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Last week, the federal government announced a plan to roll out an anti-vaping program in schools across the country.

The education program, called OurFutures, aims to prevent young people taking up vaping. It has been developed by experts from the University of Sydney’s Matilda Centre for Research in Mental Health and Substance Use with input from educators and young people.

So why do we need this program, what will it involve, and will it be an effective way to stop young people taking up vaping? Let’s take a closer look.

Vaping is on the rise

A survey of Australian high school students in 2022–23 showed almost one in three reported having tried vaping, while one in six had vaped in the previous month.

This represents a significant increase over time, with rates of both lifetime (ever) vaping and vaping in the past month more than doubling since 2017.

However, since this data were collected, new laws to control the supply of and access to vapes have been introduced, which aim to reduce the prevalence of vaping.

Evidence showing the harmful effects of vaping is mounting. A 2022 review found vaping was linked to a range of negative health outcomes including poisoning, addiction, burns to the face, hands and thighs, lung injury, and an increased likelihood of taking up tobacco smoking.

Vapes, or e-cigarettes, have been found to contain a number of chemicals known to cause cancer, including formaldehyde, acetone, and heavy metals such as nickel and lead. This means young vapers are breathing in chemicals found in nail polish remover, plastics, weed killer and industrial glues.

Although we don’t yet understand the longer-term health effects of vaping, the evidence we have so far indicates it’s vital to stop as many people taking up this habit as possible.

What will the program entail?

OurFutures is designed for children in years 7 and 8 based on research evidence. Students are guided through four online lessons, each of which uses a variety of activities and resources to educate them about the harms of vaping. Lessons also cover information on the impact of social media, assertive communication, and how and where to seek help.

The government says the program will be able to reach more than 3,000 schools across Australia.

Our research and that of others indicates this is an optimal age to reach young people, as it’s a time when they are starting to experiment and take up vapes.

This program is also extremely timely, as young people have told us they want vaping prevention messages in their schools to help them make informed decisions. These young people recognise there’s a lack of credible information available.

Equally, school professionals (such as principals and teachers) recognise they are unable to deal with the issue of vaping among students on their own, and have been calling for support.

Many young people have tried vaping.
Ruslan Alekso/Pexels

The OurFutures program is currently being trialled in 40 schools across New South Wales, Queensland and Western Australia.

Initial results have been positive. Just after students had completed the program, they knew more about the harms of vaping, and they reported reduced intentions to vape.

However, to our knowledge, full results from the trial have yet to be released. It’s also unclear whether these results will be maintained in the longer term.

A review of school-based vaping prevention programs found that although many interventions improved knowledge, attitudes and intentions around vaping in the short term, these effects were not always maintained.

However, this review also suggested programs delivered over multiple sessions, as is the case with OurFutures, were effective in preventing young people taking up vaping over longer periods.

An important element of any public health program is its capacity to be tailored to different populations. Australia is a culturally and linguistically diverse country, with urban, regional, and remote populations. It’s currently not clear if and how the program will take these differences into account.

The program should be part of a broader approach

Providing evidence-based, rational information in this way should help many young people doing this program better understand the potential health risks of vaping, and in turn think twice about doing it.

However, school-based education programs are only one strategy in a suite of strategies needed to address youth vaping. Relying solely on young people to change their behaviour is unrealistic and not best practice.

Young people operate in communities, influenced by family, social norms, and societal structures. Education is great, but we need to stop the exposure and access to these harmful products.

Fortunately, Australia’s crackdown on vaping is world-leading. We welcome recently announced vaping reforms, including stopping the importation of vapes, selling them solely behind the pharmacy counter, and restricting flavours, which limit their accessibility and appeal for school students.

Since these vape regulations were introduced the Australian Border Force has stopped hundreds of thousands of vapes entering Australia.

The recent Public Health (Tobacco and Other Products) Act 2023 also restricts the advertising and promotion of vapes, including on social media. This means the same bans that apply to tobacco advertising now also apply to vapes.

Our research shows vaping has been widely promoted to young people on social media. Social media companies must ensure the health of their users is prioritised over commercial interests.

Just last week the government called for a “digital duty of care”, which would require social media companies to take steps to create a safer online environment for all Australians.

Ultimately, the national vaping prevention program for Australian school students is a positive step. But it needs to be complemented by a range of strategies and continued government investment to support our young people to avoid or stop vaping. Läs mer…

Recent international research shows Australians are buying and reading fewer books than people in many other countries. But why?

A report by the European and International Book Federation found that only 64% of Australians bought a book in the past year, compared to an average 72% of people across 19 countries.

Similarly, 80% of Australians read a book in the past year, slightly below the international average of 85%. These differences are slim, but as book buyers and readers, we are among the lowest in the sample, alongside Aotearoa New Zealand, Finland, Latvia and the United States.

The number of people who had read a book in the past year in Italy, Spain, the United Kingdom and Ireland all came in at over 90%.

80% of Australians read a book in the past year, compared to 85% internationally.
Napendra Singh/Unsplash

Local research also suggests reading rates in Australia are falling. Back in 2017, a Macquarie University study found 92% of us read books at least once in the previous year. By 2021, in the Australia Reads national survey that figure had dropped to 75%.

What’s behind these numbers?

Price might be less of a factor than we often assume – and surprisingly, Australia’s dependence on cars could play a role. International examples showing how other countries protect and value their book cultures –  from government policies to counter the strength of Amazon to public holidays for poets – suggest measures to actively boost our own could help.

The price myth

There’s a general perception that books cost too much in Australia. But they’re not necessarily more expensive here than elsewhere. Competition from online retailers like Amazon and increases in production costs globally have levelled prices internationally.

In fact, Australians often pay similar or less for books than readers in Canada, New Zealand and the US.

