We are social beings. So, within every group, decisions must be made about how to live together, preserving wellbeing and relations with others. Historically, those decisions were made by tribal leaders, or monarchs and their courts. Yet the ancient states of Greece, needing collective commitment to the battles in which they engaged, realised it would be generated by giving the people, the demos, a voice in what had to be done. From this issued the idea of “democracy”: a particular form of social organisation in which citizens participate in the decisions that affect them.

Small communities can practise direct democracy: people meet and decide, or vote, on decisions concerning them all. In large modern societies, it operates instead as representative democracy within nation-states: citizens elect representatives to act for them in a forum where collective policies are determined.

Every state has its own history. As a result, each has unique features that differentiate it from all the others. But what is common to liberal democracies, of which Australia is one, is that the idea of self-government has, since the 17th century, been linked with a commitment to the freedom of individuals within the state. Yet ideas of freedom differ, as closer attention to arguments within any state, and how states differ, reveals.

Australia: a settler society

Australia is a settler society, created by immigrants from Europe from 1788 onwards. They settled on a continent inhabited by one of the oldest civilisations on earth: 131 distinct language groups, girdling the entire continent, with means of land management, harbouring resources, and investment in ways of living and spiritual connection with their own country over millennia.

European settlers knew nothing of this. They saw First Nations people as primitive tribes, could not understand how they operated collectively, and failed to recognise the Indigenous economy.

It seemed incomprehensible to European settlers that relationships in Indigenous communities were governed by knowledge linked with ancestors, kinship obligations and country, passed down by elders from generation to generation and disseminated through shared stories, ritual and practical action. With ideas of farming, resource exploitation, and development alien to the light touch of Indigenous people, settlers took over this large “undeveloped” continent, unaware of how it had been shaped by Indigenous practices and possession.

The result, inevitably, was conflict. Attempts on each side to come to terms were confounded by incommensurate ways of understanding the world. Frontier wars ensued. It was an uneven battle, propelled by increasing numbers of settlers. Dispossession and massacres of Indigenous peoples stretched right through to the 20th century.

Settler democracy

The settler state was established at the high point of “the age of revolution”, when battles against monarchical control (the American Revolution) and hereditary elites (the French revolution) spurred the adoption of this new form of democracy: government “of the people, by the people and for the people” on one hand, and “liberty, equality and fraternity” on the other.

Yet the first European settlements were convict colonies, repositories for the criminal, marginal and unwanted from Britain. Among them were convicts who had been transported because of their advocacy of the new politics, readers of Thomas Paine’s Rights of Man. In conjunction, as the source of essential labour in the new colonies, convicts had leverage to assume roles and demand rights never granted to their ilk in Britain. Their persistent demands seeded colonial democracy.

Since liberal precepts carried here by successive waves of settlers faced none of the barriers of an established ruling class, such ideas flourished in Australia. As more radical exponents of social liberalism arrived, such as the Chartists who had fought for working class political and civil rights, they played a leading role in events such as the Eureka rebellion, the emergence of mass union movements, and the foundation of the Australian Labor Party (ALP).

By the late 19th century, “new liberals” were arguing that freedom could not be assured unless the state intervened to solve problems – poverty, unemployment, lack of education – that disadvantaged individuals could not solve for themselves.

In Australia, some among the emerging middle class (small businessmen, entrepreneurs, journalists and professionals), seized on such views in forming loose reformist alliances with the labour movement to forestall the conservative inclinations of the big landholders who dominated colonial upper houses. The result: Australian colonies took the lead in developing progressive democratic measures: allowing all men to vote, payment of parliamentarians, the secret ballot and in South Australia and Western Australia votes for women.

A ‘talent for bureaucracy’

Australia was a striking incarnation of modern social organisation. It was historically perhaps the most developed instance of the harnessing of democracy with bureaucracy, for two reasons.

First, its settlement and development were documented in detail. Instructions to and reports from colonial governors, the manifests of convict ships, the documentation of immigrant arrivals — all were resources for those managing colonial development.

Second, as population increased, colonial governments needed to raise loans from the mother country to develop the infrastructure necessary for private enterprise to flourish. Public officials became the essential intermediaries in what Noel Butlin called “colonial socialism”. Alan Davies saw these historical contingencies as the origin of an Australian “talent for bureaucracy”.

The influence of these progressive ideas and a “colonial socialism” encouraged in Australia a particular form of liberal polity, one less fervently individualistic than the United States. The dark side of settler liberalism was that its commitment to individualistic liberal freedom rendered it blind to collective forms of social relations, and to the consequences of colonisation for First Nations.

The federal experiment

Negotiation between the colonies in the late 19th century aimed to unify the disparate colonial settlements. It was driven both by lofty ambitions — to create a nation with a common purpose — and by a series of anxieties. A capacity for defence against the other imperial powers making claims in the Pacific; concern to maintain racial purity and protect British civilisation in the antipodes; and worries about promoting economic recovery given class fragmentation following a depression and strikes in the 1890s.

It was brought about through a series of conventions largely comprising colonial politicians. Together they hammered out a constitutional contract to satisfy their interests, driven by lawyers, carefully designating which powers were to be transferred to the Commonwealth, and which were retained by the states. It was, despite the absence of a formal bureaucracy, a profoundly bureaucratic process.

The compact at which they arrived retained British parliamentarianism. It mandated the formation of majority government with fiscal power in the House of Representatives, but borrowed from the United States in establishing a states house of review – the Senate.

The American adoption of a Bill of Rights was proposed but not accepted: British parliamentarism was thought sufficient to ensure the rights of “freeborn Britons”. Liberal preoccupation with checks and balances on government was evident in the constitution of the Senate, in which all states (formerly colonies) have equal representation regardless of population size. More restrictive still was the stipulation that referendums to change the constitution required the support of a majority of people in a majority of states to succeed.

The new federal parliament moved quickly to safeguard “White Australia” with the Immigration Restriction Act 1901. This set a dictation test (in European languages) for immigrants designed to exclude those of non-European origin. There was contention over women’s suffrage, but women had the vote in South Australia and a constitutional clause stipulated that rights already granted in any colony should be accepted federally. Women’s voting rights were recognised in the Commonwealth Franchise Act 1902. Not so the rights of Indigenous peoples, however, who were deemed not to meet the standard of “civilisation” necessary to vote.

Bureaucracy and democracy

The major battles in the first decade of federation were between developing anti-Labor parties representing two faces of liberalism: those convinced freedom was sustained by state intervention when necessary (Protectionists) and those believing freedom was secured by limiting the ability of others to interfere in individual choice (the Free Trade Party).

Initially the baton passed rapidly to and fro between Protectionist and Free-Trade governments. But adroit management by the Protectionist leader, Alfred Deakin, facilitated the election (with Protectionist support) of the first (albeit short-lived) national Labor government in the world. It also ensured that Protectionists’ ambitions governed “the Australian settlement”: tariff protection, White Australia, wage arbitration and targeted welfare overseen by an educated governing class.

The social liberalism of the Australian settlement encouraged further electoral innovation. Preferential voting was introduced in 1918. Compulsory voting was enacted federally in 1924, having been introduced in Queensland in 1915. Other states soon followed. This was foundational to the citizens’ bargain: the state as responsible for collective wellbeing, with citizens obliged to engage seriously with democratic government. It necessitated voter registration, and electoral rolls, administered under state and federal franchise acts. Eventually national electoral rolls were developed, administered within Commonwealth departments, then in an Australian Electoral Office (1973) and ultimately by an independent statutory authority, the Australian Electoral Commission (1984).

It was not politicians or political agencies but Commonwealth public servants charged with achieving voting equivalence who initially determined electoral boundaries. Later the AEC took that role, along with the supervision of elections from the 1980s. This forestalled the gerrymandering that cruelled equality of representation in other jurisdictions.

Many of these measures were unique to Australia. And the heroes in their achievement? Bureaucrats. The interaction of progressive politicians, committed public servants and community activists was also integral to the transition from “White Australia” race-based “homogeneity” to civic identity and multiculturalism in the 1960s and 1970s; the introduction of voting rights for First Nations at state and then federal level and the 1967 referendum that recognised them as citizens; Indigenous land rights; and the incremental elaboration of health insurance, educational accessibility and civic entitlements. It was not perfect, and much remains to be done, especially in addressing the damage, trauma and continuing marginalisation inflicted on Indigenous communities by settler liberalism.

Democracy in question?

In the 1980s, governments of both stripes adopted an international current of thought driven by economists and technocrats — neoliberal economics — as a counter to “stagflation”: high inflation, low growth and high unemployment. What now was needed was more efficiency, to be achieved by opening markets to competition and rolling back state action: social democracy had failed. The state’s role should be limited to oversight, “steering, not rowing”, with provision of infrastructure and services to be outsourced to private enterprise.

For 30 years, it produced the prosperity reformers had promised. But the rewards were distributed unevenly, with riches accruing to an ever-smaller proportion of the population. Individual precarity was by imputation a failure of effort rather than of market failure, structural disadvantage or the “creative destruction” expected of unbridled capitalism.

As one prime minister argued, “if you have a go, you’ll get a go”. It took no account of the communities destroyed as their jobs vanished and new enterprise failed to arrive.

Surveys suggest the public was never persuaded, and the democratic impact was apparent. Party disengagement ensued. The major parties of the 20th century, in which the need to reach agreement among many voices ensured that extreme positions were rare, were reduced to rumps of committed partisans whose views were typically not representative of the people they served.

