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Since the Voice to Parliament referendum last year, there has been a lack of leadership on Indigenous policy from the Australian government.

With this absence, the states and territories now present greater opportunity for Indigenous groups in seeking rights recognition. This is the level where agreements are being made and Treaty proposed.

It is important to take stock of the progress that is being made in agreement-making and Treaty in Australian states and territories. While this is an area of Indigenous policy that has been set aside of late, it has great potential to deliver self-determination for First Nations people.

First Nations agreement-making in Australia

Agreement-making is relatively new in the context of First Nations relations with the Australian state.

The recognition of Indigenous land rights in law has enabled First Nations people and Australian governments to enter legally binding agreements across matters such as:

land use and access
Indigenous cultural heritage protection
co-management of land and sea
economic development
employment
resolving land claims.

First Nations groups in Australia have made hundreds of these agreements with Australian governments at all levels.

However, there is a type of agreement that these parties are entering that is advancing the cause more generally. They are called settlement agreements.

What is a settlement agreement?

Victoria and Western Australia have been signing settlement agreements with First Nations groups since 2010.

These agreements are more comprehensive than other agreements, including terms that cover numerous matters like those listed above, and often include financial packages aimed at supporting First Nations governance institutions.

In Victoria, settlement agreements are made under state legislation. So far, four First Nations groups have entered these agreements with the Victorian government.

In Western Australia, three settlement agreements have been made between the WA government and First Nations under Commonwealth native title legislation. The largest of these, known as the Noongar Settlement, is worth $1.3 billion and has been characterised by legal scholars as “Australia’s first Treaty”.

The Noongar Settlement in Western Australia was reached in 2015.
PR Handout Image/AAP

Victoria and WA are the only jurisdictions that have these agreements and there are two main reasons why they were successfully signed. The first is the success of First Nations groups in mobilising political power to lobby the state. The second is the willingness of governments to enter negotiations because of economic and political motivations.

A crucial question is whether existing settlement agreements will form an important basis for developing Treaty in the states and territories.

How is Treaty different?

According to legal academics Harry Hobbs and George Williams, Treaty involves three elements:

recognition of First Nations as distinct polities
negotiation in good faith
a settlement that deals with claims and that enables Indigenous self-government.

Treaties are different from other agreements, as they provide scope to recognise Indigenous sovereignty, enable some limited forms of autonomy, and create a framework for Indigenous/government relations.

Australia has not signed treaties with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Canada, New Zealand and the United States began signing treaties centuries ago, so why is Australia so far behind?

New Zealand marks Waitangi Day every year to celebrate the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi.
Ben McKay/AAP

There are several reasons why Indigenous treaties were never signed in Australia.

First, Australia was colonised in different circumstances, established as a penal colony and not initially a part of European expansionism.

In North America, numerous European powers were competing for control over the continent. The British, French, Spanish and others fought against each other and procured First Nations warriors for their military ranks through treaties.

Trade was also a motivating factor for Treaty-making in North America. Europeans coveted the animal pelts produced by First Nations people for sale in the European fashion markets.

Today, it is arguable that Australia stands out as uniquely opposed to Indigenous rights recognition relative to other British settler states. This idea is supported by our most recent referendum result.

So why are Australian governments engaging in Treaty discussions now?

What’s happening across the country?

There is currently a combination of Indigenous political action and leverage enabled through Indigenous land rights recognition. Some governments are also beginning to see value in Indigenous Knowledge, especially with regard to environmental management.

Treaty, however, is deeply political in Australia, and since the referendum last year it has come under increased political scrutiny and attack.

Days after the referendum result, the Queensland Liberal National party walked back support for a state-based Treaty.

If the LNP wins government at this month’s election (as polls are predicting), Treaty will likely be shelved.

This move would undo the years of work the state government has undertaken as part of its Tracks to Treaty initiative.

Victoria has made the most progress on Treaty of any Australian state or territory. This is due to the leadership of the First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria, which has spearheaded Treaty in the state.

A Treaty negotiation framework has been developed by the assembly and Victorian government. This will guide negotiations towards a state-wide Treaty in the near future.

Other Australian jurisdictions have made far less progress. The referendum result seems to have stalled any momentum that existed prior.

In the Northern Territory, there’s been no progress since the NT Treaty Commission lodged a report with government in 2022. As the newly elected Country Liberal government doesn’t support a Treaty, it won’t happen anytime soon.

First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria has been leading the pathway to Treaty in that state.
Joel Carrett/AAP

In South Australia, the First Nations Voice to Parliament is expected to lead the development of Treaty. The first election was held in March of this year, and First Nations elected members had their first meeting in June 2024.

New South Wales recruited Treaty commissioners earlier this year. They’re now embarking on a 12-month consultation process before reporting back to government.

Governments in Tasmania and the ACT have committed to Treaty, but haven’t made any meaningful progress yet, while WA has made no formal commitment.

Where to from here?

Although there are notable setbacks emerging from the referendum result, it has not discouraged First Nations from working towards agreements and Treaty with Australian governments.

With the proliferation of native title determinations, there is grounds for agreement-making, whether that be through settlement agreements or Treaty.

There is also growing interest in how Indigenous Knowledge can inform our responses to climate change, food security and foreign relations. Accessing this knowledge will require governments to formalise relations with First Nations through agreements. Läs mer…

Finally, Australia’s rock lobster industry will be able to export to China again, following a deal struck on the sidelines of the ASEAN summit in Laos last week.

It will take some weeks to finalise the paperwork, but Chinese diners can expect to eat our high-quality crustaceans as we devour our Christmas roast turkeys.

The breakthrough brings a particularly nasty chapter in Australia-China trade relations to a close. Tariffs on rock lobsters were the only remaining major restriction of a raft of trade barriers imposed by China in 2020.

It might be tempting to celebrate, but we should tread carefully. Our situation remains hostage to Beijing’s relationship with Washington. Whether Australia’s trade woes with China are actually over may ultimately be out of our hands.

Read more:
China removes block on Australian lobster, in last big bilateral trade breakthrough

Australia’s reversal of fortunes

The past couple of years have been a whirlwind.

The Albanese government has seen China systematically undo the export restrictions it had imposed on Australia in 2020 – including on barley, wine, beef, and now lobster – without giving away much of substance in return.