Tim Winton’s new novel, Juice, for example, has an Australian recommended retail price of A$49.99. It’s almost exactly the same price in Aotearoa New Zealand (A$49.81) and costs more in Canada (A$54.59). In the US, Juice is A$44.02, and in the UK, it’s A$43.07.

While UK book prices are lower, this is mainly because books there don’t attract sales tax. The UK made books exempt from its value-added tax (VAT) applied to most goods and services – a deliberate decision to make reading more affordable.

Pauline MacLeod, the children’s and young adult literature specialist at Brisbane’s Riverbend Books, told me children’s publishers are “trying hard to keep local books priced between $22.99 and $25.99”. Still, in the current cost of living squeeze books are a discretionary spend some cannot afford.

Public transport is good for reading

More public transport seems to coincide with higher reading rates.
Vovkapanda/Pexels

Interestingly, countries where more people use public transport – like the UK, France, Germany and Spain – tend to have higher reading rates. It’s easier to read a book on a train than in a car, and these countries often have bookshops in train stations, creating a culture of reading while commuting.

In contrast, car-dependent countries like Australia, the US and Aotearoa New Zealand show lower reading rates. Our reliance on cars might explain why audiobooks are more popular in Australia than in many other countries.

A holiday for a poet

In Ireland, where 91% of people have read a book in the past 12 months, there is a strong cultural history of storytelling. Reading is supported by an arts council providing grants and bursaries, and a healthy ecosystem of literary festivals and magazines, public libraries and bookshops.

Australia has many of these things, but Ireland also significantly supports writers, with a tax exemption on artists’ income up to €50,000 (approximately A$81,500) and a basic-income pilot scheme granting 2,000 artists €325 (approximately A$530) a week.

In Ireland, reading is supported by, among other things, a healthy literary ecosystem, like this Dublin bookshop.
Shutterstock

In France, where the government actively protects its reading culture, 88% of people have read a book in the past 12 months. In 2022, France introduced a law to make French bookshops more competitive with online retailers like Amazon which often offer free delivery of books. By setting a minimum delivery fee for all online book orders of less than €35 (around A$57), the government aims to level the playing field for local booksellers.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, only 5% of French people buy all their books online (as opposed to 12% in Australia).

France has introduced laws to make French bookshops, like the famous Shakespeare and Company (pictured), competitive with online retailers.
Shutterstock

Australia has public holidays dedicated to sports, like the Melbourne Cup and the AFL Grand Final (both in Victoria). In Portugal, a national holiday, Portugal Day, commemorates the death of poet Luís de Camões, considered Portugal’s greatest.

While 85% of Portuguese people have read a book in the past 12 months (exactly the international average), they consider reading as one of their hobbies (37%) and have bought a book in the past year (76%) at rates above the international average.

Interestingly, just 32% of Australians said they consider reading a hobby, compared to 44% in Spain and 42% in the UK.

Families, the education system and the media are also all key to inculcating this culture of reading, as is a strong local publishing industry.

The way forward

Local booksellers report declining reading rates in Australia, too. Robbie Egan, CEO of Australia’s peak bookselling industry body, BookPeople, told me: “The competition for eyeballs is real and it is fierce, and consumer discretionary dollars are scarce”. Industry leaders like Egan suggest we need a national campaign to promote the benefit of reading.

We know from local research that Australians value books and storytelling. With increasing competition from other forms of entertainment and tighter household budgets, encouraging a stronger reading culture may be more important than ever. Läs mer…

If you’re buying a house near a river or on a floodplain, you will likely come up against the question of flood risk. We usually talk about this in terms of chance.

Houses close to the river might be at risk of a 1-in-100 year flood, meaning there’s a 1% chance a flood could hit in any given year. Houses further back might be at risk of a 1-in-500 year flood (0.2% chance). Truly extreme floods might be 1-in-1,000 or even 10,000 years. This way of thinking about flood risk is technically known as an Annual Exceedance Probability (AEP).

What does flood risk translate to? Our recent research found houses in the New South Wales town of Richmond with an AEP of 100 – meaning a 1-in-100 year flood – come at a discount of almost 11% compared to similar homes without the risk. We are prepared to pay less for houses we think might flood.

But what’s really interesting is how quickly this discount drops off. A house in an AEP 500 zone (1-in-500 years) has a 4.4% discount. There’s no discount for houses in an AEP 1,000 zone, at risk from a 1-in-1,000 year flood. People simply ignore this risk as if it doesn’t exist. But it does. The floods which devastated Lismore in 2022 were roughly 1-in-1,000 year floods – so extreme we think it won’t happen. But it can and does.

When we assess the risk of natural disasters, we often ignore or underestimate events with a low probability but high severity. But as climate change makes floods worse and worse, this is a problem. The lethal floods in Spain came after a year’s worth of rain fell in a few hours in some areas. We underestimate floods at our peril.

What a flood-prone town tells us about risk

When we think of the risk of natural disasters such as bushfires, floods and earthquakes, our perceptions tend to be bounded by thresholds. We focus on the most likely threats and tend to ignore or play down the risk of severe events with low probability.

This may have made sense historically. But this approach won’t cut it in the future. Climate change is already making severe floods more likely, including flash floods and rivers breaking their banks.

For authorities tasked with managing flood risk, this poses a major challenge. The gap between how we see these risks and the actual threat they pose could lead to major losses of lives and property. Our research suggests people stop assessing risk beyond 1-in-500 year floods (AEP 500).

In our research, we looked at Richmond, a flood-prone town of about 14,500 people in the Hawkesbury-Nepean Valley in New South Wales, and surrounding areas. This area has a long history of significant and dangerous flooding.