Partisan polarisation made achieving policy consensus increasingly difficult. The public service was hollowed out as functions were outsourced, consultants were brought in, organisational knowledge was lost, and governments repeatedly legislated to induce compliance rather than frank and fearless advice.

The result was policy stasis and startling national scandals when the damage of ingenious schemes by consultants to reduce entitlements and shift risk from service providers to their clients was revealed.

High levels of trust in politicians and public officials plummeted, and with this belief in liberal democracy itself was eroded. When a COVID pandemic induced governments to act, invest and cooperate in public provision, and in 2022 a Labor government was elected promising to be responsible, consultative and collaborative, polls bounced back.

Was the Australian tradition of social democracy resurgent? Support for change was soon shown to be tenuous. The bitter campaign against the Albanese government’s initiation of a referendum giving First Nations a constitutional “Voice” on policies affecting them showed how easily the politics of partisan division, race, resentment and negative campaigning can be mobilised to defeat democracy’s promise of fair life chances.

This is an edited extract from How Australian Democracy Works, a new collection of essays from The Conversation on all aspects of the country’s political landscape.

James Walter, Emeritus Professor of Political Science, Monash University

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

Google’s search engine handles the vast majority of online searches worldwide. By one estimate, it fields 6.3 million queries every second.

Because of the search engine’s enormous scale, its outputs can have outsized effects. And, while Google’s search results are shaped by ostensibly neutral rules and processes, research has shown these algorithms often produce biased results.

This problem of algorithmic bias is again being highlighted by recent escalating tensions between India and Bangladesh and cases of violence against Bangladeshi citizens in India and violence against Hindus in Bangladesh. A pro-Indian misinformation and disinformation campaign is exploiting this algorithmic bias to further its agenda – an agenda that has been described as Islamophobic and alarmist.

This kind of misinformation has been implicated in several riots and violent incidents in Bangladesh.

All of this serves as an important reminder of the power Google’s search engine has in shaping public perceptions of any event – and its vulnerability to being exploited. It’s also an important reminder to anyone who uses Google’s search engine to engage critically with the results it dishes up, rather than accepting them at face value.

What is algorithmic bias?

The algorithms that power Google’s search engine are trained on massive amounts of data. This data is gathered by computer bots which crawl billions of pages on the Internet and automatically analyse their content and quality. This information is stored in a large database, which Google’s search engine relies on to serve up relevant results whenever it receives a query.

But this process doesn’t capture every website on the Internet. It is also governed by predetermined rules about what is high quality and what is low quality, and reflects existing biases in data. For example, even though only 16% of the world’s population speaks English, it accounts for 55% of all written content online.

This means the reality of life on the ground in non-English speaking countries is often not reflected in Google search results. This is especially true for those countries located in the Global South.

This lack of representation perpetuates real-world biases. It can also hinder a nuanced public understanding of global issues.

What’s happening between Bangladesh and India?

Relations between Muslim-majority Bangladesh and neighbouring India, which is currently led by the Hindu nationalist BJP government, have deteriorated recently.

In August last year, youth-led anti-government protests erupted in Bangladesh.

These protests resulted in the downfall of prime minister Sheikh Hasina’s long-lasting autocratic regime, which had been supported by the Indian government.

An interim government filled the void. But certain Indian media outlets have leveraged sensitive issues such as Hindu minority rights to undermine its legitimacy.

In November, Bangladeshi authorities arrested Hindu leader Chinmoy Krishna Das on sedition charges over allegations he had disrespected the Bangladeshi flag. This triggered violent clashes between his supporters and police. These clashes resulted in the death of a Muslim lawyer.

Hindu activists also attacked a Bangladeshi consulate in India.

There have also been verified instances of mob violence against Hindus in Bangladesh. However, the Bangladeshi government claims these incidents are politically motivated rather than communal attacks.

The unrest intensified earlier this month, with thousands of protestors destroying the family home of deposed prime minister Sheikh Hasina in the Bangladeshi capital, Dhaka.

Boosting a disinformation campaign

A disinformation campaign based in India has exaggerated some cases of religious violence against Hindus in Bangladesh.

This campaign has been boosted by Google’s algorithmic bias.

For example, an analysis by the Tech Global Institute of Google search results about Chinmoy Krishna Das’s arrest between November 25 and December 20 last year found a “consistent pattern of bias”.

Specifically, Indian news outlets – including Hindu ultranationalist news outlets – “disproportionately” dominated the top search results. This overshadowed

factual reporting from credible Bangladeshi media outlets […] despite the search originating from within Bangladesh, the country where the incident originally occurred.

This bias was also evident in search queries coming from overseas. For example, roughly 90% of the top results about Chinmoy Krishna Das were from Indian outlets when searched from Australia and the United States. Bangladeshi news outlets featured on the thirteenth and fourteenth pages of results.

Indian news outlets – unlike their Bangladeshi counterparts – produce a substantial amount of content in English. They also employ more advanced search engine optimisation – or SEO – techniques, such as using effective keywords and sensationalist headlines. This gives them an advantage in Google search results compared to their Bangladeshi counterparts.

Another investigation by Bangladeshi fact-checking outlet Rumor Scanner in December 2024 found 72% of social media accounts spreading fake and misinformation are located in India.

The Conversation asked Google a series of questions about its search engine. It did not receive a response.

An illustrative case of a global problem

Bangladesh is an illustrative case of the global problem of algorithmic bias. It highlights how search engines can be exploited to promote disinformation and misinformation and powerfully shape people’s perceptions about what’s happening in the world.

It also highlights how everybody should think critically about the information they find online about the current situation in Bangladesh. Or about any news event, for that matter.

The case also reinforces the urgent need for policymakers, tech companies and governments to work together to effectively address algorithmic bias. This is especially urgent in the Global South, where marginal voices remain silenced.

Abdul Aziz, Lecturer in Media and Communication Studies, School of Arts and Social Sciences, Monash University

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

Are you feeling worn out? Struggling with lingering sadness, anxiety or feelings of indifference? If so, you might be stuck in a funk.

There are many reasons you might find yourself in a funk – including returning home after a holiday, not being sure what your goals in life are and a lack of meaning and purpose driving you forward. Sometimes, there’s no clear reason why we find ourselves in a funk.

Whatever the cause, don’t lose hope. There are many things you can do to turn the way you’re feeling around.

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1. Express yourself

As obvious as it sounds, one of the best ways to get out of a funk is exploring the reasons you’re feeling this way.

Try writing down your deepest thoughts and feelings without judgement – no matter how disjointed they are. Or, grab a paintbrush, spray paint, pencil or chalk and express your emotions through art. You might even choose to dance, letting your movements convey what you’re feeling and help you get to the root of your funk.

Whatever form of self-expression works for you, all that matters is getting your feelings out. This will help you make sense of what’s causing your funk, and may make it easier to overcome.

2. Remember the good times

When we’re in a funk, we’re often overwhelmed by feelings of sadness or indifference. It can be hard to reduce these negative emotions – especially since negative feelings serve a purpose, by helping us understand what’s going on inside.

Instead of trying to banish bad feelings, try instead to layer positive emotions on top of them. This may help balance your emotions out.

You can do this by closing your eyes and savouring a happy moment from the past when you felt alive, vibrant and fulfilled. Use every sense as you relive those joyful memories.

3. Connect with someone

Research shows the most fulfilled people don’t bury themselves in their thoughts when feeling down. Instead, they look outward – engaging with others and their surroundings.

So when you’re in a funk, try finding ways of connecting, even briefly, with the people around you. Even a simple conversation with a stranger might lift your spirits.

Or take it a step further if you can and do something kind for someone – or try volunteering. This may help break you out of your low mood by giving you a sense of fulfilment?

4. Heal in nature

Nature is shown to improve wellbeing in many ways – such as lowering blood pressure, refreshing your mind and reminding you that you’re part of something larger than yourself.

If you’ve been feeling down, try going for a walk in the park or find a quiet place to stop on a hike. Lift your head to the sky, listen for the birds singing, immerse yourself in the foliage and let the sound of water wash over you. All of these things are linked with better mental health.

Preventing a funk

Doing any of these activities even just once can make a difference to the way your feeling. The more often you do them, the better.

And once you’ve broken out of your funk, there are things you can do to avoid slipping into one in the future.

1. Build resilience

Resilience isn’t just about bouncing back. It’s more about finding the right resources to help you get out of a funk – and knowing how to use these resources effectively.

For example, if connecting with your friends helps boost your wellbeing, this would be considered one of your “resources” that can help break you out of a funk. Of course, schedules can get in the way, so you’ll need to to find a time that works best for everyone.

This is what resilience is all about. Identifying your go-to resources for preventing those low feelings can help you create a ready-made toolkit to draw from whenever you feel a funk coming on. To build your tool-kit, think about the things that made the biggest difference in pulling you out of a funk the last time.

2. Cultivate hope

Hope isn’t just wishful thinking. It’s about cultivating the will to keep moving forward and finding a way to get there. It’s a pathway to a better life, keeping us focused on growth.

But one of the challenges in building hope is the lack of a clear vision of where we want to be. To overcome this, take some time to imagine your best-case scenario – what your life would look like ten years from now if everything you’ve ever hoped for came true.