Yes, Australia suspended two cases it had brought against China at the World Trade Organization, concerning barley and wine duties China had imposed. But those cases can be resumed if the Chinese government backslides.

China will resume imports of Australian lobster by the end of this year.
Abdul Razak Latif/Shutterstock

And true, the Albanese government did not oppose China’s bid to join the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership – an important regional free trade agreement of which Australia is a founding member. But neither did it endorse China’s bid.

It seems we’ve come a long way since 2020, when China tabled its infamous “14 grievances” against Australia. This deliberately leaked document publicly criticised Australia on a whole range of fronts, including foreign investment decisions, alleged interference in China’s affairs, research funding and media coverage.

A more sobering picture elsewhere

This reopening of trade might make it seem like things are looking up for Australia. In some cases, our business community has bounced back with gusto, notably wine exports to China.

Zooming out, however, paints a more sobering picture of global trade relations. In the near term, the decisions of our key allies – namely the United States – may come to matter more than our own.

The Biden administration has long hoped to place a “floor” under America’s geopolitical competition with China. Neither side wants things to get ugly.

But in Washington, strong bipartisan consensus remains that China must be confronted. The US has continued to take coercive actions against Chinese exports and investment.

For example, the US recently imposed a 100% import duty on electric vehicles produced by Chinese-owned companies. Similarly, it imposed a 25% import duty on imports of Chinese container cranes. Strategic distrust will escalate no matter who wins the White House on November 5.

This animosity is mirrored in Beijing. China’s security state is expanding ever more into business, while its private sector retreats. China’s own coercive activities are also escalating in regional disputes over the South and East China seas, as well as in its trade retaliations against Western markets.

Distrust continues to simmer between China and the US.
Doug Mills/The New York Times via AP, Pool

Widening tensions

These tensions are also playing out in Europe and the Middle East. International relations scholars worry that the West must now confront an authoritarian axis comprising Russia, Iran, North Korea and China.

China’s “no limits” partnership with Russia has spooked most European elites. Western sanctions on Russia, meant to erode the Kremlin’s war machine, are likely being circumvented by China’s unmatched industrial capacities.

Iran’s military support for Russia supplements the Kremlin’s war-fighting capacities at Ukraine’s expense.

Unsurprisingly, economic security concerns are rapidly eclipsing free trade considerations for the US.

Advanced manufacturing capabilities – such as semiconductor production – are increasingly important strategic assets.
genkur/Shutterstock

When US National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan introduced the 2022 National Security Strategy, he adopted a selectively restrictive approach he called “small yard, high fence”.

He was talking about export controls and inward restrictions on investment, applied to high-technology products.

Since then, the “yard” has grown wider, and the “fence” has expanded. More sectors and products are being thrown into the mix, from energy security, through critical minerals, to food production.

The challenge with digital technologies, able to be used for both military and civilian purposes, is that the yard can be very large indeed.

Middle power problems

The US has the economic and military weight to confront China. As the European Union is learning, having the economic weight is necessary. But being politically united is essential, and they remain far from that.

Australia is a middle power, without the necessary economic weight or military heft to confront China. That means we must support the rules-based multilateral trading system – preserving the authority of institutions like the World Trade Organisation (WTO) – to constrain the actions of the great powers and preserve as much of our open trade posture as possible.

Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese attended the ASEAN Summit in Laos last week.
Rungroj Yongrit/EPA

Washington, however, increasingly expects its allies to fall into line. How else can one explain Canada’s decision to follow the US and impose 100% import duties on electric vehicles produced by Chinese owned companies?

Like Australia, Canada is also a middle power. It is also a strong supporter of the rules-based multilateral trading system. But Canada’s action violates WTO rules.

The fact that Washington’s actions also violate these rules is taken for granted these days.

Australia must pay attention

Global trade cooperation is deteriorating, and the world is fracturing into two “values-based” trading blocs. While there could be positive upswings in our bilateral trade relations with China, the medium term trend is down.

As Napoleon Bonaparte is reputed to have said:

China is a sleeping giant; let him sleep, for if he wakes he will shake the world.

China has changed, and the world with it.

Australian business needs to pay attention. Our East Asian partners, notably Japan and South Korea, have long spoken of the need for a “China plus one” (or more) business strategy – making sure trade and investment is diversified into other countries, as well.

Such diversification will be increasingly important in the years to come. Läs mer…

When it comes to investing and planning your financial future, are you more willing to trust a person or a computer?

This isn’t a hypothetical question any more.

Big banks and investment firms are using artificial intelligence (AI) to help make financial predictions and give advice to clients.

Morgan Stanley uses AI to mitigate the potential biases of its financial analysts when it comes to stock market predictions. And one of the world’s biggest investment banks, Goldman Sachs, recently announced it was trialling the use of AI to help write computer code, though the bank declined to say which division it was being used in. Other companies are using AI to predict which stocks might go up or down.

But do people actually trust these AI advisers with their money?

Our new research examines this question. We found it really depends on who you are and your prior knowledge of AI and how it works.

Despite the growing sophistication of artificial intelligence, investors prefer human expertise when it comes to stock market predictions, according to a new study.

Trust differences

To examine the question of trust when it comes to using AI for investment, we asked 3,600 people in the United States to imagine they were getting advice about the stock market.

In these imagined scenarios, some people got advice from human experts. Others got advice from AI. And some got advice from humans working together with AI.

In general, people were less likely to follow advice if they knew AI was involved in making it. They seemed to trust the human experts more.

But the distrust of AI wasn’t universal. Some groups of people were more open to AI advice than others.

For example, women were more likely to trust AI advice than men (by 7.5%). People who knew more about AI were more willing to listen to the advice it provided (by 10.1%). And politics mattered – people who supported the Democratic Party were more open to AI advice than others (by 7.3%).

We also found people were more likely to trust simpler AI methods.

When we told our research participants the AI was using something called “ordinary least squares” (a basic mathematics technique in which a straight line is used to estimate the relationship between two variables), they were more likely to trust it than when we said it was using “deep learning” (a more complex AI method).

This might be because people tend to trust things they understand. Much like how a person might trust a simple calculator more than a complex scientific instrument they have never seen before.

Trust in the future of finance

As AI becomes more common in the financial world, companies will need to find ways to improve levels of trust.