Floods regularly hit the Hawkesbury-Nepean Valley. But they can differ greatly in size and damage. Pictured: the North Richmond bridge over the Hawkesbury submerged during the April 2022 floods.
Dan Himbrechts/AAP

In the last few years, it has had five major floods, in February 2020, March 2021 and March, April and July 2022. Major floods here indicate the river has risen over 12 metres.

We used home sales data and the region’s digital flood maps to gauge how people were assessing risk in flood-prone areas.

Digital flood maps are widely used to assess the risk of flood at a specific location. In 2019, the NSW government conducted a regional flood study for the 500 square kilometre Hawkesbury-Nepean Valley, capitalising on advances in flood modelling and changes to the floodplain. These maps were updated in 2023. We used both of these maps so we could verify our findings and see how changes in the updated version changed people’s perception of risks.

These maps are very influential, as they directly shape how people see the risk of floods near them. We found these maps have strengthened residents’ perceptions of flood risk.

Digital flood maps of the Hawkesbury-Nepean Valley have been influential in showing residents the areas at risk – but low probability high severity floods are a blind spot.
NSW State Emergency Service, CC BY-NC-ND

For instance, houses with the same flood risk levels across both 2019 and 2023 flood maps saw greater drops in price compared to houses where the risk level had changed or was unclear.

In recent years, insurers have jacked up flood insurance premiums, which could mean affected residents underinsure themselves in the future. In 2023, Richmond’s median house price was A$825,000. But if it was in the 1-in-100 AEP 100 flooding zone, our research suggests it would be discounted by about 11% ($89,100).

But while the upfront cost may be less, owners of these homes will have to pay substantially higher insurance premiums as long as they own it. Getting insurance in a AEP 100 flood zone can be much more expensive than people think.

For authorities, these maps help identify areas most vulnerable to extreme flood events, such as over a 1-in-500 year flood.

As we prepare for more severe floods hitting more often, authorities need to give people as much notice as possible.

Ahead of a major rain event, we suggest authorities should release digital flood maps of areas likely to be affected – including different AEP levels. If a extreme flood (1-in-500 years or more) is likely, people living in areas with little or no flooding in their lifetimes will be affected. They need to know.

Read more:
One in 1,000 years? Old flood probabilities no longer hold water Läs mer…

On November 12, United States president-elect Donald Trump announced he would appoint Elon Musk, the world’s richest man, to lead a newly constituted Department of Government Efficiency alongside fellow tech billionaire and former presidential candidate Vivek Ramaswamy. The new department will be tasked with reining in government bureaucracy, curbing government spending, and reducing regulation.

Musk has been outspoken in his support of Trump’s campaign, which included potentially illegal financial “giveaways” to voters. Although Musk’s direct involvement in electoral politics is new, attempts by technology companies and their leaders to reshape public policy and governance have a long history, from transport and housing to town planning.

By looking more closely at some of these initiatives, we may be able to get a preview of what Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency will attempt to do, what government-by-tech may look like, and what might go wrong.

Replacing public services

In 2013, Musk himself proposed a new form of public transport called the “hyperloop” to connect Los Angeles and San Francisco. And Musk’s SpaceX is his attempt to out-compete the publicly funded NASA in building rockets.

But other tech companies have had similar ambitions.

Uber has made a series of attempts to replace public transportation. Companies such as Sidewalk Labs (a subsidiary of Google’s parent company, Alphabet) have made efforts to substitute for urban infrastructure by building so-called “smart cities” that collect and analyse data about people’s behaviour in order to make decisions about providing services.

An economist has even suggested that Amazon bookstores might replace public libraries. Tech companies have challenged public offerings in fields as diverse as education, identity verification and housing.

The limits of disruption

One thing many government-by-tech projects have in common is a belief that government is fundamentally inefficient, and that (unregulated) technology can provide better solutions.

Silicon Valley tech companies have long espoused “disruption”, the idea of overthrowing a moribund status quo with innovation. Unlike public bureaucracies, the argument goes, companies can “move fast and break things” to find new and more efficient ways to deliver services and value.

Tech companies following this philosophy have certainly offered services that benefit many of us in our day-to-day lives, and made huge amounts of money. But this doesn’t mean the Silicon Valley model makes sense for public administration. In fact, the evidence suggests something more like the opposite.

A history of failure

Tech’s forays into the provision of public services have had mixed results.

In 2017, the Canadian town of Innisfil replaced all its public transit with Uber. The result was spiralling costs for the city (in fees paid to Uber), more cars on the road, and higher transportation costs for low-income residents.

Sidewalk Labs’ smart-city experiment in Toronto was abandoned in 2021 after running into objections related to privacy and planning.

In the case of housing, the tech industry disruption has made existing problems worse, with Airbnb and other short-term rental companies contributing to the housing crisis.

Narrow solutions for narrow problems

Technology companies also tend to focus on a relatively narrow range of problems. Silicon Valley has helped us to find a taxi, pick a restaurant for dinner, navigate efficiently around a city, transfer cash to our friends, and search for the best rental for our vacation.

It has provided fewer solutions for finding low-income housing, providing care for the aged, or reducing our energy consumption. There are important reasons for this: tech companies want to generate revenue by tapping upper-middle class consumers with disposable income.

But these gaps also reflect the lack of diversity in Silicon Valley itself. Tech remains mostly white, mostly male, mostly upper-middle class, mostly highly educated. This impacts the kinds of problems Silicon Valley sees and the kinds of solutions it produces.

All this is bad enough for the private sector. But the job of the government is not merely to look after shareholders or customers (or even just those who voted for it), but rather to look after all its citizens.

Services for the few

The concern here is that the kinds of solutions and “efficiencies” that Silicon Valley produces may end up serving the few at the expense of the many. Some “inefficiencies” of public services arise from the fact they are designed to take as many people into account as possible. Provisions and protections for older people, for those with disabilities, for those who may not speak English as a first language, for example, all create the need for more bureaucracy and more regulation.

