to release a personal AI agent in 2025.

The prospect of billions of AI agents operating simultaneously raises profound ethical and practical challenges.

These agents will be created by competing companies with different technical architectures, ethical frameworks and business incentives. Some will prioritise user privacy, others speed and efficiency.

They will interact across national borders where regulations governing AI autonomy, data privacy and consumer protection vary dramatically.

This could create a fragmented landscape where AI agents operate under conflicting rules and standards, potentially leading to systemic risks.

What happens when AI agents optimised for different objectives – say, profit maximisation versus environmental sustainability – clash in automated negotiations? Or when agents trained on Western ethical frameworks make decisions that affect users in cultural contexts for which they were not designed?

The emergence of this complex, interconnected ecosystem of AI agents demands new approaches to governance, accountability, and the preservation of human agency in an increasingly automated world.

How do we shape a future with AI agents in it?

AI agents promise to be helpful, to save us time. To navigate the challenges outlined above, we will need to coordinate action across multiple fronts.

International bodies and national governments must develop harmonised regulatory frameworks that address the cross-border nature of AI agent interactions.

These frameworks should establish clear standards for transparency and accountability, particularly in scenarios where multiple agents interact in ways that affect human interests.

Technology companies developing AI agents need to prioritise safety and ethical considerations from the earliest stages of development. This means building in robust safeguards that prevent abuse – such as manipulating users or making discriminatory decisions.

They must ensure agents remain aligned with human values. All decisions and actions made by an AI agent should be logged in an “audit trail” that’s easy to access and follow.

Importantly, companies must develop standardised protocols for agent-to-agent communication. Conflict resolution between AI agents should happen in a way that protects the interests of users.

Any organisation that deploys AI agents should also have comprehensive oversight of them. Humans should still be involved in any crucial decisions, with a clear process in place to do so. The organisation should also systematically assess the outcomes to ensure agents truly serve their intended purpose.

As consumers, we all have a crucial role to play, too. Before entrusting tasks to AI agents, you should demand clear explanations of how these systems operate, what data they share, and how decisions are made.

This includes understanding the limits of agent autonomy. You should have the ability to override agents’ decisions when necessary.

We shouldn’t surrender human agency as we transition to a world of AI agents. But it’s a powerful technology, and now is the time to actively shape what that world will look like.

Uri Gal, Professor in Business Information Systems, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The extinction of the megafauna – giant marsupials that lived in Australia until 60,000 to 45,000 years ago – is a topic of fierce debate. Some researchers have suggested a reliance on certain plants left some species susceptible to changes in climate.

Our research, published today in Science, indicates that for short-faced kangaroos, which comprise the bulk of the extinct megafauna, their diets were broad and comparable to many long-faced kangaroos which survived the extinction event.

Broad diets would have made short-faced kangaroos well adapted to the last ice age in Australia, bringing diet-based extinction scenarios into doubt.

What was the Australian megafauna?

Megafauna is a loose term referring to all the species present in the Pleistocene of Australia (2.6 million to 12,000 years ago) which haven’t survived until today.

Two features unite them: a generally large body size and being extinct. By 40,000 years ago, 90% of large species in Australia had died out.

This included giant flightless birds, the rhino-sized marsupial Diprotodon, marsupial lions and many others.

The cause of this extinction has been the subject of debate for some time. Some researchers argue megafaunal species were wiped out by climate change associated with the last ice age.

Others suggest the arrival of humans directly or indirectly led to their extinction. A third option also considers a combination of these two factors.

Different types of kangaroos

More than half of the extinct marsupial megafauna were kangaroos. Most, though not all of these, were sthenurines or short-faced kangaroos. Long-faced kangaroo species (macropodids) lived alongside sthenurines, and survive around Australia today.

Along with shorter faces, sthenurines had longer arms and a heavier build than their long-faced cousins. Many walked on two feet like a human or a Tyrannosaurus rex.

The short faces allowed sthenurines to crush plants with greater force, leading palaeontologists to suggest sthenurines were browsers – herbivores that specialise in consuming the leaves of shrubs and other plants.

If a change in climate then reduced the availability of these plants, this could have led to short-faced kangaroo extinction. Meanwhile the grazing (grass-eating) long-faced kangaroos were mostly able to survive.

Browsers, mixed feeders, grazers

To investigate this idea, we used a method called dental microwear texture analysis. When an animal chews its food, the food leaves microscopic scratches on its teeth. The shape of these scratches changes based on the physical properties of the food: grasses typically make thin scratches, while leaves create deeper gouges.

By scanning the teeth under a fancy microscope called a confocal profiler, we end up with a 3D-scan of a tiny area of the tooth surface, which can then be analysed using algorithms that quantify its texture.

To see how microwear relates to diet, we compiled a massive baseline of modern macropods whose diets we know really well.

This included 17 species, from browsers (like quokkas, mostly eating the leaves of shrubs), through mixed feeders (like red-necked wallabies, eating large contributions of browse and grass) to grazers (like red kangaroos, who mostly eat grass).

To understand diets in the Pleistocene, we looked at fossils from Victoria Fossil Cave in the Naracoorte Caves World Heritage Area.

We found overall there was a high degree of mixed feeding taking place at Naracoorte in the Pleistocene. Four species of short-faced kangaroos and three species of long-faced kangaroos all had very similar diets – they were mixed feeders.

This alone dispels the notion that all short-faced kangaroos were driven extinct as a direct result of a restricted diet. Mixed feeding is a common strategy among kangaroos today, especially in parts of Australia with more vegetation. It allows species to adapt their diets to changing conditions and mixed environments.

Some specialists too

Not everyone was a mixed feeder at Naracoorte. The swamp wallaby and three short-faced kangaroos all had browsing diets. Two of these sthenurines, both from the genus Simosthenurus, had very distinct “browsing signatures” – suggesting they had specialist diets.

Meanwhile, a now-extinct long-faced kangaroo known as Protemnodon had a specialised grazing diet.

These specialists also provide useful info. Since they were at separate ends of the dietary spectrum, they were unlikely to have been driven extinct by the same shift in climate.

This gels with recent evidence that shows Pleistocene climate changes were less dramatic in the southern hemisphere, compared to the northern hemisphere, where the true “ice ages” took hold with massive ice sheets forming across whole continents.

Where evolution meets practicality

So, if short- and long-faced kangaroos had overlapping diets, why are their heads so different? Essentially, this comes down to where evolution meets practicality.

Evolution has changed the shape of these two kangaroo species down different paths, adapted to eating different foods. But this adaptation doesn’t dictate that an animal only eats one type of food, especially in an environment with plentiful nutritious vegetation.

Mixed feeding among many kangaroos today shows long-faced roos are not bound to grazing. Our work suggests short-faced kangaroos were similarly not bound to browsing.

Instead, these adaptations define the “end-members” of diet: tough-to-process foods that are consumed in times or environments where other foods are unavailable.

Our work shows most kangaroos at Naracoorte, including sthenurines, had a high degree of mixed feeding. They were well adapted to Pleistocene environments.

Our work is just one piece of the megafaunal extinction puzzle, slowly taking shape as we learn more about the ecology of extinct species, and how they interacted with Pleistocene environments and the arrival of humans.

Sam Arman, Adjunct Associate, Palaeontology, Flinders University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

On hot summer days, hitting the beach is a great way to have fun and cool off. But if you’re not near the salty ocean, you might opt for swimming in a freshwater stream, river, lake or pool.

These freshwater swimming holes are great, but they come with a hidden danger. While it’s very rare, it can be deadly – a brain infection by a microbe widely known as the “brain-eating amoeba”.

What is the brain-eating amoeba?

The pathogen in question is called Naegleria fowleri. The “brain-eating” part makes it sound like an unlikely creature of science fiction, but sadly it’s a real – and potentially deadly – organism.

The amoeba was first discovered by medical scientists in South Australia in the 1960s following several mysterious deaths from an unusual form of meningitis in the 1950s.

It can cause an often incurable infection called primary amoebic meningoencephalitis. This disease has caused hundreds of fatal infections across several countries. Young males are most commonly affected, and the average age of infections is 12 years old.

N. fowleri is a microscopic single-celled organism. It is commonly found in freshwaters and soil, thriving in warmer water temperatures ranging from 25°C to 40°C.

It doesn’t survive in saltwater or freshwater correctly disinfected with chlorine. This includes chlorinated municipal water supplies which are disinfected and thoroughly tested to ensure all pathogens, including N. fowleri, can’t survive. This water is safe for all uses including bathing and showering.

Infections are very rare. But they are deadly serious, as only a handful of people have survived the infection.

The United States has recorded more cases than any other country, not least due to the fact they keep stringent records and regularly provide reports on these types of infections. According to the US Centers for Disease Control, of the 164 reported cases (1962 to 2023) in the US, only four people have survived. This is a fatality rate of 97.5%.

Australia has recorded 22 cases up until 2018, according to a global review. Four confirmed cases have been reported from Queensland since 2000.

How does the amoeba get into the brain?

This disease has a highly unusual infection pathway. You can’t be infected by drinking contaminated water. It can only infect a person’s brain through water entering their nose and nasal passages. This allows the amoeba to pass through nasal tissue and infect the brain and central nervous system.

People have been fatally infected by rinsing their nasal passages with water that contained the amoeba. Such nasal rinses should only use suitably sterilised water.

Some of the early symptoms of the infection are headaches, nausea, vomiting, fever and neck stiffness. It may take several days for the infection to develop after exposure to the amoeba.

If someone suffers these symptoms after being exposed to potentially contaminated waters, urgent medical attention is needed. Although the survival rate is less than 5%, there are rare cases where prompt medical attention helped an infected person survive.

Although the amoeba generally survives in waters in warm climates, it has infected people in heated waters in cooler environments. In 1978, a girl was fatally infected after swimming in the geothermal baths built by Romans in the English city of Bath. The baths have been closed for swimmers ever since.

In Australia, Lake Liddell in the Hunter Valley, New South Wales, was closed to the public in 2016 after detection of the amoeba. The waters of the lake were artificially warm as they were used for cooling a coal-fired power station that’s now closed.

What can I do to avoid the amoeba?

Firstly, N. fowleri can’t survive in ocean saltwater. But it can live in warm freshwaters, rivers, hot springs, streams, pools or lakes.

If you are in any doubt, it is safest to assume the amoeba is present in these water sources. You can still swim, but don’t put your head under water. Take care to prevent any water entering your nose.

This might be difficult for children who often engage in games, lots of splashing, and jumping or diving into the water. It may be impossible for them to do this without risking water entering their noses.

If you are considering swimming in a freshwater swimming pool, make sure the pool is well maintained and disinfected with the correct amount of chlorine. This prevents the amoeba’s survival, and makes a well-maintained, disinfected pool safe to swim. (A clean, filtered and properly chlorinated swimming pool also protects swimmers from other water-borne pathogens.)

The chances of acquiring this disease are remote. But if infected, it’s likely to be fatal.

Remember that children under your care are particularly vulnerable. If possible, choose to swim in well-maintained and chlorinated swimming pools. In freshwater sources, just don’t put your head under the water.

Ian A. Wright, Associate Professor in Environmental Science, Western Sydney University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Children with traumatic experiences in their early lives have a higher risk of obesity. But as our new research shows, this risk can be reduced through positive experiences.

Childhood traumatic experiences are alarmingly common. Our analysis of data from nearly 5,000 children in the Growing Up in New Zealand study revealed almost nine out of ten (87%) faced at least one significant source of trauma by the time they were eight years old. Multiple adverse experiences were also prevalent, with one in three children (32%) experiencing at least three traumatic events.

Childhood trauma includes a range of experiences such as physical and emotional abuse, peer bullying and exposure to domestic violence. It also includes parental substance abuse, mental illness, incarceration, separation or divorce and ethnic discrimination.

We found children from financially disadvantaged households and Māori and Pasifika had the highest prevalence of nearly all types of adverse experiences, as well as higher overall numbers of adversities.

The consequences of these experiences were far-reaching. Children who experienced at least one adverse event were twice as likely to be obese by age eight. The risk increased with the number of traumatic experiences. Children with four or more adverse experiences were nearly three times more likely to be obese.

Notably, certain traumatic experiences (including physical abuse and parental domestic violence) related more strongly to obesity than others. This highlights the strong connection between early-life adversity and physical health outcomes.

Connecting trauma to obesity

One potential explanation could be that the accumulation of early stress in children’s family, school and social environments is associated with greater psychological distress. This in turn makes children more likely to adopt unhealthy weight-related behaviours.

This includes consuming excessive high-calorie “comfort” foods such as fast food and sugary drinks, inadequate intake of nutritious foods, poor sleep, excessive screen time and physical inactivity. In our research, children who experienced adverse events were more likely to adopt these unhealthy behaviours. These, in turn, were associated with a higher risk of obesity.

Despite these challenges, our research also explored a promising area: the protective and mitigating effects of positive experiences.

We defined positive experiences as:

• parents in a committed relationship

• mothers interacting well with their children

• mothers involved in social groups

• children engaged in enriching experiences and activities such as visiting libraries or museums and participating in sports and community events

• children living in households with routines and rules, including those regulating bedtime, screen time and mealtimes

• children attending effective early childhood education.

The findings were encouraging. Children with more positive experiences were significantly less likely to be obese by age eight.

For example, those with five or six positive experiences were 60% less likely to be overweight or obese compared to children with zero or one positive experience. Even two positive experiences reduced the likelihood by 25%.

How positive experiences counteract trauma

Positive experiences can help mitigate the negative effects of childhood trauma. But a minimum of four positive experiences was required to significantly counteract the impact of adverse events.

While nearly half (48%) of the study participants had at least four positive experiences, a concerning proportion (more than one in ten children) reported zero or only one positive experience.

The implications are clear. Traditional weight-loss programmes focused solely on changing behaviours are not enough to tackle childhood obesity. To create lasting change, we must also address the social environments, life experiences and emotional scars of early trauma shaping children’s lives.

Fostering positive experiences is a vital part of this holistic approach. These experiences not only help protect children from the harmful effects of adversity but also promote their overall physical and mental wellbeing. This isn’t just about preventing obesity – it’s about giving children the foundation to thrive and reach their full potential.

Creating supportive environments for vulnerable children

Policymakers, schools and families all have a role to play. Community-based programmes, such as after-school activities, healthy relationship initiatives and mental health services should be prioritised to support vulnerable families.

Trauma-informed care is crucial, particularly for children from disadvantaged households who face higher levels of adversity and fewer positive experiences. Trauma-informed approaches are especially crucial for addressing the effects of domestic violence and other adverse childhood experiences.

Comprehensive strategies should prioritise both safety and emotional healing by equipping families with tools to create safe, nurturing environments and providing access to mental health services and community support initiatives.

At the family level, parents can establish stable routines, participate in social networks and engage children in enriching activities. Schools and early-childhood education providers also play a key role in fostering supportive environments that help children build resilience and recover from trauma.

Policymakers should invest in resources that promote positive experiences across communities, addressing inequalities that leave some children more vulnerable than others. By creating nurturing environments, we can counterbalance the impacts of trauma and help children lead healthier, more fulfilling lives.

When positive experiences outweigh negative ones, children have a far greater chance of thriving – physically, emotionally and socially.

Ladan Hashemi, Senior Research Fellow in Health Sciences, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Today the federal government released Australia’s first National Autism Strategy, with A$42 million of funding for the first stage of the strategy.

Many autistic Australians and their families struggle to get the right supports so they can do the things many people take for granted, such as going to a dance class or joining a footy club, going to school or work, and maintaining their physical and mental health.

People with autism have a life expectancy 20 to 36 years shorter than the rest of the population. Workforce participation among autistic adults is low, at around 38%.

People with autism want to live in a country that doesn’t just talk about inclusion, but delivers this through policy and reducing stigma. The seven-year autism strategy is an important step forward to achieving this aim.

But it’s unclear if the strategy will deliver for children and their families who are not eligible for National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) funding and support. We need to ensure they don’t fall through the gaps.

What’s in the strategy?

The strategy sets out 22 recommendations across four key areas:

1. social inclusion: ensuring autistic people are valued and included in society, with initiatives such as peer-support programs and public awareness campaigns. Almost $20 million has been earmarked to fund peer-support programs designed to provide age-appropriate and culturally sensitive assistance, while $915,000 has been set aside over two years for community awareness and education initiatives to reduce stigma and foster inclusion.

2. economic inclusion: improving employment opportunities and workplace support, particularly for autistic adults. This includes increasing employment opportunities and supporting employers to hire and retain autistic employees.

3. diagnosis, services and supports: enhancing timely and accessible diagnostic pathways and neurodiversity-affirming services. The funding commitment includes $445,000 in 2025–26 for new resources supporting pre- and post-diagnosis stages.

4. health and mental health: addressing systemic gaps in health outcomes through a forthcoming roadmap focused on mental and physical wellbeing.

Ensuring children without NDIS support don’t fall through the gaps

At the time of diagnosis, children with autism are categorised at as either level one (requiring support), two (requiring substantial support) or three (requiring very substantial support).

Children classified as level one may have difficulty with social communication, the “to and fro” of conversation and making friends. These children face real and unique challenges as they operate in mainstream schools and communities with a silent disability that may go unrecognised by their peers.

But many children with level one autism will not receive individual NDIS support packages.

The NDIS review plans to fill this gap through “foundational supports”. The goal of foundational supports is to build individual, family and community capacity to reduce the barriers to participation in schools and communities.

But we are yet to see the full menu of opportunities that will be available from the NDIS foundational supports.

The hope is that the autism strategy and NDIS foundational supports will be complementary and also linked to broader clinical, hospital and school programs.

Investing in evidence

Today’s announcement also includes funding for research and translation, including:

• $12.2 million to establish a body that will translate autism-related research into practical tools and guidance

• $3.7 million to evaluate existing programs aimed at improving the lives of autistic Australians

• $2.8 million for an epidemiological study to assess the true prevalence of autism in Australia.

These funding commitments show we’re learning from the mistakes seen with the initial rollout of the NDIS. This failed to ensure the interventions and supports made available were evidence-based or at least underpinned by clinical expertise and endorsed by a co-design process with the autistic community.

The research evidence vacuum was quickly filled by a plethora of unverified programs or practices that emerged with a big price tag and no evidence.

Big challenges can only be solved with big research data. So it’s encouraging to see research evidence and data collection underpinning this strategy.

What needs to happen next?

The strategy is a significant step forward, offering hope and optimism. However, effective implementation will require:

• coordination across reforms. This will mean the strategy is integrated with state policies and funding and federal NDIS, disability and autism reforms. Coordinated implementation with the NDIS review’s foundational support recommendations is particularly important

• unified practices. Drawing on existing innovation and best practice from the autistic community, research, and clinical work to expand and scale effective programs and supports

• addressing the health and mental health of autistic Australians. The forthcoming health and mental health strategy must urgently address the needs of children and adults with complex and intersecting challenges. There is an urgent need for integrated and accessible support

• tailored support. Peer support and inclusion programs must provide tailored support for autistic children to help support their successful participation in social and recreational activities, and to help the community better understand and support autistic children and families.

This strategy has the potential to position the nation as a global leader in autism support. But success will depend on maintaining a clear focus on implementation, equity and inclusion. With the right actions, this can be the transformative framework to improve the lives of autistic people and their families and carers.

Nicole Rinehart, Nicole Rinehart, Professor, Clinical Psychology, Director of the Neurodevelopment Program, School of Psychological Sciences, Faculty of Medicine, Nursing and Health Sciences, Monash University and David Moseley, Associate Professor, Clinical Psychology, School of Psychological Sciences, Faculty of Medicine, Nursing and Health Sciences, Monash University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

When we think of writing systems we likely think of an Alphabetic writing system, where each symbol (letter) in the alphabet represents a basic sound unit, such as a consonant or a vowel.

Those who first came to the shores of Australia during colonisation likely held a similar idea of written language. As such, Aboriginal peoples were quickly dismissed as lacking a written language.

But this view is wrong.

Aboriginal message sticks, traditional tools of communication, offer a glimpse into a sophisticated and unique form of communication.

A written and oral language

Aboriginal message sticks are hand-carved wooden objects traditionally used to send messages across long distances. While there is evidence of widespread use of message sticks across Australia, the current database is still mapping the different regions in which they are used and their messages deciphered.

Message sticks often feature engravings or painted symbols, lines, dots and shapes carefully crafted to convey specific meanings.

They aren’t standalone texts, like books or letters. Instead, they are complemented by oral messages delivered by an appointed messenger who, in some instances, would be painted in ochre and dressed according to the message being delivered.

This ensured the stick’s symbols were interpreted correctly by the recipient.

The messenger’s task was to deliver the stick and speak the words that gave the symbols life and meaning. A message stick might feature simple symbols representing the date, location and purpose of an event. While the symbols carry visual meaning, the oral storytelling supplies context.

Imagine you had to send a crucial message, perhaps an invitation to a wedding or news of a tragedy. When composing your message you carefully select the right words so that your intended meaning is interpreted correctly.

Similarly, the symbols carved by the sender into the message stick and the accompanying oral message provide the same function.

A long history of writing

Pictographic writing, a system where ideas, objects or sounds are represented through visual symbols, is a foundational stage in the evolution of writing.

Unlike writing systems that use letters to represent sounds, pictographic systems use pictures that directly resemble what they represent, while some systems mix symbols for whole words or parts of words.

Hieroglyphs from ancient Egypt originally started as a pictographic writing system before transitioning into a logosyllabic system.

An example of early Egyptian pictographic writing can be seen in the Narmer Palette, a ceremonial artefact that depicts King Narmer’s unification of Upper and Lower Egypt.

Its carvings include early hieroglyphic symbols that are primarily pictorial, representing objects like animals, tools, and body parts.

Likewise, writing from Aztecs from Mesoamerica also started as a pictographic system. The Aztecs used pictographs to record events, genealogies and religious rituals.

The Codex Borbonicus is a prominent example, created by Aztec priests before the Spanish conquest, conveying religious, calendrical and ritualistic information.

Like the Aztec and early Egyptian pictographs, the symbols on message sticks hold complex and culturally significant information.

These symbols vary depending on the region and the purpose of the message. Common symbols include straight lines, dots, concentric circles, cross hatching or geometric patterns, animal tracks and wavy lines.

The meaning of these symbols are dependent on the region they are from and the context supplied with the message.

For too long, pictographic systems have been dismissed as inferior or proto-writing within Eurocentric frameworks.

This perspective has contributed to the marginalisation of Indigenous knowledge systems. The claim that Aboriginal peoples lacked a written language is a misrepresentation borne of colonial agendas, designed to dehumanise and delegitimise Aboriginal cultural sophistication.

Message sticks and other forms of Aboriginal graphic expressions, such as rock art and carvings (petroglyphs) challenge this narrative.

These artefacts demonstrate that Aboriginal peoples developed complex systems of visual communication intertwined with oral traditions.

Recognising Aboriginal message sticks within the succession of pictographic communication legitimises their status as a form of written communication and honours their role in the diverse spectrum of human intellectual achievements.

Understanding the breadth of writing

The devaluation of Aboriginal graphic writing systems reflects a broader colonial bias that equates written language exclusively with alphabetic systems.

By acknowledging the legitimacy of pictographic writing, we validate the cultural practices of Aboriginal peoples and broaden our understanding of what it means to write.

Writing is not merely a mechanical act of inscribing symbols on a surface. It is a medium through which humans convey meaning, preserve knowledge and create connections across time and space.

Message sticks are compelling evidence of Aboriginal systems of knowledge and communication.

These artefacts demand a reevaluation of how we define and value writing. They also challenge us to confront the colonial legacies that have marginalised non-alphabetic systems of communication.

Writing is not a singular invention. It is a diverse, multifaceted human endeavour. Like the hieroglyphs of Egypt and the Aztec glyphs, message sticks are powerful symbols of the intellectual and creative capacities of their creators.

Athena Lee, Lecturer and Researcher, Centre for Indigenous Australian Education and Research, Edith Cowan University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Hot on the heels of a spectacular comet late last year, another celestial visitor is set to put on a show. And Southern Hemisphere observers have a ringside seat.

Comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) has just experienced a very close encounter with the Sun, and will become visible low in the western sky after sunset in the coming days. With luck, it will prove to be a spectacular sight.

It is often said that comets are like cats – their behaviour is notoriously hard to predict. So while astronomers have been awaiting the arrival of C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) for several months, they have been cautious of raising expectations too high.

Over the past couple of days, the comet has swung past the Sun, and survived its close encounter intact. The time has come for it to emerge to our evening skies.

A Sun-skirting snowball

At the heart of comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) is a dirty snowball or “cometary nucleus” only a few hundred metres to a couple of kilometres across. When it was discovered, in April 2024, it was still more than 600 million kilometres from Earth and the Sun.

In the days following the comet’s discovery, astronomers worked out its orbit – and it turned out to be a “Sun-skirter” that would pass less than 14 million kilometres from our star on January 13.

As a comet approaches the Sun, it begins to heat up. The ice on and near the surface “sublimes”, causing jets of gas and dust to erupt from the nucleus’ surface. This shrouds the nucleus in a vast cloud of gas and dust, which is then blown away from the Sun, creating the comet’s tails.

Comets that get particularly close to the Sun can become spectacular. This is what happened with comet C/2006 P1 (McNaught), which put on an incredible show for observers in the Southern Hemisphere in early 2007.

For that reason, astronomers often get excited when a new comet is found that will pass particularly close to the Sun. However, comets are also notoriously fragile and friable. Many small comets on Sun-skirting orbits simply fall apart in a puff of dust and disappointment.

When comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) was discovered it was very faint, which suggested its nucleus is relatively small. As a result, it seemed likely to fall apart during its close approach to the Sun.

One piece of evidence gave astronomers hope. The comet’s orbit indicated it had passed this way at least once before – and survived.

Now the time has come – as I write this, the comet has passed its closest approach to the Sun intact. It has already put on an incredible show as the third brightest comet ever observed by NASA’s space-based solar observatory SOHO, and even been imaged by keen astrophotographers in broad daylight. Over the coming days, it will move into the evening sky as it moves away from the Sun.

A bright comet, low in the west after sunset

Comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) will begin to appear in the evening sky, low to the west-southwest. For observers in the Northern Hemisphere, it will remain lost in the Sun’s glare. But for those south of the equator, it has the potential to be easily visible for the next few evenings, as the sky darkens after the Sun sets.