This might involve teaching people more about how the AI systems work, being clear about when and how AI is being used, and finding the right balance between human experts and AI.

Furthermore, we need to tailor how AI advice is presented to different groups of people and show how well AI performs over time compared to human experts.

The future of finance might involve a lot more AI, but only if people learn to trust it. It’s a bit like learning to trust self-driving cars. The technology might be great, but if people don’t feel comfortable using it, it won’t catch on.

Our research shows that building this trust isn’t just about making better AI. It’s about understanding how people think and feel about AI. It’s about bridging the gap between what AI can do and what people believe it can do.

As we move forward, we’ll need to keep studying how people react to AI in finance. We’ll need to find ways to make AI not just a powerful tool, but a trusted advisor that people feel comfortable relying on for important financial decisions.

The world of finance is changing fast, and AI is a big part of that change. But in the end, it’s still people who decide where to put their money. Understanding how to build trust between humans and AI will be key to shaping the future of finance. Läs mer…

The 2024 Nobel Prize in Economics has been awarded to three US-based economists who examined the advantages of democracy and the rule of law, and why they are strong in some countries and not others.

Daron Acemoglu is a Turkish-American economist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Simon Johnson is a British economist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and James Robinson is a British-American economist at the University of Chicago.

The citation awards the prize “for studies of how institutions are formed and affect prosperity”, making it an award for research into politics and sociology as much as economics.

At a time when democracy appears to be losing support, the Nobel committee has rewarded work that demonstrates that, on average, democratic countries governed by the rule of law have wealthier citizens.

Johan Jarnestad/Nobel Prize Outreach

The committee says the richest 20% of the world’s countries are now around 30 times richer than the poorest 20%. Moreover, the income gap is persistent; although the poorest countries have become richer, they are not catching up with the most prosperous.

Acemoglu, Johnson and Robinson have connected this difference to differences in institutions, and they find this derives from differences in the behaviour of European colonisers in different parts of the world centuries ago.

The denser the indigenous population, the greater the resistance that could be expected and the fewer European settlers moved there. On the other hand, the large indigenous population – once defeated – ofered lucrative opportunities for cheap labour.

This meant the institutions focused on benefiting a small elite at the expense of the wider population. There were no elections and limited political rights.

Read more:
Sidelined no longer, Claudia Goldin wins the 2023 Nobel Prize in Economics for examining why gender pay gaps persist

In the places that were more sparsely populated and offered less resistance, more colonisers settled and established inclusive institutions that incentivised hard work and led to demands for political rights.

The committee says, paradoxically, this means the parts of the colonised world that were the most prosperous around 500 years ago are now relatively poor. Prosperity was greater in Mexico under the Aztecs than it was at the same time in the part of North America that is now called Canada and the United States.

Johan Jarnestad/Nobel Prize Outreach

More so than in previous years, this year’s winners have written for the public as well as the profession. Acemoglu and Robinson are probably best known for their 2013 best-seller Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity and Poverty.(It has pictures and no equations.)

Last year Acemoglu and Johnson published Power and Progress: Our Thousand-Year Struggle Over Technology and Prosperity.

In May this year Acemoglu wrote about artificial intelligence, putting forward the controversial position that its effects on productivity would be “nontrivial but modest”, which is another way of saying “tiny”. Its effect on wellbeing might be even smaller and it was unlikely to reduce inequality.

Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.

This year’s award makes the cohort of Nobel winners a little less US-dominated.

Although all three are currently working at American universities, Acemoglu is from Turkey and the others are British. There is even an Australian link. Robinson taught economics at The University of Melbourne between 1992 and 1995.

Winning the prize is life-changing for more reasons than the 11 million Swedish kroner (about $A 1.5 million) the winners share. As Nobel winners, they will have a higher profile. Their opinions will be accorded more respect by most but not all.

Sixteen former winners recently issued a widely reported statement saying they were “deeply concerned about the risks of a second Trump administration for the US economy”. Rather than address their arguments, the Trump campaign called them “worthless out-of-touch Nobel prize winners”.

The new winners might get the same treatment. Johnson has critiqued Trump’s proposal to raise tariffs. Acemoglu has called Trump “a threat to democracy”. Läs mer…

The Albanese government has announced a first step in what it says is a crackdown on excessive card surcharges and threatened a ban on surcharges for debit cards from early 2026.

In the latest of its cost-of-living measures, the government will provide $2.1 million for the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission “to tackle excessive surcharges”.

The government also says it is prepared to ban debit card surcharges from January 1 2026, subject to further work by the Reserve Bank and “safeguards to ensure both small businesses and consumers can benefit from lower costs”.

The government is not considering a ban on credit card surcharges, although the ACCC scrutiny will cover both debit and credit cards.

The bank is reviewing merchant card payment costs and surcharging. Its first consultation paper will be released on Tuesday.

The government said in a statement: “the declining use of cash and the rise of electronic payments means that more Australians are getting slugged by surcharges, even when they use their own money”.

“The RBA’s review is an important step to reduce the costs small businesses face when processing payments. We want to ease costs for consumers without added costs for small businesses, or unintended consequences for the broader economy,” the statement from the prime minister, treasurer and assistant treasurer said.

Funding for the ACCC “will enable the consumer watchdog to crack down on illegal and unfair surcharging practices and increase education and compliance activities”.

The Reserve Bank required card providers such as Visa and Mastercard to remove their no‐surcharge rules in 2003 allowing retailers to directly pass on the costs of accepting card payments.

With the spread of payments by card, surcharges have become ubiquitous.

In a parliamentary hearing in August the head of the National Australia Bank Andrew Irvine complained about having to pay a 10% surcharge when he bought a cup of coffee in Sydney.

He told an inquiry it was “outrageous”, saying he didn’t like “the lack of transparency and lack of consistency”.

The ACCC regulates surcharges and can require merchants prove a surcharge is justified. It can take merchants to court to enforce the regulations governing surcharges, and has done so. But many charges are still higher than they are supposed to be.

The European Union bans surcharges.

Treasurer Jim Chalmers said: “Consumers shouldn’t be punished for using cards or digital payments, and at the same time, small businesses shouldn’t have to pay hefty fees just to get paid themselves”.