Spend 20 minutes writing it down. Don’t stop to worry about spelling or grammar (this is just for you). Repeat this exercise as often as needed to create your ideal future.

When you’re finished, write down how you can achieve what you hope for. Having a well-defined vision of your best possible self can help keep you motivated and prevent you from feeling stuck – and will also give you a reserve of hope to draw upon when facing hard times.

3. Practise self-acceptance

Most importantly, focus on practising self-acceptance. Everyone experiences rough patches, so don’t be hard on yourself for being in a funk — it’s just a temporary state.

Embrace where you are and accept yourself fully, regardless of your current situation. And remember that self-acceptance doesn’t mean resignation. It’s about acknowledging, “It’s okay to be me,” while also envisioning how you want “me” to evolve in the future. With this mindset, you can work towards becoming the person you aspire to be.

Unlike trees, which are rooted in place, we have the flexibility to grow and change. Remember this the next time you start feeling stuck.

Jolanta Burke, Senior Lecturer, Centre for Positive Health Sciences, RCSI University of Medicine and Health Sciences

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

The world’s biggest video sharing platform, YouTube, has just turned 20.

It was started inauspiciously in February 2005 by former PayPal employees Chad Hurley, Steve Chen and Jawed Karim – with a 19-second video of Karim exploring San Diego Zoo.

That year, YouTube’s disruption of the media timeline was minimal enough for there to be no mention of it in The Guardian’s coverage of TV’s Digital Revolution at the Edinburgh TV Festival.

Twenty years on, it’s a different story.

YouTube is a massive competitor to TV, an engagement beast, uploading as much new video every five minutes as the 2,400 hours BBC Studios produces in a whole year. The 26-year-old YouTube star Mr Beast earned US$85 million (£67 million) in 2024 from videos – ranging from live Call of Duty play-alongs to handing out 1,000 free cataract operations.

As a business, YouTube is now worth some US$455 billion (2024 Bloomberg estimate). That is a spectacular 275 times return on the US$1.65 billion Google paid for it in 2006. For the current YouTube value, Google could today buy British broadcaster ITV about 127 times.

YouTube has similar gross revenue (US$36.1 billion in 2024) to the streaming giant Netflix – but without the financial inconvenience of making shows, since most of the content is uploaded for free.

YouTube has 2.7 billion monthly active users, or 40% of the entire global population outside China, where it is blocked. It is also now one of the biggest music streaming sites, and the second biggest social network (to Facebook), plus a paid broadcast channel for 100 million subscribers.

YouTube has built a video Library of Babel, its expansive shelves lined eclectically with Baby Shark Dance, how to fix septic tanks, who would win a shooting war between Britain and France … and quantum physics.

The site has taken over global children’s programming to the point where Wired magazine pointed out that the future of this genre actually “isn’t television”. But there are flaws, too: it has been described as a conduit for disinformation by fact checkers.

So how did all that happen? Eight key innovations have helped YouTube achieve its success.

1. How new creativity is paid for

Traditional broadcast and print uses either the risk-on, fixed cost of hiring an office full of staff producers and writers, or the variable but risky approach of one-off commissioning from freelancers. Either way, the channel goes out of pocket, and if the content fails to score with viewers, it loses money.

YouTube did away with all that, flipping the risk profile entirely to the creator, and not paying upfront at all. It doesn’t have to deal with the key talent going out clubbing all night and being late to the set, not to mention other boring aspects of production like insurance, cash flow or contracts.

2. The revenue model of media

YouTube innovated by dividing any earnings with the creator, via an advertising income split of roughly 50% (the exact amount varies in practice). This incentivises creators to study the science of engagement, since it makes them more money. Mr Beast has a team employed just to optimise the thumbnails for his videos.

3. Advertising

Alongside parent company Google/Alphabet, and especially with the introduction (March 2007) of YouTube Analytics and other technologies, the site adrenalised programmatic video advertising, where ad space around a particular viewer is digitally auctioned off to the highest buyer, in real time.

That means when you land on a high-rating Beyoncé video and see a pre-roll ad for Grammarly, the advertiser algorithmically liked the look of your profile, so bid money to show you the ad. When that system works, it is ultra efficient, the key reason why the broad, demographics-based broadcast TV advertising market is so challenged.

4. Who makes content

About 50 million people now think they are professional creators, many of them on YouTube. Influencers have used the site to build businesses without mediation from (usually white and male) executives in legacy media.

This has driven, at its best, a major move towards the democratisation and globalisation of content production. Brazil and Kenya both have huge, eponymous YouTube creator economies, giving global distribution to diverse voices that realistically would been disintermediated in the 20th century media ecology.

5. The way we tell stories

Traditional TV ads and films start slow and build to a climax. Not so YouTube videos – and even more, YouTube Shorts – which prioritise a big emotive hit in the first few seconds for engagement, and regular further hits to keep people there. Mr Beast’s leaked internal notes describe how to do sequential escalation, meaning moving to more elaborate or extreme details as a video goes on: “An example of a one thru three minute tactic we would use is crazy progression,” he says, reflecting his deep homework. “I spent basically five years of my life studying virality on YouTube.”

6. Copyright

Back in 2015, if someone stole your intellectual property – say, old episodes of Mr Bean - and re-broadcast it on their own channel, you would call a media lawyer and sue. Now there is a better option – Content ID – to take the money instead. Through digital rights monetisation (DRM), owners can algorithmically discover their own content and claim the ad revenue, a material new income stream for producers.

7. Video technicalities

Most technical innovations in video production have found their way to the mainstream via YouTube, such as 360-degree, 4k, VR (virtual reality) and other tech acronyms. And now YouTube has started to integrate generative AI into its programme-producing suite for creators, with tight integration of Google’s Veo tools.

These will offer, according to CEO Neal Mohan, “billions of people around the world access to AI”. This is another competitive threat to traditional producers, because bedroom creators can now make their own visual effects-heavy fan-fiction episodes of Star Wars.

8. News

YouTube became a rabbit hole of disinformation, misinformation and conspiracy, via a reinforcement-learning algorithm that prioritises view time but not editorial accuracy. Covid conspiracy fans got to see “5G health risk” or “chemtrail” videos, because the algorithm knew they might like them too.

How can the big, legacy media brands respond? Simple. By meeting the audience where the viewers are, and putting their content on YouTube. The BBC has 14.7 million YouTube subscribers. ITV is exploiting its catalogue to put old episodes of Thunderbirds on there. Meanwhile in February 2025, Channel 4 also announced success in reaching young viewers via YouTube. Full episode views were “up 169% year-on-year, surpassing 110 million organic views in the UK”.

Alex Connock, Senior Fellow, Said Business School, University of Oxford

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

Australian school students’ civics knowledge is the lowest it has been since testing began 20 years ago, according to new national data.

Results have fallen since the last assessment in 2019 and to the lowest levels since the national civics test began in 2004.

This follows a federal parliamentary report earlier this month, calling for mandatory civics education in Australian schools (it is currently part of the curriculum but not compulsory). The report cited fears young people are “poorly equipped” to participate in Australian democracy.

The latest results are certainly concerning. But as a researcher of the political lives of young people, I would caution against assuming young people “don’t care” about politics, or are unable to engage in it.

We also need to think about how civics education can engage meaningfully with young people and meet their needs.

What does the new report say?

This report from the Australian Curriculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority is based on a national sample of Year 6 and Year 10 students, who are tested on their civics and citizenship skills. It includes knowledge of democratic principles, the Australian political system and related history.

The test is supposed to run every three years, but the most recent one was delayed by COVID. In 2024:

• 43% of Year 6 students attained the “proficient standard”, compared with 53% in 2019

• 28% of Australian Year 10 students met the proficient standard, compared with 38% in 2019.

Young people care about history and community

Alongside their civics skills, students were also asked about their support for a range of “citizenship behaviours”. While these figures have dropped from previous years, they nevertheless indicate most students are engaged in civic issues.

• 81% of Year 6 students and 75% of Year 10 students thought learning about Australa’s history was “very or quite” important

• 77% of Year 6 students and 70% of Year 10 students thought participating in activities to benefit the local community was “very or quite” important

• 85% of Year 6 students and 68% of Year 10 students thought taking part in activities to protect the environment was “very or quite important”.

Young people are knowledgable and active

My research with young Australians shows they are interested, knowledgeable and active on civic and political issues in many different ways.

This includes getting involved in or creating their own organisations, campaigns and online content. The issues range from bullying to mental health, climate change and ending gender-based violence.

My research also shows even children as young as six have views on how to address complex issues such as climate change.

When provided with platforms that respect their views, young people show they can research, deliberate and problem-solve. Many have clear opinions on what makes for a good life for themselves, Australia and the world. Initiatives such as a children’s parliament can connect their views directly with those who govern.

Young people don’t feel included

But governments and other authorities are historically poor at meaningfully engaging with young people.

In my work and other research, we continue to hear many students feel they don’t have a genuine voice in the community.

For example, in the climate movement, young female activists have said they do not feel feel their views are taken seriously by decision-makers because they are under 18.

This suggests children’s interest and confidence in democracy could be supported by giving them meaningful opportunities to participate before they can vote.

For example, creating governance mechanisms that include and are accountable to young people on matters that affect them. This should extend to issues which will significantly impact them into the future, such as housing and tax.