Unfortunately, the comet’s orbit is also taking it away from Earth, so it will fade relatively quickly. At its closest to the Sun, the comet was almost as bright as the planet Venus (currently a spectacular sight in the western evening sky). Within a couple of weeks, the comet will cease to be visible to the naked eye.

What does that mean? If you want to get the best possible view, you need to seize your chance in the next few days. Each evening, the comet will set later, and be farther from the Sun in the sky. But it will also be fainter from one night to the next.

So when, and where, should I look?

If you want to see comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS), you’re going to need to find somewhere with a clear, unobstructed view of the horizon slightly to the south of due west. Using a planetarium app or website like Stellarium will allow you to work out what time the Sun and the comet will set from your location, so you can plan your observations.

The videos below show the comet’s location a little after sunset at three different latitudes (around Cairns, Brisbane and Melbourne/Auckland) over the evenings from January 16 to 23.

Note the position of the comet in these videos is just the location of the comet’s head. The tail will rise upwards from the comet into the sky, leaning a bit to the right. The videos also don’t give a real feel for how bright the comet will be – you’ll just have to go out and see.

Get to your chosen viewing location around sunset, to maximise your chances of spotting the comet. As soon as the Sun is below the horizon, you can start scanning for the comet with binoculars, your camera, or the naked eye.

At first, the sky will be too bright, but the comet should eventually reveal itself, low to the horizon, before it sets.

From my own experience with comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan-ATLAS) last year, seeing a comet low in the twilight sky can be challenging. I found it was easy to spot the comet through my camera. Once found, I could find it with the unaided eye.

The time-lapse video I shot, below, shows that comet rising in the morning sky in early October 2024. You can see how the comet gets easier to see the darker the sky becomes. For the new comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS), imagine the video running backwards, with the comet setting as the sky becomes darker, to get a feel for how the comet might look.

Of course it is hard to say just how bright and easy to spot comet C/2024 G3 (ATLAS) will be.

With each night that passes, the comet will get higher in the sky, and so in theory be easier to spot. It will be dimming, however, so the best view will be had during the next week.

Jonti Horner, Professor (Astrophysics), University of Southern Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

As I write this, five people are dead and at least 1,000 buildings have been destroyed by wildfires that have swept across Los Angeles. Around 100,000 people have been ordered to evacuate.

We are not yet sure of the scale of the disaster, but maps show it is burning across many suburbs. That is shocking. We are looking at a disaster unfolding in real time.

But we knew this would happen eventually. We have moved from possible futures to these things now happening. The deferment has ended.

So, could something similar happen in major Australian cities – and how prepared are we? The answers are: yes, and not very.

Why is LA on fire?

The areas north of LA have always been at high fire risk. That’s because of the mix of the fuels from trees and plants and the uneven terrain; canyons and ridges can accelerate fire.

But in this situation, several things happened at once – all of which are bad.

We had the amazingly strong Santa Ana winds, in conjunction with a very dry landscape. The landscape was primed for fire, and then due to these winds, the fires grew extraordinarily fast. Fire suppression capacity was quickly overwhelmed.

In a place such as California, with its enviable aerial fire-fighting capacity, fires can usually be contained rapidly. But this one grew at a fantastic rate, driven by these terrible winds. It then got into the houses and all the way down the coast.

Shockingly, it crossed from the intermix housing on the border of bushland and city, and moved into suburban environments. It was an incredibly fast escalation.

All of these things aren’t unexpected. We know fires are burning faster and hotter and quicker, and fire seasons are getting longer. After all, these LA fires happened in the US winter.

The environment is being primed by climate change and we know there are limits to fire suppression.

So, we knew these things were going to happen – but it is still so confronting when they do.

Could this happen in a major city in Australia?

The short answer: yes.

We don’t have Santa Ana winds, of course, but we do have downslope winds (a wind that comes over a topographic barrier like a mountain range). They are often very dry and warm and can move quickly.

There is the possibility for fires to burn into Australian suburbs. It happened in Canberra in 2003. And it could happen again in a major city such as Sydney or Melbourne. We have all the ingredients.

If you have the wrong wind and the wrong fire and the wrong time, a fire can be driven very quickly into an urban area.

The degree to which it would spread depends on the suburban landscape and how well prepared the area is.

If a suburb has older housing stock with older gardens, for instance, it’s absolutely ripe for a fire to spread quickly. If you have more modern housing stock (which is usually better at defending against ember attack), and the houses are more spaced apart and the gardens are clearer, then you might be OK.

When fire gets into suburbs, the damage can be variable. Some houses might burn down and others may survive. But the worst case scenario is what we call “house-to-house ignition”, where the houses become the fuel.

The other frightening dimension is what happens if water supplies run out, which is reportedly happening in some parts of Los Angeles.

How ready are Australian cities for fires?

Australia is not well prepared for scenarios such as this. But rather than be fatalistic and assume urban areas are open game for wildfires, effort is needed from all levels of government and community to reduce the risk of fires impacting suburban and semi-suburban areas.

That means better boundaries between houses and keeping fuel loads low. It also means households, councils and fire authorities having a plan for when fires hit.

This may mean implementing planning rules to enforce safer gardens or the clearing of bushland behind homes. But such measures will be controversial in many cases.

Gaining public support will require designing landscape-scale firebreaks that are attractive and sympathetic to biodiversity.

Studies suggest that achieving fire-ready cities requires a mix of research, education, incentivisation and penalties.

We also need to ask: how bushfire-aware are city residents?

So much messaging around having a plan, knowing where to go and leaving early has been targeted at rural and bushland residents. Many people in suburban areas may not consider themselves vulnerable and might not have a plan at all.

Many regional and rural areas in Australia have bushfire places of last resort – safe places for the community to go when all other bushfire plans have failed. The LA tragedy shows we also need these places in cities. People also need a plan on how to get there (by walking or going on bike, where possible), so traffic jams don’t ensue as everyone tries to escape.

People should also be educated about what to expect at the evacuation point when you arrive. Where possible, they should take their own food, water and medicines and include pets in their plan.

And the planning discussion should include residents in fire-prone areas installing their own specially designed fire-shelters at home, if they can afford it.

Nowhere to hide

Global warming is making bushfires in Australia more frequent and severe. As bushfires become more prevalent, home insurance costs are increasing. That will affect the cost of living and the broader economy.

The LA fires show when it comes to climate change, there’s nowhere to hide. Around the world, authorities and communities must overhaul their assumptions about bushfire risk and preparedness. That includes people living in cities.

Kicking the can down the road won’t work. The crisis is already here.

David Bowman, Professor of Pyrogeography and Fire Science, University of Tasmania

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In this month’s massive Los Angeles fires, so far 24 people have died, thousands of structures have been destroyed and approximately 16,308 hectares have been burned. The fires are already among the most destructive in California’s recorded history.

And as happens when major fires erupt in Los Angeles, radical (Marxist) urban historian Mike Davis’s 1998 book Ecology of Fear: Los Angeles and the Imagination of Disaster is being shared. Specifically: its controversial third chapter, The Case for Letting Malibu Burn.

Its publication sparked intense backlash. Certain journalists, a former real estate developer and a Malibu realtor masquerading as a neutral fact checker led attacks on Davis’ claims and character. Some minor errors (corrected in subsequent editions) were found in the book’s 831 footnotes.

But, as confirmed by Richard Walker (then chairman of the geography department at the University of California, Berkeley), Davis’ essential arguments were “completely accepted wisdom among scholars who work in the area of environmental hazards”.

Davis, who died in 2022, painted a vivid, if pessimistic picture of Los Angeles as both a real and imagined city perpetually on the brink of catastrophe. “No other city seems to excite such dark rapture,” he wrote. Its obliteration “is often depicted as, or at least secretly experienced as, a victory for civilisation”.

Indeed, in 2025, conservative commentators and influencers are taking a perverse pleasure in the challenges facing California, viewing the state as some sort of stand-in for elite or progressive values. Some right-wing media and pundits have eagerly framed the wildfires as proof of liberal mismanagement or flawed policy decisions.

High-risk housing

A Californian born 19 km outside Los Angeles, Davis was no government apologist. Nor, one of his former editors writes, would he have “celebrate[d] misery”. In fact, Davis’ daughter Róisín’s childhood home and school burned in this month’s fires. In 2020, Davis wrote:

After every fire emergency, [Governor of California, Gavin] Newsom and other liberals call for urgent action to reduce emissions. But in doing so, they deliberately elide the question of what needs to be done on the ground, here and now.

In the 20-odd years since his book was published, he continued, too much new housing in California had been built “profitably but insanely, in high-fire-risk areas”. Fire experts call these areas “the wildland-urban interface”.

In 2020, Davis reported, “by one estimate, a quarter of the state’s population now lives in these interface areas – with scores of new developments and master-planned communities in the pipeline”.

Experts say there is a “perfect storm” of factors at play in the current fires, including long-term climate change and extreme weather conditions playing out in a densely populated areas.

Davis’ politically strident, stylishly written book explores the interplay between urban development, natural disasters, man-made catastrophes and cultural narratives.

The Case for Letting Malibu Burn

In The Case for Letting Malibu Burn, Davis harrowingly described a 1930 Malibu fire unintentionally ignited by walnut pickers in the Thousand Oaks area. It “quickly grew into one of the greatest conflagrations in Malibu history”, driven by the region’s unique geological features and fierce Santa Ana winds.

Faced with a five-mile front of towering flames, 1,100 firefighters could do little except save their own lives. As the firestorm unexpectedly wheeled toward the Pacific Palisades, there was official panic.

A hundred patrolmen were posted at the Los Angeles city limits to tell residents to evacuate.

This was nearly 100 years ago – but Malibu had already long been subjected to rampant and unregulated property development, Davis wrote. Among other effects, this had drastically altered the chemical composition of the area’s soil. Malibu was spared from total annihilation only when “the fickle Santa Ana abruptly subsided”.

“In hindsight,” Davis argued, “the 1930 fire should have provoked a historic debate on the wisdom of opening Malibu to further development”. However, no such discussion ever took place.

Despite a series of subsequent fires between 1935 and 1938, which destroyed nearly 400 homes in Malibu and Topanga Canyon, public officials persisted in prioritising real estate expansion in environmentally sensitive areas where, as Davis notes, “wildfire is king”. They chose to ignore the growing risks to people, animals and the natural habitat.

Davis took a dim – and provocative – view of the levels of state expenditure and ecological costs required to maintain the lifestyles of affluent families who choose to “seek sanctuaries ever deeper in the rugged contours of the chaparral firebelt”.

An imagined urban dystopia

By 1998, Los Angeles had been destroyed in novels and films no fewer than 138 times, wrote Davis. The Thousand Oaks fire, he mused, “may have given Nathanael West the idea for the burning of Los Angeles in his novel” The Day of the Locust, published in 1939. (And adapted for film in 1975.)

In this darkly satirical masterpiece of modern American fiction, West presents the city as both a dream factory and a pressure cooker primed to explode. Ultimately, the simmering tensions of an urban dystopia overrun by disillusioned dreamers appear to erupt into a hallucinatory frenzy of chaos and violence. The lines between reality and fantasy dissolve.

The book concludes with West’s mentally unstable protagonist imagining Los Angeles ablaze:

as a great bonfire of architectural styles, ranging from Egyptian to Cape Cod colonial. Through the center, winding from left to right, was a long hill street and down it, spilling into the middle foreground, came the mob carrying baseball bats and torches.

These fictional destructions illustrate the city’s enduring role as the ultimate stage for cataclysm and reinvention in the collective cultural consciousness.

“The City of Angels is unique, not simply in the frequency of its destruction, but in the pleasure that such apocalypses provide to readers and movie audiences,” wrote Davis. “The entire world seems to be rooting for Los Angeles to slide into the Pacific or be swallowed by the San Andreas fault.”

Commercial greed over common sense

Davis’ Los Angeles is a place where – as he comprehensively details – commercial greed overrides common sense and the social good, where institutional racism marginalises vulnerable communities, and where wilful political inertia ensures history repeats itself with devastating consequences.

This lies at the heart of Ecology of Fear. The book, at its core, presents two central arguments. First, he argues America’s democracy is unsustainable, due to its growing disparity in wealth and power. His second argument emphasises the dominance of economic interests over environmental concerns, which inevitably spawns (or exacerbates) crises. When these crises erupt, they disproportionately affect those least prepared to handle the consequences.

Davis strikingly illustrates this in The Case for Letting Malibu Burn, by juxtaposing two very different kinds of government response to fires, in very different neighbourhoods.

In Malibu, government resources have historically been swiftly mobilised to rebuild the fire-damaged homes of the wealthy, he writes. However, the fires in Los Angeles’ downtown slum tenements, like the 1993 Burlington Apartment fire that killed ten people (including seven children), receive comparatively little support or media attention. For Davis, it’s just one example of how socioeconomic status determines how lives and properties are valued. It’s a convincing one.

He examines how existing power structures and social dynamics intensify the impact of natural disasters. At the same time, he explores how these disasters are further exacerbated by the city’s inherent vulnerability to such events, including susceptibility to fires, earthquakes, floods and an increasingly volatile climate. These historical, longstanding factors, which Davis covers in great detail, underscore how Los Angeles’ geographical and social configurations leave it especially exposed to danger.

If there has been “a fatal flaw in the design of Southern California as a civilisation”, he argues, it has been “the decision to base the safety of present and future generations almost entirely upon shortsighted extrapolations from the disaster record of the past half-century”.

In his book, he traces natural disaster and climate change in the region over centuries – and shows that LA’s urbanisation occurred “during one of the most unusual episodes of climactic and seismic benignity since the inception of the Holocene”.

Our thinking, he insists, is totally skewed as a result. “These spans are too short to serve as reliable proxies for ecological time or to sample the possibilities of future environmental stress,” he writes. “In effect, we think ourselves gods upon the land but we are still really just tourists.”

Alexander Howard, Senior Lecturer, Discipline of English and Writing, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

When some of the biggest stars reach the end of their lives, they explode in spectacular supernovas and leave behind incredibly dense cores called neutron stars. Some of these remnants emit powerful radio beams from their magnetic poles.

As the star spins, these beams sweep past Earth and produce periodic pulses of radio waves, much like a cosmic lighthouse. This behaviour has earned them the name “pulsars”.

Pulsars typically spin incredibly fast, often completing a full rotation in just seconds – or even less. Over the last three years, some mysterious objects have emerged that emit periodic radio pulses at much slower intervals, which is hard to explain with our current understanding of neutron stars.

In new research, we have found the slowest cosmic lighthouse yet – one that spins once every 6.5 hours. This discovery, published in Nature Astronomy, pushes the boundaries of what we thought possible.

Our slow lighthouse also happens to be aligned with Earth in a way that lets us see radio pulses from both its magnetic poles. This rare phenomenon is a first for objects spinning this slowly and offers a new window into how these stars work.

An object that shouldn’t exist?

We discovered the object, named ASKAP J1839-0756, using CSIRO’s ASKAP radio telescope, located in Wajarri Yamaji country in Western Australia.

During a routine observation, ASKAP J1839-0756 stood out because no previously known object had been identified at its position. Its radio emission appeared as a fading burst, with its brightness plummeting by 95% in just 15 minutes.

At first, we had no idea the source was emitting periodic radio pulses. Only a single burst had been detected during the initial observation.

To uncover more, we conducted more observations with ASKAP as well as CSIRO’s Australia Telescope Compact Array on Kamilaroi country in Narrabri, NSW, and the highly sensitive MeerKAT radio telescope in South Africa. A long ASKAP observation eventually revealed two pulses separated by 6.5 hours, confirming the periodic nature of the source.

But here is the real surprise: according to what we know about neutron stars, ASKAP J1839-0756 shouldn’t even exist.

Neutron stars emit radio pulses by converting their rotational energy into radiation. Over time, they lose energy and slow down.

Standard theory says that once a neutron star’s spin slows beyond a certain point (about one rotation per minute), it should stop emitting radio pulses altogether. Yet here is ASKAP J1839-0756, lighting up the cosmos at a leisurely pace of one rotation every 6.5 hours.

A tale of two poles

Most pulsars, the faster-spinning cousins of ASKAP J1839-0756, are like one-sided flashlights. The axis they spin around is closely aligned to the axis of their magnetic field, which means we only see flashes from one magnetic pole.

But in about 3% of pulsars, the rotational and magnetic axes are almost at right angles to one another, which lets us see pulses from both poles. These rare double flashes, called interpulses, provide a unique window into the star’s geometry and magnetic field.

Whether a pulsar’s magnetic and rotational axes become more aligned or less aligned as it slows down is still an open question.

The interpulse from ASKAP J1839-0756 could provide clues to this question. About 3.2 hours after its main pulse, it emits a weaker pulse with different properties, strongly suggesting we’re seeing radio light from the opposite magnetic pole.

This discovery makes ASKAP J1839-0756 the first slowpoke in its class to emit interpulses, and it raises big questions about how such objects work.

Magnetar or something new?

So, what is powering this cosmic anomaly? One possibility is that it is a magnetar — a neutron star with a powerful magnetic field that makes Earth’s most powerful magnets look like featherweights.

Magnetars generate radio pulses through a different mechanism, which might allow them to keep shining even at slower spin rates. But even magnetars have limits, and their periods are usually measured in seconds, not hours.

The only exception is a magnetar named 1E 161348-5055, which has a period of 6.67 hours. However, it only emits X-ray and no radio pulses.

Could ASKAP J1839-0756 be something else entirely? Some astronomers wonder if similar objects might be white dwarfs – the leftover cores of less massive stars.

White dwarfs spin much more slowly than neutron stars, but no individual isolated white dwarfs have been observed to emit radio pulses. And so far, no observations in other wavelengths have found evidence of a white dwarf at this location in the sky.

A cosmic puzzle

Whatever ASKAP J1839-0756 turns out to be, it is clear that this object is rewriting the rulebook. Its strange combination of slow rotation, radio pulses and interpulses is forcing astronomers to rethink the limits of neutron star behaviour and explore new possibilities for what lies at the heart of this enigma.

The discovery of ASKAP J1839-0756 is a reminder that the universe loves to surprise us, especially when we think we have got it all figured out. As we continue to monitor this mysterious object, we’re bound to uncover more secrets.

Manisha Caleb, Senior Lecturer in Astrophysics, University of Sydney and Yu Wing Joshua Lee, PhD Student in Radio Astronomy, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In today’s volatile economy, job stability can often be found in unexpected places — like returning to the traditional role of shepherding. Solar shepherds, who manage sheep grazing under solar panels, are part of a growing movement that combines agriculture and renewable energy — and offers high incomes in the process.

My recent study, conducted with Ivey Business School alum Adam Gasch and professional shepherd Rafael Lara from The Lara Costa, found that modern solar shepherding businesses in places like Ontario can pull incomes equivalent to doctors, senior engineers or even lawyers.

These solar shepherds are the vanguard of a new type of farming called agrivoltaics — a portmanteau for agriculture and photovoltaics — where agricultural production is intertwined with solar electricity production. Agrivoltaics is gaining traction in Canada, thanks to organizations like Agrivoltaics Canada, of which I am a founding member.

Agrivoltaics has enormous potential to solve our climate and energy problems simultaneously. About one-quarter to one-third of Canada’s total electrical energy needs could be met by converting just one per cent of agricultural land to agrivoltaics. Expanding this to a slightly larger percentage could eliminate Canada’s need for fossil fuels entirely.

Agrivoltaics uses land far more efficiently than simple farming — it not only produces clean energy but also enhances agricultural output, yielding more food than traditional farming methods.

Business models for solar shepherds

Our study evaluated the profitability of agrivoltaic sheep grazing and lamb husbandry business models in Ontario using case studies at two scales: small solar projects (200 kilowatts) and large solar projects (465 megawatts).

We also looked at two types of solar shepherding business models: breeding ewes for lambs on the farm and purchasing lamb from auction every year. For each model, revenue streams, costs and investments were investigated using sensitivity analyses.

All the results showed a massive profit. Despite differences in operational approaches, earnings before interest, tax, depreciation and amortization margins were higher than typical agriculture industry values due to the increased and reliable revenue source of grazing services.

Return on investments for the breeding model ranged from 16 to 31 per cent, while the auction model ranged from 22 to 43 per cent for identical scenarios.

Given these results, all existing solar farms should have sheep working on them to cut the grass. This approach would increase local sheep production while lowering consumer costs.

Everyone benefits

Sheep-based agrivoltaics is a particularly good symbiotic system where every participant benefits, from the animals and farmers to the local community and environment.

The solar panels shade the sheep and make them more comfortable on hot days, while fences around the solar farms protect them from predators. The grass shaded by solar panels also grows faster than unshaded grass, so there is more food for the sheep and, in turn humans, than naked pastures with no solar shade.

The benefits extend to energy production as well. The grid enjoys more solar power, which is the least expensive electricity in history, because the grazing sheep keep the solar panels clear of weeds.

In addition, solar farm owners and investors save money on vegetation management by avoiding the risks of mowing (which can damage panels with flying debris) and the costs and environmental harms of herbicides.

Solar shepherds make more money than traditional shepherds do for three main reasons. According to Glassdoor, shepherds in Canada normally make $58,000/year, while solar shepherds can expect to make two to three times as much.

Solar shepherds benefit from increased grass for their sheep, they don’t have to lease pastures and, most importantly, they earn bonus pay for solar farm vegetation management, which comes from contracts with the solar farm owners.

The advantages of solar shepherding ripples out to local communities as well. Solar farms generate significant tax revenue, often enough to fully fund local schools in small farming communities. Residents also gain access to locally produced lamb and sheep meat, along with high-paying local employment.

There are also benefits from an environmental perspective. An earlier study I did with sustainability engineering professor Robert Handler showed that agrivoltaics sheep pastures were twice as land-use efficient than maintaining separate systems for solar energy and sheep grazing. They also outperformed conventional sheep farming and grid electricity systems by 280 to 894 per cent.

Complications to consider

While solar sheep grazing might seem like an easy win, there can be challenges, and shepherding is no easy task. The sheep need to regularly move to effectively control vegetation on the solar farm, which requires moving both the fences and the sheep themselves.

Profits from solar sheep grazing also can disappear if sheep are attacked by predators, which include wolves, coyotes, domestic dogs, bobcats, lions, bears and even eagles. To provide some protection, sheep are naturally equipped with rectangular pupils that allow them to see almost everything around them while they are grazing. Despite the rectangular eyes, practically this means sheep require better fencing than cattle or bison. The larger threat to sheep is disease and parasites that can kill the sheep.

In addition, some solar industry representatives shared concerns about potential complexities for setting up large projects. Sheep need water to drink, for example, and forward-thinking developers have started installing water sources for sheep on the solar farms. Others have changed their grass seed mix to provide more nutrition.

Most sheep farms, however, have sub-optimal grass and don’t have water on-site. Water can be trucked in, but this both detracts from the elegance and economics of the system. Overall, the logistics of bringing in what can be hundreds of sheep is more complicated than hiring conventional mowing.

In some regions, solar sheep farms include the added value of wool production, but some markets are too small to reach a profitable enough scale, and the value of the wool is lost.

In addition, although the carbon emissions per kilogram of mutton is much better than beef, plant-based food is still far more efficient. Even though solar sheep are green, plant-based agrivoltaics is a far more efficient use of land.

Expanding agrivolatics

Agrivoltaics isn’t limited to sheep — it works for other animals and livestock, too. I previously studied solar-pasture-fed rabbits in Texas. Not only did the system prove environmentally beneficial, but the solar panels also provided protection for the rabbits from predators like hawks and eagles.

In Canada, innovation in agrivoltaics is expanding compliments of Agrivoltaics Canada and its many members. Ranchers at Solar Sheep in Alberta are currently experimenting with pigs, while Sun Cycle Farms is experimenting with cows.

All of this is promising, but the potential goes even further. Agrivoltaics also works for many other crops than grass, such as broccoli, corn, lettuce, potatoes, spinach, tomatoes and even wheat, opening up a wide range of possibilities for agriculture and renewable energy. While Canada is only beginning to scratch the surface of agrivoltaics possibilities, early results suggest a promising future for it.

Joshua M. Pearce, John M. Thompson Chair in Information Technology and Innovation and Professor, Western University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Mark Zuckerberg’s recent decision to remove factcheckers from Meta’s platforms – including Facebook, Instagram and Threads – has sparked heated debate. Critics argue it may undermine efforts to combat misinformation and maintain credibility on social media platforms.

Yet, while much attention is directed at this move, a far more profound challenge looms. The rise of artificial intelligence (AI) that processes and generates human-like language, as well as technology that aims to read the human brain, has the potential to reshape not only online discourse but also our fundamental understanding of truth and communication.

Factcheckers have long played an important role in curbing misinformation on various platforms, especially on topics like politics, public health and climate change. By verifying claims and providing context, they have helped platforms maintain a degree of accountability.

So, Meta’s move to replace them with community-driven notes, similar to Elon Musk’s approach on X (formerly Twitter), has understandably raised concerns. Many experts view the decision to remove factcheckers as a step backward, arguing that delegating content moderation to users risks amplifying echo chambers and enabling the spread of unchecked falsehoods.

Billions of people worldwide use Meta’s various platforms each month, so they wield enormous influence. Loosening safeguards could exacerbate societal polarisation and undermine trust in digital communication.

But while the debate over factchecking dominates headlines, there is a bigger picture. Advanced AI models like OpenAI’s ChatGPT or Google’s Gemini represent significant strides in natural language understanding. These systems can generate coherent, contextually relevant text and answer complex questions. They can even engage in nuanced conversations. And this ability to convincingly replicate human communication introduces unprecedented challenges.

AI-generated content blurs the line between human and machine authorship. This raises ethical questions about authorship, originality and accountability. The same tools that power helpful innovations can also be weaponised to produce sophisticated disinformation campaigns or manipulate public opinion.

These risks are compounded by other emerging technology. Inspired by human cognition, neural networks mimic the way the brain processes language. This intersection between AI and neurotechnology highlights the potential for both understanding and exploiting human thought.

Implications

Neurotechnology is a tool that reads and interacts with the brain. Its goal is to understand how we think. Like AI, it pushes the limits of what machines can do. The two fields overlap in powerful ways.

For example, REMspace, a California startup, is building a tool that records dreams. Using a brain-computer interface, it lets people communicate through lucid dreaming. While this sounds exciting, it also raises questions about mental privacy and control over our own thoughts.