The total cost to Australian consumers of surcharges is disputed – the RBA review will look at the likely cost. Läs mer…

Rumors and lies about government responses to natural disasters are not new. Politics, misinformation and blame-shifting have long surrounded government response efforts.

When Hurricane Harvey hit Houston in 2017, for example, rumors and misinformation both originated from and were spread by government, news and individual user accounts on social media. And after Hurricane Sandy in 2012, rumors about the storm were so widespread that even CNN’s live coverage of the event was inaccurate.

Those rumors don’t usually come from former presidents. Yet in the wake of hurricanes Helene and Milton, former President Donald Trump spread falsehoods about the federal government’s response to the disaster. Misinformation on the topic became so widespread that the Federal Emergency Management Agency, known as FEMA, set up a webpage to debunk the rumors spawned by Trump.

President Joe Biden responded angrily, calling the falsehoods that Trump and his followers spread “reckless, irresponsible” and “disturbing.” He also suggested Trump’s claims undermined the rescue and recovery work being done by local, state and federal authorities.

Disaster relief often becomes political because so many people are affected – and because there is a lot of media coverage surrounding hurricanes, floods and other major weather events. Additionally, relief requires a lot of money and coordination by high-profile elected officials.

The rhetoric around federal emergency management is made only more complicated because most people do not know that much about the federal law that governs disaster relief. Indeed, even state and local officials find navigating the details of the law and accompanying regulations difficult.

And finally, the law’s design and the timing of hurricane season can lead to politicization. Elected officials – politicians – are always involved in coordinating government response efforts, adding a layer of politics to disaster relief. The fact that hurricane and election seasons coincide only heightens the politics of such relief.

Former President Donald Trump saying falsely that the Biden administration “stole a billion dollars” meant for disaster relief and used it to help immigrants.

Explaining government responses to natural disasters

The Disaster Relief Act of 1974, as amended and now known as the Stafford Act, is the law that governs how the federal government responds to natural disasters and other emergencies.

But the act does not guarantee federal assistance to the communities affected by hurricanes or other natural disasters.

Instead, the governor of an affected state or the chief executive of an affected tribal government must ask the president for a disaster declaration. The request can be made before or after a storm hits but must show that the disaster is of such a severity and magnitude that the state, local or tribal governments cannot respond on their own.

Responding to such requests, Biden issued declarations covering eight states before and after Helene. He also issued a declaration for the Seminole Tribe and the state of Florida in response to Milton.

After the president issues a declaration, the federal government can begin to assist state, local and tribal governments. This includes coordinating all disaster relief assistance – from evacuations to recovery – provided by federal agencies, private organizations such as the Red Cross, and state and local governments.

Federal assistance can be financial or logistical. It covers everything from help repairing roads and restoring utility services to providing assistance and services, such as temporary housing, legal services and crisis counseling, to the people who have been affected by the disaster.

The number of federal agencies and employees involved in disaster relief is astounding. For example, thousands of federal personnel from FEMA, the Coast Guard, Army Corps of Engineers, Environmental Protection Agency and the departments of Defense, Energy, Health and Human Services, Housing and Urban Development, and Transportation are helping respond to Helene and Milton.

Several state and local officials also play key roles after a disaster declaration. Each state’s governor or tribe’s chief executive serves as the leading official for coordination of state and federal efforts. That person also designates an officer to serve as a liaison between the federal government and the state or tribe. And in each affected community, a local elected official leads the response on the ground. This is usually a city or town’s mayor.

Federalism in action

Implementation of the Stafford Act requires cooperative, healthy relationships between the president, federal agencies and state, local and tribal governments.

When done well, government disaster response is a prime example of what’s called “federalism” in action. Federalism involves the sharing of power between the national and state governments. The framers of the United States Constitution created this system of shared power so that the national government could solve coordination and capacity problems among the states, and the state governments could respond to the nuances of local circumstances.

In response to state government requests in the wake of Hurricane Helene, for example, Biden directed federal efforts to help those most affected. The federal government’s response has so far included working with over 450 state and local officials to ensure that those affected by the hurricane have everything from housing assistance to financial support for medical and funeral expenses.

Politics in the mix

The very things that the framers designed the federalist constitutional system to do, however, can create opportunities for political manipulation. The Stafford Act creates a system of emergency management that is highly decentralized and responsive to local needs.

But that decentralization also means that, because of their different perspectives, the officials involved in disaster response prioritize different things, which can lead to conflict.

For example, various officials involved in the response to Hurricane Helene have advocated for federal resources such as money and personnel to go toward restoring utilities, law enforcement, fire, health, communications and transportation services. How can the national government possibly choose between all of these necessary services?

Everything is made more complicated because, as studies have shown, on average, the officials in charge of making such decisions – elected officials and their appointees – have less experience in government than the career civil servants who work on a daily basis with the people affected by natural disasters.

As a result, the Stafford Act’s decision to place elected officials and their appointees in charge of emergency management could reduce the quality of government response.

Members of the FEMA Urban Search and Rescue task force search a flood-damaged area in Asheville, N.C., in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene on Oct. 4, 2024.
Mario Tama/Getty Images

Debating size and role of government

Elected officials’ different political leanings add another wrinkle. Debates over disaster response often reflect larger political debates such as those over the size and role of government.

The history of the Stafford Act provides an illustrative example. Traditionally, disaster relief was the responsibility of state and local government. But a series of natural disasters, including the Alaska earthquake in 1964 and hurricanes Betsy in 1965 and Camille in 1969, were so large in scale that the federal government had to step in and help.

In the aftermath of Camille, accusations of racial discrimination in the relief process and partisan squabbling over who was to blame for the ineffectiveness of the government’s response to the disaster mounted. Media and congressional attention on government mismanagement of the relief effort created a window for the expansion of the federal government’s role in the process and ultimately led to the passage of the first version of the Stafford Act.

Fast-forward 35 years and many of the same issues – racial discrimination, government mismanagement and politicization of relief – arose in 2005 in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. Media and congressional attention led to legislation that amended the Stafford Act and restructured FEMA and how the federal government responds to state and tribal requests for assistance.

Trump’s lies are from the same playbook – false claims about money being diverted to migrants and that relief efforts are being used only to help areas where Democrats live.