Technology and critical media literacy matter

We also have to make sure students are supported to get good quality information about issues relevant to them. And that they have the skills and resources to navigate information online.

Research suggests engagement with news and strong media literacy skills are linked to civic participation.

Studies have also found many Australian children who have high interest in the news are also involved in social issues online. Research shows social media is a key source for this news (as opposed to traditional sources such as newspapers or television).

At the same time, just 41% of children aged 8–16 are confident they can tell fake news stories from real ones (which is is similar to survey results for adults).

We also know some students, particularly from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, lack access to the technology they need for their schooling and everyday lives.

How can civics and citizenship knowledge be improved?

The new data certainly indicates the current system for civics education is not working for Australian students.

As we work to improve young people’s civics knowledge, research indicates any new approach in schools should be created in conjunction with young people themselves. If young people are given a say in how their civics education is designed, they will be more engaged and the lessons will be more effective, especially for students who face disadvantage.

Other studies we have co-designed and co-researched with young people have resulted in recommendations to trust young people and give them responsibilities and real-world learning opportunities, outside of school. They prioritised self-efficacy (people’s belief they can can control events that affect their lives) and a sense of belonging.

If civics education is going to be effective, it should acknowledge young people already have an interest and a stake in politics, focus on where they get their information, and involve them in how civics education is designed and delivered.

We might then have a model for supporting civics and citizenship learning across the community and across people’s lives.

Philippa Collin, Professor, Institute for Culture and Society, Western Sydney University

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

What makes something quantum? This question has kept a small but dedicated fraction of the world’s population – most of them quantum physicists – up at night for decades.

At very small scales, we know the universe is made up of waves and energy fields ruled by the laws of quantum mechanics, but at the scale of the everyday world around us we mostly see solid objects following the older rules of classical mechanics. When we ask what makes something quantum, we are asking where the line is between these two realms and how it can be drawn.

In a new study published in Newton, we answer this question in a previously undiscovered way. We show that a single spinning particle can show indubitable evidence of quantum behaviour.

The discovery of spin

One hundred years ago, Dutch physicists Samuel Goudsmit and George Uhlenbeck proposed the idea that most tiny particles never really stand still. Instead, they suggested, electrons – elementary particles that form the outer shell of atoms – behave like minuscule spinning tops.

The spin can be either clockwise or anticlockwise, or what physicists call “spin up” and “spin down”. This binary nature of spinning electrons means that they can be used as building blocks for quantum computers.

However, in 1925 Goudsmit and Uhlenbeck’s spinning electron proposal caused an uproar in the physics establishment. At this time, physics was shaped by illustrious names such as Albert Einstein, Max Planck and Paul Ehrenfest, who laid the groundwork for the grand theories of relativity and quantum mechanics that transformed our understanding of the universe.

After eminent physicist and Nobel laureate Hendrik Lorentz criticised the spin theory, Uhlenbeck got cold feet and wanted to retract the paper. Uhlenbeck and Goudsmit’s mentor Ehrenfest told them to persist, writing: “You are both young enough to be able to afford a stupidity!”

Old ideas still remain

This kind of resistance to new ideas is not unusual in physics. As Planck put it, science progresses one funeral at a time.

Much like the scepticism about the discovery of spinning electrons, today many physicists are educated with a misconception about how spin works. Conventional wisdom, still taught in standard textbooks, tells us that spin is a quantum property that is essential to understanding the behaviour of electrons and nuclei. But at the same time, the textbooks say the rotation of the particle is still somehow perfectly described by classical physics.

Tsirelson’s forgotten protocol

A similar consideration applies to another textbook system, the harmonic oscillator (e.g. a pendulum). According to a 1927 theorem by Paul Ehrenfest, the way a quantum pendulum swings is indistinguishable from a swing in the park.

Strikingly, almost 80 years later the Russian-Israeli physicist Boris Tsirelson had an idea showing that it is possible to discern a quantum pendulum from a swing in the park, provided the quantum system is prepared in a truly quantum state. At the time, Tsirelson’s paper attracted little notice.

Another 15 years later, the research team of Valerio Scarani in Singapore resurfaced Tsirelson’s paper from the depths of the internet. Scarani’s student Zaw Lin Htoo extended Tsirelson’s idea, proving theoretically that it actually was possible to detect quantumness in the rotation of a spin.

Bigger particles and Schrödinger’s cat

Our team at the University of New South Wales decided to take on the challenge and prove the quantumness of a spin in a real experiment. However, we couldn’t do it with a simple spin like an electron. Because an electron is so small, it only has two possible spin states: up and down. Again defying widespread intuition, it turns out that an electron spin can only be prepared in quasi-classical states, which obey the old textbook predictions.

Instead we used a much larger particle, the nucleus of an antimony atom. The spin of this particle can point in eight different directions, instead of just two.

We were able to place the atom in a so-called “Schrödinger’s cat” state, in which it is in a superposition of two widely different spin directions at once.

We then performed the Tsirelson-Scarani protocol, which involves measuring not just the average orientation of the spin, but the positivity of it – a very different kind of measurement to what is done in standard spin resonance setups. This experiment showed unquestionable evidence for the quantumness of the antimony’s spin.

What’s next?

Our study is important for discovering fundamental truths about the universe, and for providing clarity on what it means to “be quantum”. However, it may also have real-life applications.

The states that we demonstrated to be quantum with the Tsirelson-Scarani protocol are exactly the kind of thing that give quantum computation and quantum sensing an advantage over classical counterparts. In the future we will focus making the most of these systems for use in technological applications.

Arjen Vaartjes, PhD Student, Quantum Physics, UNSW Sydney and Andrea Morello, Professor, Quantum Nanosystems, UNSW Sydney

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Between 122 and 108 million years ago, the Australian landmass was much farther south than today. Victoria was positioned within the Antarctic Circle, separated from Tasmania by a vast rift valley rather than open sea.

This was the Early Cretaceous, and lush forests filled with dinosaurs dominated the landscape. We still find traces of these animals in Victoria’s fossil record.

Most of the dinosaur fossils found in Victoria belong to small plant-eaters called ornithopods. But there are also a few theropod fossils — a diverse group that includes all known carnivorous dinosaurs, as well as modern birds.

More than 250 theropod bones have been found in the Victorian Cretaceous. In the palaeontology collections of Museums Victoria, we have now identified five theropod fossils of particular importance. Our work on these bones has been published today in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology.

Shinbones and tail bones

Research over the past decade has revealed striking similarities between Australian and South American dinosaurs. These include megaraptorids with claws shaped like scythes, and small, fleet-footed elasmarian ornithopods. There were also armoured parankylosaurians and colossal sauropods with long necks and small heads.

These parallels may seem surprising at first, but both continents retained a connection to Antarctica throughout much of the Cretaceous Period.

Our newly described fossils show that a bunch of different carnivorous dinosaurs seen in South America also thrived in the Cretaceous of southeastern Australia.

Two shinbones provide the first evidence of carcharodontosaurs (“shark-toothed lizards”) in Australia. A third shinbone provides strong evidence for the presence of unenlagiines, a southern group of dromaeosaurs (“running lizards”).

A fourth shinbone and two tail vertebrae with their chevrons, which are from a megaraptorid, represent one of Australia’s largest-known carnivorous dinosaurs.

A first for Australia

Carcharodontosaurs were apex predators in South America and Africa for much of the mid-Cretaceous. This group of theropods had large skulls, massive teeth and small arms. They were some of the largest predators to ever walk the Earth.

Despite their success in South America and Africa, carcharodontosaur fossils had never been found in Australia – until now. With the two shinbones, we now have the first evidence of the group on this continent.

Curiously, these Australian carcharodontosaurs are much smaller than their African and South American cousins, and the bones we have most closely resemble a carcharodontosaur from Thailand.

One of the Victorian carcharodontosaur shinbones was found on the Otway Coast. The other was found on the Bass Coast, in rocks nearly 10 million years older. This demonstrates these predators were successful in this area for at least 10 million years. It’s a notable find.

The large-bodied carcharodontosaurs of Africa and South America were seemingly specialised for hunting long-necked sauropods. However, this food source was likely not available to the Victorian polar carcharodontosaurs: sauropod fossils have never been found in Victoria.

The Australian ‘raptors’

Unenlagiines were lightly built (and likely feathered) predatory dinosaurs, related to Velociraptor of Jurassic Park fame.

Most unenlagiine fossil remains have been found in South America. Historically, Australia had limited evidence for their presence, as well.

Our description of a new unenlagiine shinbone from Victoria provides robust evidence for their success in polar Australia during the Early Cretaceous.

The snouts of unenlagiines were relatively longer, and their arms relatively shorter than those of their dromaeosaur cousins from the Northern Hemisphere. This implies they had a rather different diet. The Victorian unenlagiine presumably ate fish or small land-dwelling animals. One possibility is the small mammals for which the Victorian Cretaceous is perhaps most famous – more than 50 mammal jaws have been found to date, and some are from ancient relatives of platypus and echidna.

The apex predators of Victoria

Large predatory dinosaurs – on the scale of Tyrannosaurus – are notably absent from the Australian fossil record. Instead, Australian dinosaur populations seem to have been dominated by medium-sized carnivores called megaraptorids.

Megaraptorid fossils are only known from South America and Australia. The most complete skeletons are from South America, including a relatively large one – roughly nine metres long. Australia’s only reasonably complete megaraptorid is Australovenator wintonensis from Winton, central Queensland.