Musk has said public transit is a “pain in the ass” where you have to stand next to potential serial killers. Of course, in many places public transport carries no such stigma. What’s more, many of those who might like to commute in private jets (or even Teslas) may have little choice but to subject themselves to the vagaries of a public bus.

One of SpaceX’s goals is to reduce the cost of a trip to Mars to under $US1 million. This would be a remarkable achievement, but it means that Musk’s imagined Mars colony would remain incredibly elite. Spaceships and hyperloops are woefully inadequate as public policy.

Unsexy necessities

While the philosophy of disruption tries to downplay the importance of existing infrastructure and institutions, the tech industry itself relies on them. Uber depends on cars and roads (including the governments that maintains them), Airbnb depends on brick-and-mortar buildings (and the labour that builds them), and Amazon and eBay depend on transportation infrastructure and postal services.

All tech companies rely on established and enforced systems of finance, property, and taxation. These old infrastructures and institutions may be unsexy and even inefficient.

However, these so-called inefficiencies have often evolved in ways aligned with fairness, justice, and inclusivity. The record of Silicon Valley tech companies does not suggest that they share such values. Läs mer…

From climate change to geopolitical instability to health emergencies, we are entering a period of momentous change. The technology industry likes to tell us that the antidote is artificial intelligence (AI).

But as things currently stand, AI is actually accelerating climate change, harming Country and perpetuating systemic racism.

It doesn’t have to be this way. In fact, AI can address many of the problems facing the world today.

One way to ensure this is by centring Wiradyuri (an Indigenous nation in central New South Wales) and other sovereign First Nations ways of knowing and being with the world and technology.

A long history

First Nations cultures from around the world have a long history of creating and using technology.

For example, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander fish traps and fishing practices support sustainable fishing. They allow fish populations to thrive and eliminate waste by using the entire fish.

Inuit people from modern day North America also carved bones into snow goggles and waterproofed their canoes with raw bitumen.

These examples reflect how First Nations cultures have long developed technology to help care for and enhance all life – including Country. This is a very different approach to technology to the one we find in settler colonial cultures.

Aboriginal fish traps in Brewarrina in New South Wales are an example of First Nations technology.
John Carnemolla/Shutterstock

A logic of destruction

Settler colonialism is where people from one country settle permanently on land where others already reside. The intention of the colonisers is to destroy what isn’t wanted (including Country and First Nations cultures), take what is desired and replace the existing social structure.

Modern nations such as the United States and Australia are examples of settler colonies.

There are numerous examples in history of people using technology to facilitate settler colonial violence. These include the infamous Tuskegee syphilis experiment which began in 1932 and continued to 1972, and the forced sterilisation of Indigenous peoples in Canada throughout the 20th century.

With the US leading AI research and development, the dominant forms of contemporary technology are perpetuating the settler-colonial logic of destroying and replacing culture, Country and communities. This AI-driven settler-colonialism is occurring at a speed and reach far greater than in the past.

Some forms of AI are programmed to steal data and erase certain perspectives, voices and experiences. People are also using the technology to specifically harm Indigenous peoples.

For example, during last year’s referendum on whether or not to create an Indigenous “Voice to Parliament” in Australia, AI was used to spread misinformation and appropriate Indigenous art in support of the “No” vote.

Time to transform

For lead author Jess, a sovereign Wiradyuri Wambuul woman, her understanding of AI draws from the Wiradyuri cosmology which teaches us that everything is related. This simple yet profound concept is encapsulated by the Wiradyuri concept “Wayanha”.

Loosely translated to English, Wayanha means transformation. It teaches that everything always exists, and has always existed. In this way a person, thing or place never simply begins or ends. Instead, it transforms.

This is as true of AI as it is of humans. Just as humans have the DNA which are the biological elements of those that came before us, so too does AI have the technological and cultural elements of what came before it.

Looking at AI this way highlights that this technology – and its impact on our world – isn’t a recent phenomenon, as some suggest. While dominant forms of AI may be different from technologies of the past, its harm on the world around us echoes that of all prior technology-aided settler-colonial violence.

Growing resistance

But this technological transformation is not a foregone conclusion. There is a growing movement of people resisting the pervasive settler-colonial AI transformations.

For example, there is the Lakota Language Learning Model project that is using a locally developed AI to preserve the native Lakota language in North America. There is also the Indigenous AI Abundant Intelligences research program that is exploring how to develop technology grounded in First Nations ways of knowing that “recognise the abundant multiplicity of ways of being intelligent in the world”.

You can trace the lineage of these examples back thousands of years to those ancient fish traps and other forms of sovereign First Nations technologies.

They show that technology doesn’t have to be harmful to people and Country in the way the dominant AI transformation currently is. Instead, by being First Nations-led, local, contextualised, purpose-built and sustainable, AI can help care for and preserve people and Country. Läs mer…

The Egyptian queen Cleopatra is often associated with glamorous beauty routines, deadly snake bites, lavish banquets and torrid affairs with some of the most notorious men in Roman history.

One such (very public) affair was with Roman leader Julius Caesar.

But their “situationship” was complex. This doomed romance ended abruptly in 44 BCE when Caesar was quite literally stabbed in the back (and from all sides) by his enemies in Rome. And she pretty soon hooked up with one of his closest allies.

Queen meets consul

When Caesar met Cleopatra, he was was 52 and had a wife back in Rome. But something about the 21-year-old Cleopatra caught his eye.

Perhaps it was her charming banter and impressive mind. The ancient author Plutarch reports Cleopatra was an irresistible conversation partner, and fluent in nine languages.

A statue of a Ptolemaic queen, perhaps Cleopatra VII, shows the young royal in her finery and holding a cornucopia.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Things really got started when Caesar got involved in a family feud involving Cleopatra and her royal relatives.