Yet the devastation left by Helene and Milton do raise questions about local and federal coordination in preparation for and response to natural disasters and has led to calls for Congress to pass reforms to improve equity, efficiency and effectiveness in government responses to natural disasters. Whether this reform is possible in such a contentious political climate remains an open question. Läs mer…

While artificial intelligence (AI) promises immense benefits, it also imposes tremendous risks. Some of them – accelerating misinformation, sophisticated cyber attacks and soaring energy consumption – have already arrived. Others, including super intelligent machines that take decisions independently of human oversight, are likely still a few years away. Although awareness about these risks is growing, there are many others that have yet to be defined. And for all the incalculable opportunities afforded by AI, especially in developing countries, it is risky business.

Concerns are mounting about the ways in which the rapid adoption of AI will negatively impact societies, including in the Global South. Last year my Institute together with New America convened a Global Task Force made up of AI specialists from across the Americas, Africa, and Asia to review ways to improve AI safety and alignment. And in 2024, the task force issued a primer to practically mitigate risks and improve resilience while also closing governance and regulatory gaps between the Global North and South.

AI risks

One of the most significant risks the group identified is mass automation and job displacement. AI is expected to impact vast numbers of workers across sectors ranging from agriculture, manufacturing, retail to the law, medicine, finance. While new forms of employment will undoubtedly emerge, the jobs of up to 800 million people are at risk of automation by 2030, including 300 million in wealthy countries. The International Labor Organization estimates that over 56 percent of all jobs in low- and middle-income countries are at “high risk” of automation. Without safeguards in place, this could sharpen economic inequality and exclude low-skilled workers.

Another risk involves deepening digital divides and sharpening inequality. The gap between those who can access advanced technologies and those who cannot is expected to widen over the coming years, leading to lower productivity, reduced economic growth, and greater social and economic inequality. This is particularly so in lower and middle-income settings already facing shortfalls in digital talent and related services.

Biases and discrimination are another risk associated with AI. Advanced technologies and models designed in the US, China, and EU can perpetuate and amplify biases already present in the training data. This can lead to discriminatory outcomes in everything from credit scores to policing. It can also result in unfair exclusion from opportunities in the job market, credit and loans, and health services due to biased algorithms.

The intensification of surveillance and privacy violations are also enabled by AI. The integration of AI into everything from smart cities to law enforcement can infringe on privacy, civil liberties, and human rights. This is especially so in countries with weaker democratic institutions. Indeed, authoritarian regimes are already deploying AI-enabled systems to track political opponents, suppress dissent, and target marginalized communities based on ethnic, religious, or ideological grounds.

What is more, the reliance of foreign technologies and expertise also constitutes a risk in the Global South. The over-dependence on US, Chinese and European innovations can potentially reduce the incentives to build domestic tech sectors in lower-income settings. It can also degrade the bargaining power of local governments, contributing to higher costs for technology while reducing control over standards. Dependence on foreign suppliers can also result in data being more easily accessed, controlled, manipulated and exploited by foreign actors, raising concerns about privacy, property theft, and integrity of critical infrastructure.

Emerging solutions

Given all these risks, what are some of the solutions being considered in the Global South? For one, there is a growing chorus for more involvement of developing country governments and experts in the formulation of global standards. This is a call echoed in a recent 2024 UN General Assembly resolution on AI inclusion and a recently agreed Digital Compact intended to overcome digital, data and innovation divides. A consensus is emerging to ensure that AI is more equitable, inclusive, and sensitive to the specific challenges of the Global South.

Practically, more investment in education and vocational training is essential to prepare for coming automation and job losses. This requires developing training centers and online courses, retraining grants, job placement services, and progressive unemployment benefits as well as universal basic income (UBI) schemes. And promising examples are emerging: India’s AI for All initiative, Rwanda’s digital ambassadors, and Brazil’s Conecta program are all helping people and companies transition to the digital economy. And countries as varied as Kenya, Namibia and India are piloting UBI, though more action is needed.

Public and private actors will need to dramatically scale investment in digital infrastructure to redress digital divides across the Global South. This includes expanding internet access and broadband access to the 2.6 billion people who are still not connected. Policies that promote digital hubs, equitable access to digital services and lost-cost technology programs are essential. One example of how to amplify such activities is Smart Africa Alliance’s AI for Development (AI4D) program which is building ethical AI frameworks for governance, agriculture and healthcare.

Bias and discrimination can be minimized through improved guidance and standards for AI development and deployment. Countries, companies, and digital activists need to craft and enforce regulatory frameworks that mandate algorithmic transparency and regular audits. There are also major opportunities to mandate that data used to train AI systems is more diverse and representative. The Global Task Force identified close to 700 such strategies, albeit over two thirds formulated in wealthy countries suggesting that more work needs to be done to close the gap.

Curbing surveillance and privacy violations requires robust data protection and privacy laws to safeguard personal information. The European Union and countries like Brazil, India, Kenya, South Africa, and Tanzania, are developing agile regulatory frameworks tailored to their specific realities. There also needs to be clear regulation governing the use of AI for surveillance to minimize invasive practices as well as public awareness campaigns together with advocacy from civil society for stronger protections.

And reducing over-dependence on foreign technology providers requires investment in local AI policy and research, alongside grants and incentives for local accelerators, start-ups and labs. International partnerships and collaboration also play a key role, such as programs to skill-up law makers and civil servants led by ITU, UNESCO, UNDP- as do dedicated centers for workforce training and education provided by groups such as Google, Intel, and Microsoft.

Measures to reduce AI risks must address the gaping AI governance divide between the Global North and South. This gap is expressed not just in terms of data scientists and data centers, but also in terms of regulation. A key priority involves stepping-up the participation of Global South decision-makers and experts in AI policy development, including in the G20 and OECDcontexts. Notwithstanding legitimate concerns with regulatory fragmentation, AI governance frameworks also need to be aligned with local contexts. The recently agreed AI Strategy and Digital Transformation Strategy established by the African Union offers promising signposts.