The shinbone and tail vertebrae we describe provide evidence for a large megaraptorid in southeast Australia. Despite being almost 30 million years older than the roughly five- to six-metre-long Australovenator, the Bass Coast megaraptorid was at least 5% larger: approaching the size of its South American relatives.

The large, muscular arms and fingers tipped with fearsome scythe-like claws were presumably the primary weapons of megaraptorids. In contrast to almost every other group of medium-sized carnivorous dinosaurs, megaraptorids had elongated snouts with small teeth.

The abundance of ornithopods in Victoria presumably made this region more suited to smaller prey specialists like megaraptorids, rather than sauropod-stalking carcharodontosaurs.

More discoveries yet to come

We have much to learn about Australia’s Cretaceous dinosaurs. Our study shows how even five isolated and incomplete bones can improve our understanding of our continent’s fossil heritage.

Carcharodontosaurs might have been the apex predators in South America, but megaraptorids ruled the roost in the land down under.

The fantastic dinosaur fossil record of Victoria has grown over nearly 40 years thanks to the efforts of Dinosaur Dreaming, an ongoing volunteer palaeontology project, and citizen scientists like Melissa Lowery. Thanks to their efforts, our window into Victoria’s ancient past continues to become ever clearer.

Jake Kotevski, PhD Candidate, School of Biological Sciences, Monash University and PhD Candidate, Museums Victoria Research Institute and Stephen Poropat, Research Associate, School of Earth and Planetary Sciences, Curtin University

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Six decades after Nat King Cole’s death in 1965, his music is still some of the most played in the world, and his celebrity transcends generational and racial divides. His smooth voice, captivating piano skills and enduring charisma earned him international acclaim.

One of the most influential artists of the 20th century, Cole was not only a groundbreaking musician but also a quiet, yet resolute, advocate for social justice.

As an African American sacred music scholar, I have been immersed in the inseparable link between music, culture and social change for over 40 years. Examining Cole through the lens of his activism uncovers the nuanced ways in which he challenged the status quo and contributed to the Civil Rights Movement.

Beneath the polished veneer of his public image lay a deeply personal commitment to confronting racism and advocating for equality that is often overlooked.

Formative years

Nathaniel Adams Coles was born on March 17, 1919, in Montgomery, Alabama, to Perlina Adams Coles and Edward James Coles. Perlina served as the organist at the True Light Baptist Church and later the First Baptist Church of North Chicago, both pastored by Nathaniel’s father. She passed her love for music to her children, teaching them to play the piano and organ. Cole’s formative years were spent in church; gospel songs, hymns and spirituals formed the foundation of his musical education.

Though Cole is primarily remembered for his jazz and pop hits, the emotive power, communal emphasis and uplifting nature of Black sacred music profoundly shaped his artistry throughout his career, despite his single sacred album, “Every Time I Feel The Spirit,” released in 1959. The influence of gospel music, in particular, can be heard in his soulful phrasing and heartfelt delivery, contributing to his remarkable ability to connect with audiences.

Growing up in Chicago, he was also exposed to a rich tapestry of musical genres, including blues, classical and jazz. This eclectic upbringing laid the foundation for his versatile musical style and commercial success.

While Cole’s music was not overtly political, his very presence in the mainstream was a statement. In an era of racial segregation, he was a Black man achieving unprecedented success in a predominantly white music industry. His impeccable diction, tailored suits and sophisticated performances countered the prevailing stereotypes of African Americans as uncouth or subservient.

By embodying a poised and dignified persona, Cole communicated a powerful message: Black excellence and humanity could not be denied. As race scholar George Lipsitz writes in “The Possessive Investment in Whiteness,” “The cultural field … is a site of struggle where meanings are contested and power relations are negotiated.”

Cole’s success challenged the structural racism that sought to confine Black artists to the margins and opened doors for future generations. He acknowledged the significance of his presence on national television, recognizing it as a potential turning point for Black representation. While hesitant to explicitly label himself an activist, he contemplated the impact of his success on breaking down barriers, believing that “when you’ve got the respect of white and colored, you can ease a lot of things.”

Confronting racism

In response to critics who dismiss Cole’s legacy as apolitical, I argue that they overlook the complexity of his resistance. Several scholars have stated that in a society where overt defiance often resulted in violence or economic ruin, Cole’s ability to navigate the entertainment industry while maintaining his dignity was itself a form of activism.

Though Cole never referred to himself as an activist, he confronted racism in both overt and quiet ways. Scholars such as cultural theorist Stuart Hall and researcher Laura Pottinger define “quiet activism” as modest, everyday acts of resistance – either implicitly or explicitly political – that challenge dominant ideologies and power structures. These acts often entail processes of production or creativity.

Despite his commercial success, Cole faced relentless systemic and personal racism. In 1948, he purchased a home in the affluent Hancock Park neighborhood of Los Angeles, a move met with hostility; the local homeowners association attempted to expel him, and he endured threats and acts of vandalism.

Yet Cole refused to be intimidated. His resolve was a courageous act of resistance that highlighted the pervasive inequalities of the time.

Cole faced blatant discrimination in Las Vegas. He was often denied access to the same hotels and restaurants where he performed, forced to stay in segregated accommodations. One particularly notable incident occurred at the Sands Hotel. in Las Vegas. When the maitre d’ tried to deny service to Cole’s Black bandmates in the dining room, Cole threatened to cancel his performance and leave. This forced the hotel management to back down, setting a precedent for other Black entertainers and patrons.

Cole quietly sued hotels and negotiated contracts that guaranteed his right to stay in the hotels where he performed, a significant step toward desegregation. He also made it a point to bring his entire entourage, including Black musicians and friends, to these establishments, challenging their “whites only” policies.

‘We Are Americans Too’

Cole’s impact extended beyond the realm of music. In 1956, he became the first African American to host a national network television show, “The Nat King Cole Show.” This was a groundbreaking moment, as it brought a Black man into the living rooms of millions of white Americans every week.

Though the show faced challenges with sponsorship due to racial prejudice, it marked a significant step toward greater representation and acceptance. As historian Donald Bogle notes in his 2001 book “Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, and Bucks,” “Television … became a new battleground for the image of the black performer.” Cole’s show, despite its short run, was a crucial battle in this war.

When Cole was attacked onstage by white supremacists during a concert in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1956, it underscored the physical danger Black public figures faced and galvanized Cole’s commitment to the Civil Rights Movement.

It is important to note that Cole’s support for the Civil Rights Movement was often quiet and behind the scenes. He faced criticism from some who felt he should have been more outspoken. However, his actions demonstrate his commitment to the cause of racial equality. Cole, who died in 1965 at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, was a member of his local NAACP branch. He also performed at benefit concerts for the organization, raising money to support their efforts in fighting racial discrimination.

Shortly after the attack in Birmingham, Cole recorded his only song that is specifically political, “We Are Americans Too.” Recorded in 1956, the song was a powerful statement of belonging and a challenge to racial exclusion. Though it would not come close to reaching commercial success, it did serve as a powerful reminder that African Americans were, in fact, Americans. Over a half-century later, this song still resonates and speaks to the ongoing struggle for full inclusion and recognition for marginalized groups.

The juxtaposition of the refrain “We are Americans too” against the backdrop of the treatment of Black people during the Civil Rights Movement gives this song emotional weight. The very act of having to assert “We are Americans too” highlights the injustice of the situation.

It underscores the disconnect between the ideals of American democracy and the reality of racial inequality. In this context, the refrain “We are Americans too” is an act of resistance, a challenge to the prevailing social order. It highlights the hypocrisy of a nation founded on principles of liberty while denying those same liberties to a significant portion of its population. It’s a call for America to finally recognize the full humanity and citizenship of its Black citizens.

Great art, and great artists, are powerful witnesses of the times in which they live, love, work and play. Their commentary, both artistically and humanly, leaves an important record for generations. This is clearly evident in Nat King Cole.

Donna M. Cox, Professor of Music, University of Dayton

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When we see objects in museum display cases, it often doesn’t tell their whole story. One thing that tends to get ignored or even lost in the conservation process is the smell. We lose a lot of valuable information as a result, such as how the object was produced or how it functioned.

My field is called sensory heritage, which relates to how we engage with heritage objects with senses other than vision. As part of this, I develop methods to identify and preserve culturally significant smells.

For example, I have worked with St Paul’s Cathedral to recreate the scent of its library, to ensure that it can be experienced by future generations. I was also part of an EU-funded project called Odeuropa, which worked with computer scientists and historians to tell the stories of smells from 300 years of European history.

With help from some perfumers, we brought back smells such as 17th-century Amsterdam, with its canals and linden trees. As a result, for example, visitors to Museum Ulm in southern Germany can experience our olfactory interpretations for ten of the paintings on display.

My latest project delves much further into the past. I was asked by the University of Ljubljana, in association with the University of Krakow and the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, to help with a study of mummified bodies. Ljubljana was studying a mummified body in the national museum in Slovenia, and had been invited to extend its research to some mummified bodies in Cairo.

The strict guidelines about studying these bodies stipulate that researchers must use techniques that are not destructive. One way is to see what can be learned by smelling, which is why I joined the project, led by Professor Matija Strlič and PhD researcher Emma Paolin.