Cleopatra came from a long line of dramatic and ruthless kings and queens, which we now call the Ptolemies.

The Ptolemies had ruled Egypt since about 305 or 304 BCE. They didn’t always get along but they were very close. As in, genetically close.

The Ptolemies had practised brother-sister marriages (and other in-the-family marriages as well) for several generations.

According to this tradition, Cleopatra was probably married to her ten-year-old brother Ptolemy XIII when their father died and they became co-rulers of Egypt.

So in pursuing Caesar, you might say Cleopatra was going against the family trend by dating outside her siblings.

Cleopatra’s union with her little brother was not a happy one: the young Ptolemy, alongside his advisors, had managed to run Cleopatra out of Egypt, wanting to rule the kingdom without her interfering.

While Cleopatra was busy raising an army to reclaim her place on the throne, Caesar arrived at the royal palace at Alexandria in 48 BCE.

Caesar had his own political woes. He was in the middle of a civil war, and was pursuing his rival Gnaeus Pompey (also known as Pompey the Great) after defeating his army in Greece.

Ptolemy, completely misreading the situation, greeted Caesar with a gruesome and unexpected gift: Pompey’s severed head.

Outraged and disgusted, Caesar demanded Cleopatra and her brother reconcile, but Cleopatra had other plans.

Plutarch says she hid herself in a bed sack and got smuggled into the palace to meet and charm Caesar.

Was it true love?

The young Cleopatra was ambitious, and there’s no denying a connection with Caesar was politically advantageous.

Caesar also had plenty of other affairs, including one with another queen, Eunoë of Mauretania.

But there may well have been a true connection with Cleopatra. Caesar, after all, was also very well educated and ruthlessly ambitious, and the ancient author Suetonius states Cleopatra was Caesar’s most passionate love affair.

But whatever sparks flew, Cleopatra couldn’t fully escape her family responsibilities.

Caesar put her back on the throne but arranged for her to marry her youngest brother, Ptolemy XIV after her previous brother-husband (Ptolemy XIII) drowned.

Nothing spells romance like your lover ordering you to marry your 12-year-old brother, but Cleopatra needed Caesar’s help to secure her position on the throne.

Being older and ambitious, she seemingly had no trouble taking the lead in running their kingdom, pushing Ptolemy XIV to one side.

This painting, by Pietro de Cortone, depicts Caesar giving Cleopatra the throne of Egypt.
Museum of Fine Arts of Lyon

A luxurious cruise down the Nile

Some sources say Cleopatra and Caesar celebrated their success at smoothing things over in Alexandria by taking a luxurious cruise down the Nile, accompanied by 400 ships.

This promoted their partnership and alliance, and by this time there was something else to celebrate: Cleopatra was pregnant with Caesar’s son, something she wanted to advertise as the future of her dynasty.

Cleopatra and Caesar’s son was nicknamed Caesarion, meaning “little Caesar”, although he is also known as Ptolemy Caesar or Ptolemy XV.

Caesarion’s existence was a bit of a problem. Caesar probably acknowledged the boy as his son, but Roman law did not, because Roman men were not allowed to marry foreign women.

There was also of course the matter that Caesar was still married at the time, to a Roman woman named Calpurnia.

The fiercely republican Romans of this era did not have much love for monarchy, and Caesar’s dalliance with Cleopatra probably made his fellow Romans even more suspicious about his own grand plans.

When in Rome

Despite many Romans disapproving of the relationship, the Egyptian queen spent about 18 months living on Caesar’s estate in Rome.

Cleopatra’s ‘situationship’ with Caesar was complex.
Sculpture by William Wetmore Story, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

While there, Caesar seems to have done nothing to dispel the rumours about his situationship with Cleopatra, and he may have even dedicated a golden statue of Cleopatra as Venus in the temple of Venus Genetrix.

The famous orator Cicero was not impressed, writing in a letter to a friend “reginam odi” or “I hate the queen.”

After Caesar’s assassination, Cleopatra returned to Egypt.

But she soon began a love affair with Marc Antony, Caesar’s right hand man and would-be successor to his power, if 19-year-old Octavian (who would eventually become the first emperor Augustus) had not been named heir in Caesar’s will.

Antony and Cleopatra’s relationship flourished, but ended in tragedy when Octavian’s political rivalry with Antony intensified, and Octavian used their relationship as fuel for anti-Antony propaganda.

The lovers were eventually pursued and defeated by Octavian’s forces. Both took their own lives – he by stabbing himself with a sword and she, according to one version of the tale, by compelling a snake to bite her. Läs mer…

Since Donald Trump was reelected on November 5, speculation about what his presidency will mean for the war in Ukraine, which has now entered its 1,000th day, has become frenzied.

It is easy to be sceptical of Trump’s campaign assertion that he would end the war in 24 hours even before taking office in January 2025. But all the signs clearly point in the direction of a serious diplomatic push by Trump to force Moscow and Kyiv to agree on a ceasefire and possibly a broader settlement.

Whatever the outcome of Trump’s dealmaking, it will have consequences that need to be taken seriously and prepared for. From a Ukrainian perspective, the implication is that the country would lose its currently Russian-occupied territories, at least for the time being, and would have to give up on its aspiration for Nato membership. This is highly unpalatable for Ukraine.

However, given recent Russian advances on the front lines in both eastern Ukraine and the Ukrainian-held parts of the Kursk region inside Russia, Kyiv can ill-afford a continuation of the war. This is particularly true if Trump follows through on his threat to cut all military support for Ukraine.

The Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelensky, acknowledged as much on November 16 when he said that Kyiv “must do everything so that this war ends next year … through diplomatic means.”