The good news is that a recent UN Resolution on Inclusive AI, High-Level Panel on AI, and Global Digital Compact are charting a positive path forward. The compact calls explicitly for more inclusive AI policy development, the standing-up of an independent scientific panel on AI, and a global dialogue to anchor AI in human rights. Perhaps most important, it also recommends the launch of a global fund to support digital infrastructure and skills development. Such a fund will need to make big bets (similar to those set out in private-led initiatives such as the recent fund launched by IBM and Blackrock if it is to help close the AI governance and capabilities gap. Läs mer…

A few months ago, the president of prestigious French publishing house Gallimard reported that Meta’s generative AI tool had refused requests to write in the distinctive style of Michel Houellebecq, France’s most famous living novelist. It was deemed too offensive and discriminatory.

Certainly, Houellebecq is known for his darkly satirical, mordantly comedic and unremittingly pessimistic portrayals of contemporary life. He has also been hailed as “the most important novelist to have been publishing not only in France but in all of Europe over the past three decades”, by David Sexton, writing in the Times.

Review: Annihilation by Michel Houellebecq (Picador)

He has spoken approvingly of Brexit and has praised Donald Trump as “one of the best American presidents” he’s ever seen.

Journalist Emily Eakin once pithily noted Houllebecq is “considered by turns a pornographer, a Stalinist, a racist, a sexist, a nihilist, a reactionary, a eugenicist and a homophobe”.

More recently, he has offhandedly dismissed the conflict in Ukraine. “At the start of the war, I was surprised because I thought Ukraine was Russian,” he confessed recently, in a characteristically boozy interview. In the same breath, he appeared to argue the West should withdraw its financial support for Ukraine:

It’s better for nature to take its course. People with humanitarian ideas are a catastrophe. It doesn’t work, and the motivations are doubtful.

While in most Western countries, a writer who says the things Houllebecq does would surely be censured, if not cancelled, in France, he is considered – for better or worse – a public intellectual.

French novelist Emmanuel Carrère, argues that Houellebecq “has a unique historical vision and a unique ability to think ‘out of the box.’” This paradoxical situation raises uncomfortable questions about the values that France champions, chiefly its fierce protection of intellectual freedom, even for voices that provoke and offend.

Reactions to the second round of the French legislative election results, at Place de la Republique in Paris.
Yoan Valat/AAP

Houellebecq’s eighth and apparently final novel, Annihilation (Anéantir), published in French in 2022, has just been released in English.

It charts the disillusionment and physical decline of a wholly unexceptional government official, and includes politician characters clearly based on French president Emmanuel Macron and members of his government. Despite featuring acts of occult terrorism and an instance of incest, Houellebecq has described it as a “sentimental” book.

A bête noire of the literary establishment and many on the left, Houellebecq has faced sustained criticism for endorsing misogyny, promoting Islamophobia and, more recently, for allegedly advocating far-right extremism.

At the same time, he is feted in conservative circles not only as a champion of free speech but as a kind of prophet. His grim vision of the modern world and willingness to say the unsayable resonates with those wary of the perceived threats posed by political correctness – and anxious about implications of social and cultural progressivism.

Shaped by abandonment

Houellebecq was born on the French island of Réunion in 1956. Abandoned by his parents at an early age, Houellebecq lived for several years with his maternal grandparents in Algeria and later with his paternal grandmother in France. He trained to be an agricultural engineer and worked as a civil servant before rocketing to literary stardom in the late 1990s. These experiences have shaped Houellebecq’s outlook and approach to writing.

He has garnered numerous literary accolades, including the prestigious Prix Goncourt, awarded to him in 2010 for his novel The Map and the Territory (La Carte et le Territoire). In 2019, President Macron presented Houellebecq with the Legion of Honour in recognition of his significant contribution to French literature.

A perennial Nobel Prize in Literature contender, Houellebecq is also easily the most controversial and divisive author of his generation. His sexually explicit, voyeuristic and sometimes shockingly violent bestsellers explore themes of alienation, the commodification of human relationships in the era of late capitalism, and the erosion of traditional social principles, sparking intense debate.

His 2015 novel Submission (Soumission), which imagines a near-future France under Islamic rule, was published on the day of the Charlie Hebdo attacks, further adding to the notoriety surrounding his work. Critics took him to task for what they saw as a cynical, reactionary vision of the future. But supporters viewed the book as an astute – if unsettling – reflection on the tensions between secularism and Islam in French society.

Whatever one thinks of Houellebecq, one thing is indisputable: his work resonates with readers. Atomised (Les Particules élémentaires) (1998), his most renowned novel, sold 250,000 copies in France within just three months. It tells the tale of two half-brothers, raised apart and living vastly different lives, who symbolise the collapse of personal and civil bonds as the 20th century splutters to an uneasy and – in Houellebecq’s withering estimation –
deeply disappointing close.

Political and personal intrigue in 2027

These preoccupations are at the forefront of Annihilation. Translated by Shaun Whiteside, Houellebecq’s world-weary tome (of over 500 pages) unfolds against a familiar backdrop of personal illness, collective malaise and political intrigue. Set in 2027, the narrative revolves around a character named Paul Raison.

Closing in on 50, Paul is a typical Houellebecq antihero. Emotionally jaded, disenchanted and trapped in what appears to be a loveless marriage with his wife Prudence, Paul works as an advisor to Bruno Jorge, Minister of the Economy and Finance. Jorge is based on Bruno Le Maire, a real-life politician and former diplomat, who just so happens to be friends with Houellebecq.

Houellebecq’s antihero works for a character based on French finance minister Bruno Le Maire, his real-life friend.
Thibault Macron/AAP

Jorge reports to a long-serving president with Putinesque ambitions to cling to power. Up for reelection at the start of the novel, this president, who is never referred to by name, is clearly modelled on Macron. In an uncanny twist that, like it or not, highlights Houellebecq’s prescience, the incumbent president finds himself locked in a battle against Marine Le Pen’s far-right National Rally party, which performs strongly in the first round of national voting.

Adding to the chaos, the government and the DGSI (France’s internal security agency) are grappling with a series of elaborate and increasingly ominous cyberattacks. Ultra-leftists. Religious fanatics. White supremacists. Eco-fascists. Fingers of suspicion begin to wag, but nobody can agree on who might be behind it all.

Those in power are certain of just one thing: “the means of attack were advancing faster than the means of defence; the order and security of the world were going to become increasingly difficult to guarantee”.