We studied nine mummified bodies at the Egyptian Museum, four of which were on display and five in storage. They span different time periods, with the oldest being from 3,500 years ago. They were also conserved in different ways and stored in different places, so they give a decent representation of all the mummified bodies in different collections around the world.

I put together a team of eight expert sniffers, of which I was one. Some are specialists who have worked with me on other projects, while some are colleagues from the Egyptian Museum who were given smell training in advance. We wanted them on the panel because they are so familiar with the smells in question.

The research

We began by doing chemical analysis to ensure the bodies were safe to smell, since in prior decades they were treated with synthetic pesticides to keep them preserved. Several bodies had high concentrations of these pesticides, which could potentially be carcinogenic, so these were removed from the study.

With the remaining nine, we slightly opened their sarcophaguses to insert little pipes and extract quantities of air. A measured volume of this air went into special bags which we took into a room away from display areas, so I and the other sniffers could experience them “nose on”.

More air was captured inside metal tubes containing a polymer that traps the volatile organic compounds, so they could be studied in a laboratory at the University of Ljubljana. This air was subjected to various chemical analyses to see which compounds were present, and also separated into its constituent parts using chromatography, so that we sniffers could experience and describe each smell individually.

This was very hard work: we usually took turns to sit on the end of a special machine with an outlet known as an olfactory port. You spend 15 to 20 minutes experiencing one smell after another, having to quickly describe them and rate their intensity. It can be as much as one smell every second, which can be overwhelming – hence the taking of turns.

Our findings

I was more excited at the prospect of discovering something new than nervous about what it would be like to smell these ancient bodies. However, you’d be forgiven for thinking these odours would not be agreeable. From the accounts of archaeologists to movies such as The Mummy (1999), mummified bodies are associated with foul smells.

Yet surprisingly, the smells were quite pleasant. The sniff team’s descriptions included “woody”, “floral”, “sweet”, “spicy”, “stale” and “resin-like”. We were able to identify ancient embalming ingredients including conifer oils, frankincense, myrrh and cinnamon.

We also identified degraded animal fats used in the mummification process; the human remains themselves; and both synthetic pesticides and benign plant-based pest oils that had more recently been used by the museum for preservation.

Bodies in display cases had a stronger scent than those in storage, but none was as strong as, say, a perfume. Surprisingly, one smelled distinctly of black tea: when you smell a body from millennia ago, you certainly don’t expect to be transported back to your kitchen. The other sniffers agreed about the tea smell, and we later established that the source was probably a chemical called caryophyllene.

Future steps

Next, we will reconstruct the smell of the mummified bodies so that visitors to the Egyptian Museum can experience them first-hand. We’ll make both a faithful chemical construction of what we smelled, plus an interpretation of how the body would have smelled when it was sealed off in its tomb.

It will probably be 2026 before the public can experience these. In the meantime, we’re also being approached by other museums with ancient Egyptian collections who are interested in working with us to apply similar methods.

Separately, I am working with other colleagues on developing a catalogue for smells of cultural significance to the UK, including vintage cars, traditional dishes and more libraries.

Hopefully, our work with mummified bodies is an example of how you can bring back another dimension of heritage. Experiencing smells helps to give visitors a more holistic appreciation and understanding of the subjects.

And everyone is fascinated by mummified bodies. Soon, it will be possible to put yourself in the shoes of the archaeologists who originally discovered their tombs, and revealed their secrets to the modern world.

Cecilia Bembibre, Lecturer in Sustainable Heritage, UCL

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There is only so much thinking most of us can do in our heads. Try dividing 16,951 by 67 without reaching for a pen and paper. Or a calculator. Try doing the weekly shopping without a list on the back of last week’s receipt. Or on your phone.

By relying on these devices to help make our lives easier, are we making ourselves smarter or dumber? Have we traded efficiency gains for inching ever closer to idiocy as a species?

This question is especially important to consider with regard to generative artificial intelligence (AI) technology such as ChatGPT, an AI chatbot owned by tech company OpenAI, which at the time of writing is used by 300 million people each week.

According to a recent paper by a team of researchers from Microsoft and Carnegie Mellon University in the United States, the answer might be yes. But there’s more to the story.

Thinking well

The researchers assessed how users perceive the effect of generative AI on their own critical thinking.

Generally speaking, critical thinking has to do with thinking well.

One way we do this is by judging our own thinking processes against established norms and methods of good reasoning. These norms include values such as precision, clarity, accuracy, breadth, depth, relevance, significance and cogency of arguments.

Other factors that can affect quality of thinking include the influence of our existing world views, cognitive biases, and reliance on incomplete or inaccurate mental models.

The authors of the recent study adopt a definition of critical thinking developed by American educational psychologist Benjamin Bloom and colleagues in 1956. It’s not really a definition at all. Rather it’s a hierarchical way to categorise cognitive skills, including recall of information, comprehension, application, analysis, synthesis and evaluation.

The authors state they prefer this categorisation, also known as a “taxonomy”, because it’s simple and easy to apply. However, since it was devised it has fallen out of favour and has been discredited by Robert Marzano and indeed by Bloom himself.

In particular, it assumes there is a hierarchy of cognitive skills in which so-called “higher-order” skills are built upon “lower-order” skills. This does not hold on logical or evidence-based grounds. For example, evaluation, usually seen as a culminating or higher-order process, can be the beginning of inquiry or very easy to perform in some contexts. It is more the context than the cognition that determines the sophistication of thinking.

An issue with using this taxonomy in the study is that many generative AI products also seem to use it to guide their own output. So you could interpret this study as testing whether generative AI, by the way it’s designed, is effective at framing how users think about critical thinking.

Also missing from Bloom’s taxonomy is a fundamental aspect of critical thinking: the fact that the critical thinker not only performs these and many other cognitive skills, but performs them well. They do this because they have an overarching concern for the truth, which is something AI systems do not have.

Higher confidence in AI equals less critical thinking

Research published earlier this year revealed “a significant negative correlation between frequent AI tool usage and critical thinking abilities”.

The new study further explores this idea. It surveyed 319 knowledge workers such as healthcare practitioners, educators and engineers who discussed 936 tasks they conducted with the help of generative AI. Interestingly, the study found users consider themselves to use critical thinking less in the execution of the task, than in providing oversight at the verification and editing stages.

In high-stakes work environments, the desire to produce high-quality work combined with fear of reprisals serve as powerful motivators for users to engage their critical thinking in reviewing the outputs of AI.

But overall, participants believe the increases in efficiency more than compensate for the effort expended in providing such oversight.

The study found people who had higher confidence in AI generally displayed less critical thinking, while people with higher confidence in themselves tended to display more critical thinking.

This suggests generative AI does not harm one’s critical thinking – provided one has it to begin with.

Problematically, the study relied too much on self-reporting, which can be subject to a range of biases and interpretation issues. Putting this aside, critical thinking was defined by users as “setting clear goals, refining prompts, and assessing generated content to meet specific criteria and standards”.

“Criteria and standards” here refer more to the purposes of the task than to the purposes of critical thinking. For example, an output meets the criteria if it “complies with their queries”, and the standards if the “generated artefact is functional” for the workplace.

This raises the question of whether the study was really measuring critical thinking at all.

Becoming a critical thinker

Implicit in the new study is the idea that exercising critical thinking at the oversight stage is at least better than an unreflective over-reliance on generative AI.

The authors recommend generative AI developers add features to trigger users’ critical oversight. But is this enough?

Critical thinking is needed at every stage before and while using AI – when formulating questions and hypotheses to be tested, and when interrogating outputs for bias and accuracy.

The only way to ensure generative AI does not harm your critical thinking is to become a critical thinker before you use it.

Becoming a critical thinker requires identifying and challenging unstated assumptions behind claims and evaluating diverse perspectives. It also requires practising systematic and methodical reasoning and reasoning collaboratively to test your ideas and thinking with others.

Chalk and chalkboards made us better at mathematics. Can generative AI make us better at critical thinking? Maybe – if we are careful, we might be able to use generative AI to challenge ourselves and augment our critical thinking.

But in the meantime, there are always steps we can, and should, take to improve our critical thinking instead of letting an AI do the thinking for us.

Deborah Brown, Professor in Philosophy, Director of the University of Queensland Critical Thinking Project, The University of Queensland and Peter Ellerton, Senior Lecturer in Philosophy and Education; Curriculum Director, UQ Critical Thinking Project, The University of Queensland

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Menstruation, or a period, is the bleeding that occurs about monthly in healthy people born with a uterus, from puberty to menopause. This happens when the endometrium, the tissue that lines the inside of the uterus, is shed.

Endometriosis is a condition that occurs when endometrium-like tissue is found outside the uterus, usually within the pelvic cavity. It is often considered a major cause of pelvic pain.

Pelvic pain significantly impacts quality of life. But how can you tell the difference between period pain and endometriosis?

Periods and period pain

Periods involve shedding the 4-6 millimetre-thick endometrial lining from the inside of the uterus.

As the lining detaches from the wall of the uterus, the blood vessels which previously supplied the lining bleed. The uterine muscles contract, expelling the blood and crumbled endometrium.

The crumbled endometrium and blood mostly pass through the cervix and vagina. But almost everyone back-bleeds via their fallopian tubes into their pelvic cavity. This is known as “retrograde menstruation”.

The process of menstrual shedding is caused by inflammatory substances, which also cause nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, headaches, aches, pains, dizziness, feeling faint, as well as stimulating pain receptors.