This was partly a nod in Trump’s direction, indicating Ukraine’s willingness to engage in possible US-brokered mediation efforts. But it was also an acceptance that Ukraine’s long-term prospects in the war have been bleak for some time.

The Russian military has been is capturing territory more quickly over the past few months than at any time since the early days of the invasion.
Institute for the Study of War

In light of Moscow’s continuing military momentum, there is some doubt that the Russian president, Vladimir Putin, is keen to reach a settlement quickly. He has indicated an openness to negotiations, but Russia is known for dragging talks out, introducing additional demands and conditions, and only signing up to an agreement when it has extracted maximum concessions.

Even then, meaningful implementation on the ground is hardly a given and re-escalation is likely – as the Minsk accords on Ukraine of September 2014 and February 2015 illustrate only too vividly.

A rarely considered third caveat is that, while Trump will probably be fully committed to making a deal initially, he could simply abandon it if his and Putin’s timelines do not align. This is what happened when Trump’s short-lived enthusiasm for an agreement with North Korea’s Kim Yong-un during his first term evaporated, and he simply walked away empty handed.

But, even in this case, some negotiations took place, crucially without much concern for US allies like South Korea and Japan. Ultimately, the non-deal between Trump and Kim became one of the factors that enabled further advances in North Korea’s nuclear programme and a closer relationship between Pyongyang and Moscow.

Regardless of whether Trump pressures Ukraine into a bad deal, Russia defects from a Trump-brokered settlement at a later point, or Trump abandons his efforts to end the war, European allies of both Ukraine and the US must plan for the day after Trump’s inauguration.

This means, above all, taking more responsibility for their own security, as the Polish prime minister, Donald Tusk, put it succinctly before the US elections. This is easier said than done because it is not clear what the trajectory of relations between the key players will be. But several things are clear, and they can provide parameters for European planning now.

What should Europe plan for?

First, the bulk of military support for Ukraine will no longer come from the US. Kyiv’s European allies will have to do most of the heavy lifting in this regard in the future. This will mean providing financing for the purchase of arms and ammunition and investing long-term in Europe and Ukraine’s defence industrial base.

Second, it means supplying Ukraine in a timely fashion with what it needs. However, Ukrainian requirements will need to be aligned with a credible military strategy – not a dreamy victory plan aimed at restoring control over all Russian-occupied territories. This became wishful thinking at the moment Ukraine’s 2023 counteroffensive failed.

What is needed is a viable plan to protect the areas Ukraine will control at the time of a ceasefire, along the front lines and Ukrainian airspace. This will ensure some security against future Russian defection from an agreement, as well as making it more likely that Kyiv-controlled areas can gradually and sustainably be rebuilt.

Third, any military strategy to protect Ukraine will also need to serve as a pillar of a future European security order that reigns in, and credibly deters, future Russian adventurism. That is why Kyiv must not be left to its own devices in future negotiations. In negotiations involving Trump, Putin and Zelenskyy alone, Ukraine would be the weakest link and European interests would probably be completely ignored.

This is not to argue for a return to the format of Russia, Ukraine, France and Germany that oversaw the failed Minsk accords. Rather, if the assumption is that Europe will have to step up and be the main guarantor of Ukrainian sovereignty, Kyiv’s EU and Nato partners need to have some input in negotiations.

The surprise phone call Germany’s chancellor, Olaf Scholz, shared with Putin on November 14 is an indication that this has been recognised.

Scholz and Putin’s phone call was the first discussion between Mr. Putin and a sitting leader of a large western country since 2022.
Filip Singer / EPA

A European channel of communication will be important to make clear that there is a common understanding of red lines among European partners and of the consequences if the Kremlin were to cross them – as well as the benefits if it were to respect them.

Both consequences and benefits are linked to the western sanctions regime, a point that was driven home by a G7 leaders’ statement in support of Ukraine on November 16, which reaffirmed the “commitment to imposing severe costs on Russia through sanctions”.

Europe will therefore also need to work with Trump and have communication channels into his administration. Scholz’s phone call with Trump on November 10 was reported as a “very detailed and good conversation”, including on Ukraine.

European scepticism of Putin as a reliable partner is at odds with Trump’s vision of cutting a deal with Putin to “un-unite” Russia and China. A common approach to this conundrum across the Atlantic is possible, but it hinges on a feasible and durable settlement concerning Ukraine.

After 1,000 days of the most devastating military confrontation on European soil since the second world war, it is time to accept that nothing about Europe should be without Europe. If it is true that Trump and Putin respect strength and disdain weakness, then the only pathway to getting this point across in Washington, Moscow and Kyiv is through muscular pursuit of European self-interest and self-assertion. Läs mer…

When media company NZME proposed the closure of 14 community newspapers last week, the so-called “news desert” encroached a little further into the local information landscape.

The term refers to those many regions in both town and country where newspapers that for generations have kept their citizens informed – and local politicians and planners (mostly) honest – have been shut down.

As a metaphor, the desert evokes a sense of arid emptiness and silence. But it also suggests a featureless place where we lose a sense of direction. Many of these papers were their community’s central or only source of verified local news.

Research from the United States has shown the death of a local newspaper leaves citizens struggling for information about community events, and feeling more isolated. People worry about a loss of community pride and identity. Volunteers struggle to fill the void.

Among the NZME titles facing closure for being unprofitable is the Te Awamutu Courier, which has been publishing for more than a century. It and its stablemates may well soon join the 28 local papers Stuff sold or closed in 2018.

Between those two headline events many other little papers have gone, financial burdens on their owners in an age of online advertising and shifting consumption habits. Those that still exist, at least the ones owned by major news publishers, are often shadows of their former selves.

The power of a local press

The effect of this trend, of course, is to remove a kind of media town square. Affected communities are left to the perils of community social media, which are not professionally moderated, can be defamatory, and which post largely unverified content.