Meanwhile, Meta’s investments in neurotechnology alongside its AI ventures are also concerning. Several other global companies are exploring neurotechnology too. But how will data from brain activity or linguistic patterns be used? And what safeguards will prevent misuse?

If AI systems can predict or simulate human thoughts through language, the boundary between external communication and internal cognition begins to blur. These advancements could erode trust, expose people to exploitation and reshape the way we think about communication and privacy.

Research also suggests that while this type of technology could enhance learning it may also stifle creativity and self-discipline, particularly in children.

Meta’s decision to remove factcheckers deserves scrutiny, but it’s just one part of a much larger challenge. AI and neurotechnology are forcing us to rethink how we use language, express thoughts and even understand the world around us. How can we ensure these tools serve humanity rather than exploit it?

The lack of rules to manage these tools is alarming. To protect fundamental human rights, we need strong legislation and cooperation across different industries and governments. Striking this balance is crucial. The future of truth and trust in communication depends on our ability to navigate these challenges with vigilance and foresight.

Fiona Carroll, Reader in Human Computer Interaction, Cardiff Metropolitan University and Rafael Weber Hoss, PhD Candidate in Intelligence Technologies and Digital Design, Cardiff Metropolitan University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In addition to the annual parade of star pictures or constellations passing above our heads each night, there are always exciting events to look out for in the sky. The year 2025 is no exception and has its fair share of such events.

Though the night sky is more spectacular from a dark country sky, you can see the events outlined here even if, like many others, you live in a light-polluted city. For most events you do not need a telescope or binoculars.

Here are some of the highlights.

March and September: eclipses of the Moon

During the early morning of Monday 8 September, the full Moon will move into the shadow of Earth and be totally eclipsed. The Moon will turn a red or coppery colour, because sunlight is bent or refracted by Earth’s atmosphere onto the Moon. The bent light is red, as we are looking at the reflection of sunrises and sunsets from around the globe.

Total eclipses of the Moon are more common than those of the Sun. They can be seen from all the regions on Earth where it is night.

Unlike eclipses of the Sun, lunar eclipses are safe to watch with the unaided eye. They are also safe to photograph. A tripod will help, as will a camera or phone able to take timed exposures.

The eclipse starts with Earth’s shadow gradually covering the Moon over about an hour. Similarly, after totality the shadow takes about an hour to leave the Moon.

Seen from Australia’s east coast, the total eclipse will last from from 3:30am to 4:53am on September 8. From New Zealand, this will be from 5:30am to moonset; from South Australia or the Northern Territory, 3:00am to 4:23am, and from Western Australia 1:30am to 2:53am.

Earlier in the year, on the evening of Friday March 14, people in Aotearoa New Zealand will be able to see a totally eclipsed Moon as it rises above the horizon just after sunset. Watchers in eastern Australia will also get a brief glimpse of a partially eclipsed Moon after moonrise, for 34 minutes from Sydney, 43 minutes from Brisbane and 16 minutes from Cairns.

March: Saturn’s ‘disappearing’ rings

Gazing at Saturn and its rings through a telescope is always a thrill, whether you are seeing them for the first or the hundredth time. However, in early 2025 the rings will seem to vanish as Earth passes through the plane of the rings.

This phenomenon occurs twice during Saturn’s 29-year path around the Sun, that is, at roughly 15-year intervals. Unfortunately, on March 24, the date when this will occur, the planet will be too close to the Sun in the sky for us to observe.

However, in the evenings until mid-February and in the morning from late March we will be able to see Saturn with quite narrow, tilted rings.

Note that a small telescope is needed to see Saturn with or without its rings. If you don’t have one yourself, you can go on a night tour at a public observatory like Sydney Observatory or an observing session with a local astronomical group, such as those at Melbourne Observatory with the Astronomical Society of Victoria.

May and December: meteor showers

The two main meteor showers of the year are the Eta Aquariids and the Geminids.

In 2025, the Eta Aquariids are best seen on the morning of Wednesday May 7, while the Geminids will be most visible on the mornings of Sunday December 14 and Monday December 15.

This year, viewing conditions for both meteor showers are favourable, in the sense that there will be no bright Moon in the sky during those mornings. To see them, look towards the north-east (Eta Aquariids) and north (Geminids) before dawn starts brightening the sky.

The darker the sky you can find, the better. Keep away from street lights or any other light.

January, April and August: planets

The five planets you can see with the naked eye – Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn – move across the sky along a line called the ecliptic.

As the planets move, they sometimes appear to pass close to each other and take on interesting patterns. Of course, they only appear close from our point of view. In reality the planets are tens or hundreds of million kilometres apart.

In 2025, these patterns include:

• January 18–19: the brightest planet, Venus, is close to the ringed planet Saturn in the evening sky

• April 1–15: Mercury, Venus and Saturn form a slowly changing compact group in the eastern sky near sunrise

• August 12–13: Venus and Jupiter, the two brightest planets, are only separated by two moon-widths in the morning sky.

June and August: constellations

As the year progresses, different constellations appear in the evening sky. The perpetual chase of Orion and Scorpius (the hunter and the scorpion) across the sky was noted in 2024.

In 2025, keep an eye on the Southern Cross (known as Crux to astronomers) and Sagittarius (the archer).

The Southern Cross is the best-known constellation in the southern sky. It is easy to find, as it is made up of a compact group of bright stars in the shape of a cross.

Two pointer stars from the neighbouring constellation of Centaurus, the centaur, also help to show its position. From Sydney and further south, the Southern Cross is always above the horizon. However, in the evenings, it is best viewed around June, when it is high in the southern sky.

The constellation Sagittarius is next to Scorpius. In the evenings, it is best placed for observation in August, as at that time of the year it is directly overhead.

A join-the-dots look at the brightest stars of the constellation gives the impression of a teapot, and it is often referred to by that name. Sagittarius is an important constellation for Australian astronomers, as it contains the centre of the Milky Way galaxy.

The information in this article comes from the 2025 Australasian Sky Guide. The guide has monthly star maps and has much more information to help with viewing and enjoying the night sky from Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand.

Nick Lomb, Honorary Professor, Centre for Astrophysics, University of Southern Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In recent years, the field of quantum computing has been experiencing fast growth, with technological advances and large-scale investments regularly making the news.

The United Nations has designated 2025 as the International Year of Quantum Science and Technology.

The stakes are high – having quantum computers would mean access to tremendous data processing power compared to what we have today. They won’t replace your normal computer, but having this kind of awesome computing power will provide advances in medicine, chemistry, materials science and other fields.

So it’s no surprise that quantum computing is rapidly becoming a global race, and private industry and governments around the world are rushing to build the world’s first full-scale quantum computer. To achieve this, first we need to have stable and scalable quantum processors, or chips.

What is a quantum chip?

Everyday computers – like your laptop – are classical computers. They store and process information in the form of binary numbers or bits. A single bit can represent either 0 or 1.

By contrast, the basic unit of a quantum chip is a qubit. A quantum chip is made up of many qubits. These are typically subatomic particles such as electrons or photons, controlled and manipulated by specially designed electric and magnetic fields (known as control signals).

Unlike a bit, a qubit can be placed in a state of 0, 1, or a combination of both, also known as a “superposition state”. This distinct property allows quantum processors to store and process extremely large data sets exponentially faster than even the most powerful classical computer.

There are different ways to make qubits – one can use superconducting devices, semiconductors, photonics (light) or other approaches. Each method has its advantages and drawbacks.

Companies like IBM, Google and QueRa all have roadmaps to drastically scale up quantum processors by 2030.

Industry players that use semiconductors are Intel and Australian companies like Diraq and SQC. Key photonic quantum computer developers include PsiQuantum and Xanadu.

Qubits: quality versus quantity

How many qubits a quantum chip has is actually less important than the quality of the qubits.

A quantum chip made up of thousands of low-quality qubits will be unable to perform any useful computational task.

So, what makes for a quality qubit?

Qubits are very sensitive to unwanted disturbances, also known as errors or noise. This noise can come from many sources, including imperfections in the manufacturing process, control signal issues, changes in temperature, or even just an interaction with the qubit’s environment.

Being prone to errors reduces the reliability of a qubit, known as fidelity. For a quantum chip to stay stable long enough to perform complex computational tasks, it needs high-fidelity qubits.

When researchers compare the performance of different quantum chips, qubit fidelity is one of the crucial parameters they use.

How do we correct the errors?

Fortunately, we don’t have to build perfect qubits.

Over the last 30 years, researchers have designed theoretical techniques which use many imperfect or low-fidelity qubits to encode an abstract “logical qubit”. A logical qubit is protected from errors and, therefore, has very high fidelity. A useful quantum processor will be based on many logical qubits.

Nearly all major quantum chip developers are now putting these theories into practice, shifting their focus from qubits to logical qubits.

In 2024, many quantum computing researchers and companies made great progress on quantum error corrections, including Google, QueRa, IBM and CSIRO.

Quantum chips consisting of over 100 qubits are already available. They are being used by many researchers around the world to evaluate how good the current generation of quantum computers are and how they can be made better in future generations.

For now, developers have only made single logical qubits. It will likely take a few years to figure out how to put several logical qubits together into a quantum chip that can work coherently and solve complex real-world problems.

What will quantum computers be useful for?

A fully functional quantum processor would be able to solve extremely complex problems. This could lead to revolutionary impact in many areas of research, technology and economy.

Quantum computers could help us discover new medicines and advance medical research by finding new connections in clinical trial data or genetics that current computers don’t have enough processing power for.

They could also greatly improve the safety of various systems that use artificial intelligence algorithms, such as banking, military targeting and autonomous vehicles, to name a few.

To achieve all this, we first need to reach a milestone known as quantum supremacy – where a quantum processor solves a problem that would take a classical computer an impractical amount of time to do.

Late last year, Google’s quantum chip Willow finally demonstrated quantum supremacy for a contrived task – a computational problem designed to be hard for classical supercomputers but easy for quantum processors due to their distinct way of working.

Although it didn’t solve a useful real-world problem, it’s still a remarkable achievement and an important step in the right direction that’s taken years of research and development. After all, to run, one must first learn to walk.

What’s on the horizon for 2025 and beyond?

In the next few years, quantum chips will continue to scale up. Importantly, the next generation of quantum processors will be underpinned by logical qubits, able to tackle increasingly useful tasks.

While quantum hardware (that is, processors) has been progressing at a rapid pace, we also can’t overlook an enormous amount of research and development in the field of quantum software and algorithms.

Using quantum simulations on normal computers, researchers have been developing and testing various quantum algorithms. This will make quantum computing ready for useful applications when the quantum hardware catches up.

Building a full-scale quantum computer is a daunting task. It will require simultaneous advancements on many fronts, such as scaling up the number of qubits on a chip, improving the fidelity of the qubits, better error correction, quantum software, quantum algorithms, and several other sub-fields of quantum computing.

After years of remarkable foundational work, we can expect 2025 to bring new breakthroughs in all of the above.

Muhammad Usman, Head of Quantum Systems and Principal Research Scientist, CSIRO

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

May Gibbs is a household name in Australia. Her most famous book, Tales of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie, published in 1918, has never been out of print. Chances are you have read her work, or had it read to you. You’ll almost certainly have seen her personified native flora illustrations, which these days adorn everything from tea towels to pyjamas.

But have you heard of her predecessor, Louisa Anne Meredith? Like Gibbs, who began to publish in the decades following Meredith’s death in 1895, she drew her literary inspiration from the Australian landscape and crafted her own “brand” in its image.

Unlike Gibbs, though, Meredith’s illustrations were naturalistic. She rendered native Australian flora and fauna as characters for children’s literature, arguably beginning this tradition. But she didn’t “cutesify” them, or give them human features.

As researchers, we believe Meredith’s work for children should be recognised today for its innovations in genre: blending science writing, travel writing, poetry, and fairy tale. It is also anchored in a desire to shape the Australian child into the ideal young colonialist, by framing the land as unoccupied and in need of European care and management.

Dedicated to her craft

Louisa Anne Meredith (born Twamley in 1812) was an author and illustrator, born to a precariously middle-class family in Birmingham. Her father, Thomas Twamley, was a hard-working corn miller and dealer. Louisa’s mother (who shares her name) married him much to the dismay of her prominent family, the Merediths. They were descended from Welsh nobility.

At 22, Twamley’s first collection, Poems (1835), was positively received. English critic Leigh Hunt sang her praises in his 1837 poem, Blue-Stocking Revels, or The Feast of the Violets:

Then came young Twamley,
Nice sensitive thing,
Whose pen and whose pencil
give promise like spring.

By her mid-20s, Twamley had a handful of books in print under her maiden name, as well as a series of prints, sketches, paintings, colour plates and miniatures. She was entirely dedicated to her craft. Her fresh style of publishing original poems alongside accomplished naturalistic illustrations was something new.

Tasmanian life, for English readers

Twamley’s accomplishments were numerous by the time she married her maternal cousin, Charles Meredith. The couple emigrated to Australia in 1839. Meredith’s first book published from the colony, Notes and Sketches of New South Wales (1844), offered readers a “small fund of information on common every-day topics relating to these antipodean climes”. Louisa’s prose was accompanied by her original illustrations of colonial life.

By 1840, she settled in Tasmania and made the island her chief literary concern. She published a series of books depicting Tasmanian life, intended for readers there and back in England. In addition to her writing, Louisa was an active conservationist, as a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

While Meredith is largely remembered for her botanical illustrations and travel writing, she was prolific as a children’s writer. She published a range of books for children set in Tasmania, created from her colonial perspective. Public knowledge of her contributions to Australian children’s literary history is scarce outside Tasmania.

Meredith’s writing for children includes Loved and Lost! The True Story of a Short Life (1860), Grandmamma’s Verse Book for Young Australia (1878), Tasmanian Friends and Foes, Feathered, Furred, and Finned (1880), and Waratah Rhymes for Young Australia (1891).

Her work found young readers in both Australia and England. Her writing often dramatises this connection. Waratah Rhymes, for example, features a dedication in which she signs off from London in 1891 “to the young Colonists of to-day”, inviting their “warm welcome”.

Meredith’s contribution to the history of Australian children’s literature rests in her desire to write an account of “island life” for the white Australian colonial child. On the one hand, she reconfigured familiar European genres, such as the adventure novel (she was a fan of Gulliver’s Travels) and fairy tale. On the other, her aesthetic was distinctively colonial, expressed through Tasmanian fauna and flora.

In these books, the settler child is positioned as inquisitor and mini colonialist. Their discovery of the landscape through fictional encounters positions them to craft the nation in their image.

They reflect the “recurring narratives of nation-building” identified by Goorie and Koori critic and poet, Evelyn Araluen, as typical of Australian children’s literature. Araluen actively dismantles those narratives in her Stella prize-winning collection, Dropbear.

‘Cutesifying the bush’ vs naturalism

There is a striking resemblance between the works and interests of Meredith and Gibbs, who was also a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Yet there are also significant differences.

Meredith was interested in science. She wanted to render scientific concepts legible for young readers by, as she explained in Our Wild Flowers (1839), giving “a little pleasant information, without any difficult terms, or unexplained names”.

While Gibbs had her own successful career as a botanical illustrator, in her writing for children she concocted a magic formula for cutesifying the bush. Her style exemplifies what Araluen calls “intricate forms of kitsch”. Where Meredith’s illustrations for children take inspiration from naturalists such as John Gould, Gibbs puts bums on gumnuts and reins on seahorses.

While their aesthetics are very different, the work of both Meredith and Gibbs reflects a settler-colonial view of the environment that aims to domesticate the bush and manage land.

Meredith does this by importing the British-colonial apparatus of taxonomy, scientific vocabulary and botanical illustration, to order and explain a landscape perceived as being both wild and ripe for cultivation.

Many scholars, including Araluen, have argued Gibbs’ work embodies some of the worst aspects of colonisation. Her imagery and narrative, argues childhood researcher Joanne Faulkner, “reimagined the bush as a ‘home’ for colonizers, essentially ‘indigenising’ them in the image of white gumnut babies”.

These national emblems, embraced by many non-Indigenous Australians, were crafted on stolen land.

Exporting Australia’s children’s stories

In 1884, the Tasmanian government awarded Meredith a pension of £100 (the equivalent of around A$17,000 today) for “distinguished literary and artistic services” to the island.

Since Meredith, Australian children’s books and media have become lucrative exports. Typically, they sell an optimistic image of the sun-drenched “lucky country” to local and international audiences.

Meredith was cannily attuned to the importance of trading a desirable image of her colonial setting. She referenced Australia’s “sunny clime” and “fertile hill[s] and glade” in Waratah Rhymes.

Both Meredith and Gibbs were successful in the business of their writing, explicitly considering their work’s marketability. Meredith had her own monogram branding. She advertised the availability of Grandmama’s Verse Book for international distribution.

Gibbs commissioned a set of Gumnut Babies postcards, anticipating what would become a merchandising empire (the royalties support the works of The Northcott Society and Cerebral Palsy Alliance). It now includes crockery, bedspreads, plushies, pyjamas, stationery and more.

Last year, the Royal Society of Tasmania established the Louisa Anne Meredith Medal to be awarded every four years to a “person who excels in the field of arts or humanities, or both, with outstanding contributions evidenced by creative outputs”.

The Australian children’s literary market is just as internationally saleable as it was in Meredith’s time. Today, the global phenomenon of Bluey continues her legacy of charming children (and adults) around the world through personified Australian animals.

Lauren A. Weber, Lecturer in Literature, Language and Literacy, University of Wollongong and Sara Fernandes, Lecturer in English and Theatre Studies, The University of Melbourne

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Pompeii: Inside a Lost City at the National Museum of Australia in Canberra depicts life in the flourishing Roman city of Pompeii before it was destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE.

It pictures an ancient city frozen in time, eerily preserved by volcanic ash. It also tells the story of the city’s rediscovery in the late 16th century and the archaeological excavations that have been underway ever since.

The exhibition’s representation of a natural disaster that has reached timeless proportions has the potential to say a lot about the risks and costs of the urgent environmental crises facing humans today.

It offers a crucial opportunity for contemporary audiences to look at a lost city from the perspective of a world on the verge of collapse, but could have done more to consider what this level of destruction might mean now.

Ancient artifacts and technical precision

The exhibition’s main intention is to create human understanding across millennia. “Beauty and fashion were no less important in the 1st century CE than they are today”, says one wall-text.

A highlight for many visitors will be the authentic, vividly coloured frescoes recovered from the site. A wide curved screen plays a montage of digital images in situ near a selection of tiny clay pots holding the remains of pigments the painters used immediately before the eruption.

The exhibition is split into three parts. The first emphasises domestic life before the eruption. The second explores the remains of Pompeii and documents the work of researchers bringing the site and its fragments back to life.

These “before” and “after” sections are connected by a wide central corso (thoroughfare) reflecting the urban plan and textures of the ancient city. It provides a space of civic engagement and interaction between exhibition visitors and the residents of Pompeii.

The thoroughfare leads to a vast projection of Vesuvius that erupts every 15 minutes, giving the impression volcanic rain is falling across the exhibition. The panoramic area relies heavily on large-scale digital reconstructions and soundscapes to bring a contemporary treatment to an ancient story.

But it is more than a space of technical precision. Walking around in the crowd, the heat of visitors’ bodies moving around each other offers a nod to the unsettling and perhaps unspeakable experience faced by the 20,000 people estimated to live in Pompeii at the time of the eruption.

A small alcove to the side of the exhibition holds historical copies of faceless casts of four people and a dog in their moments of death.

Most Pompeiians survived by fleeing the city when the early tremors hit, but many did not. Over a thousand victims have been excavated. In 1863, a technique was developed to inject plaster into the ash cavities left by the eruption to create casts from those who perished. This process has been extensively developed and analysed in the centuries since, and laser scanners and 3D printers now make more accurate casts.

Beautiful, often ordinary

Exhibition designers and curators have relied as much on spectacle as they have on information to create an emotive atmosphere to accentuate the feeling of travelling through time and space.

This effect is not solely produced through media supplementation but by the objects on display – including the terrible casts but also by the decayed frescoes, from which ever-young faces return our gaze.

The excavated artifacts are beautiful, often ordinary: things like tweezers, cups, storage containers and lamps. Other everyday but less familiar items include small, mass-produced figurines of deities included in small shrines in a kitchen space or atrium.

Visitors can lean into displays to consider how similar – or different – the objects and the lifestyles they represent are from our own.

They complement the only existing eyewitness account of the eruption, written by Pliny the Younger:

People bewailed their own fate or that of their relatives, and there were some who prayed for death in their terror of dying. Many besought the aid of the gods, but still more imagined there were no gods left, and that the universe was plunged into eternal darkness for evermore.

This description is presented in large text in a small anteroom that has the purpose of helping visitors suspend disbelief as they enter the exhibition. There are no objects in this room.

The moment of pause it demands prepares visitors to:

Walk the city streets and immerse yourself in both the ancient city and the archaeological site – but beware the ever-present volcano.

Our own at-risk planet

There is a certain irony in being encouraged to step out of our everyday life to enter a past world in which we are directed to find common experiences. This is more a function of immersive blockbuster exhibitions in general than it is a complaint of Pompeii.

Pompeii is a polished, beautiful exhibition about an endlessly fascinating topic that will draw, enthral and enlighten crowds.

And yet, Pompeii misses an opportunity to demonstrate connections between a long dead civilisation and our own at-risk planet. Its approach to building human understanding across time could have been extended to ask visitors to consider how they would react to an equivalent catastrophe or what it might mean today.

We do not need to look far to generate a conversation about crises in different eras: last month, we saw the 50th anniversary of Cyclone Tracy; we are now five years on from the Black Summer bushfires.

These events are featured in the museum’s Great Southern Land exhibition, which shows the damage they caused to communities as well as their legacies. It also features salvaged artifacts with similar everyday characteristics to those included in Pompeii.

This exhibition makes the case that distant civilisations are not too far from our own. But by placing us in a highly immersive exhibition we are – despite its opposite intention – disconnected from our own daily lives, and the true connection we have to the past. This can weaken society’s collective will to take the urgent action required if we are to survive the next 2,000 years.

Pompeii: Inside A Lost City Package is at the National Museum of Australia, Canberra, until May 4.

Kylie Message, Professor of Public Humanities and Director of the ANU Humanities Research Centre, Australian National University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Bob Dylan biopic “A Complete Unknown,” starring Timothée Chalamet, focuses on Dylan’s early 1960s transition from idiosyncratic singer of folk songs to internationally renowned singer-songwriter.

As a music historian, I’ve always respected one decision of Dylan’s in particular – one that kicked off the young artist’s most turbulent and significant period of creative activity.

Sixty years ago, on Halloween Night 1964, a 23-year-old Dylan took the stage at New York City’s Philharmonic Hall. He had become a star within the niche genre of revivalist folk music. But by 1964 Dylan was building a much larger fanbase through performing and recording his own songs.

Dylan presented a solo set, mixing material he had previously recorded with some new songs. Representatives from his label, Columbia Records, were on hand to record the concert, with the intent to release the live show as his fifth official album.

It would have been a logical successor to Dylan’s four other Columbia albums. With the exception of one track, “Corrina, Corrina,” those albums, taken together, featured exclusively solo acoustic performances.

But at the end of 1964, Columbia shelved the recording of the Philharmonic Hall concert. Dylan had decided that he wanted to make a different kind of music.

From Minnesota to Manhattan

Two-and-a-half years earlier, Dylan, then just 20 years old, started earning acclaim within New York City’s folk music community. At the time, the folk music revival was taking place in cities across the country, but Manhattan’s Greenwich Village was the movement’s beating heart.

Mingling with and drawing inspiration from other folk musicians, Dylan, who had recently moved to Manhattan from Minnesota, secured his first gig at Gerde’s Folk City on April 11, 1961. Dylan appeared in various other Greenwich Village music clubs, performing folk songs, ballads and blues. He aspired to become, like his hero Woody Guthrie, a self-contained artist who could employ vocals, guitar and harmonica to interpret the musical heritage of “the old, weird America,” an adage coined by critic Greil Marcus to describe Dylan’s early repertoire, which was composed of material learned from prewar songbooks, records and musicians.

While Dylan’s versions of older songs were undeniably captivating, he later acknowledged that some of his peers in the early 1960s folk music scene – specifically, Mike Seeger – were better at replicating traditional instrumental and vocal styles.

Dylan, however, realized he had an unrivaled facility for writing and performing new songs.

In October 1961, veteran talent scout John Hammond signed Dylan to record for Columbia. His eponymous debut, released in March 1962, featured interpretations of traditional ballads and blues, with just two original compositions. That album sold only 5,000 copies, leading some Columbia officials to refer to the Dylan contract as “Hammond’s Folly.”

Full steam ahead

Flipping the formula of its predecessor, Dylan’s 1963 follow-up album, “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan,” offered 11 originals by Dylan and just two traditional songs. The powerful collection combined songs about relationships with original protest songs, including his breakthrough “Blowin’ in the Wind.”

“The Times They Are A-Changin’,” his third release, exclusively showcased Dylan’s own compositions.

Dylan’s creative output continued. As he testified in “Restless Farewell,” the closing track for “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” “My feet are now fast / and point away from the past.”

Released just six months after “The Times,” Dylan’s fourth Columbia album, “Another Side of Bob Dylan,” featured solo acoustic recordings of original songs that were lyrically adventurous and less focused on current events. As suggested in his song “My Back Pages,” he was now rejecting the notion that he could – or should – speak for his generation.

Bringing it all together

By the end of 1964, Dylan yearned to break away permanently from the constraints of the folk genre – and from the notion of “genre” altogether. He wanted to subvert the expectations of audiences and to rebel against music industry forces intent on pigeonholing him and his work.

The Philharmonic Hall concert went off without a hitch, but Dylan refused to let Columbia turn it into an album. The recording wouldn’t generate an official release for another four decades.

Instead, in January 1965, Dylan entered Columbia’s Studio A to record his fifth album, “Bringing It All Back Home.” But this time, he embraced the electric rock sound that had energized America in the wake of Beatlemania. That album introduced songs with stream-of-consciousness lyrics featuring surreal imagery, and on many of the songs Dylan performed with the accompaniment of a rock band.

“Bringing It All Back Home,” released in March 1965, set the tone for Dylan’s next two albums: “Highway 61 Revisited,” in August 1965, and “Blonde on Blonde,” in June 1966. Critics and fans have long considered these latter three albums – pulsing with what the singer-songwriter himself called “that thin, that wild mercury sound” – as among the greatest albums of the rock era.