These inflammatory substances are responsible for the pain and symptoms in the week before a period and the first few days.

For women with heavy periods, their worst days of pain are usually the heaviest days of their period, coinciding with more cramps to expel clots and more retrograde bleeding.

Many women also have pain when they are releasing an egg from their ovary at the time of ovulation. Ovulation or mid-cycle pain can be worse in those who bleed more, as those women are more likely to bleed into the ovulation follicle.

Around 90% of adolescents experience period pain. Among these adolescents, 20% will experience such severe period pain they need time off from school and miss activities. These symptoms are too often normalised, without validation or acknowledgement.

What about endometriosis?

Many symptoms have been attributed to endometriosis, including painful periods, pain with sex, bladder and bowel-related pain, low back pain and thigh pain.

Other pain-related conditions such migraines and chronic fatigue have also been linked to endometriosis. But these other pain-related symptoms occur equally often in people with pelvic pain who don’t have endometriosis.

Repeated, significant period and ovulation pain can eventually lead some people to develop persistent or chronic pelvic pain, which lasts longer than six months. This appears to occur through a process known as central sensitisation, where the brain becomes more sensitive to pain and other sensory stimuli.

Central sensitisation can occur in people with persistent pain, independent of the presence or absence of endometriosis.

Eventually, many people with period and/or persistent pelvic pain will have an operation called a laparoscopy, which allows surgeons to examine organs in the pelvis and abdomen, and diagnose and treat endometriosis.

Yet only 50% of those with identical pain symptoms who undergo a laparoscopy will end up having endometriosis.

Endometriosis is also found in pain-free women. So we cannot predict who does and doesn’t have endometriosis from symptoms alone.

How is this pain managed?

Endometriosis surgery usually involves removing lesions and adhesions. But at least 30% of people return to pre-surgery pain levels within six months or have more pain than before.

After surgery, emergency department presentations for pain are unchanged and 50% have repeat surgery within a few years.

Suppressing periods using hormonal therapies (such as continuous oral contraceptive pills or progesterone-only approaches) can suppress endometriosis and reduce or eliminate pain, independent of the presence or absence of endometriosis.

Not every type or dose of hormonal medications suits everyone, so medications need to be individualised.

The current gold-standard approach to manage persistent pelvic pain involves a multidisciplinary team approach, with the aim of achieving sustained remission and improving quality of life. This may include:

• physiotherapy for pelvic floor and other musculoskeletal problems
• management of bladder and bowel symptoms
• support for self-managing pain
• lifestyle changes including diet and exercise
• psychological or group therapy, as our moods, stress levels and childhood events can affect how we feel and experience pain.

Whether you have period pain, chronic pelvic pain or pain you think is associated with endometriosis, if you feel pain, it’s real. If it’s disrupting your life, you deserve to be taken seriously and treated as the whole person you are.

Sonia R. Grover, Clinical Professor of Gynaecology, The University of Melbourne

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

Some national borders are determined by natural phenomena like seas, mountains and rivers. Most, however, are created by people.

This means the creation of borders is often a political exercise – usually informed by the interests of those who create them, not the local populations to whom they apply.

The Sykes-Picot agreement, known officially as the Asia Minor Agreement of 1916, was arguably the first in a series of attempts by colonial powers to mould the borders of the Middle East.

Signed in secret at the height of the first world war, Sykes-Picot was an agreement between France and Great Britain, approved by Russia. It would have lasting consequences for the region.

It is frequently cited as the epitome of European colonial betrayal, and the genesis of most conflict in the Middle East.

But while Sykes-Picot did significantly affect regional politics, the history is more complicated than popular narratives suggest.

‘The Eastern question’

The agreement was seen by the signatories as a potential answer to what was then known by European powers as “the Eastern question”: what would happen when the Ottoman Empire inevitably collapsed?

The Ottoman state in the early 20th century was vast compared to its European peers, encompassing Anatolia (the Asian part of modern-day Turkey) and parts of the Arabian Peninsula.

But it was weak, and had been on a steady decline since the 18th century due to multiple military defeats, revolts and rampant corruption. By the beginning of the first world war, the Triple Entente (France, Britain and Russia) believed the Ottoman state would not survive long.

The Entente aimed to create new “zones of influence” in the Middle East, dividing Ottoman territory into colonial partitions.

Secret negotiations

Between late 1915 and early 1916, Britain and France sent their respective envoys to negotiate the potential terms of this outcome in secret.

Mark Sykes, a political adviser and military veteran, represented the British. François Georges-Picot, a career diplomat, represented the French.

Italy and Russia also had delegations in attendance, though the discussions were dominated by Britain and France as the most powerful nations. The Ottomans were oblivious to these negotiations.

Under the agreement:

• France was allocated what is now Syria, Lebanon and southern Turkey
• Britain claimed most of modern-day Iraq, southern Palestine and Kuwait
• Russia took control of Armenia.

An area known as the Jerusalem Sanjak (an administrative division created by the Ottomon Empire) in Palestine was to come under an international protectorate, though it was not settled in the agreement as to how this protectorate would operate.

Sykes-Picot was kept secret, mostly because Britain had made contradictory commitments to other parties. It had promised (through a series of letters known as the McMahon-Hussein correspondence) to give independence to the Arabs who had helped the British fight the Ottomans in the first world war.

Later, in early November 1917, it also made a promise to Zionist Jews migrating to Palestine in the Balfour Declaration. In this public declaration, Foreign Secretary Lord Arthur Balfour effectively expressed Britain’s support for the Zionist project to create a Jewish state in Ottoman Palestine. Then-Prime Minister David Lloyd George also publicly supported both Zionism and Balfour’s statement.

The Sykes-Picot agreement did not stay secret for long.

In November 1917, the Bolsheviks, who were now in power in Russia following the fall of the Russian monarchy, published Sykes-Picot to the world.

Arab nationalists were enraged. So, too, were Zionists who had witnessed the Balfour Declaration just weeks prior. The Anglo-French declaration of November 1918 attempted to allay the fears of the Arabs by pledging to “assist in the establishment of national governments and administrations.” However, Arab distrust of the European powers only grew.

Borders moulded by colonial powers

In the years following, European powers started to reevaluate their position on Ottoman territory.

The French, who still wished to take control of Syria, had argued the newly formed League of Nations (a predecessor of the United Nations) could give France the territory under a mandate. A mandate is a formal authorisation to govern by the League of Nations.

The British said this would violate their earlier promises to the Arabs. Britain reiterated that the Anglo-French declaration of 1918 superseded Sykes-Picot.

Then came the San Remo Conference in 1920, an international meeting in Italy. This is where some of the popular readings into Sykes-Picot get muddled, as several aspects of the agreement were discarded. What remained the same was the French and British desire to add Ottoman territory to their dominions.

Here, the European victors of the first world war sought to finalise the division of Ottoman territories by slicing them into League of Nations mandates.

This included the French mandates of Syria and Lebanon, as well as the British mandates of Palestine and Mesopotamia. Britain also confirmed at the time its support for a Jewish national homeland, while protecting the local Palestinian population.

This is where we start to see borders of the modern Middle East form. The boundaries themselves differed from Sykes-Picot. But Britain and France, however, were still able to expand their colonial dominion in the region.

In 1921, a group of British representatives met in Cairo to finalise the borders of their mandates. This led to the creation of two states: Iraq under King Faisal and Transjordan (now Jordan) under King Abdullah – both of whom were members of the Arab Heshemite dynasty. Palestine was to remain under British mandatory control.

While these states had independence on paper, then-Colonial Secretary Winston Churchill believed that Transjordan would ultimately be controlled by the British Empire, giving the Heshemites only nominal independence.

Little consideration was given to the ethnic and religious diversity of these territories. Some argue this helped lead to modern-day sectarian conflict in Iraq.

Ripples that continue today

The collapse of the Ottoman Empire was always going to cause regional upheaval, but the colonial jockeying for territory clearly had lasting consequences.

Several regional conflicts were exacerbated during this period, but it would also directly lead to the creation of the state of Israel and the Arab-Israeli conflict.

This leads to the displacement of Palestinians and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict that still rages today.

Zionists and Arab nationalists viewed Palestine to have been originally promised to them by the British through the Balfour Declaration and McMahon-Hussein correspondence, respectfully.

But in Sykes-Picot, the British had no intention of promising Palestine to anyone but themselves.

As a result, the British mandate was characterised by anti-colonial violence from both Jews and Arabs.

When the British eventually abandoned control of Palestine in 1947, the UN partition plan for two states (one Jewish, one Arab) was supposed to take over. Instead, Arab-Israeli conflict began within hours of the partition taking effect.

So a lot happened after Sykes-Picot, with the map proposed in 1916 looking very different to what actually eventuated.

Many scholars argue it was the agreements that followed Sykes-Picot that were more consequential, and Sykes-Picot holds only “minor importance” by comparison.

While this may be true, Sykes-Picot is still emblematic of how consequential European colonial ambition was in the Middle East.

And while the borders outlined in the agreement did not eventuate, Britain and France still managed to get most of the territory they wanted, with little consideration of local populations.

The Sykes-Picot agreement is therefore one of many colonial projects that we are still feeling the ripples of today.