The Te Awamutu Courier has survived more than a century.

For all the faults that come with local newspapers – and most journalists can tell you about an editor who was too vulnerable to influence, or a publisher who meddled in the newsroom – these news organisations connect their communities to their cultural, physical and human geographies.

Good ones – and there have been many – identify the social issues that unite and divide their communities, and then represent and champion their readers or play the role of moderator.

Authorities are put on notice when local coverage amplifies the complaints and demands of residents and ratepayers. When enough pressure on politicians and officials is exerted in this way, things have even been known to change.

The papers that survive now are often the ones which reinforce a strongly-felt community identity in places as diverse as the West Coast of the South Island, Waiheke Island and Mahurangi.

Readers will rally behind a paper that gets behind them, and a collective voice of sorts emerges. A community’s struggles – be they over housing, employment or the environment – help define its identity, building knowledge and resilience.

A training ground for good journalism

In telling these stories, young journalists (many of whom are destined for metropolitan newsrooms later in their careers) learn how government is meant to work – and how it actually works in practice.

It’s where they learn how to report without fear or favour, how to find reliable sources, and where official information can be accessed – the nuts and bolts of journalism, in other words.

It’s also often where journalists first experience the powers of the bureaucracy and the executive. There’s nothing like a bully on a local board or a vindictive council official to help a young reporter up their game.

Of course, local politics are now often conveyed via social media in disordered, fragmented and incendiary ways. Politicians and other powerful players can reach voters directly, telling their own stories, effectively unchallenged.

Yet this persuasive power, and the prevalence of misinformation and disinformation, only underscore the need for political information to be ordered and moderated by accountable community journalists.

Digital solutions struggle

Newspapers do seem anomalous today, it’s true. Growing pine forests to share news is, frankly, quite ridiculous.

But online-only ventures in community news have largely struggled. Crux, a Central Otago site for robust community journalism since 2018, was proposed as a model for a network of regional news sites, but it has recently gone into hibernation.

According to its founder, journalist Peter Newport, Crux had “tried, tested and implemented every single type of digital publishing innovation”. Newport has instead taken to Substack, where freelancers can build paying newsletter audiences, to publish his brand of investigative community journalism.

With Google now threatening to stop promoting New Zealand news content if the government goes ahead with the Fair Digital News Bargaining Bill, the plight of local papers is in danger of being overshadowed by a wider crisis. Whole television news networks have closed, and others are being hugely downsized.

Elsewhere, philanthropists such as the American Journalism Project are recognising the risk to democracy and social unity from the loss of local news sources, and are funding attempts to restore it. As yet, however, a sustainable model has yet to rise.

In Aotearoa New Zealand, there are now calls from local councils themselves to strengthen existing government support for local-democracy reporting. This and more should be done. The longer we wait, the closer the news desert creeps every day. Läs mer…

When leaders visibly champion diversity and equality in the workplace, they send a clear message that such values are not only encouraged, but integral to their organization’s culture. Allyship can significantly improve workplace experiences for marginalized employees by amplifying their voices and addressing injustice.

One critical focus of allyship is tackling gender disparities in the workplace. Women face many challenges in the workplace, including being under-representated in leadership positions and experiencing higher rates of harassment. Given the workplace barriers women continue to face, gender allyship from leaders is especially needed.

But how do male employees respond when they witness acts of gender allyship from their leaders? Do they follow suit or react in ways that undercut these efforts? This question is particularly important because male employees typically outnumber allyship-focused leaders in organizations. As a result, their reactions to allyship can greatly affect its efficacy.

How male employees respond to allyship

To better understand this issue, our research explored how male employees respond to leader allyship across three studies. A total of 946 male employees from various industries took part in our research.

We used experimental designs to systematically explore the factors shaping male employees’ responses to leader allyship. This approach allowed us to isolate the influence of contextual and individual factors on their reactions.

To study gender allyship, we exposed participants to scenarios where a leader made statements supporting gender equality and then measured their reactions. The scenario featured a statement from Marc De Belsunce, an executive at French bank BNP Paribas, that explicitly expresses support for gender equality.

We found that a critical factor that shapes how male employees respond to allyship is the sense of connection they feel with their leaders. This sense of connection is, in turn, influenced by the context and authenticity of their leader’s allyship efforts. This connection can either amplify or weaken a leader’s impact, underscoring the ripple effect of allyship.

Allyship can spread — or backfire

Our research shows that male employees’ sense of connection with their workplace leaders determine whether they react positively to leader allyship. Employees who feel connected to their leaders tend to trust and respect them and are more likely to emulate their behaviours. In this way, a leader’s allyship can inspire male employees to act as allies to their female colleagues.

However, the opposite effect can also occur. When male employees feel disconnected from ally leaders, this allyship can backfire, reducing male employees’ support for female coworkers.

The context where allyship takes place matters. In male-dominated industries or teams, allyship can seem out of place or disingenuous. For example, in a tech company with few women engineers, allyship initiatives might appear forced, leading to skepticism and even backlash against women colleagues.

When male employees feel a personal connection to an ally leader, they’re more likely to adopt that leader’s behaviours.
(Shutterstock)

Our results show that in workplaces with few women, male employees are more likely to feel disconnected from ally leaders, which can trigger behaviours that undermine allyship, like excluding women from work-related projects.

The authenticity of allyship also plays a key role. Leaders who back up their allyship statements with concrete actions to promote gender equality foster strong connections with male employees, inspiring them to become allies themselves.

Yet, even authentic allyship often fails to inspire male employees in male-dominated contexts, where allyship efforts may still be perceived as disingenuous or out of place. This highlights a paradox: allyship is most needed in male-dominated settings, yet is most likely to backfire there.

