Sam Arman, Flinders University

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.

Ian A. Wright, Western Sydney University

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.

Ladan Hashemi, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau

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.

Nicole Rinehart, Monash University and David Moseley, Monash University

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.

Athena Lee, Edith Cowan University

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.

Jonti Horner, University of Southern Queensland

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.

David Bowman, University of Tasmania

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.

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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.

Alexander Howard, University of Sydney

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.

Manisha Caleb, University of Sydney and Yu Wing Joshua Lee, University of Sydney

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.

Joshua M. Pearce, Western University

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.

Fiona Carroll, Cardiff Metropolitan University and Rafael Weber Hoss, Cardiff Metropolitan University

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.