On July 25, 1965, at the Newport Folk Festival, Dylan invited members of the Paul Butterfield Blues Band on stage to accompany three songs. Since the genre expectations for folk music during that era involved acoustic instrumentation, the audience was unprepared for Dylan’s loud performances. Some critics deemed the set an act of heresy, an affront to folk music propriety. The next year, Dylan embarked on a tour of the U.K., and an audience member at the Manchester stop infamously heckled him for abandoning folk music, crying out, “Judas!”

Yet the creative risks undertaken by Dylan during this period inspired countless other musicians: rock acts such as the Beatles, the Animals and the Byrds; pop acts such as Stevie Wonder, Johnny Rivers and Sonny and Cher; and country singers such as Johnny Cash.

Acknowledging the bar that Dylan’s songwriting set, Cash, in his liner notes to Dylan’s 1969 album “Nashville Skyline,” wrote, “Here-in is a hell of a poet.”

Enlivened by Dylan’s example, many musicians went on to experiment with their own sound and style, while artists across a range of genres would pay homage to Dylan through performing and recording his songs.

In 2016, Dylan received the Nobel Prize in literature “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” His early exploration of this tradition can be heard on his first four Columbia albums – records that laid the groundwork for Dylan’s august career.

Back in 1964, Dylan was the talk of Greenwich Village.

But now, because he never rested on his laurels, he’s the toast of the world.

This article was updated to correct the name of album “Blonde on Blonde.”

Ted Olson, Professor of Appalachian Studies and Bluegrass, Old-Time and Roots Music Studies, East Tennessee State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Imagine a summer holiday at a seaside resort, with days spent sunbathing, reading books, exploring nature and chatting with friends.

Sounds like it could be anywhere in Australia or New Zealand in January, doesn’t it?

This is also how the Roman emperor Julian spent his summers in the 4th century CE. Towards the end of 357 CE, Julian wrote a letter to his friend Evagrius, telling him how he spent his holidays at his grandmother’s estate as a boy and young man:

Very peaceful it is to lie down there and glance into some book, and then, while resting one’s eyes, it is very agreeable to gaze at the ships and the sea.

When I was still hardly more than a boy I thought that this was the most delightful summer residence, for it has, moreover, excellent springs and a charming bath and garden and trees.

As Julian got older, though, he had less time for summer holidays. Work consumed him. Even when he was on a break, he couldn’t fully relax.

This might sound familiar, too. It seems very little has changed from the days of the ancient Greek and Roman empires when it comes to finding time to unwind – and being on holidays, too.

Finding time for a break

Taking time off was important in ancient Greek and Roman times. Even Greek and Roman slaves were permitted to take a few holidays each year.

Not everyone could enjoy their holidays, however.

In 162 CE, Marcus Aurelius, then emperor of Rome, took four days of holiday at a resort in Alsium, a city on the coast of modern-day Italy.

According to his friend Marcus Cornelius Fronto (c. 95-166 CE), though, the emperor could not stop working. In a letter, Fronto criticises Marcus for continuing to work hard rather than sleeping in, exploring the seaside, rowing on the ocean, bathing and feasting on seafood.

Fronto amusingly says that Marcus, rather than enjoy his holiday, has instead “declared war on play, relaxation, good living, and pleasure”.

Going to the seaside

Relaxing by the coast was one of the things people in ancient Greece and Rome most enjoyed doing in the summer.

The rich built summer residences on the coast, while people of all walks of life flocked to seaside resorts to enjoy the fresh air and cool water.

The orator Libanius (314-393 CE) wrote that the people who really enjoy life the most are those who have the freedom to “drive to their estates, visit other towns, buy land, and visit the seaside”.

Health tourism was also a popular reason why people came to the seaside. Many ancient doctors recommended sea water and air as cures for all kinds of health problems, especially those related to the skin and respiratory system.

For example, the doctor Aretaeus of Cappadocia (c. 150-200 CE) recommended bathing in sea water, wrestling on sand and living by the sea as therapies for those who get frequent headaches.

Travelling abroad

Visiting foreign places was another of the things people in ancient Greece and Rome most enjoyed doing on their summer holidays.

For the Romans, trips to see Greece – and in particular Athens – were especially popular.

The Roman general Germanicus (15 BCE–19 CE) went on a tour of Greece in 18 CE, travelling from Athens eastward to Euboea, Lesbos, the coast of Asia Minor and then to Byzantium and Pontus.

According to the Roman historian Tacitus, Germanicus was motivated by a desire to see famous ancient sites. Like many Romans, he was fascinated by the old stories of the Greek past, so he was “eager to make the acquaintance of those ancient and storied regions”.

Another popular destination for ancient Greeks and Romans was Egypt, which had always been regarded as a land of wonder.

Roman tourists could catch regular boats from Puteoli to the great Egyptian city Alexandria. The trip took anywhere from one to two weeks, stopping along the way in Sicily and Malta.

Once there, the highlights were typically the great Nile River and Pyramids. Tourists marvelled at the immense temples and walls of hieroglyphic writing.

When Germanicus visited Egypt in 19 CE, he was so curious about the meaning of the hieroglyphics that he asked an old Egyptian priest to translate some for him.

In Alexandria, another attraction was the tomb of Alexander the Great (356-323 BCE). His body was stored in honey in a coffin made of glass. Ordinary tourists were not allowed to visit it, but VIPs like Roman emperors were.

Tourists might also have enjoyed the different vibe in Alexandria. According to the Greek orator Dio of Prusa (c. 40-110/120 CE), the atmosphere in the coastal city was relaxed, with plenty of music, chariot racing and good food.

Lazy summer days

We can probably all relate to what the writer Pliny the Younger (61/62-112 BCE) said about his summer break.

Writing on a holiday in Tuscany, he said he can only work “in the lazy way to be expected during a summer holiday”. Working any other way was simply not possible. Many of us will be able to relate to that!

Konstantine Panegyres, McKenzie Postdoctoral Fellow, researching Greco-Roman antiquity, The University of Melbourne

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Sunglasses, or dark glasses, have always guarded against strong sunlight, but is there more to “shades” than we think?

The pupils of our eyes are delicate and react immediately to strong lights. Protecting them against light – even the brilliance reflected off snow – is important for everyone. Himalayan mountaineers wear goggles for this exact purpose.

Protection is partly the function of sunglasses. But dark or coloured lens glasses have become fashion accessories and personal signature items. Think of the vast and famous collector of sunglasses Elton John, with his pink lensed heart-shaped extravaganzas and many others.

When did this interest in protecting the eyes begin, and at what point did dark glasses become a social statement as well as physical protection?

Ancient traditions

The Roman Emperor Nero is reported as holding polished gemstones to his eyes for sun protection as he watched fighting gladiators.

We know Canadian far north Copper Inuit and Alaskan Yupik wore snow goggles of many kinds made of antlers or whalebone and with tiny horizontal slits. Wearers looked through these and they were protected against the snow’s brilliant light when hunting. At the same time the very narrow eye holes helped them to focus on their prey.

In 12th century China, judges wore sunglasses with smoked quartz lenses to hide their facial expressions – perhaps to retain their dignity or not convey emotions.

Very early eyeglasses were produced in Venice with its longstanding skills in glass making concentrated on the still famous islands of Murano.

In the 18th century, noble Venetian ladies held green coloured glasses in tortoiseshell frames to their eyes, a design similar to a hand-held mirror. These vetri da gondola (glasses for gondola) or da dama (for ladies) were used to protect their eyes and those of their children from sunlight, as gondoliers paddled them through the Venetian canals.

Glasses, celebrity and war

Protection of the eye takes an interesting turn when movie making begins. Film stars’ eyes became strained as artificial studio set lights were very strong. They began to wear tinted glasses outside the studio as their eyes became sore.

As Hollywood began to make celebrities of these stars, they sought out privacy by wearing dark glasses on public occasions as well.

Their looks were crucial to the industry.

One thinks of the aloof Greta Garbo who hid behind her glasses to stop interaction with fans. Audrey Hepburn was another star well known for her Oliver Goldsmith dark glasses. She peered over these in many movies and also wore them as high fashion accessories.

The first anti-glare glasses, originally with green glass blocking U/V rays, were Ray-Bans, patented in 1939 as Aviators for the US Army Air Corps. Their shapes reduced light from any angle. They were taken up by the military and became the signature style of General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander of US Forces in the Pacific, stationed in Brisbane during the second world war.

With these glasses, well-tailored khaki uniforms and peaked caps, wearers exuded a vigorous masculine attractiveness – although the outfits were not exactly fashion.

Dark glasses were to become increasingly popular accessories from the late 1920s. They took on new life as essential male and female fashions in the 60s and 70s. Men and women celebrities and style icons like Jacqueline Kennedy wore her huge designer outsize glasses as personal fashion items.

Rich with meaning

There are hundreds of different designs on the market today. Many can be picked up at any chemist.

Dark glasses are everywhere: worn on the street, for driving, on the beach and on the tennis court.

Sunglasses are rich with different meanings. They protect from harsh sunlight and shield wearers from close contact with others. They also allow users to observe others without detection. They are striking accessories loved by celebrities, movie stars and fashionable influencers of all kinds.

For some celebrities, sunglasses have become part of their character.

They project an almost powerful aura for someone like Anna Wintour of Vogue. For Stevie Wonder, who wears sunglasses because he is legally blind, they have come to symbolise his particular personality, his unique ability and his iconic status.

Margaret Maynard, Associate Professor, School of Communication and the Arts, The University of Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

It’s the morning after a big night and you’re feeling the effects of too much alcohol.

So it can be tempting to “refresh” and take the edge off a hangover with a swim at the beach, or a dip in the cool waters of your local river or pool.

But you might want to think twice.

The day after heavy drinking can affect your body, energy levels and perception of risk in many ways. This means you’re more likely to drown or make careless decisions – even without high levels of alcohol in your blood.

Alcohol + water + summer = drowning

Alcohol is one of the main reasons why someone’s more likely to die due to drowning. And Australians consume a lot of it, including around the water.

The risk of drowning, and injury, including incidents involving alcohol, dramatically increases over the summer festive period – in particular on public holidays and long weekends.

Among people aged 18 and over who drowned in rivers where alcohol was involved, we found some 40% had a blood alcohol concentration of at least 0.20%. That’s four times the upper legal limit of 0.05% when driving a car on a full licence.

When we breathalysed people at four Australian rivers, we found higher levels of blood alcohol with higher temperatures, and particularly on public holidays.

At the beach, intoxication due to alcohol and/or drugs is involved in 23% of drowning deaths with an average blood alcohol concentration of 0.19%.

How about if you’re hungover?

Getting alcohol out of your body is a relatively slow process. On average, alcohol is metabolised at a rate of 0.015% per hour. So if someone stops drinking at 2am with a blood alcohol concentration of 0.20%, their alcohol levels don’t drop to zero until 4pm the next day.

Although hangovers can vary from person to person, typical symptoms include headache, muscle aches, fatigue, weakness, thirst, nausea, stomach pain, vertigo, irritability, sensitivity to light and sound, anxiety, sweating and increased blood pressure.

As well as feeling a bit dusty, the day after an evening of heavy drinking, you’re not so good at identifying risks and reacting to them.

In a pool, this might mean not noticing it’s too shallow to dive safely. In natural waterways, this might mean not noticing a strong river current or a rip current at the beach. Or someone might notice these hazards but swim or dive in anyway.

In one study, we found that after a four-day Australian music festival where people drank heavily, even people who were sober (no longer had alcohol in their blood) were still affected.

Compared to baseline tests in the lab we ran three weeks before the festival, people who were sober the day after the festival had faster reaction times in a test to gauge their attention. But they made more mistakes. This suggests hangovers coupled with fatigue lead to quicker but more careless behaviour.

In and around water this could be the difference between life and death.

Positive blood alcohol readings, including of alcohol from the night before, are commonly implicated in drowning deaths as a result of risky behaviours such as jumping into the water, both at a river and along the coast. Jumping can cause physical injury or render you unconscious, leading to drowning.

Alcohol, including the day after drinking, can also make drowning more likely for a number of other reasons. It also reduces people’s coordination and reaction times.

What else is going on?

Alcohol makes the blood vessels near your skin open up (dilate). So more blood flows into them, making you feel hot. This means you may stay in colder water for longer, increasing your risk of hypothermia.

Alcohol can even make CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) less effective, should you need to be resuscitated.

Normally, your body controls levels of certain minerals (or electrolytes) in the blood. But electrolyte imbalance is common after heavy drinking, including the day after. It’s the reason why hangover symptoms such as muscle pain can lead to cramps in your arms or legs. This can become dangerous when being in or on the water.

Low blood sugar levels the day after drinking is also common. This can lead to people becoming exhausted more quickly when doing physical activities, including swimming.

Other hazards include cold water, high waves and deep water, all of which your body may not be capable of dealing with if you’re feeling the effects of a big night.

What can we do about it?

Authorities regularly warn about the dangers of alcohol intoxication and being near the water. Young people and men are often targeted because these are the groups more likely to drown where alcohol is involved.

Beaches may have alcohol-free zones. Rivers rarely have the same rules, despite similar dangers.

How to stay safe around water if you’re drinking

So take care this summer and stay out of the water if you’re not feeling your best:

• do your swimming before your drinking
• look out for your mates, especially ones who may have had a few too many or are hungover
• avoid getting back into the water after you’ve drunk alcohol or if you’re not feeling your best the next day.

Amy Peden, NHMRC Research Fellow, School of Population Health & co-founder UNSW Beach Safety Research Group, UNSW Sydney; Emmanuel Kuntsche, Director of the Centre for Alcohol Policy Research, La Trobe University, and Jasmin C. Lawes, Adjunct Senior Lecturer, UNSW Beach Safety Research Group, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

If you’re back in the job market, or looking for your first position after graduating, you’ll need to think about how to ace a job interview.

Getting shortlisted for interview is a significant achievement on its own, given managers routinely consider hundreds of other applicants for each position. But to interview well, you need to be prepared, confident (but not arrogant) and stand out from other applicants.

A good job interview means assuring a prospective employer you can fit into their company, have the skills to do or adapt to the job, and can work well with others.

So, how can you put your best foot forward in a job interview? Here are five tips.

1. Talk about your cultural and organisational fit

Explain how you would be a great fit in the new job.

Establishing your fit doesn’t mean talking up your skills, but convincing the panel you are the right person to join the company.

Make it clear you know what the company does well (more on that later), offer examples of where you’ve worked well in teams before, and explain how you could contribute to the organisation’s mission, goals and achievements.

2. Prepare answers for important questions

They will almost certainly ask: “why should we hire you?”

Variations of this question include: “why are you the best person for this job?” and “why do you want this job?”

You may be asked these kinds of questions right at the start of your interview.

It’s not an invitation to brag about what you have done or exaggerate your claims. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate how you would fit into the company with your skills, track record and personal values.

This is your chance to outline your skills and position yourself as the best person for the job.

But these questions also allow you to give an early indication about whether your working style and personal values align with the organisation’s values.

3. Show your enthusiasm and commitment

It is important to show you are enthusiastic and excited to be part of their organisation.

You are looking to give your employer a sense of your personality and your interest in not just the job but the company.

What is it about this company’s work that interests you? Can you name examples of things they’ve done well in the past? If you got the job, why would you be proud to work there?

4. Do your homework

Demonstrate you have read up on the company and people and be specific about what you can offer as a future employee.

Research the company and the person who is interviewing you. Make it clear you understand the business and its recent output, as well as the person and their preferences.

Don’t simply regurgitate information about the company from their website. Instead, come up with some interesting questions such as how they’ve managed a big change in the industry, or how they are adapting to a new technology.

The company will probably research or “cybervet” you. Ensure your public profile and other accessible information is professional and shows you at your best. Lose the wild party pics.

5. Give ‘I’ answers

“I” answers show how your skills would benefit the company and suit the position. You could talk, for example, about how you’re passionate about helping people, so you did an internship in aged care administration during your business studies and also volunteered at your local aged care home.

Or that you won an award in recognition of your contribution to your industry, and explain what you did that won you this award.

The story of you as a talented and committed job seeker should not only be compelling but have an internal narrative logic. For example:

In my university degree, I undertook training in project management software. As part of my internship, I was responsible for project scheduling, so I developed a very good working knowledge of this software. My experience supports me to effectively use project management software in this new role.

Research has also shown doing an internship gives you a better chance of winning a job.

If you’ve got gaps in your resume, fold them into your narrative about how you have built your experiences, education, skills and capacities. For example,

To gain experience in learning other languages and working in different countries, I travelled extensively for my gap year. I then started my full-time university studies in marketing while working part-time in the retail industry.

A job interview is not just about how well you did in your studies or your previous job but how you can build your skills and capabilities into a sustainable career in your new role. The interviewer is looking for how you can add value to the organisation.

Kerry Brown, Professor of Employment and Industry, School of Business and Law, Edith Cowan University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Eating rabbit, camel, carp, feral cat, deer and cane toad might sound extreme to some, but it’s gaining attention as a solution to tackle the growing impact of invasive species.

Now, Tony Armstrong hosts the ABC series Eat the Invaders, inspired by artist Kirsha Kaechele’s 2019 cookbook and MONA exhibition Eat the Problem.

Over the course of the series, Armstrong talks to chefs, conservationists, Indigenous Elders, researchers, food producers and the general public to explore the idea of eating these species to reduce their populations.

Over each of the six episodes, the show features a different invasive species, transforming them from something perceived as an unwanted pest into a desirable food you may order off a menu.

Invasive species in Australia

Episode one poetically begins at ground zero of the rabbit invasion, Barwon Park in Winchelsea, Victoria, where 24 rabbits were introduced in 1859.

Ever since, invasive species like the rabbit have caused significant harm in Australia, now impacting 82% of our threatened species – a rate much higher than global norms. Feral cats and foxes are responsible for the deaths of 2.6 billion native vertebrates annually.

Invasive species disproportionately affect Indigenous lands in Australia compared to the global average, emphasising their cultural toll.

In the agricultural sector, invasive species cause significant damage, and cost Australian producers up to A$5.3 billion in management costs and losses annually.

Cane toads have toxic skin that poisons native predators like goannas, crocodiles and quolls, who lack natural defences.

To combat this, researchers are testing innovative solutions, such as “cane toad sausages”, to train native mammals and reptiles to avoid the toxic toads.

Could invasive species belong on our plates too?

I’ll eat a cow, but not a camel

While we may accept animals like cows, chickens or pigs as food, species like rabbit, camel and carp remain off the menu for many Australians.

This is a form of cognitive dissonance, where we perceive some animals as pests but are also hesitant at the idea of turning them into food.

Adding invasive species back into culinary culture can increase public awareness of invasive species, assist in early detection and response efforts, and boost local economies.

Re-branding invasive species as a culinary opportunity isn’t a new concept. Carp is often sold in America under the name “copi”.

This idea is explored during episode three, as a marketing company is given an opportunity to re-brand cane toad meat. The final hypothetical product is a packaged “toad nugget” product called “Croaky Crunchers”.

Eating invasive species

A central theme of Eat the Invaders is that eating invasive species is good for the environment, while also being delicious.

Armstrong meets up with the Country Women’s Association to learn about how rabbits were once common on Australian dinner tables, while cooking a tomato and rabbit stew.

Carp is a staple food in China and Europe but is rarely found in Australian supermarkets.

Here, carp appears in fish and chips and as part of an experimental dish at MONA, served with invasive weeds and “edible plastic” made from corn flour and the invasive plant kudzu.

Bob Katter might not be the first person you’d expect to make a cameo, but it makes sense given far-north Queensland is one of the most densely populated regions for cane toads in Australia.

The main challenge with eating cane toads is the risk of bufotoxin, which is toxic to humans. Armstrong meets a former chef who prepares and eats cane toad – but Armstrong can’t get the meat safety-tested to try it himself.

Establishing safe processing, like Japan’s fugu system of safely processing the tetrodotoxin poison from puffer fish, could help to create an export market for toads. This might benefit conservation by reducing pressure on native frogs harvested in Indonesia and Vietnam.

The show stops short of serving feral cats on the menu at MONA.

Instead, Armstrong travels to Kiwirrkurra Country in the Gibson Desert and joins the Kiwirrkurra rangers and cat hunters who protect wildlife like the vulnerable greater bilby by hunting feral cats.

They show him how the feral cats are prepared as food. He told the Guardian “it tasted like the most delicious rotisserie chicken I’ve ever had”.

Worth the watch

Changing our diets is a simple yet powerful way to tackle Australia’s extinction crisis. Eat the Invaders creatively explores this idea.

Armstrong’s style is approachable and engaging for people who are unfamiliar with the impact of invasive species. Especially as he himself is trying many of these species for the first time.

The show balances perspectives on food, conservation, Indigenous knowledge, and consumer experiences, creating a well-rounded narrative.

Throughout the show, Armstrong highlights the profound impact of invasive species on Indigenous Australians’ connection to Country, and how these species disrupt ecosystems and threaten culturally significant totem species.

While eating invasive species is innovative, it’s not a standalone solution.

As invasive species spread, management often shifts from eradication to long-term control. Policy contradictions, like deer being protected under some laws but considered threats in others, complicate management efforts.

Promoting invasive species consumption through eating them could help, but risks creating a business case to maintain or even expand invasive populations, undermining eradication goals.

Eat the Invaders is on the ABC from tonight.

Carla Archibald, Research Fellow, Conservation Science, Deakin University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Anthony Sharwood’s Kościuszko: The Incredible Life of the Man Behind the Mountain is far more than a biography of an extraordinary historical figure. It is a trip through time, continents and cultural landscapes. It blends the life of Tadeusz Kościuszko (1746–1817) – a nobleman, military engineer, revolutionary and humanist – with contemporary debates about identity, reconciliation and memory.

Sharwood invites readers to join him on a journey to uncover who Kościuszko was, why his name sits atop Australia’s highest mountain, and whether it should remain there.

Review: Kosciuszko: The Incredible Life of the Man Behind the Mountain – Anthony Sharwoood (Hachette)

Kościuszko is an enigmatic figure to everyone but the citizens of his native Poland, though he is also celebrated as a hero in America, where he is known for his role in the American rebellion against the British.

His life was defined by his unwavering commitment to justice and human rights. In Poland, he led the 1794 Kościuszko Uprising against Russian domination and advocated for social reforms. He fought to end Polish serfdom. He dedicated his American estate to the education and emancipation of African American slaves, although his will was never fully executed.

Sharwood explores Kościuszko’s life with a unique narrative structure, inviting readers to explore his subject’s legacy as though they are travelling alongside him. The biography begins with a simple yet intriguing question: “Who was the Kosciuszko fella?”

Sharwood’s answer takes readers to the heart of the man who became a symbol of liberty and equality, earning the admiration of luminaries such as Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. Yet the book is as much about Australia and its Indigenous people as it is about Kościuszko himself. It offers a richly layered exploration of history, identity and the power of names.

A champion of liberty and equality

Sharwood’s approach is refreshingly unconventional. Rather than presenting a linear historical narrative, he embarks on a road trip through Kościuszko’s life and the places that shaped it. Along the way, we learn of Kościuszko’s early life in Lithuania and Poland, his education in France, and his commitment to Enlightenment ideals.

Starting in America, Sharwood traces Kościuszko’s rise as a military engineer during the American War of Independence. His account of the period Kościuszko spent in America, from 1776 to 1784, is vividly detailed. As a colonel in the Continental Army, Kościuszko played a critical role in fortifying Saratoga and West Point. He emerges as a man of principle, who not only fought for American independence, but sought to challenge the contradictions of its society.

His will, which directed his American assets to be used for freeing and educating enslaved people, becomes a focal point in the narrative. Sharwood uses it to explore Kościuszko’s unwavering commitment to human rights, painting him as a figure who transcended the cultural constraints of his time.

The narrative then moves to Poland, where Kościuszko’s leadership during the 1794 uprising against Russian and Prussian forces solidified his status as a national hero. Despite his military brilliance and political vision, Kościuszko’s efforts to preserve Polish independence were thwarted by the effects of successive partitions of Poland in 1772, 1793 and 1795, which erased the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth of his childhood from the map of Europe.

Sharwood vividly captures the drama and tragedy of this period, portraying Kościuszko as a charismatic leader whose vision for equality inspired soldiers and peasants alike. Despite his eventual defeat and imprisonment, Kościuszko’s ideals endured, making him a symbol of resistance against oppression. Sharwood’s storytelling shines in these sections, blending research with compelling prose that brings history to life.

History, identity, naming

What sets this biography apart is its integration of Kościuszko’s story with the contemporary debate over the naming of Mount Kosciuszko.

Kościuszko never set foot on the Australian continent. The mountain was named in 1840, long after his death, by Polish explorer Paul Strzelecki (1797-1873), who was inspired by Kościuszko’s ideals. The naming is now at the centre of discussions about Indigenous recognition.

Sharwood highlights the cultural significance of the Snowy Mountains for the Ngarigo people. He explores their ancient customs, their displacement during European colonisation, and their perspectives on the future of the mountain’s name. By engaging with traditional owners, such as Ngarigo elder Cheryl Davison, Sharwood adds depth to the narrative, situating the debate within broader questions of reconciliation and historical justice.

Sharwood’s ability to connect Kościuszko’s legacy with contemporary issues facing Australia is one of the book’s greatest strengths. He explores how names shape our understanding of history and identity, asking whether Kościuszko’s name should remain on the mountain or be replaced with an Indigenous name. His nuanced approach reflects the complexity of the question. He acknowledges the multiple names used by different Indigenous clans, such as Kunama Namadgi and Tar Gan Gil. He also considers what Kościuszko himself might have wanted.

Sharwood refrains from providing definitive answers. Instead, he encourages readers to reflect on the layers of history and meaning embedded in the mountain.

The book’s road-trip structure enhances its accessibility and emotional resonance. Sharwood takes readers from Poland to Switzerland, where Kościuszko spent his final years, and to the United States, where his ideals of liberty and equality continue to inspire. The journey extends to the town of Kosciusko, Mississippi (notably spelled without the “z”), the birthplace of Oprah Winfrey, adding a quirky yet meaningful connection to Kościuszko’s global legacy. Sharwood’s travels culminate in Australia, where he retraces Strzelecki’s footsteps and delves into the history of the Snowy Mountains.