Ensuring allyship doesn’t backfire

To encourage male employees to become allies without risking backfire, our research offers three practical strategies for workplace leaders.

1. Fostering connections. Leaders should prioritize building genuine relationships with their teams. When male employees feel connected to an ally leader, they’re more likely to emulate their behaviours.

Leaders can foster connection by listening to employees’ concerns, showing humility and seeking input from them on workplace issues. Involving employees in decisions around diversity can build a sense of unity and purpose.

Ultimately, employees are more inclined to follow leaders they see as both relatable and committed to their well-being. Our research suggests that leaders who already have strong connections with employees are best positioned to encourage allyship.

Authenticity in allyship demonstrates that diversity and equality are true organizational priorities rather than superficial gestures.
(Shutterstock)

2. Modelling authenticity. Authentic allyship is marked by consistent actions, not just words. Leaders who take tangible steps — such as mentoring women, supporting flexible work policies and addressing bias — are seen as trustworthy and inspire connection. This connection is key to promoting allyship among male employees.

Authenticity not only fosters connection but also reinforces organizational values, making allyship a visible priority rather than a superficial gesture. However, in male-dominated settings, even authentic allyship can be challenging.

Performative allyship, on the other hand, where leaders speak about allyship but fail to act consistently, can backfire, eliciting reduced support for female colleagues. As such, it is critical for leaders to align their actions with their declarations of support.

3. Leveraging storytelling. In settings where employees are resistant to allyship, storytelling can be an effective tool to make it seem more relatable.

Organizations like Microsoft have featured stories about allyship on their websites. Our research supports this approach: by sharing relatable stories about male employees engaging in allyship, leaders can normalize allyship behaviours.

A leader might share a story about a male employee speaking up about a biased promotion process, for instance. This approach is especially impactful when the story features a peer, making allyship more accessible and encouraging others to mirror this behaviour. Such stories can bridge the gap between ideals and daily practice, illustrating how allyship can unfold in everyday scenarios.

Advancing equality at work

Leader allyship holds promise for advancing workplace gender equality, but its success depends on how well leaders connect with their employees, the authenticity of their actions and the context in which these efforts are made.

By fostering genuine connections, acting consistently and using storytelling to normalize allyship, leaders can help ensure their allyship efforts spread rather than backfire. Läs mer…

Walking through the delegation pavilion at the UN climate summit, Cop29, in Baku, Azerbaijan, the Moana blue Pacific pavilion grabbed my attention more than any other.

This pavilion is named after the spirited young girl from the animated film Moana. She embodies the courage and determination of Pacific islanders and younger generations as she goes on a voyage to save her island from environmental harm.

There’s a similar fight happening in the real world as small island developing states and youth activists push for climate action – I call this the “Moana effect”.

At the pavilion, one delegate from Vanuatu poignantly told me “we’re tired” of the negotiations so far. Those two words encapsulate the exhaustion of nations on the frontline of climate change. The challenge is real, and action is urgently needed. The voices of small island developing states and youth must be amplified across the globe in order to make substantial progress.

The first Moana movie, released a year after the Paris agreement for climate change in 2015, evokes a sense of advocacy for the environment. Moana 2 will be released on November 29, a week after Cop29 ends. This sequel embodies a sense of belonging and global solidarity which is a central theme to this year’s global climate negotiations.

As Azerbaijan’s Cop29 president, H.E. Mukhtar Babayev, has said, “this can be when we empower everyone to move forward in solidarity for a green world”.

Susan Ann Samuel (centre) at the Moana pavilion during Cop29, with members of the Secretariat Pacific Regional Environment Programme.

Here in Baku, I have been noticing an increasing push by small island developing states and youth activists and liken this to Moana’s own mission. Small island developing states bear a disproportionate brunt of climate consequences.

They face existential threats and vulnerabilities from rising sea levels to extreme weather and biodiversity loss, among other challenges, despite their minimal contribution to global greenhouse gas emissions.

This paradox, coupled with their extensive advocacy and insufficient global support, has led to growing frustration among these nations. This is why Papua New Guinea delegates are not attending Cop29 – a silent yet powerful statement of discontent with the slow pace of international negotiations. This is especially since the re-election of Donald Trump, with a risk that the US – and perhaps other countries – might pull away from their climate commitments again.

Voices from each and every small island developing state need to be listened to, and heard. The prime minister of Barbados, Mia Mottley, recently called for a face-to-face discussion about climate with Trump, to seek a “common ground in saving planet and saving livelihoods”.

As a researcher on UN climate negotiations, I worry that won’t happen.

Moana heads off on another voyage in the film Moana 2.
Disney

Listening to young voices

On December 2, the International Court of Justice will begin its public hearings on the request for advisory opinion on climate change. An advisory opinion is a legal interpretation offered by a court or tribunal when an authorised body or nation seeks its insight. These opinions aren’t legally enforceable but serve to unpack legal questions and offer guidance.

This initiative was started by 27 law students from Vanuatu in 2019 who spearheaded a movement from a classroom. This court decision could change how the world prioritises the rights of small island developing states, thanks to youth activists.

This is part of the socio-political and legal push by small island developing states and youth activists that I call the Moana effect.

These people are inspiring courage among other young people, students, researchers, Indigenous peoples, women and civil society organisations to reimagine a more resilient future. The Moana effect is not just about raising awareness. It’s about enhancing the agency of these people to drive meaningful change.

Moana is a story of a young activist fighting for change in the face of environmental threats.

As we edge closer to the 1.5°C threshold, action is more urgently needed than ever before. Cop29’s central focus is to bolster climate finance.

Youth activists, young negotiators and small island developing nations play a crucial role as the world decides on how best to do this. The UN approach to “leave none behind” starts with inclusivity, at Cop29 and beyond.

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