If that’s not enough to contend with, Paul’s family is in the process of unravelling. His father, Édouard, used to be employed by the DGSI – and has been conducting his own research into the digital attacks currently rocking the country. Early in the novel, he suffers a serious stroke. In response, Paul, his wife and his younger siblings (Cécile and Aurélien) gather at the Raison family home in the French countryside to decide how best to care for the ailing Édouard. Things go from bad to worse.

At this point, as Roy Doyle observes in a largely hostile review for the New Statesman, Houellebecq’s novel “becomes an analysis of France’s cultural and political fault-lines through the lens of a single bourgeois family”.

Against liberalism

While Houellebecq hits many familiar marks, he adds a few new ones. Migrants and mainstream politicians take a critical beating. Asexuals catch some flak, as do vegans, who he castigates as purveyors of “total nutritional warfare”. Children come in for a fair bit of criticism too. “After destroying its parents as a couple,” Houellebecq argues,

the child sets about destroying them individually, its chief preoccupation being to wait for their death so that it can inherit its legacy, as clearly established in the French realist literature of the nineteenth century.

Houellebecq leaves the reader in no doubt about his take on things, with his conservative credentials firmly on display. He is extremely disdainful of those who cling to the notion that liberalism can address the challenges of contemporary society:

The liberal doxa persisted in ignoring the problem, in the naive belief that the lure of material gain could be substituted for any other human motivation […] it seemed obvious to Paul that the whole system was going to come crashing down, even if one could not at present predict the date or the manner in which this might occur – but the date could be close, and the manner violent.

Whether you agree with this sort of assertion is probably going to determine your response to Annihilation. Houellebecq, who is reportedly in poor health (which perhaps explains his preoccupation with the topics of faith, euthanasia and assisted suicide), is unlikely to win over any new converts with this novel. I suspect he really doesn’t care. But it strikes me as unwise to dismiss him or his work outright. His message, however unpalatable and confronting, resonates deeply with a significant readership.

Odious but often unexpectedly funny, Houellebecq’s new novel is, for my money, probably the best thing he’s written – especially in its final stages, where things take a radical and strangely moving turn.

Will Houllebecq’s bleak vision of the near future come to pass? Only time will tell. That said, the signs aren’t very promising. As he says towards the end of Annihilation:

Victory for the National Rally was inconceivable, but it had been inconceivable for fifty years, and sometimes inconceivable things did happen. The gap between the ruling classes and the population had reached unheard-of levels in small provincial towns […] racial hatred was soaring in Europe, and that wasn’t going to be sorted out anytime soon. Läs mer…

A century ago, French writer André Breton published a manifesto that would go on to become one of the most influential artistic texts of the 20th century. Breton’s Manifesto of Surrealism launched a movement that transformed not only visual art, but also literature, theatre and film.

Surrealism drew on developments in psychology to herald a revolutionary new way of doing, seeing and being. It is, as art critic Jonathan Jones once noted, “the only modern movement that changed the way we talk and think about life”.

Surrealism also fundamentally changed the way we make art. Its cultural impact and legacy can be felt in, to pluck three random examples, the cinematic dreamscapes of David Lynch, the lyrical cut-ups of Bob Dylan and the monumental sculptures of Louise Bourgeois.

The term itself has entered our everyday lexicon. By the same token, some question its significance and aesthetic merits. Moreover, to borrow a couple of rhetorical questions posed by Mark Polizzotti in a book marking the movement’s centenary: “Does Surrealism still matter? Has it ever mattered?”

These questions are hardly new. They’ve been around since the movement’s inception – and continue to be asked in our historical moment of catastrophe. As Polizzotti writes:

young people of the 21st century could hardly be faulted for wondering what a bunch of eccentric writers and artists showing off their dream states could have to do with such pressing concerns as social and racial injustice, a faltering job market, gross economic inequities, the decimation of our civil liberties, questions of gender identity and equality, environmental devastation, education reform, or, once again […] the spectre of world war.

The answer, Polizzotti points out, is simple: “Surrealism engaged with all of these crises.”

Photographer, filmmaker and artist David Lynch created his own branch of the surrealist style known as ‘Lynchian surrealism’.
EPA/Tytus Zmijewski

While Surrealism started as a literary movement, it quickly evolved into a formidable platform for critiquing dominant sociopolitical inequalities and systems of oppression.

In both word and deed, the surrealists opposed warmongering and colonial expansion. They railed against religious dogma and championed the freedom of sexual expression.

Breton perhaps put it best in 1935. “From where we stand,” he said, while tipping his hat to Karl Marx, “we maintain that the activity of interpreting the world must continue to be linked with the activity of changing the world.”

WWI and meeting Jacques Vaché

Born in Normandy in 1896, André Breton was the only child of a policeman and a seamstress.

While studying medicine, Breton developed an interest in mental illness. He also had a passion for poetry. At an early age, he started exchanging letters with the prominent avant-gardist Guillaume Apollinaire, who coined the term “surrealism” in 1917.

André Breton, a founder of the surrealist movement, died in Paris in 1966.
Wikimedia

Breton’s interests were disrupted when he was conscripted into the French army in 1914. During World War I, he served as a stretcher bearer, dealing firsthand with shellshocked soldiers. He also worked as a nurse in Nantes, France, where he met a wounded Jacques Vaché.

According to art historian Susan Laxton, the dandyish Vaché was in equal measure “disdainful and deeply cynical”, seeming to live “in a perpetual state of insubordination”. His unconventional approach to life and creativity had a profound impact on Breton’s thinking about Surrealism.

Vaché had little patience for most writers and artists. He was, however, a big fan of Alfred Jarry – best known for his scandalous drama Ubu Roi (1896). Jarry is frequently cited as an influence on Dadaism, an anarchic art movement that was developed in Europe in 1915 and led by Tristan Tzara.

The Dadaists thumbed their noses at convention and embraced chaos, irrationality and spontaneity. As Tzara explained, Dadaism was vehemently opposed to “greasy objectivity, and harmony, the science that finds everything in order”.

Breton was impressed. Keen to establish his credentials as an artist, he set out to build his own avant-garde coalition.

The rise of automatism

Enlisting Louis Aragon and Philippe Soupault, Breton set up Littérature. Running from 1919 to 1924, this review published many key surrealist works, including excerpts of Breton and Soupault’s book The Magnetic Fields (1920).