This personal approach makes the biography feel intimate and relatable, as though readers are discovering Kościuszko’s story alongside the author. Sharwood’s writing is as engaging as it is informative. His journalistic background is evident in his ability to distil complex historical events into narratives that are both compelling and easy to follow.

At the same time, his passion for the Australian High Country, showcased in previous works From Snow to Ash and The Brumby Wars, enriches his exploration of Mount Kosciuszko. His vivid descriptions of the landscape, combined with his deep respect for its cultural significance, create a powerful sense of place that anchors the narrative.

Despite its many strengths, the book does have its limitations. Sharwood’s admiration for Kościuszko occasionally verges on romanticisation, portraying him as an almost flawless hero. While this approach underscores Kościuszko’s enduring appeal, it sometimes oversimplifies the complexities of his character and his historical context. Sharwood has crafted an unconventional biography that is as thought-provoking as it is inspiring, but his approach can be irritating, especially to a historian seeking greater detail.

Kościuszko’s will, for example, is celebrated as a bold statement of equality, but the practical challenges that prevented its execution receive less attention. Similarly, the book’s road-trip format, while engaging, can feel disjointed, with some of the transitions between historical and contemporary narratives lacking fluidity.

The book nevertheless succeeds in its primary goal. It illuminates the life and legacy of a remarkable figure, while prompting readers to consider the broader implications of his story. Sharwood’s exploration of Kościuszko’s ideals of liberty, equality and justice resonates deeply in a world still grappling with these issues. His engagement with the Indigenous history of the Snowy Mountains adds a vital layer of complexity to the narrative, reminding readers that history is never one-dimensional.

In celebrating Kościuszko, Sharwood invites Australians to reflect on their own values and history. The parallels between Kościuszko’s life and the Australian ethos – resilience, fairness, unity, the championing of the underdog – underscore why his name, carried by Australia’s highest mountain, continues to inspire. By framing Kościuszko within this cultural narrative, Sharwood not only honours the man himself, but affirms the enduring relevance of these ideals in contemporary Australian society.

For those interested in history and culture, or the intersections between the two, Sharwood’s biography is essential reading. Whether or not Kościuszko’s name remains on Australia’s highest mountain, his legacy as a champion of human rights and a symbol of resistance will endure.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Researcher, Historian, Australian Catholic University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

As the New Year festivities fade, each January reminds us of the passage of time. There is a tendency to look back with regret at roads not taken, and perhaps even despair at what the future holds.

Yet this time of year can also encourage more positive reflection. It was probably in early January of 44 BCE that Marcus Tullius Cicero, the Roman politician, orator, and philosopher, sat down to write On Old Age.

At 62, Cicero had endured personal and political losses. The year before, his daughter Tullia had died from complications from childbirth (the baby likely dying soon after), and Cicero had divorced his second wife, Publilia.

The Roman Republic was likewise in a dire state, in Cicero’s opinion, since Julius Caesar had recently been (or was about to be) named dictator for life.

Even amid this turmoil, and in the face of his own mortality, Cicero took pains to defend the experience of old age from its critics and to point out its many positive aspects.

He did so by adopting the persona of Cato the Elder, one of the most prominent statesmen of the third and second centuries, who lived from 234-149 BCE until his death at the age of 85.

While it was common in Greece and Rome for philosophical treatises to be written in the voice of a historical figure, Cicero makes clear in this book that the opinions of this character “Cato” represent his own views on old age.

The virtues of old age

Cicero addresses four criticisms of old age. The first two are that it forbids active pursuits and weakens the body. His forthright response is as applicable today as 2000 years ago:

It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgement; in these qualities old age is usually not only not poorer, but is even richer.

Cicero points out that the Roman senate derives its name from the fact that it was originally an assembly of old men, or senes in the original Latin. Older people have the wisdom, judgement, and experience necessary for good government.

Even the accusation that the memory dims with old age can be challenged, he suggests. Mental faculties only decline if they are unused; occupations such as language learning can help the mind stay sharp. (Cato talks about studying Greek in his twilight years).

As for strength, Cicero says that there are different kinds of vigour needed. An old man has already served his country in war, so that type of strength is no longer required (and in any case, a weak body can often be blamed on a dissolute youth!). But an old man’s voice can still resonate powerfully and make its point eloquently.

Landcare over lust

The third criticism of old age is that it lacks sensual pleasures. Lust, Cicero says, is the worst vice of youth and we should rejoice in its passing.

For carnal pleasure hinders deliberation, is at war with reason, blindfolds the eyes of the mind, so to speak, and has no fellowship with virtue.

The same goes for other types of indulgence, such as eating and drinking:

Old age lacks the heavy banquet, the loaded table, and the oft-filled cup; therefore it also lacks drunkenness, indigestion, and loss of sleep.

One can derive enjoyment from many activities in old age, such as studying science or the law, writing poetry, and similar pursuits that stimulate the mind. Cicero has the character of Cato discuss his own personal source of delight: tending to the land.

The real Cato did indeed write a work, On Agriculture, which was essentially a guide to estate management for the wealthy. The cultivation of vines is a particular joy, writes Cicero:

But, that you may know what affords the recreation and delight of my old age, I will say that vine-culture gives me a joy of which I cannot get too much. […] Are not the results obtained from mallet-shoots, sprouts, cuttings, divisions, and layers enough to afford wonder and delight to any man?

The final charge levelled against old age is that it means one is near to death. This can be easily dismissed, according to Cicero, because death can happen at any age.

Nay, even youth, much more than old age, is subject to the accident of death; the young fall sick more easily, their sufferings are more intense, and they are cured with greater difficulty. Therefore few arrive at old age, and, but for this, life would be lived in better and wiser fashion. For it is in old men that reason and good judgement are found, and had it not been for old men no state would have existed at all.

Life is transitory. We should make the best use of the time we have to live honourably, take delight in our good fortune, and face the inevitable with steadfastness. We can take comfort in the fact that our achievements will be remembered after we perish.

Lessons for today?

Throughout the treatise, Cicero successfully advocates for the dignity and value of growing old. He masterfully defends old age against many of the stereotypical charges still levelled against the elderly in the modern world.

But, the critics say, old men are morose, troubled, fretful, and hard to please; and, if we inquire, we shall find that some of them are misers, too. However, these are faults of character, not of age.

And yet we must remember that Cicero and his proxy character Cato were both extremely wealthy, aristocratic politicians who constituted a privileged minority in the Roman Republic. This criticism is addressed early on in the work:

For amid utter penury, old age cannot be a light thing, not even to a wise man; nor to a fool, even amid utmost wealth, can it be otherwise than burdensome.

This justification allows Cicero to develop his argument about the importance of virtue and good character extending well into old age. It reflects the fact that his intended audience was other wealthy men like him (the dedicatee of his book, his friend Titus Pomponius Atticus, was a fabulously rich businessman in his sixties).

Throughout the work, all the examples provided for the reader to emulate are great men from Greece, Rome, and neighbouring regions, such as the philosophers Plato and Pythagoras and the generals Scipio Africanus and Fabius Maximus, who fought against Hannibal in the Second Punic War.

This is a far cry from the world of the labourer or farmer working to feed his family. As classicist Tim Parkin has shown, there was no state support system for the elderly in ancient Rome and all assistance had to come from one’s relatives.

Silent on women and slaves

There is no discussion in On Old Age of the experience of women of any social status. We hear nothing about how the perils of childbearing cut many women down in their prime nor the situation of elderly widows, who were committed to looking after their children and grandchildren.

Though women were often traded and bartered as wives, Roman society still idolised the univira – literally the “one-man woman” – who never remarried after their husband’s death.

Nor is any mention made of the enslaved population who supported the leisurely retirement which Cicero so idolised or did all the hard labour on the estates owned by Cato. In his work On Agriculture, the real Cato wrote that “the old slave, the sick slave, and whatever else is superfluous” should be sold off, lest they compromise the workings of the estate.

Some enslaved people were able to buy their freedom, like Gaius Iulius Mygdonius, whose epitaph recorded that he was a Parthian, captured and enslaved by Romans in his youth. “From my boyhood onwards, I sought to reach old age”, he wrote on his tombstone, a poignant reminder of the adversity which he faced as human chattel.

Cicero’s work offers us salutary reminders about the joys of old age, but we should never forget that he represents the voice of privilege. For most Romans, men and women, free and enslaved, it was a daily struggle just to survive.

Caillan Davenport, Professor of Classics and Head of the Centre for Classical Studies, Australian National University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

According to Britannica, “art” can be described as something “consciously created through an expression of skill or imagination” – whereas Wikipedia defines it more narrowly as a human activity. But are humans the only species that makes art?

If we take art to be something that is beautiful and consciously created – and animals consciously create things that look like art – shouldn’t we accept these productions as art, too? As Edgar Degas put it, “art is not what you see, but what you make others see”. Indeed, we see beautiful creations all across the animal kingdom.

Some of these works, such as the bowerbird’s nest, are defined in the eyes of their animal beholders. Others have a largely functional purpose, such as mating or feeding, yet manifest in patterns and/or colours that make them beautiful to behold.

On that note, here are some of our favourite animal “artworks”.

Molluscs

Walking on the beach, you can’t help but notice the beautiful patterns on seashells scattered across the sand.

Molluscs such as sea and land snails have delicate bodies, so they need protection. They create their shells by layering a calcium carbonate secretion that hardens once it leaves their bodies.

On these spiral shells, you will find all manner of stripes, swirls and oblique lines that resemble geometric abstraction in art.

Pufferfish

In 1995, some divers off the coast of Japan noticed intricate and beautiful circular patterns etched into the sea floor. These “underwater crop circles” remained a mystery for more than a decade. In 2011, it was finally discovered a pufferfish – in this case the white-spotted pufferfish (Torquigener albomaculosus) – was responsible.

Male pufferfish spend several days creating these circles by repeatedly swimming in and out while digging into the sand with their fins. The circles themselves have two uses. They help attract a mate – wherein the males that make the most beautiful circles are more likely to have success – while the centre of the circle functions as a nest for eggs.

Some of these circles have even been found off the coast of Western Australia.

Bowerbirds

Bowerbirds are found across Australia and Papua New Guinea. While it’s unclear what their nests looked like before the plastic era, today they are often dominated by blue plastic.

The male birds scavenge and steal all things blue to take back to their nest, where the objects are scattered around two walls of carefully formed sticks bending towards each other.

Beauty is definitely in the eyes of the beholder, as researchers have found these nest decorations are linked to mating success for male bowerbirds.

Other bird nests

Apart from the bowerbird’s uniquely bedazzled nests, a range of other bird species make nests that are as beautiful as they are functional.

Hummingbirds, for instance, will often make nests with contrasting green and white moss and lichen, thought to be added for camouflage.

Meanwhile, male weaver birds build intricately woven nests to attract potential mates. These are made using twigs or plant material (whichever is readily available) and can contain more than 1,000 strands of grass.

Whales

A humpback whale can eat up to one tonne of fish in a day. This includes shoaling fish such as herring and mackerel. Humans catch large amounts of these fish using nets. But how do whales catch them?

The answer is something called bubble-net feeding. This cooperative activity requires two or more whales which dive deep below schools of fish and blow bubbles through their blowholes to stun and trap the fish closer to the surface. As one whale blows the bubbles, the other/s follow the fish to the surface in spiral patterns to keep them trapped.

The patterns made in this process are stunning. One photo of bubble-net feeding by humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) even won the 2024 Australian Geographic Nature Photographer of the Year competition.

Sticklebacks

Great art is sometimes made with innovative materials.

The three-spined stickleback (Gasterosteus aculeatus) is a small fresh-water fish that develops a bright red throat during breeding season. But that’s not enough to attract a mate, so it also creates an underwater nest made from weeds held together by spiggin, a secretion that comes from the kidneys.

The stickleback’s spiggin is highly adhesive and sticks the weeds together, even in water. As many teenage boys know, you can’t leave the house without hair gel.

But the displays don’t stop there. Once the nest is ready, the male will try and lure females to it through a rather erratic courtship dance.

Beavers

While many artists make sculpture from natural materials such as stones or wood, beavers are arguably the experts at this.

Beavers make dams using trees they fell using their large front teeth, as well as other branches, mud and stone. These dams change the flow of streams, converting them into slow-moving lakes that provide the beavers protection from land-based predators.

Beyond helping themselves, the new lakes also create an ecosystem for lots of other animals, and can even help reduce flooding in human habitats.

Whether you agree animals make “art” or not, you can’t deny they make plenty of beautiful and functional works.

Susan Hazel, Associate Professor, School of Animal and Veterinary Science, University of Adelaide and Jono Tuke, Senior Lecturer, School of Mathematical Sciences, University of Adelaide

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Michael Leunig – who died in the early hours of Thursday December 19, surrounded by “his children, loved ones, and sunflowers” – was the closest thing Australian cartooning had to a prophet. By turns over his long career, he was a poet, a prophet and a provocateur.

The challenge comes in attempting to understand Leunig’s significance: for Australian cartooning; for readers of The Age and other papers past; and for the nation’s idea of itself.

On this day, do you remember the gently philosophical Leunig, or the savagely satirical one? Do you remember a cartoon that you thought absolutely nailed the problems of the world, or one you thought was terribly wrong-headed?

Leunig’s greatness lay in how intensely he made his audiences think and feel.

There is no one straightforward story to tell here. With six decades of cartooning at least weekly in newspapers and 25 book-length collections of his work, how could there be?

The light and the dark

One thread is an abiding fondness for the whimsical Leunig. Mr Curly and Vasco Pyjama live on in the imaginations of so many readers.

Particularly in the 1980s and 90s, Leunig’s work seemed to hold up a moral and ethical mirror up to Australian society – sometimes gently, but not without controversy, such as his 1995 “Thoughts of a baby lying in a childcare centre”.

Another thread is the dark satirist.

In the 1960s and 70s, he broke onto the scene as a wild man in Oz and the Nation Review who deplored Vietnam and only escaped the draft owing to deafness in one ear.

Then he apparently mellowed to become the guru of the Age, still with a capacity to launch the occasional satirical thunderbolt. Decidedly countercultural, together with Patrick Cook and Peter Nicholson, Leunig brought what historian Tony Moore has called “existential and non-materialist themes to the Australian black-and-white tradition”.

By 1999, he was declared a “national living treasure” by the National Trust, and was being lauded by universities for his unique contributions to the national culture.

But to tell the story of Leunig’s significance from the mid 90s on is to go beyond the dreamer and the duck. In later decades you could see a clear distinction between some cartoons that continued to console in a bewildering world, and others that sparked controversy.

Politics and controversy

Leunig saw 9/11 and the ensuing “War on Terror” as the great turning point in his career. He fearlessly returned to the themes of the Vietnam years, only to receive caution, rebuke and rejection from editors and readers.

He stopped drawing Mr Curly and Vasco Pyjama. The world was no longer safe for the likes of them.

Then there was a cartoon refused by the Age in 2002, deemed by editor Michael Gawenda to be inappropriate: in the first frame, a Jew is confronted by the gates of the death camp: “Work Brings Freedom [Arbeit Macht Frei]”; in the second frame an Israeli viewing a similar slogan “War Brings Peace”.

Rejected, it was never meant to see the light of day, but ABC’s Media Watch and Crikey outed it because of the constraint its spiking represented to fair media comment on the Middle East.

That the cartoon was later entered, without Leunig’s knowledge, in the infamous Iranian “Holocaust Cartoon” competition of 2006, has only added to its infamy and presaged the internet’s era of the uncontrollable circulation of images.

A decade later, from 2012, he reworked Martin Niemöller’s poetic statement of guilt over the Holocaust. The result was outrage, but also acute division within the Australian Jewish community.

Dvir Abramovich (chairperson of the Anti-Defamation Commission) made a distinction between something challenging, and something racist, believing it was the latter.

Harold Zwier (of the Australian Jewish Democratic Society) welcomed the chance for his community to think critically about Israel’s policies in Gaza and the West Bank.

From 2019 – a mother, distracted, looking at her phone rather than her baby. Cries of “misogyny”, including from Leunig’s very talented cartoonist sister, Mary.

Then from 2021 – a COVID-19 vaccination needle atop an armoured tank, rolling towards a helpless citizen.

Leunig’s enforced retirement (it is still debated whether he walked or was pushed) was long and drawn-out. He filed his last cartoon for the Age this August. By then, he had alienated more than a few of his colleagues in the press and the cartooning profession.

Support of the downtrodden

Do we speak ill of the dead? We hope not. Instead, we hope we are paying respect to a great and often angry artist who wanted always to challenge the consumer society with its dark cultural and geopolitical secrets.

Leunig’s response was a single line of argument: he was “Just a cartoonist with a moral duty to speak”.

You don’t have to agree with every provocation, but his purpose is always to take up the cause of the weak, and deploy all the weaponry at his disposal to support the downtrodden in their fight.

“The role of the cartoonist is not to be balanced”, said Leunig, but rather to “give balance”.

For Leunig, the weak were the Palestinian civilians, the babies of the post-iPhone generation, and those forced to be vaccinated by a powerful state; just as they were the Vietnamese civilians, the children forced to serve their rulers through state-sanctioned violence, the citizens whose democracy was undercut by stooges of the establishment.

That deserves to be his legacy, regardless of whether you agree or not about his stance.

The coming year will give a great many people pause to reflect on the life and work of Leunig. Indeed, he has provided us with a monthly schedule for doing just that: Leunig may be gone, but 2025 is already provided for, via his last calendar.

Richard Scully, Professor in Modern History, University of New England; Robert Phiddian, Professor of English, Flinders University, and Stephanie Brookes, Senior Lecturer, School of Media, Film and Journalism, Monash University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

*When we think of Gabrielle Chanel, her iconic fashion empire comes to mind. Yet, few associate her with the groundbreaking role of a self-made woman – a trailblazer who defied societal norms to build a global empire. Though her name is synonymous with luxury and innovation, her entrepreneurial spirit remains undervalued, particularly in her native France. *

Creating an entrepreneurial empire from scratch remains a rare feat for women, even today. Chanel is one of the few exceptions. While her brand enjoys global recognition, her pioneering business acumen is often overlooked. In a country such as France, where stories of entrepreneurship rarely enter mainstream discourse, her achievements have not been celebrated in the same way they might have been if she were American. Yet, even in the U.S., where the “self-made man” myth thrives, the concept of a “self-made woman” remains underdeveloped.

Entrepreneurship research often highlights that building a sustainable business requires capital, which tends to favour those with pre-existing wealth or social connections – privileges disproportionately held by men. Academic studies, such as those by Le Loarne-Lemaire (2014), demonstrate how educational access and networks, often inherited, play a critical role. Entrepreneurs are frequently the children of other entrepreneurs, perpetuating cycles of privilege.

The self-made woman archetype

In this context, Gabrielle Chanel stands out as an anomaly. The American myth of the self-made man, as described by researcher James Catano, portrays an industrious, typically white male immigrant who rises from obscurity to create an economic empire. This archetype has roots in 19th-century America, with figures such as Andrew Carnegie embodying the ideal.

Chanel’s story flips this gendered narrative on its head. Starting from humble beginnings, she turned her life into a carefully crafted legend. Orphaned and raised in a convent, she took those early struggles and spun them into a mix of fact and fiction that defined her image. She controlled every detail – even designing her own gravestone.

A path forged through independence

Unlike heirs who build on family wealth, Chanel started with nothing. Lacking formal training in couture, she relied on creativity and her vision of women. Her first shop was funded with the help of a lover, but she repaid him. Even her partnership with the Wertheimer brothers, who helped scale Chanel No. 5, was carefully negotiated to retain control over her brand.

Chanel’s wartime actions, including collaborations with the Nazi regime, remain a contentious part of her legacy. Yet, it’s worth noting that she was not alone among French business leaders in making morally questionable choices during World War II. The scrutiny she faces today often exceeds that directed at her contemporaries.

Gabrielle Chanel stands out as a true self-made woman – arguably one of the first in capitalist history. Her rival, Elsa Schiaparelli, can’t make the same claim. Schiaparelli was born into privilege, with significant social and economic capital, and married a count before launching her business. Even in the United States, where entrepreneurship flourished, contemporaries such as Helena Rubinstein don’t fully fit the self-made mould – Rubinstein built her empire with the help of her husband.

The closest contender to Chanel’s title might be Elizabeth Arden. A nurse from rural Canada, Arden moved to New York to carve out her fortune. She opened her first beauty shop with her own savings and expanded it into a global brand and franchise. While loans helped fuel her growth – likely facilitated by her marriage to a banker – her husband’s attempts to impose his friends and ideas on the business underscored their dynamic. Coco Chanel, ever fiercely independent, would never have tolerated such interference.

The big names

If Chanel represents the myth of the self-made woman, why isn’t she celebrated that way? Would her achievements have been more widely recognised if she had built her empire in the United States? The answer is far from clear.

Before exploring the American angle, let’s take a closer look at the French context. Despite globalisation of culture and economies, certain myths don’t cross borders easily. In France, there’s a noticeable disinterest in the stories of entrepreneurs. How many people can name the founders of Carrefour or Seb? L’Oréal’s founder is somewhat known, but mostly due to the scandals of his descendants. Family business sagas, such as those of the Mulliez clan, garner more attention. Yet, the glorification of entrepreneurs – especially those who start with nothing – is largely absent. Even initiatives such as French Tech Nation and efforts by BPI France haven’t sparked a cultural shift.

For women entrepreneurs, there have been attempts to create female “role models,” but the focus is often on contemporary figures. Instead of drawing on the successes of the past, the spotlight is placed on profiles still in development. While this approach boosts visibility for current entrepreneurs, does it inspire the next generation? Research suggests it might not.

Chanel, despite being the subject of countless biographies in France, is rarely held up as an example in entrepreneurship courses or programs aimed at fostering female leadership. In France, the myth of the female entrepreneur remains unfinished – and the idea of the self-made woman is even further behind.

The paradox of the self-made man

Would Chanel’s achievements have been more celebrated if she had operated in the United States? Perhaps not. The American myth of the “self-made man” struggles to adapt to gender and contemporary realities. As Catano notes, the archetype elevates individuals who challenge societal norms while paradoxically reinforcing a rigid, masculine ideal that excludes women.

In the 1950s, when Chanel’s empire was thriving, the prevailing image of women in America was the housewife – a stark contrast to Chanel’s commanding role as a businesswoman. Even during the “working girl” era of the 1970s and 1980s, Chanel’s success might have seemed too audacious. Her story challenges traditional gender roles in ways that remain uncomfortable even today.

A myth still to be written

Chanel might be the ultimate symbol of a “self-made woman,” but that narrative remains largely untold. In fact, the idea of the “self-made man” itself – the classic rags-to-riches archetype – feels increasingly out of step with the times.

Today’s cultural spotlight favours contemporary role models over historical figures, as evidenced by Forbes’s power rankings. Modern entrepreneurial icons often come with pedigrees tied to elite institutions – Mark Zuckerberg from Harvard, Larry Page from Stanford. Even Elon Musk, who claims to have worked his way through college, benefited from a head start in social and financial capital. These realities undermine the self-made narrative, particularly in today’s tech-driven economy. The focus has shifted from celebrating humble beginnings to examining the broader impact of these empires.

Chanel, however, made a profound impact through her work. Her designs helped liberate women from the constraints of corsets, offering practical yet elegant alternatives that redefined fashion. But while her influence was revolutionary, social engagement wasn’t a hallmark of her career. Chanel made bold, sometimes ruthless decisions, such as shutting down her business and laying off her entire workforce during World War II. To be fair, few of her contemporaries demonstrated significant societal commitments either.

Gabrielle Chanel, an inspiration

“Different times, different values”? If the myth of the “self-made man” is losing relevance – challenged for its “self-made” ideal and its inherently masculine framing – Chanel’s story remains a lesson in resilience and innovation, one that deserves attention in both France and the United States.

Her life unfolded during the transformative 1920s, a period of newfound freedoms for women, later stifled by war and authoritarian regimes. Chanel navigated dominated business spheres with skill, never allowing herself to be dismissed or pigeonholed. Her career highlights the importance of partnerships and the reality that few entrepreneurs achieve greatness alone.

Chanel’s journey also offers a guide to securing funding and maintaining autonomy – skills critical to any aspiring entrepreneur. In many ways, she predated post-feminism by embodying its principles. She redefined entrepreneurship as a space where collaboration with men didn’t compromise her control or vision. Chanel’s legacy not only reshaped fashion but also challenged entrenched social hierarchies, proving that women could thrive and innovate in the entrepreneurial world.

Séverine Le Loarne-Lemaire, Professor, Head of the FERE Research Chair (Female Entrepreneurship for a Renewed Economy) Habilitée à diriger des recherches en sciences de gestion, Grenoble École de Management (GEM)

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

We first met Martyn in 2013 when he was 54 and working as a professor at a UK university. He cut a sharp figure in a black two-piece suit, a bright red shirt with cufflinks, a matching tie and a pocket square. We were meeting to talk about fashionable mature men’s clothing habits.

We spent nearly two hours looking at some of Martyn’s most treasured fashion possessions and chatting about his interest in clothing and style. It’s not very often in research that participants are so keen and engaged, and Martyn’s passion for stylish clothing really shone through. This interest started early during his school years, when he used to unpick the seams of his school uniform.

Martyn was one of five British men included in our research, all aged between 54 and 63 from the baby boomer generation (people born between 1946 and 1964). Our first study, conducted in 2013, consisted of interviews and inventories of their wardrobes.

One of the insights from this was that, through years of interest and engagement with fashion, these men had accumulated considerable knowledge and expertise in how to best dress their bodies – and amassed large archives of both functional and iconic items of clothing.

As a result, the way they bought and wore their clothes was rooted in practical need and emotional connection, rather than unthinking accumulation or impulsive purchasing. This is something other people, including younger generations, could be inspired by.

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Now, almost a decade later, we’ve caught up with three of our interviewees again, conducting analyses and interpretations of their wardrobes as well as a series of interviews. While their clothing styles, and even some of the items, were pretty much the same as in 2013, the way they consume and engage with fashion has shifted.

These men now shop less, prioritising quality over quantity. Although their often flamboyant appearance might suggest otherwise, this rationalised approach to purchasing is in step with fashion minimalism – the trend for slower and more considered clothing consumption, while rejecting the idea of clothes shopping as a leisure activity. As Ian, a retired 70-year-old businessman, reflected:

I think I probably have built up such a wardrobe of classic pieces that I really only need to buy some small additions now. Nothing major. If I do see some classic pieces that I love, I will still buy them even now. But I have certainly slowed down with buying, and looking at the [men’s fashion] magazines.