Andrew Thomas, Lecturer in Middle East Studies, Deakin University

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

Picture a primordial Earth: a world of muted browns, greys and greens. Fast forward to today, and Earth teems with a kaleidoscope of colours. From the stunning feathers of male peacocks to the vivid blooms of flowers, the story of how Earth became colourful is one of evolution. But how and why did this explosion of colour happen? Recent research is giving us clues into this part of Earth’s narrative.

The journey towards a colourful world began with the evolution of vision, which initially developed to distinguish light from dark over 600 million years ago. This ability probably arose in early organisms, like single-celled bacteria, enabling them to detect changes in their environment, such as the direction of sunlight. Over time, more sophisticated visual systems evolved and allowed organisms to perceive a broader spectrum of light.

For example, trichromatic vision – the ability to detect three distinct wavelengths such as red, green and blue – originated approximately 500-550 million years ago. This coincided with the “Cambrian explosion” (about 541 million years ago), which marked a rapid diversification of life, including the development of advanced sensory systems like vision.

The first animals with trichromatic vision were arthropods (a group of invertebrates that includes insects, spiders and crustaceans). Trichromatic vision emerged 420-500 million years ago in vertebrates. This adaptation helped ancient animals to navigate their environments and detect predators or prey in ways that monochromatic vision could not.

Fossil evidence from trilobites, extinct marine arthropods that roamed the seas over 500 million years ago, suggests they had compound eyes. This means eyes with multiple small lenses, each capturing a fraction of the visual field, which combine to form a mosaic image. These eyes could detect multiple wavelengths, providing an evolutionary advantage in dim marine environments by enhancing the animal’s visibility and motion detection.

The stage was set: organisms could see a colourful world before they became colourful themselves.

The first burst of conspicuous colour came from plants. Early plants began producing colourful fruits and flowers, such as red, yellow, orange, blue and purple, to attract animals to help plants with seed dispersal and pollination.

Analytical models based on present-day plant variation suggest that colourful fruits, which appeared roughly 300-377 million years ago, co-evolved with seed-dispersing animals, such as early relatives of mammals. Flowers and their pollinators emerged later, around 140-250 million years ago. These innovations marked a turning point in Earth’s palette.

The rise of flowering plants (angiosperms) in the Cretaceous period, over 100 million years ago, brought an explosion of colour, as flowers evolved brighter and more vibrant hues than seeds to attract pollinators like bees, butterflies and birds.

Conspicuous colouration in animals emerged less than 140 million years ago. Before, animals were mostly muted browns and greys. This timeline suggests that colour evolution was not inevitable, shaped instead by ecological and evolutionary factors, which could have led to different outcomes under different circumstances.

Vibrant colours often evolved as a kind of signalling to attract mates, deter predators, or establish dominance. Sexual selection probably played a strong role in driving these changes.

Dinosaurs provide some of the most striking evidence of early animal colouration. Fossilised melanosomes (pigment-containing cell structures called organelles) in feathered dinosaurs like Anchiornis reveal a vivid red plumage.

These feathers probably served display purposes, signalling fitness to mates or intimidating rivals. Similarly, the fossilised scales of a green and black ten million-year-old snake fossil suggest early use of colour for signalling or camouflage.

The evolution of colour is not always straightforward. Take poison frogs, for instance. These small amphibians display striking hues of blue, yellow, or red, not to attract mates but to warn predators of their toxicity, a phenomenon known as aposematism.

But some of their close relatives, equally toxic, blend into their environments. So why evolve bright warning signals when camouflage could also deter predators? The answer lies in the local predator community and the cost of producing colour. In regions where predators learn to associate vibrant colours with toxicity, conspicuous coloration is an effective survival strategy. In other contexts, blending in may work.

Unlike many mammals, which have dichromatic vision and see fewer colours, most primates including humans have trichromatic vision, enabling us to perceive a broader range of hues, including reds. This probably helped our ancestors locate fruit in forests and likely played a role in social signalling. We see flowers differently from pollinators like bees, which can detect ultraviolet patterns invisible to us, highlighting how colour is tailored to a species’ ecological needs.

A world still changing

Earth’s palette isn’t static. Climate change, habitat loss, and human influence are altering the selective pressures on colouration, potentially reshaping the visual landscape of the future. For example, some fish species exposed to polluted waters are losing their vibrant colours, as toxins disrupt pigment production or visual communication.

As we look to the past, the story of Earth’s colours is one of gradual transformation punctuated by bursts of innovation. From the ancient seas where trilobites first saw the world in colour to the dazzling displays of modern birds and flowers, life on Earth has been painting its canvas for over half a billion years.

What will the next chapter of this vibrant story hold?

Jonathan Goldenberg, Postdoctoral Researcher in Evolutionary Biology, Lund University

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

“It’s an old song”, Hermes (Christine Anu) sings at the opening of Hadestown, but “we’re gonna sing it again and again”.

Based on a myth first told in Greece over 2,500 years ago, Hadestown is a modern retelling of the story of lovers Orpheus and Eurydice.

In ancient Greece, Orpheus was considered the greatest of all musicians, due to his divine heritage. His musical ability makes Orpheus uniquely well suited as the lead for a musical.

In the myth and the musical, Orpheus descends into the Underworld to retrieve his wife, Eurydice, after her untimely death. Moved by his powerful song, the king and queen of the Underworld, Hades and Persephone, allow Orpheus to leave their realm with Eurydice.

One condition: Orpheus must not look back at his wife until they have fully emerged from the underworld.

It’s a tale of a love from long ago

The story of Orpheus and Eurydice is one of the most retold myths from antiquity, likely due to its narrative focus on love, loss, and the human condition.

The ancient story of Orpheus and Eurydice is best known from Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Virgil’s Georgics. While Ovid places Orpheus in a world governed by unpredictable gods, Virgil’s focus on natural order means that the tragic events feel predetermined.

There are numerous other ancient versions, including a mention in Plato’s Symposium, where the philosopher (somewhat unfairly) suggests the musician lacked commitment to his lover.

During the Middle Ages, Eurydice was paralleled with biblical Eve. Eurydice and Eve were both figures known to have unfortunate encounters with snakes, and both were viewed as vulnerable to sin (in Eurydice’s case, being carried away by Hades).

Orpheus was sometimes seen as a Christ-like figure, with his descent to hell compared to Christ’s journey to save souls. Indeed, Orpheus is referenced by his fellow traveller to Hell, Dante, in his Inferno.

The lovers’ story inspired artists such as Rubens and Titian, and many operas, such as L’Orfeo by Monteverdi (1607). Indeed, operas featuring Orpheus are sufficiently numerous to have their own Wikipedia page.

The love story of Orpheus and Eurydice recently featured in the Netflix series Kaos (2024). The story is referenced in video games Don’t Look Back (2009) and Hades (2020).

Orpheus’ desperate journey to reconnect with his lost love holds continued relevance, thousands of years after its first telling.

Our lady of the underground

In the musical, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is paralleled with the story of Hades and Persephone.

In ancient myth, the union of Hades and Persephone in the Underworld was said to cause the changing of the seasons.

Persephone’s divine mother, Demeter, goddess of the harvest and fertility, was so devastated by her daughter’s abduction by Hades that no plants would grow.

Zeus offered the solution: Persephone would spend half the year below ground and half above.

When Persephone was with Hades, the world would enter winter. The new life connected with the coming of spring signalled Demeter’s joy at the return of her beloved daughter.

Way down Hadestown

The musical, written by Anaïs Mitchell, is largely faithful to the broad arc of the ancient story of Orpheus and Eurydice. A notable exception is seen in the death of Eurydice. In the ancient myth, this is often attributed to snakebite; in the musical she chooses to descend to the Underworld due to economic desperation.

Having Eurydice choose to sign her life over to Hades arguably lends her a limited amount of agency, although she almost immediately regrets her decision.

The choice to give Eurydice a more distinctive voice is reminiscent of the works of Victorian poets Edward Dowden and Robert Browning, as well as later poems by Margaret Atwood and Carol Ann Duffy.

While in the ancient myth, Eurydice’s speech is limited to her whispered farewell, these poets all give us an insight into Eurydice’s thoughts and feelings. The musical continues this tradition of giving agency, hopes and opinions.

The dangers posed by unpredictable seasons, seen in the ancient myth of Hades and Persephone, is used in the musical to reflect modern concerns over climate change and environmental decline.

Rising seas and poor harvests threaten the lives of those inhabiting the industrialised world of Hadestown.

Orpheus attempts to bring a dystopian world “back in tune” through restoring environmental harmony, bringing a hopeful note to the tragic story.

Nothing changes

In this Australian restaging of the hit Broadway production, Noah Mullins rises to the significant challenge of portraying Orpheus, the greatest of all musicians. Abigail Adriano’s raw portrayal of Eurydice’s confinement in the underworld is genuinely moving.

Anu is a reassuring presence as the narrator and Orpheus’ confidant, the god Hermes. Adrian Tamburini’s powerful bass-baritone adds to the authority of Hades, and Elenoa Rokobaro gives a dazzling performance as Persephone. The chorus and mostly on-stage band are excellent.

At its heart, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice confronts one of the defining challenges of mortality: the reality that death can separate us from those we love and value most.

In retelling the myth, Hadestown offers timely meditations on the power of creativity and human connection, bringing this ancient love story alive again for modern audiences.

Hadestown is in Sydney until April 26, then touring to Melbourne.

Louise Pryke, Honorary Research Associate, Department of Classics and Ancient History, University of Sydney

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