It’s important to note we were talking to the men again at a time of major changes in their lives. Retirement had brought shifts in their lifestyle, such as more leisure time and new hobbies. This meant they were dressing for different contexts – no longer the office, but for a day at home or evening down the pub.

For these three men, aged 65 to 74, their changing bodies are also important to how they now experience clothes – from minor aches and pains to health issues that affect their mobility. As a result, their clothes are required to fulfil different types of need – balancing comfort with style, avoiding items that could restrict movement or impede confidence.

However, their commitment to expressing their identities through stylish clothing remains strong, flying in the face of commonly held assumptions that men stop caring about their appearance at a certain time in life.

Both our studies suggest the opposite. Indeed, when we spoke to Martyn again in 2024, his fashion sensibilities had only sharpened. He was the image of sartorial elegance, arriving for his interview in a checked suit accessorised with a trilby, tie pin and lapel clip, sleeve garters, a carved walking stick and handmade leather brogues. Martyn described his fashion choices as follows:

I’ve always got a smart shirt, reasonably smart trousers, proper shoes and, if it’s to be cold, a waistcoat with a pocket watch. And that’s me, sitting on my own, typing or just playing with the cat.

Or take Kevin, a 74-year-old retired lecturer devoted to the mod subculture’s clothing aesthetics, including sporting suits and tailored coats. His fashion archives consist of some incredible pieces that have been in his wardrobe for more than 20 years:

I used to wear [suits] all the time, irrespective of whether it was a formal occasion or work. That was my style for years and years – but less so now. My main social life revolves around my local pub, which is not a place really to get dressed up to go to – although I do, sometimes. I am fed up of wearing the same clothes.

Then he added, with a grin: “Once a mod, always a mod!”

Despite some major changes to their lifestyles, the three men have maintained their interest in clothing and its importance in expressing their unique identities – offering an interesting angle to the growing academic interest in menswear and men’s fashion. Their slower and more considered consumption of fashion presents food for thought in relation to the role and value of clothes in all stages of life.

Ania Sadkowska, Lecturer in Fashion, Coventry University and Katherine Townsend, Reader in Fashion and Textile Crafts, Nottingham Trent University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

You’re standing at the centre of an expansive art gallery, overwhelmed by what’s in front of you: panel after panel of stupendous works – densely-written labels affixed next to each piece. These labels may offer a window into the artist’s intention, or the social and historical context of the work.

Without any background information, how do you make the most of your visit? Do you turn to the curatorial wisdom in the accompanying text? Or can the art be experienced just as profoundly, if not more so, without any external guidance?

We asked five experts – and their answers suggest art may be witnessed in as many wide and varied ways as it is created.

Noor Gillani, Digital Culture Editor, The Conversation

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Startups have always been at the forefront of innovation. But factors such as artificial intelligence (AI), sustainability and decentralisation are set to reshape industries in 2025.

Businesses are defined as startups when they are in the initial stages of development. They are characterised by the potential for rapid growth and external funding. And they are also sensitive to economic shifts and investment uncertainty.

For Australia and New Zealand, startups play an important role in overcoming geographic and market constraints. They can also help address both countries’ persistent productivity challenges.

Industry body Startup Genome estimates Sydney’s startup ecosystem was worth US$72 billion in 2024 with more than 3,000 startups. New Zealand’s ecosystem is valued at $9 billion across 2,400 startups.

Both Australia and New Zealand have weathered global challenges such as recent slowdowns in investment activity when startups struggled to secure funding.

But venture investments in both countries recovered well in 2024 compared to elsewhere. And the outlook for 2025 is cautiously optimistic.

Global trends in 2025

As global trends reshape industries, local startups could take the lead. Here are eight key trends set to define their path in 2025.

Generative AI: driving creativity and efficiency

Generative AI – a type of artificial intelligence technology that can produce text, images and audio – helps firms to automate complex tasks, create personalised user experiences and lower costs.

The challenge will be to balance rapid innovation with ethical considerations around data privacy, bias and environmental impact.

Businesses that demonstrate transparency and accountability are more likely to stand out in an increasingly competitive field.

Sustainability: a competitive advantage

Sustainability has evolved from a compliance requirement to a strategic benefit.

Globally, carbon capture and green technology are attracting record investments. Sustainability drives some of the most innovative solutions in Australia and New Zealand, where climate resilience is a critical issue.

The rise of sustainable startups aligns with growing consumer expectations and government incentives.

Health tech: the personalisation revolution

Health tech is undergoing a profound shift, moving from reactive care to proactive, personalised solutions.

In 2025, personalisation will continue to influence healthcare. Startups using AI and data analytics to improve outcomes and accessibility are likely to see growth.

Remote work evolution

The shift to remote and hybrid work has reshaped business operations worldwide. This is particularly the case in the aftermath of the global pandemic.

Tools that enhance productivity and enable startups and big companies alike to build global teams will help businesses access talent across borders.

Decentralisation: blockchain beyond cryptocurrency

Blockchain technology is moving beyond its roots in cryptocurrency and is now integral to transparency, efficiency and data security.

Decentralised applications, which run on blockchain technology and rely on peer-to-peer networks, are changing how businesses do things in areas like finance, healthcare and entertainment.

Space tech: scaling the final frontier

Space technology is no longer the exclusive domain of government agencies. Startups such as New Zealand’s Rocket Lab are increasing access to space.

Australian company Fleet Space Technologies is deploying nanosatellites to improve connectivity in remote industries like mining and agriculture.

Diversity in funding and leadership

Globally, funding disparities remain a challenge for underrepresented groups in entrepreneurship, including women, Indigenous peoples and minority communities.

Startups led by these groups often receive a fraction of the funding allocated to their counterparts, limiting their ability to scale and compete.

Female-led startups, for example, attract less than 3% of venture capital. Indigenous and minority entrepreneurs frequently face unique barriers such as limited access to networks and culturally tailored support.

Programs designed to address these inequities can play an transformative role. These initiatives include those aimed at women founders, offering mentorship, funding and business development resources. Similar programs for cultural groups providing funding and culturally aligned advisory services are also important.

In 2025, systemic barriers will continue to attract attention, with increasing demands for startups to be more diverse and inclusive.

Alternative financing models

In the face of a continuing economic downturn, startups will likely continue to explore alternative financing models to fund growth without sacrificing significant equity.

Traditional venture capital often leaves gaps, especially for early-stage ventures or those in underserved sectors.

Bootstrapping, where founders self-fund and grow sustainably, continues to be a cornerstone for many entrepreneurs. However, crowdfunding platforms are evolving rapidly. Other options allow startups to engage directly with their communities and raise significant capital while building customer loyalty.

In 2025, new fintech developments and AI-driven platforms could streamline access to grants, loans and investment opportunities, making funding faster and more accessible.

These changes are set to expand the range of options for founders, reducing reliance on traditional venture capital and creating a more inclusive and dynamic funding ecosystem.

Startups as catalysts for change

Startups will continue to experience greater than usual uncertainty and must navigate the complexities of 2025, tackling global challenges with local ingenuity.

They will continue to reshape industries and address critical economic and environmental issues, harnessing generative AI, advancing green technologies and innovating financing models.

However, to succeed, startups must prioritise inclusivity and support innovative funding approaches to ensure broad-based participation in technology-driven growth.

Rod McNaughton, Professor of Entrepreneurship, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Ichthyosaurs were reptiles that swam in the seas during the time of the dinosaurs. They evolved separately around 250 million years ago, possibly from a crocodile-like ancestor, to resemble fish and modern dolphins.

Then, they went extinct around 94 million years ago.

In 2010, palaeontologist James Crampton discovered a partial ichthyosaur skeleton while working on Coverham Station in the Clarence Valley, inland North Canterbury. This specimen dates back to the Cenomanian stage during the Late Cretaceous epoch just under 100 million years ago.

The skeleton was encased within a hard concretion and was taken from Coverham to be stored and catalogued at GNS Science until 2021. It was identified as an ichthyosaur because of the characteristic hourglass shaped vertebrae.

Our detailed study now sheds further light on this specimen, which is more complete than any other known ichthyosaur skeleton from New Zealand.

Before this discovery, the only Cretaceous ichthyosaur material found in New Zealand was a small fragment of a jaw and a few vertebrae, all from different individuals, and all from the North Island. This find significantly advanced our understanding of these dolphin-like reptiles in Aotearoa New Zealand.

Medical scanner reveals bones within rocks

The ichthyosaurs of New Zealand have remained poorly understood due to the lack of well-preserved specimens. This fossil promises to change the narrative.

Expert fossil expert Al Mannering meticulously prepared the find so it could be scanned using a medical CT scanner to image the bones that were too difficult to prepare.

Each bone was then rendered in 3D to study its morphology using a technique known as virtual preparation. The fossils included a part of the base of the skull, parts of the shoulder and front flipper, as well as a complete left pelvis and most of a hind flipper. Many vertebrae and flipper bones were also present in the concretion.

This discovery is particularly exciting because the specimen is about 98 million years old. This is about four million years before the final extinction of ichthyosaurs, which makes it one of the youngest semi-complete ichthyosaur skeletons known.

The fossil is essential for understanding ichthyosaur diversity in New Zealand. These ancient reptiles have not been studied as comprehensively as in the northern hemisphere due to the fragmentary nature of most specimens.

The pelvis is also very rarely preserved in Cretaceous ichthyosaurs, especially this close to their final demise. This provides much needed additional data about what they looked like and how they differed from species around the world. We can see that it was different from the hip bones of other species.

Surprising evolutionary links

Although the specimen is too fragmentary to be formally named, it exhibits several distinctive features.

These include an extremely simplified base of the skull and a scapula (shoulder blade) with a prominently flared head and a strap-like shaft. There is also a distinct furrow on one of the pelvic bones, something not seen in any other species.

The well-preserved pelvis and hind fin of this specimen provide valuable information, contributing to our limited knowledge about Cretaceous ichthyosaurs.

Together, these characteristics indicate this specimen is part of the family Platypterygiidae and most closely related to the Australian species Platypterygius australis and various other European Cretaceous ichthyosaurs.

Interestingly, this specimen appears to be unrelated to the ichthyosaurs of Western Gondwana, in modern-day South America. This was unexpected, as 98 million years ago South America and New Zealand were certainly closer to each other than to Europe.

This suggests the species in New Zealand may have remained separate from those in South America, hinting at potential regionalism among the Gondwanan Cretaceous ichthyosaur populations.

This contradicts what is seen in the slightly younger fossils of other marine reptiles such as plesiosaurs and mosasaurs, which show evolutionary links between South America, Antarctica and New Zealand. It is possible these links began after ichthyosaurs became extinct.

This discovery enriches the known diversity of southern hemisphere and Australasian ichthyosaurs. It highlights the more regionalised distribution of these marine reptiles around the margins of Gondwana in the late Cretaceous.

Paul Scofield, Adjunct Professor in Palaeontology, University of Canterbury; George Young, PhD student in Palaeontology, James Cook University, and Vanesa De Pietri, Senior Research Fellow in Palaeontology, University of Canterbury

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In a world where information flows freely, it’s easy to forget that, for centuries, knowledge was much harder to come by. Imagine living in a time when the internet didn’t exist, books were scarce, libraries were few, and most people couldn’t even read.

This was the world of Isidore of Seville, a man dedicated to gathering and sharing knowledge to be passed down for generations.

Thanks to his work, he was named the patron saint of the internet in 1997 by Pope John Paul II, recognising his impact on knowledge and communication.

Importantly, understanding Isidore’s life and work also helps us navigate the murky online world of lies – and find information we can trust.

Isidore’s world and the ‘Dark Ages’

Isidore was a bishop and scholar who lived in Seville in what is now Spain during a time we often call the “Dark Ages”, roughly 500–1000 AD. After the fall of the Roman Empire, much of Europe was in chaos – as if the lights had been turned off.

Political instability, war and disease disrupted learning and culture. Many people were illiterate, and many classical works from ancient Greece and Rome risked being lost forever.

In this world of limited access to learning, Isidore stood out. He wanted to make knowledge more accessible, especially to Christians.

He saw preserving and sharing information as essential to keeping civilisation alive and thriving. To do this, he wrote his most famous work, Etymologiae, which became a go-to book for centuries.

What was Etymologiae?

Think of Etymologiae as one of the first encyclopedias. An encyclopedia is a book that collects information on many topics, often arranged alphabetically, making it easy to find answers.

Isidore’s work covered everything from language, science and geography to theology, the study of God. His goal was to make ancient knowledge easier to find and understand. He wanted to save the best ideas of the past and bring them into his present time.

In Etymologiae, he drew from well-known classical authors such as Aristotle, Cicero and Pliny, alongside Christian writers such as Augustine and Jerome. This book became essential for medieval students and scholars because it saved so much knowledge from being lost.

Later, Isidore’s work was widely used in schools across Europe and helped many people learn about topics they might otherwise never know about. It laid a foundation for preserving ancient ideas through the Middle Ages and beyond.

The power of language in Isidore’s work

For Isidore, words were powerful. He argued that understanding the origin, or etymology, of words gave people insight into the true meaning of things. This focus on language is why he called his book Etymologiae. He saw language as a bridge that connected people to knowledge.

But Isidore went beyond just defining words. He also explained concepts from nature, science and history, making sure people had a well-rounded understanding of the world.

In a time when superstitions and beliefs in supernatural forces often influenced people’s view of natural events, Isidore promoted a rational approach. He wanted people to know the facts about their world.

Isidore’s role in education and the church

Isidore wasn’t just a writer.

As a senior leader in the Christian Church, he played an important role in both religion and education. He set up “cathedral schools” for training future priests. These schools would later inspire the first European universities, where students could study a wide range of subjects.

For Isidore education was essential for everyone, not just the church’s leaders.

By promoting the seven “liberal arts” – subjects such as grammar, logic, rhetoric, geometry, arithmetic, astronomy and music – he helped create a model for what would eventually become medieval university education. His ideas about learning spread across Europe, inspiring others to value education as a path to both knowledge and faith.

The patron saint of the internet

So, how did Isidore, who lived 1,400 years ago, become the patron saint of the internet? His Etymologiae was, in many ways, the internet of his time – a collection of facts and explanations from various sources.

Just as the internet today connects us to all kinds of information, Isidore’s work aimed to make learning easier for people of his era.

In naming him the patron saint of the internet, the Catholic Church recognised Isidore’s efforts to collect, organise, and share knowledge. Like the internet, Etymologiae allowed ideas to flow across generations, even when people had limited access to books or formal education.

Isidore’s lasting legacy

Isidore’s influence didn’t end with his life. His ideas spread across Europe, especially during the Carolingian Renaissance of the eighth and ninth centuries – a time when scholars worked to revive learning and culture. Etymologiae became a popular text in monasteries and cathedral schools.

In later centuries, scholars relied on his work to understand classical literature, science and theology.

Today, Isidore’s dedication to knowledge serves as a reminder of the importance of preserving and sharing reliable information.

Just as Isidore saw his work as a way to preserve knowledge, we now live in an age of easy access to information. But not all of it is true.

He believed learning should guide us toward wise choices and serve a greater good.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Researcher, Historian, Australian Catholic University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

May Gibbs is a household name in Australia. Her most famous book, Tales of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie, published in 1918, has never been out of print. Chances are you have read her work, or had it read to you. You’ll almost certainly have seen her personified native flora illustrations, which these days adorn everything from tea towels to pyjamas.

But have you heard of her predecessor, Louisa Anne Meredith? Like Gibbs, who began to publish in the decades following Meredith’s death in 1895, she drew her literary inspiration from the Australian landscape and crafted her own “brand” in its image.

Unlike Gibbs, though, Meredith’s illustrations were naturalistic. She rendered native Australian flora and fauna as characters for children’s literature, arguably beginning this tradition. But she didn’t “cutesify” them, or give them human features.

As researchers, we believe Meredith’s work for children should be recognised today for its innovations in genre: blending science writing, travel writing, poetry, and fairy tale. It is also anchored in a desire to shape the Australian child into the ideal young colonialist, by framing the land as unoccupied and in need of European care and management.

Dedicated to her craft

Louisa Anne Meredith (born Twamley in 1812) was an author and illustrator, born to a precariously middle-class family in Birmingham. Her father, Thomas Twamley, was a hard-working corn miller and dealer. Louisa’s mother (who shares her name) married him much to the dismay of her prominent family, the Merediths. They were descended from Welsh nobility.

At 22, Twamley’s first collection, Poems (1835), was positively received. English critic Leigh Hunt sang her praises in his 1837 poem, Blue-Stocking Revels, or The Feast of the Violets:

Then came young Twamley,
Nice sensitive thing,
Whose pen and whose pencil
give promise like spring.

By her mid-20s, Twamley had a handful of books in print under her maiden name, as well as a series of prints, sketches, paintings, colour plates and miniatures. She was entirely dedicated to her craft. Her fresh style of publishing original poems alongside accomplished naturalistic illustrations was something new.

Tasmanian life, for English readers

Twamley’s accomplishments were numerous by the time she married her maternal cousin, Charles Meredith. The couple emigrated to Australia in 1839. Meredith’s first book published from the colony, Notes and Sketches of New South Wales (1844), offered readers a “small fund of information on common every-day topics relating to these antipodean climes”. Louisa’s prose was accompanied by her original illustrations of colonial life.

By 1840, she settled in Tasmania and made the island her chief literary concern. She published a series of books depicting Tasmanian life, intended for readers there and back in England. In addition to her writing, Louisa was an active conservationist, as a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

While Meredith is largely remembered for her botanical illustrations and travel writing, she was prolific as a children’s writer. She published a range of books for children set in Tasmania, created from her colonial perspective. Public knowledge of her contributions to Australian children’s literary history is scarce outside Tasmania.

Meredith’s writing for children includes Loved and Lost! The True Story of a Short Life (1860), Grandmamma’s Verse Book for Young Australia (1878), Tasmanian Friends and Foes, Feathered, Furred, and Finned (1880), and Waratah Rhymes for Young Australia (1891).

Her work found young readers in both Australia and England. Her writing often dramatises this connection. Waratah Rhymes, for example, features a dedication in which she signs off from London in 1891 “to the young Colonists of to-day”, inviting their “warm welcome”.

Meredith’s contribution to the history of Australian children’s literature rests in her desire to write an account of “island life” for the white Australian colonial child. On the one hand, she reconfigured familiar European genres, such as the adventure novel (she was a fan of Gulliver’s Travels) and fairy tale. On the other, her aesthetic was distinctively colonial, expressed through Tasmanian fauna and flora.

In these books, the settler child is positioned as inquisitor and mini colonialist. Their discovery of the landscape through fictional encounters positions them to craft the nation in their image.

They reflect the “recurring narratives of nation-building” identified by Goorie and Koori critic and poet, Evelyn Araluen, as typical of Australian children’s literature. Araluen actively dismantles those narratives in her Stella prize-winning collection, Dropbear.

‘Cutesifying the bush’ vs naturalism

There is a striking resemblance between the works and interests of Meredith and Gibbs, who was also a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Yet there are also significant differences.

Meredith was interested in science. She wanted to render scientific concepts legible for young readers by, as she explained in Our Wild Flowers (1839), giving “a little pleasant information, without any difficult terms, or unexplained names”.

While Gibbs had her own successful career as a botanical illustrator, in her writing for children she concocted a magic formula for cutesifying the bush. Her style exemplifies what Araluen calls “intricate forms of kitsch”. Where Meredith’s illustrations for children take inspiration from naturalists such as John Gould, Gibbs puts bums on gumnuts and reins on seahorses.

While their aesthetics are very different, the work of both Meredith and Gibbs reflects a settler-colonial view of the environment that aims to domesticate the bush and manage land.

Meredith does this by importing the British-colonial apparatus of taxonomy, scientific vocabulary and botanical illustration, to order and explain a landscape perceived as being both wild and ripe for cultivation.

Many scholars, including Araluen, have argued Gibbs’ work embodies some of the worst aspects of colonisation. Her imagery and narrative, argues childhood researcher Joanne Faulkner, “reimagined the bush as a ‘home’ for colonizers, essentially ‘indigenising’ them in the image of white gumnut babies”.

These national emblems, embraced by many non-Indigenous Australians, were crafted on stolen land.

Exporting Australia’s children’s stories

In 1884, the Tasmanian government awarded Meredith a pension of £100 (the equivalent of around A$17,000 today) for “distinguished literary and artistic services” to the island.

Since Meredith, Australian children’s books and media have become lucrative exports. Typically, they sell an optimistic image of the sun-drenched “lucky country” to local and international audiences.

Meredith was cannily attuned to the importance of trading a desirable image of her colonial setting. She referenced Australia’s “sunny clime” and “fertile hill[s] and glade” in Waratah Rhymes.

Both Meredith and Gibbs were successful in the business of their writing, explicitly considering their work’s marketability. Meredith had her own monogram branding. She advertised the availability of Grandmama’s Verse Book for international distribution.

Gibbs commissioned a set of Gumnut Babies postcards, anticipating what would become a merchandising empire (the royalties support the works of The Northcott Society and Cerebral Palsy Alliance). It now includes crockery, bedspreads, plushies, pyjamas, stationery and more.

Last year, the Royal Society of Tasmania established the Louisa Anne Meredith Medal to be awarded every four years to a “person who excels in the field of arts or humanities, or both, with outstanding contributions evidenced by creative outputs”.

The Australian children’s literary market is just as internationally saleable as it was in Meredith’s time. Today, the global phenomenon of Bluey continues her legacy of charming children (and adults) around the world through personified Australian animals.

Lauren A. Weber, Lecturer in Literature, Language and Literacy, University of Wollongong and Sara Fernandes, Lecturer in English and Theatre Studies, The University of Melbourne

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Reformer pilates is steadily growing in popularity, with new studios opening regularly in major cities all over the world.

But what exactly is reformer pilates? And how does it compare with regular pilates and other types of exercise?

Classes aren’t cheap so let’s look at the potential benefits and drawbacks to help you decide if it’s right for you.

Pilates with special equipment

Pilates is a mode of exercise that focuses on core stability and flexibility, while also addressing muscular strength and endurance, balance and general fitness. At first glance, it might look a bit like yoga, with some more traditional weight training components thrown in.

Reformer pilates uses a piece of equipment called a “reformer”. This looks like a narrow bed that slides along a carriage, has straps to hold onto, and has adjustable springs that add resistance to movement. You perform pilates on the reformer to target specific muscle groups and movement patterns.

The reformer was first designed to help people recover from injuries. However, it has now become common for general fitness and even sports performance.

Unlike normal pilates, also known as “mat pilates”, which only uses your body weight, the reformer adds resistance, meaning you can change the difficulty according to your current level of fitness.

This not only provides a way to overload your muscles, but can make the exercise session more aerobically demanding, which has been proposed to improve cardiovascular fitness.

What are the benefits of reformer pilates?

Despite being around for decades, there is surprisingly little research looking at the benefits of reformer pilates. However, what we have seen so far suggests it has a similar effect to other modes of exercise.

Reformer pilates has been shown to help with weight loss, cause some small increases in muscle mass, and enhance cognitive function. All of these benefits are commonly seen when combining weight training and cardio into the same routine.

Similarly, among older adults, it has been shown to improve strength, enhance flexibility and may even reduce the risk of falling.

From a rehabilitation perspective, there is some evidence indicating reformer pilates can improve shoulder health and function, reduce lower back pain and increase flexibility.

Finally, there is some evidence suggesting a single session of reformer pilates can improve two key markers of cardiovascular health, being flow-mediated dilation and pulse wave velocity, while also improving cholesterol and insulin levels. This suggests reformer pilates could lead to long-term improvements in heart and metabolic health, although more research is needed to confirm this.

However, there are some key things to consider when discussing these benefits. Most of this research is quite exploratory and comes from a very small number of studies. So we do not know whether these findings will apply to everyone.

Very few studies compared reformer pilates to other types of exercise. Therefore, while it can improve most aspects of health and function, it’s unlikely reformer pilates provides the optimal mode of exercise for each individual component of physical fitness.

Traditional weight training, for example, will likely cause larger improvements in strength than reformer pilates. Similarly, stretching will probably make you more flexible. And running or cycling will make you fitter.

However, if you want a type of exercise that gives you broad overall health benefits, it could be a good option.

What are the downsides of reformer pilates

Reformer pilates is not for everyone.

First and foremost, classes can be expensive compared to other fitness options. You need to be doing at least two to three sessions per week of any type of exercise to maximise the benefits. So even if you can find a class for A$20 or $30, paying for two or three classes a week (or buying a weekly or monthly subscription) is a significant outlay.

Second, it’s not as accessible as other exercise. Even if you can afford it, not every town or suburb has a reformer pilates studio.

Third, the effectiveness of your workout is likely to be impacted by how competent your instructor is. There are a host of different pilates qualifications you can get in Australia, and some take much less time than others. With this in mind, it might be best to look for accredited pilates instructors, although this will further reduce the number of options you have available.

Finally, there is a learning curve. While you will get better over time, the exercise will likely be less effective during those first few weeks (or months) when you are getting used to the machine and the movements.

Is it right for you?

Reformer pilates can be a great addition to your fitness routine, especially if you’re looking for a low-impact way to build strength and flexibility.

But if you have more specific goals, you might need a more specific mode of exercise. For example, if you need to get stronger to improve your ability to manage your daily life, then strength training is probably your best bet. Likewise, if your goal is to run a marathon, you will get more specific benefits from running.

The cost and availability of reformer pilates make it less accessible for some people. With this in mind, if you are after similar benefits at a lower price point, mat pilates might be a better option. Not only does it have evidence suggesting it can improve strength and fitness, but it is something you can do at home if you find a good resource (YouTube could be a good starting point here).

Hunter Bennett, Lecturer in Exercise Science, University of South Australia; Jacinta Brinsley, Exercise Physiologist and Postdoctoral Researcher in the Alliance for Research in Nutrition, Exercise and Activity, University of South Australia, and Lewis Ingram, Lecturer in Physiotherapy, University of South Australia

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Bob Dylan biopic “A Complete Unknown,” starring Timothée Chalamet, focuses on Dylan’s early 1960s transition from idiosyncratic singer of folk songs to internationally renowned singer-songwriter.

As a music historian, I’ve always respected one decision of Dylan’s in particular – one that kicked off the young artist’s most turbulent and significant period of creative activity.

Sixty years ago, on Halloween Night 1964, a 23-year-old Dylan took the stage at New York City’s Philharmonic Hall. He had become a star within the niche genre of revivalist folk music. But by 1964 Dylan was building a much larger fanbase through performing and recording his own songs.

Dylan presented a solo set, mixing material he had previously recorded with some new songs. Representatives from his label, Columbia Records, were on hand to record the concert, with the intent to release the live show as his fifth official album.

It would have been a logical successor to Dylan’s four other Columbia albums. With the exception of one track, “Corrina, Corrina,” those albums, taken together, featured exclusively solo acoustic performances.

But at the end of 1964, Columbia shelved the recording of the Philharmonic Hall concert. Dylan had decided that he wanted to make a different kind of music.

From Minnesota to Manhattan

Two-and-a-half years earlier, Dylan, then just 20 years old, started earning acclaim within New York City’s folk music community. At the time, the folk music revival was taking place in cities across the country, but Manhattan’s Greenwich Village was the movement’s beating heart.

Mingling with and drawing inspiration from other folk musicians, Dylan, who had recently moved to Manhattan from Minnesota, secured his first gig at Gerde’s Folk City on April 11, 1961. Dylan appeared in various other Greenwich Village music clubs, performing folk songs, ballads and blues. He aspired to become, like his hero Woody Guthrie, a self-contained artist who could employ vocals, guitar and harmonica to interpret the musical heritage of “the old, weird America,” an adage coined by critic Greil Marcus to describe Dylan’s early repertoire, which was composed of material learned from prewar songbooks, records and musicians.

While Dylan’s versions of older songs were undeniably captivating, he later acknowledged that some of his peers in the early 1960s folk music scene – specifically, Mike Seeger – were better at replicating traditional instrumental and vocal styles.

Dylan, however, realized he had an unrivaled facility for writing and performing new songs.

In October 1961, veteran talent scout John Hammond signed Dylan to record for Columbia. His eponymous debut, released in March 1962, featured interpretations of traditional ballads and blues, with just two original compositions. That album sold only 5,000 copies, leading some Columbia officials to refer to the Dylan contract as “Hammond’s Folly.”

Full steam ahead

Flipping the formula of its predecessor, Dylan’s 1963 follow-up album, “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan,” offered 11 originals by Dylan and just two traditional songs. The powerful collection combined songs about relationships with original protest songs, including his breakthrough “Blowin’ in the Wind.”

“The Times They Are A-Changin’,” his third release, exclusively showcased Dylan’s own compositions.

Dylan’s creative output continued. As he testified in “Restless Farewell,” the closing track for “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” “My feet are now fast / and point away from the past.”

Released just six months after “The Times,” Dylan’s fourth Columbia album, “Another Side of Bob Dylan,” featured solo acoustic recordings of original songs that were lyrically adventurous and less focused on current events. As suggested in his song “My Back Pages,” he was now rejecting the notion that he could – or should – speak for his generation.

Bringing it all together

By the end of 1964, Dylan yearned to break away permanently from the constraints of the folk genre – and from the notion of “genre” altogether. He wanted to subvert the expectations of audiences and to rebel against music industry forces intent on pigeonholing him and his work.

The Philharmonic Hall concert went off without a hitch, but Dylan refused to let Columbia turn it into an album. The recording wouldn’t generate an official release for another four decades.

Instead, in January 1965, Dylan entered Columbia’s Studio A to record his fifth album, “Bringing It All Back Home.” But this time, he embraced the electric rock sound that had energized America in the wake of Beatlemania. That album introduced songs with stream-of-consciousness lyrics featuring surreal imagery, and on many of the songs Dylan performed with the accompaniment of a rock band.

“Bringing It All Back Home,” released in March 1965, set the tone for Dylan’s next two albums: “Highway 61 Revisited,” in August 1965, and “Blonde on Blonde,” in June 1966. Critics and fans have long considered these latter three albums – pulsing with what the singer-songwriter himself called “that thin, that wild mercury sound” – as among the greatest albums of the rock era.

On July 25, 1965, at the Newport Folk Festival, Dylan invited members of the Paul Butterfield Blues Band on stage to accompany three songs. Since the genre expectations for folk music during that era involved acoustic instrumentation, the audience was unprepared for Dylan’s loud performances. Some critics deemed the set an act of heresy, an affront to folk music propriety. The next year, Dylan embarked on a tour of the U.K., and an audience member at the Manchester stop infamously heckled him for abandoning folk music, crying out, “Judas!”

Yet the creative risks undertaken by Dylan during this period inspired countless other musicians: rock acts such as the Beatles, the Animals and the Byrds; pop acts such as Stevie Wonder, Johnny Rivers and Sonny and Cher; and country singers such as Johnny Cash.

Acknowledging the bar that Dylan’s songwriting set, Cash, in his liner notes to Dylan’s 1969 album “Nashville Skyline,” wrote, “Here-in is a hell of a poet.”

Enlivened by Dylan’s example, many musicians went on to experiment with their own sound and style, while artists across a range of genres would pay homage to Dylan through performing and recording his songs.

In 2016, Dylan received the Nobel Prize in literature “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” His early exploration of this tradition can be heard on his first four Columbia albums – records that laid the groundwork for Dylan’s august career.

Back in 1964, Dylan was the talk of Greenwich Village.

But now, because he never rested on his laurels, he’s the toast of the world.

This article was updated to correct the name of album “Blonde on Blonde.”

Ted Olson, Professor of Appalachian Studies and Bluegrass, Old-Time and Roots Music Studies, East Tennessee State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Pompeii: Inside a Lost City at the National Museum of Australia in Canberra depicts life in the flourishing Roman city of Pompeii before it was destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE.

It pictures an ancient city frozen in time, eerily preserved by volcanic ash. It also tells the story of the city’s rediscovery in the late 16th century and the archaeological excavations that have been underway ever since.

The exhibition’s representation of a natural disaster that has reached timeless proportions has the potential to say a lot about the risks and costs of the urgent environmental crises facing humans today.

It offers a crucial opportunity for contemporary audiences to look at a lost city from the perspective of a world on the verge of collapse, but could have done more to consider what this level of destruction might mean now.

Ancient artifacts and technical precision

The exhibition’s main intention is to create human understanding across millennia. “Beauty and fashion were no less important in the 1st century CE than they are today”, says one wall-text.

A highlight for many visitors will be the authentic, vividly coloured frescoes recovered from the site. A wide curved screen plays a montage of digital images in situ near a selection of tiny clay pots holding the remains of pigments the painters used immediately before the eruption.

The exhibition is split into three parts. The first emphasises domestic life before the eruption. The second explores the remains of Pompeii and documents the work of researchers bringing the site and its fragments back to life.

These “before” and “after” sections are connected by a wide central corso (thoroughfare) reflecting the urban plan and textures of the ancient city. It provides a space of civic engagement and interaction between exhibition visitors and the residents of Pompeii.

The thoroughfare leads to a vast projection of Vesuvius that erupts every 15 minutes, giving the impression volcanic rain is falling across the exhibition. The panoramic area relies heavily on large-scale digital reconstructions and soundscapes to bring a contemporary treatment to an ancient story.

But it is more than a space of technical precision. Walking around in the crowd, the heat of visitors’ bodies moving around each other offers a nod to the unsettling and perhaps unspeakable experience faced by the 20,000 people estimated to live in Pompeii at the time of the eruption.

A small alcove to the side of the exhibition holds historical copies of faceless casts of four people and a dog in their moments of death.

Most Pompeiians survived by fleeing the city when the early tremors hit, but many did not. Over a thousand victims have been excavated. In 1863, a technique was developed to inject plaster into the ash cavities left by the eruption to create casts from those who perished. This process has been extensively developed and analysed in the centuries since, and laser scanners and 3D printers now make more accurate casts.

Beautiful, often ordinary

Exhibition designers and curators have relied as much on spectacle as they have on information to create an emotive atmosphere to accentuate the feeling of travelling through time and space.

This effect is not solely produced through media supplementation but by the objects on display – including the terrible casts but also by the decayed frescoes, from which ever-young faces return our gaze.

The excavated artifacts are beautiful, often ordinary: things like tweezers, cups, storage containers and lamps. Other everyday but less familiar items include small, mass-produced figurines of deities included in small shrines in a kitchen space or atrium.

Visitors can lean into displays to consider how similar – or different – the objects and the lifestyles they represent are from our own.

They complement the only existing eyewitness account of the eruption, written by Pliny the Younger:

People bewailed their own fate or that of their relatives, and there were some who prayed for death in their terror of dying. Many besought the aid of the gods, but still more imagined there were no gods left, and that the universe was plunged into eternal darkness for evermore.

This description is presented in large text in a small anteroom that has the purpose of helping visitors suspend disbelief as they enter the exhibition. There are no objects in this room.

The moment of pause it demands prepares visitors to:

Walk the city streets and immerse yourself in both the ancient city and the archaeological site – but beware the ever-present volcano.

Our own at-risk planet

There is a certain irony in being encouraged to step out of our everyday life to enter a past world in which we are directed to find common experiences. This is more a function of immersive blockbuster exhibitions in general than it is a complaint of Pompeii.

Pompeii is a polished, beautiful exhibition about an endlessly fascinating topic that will draw, enthral and enlighten crowds.

And yet, Pompeii misses an opportunity to demonstrate connections between a long dead civilisation and our own at-risk planet. Its approach to building human understanding across time could have been extended to ask visitors to consider how they would react to an equivalent catastrophe or what it might mean today.

We do not need to look far to generate a conversation about crises in different eras: last month, we saw the 50th anniversary of Cyclone Tracy; we are now five years on from the Black Summer bushfires.

These events are featured in the museum’s Great Southern Land exhibition, which shows the damage they caused to communities as well as their legacies. It also features salvaged artifacts with similar everyday characteristics to those included in Pompeii.

This exhibition makes the case that distant civilisations are not too far from our own. But by placing us in a highly immersive exhibition we are – despite its opposite intention – disconnected from our own daily lives, and the true connection we have to the past. This can weaken society’s collective will to take the urgent action required if we are to survive the next 2,000 years.

Pompeii: Inside A Lost City Package is at the National Museum of Australia, Canberra, until May 4.

Kylie Message, Professor of Public Humanities and Director of the ANU Humanities Research Centre, Australian National University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Elder abuse is prevalent in New Zealand, with one in ten people aged 65 and older experiencing some form of it and only one in 14 abuse cases brought to the attention of a service agency that can intervene.

Last year alone there were numerous media reports featuring accounts of neglect, financial exploitation and physical or verbal abuse of older people.

However, elder abuse is notoriously difficult to study. Those experiencing abuse often avoid disclosing these experiences for a variety of complex reasons. It is often friends, other family members, neighbours or practitioners who realise that something harmful is happening to the older person.

Some forms of ill treatment are immediately identifiable as abuse. But elder abuse can also be very subtle, which makes it difficult for older people to pinpoint when it happens and for others in the community to recognise it.

Our recent study explores a poorly understood form of elder abuse known as “cold violence” within the Chinese community in Aotearoa New Zealand. We interviewed older Chinese migrants, midlife Chinese migrants caring for older parents and practitioners supporting Chinese migrant families.

Although participants saw similarities in types of elder abuse across cultural groups, they described cold violence as particularly common.

What is ‘cold violence’

Cold violence is a form of emotional abuse that occurs within care relationships. It happens when the person with more power and resources in the relationship completely and intentionally withdraws communication and emotional support for a sustained period. Cold violence is used to punish people for particular conduct or to limit their independence and freedom.

This form of abuse is incredibly difficult to detect. Other forms of abuse have clear signs. Physical abuse may leave telltale marks. Suspicious bank transactions can be monitored and traced. Signs of neglect may be seen in malnutrition and poor hygiene. They are materially evident.

Cold violence, on the other hand, is open to interpretation. By strategically withdrawing emotional support and care, people can powerfully punish the older person without leaving any evidence, thus maintaining plausible deniability.

This makes cold violence difficult for older people to identify and for service providers or authorities to challenge. Family members and carers can argue they didn’t do anything wrong. This failure to respond to need is what makes cold violence a form of abuse.

Understanding the context

Participants in our study commonly mentioned refusal to engage with older family members.

It’s like they see you but act as if they don’t.

Chinese culture values filial reverence and there is an expectation that the concerns and needs of older generations are prioritised. Being rejected by family is very damaging.

Consequently, older Chinese people in our study considered cold violence as the most unacceptable form of abuse that can happen to an older person. They told us that withdrawal of verbal communication and emotional care was made worse by demeaning nonverbal behaviours, such as looks of “disdain” or “disgust”.

They agreed that being treated this way had a “negative impact on their mental health”, making them “feel heartbroken”. One participant likened it to mental torture.

Experiencing cold violence can also leave older people unable to meet their basic needs. In the context of Chinese family arrangements, older parents who migrated in later life are often highly dependent on younger family members.

They might lack language skills, the ability to drive and knowledge of institutional systems necessary to independently navigate everyday life. In these situations, the withdrawal by family members is a highly destabilising experience, leaving older people unsure how to act and often without alternative sources of support.

Making sense of cold violence

Family carers are commonly under significant financial, emotional and time pressure and receive relatively little formal support for care. However, there was a clear mismatch between how practitioners and family carers framed emotional withdrawal as carer stress and the way it was experienced by older people as cold violence.

Chinese migrants providing care for older parents agreed that cold violence was concerning. However, they saw it as the unintentional outcome of limited time and resources. As one participant explained:

There are old people above and young children below, and their energy is limited […] They have tried their best.

Practitioners also attributed neglectful behaviour to carer stress.

This mismatch highlights the need to understand older people’s perspectives and to provide continuous education about less obvious forms of elder abuse. Awareness raising should extend beyond older people to include family members, practitioners and the wider community.

Cold violence is not unique to the Chinese community, but it may be experienced differently across cultural groups. Regardless of the cultural context, being treated in this way is an unsettling and undermining experience for older people.

We have a collective responsibility to create safe environments for people to be able to age with dignity. This starts with understanding how our actions can intentionally or unintentionally cause harm to older people in our families and communities.

Ágnes Szabó, Senior Lecturer, Te Herenga Waka — Victoria University of Wellington; Mary Breheny, Research associate, Te Kunenga ki Pūrehuroa – Massey University, and Polly Yeung, Associate Professor, Te Kunenga ki Pūrehuroa – Massey University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

On the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia, there is a series of large rings which rise mysteriously out of hills.

These “earth rings”, located on Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung Country in the suburb of Sunbury, aren’t natural phenomena. In fact, they represent large scale feats of human endeavour. They also represent the ancient and ongoing connection Aboriginal people have to Country.

Our new study, published today in Australian Archaeology, presents the results of the only known archaeological excavation of one of these rings combined with Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung understanding of these enigmatic places.

It expands our understanding of the richness and diversity of Australia’s archaeological record, created over more than 65,000 years of continuous occupation by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.

Secret and sacred locations of initiation and ceremony

Earth rings have been reported across the world, including in England, Amazonia and Cambodia.

People created these rings hundreds to thousands of years ago. They did so by excavating and heaping together earth in a large circle (or circles) measuring up to hundreds of metres in diameter.

In eastern Australia, earth rings are understood to represent secret and sacred locations of initiation and ceremony for different Aboriginal language groups.

Many earth rings were destroyed following European colonisation and land development. It’s estimated that hundreds of earth rings once existed in New South Wales and Queensland alone. But only around 100 remain today. A smaller number of rings are documented in Victoria – including five earth rings in Sunbury.

Reading the landscape

The Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people are the Traditional Custodians of a large area in central-southern Victoria. This area includes much of greater Melbourne and surrounds.

In 2021–22, Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people led the first cultural values study of the broader landscape that encompasses the five Sunbury earth rings.

For Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people, this landscape holds immense cultural significance.

It reflects a deep history of occupation, colonisation, resistance, adaptation, self-determination and resilience. It is where Liwik (Ancestors) have lived, travelled, gathered together and raised successive generations of people.

Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people have actively managed this landscape over thousands of years. This is in accordance with their traditional lore and customs relating to creation ancestors Bunjil and Waa.

Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people today continue to hold traditional responsibilities to care for Country. The Narrap team is currently working to restore and preserve the health of this important cultural landscape.

New archaeological excavations

In 2022, Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people led a new archaeological excavation of one of the rings, known as Sunbury Ring G.

Sunbury Ring G represents a place where Liwik travelled and came together, and of probable ceremony. It is also a highly significant location between the traditional lands of the Marin bulluk and Wurundjeri wilam clans of Woi-wurrung speaking people, separated by biik wurrdha (also known as Jacksons Creek).

Archaeologist David Frankel first excavated Sunbury Ring G in 1979. To date, no other excavation of an earth ring is known in Australia.

Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people led the dating and re-analysis of the 166 stone artefacts found during the 1979 excavations.

This involved dating the ring deposits to estimate when the ring was made. It also involved piecing the artefacts back together like a jigsaw, and studying residues and wear patterns on their surfaces and edges. This provides clues on how Woi-wurrung speaking people made and used stone tools at Sunbury Ring G.

An ancient ring

The results of our study reveal Woi-wurrung speaking people constructed the ring sometime between 590 and 1,400 years ago. They spent time in the area clearing the land and plants, scraping back soil and rock to create the ring mound and layering rocks to create stone arrangements.

They also lit campfires, made stone tools which they used on a variety of plants and animals, and moved items around the ring’s interior.

Wear patterns and residues on some of the stone artefacts suggest Woi-wurrung speaking people may have also used some of these stone tools to create feather adornments and scar human skin for ceremony. This practice has been documented in other parts of Victoria.

Our study is the first to combine cultural and archaeological insights on earth rings in Australia.

It demonstrates the importance of further investigating and preserving these earth rings, as well as others known to occur across eastern Australia. This is especially important in the face of continued threats by land development and climate change which threaten the survival of earth rings.

The authors of this article acknowledge Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung Elders and community, Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung Cultural Heritage Aboriginal Corporation, Aunty Di Kerr, Delta Lucille Freedman, Elspeth Hayes, Garrick Hitchcock, Wendy Morrison, Richard Fullagar, Rebekah Kurpiel, Nathan Jankowski, Zara Lasky-Davison, Ariana Spencer-Gardner, Lauren Modra, Lauren Gribble, Maria Daikos, Matthew Meredith-Williams, Paul Penzo-Kajewski, Jamie Rachcoff, Allison Bruce, Tracy Martens, Western Water, Hume City Council, Parks Victoria, Museums Victoria (including Rob McWilliams). The Victorian Department of Energy, Environment and Climate Action (formerly known as the Department of Environment, Land, Water and Planning) funded this study.

Caroline Spry, Adjunct Senior Research Fellow, Department of Archaeology and History, La Trobe University; Allan Wandin, Elder of Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung Cultural Heritage Aboriginal Corporation, Indigenous Knowledge; Bobby Mullins, Elder of Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung Cultural Heritage Aboriginal Corporation, Indigenous Knowledge, and Ron Jones, Elder of Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung Cultural Heritage Aboriginal Corporation, Indigenous Knowledge

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

It’s the morning after a big night and you’re feeling the effects of too much alcohol.

So it can be tempting to “refresh” and take the edge off a hangover with a swim at the beach, or a dip in the cool waters of your local river or pool.

But you might want to think twice.

The day after heavy drinking can affect your body, energy levels and perception of risk in many ways. This means you’re more likely to drown or make careless decisions – even without high levels of alcohol in your blood.

Alcohol + water + summer = drowning

Alcohol is one of the main reasons why someone’s more likely to die due to drowning. And Australians consume a lot of it, including around the water.

The risk of drowning, and injury, including incidents involving alcohol, dramatically increases over the summer festive period – in particular on public holidays and long weekends.

Among people aged 18 and over who drowned in rivers where alcohol was involved, we found some 40% had a blood alcohol concentration of at least 0.20%. That’s four times the upper legal limit of 0.05% when driving a car on a full licence.

When we breathalysed people at four Australian rivers, we found higher levels of blood alcohol with higher temperatures, and particularly on public holidays.

At the beach, intoxication due to alcohol and/or drugs is involved in 23% of drowning deaths with an average blood alcohol concentration of 0.19%.

How about if you’re hungover?

Getting alcohol out of your body is a relatively slow process. On average, alcohol is metabolised at a rate of 0.015% per hour. So if someone stops drinking at 2am with a blood alcohol concentration of 0.20%, their alcohol levels don’t drop to zero until 4pm the next day.

Although hangovers can vary from person to person, typical symptoms include headache, muscle aches, fatigue, weakness, thirst, nausea, stomach pain, vertigo, irritability, sensitivity to light and sound, anxiety, sweating and increased blood pressure.

As well as feeling a bit dusty, the day after an evening of heavy drinking, you’re not so good at identifying risks and reacting to them.

In a pool, this might mean not noticing it’s too shallow to dive safely. In natural waterways, this might mean not noticing a strong river current or a rip current at the beach. Or someone might notice these hazards but swim or dive in anyway.

In one study, we found that after a four-day Australian music festival where people drank heavily, even people who were sober (no longer had alcohol in their blood) were still affected.

Compared to baseline tests in the lab we ran three weeks before the festival, people who were sober the day after the festival had faster reaction times in a test to gauge their attention. But they made more mistakes. This suggests hangovers coupled with fatigue lead to quicker but more careless behaviour.

In and around water this could be the difference between life and death.

Positive blood alcohol readings, including of alcohol from the night before, are commonly implicated in drowning deaths as a result of risky behaviours such as jumping into the water, both at a river and along the coast. Jumping can cause physical injury or render you unconscious, leading to drowning.

Alcohol, including the day after drinking, can also make drowning more likely for a number of other reasons. It also reduces people’s coordination and reaction times.

What else is going on?

Alcohol makes the blood vessels near your skin open up (dilate). So more blood flows into them, making you feel hot. This means you may stay in colder water for longer, increasing your risk of hypothermia.

Alcohol can even make CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) less effective, should you need to be resuscitated.

Normally, your body controls levels of certain minerals (or electrolytes) in the blood. But electrolyte imbalance is common after heavy drinking, including the day after. It’s the reason why hangover symptoms such as muscle pain can lead to cramps in your arms or legs. This can become dangerous when being in or on the water.

Low blood sugar levels the day after drinking is also common. This can lead to people becoming exhausted more quickly when doing physical activities, including swimming.

Other hazards include cold water, high waves and deep water, all of which your body may not be capable of dealing with if you’re feeling the effects of a big night.

What can we do about it?

Authorities regularly warn about the dangers of alcohol intoxication and being near the water. Young people and men are often targeted because these are the groups more likely to drown where alcohol is involved.

Beaches may have alcohol-free zones. Rivers rarely have the same rules, despite similar dangers.

How to stay safe around water if you’re drinking

So take care this summer and stay out of the water if you’re not feeling your best:

• do your swimming before your drinking
• look out for your mates, especially ones who may have had a few too many or are hungover
• avoid getting back into the water after you’ve drunk alcohol or if you’re not feeling your best the next day.

Amy Peden, NHMRC Research Fellow, School of Population Health & co-founder UNSW Beach Safety Research Group, UNSW Sydney; Emmanuel Kuntsche, Director of the Centre for Alcohol Policy Research, La Trobe University, and Jasmin C. Lawes, Adjunct Senior Lecturer, UNSW Beach Safety Research Group, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Bureau of Meteorology has warned Australia is facing one of the hottest summers on record. As the weather warms, many of us reach for light-coloured clothes in natural fabrics, such as cotton and linen.

But why are natural fabrics like these so much better at keeping us cool when the weather is hot?

Here’s what the science says.

Natural fabrics and sweat: a match made in heaven

In hot weather, we sweat. As sweat evaporates, it carries heat away, which helps cool the body down.

In hot weather, then, we want clothes that help take moisture away from the body as efficiently as possible.

Natural fabrics are made using fibres extracted from plant- or animal-based sources such as cotton, linen, hemp, wool and silk.

The primary component of all plant-based fibres is cellulose. Animal-based fibres are made up of proteins such as keratin and silk fibroin.

Cellulose molecules are rich in compounds called hydroxyl groups that attract water and moisture. In scientific terms, they are hydrophilic – they love water.

So, clothing made of cotton and linen is highly hydrophilic. It tends to absorb moisture and disperse it across the fabric, allowing it to evaporate more easily.

This takes the sweat away quickly, making it more comfortable and breathable and allowing us to stay cool in sweltering temperatures.

One downside of the natural fabrics is they wrinkle quickly (some people, of course, like that look).

And on a really hot, sweaty day, natural fabrics can get heavy and wet.

Animal fibres are basically proteins, and their properties vary depending on the source.

Wool has been bio-engineered over millions of years to be comfortable to wear. Wool fibres are hydrophilic on the inside and hydrophobic on the outside, meaning they’re both water resistant and good at wicking moisture away.

On the other hand, silk fabrics are very good at helping regulate temperature; they keep us cool in hot weather and warm in cold weather.

Synthetic fabrics: less wrinkly, more sweaty

Synthetic fabrics, on the other hand, are lighter and tend to wrinkle less.

Common synthetic fabrics (such as polyester, nylon and acrylic) are all made from petroleum-based chemicals.

Most synthetic fibres are made of long chains of hydrogen and carbon atoms and do not contain the hydroxyl groups we discussed earlier.

Such fibres are therefore hydrophobic – they hate water. This means the water can’t spread evenly across the fabric and evaporate easily.

They trap sweat against the skin, making the clothes less breathable and comfortable when the weather is warm and humid.

However, some synthetic fabrics used in certain types of active wear can wick sweat away from body.

And some semi-synthetic fabrics such as rayon or tencel (which are made from wood pulp or cotton with synthetic fibres) are more breathable than other synthetic fabrics such as polyester or nylon.

Fabric weave makes a difference, too

The colour of the clothing is also a contributing factor to keep you cool during summer. Light colours reflect sunlight away from you and help to keep the body cooler.

There is some evidence dark colours absorb the sunlight and associated heat, making the surface of the skin warmer than normal.

Another factor affecting breathability and comfort of clothing is the way the fabrics are woven.

Fabrics that are loosely woven (sometimes known as “open weave”) with thinner materials naturally have more airflow, which helps you keep cool.

For a quick, non-scientific test, hold a fabric up and see how much light passes through it. The more light you can see, the more breathable it likely is.

The way the fabric is treated can play a role, too; such as for softening and wrinkle resistance.

Using a fabric softener when you do a load of laundry usually doesn’t affect fabric breathability; softeners modify the surface of the fabric but don’t change the internal structure or porous nature of the fabrics.

Wrinkle resistance is the ability of the fabric to stay smooth and polished even after washing. Synthetic fabrics are inherently wrinkle resistant. Natural fibres are more prone to wrinkles but can be chemically treated on the fabric surface during manufacturing to make them wrinkle resistant.

Such treatments, however, may form layers on top of the fabric blocking the airflow, leading them to be less breathable.

Nisa Salim, Senior Lecturer at the School of Engineering, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In addition to the annual parade of star pictures or constellations passing above our heads each night, there are always exciting events to look out for in the sky. The year 2025 is no exception and has its fair share of such events.

Though the night sky is more spectacular from a dark country sky, you can see the events outlined here even if, like many others, you live in a light-polluted city. For most events you do not need a telescope or binoculars.

Here are some of the highlights.

March and September: eclipses of the Moon

During the early morning of Monday 8 September, the full Moon will move into the shadow of Earth and be totally eclipsed. The Moon will turn a red or coppery colour, because sunlight is bent or refracted by Earth’s atmosphere onto the Moon. The bent light is red, as we are looking at the reflection of sunrises and sunsets from around the globe.

Total eclipses of the Moon are more common than those of the Sun. They can be seen from all the regions on Earth where it is night.

Unlike eclipses of the Sun, lunar eclipses are safe to watch with the unaided eye. They are also safe to photograph. A tripod will help, as will a camera or phone able to take timed exposures.

The eclipse starts with Earth’s shadow gradually covering the Moon over about an hour. Similarly, after totality the shadow takes about an hour to leave the Moon.

Seen from Australia’s east coast, the total eclipse will last from from 3:30am to 4:53am on September 8. From New Zealand, this will be from 5:30am to moonset; from South Australia or the Northern Territory, 3:00am to 4:23am, and from Western Australia 1:30am to 2:53am.

Earlier in the year, on the evening of Friday March 14, people in Aotearoa New Zealand will be able to see a totally eclipsed Moon as it rises above the horizon just after sunset. Watchers in eastern Australia will also get a brief glimpse of a partially eclipsed Moon after moonrise, for 34 minutes from Sydney, 43 minutes from Brisbane and 16 minutes from Cairns.

March: Saturn’s ‘disappearing’ rings

Gazing at Saturn and its rings through a telescope is always a thrill, whether you are seeing them for the first or the hundredth time. However, in early 2025 the rings will seem to vanish as Earth passes through the plane of the rings.

This phenomenon occurs twice during Saturn’s 29-year path around the Sun, that is, at roughly 15-year intervals. Unfortunately, on March 24, the date when this will occur, the planet will be too close to the Sun in the sky for us to observe.

However, in the evenings until mid-February and in the morning from late March we will be able to see Saturn with quite narrow, tilted rings.

Note that a small telescope is needed to see Saturn with or without its rings. If you don’t have one yourself, you can go on a night tour at a public observatory like Sydney Observatory or an observing session with a local astronomical group, such as those at Melbourne Observatory with the Astronomical Society of Victoria.

May and December: meteor showers

The two main meteor showers of the year are the Eta Aquariids and the Geminids.

In 2025, the Eta Aquariids are best seen on the morning of Wednesday May 7, while the Geminids will be most visible on the mornings of Sunday December 14 and Monday December 15.

This year, viewing conditions for both meteor showers are favourable, in the sense that there will be no bright Moon in the sky during those mornings. To see them, look towards the north-east (Eta Aquariids) and north (Geminids) before dawn starts brightening the sky.

The darker the sky you can find, the better. Keep away from street lights or any other light.

January, April and August: planets

The five planets you can see with the naked eye – Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn – move across the sky along a line called the ecliptic.

As the planets move, they sometimes appear to pass close to each other and take on interesting patterns. Of course, they only appear close from our point of view. In reality the planets are tens or hundreds of million kilometres apart.

In 2025, these patterns include:

• January 18–19: the brightest planet, Venus, is close to the ringed planet Saturn in the evening sky

• April 1–15: Mercury, Venus and Saturn form a slowly changing compact group in the eastern sky near sunrise

• August 12–13: Venus and Jupiter, the two brightest planets, are only separated by two moon-widths in the morning sky.

June and August: constellations

As the year progresses, different constellations appear in the evening sky. The perpetual chase of Orion and Scorpius (the hunter and the scorpion) across the sky was noted in 2024.

In 2025, keep an eye on the Southern Cross (known as Crux to astronomers) and Sagittarius (the archer).

The Southern Cross is the best-known constellation in the southern sky. It is easy to find, as it is made up of a compact group of bright stars in the shape of a cross.

Two pointer stars from the neighbouring constellation of Centaurus, the centaur, also help to show its position. From Sydney and further south, the Southern Cross is always above the horizon. However, in the evenings, it is best viewed around June, when it is high in the southern sky.

The constellation Sagittarius is next to Scorpius. In the evenings, it is best placed for observation in August, as at that time of the year it is directly overhead.

A join-the-dots look at the brightest stars of the constellation gives the impression of a teapot, and it is often referred to by that name. Sagittarius is an important constellation for Australian astronomers, as it contains the centre of the Milky Way galaxy.

The information in this article comes from the 2025 Australasian Sky Guide. The guide has monthly star maps and has much more information to help with viewing and enjoying the night sky from Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand.

Nick Lomb, Honorary Professor, Centre for Astrophysics, University of Southern Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

As we enter a new year armed with resolutions to improve our lives, there’s a good chance we’ll also be carrying something less helpful: extra kilos. At least half a kilogram, to be precise.

“Weight creep” doesn’t have to be inevitable. Here’s what’s behind this sneaky annual occurrence and some practical steps to prevent it.

Small gains add up

Adults tend to gain weight progressively as they age and typically gain an average of 0.5 to 1kg every year.

While this doesn’t seem like much each year, it amounts to 5kg over a decade. The slow-but-steady nature of weight creep is why many of us won’t notice the extra weight gained until we’re in our fifties.

Why do we gain weight?

Subtle, gradual lifestyle shifts as we progress through life and age-related biological changes cause us to gain weight. Our:

• activity levels decline. Longer work hours and family commitments can see us become more sedentary and have less time for exercise, which means we burn fewer calories

• diets worsen. With frenetic work and family schedules, we sometimes turn to pre-packaged and fast foods. These processed and discretionary foods are loaded with hidden sugars, salts and unhealthy fats. A better financial position later in life can also result in more dining out, which is associated with a higher total energy intake

• sleep decreases. Busy lives and screen use can mean we don’t get enough sleep. This disturbs our body’s energy balance, increasing our feelings of hunger, triggering cravings and decreasing our energy

• stress increases. Financial, relationship and work-related stress increases our body’s production of cortisol, triggering food cravings and promoting fat storage

• metabolism slows. Around the age of 40, our muscle mass naturally declines, and our body fat starts increasing. Muscle mass helps determine our metabolic rate, so when our muscle mass decreases, our bodies start to burn fewer calories at rest.

We also tend to gain a small amount of weight during festive periods – times filled with calorie-rich foods and drinks, when exercise and sleep are often overlooked. One study of Australian adults found participants gained 0.5 kilograms on average over the Christmas/New Year period and an average of 0.25 kilograms around Easter.

Why we need to prevent weight creep

It’s important to prevent weight creep for two key reasons:

1. Weight creep resets our body’s set point

Set-point theory suggests we each have a predetermined weight or set point. Our body works to keep our weight around this set point, adjusting our biological systems to regulate how much we eat, how we store fat and expend energy.

When we gain weight, our set point resets to the new, higher weight. Our body adapts to protect this new weight, making it challenging to lose the weight we’ve gained.

But it’s also possible to lower your set point if you lose weight gradually and with an interval weight loss approach. Specifically, losing weight in small manageable chunks you can sustain – periods of weight loss, followed by periods of weight maintenance, and so on, until you achieve your goal weight.

2. Weight creep can lead to obesity and health issues

Undetected and unmanaged weight creep can result in obesity which can increase our risk of heart disease, strokes, type 2 diabetes, osteoporosis and several types of cancers (including breast, colorectal, oesophageal, kidney, gallbladder, uterine, pancreatic and liver).

A large study examined the link between weight gain from early to middle adulthood and health outcomes later in life, following people for around 15 years. It found those who gained 2.5 to 10kg over this period had an increased incidence of type 2 diabetes, heart disease, strokes, obesity-related cancer and death compared to participants who had maintained a stable weight.

Fortunately, there are steps we can take to build lasting habits that will make weight creep a thing of the past.

7 practical steps to prevent weight creep

1. Eat from big to small

Aim to consume most of your food earlier in the day and taper your meal sizes to ensure dinner is the smallest meal you eat.

A low-calorie or small breakfast leads to increased feelings of hunger, specifically appetite for sweets, across the course of the day.

We burn the calories from a meal 2.5 times more efficiently in the morning than in the evening. So emphasising breakfast over dinner is also good for weight management.

2. Use chopsticks, a teaspoon or an oyster fork

Sit at the table for dinner and use different utensils to encourage eating more slowly.

This gives your brain time to recognise and adapt to signals from your stomach telling you you’re full.

3. Eat the full rainbow

Fill your plate with vegetables and fruits of different colours first to support eating a high-fibre, nutrient-dense diet that will keep you feeling full and satisfied.

Meals also need to be balanced and include a source of protein, wholegrain carbohydrates and healthy fat to meet our dietary needs – for example, eggs on wholegrain toast with avocado.

4. Reach for nature first

Retrain your brain to rely on nature’s treats – fresh vegetables, fruit, honey, nuts and seeds. In their natural state, these foods release the same pleasure response in the brain as ultra-processed and fast foods, helping you avoid unnecessary calories, sugar, salt and unhealthy fats.

5. Choose to move

Look for ways to incorporate incidental activity into your daily routine – such as taking the stairs instead of the lift – and boost your exercise by challenging yourself to try a new activity.

Just be sure to include variety, as doing the same activities every day often results in boredom and avoidance.

6. Prioritise sleep

Set yourself a goal of getting a minimum of seven hours of uninterrupted sleep each night, and help yourself achieve it by avoiding screens for an hour or two before bed.

7. Weigh yourself regularly

Getting into the habit of weighing yourself weekly is a guaranteed way to help avoid the kilos creeping up on us. Aim to weigh yourself on the same day, at the same time and in the same environment each week and use the best quality scales you can afford.

At the Boden Group, Charles Perkins Centre, we are studying the science of obesity and running clinical trials for weight loss. You can register here to express your interest.

Nick Fuller, Clinical Trials Director, Department of Endocrinology, RPA Hospital, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In November 2023, the estates of two now-deceased policyholders sued the US health insurer, United Healthcare, for deploying what they allege is a flawed artificial intelligence (AI) system to systematically deny patient claims.

The issue – they claim – wasn’t just how the AI was designed. It was that the company allegedly also limited the ability of staff to override the system’s decisions, even if they thought the system was wrong.

They allege the company even went so far as to punish staff who failed to act in accordance with the model’s predictions.

Regardless of the eventual outcome of this case, which remains before the US court system, the claims made in the suit highlight a critical challenge facing organisations.

While artificial intelligence offers tremendous opportunities, its safe and responsible use depends on having the right people, skills and culture to govern it properly.

Getting on the front foot

AI is pervading businesses whether they like it or not. Many Australian organisations are moving quickly on the technology. Far too few are focused on proactively managing its risks.

According to the Australian Responsible AI Index 2024, 78% of surveyed organisations claim their use of AI is in line with the principles of responsible AI.

Yet, only 29% said they had implemented practices to ensure it was.

Sometimes visible, sometimes not

In some cases, AI is a well-publicised selling point for new products, and organisations are making positive decisions to adopt it.

At the same time, these systems are increasingly hidden from view. They may be used by an upstream supplier, embedded as a subcomponent of a new product, or inserted into an existing product via an automatic software update.

Sometimes, they’re even used by staff on a “shadow” basis – out of sight of management.

The pervasiveness – and often hidden nature – of AI adoption means that organisations can’t treat AI governance as merely a compliance exercise or technical challenge.

Instead, leaders need to focus on building the right internal capability and culture to support safe and responsible AI use across their operations.

What to get right

Research from the University of Technology Sydney’s Human Technology Institute points to three critical elements that organisations must get right.

First, it’s absolutely critical that boards and senior executives have sufficient understanding of AI to provide meaningful oversight.

This doesn’t mean they have to become technical experts. But directors need to have what we call a “minimum viable understanding” of AI. They need to be able to spot the strategic opportunities and risks of the technology, and to ask the right questions of management.

If they don’t have this expertise, they can seek training, recruit new members who have it or establish an AI expert advisory committee.

Clear accountability

Second, organisations need to create clear lines of accountability for AI governance. These should place clear duties on specific people with appropriate levels of authority.

A number of leading companies are already doing this, by nominating a senior executive with explicitly defined responsibilities. This is primarily a governance role, and it requires a unique blend of skills: strong leadership capabilities, some technical literacy and the ability to work across departments.

Third, organisations need to create a governance framework with simple and efficient processes to review their uses of AI, identify risks and find ways to manage them.

Above all, building the right culture

Perhaps most importantly, organisations need to cultivate a critically supportive culture around AI use.

What does that mean? It’s an environment where staff – at all levels – understand both the potential and the risks of AI and feel empowered to raise concerns.

Telstra’s “Responsible AI Policy” is one case study of good practice in a complex corporate environment.

To ensure the board and senior management would have a good view of AI activities and risks, Telstra established an oversight committee dedicated to reviewing high-impact AI systems.

The committee brings together experts and representatives from legal, data, cyber security, privacy, risk and other teams to assess potential risks and make recommendations.

Importantly, the company has also invested in training all staff on AI risks and governance.

Bringing everyone along

The cultural element is particularly crucial because of how AI adoption typically unfolds.

Our previous research suggests many Australian workers feel AI is being imposed on them without adequate consultation or training.

This doesn’t just create pushback. It can also mean organisations miss out on important feedback on how their staff actually use AI to create value and solve problems.

Ultimately, our collective success with AI depends not so much on the technology itself, but on the human systems we build around it.

This is important whether you lead an organisation or work for one. So, the next time your colleagues start discussing an opportunity to buy or use AI in a new way, don’t just focus on the technology.

Ask: “What needs to be true about our people, skills and culture to make this succeed?”

Nicholas Davis, Industry Professor of Emerging Technology and Co-Director, Human Technology Institute, University of Technology Sydney and Gaby Carney, Senior Fellow, Human Technology Institute, University of Technology Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

You’re doing daycare or school drop-off, you’re already late for work, and your child’s lip starts to quiver. A tremble turns into a wail, a wail into heart-rending cries as they clutch at your leg.

Eventually, you have to leave and get to work. You spend the rest of the day feeling absolutely wretched. Sound familiar?

Each child is different and not every child will struggle at drop-off. But if yours does, remember it’s age appropriate for young children to feel strong emotions when transitioning to a new environment, adapting to unfamiliar places, people, expectations and routines. In extreme cases, it develops into separation anxiety disorder, which can impact about 4% of preschoolers and school-age children.

In fact, there’s a lot you can do to make drop-off less stressful for your child. One useful approach is to think about what the NSW Department of Education describes as the four “stages” of transitioning to school or daycare: preparation, transfer, induction and consolidation.

Preparation is key

Before your child starts, try to build relationships with other children in your area. Having even one familiar face at drop-off can comfort your child.

Consider:

• joining local playgroups

• befriending other families at the playground

• connecting on social media with other local families.

Where possible, allow your child to get familiar with school or daycare (also known as an “early learning and development centre”) in advance. See if you can visit several times and play in the playground before your child starts there.

Take a few “drive by” visits in the car, or walk past and chat with your child about what people are doing in school or daycare, and some of the routines of the day.

For children about to start school, prepare lunchboxes and practice opening and eating them at home.

Read picture books about starting daycare or school – such as Maddie’s First Day by Penny Matthews and Liz Anelli – to discuss the key themes together.

Spending unhurried time in the new environment before the “first day” allows children to explore the environment and build relationships with other children and educators while feeling safe and comfortable.

Many daycare centres can facilitate several visits like this. Schools will often have orientation programs, and some will allow community access to facilities like the playground or oval out of school hours.

If you’ve already got a child at school or daycare, try to bring your younger child along when you drop off or pick up their big brother or sister.

Routines can help with a smooth transfer

Establishing a routine during drop-off may help children settle into a new environment. Predictability can help children feel safe and secure.

An example routine might include putting their bag away, reading a book together, playing with playdough, giving a kiss and hug and then leaving. This might mean getting to school or daycare a bit earlier than you’d intended.

Try to keep this routine unhurried and focused on your child.

If drop-off is either too long or too short, children can experience overwhelming emotions. So try not to drop and go abruptly if you can avoid it. Always let your child know when you are leaving, as sneaking off can cause mistrust and anxiety.

Avoid lingering for a long time on one day, and a short time on another day; this can make things less predictable for your child. Leaving, then returning repeatedly can also introduce uncertainty.

Many early learning and development centres use a primary caregiver model, where one educator is responsible for most of the care routines for one child.

Building a strong relationship with this educator means they’re more likely to recognise your child’s small cues, and your child is more likely to be comforted during drop-off.

Talk to school or the early learning centre about bringing in a toy, photograph, or comfort item, which helps children maintain the connection with home.

Support the induction process

Educators and teachers work hard to create a sense of belonging for children in this new environment.

This means building on children’s strengths and establishing relationships so children feel comfortable.

A strength-based approach views children as already being learners as they enter early childhood education, focusing on the knowledge and skills they bring.

So chat to the educators and to your child about what happens at care or at school, so you can congratulate your child on how well they’re doing. Find out more about what they do all day, and encourage them to see daycare or school as “their place”.

Consolidating

The transition process is complex and dynamic. A child who initially transitioned happily may regress, requiring you and the educators to revisit the process.

Many children who appear upset at drop-off will calm down quickly. But a child experiencing prolonged separation anxiety disorder may require specific strategies to transition successfully. Your child’s educator will let you know if this is an issue.

Taking time to build relationships with the teachers and educators will allow you to work together.

Each child is different

Remember every child is an individual, and adapting to a new environment can be different for everyone.

Whether children and families are anxious or excited, transitioning from home to school or daycare means change.

Change, although hard at first, can open the window to new relationships, environments and experiences.

Understanding the process and working to minimise the impact will result in a happy start to early childhood education.

Kylie Ridder, Lecturer in Early Childhood Education, Murdoch University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

It’s summertime, and for many of us that means plenty of time outside – and, unfortunately, mosquitoes.

The combination of the increase in temperature and plenty of water is ideal for these blood-sucking insects to make their presence felt.

In the best-case scenario, they are a pest, delivering a highly unpleasant sting. At the other end of the spectrum, they are vectors for diseases responsible for more human fatalities than any other animal on Earth.

To keep them at bay, many of us will reach for the bottle of insect repellent or citronella candles in order to avoid the bite and incessant itching that comes with it. But how do these repellents actually work?

A complex interplay

A great deal of research has gone into understanding how and why female mosquitoes – they are the ones that bite us – are attracted to people.

There is evidence showing they are attracted to the carbon dioxide we exhale, lactic acid found in our sweat, and a variety of other skin odours and volatile compounds we give off. The interplay between all these factors is quite complex.

To ward off mosquitoes, physical barriers such as netting make for the best protection. However, while you might put netting around a backdoor patio and barbecue, doing this for any large space is simply not practical.

This is where repellents come in.

DEETerrent

There are a variety of mosquito repellents available.

The most tried-and-true products are based on a substance called N,N-diethyl-meta-toluamide, more commonly referred to as DEET.

This molecule has been commercially available since 1957, after the United States military discovered it was an effective insect repellent.

DEET is often used as a point of comparison for studies investigating alternatives. Studies show that, provided they are used according to direction, DEET products are safe and effective.

For example, it is recommended that when required, sunscreen is applied before the repellent. DEET products are not recommended for infants.

The exact mechanism by which DEET repels mosquitoes and other insects is still explored today.

Many studies link its success to mosquitoes having receptors that sense the presence of DEET, deterring them from closely approaching our skin. Some investigations suggest that when DEET is detected, it inhibits mosquitoes’ attraction to us, while others show evidence that mosquitoes “smell and avoid” DEET.

There are also numerous reports demonstrating mosquitoes don’t bite when they land on DEET-treated skin. This is because DEET acts as a contact-based repellent and conveys a chemical message to mosquitoes to leave. Studies suggest that DEET likely works through a combination of the processes described here.

Effective alternatives

Another more recent family of mosquito repellent products rely on an active ingredient called picaridin (or icaridin).

The current consensus is that picaridin products are safe, and highly effective. For many, they are considered appealing as they don’t have as strong a scent as DEET.

Picaridin products have been reported to be equally effective as DEET, or in some cases, even slightly superior, though the outcome depends on their concentration too.

The other repellent regularly reported as being effective is para-menthane-3,8-diol (PMD).

This is produced by chemical treatment of oil of lemon eucalyptus.

Untreated, this oil isn’t effective at repelling mosquitoes. However, several studies have shown that PMD is an effective mosquito repellent.

The ability of these repellents to deter mosquitoes is dose dependent.

In all cases, it’s important that an appropriate dose is applied, with re-application sometimes required to keep protection to a maximum. The performance of these products varies according to many other variables too, including the species of mosquito.

What about citronella?

Citronella products, including candles and topical formulations, are popular choices for keeping mosquitoes away.

However, in systematic testing, these have been shown to be far less effective than DEET.

Studies have also shown that citronella candles don’t fend off mosquitoes as much as you might like.

There are many other repellent products on the market.

Given the widespread interest in preventing mosquito bites, natural remedies abound. It’s important to recognise that natural isn’t necessarily more effective and it isn’t necessarily safer.

In most reported studies, DEET and picaridin are reported as having the greatest duration of protection (of the order of hours) and greatest effect on the mosquitoes. They are more thoroughly tested than many alternatives.

When others are tested, they are often found wanting.

One study described sound-based devices as being the repellent equivalent of snake oil. And although repellent bracelets contain working ingredients, they are largely ineffective in that form. This is because of insufficient concentrations of the active ingredient being “emitted”.

When it comes to preventing disease transmission via mosquitoes, the benefits of the proven repellents far outweigh the risks.

Daniel Eldridge, Senior Lecturer in Chemistry, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

If someone bumps into us on the footpath or in the mall, we’re generally quite forgiving. We instinctively apologise or step aside, and usually don’t scream at, stalk, or attack the other person.

But put us in a car, and something changes. People who appear calm in everyday life suddenly tailgate, honk, or shout at strangers. Problems at work or home can suddenly explode in the form of righteous anger toward other road users.

Road rage increases crash risk, and victims of road rage incidents often have children in the car with them.

So, why does driving bring out the worst in us? And more importantly, what can we do about it?

Road rage remains common

Recent surveys indicate road rage remains common in Australia.

In September 2024, insurer NRMA reported a survey of 1,464 of its members in two states found many had witnessed road rage incidents such as:

• tailgating (71%)
• drivers beeping other drivers (67%)
• drivers gesturing angrily at other drivers (60%)
• drivers deliberately cutting in front of other vehicles (58%)
• drivers getting out of their car to confront to confront another driver (14%)
• stalking (10%)
• physical assault (4%).

Another insurer, Budget Direct, reported last year on a survey of 825 people that found about 83% had experienced shouting, cursing, or rude gestures from other people on the road (up by 18% since 2021).

And of the female respondents, 87% reported they’d copped this kind of behaviour from other road users.

Common triggers for driver anger include tailgating, perceived rudeness (such as not giving a “thank you” wave), and witnessing another person driving dangerously.

Aggressive driving behaviours tend to be more common in younger, male drivers.

Road rage is a global problem, with studies finding road rage remains common in places such as Japan, the US, New Zealand and the UK, but the degree varies significantly from country to country.

Who is more likely to fly into a rage on the road?

Some of us are more likely than others to fly into a rage while driving. One way researchers measure this is via a testing tool known as the Driving Anger Scale.

Data from many studies using this test show drivers who are more prone to anger in general are more likely to turn that anger into aggression. They get annoyed by more things, are quicker to act on their feelings, take more risks, and as a result, are more likely to be involved in anger-related crashes.

Research suggests that while female drivers experience anger just as much as male drivers, they are less likely to act on it in a negative way.

Female drivers tend to feel more intense anger in certain situations, such as when faced with hostile gestures or traffic obstructions, compared to their male counterparts.

What can I do to reduce my road rage?

In a car, we’re physically separated from others, which creates a sense of distance and anonymity – two factors that lower our usual social filters. Encounters feel fleeting.

There’s a good chance you won’t be held accountable for what you or say or do, compared to if you were outside the car. And yet, we perceive the stakes as high because mistakes or bad decisions on the road can have serious consequences.

This mix of isolation, stress, and the illusion of being in a bubble is a perfect recipe for heightened frustration and anger.

Research suggests techniques drawn from cognitive behavioural therapy may help.

These include learning to identify when you are starting to feel angry, trying to find alternative explanations for other people’s behaviour, using mindfulness and relaxation and trying to move away from the trigger.

The American Automobile Association also suggests you can reduce road rage incidents by being a more considerate driver yourself – always use your indicator, avoid cutting others off and maintain a safe distance from other cars.

Try to stay calm when other drivers are angry, and allow extra time in your journey to reduce stress.

If driving anger is a frequent issue, consider seeking support or anger management resources.

Avoiding — or at least being aware of — anger rumination can make a big difference. This happens when someone replays anger-inducing events, like being cut off in traffic, over and over in their mind. Instead of letting it go, they dwell on it, fuelling their frustration and making it harder to stay calm.

Recognising this pattern and shifting focus — like taking a deep breath or distracting yourself — can help stop anger from escalating into aggression.

More broadly, public awareness campaigns highlighting the link between anger and risky driving could also encourage more drivers to seek help.

The next time you get behind the wheel, try to remember the other driver, the cyclist, or pedestrian is just another person — someone you might pass on the street without a second thought.

We’re often good at forgiving minor missteps in non-driving contexts. Let’s try to bring that same patience and understanding to the road.

Milad Haghani, Senior Lecturer of Urban Risk & Resilience, UNSW Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.