Drawing on Sigmund Freud’s concept of the unconscious, this groundbreaking collaboration marked the first sustained use of a practice called surrealist automatism.

The Magnetic Fields was written in secret over the course of a single spring week in 1919. The guidelines Breton and Soupault established for themselves were simple. They would engage in writing sessions that could last for several hours at a time – often inducing a state of shared euphoria – without any chance for reflection or correction.

The aim was to bypass rational modes of thinking and tap directly into the imagination, thereby producing a revolutionary new kind of poetry. In the words of art historian David Hopkins, this practice “was predicated on the conviction that the speed of writing is equivalent to the speed of thought”.

Following this breakthrough, Breton and the surrealists continued to refine the technique, pushing it further into new, untrammelled realms of creative possibility. With the subsequent publication of the Manifesto of Surrealism, Breton solidified the movement’s core principles. In it, he offers a definition:

Surrealism is based on the belief in the superior reality of certain forms of previously neglected associations, in the omnipotence of dreams, in the disinterested play of thought. It tends to ruin once and for all all other psychic mechanisms and to substitute itself for them in solving all the principle problems of life.

In other words, Surrealism was not just an artistic endeavour, but a philosophical stance that sought to radically rethink experience and existence.

One example of early surrealist filmmaking.

Elsewhere in the manifesto, Breton introduces the key surrealist concept of “the marvellous”. For the surrealists, the marvellous could be found in poems, paintings, photographs and everyday objects. It was experienced as a shock or jolt, a moment of recognition that allowed one to transcend the ordinary and glimpse the sublime hidden within the apparently mundane.

By rejecting traditional modes of understanding and embracing the unconscious, the surrealists attempted to upend the established order of things. They viewed automatism and the marvellous as ways to access deeper truths, free from the constraints of rationality which they believed had long dominated Western thought.

A movement transcending borders

The events that followed the publication of Breton’s Manifesto of Surrealism supported his claim, made during a 1934 lecture, that the movement had “spread like wildfire, on pursuing its course, not only in art but in life”.

Surrealism’s public profile expanded internationally, along with its adherents. Luis Buñuel, Frida Kahlo, Aimé Césaire, Lee Miller, Salvador Dalí and Leonor Fini are just some of the important figures who embraced the movement.

Salvador Dalí’s 1931 painting The Persistence of Memory is one of the most famous surrealist artworks.
Salvador Dali

And as the raft of high-profile exhibitions currently taking place confirms, the surrealist spirit lives on, decades after the movement wound down. Unabated, the search for the marvellous continues. Läs mer…

First Peoples’ names for animals and plants undeniably enrich Australian culture. But to date, few names taken from a language of Australia’s First Peoples have been widely applied to birds.

About 2,000 Australian bird species and subspecies occur in Australia and its territories. However, just 35 of these have common names taken directly from First Peoples’ languages. These names are variations of just a handful of First Peoples words: galah, gang-gang, budgerigar, currawong, brolga, kookaburra, chowchilla, Kalkadoon and mukarrthippi.

By contrast, many more bird names promote colonial power, by memorialising (mostly male) foreign explorers, naturalists, administrators or royalty – some of whom never even visited Australia.

There is growing interest in the use of First Peoples’ words, as a global movement to decolonise the common names of species gathers pace. But as we and our colleagues explain in a paper published today, the practice is far more complex, and sometimes contentious, than it might appear.

Budgerigar is one of eight First Peoples words used for Australian bird names.
Shutterstock

A bird by many names

In Aoteoroa/New Zealand, many birds are known by their Māori names. Kiwis have never been known by any other name, and nor have kākāpō or kākā.

It seems natural to assume using Indigenous names for our flora would help recognise First Peoples’ rights and knowledge, and their important role in Australian bird conservation.

But we should proceed with both caution and respect.

More than 250 First Peoples languages exist in Australia. This is unlike New Zealand where there is one Māori language (though many dialects).

Most Australian birds occur on Country of more than one First Peoples’ group, and each group is likely to have at least one name for each species.

The galah is a good example. For the first 100 years after Europeans arrived, naturalists most commonly used the name rose-breasted cockatoo.

Gradually, however, the name used by the Yuwaarlaraay of north-western New South Wales – gilaa – took hold. In 1926, the Royal Australasian Ornithologists Union, now BirdLife Australia, adopted a variant of this, galah, as the official Australian name for the species.

Since then, galahs have become deeply embedded into the national psyche. When Home and Away character Alf Stewart calls someone a “flamin’ galah” most Australians knows he is being uncomplimentary.

Similarly, there could be no mistaking which species a survey respondent was referring to when they stated their favourite bird was a “glar”.

But in the Kimberley region, the Gooniyandi peoples call galahs girlinygirliny. In the NSW Riverina, the Wemba-Wemba name is wilek-wilek.

Galahs are known by myriad names.
Shutterstock

Likewise, the white-throated grasswren is known by the name yirlinkirrkkirr or yirrindjirrin in the Kunwinjku dialect. It’s also known as djirnidjirnirrinjken in the Kune dialect, from the Bininj Kunwok language group. The Jawoyn name for the same species is nyirrnyirr.

The situation is even more complicated for birds shared with other countries.

These multiple words for a species mean governments and other organisations could be seen as favouring one group over another if they recognise a particular First Peoples’ name.

So sometimes it’s best to keep the English name, even though First Peoples’ names exist. This was the case with the endangered golden-shouldered parrot, known by Queensland’s Olkola people as alwal.

The bird is highly significant in the Olkola creation story. However, a team working on the species’ recovery, chaired by an Olkola representative, decided to stick with the English name because neighbouring language groups refer to the bird by other names.

Sadly, the parrots themselves no longer occur on the Country of some First Peoples, and only the name of the bird remains.

Golden-shouldered parrots no longer occur on the Country of some First Peoples.
Shutetrstock

Protecting the secret and sacred

The words First Peoples use to describe species may have special cultural significance.

First Peoples’ names for birds, and other species, are often built around the birds’ relationships with people, kin and with Country. For example, the name may describe:

a connection between a person and a species
a group of people’s relationship with each other which is related to a shared ancestor
relationships between people and a sacred site or Dreaming track.

Sometimes the names have sacred or secret meanings – and these can change with the place or with the speaker.

For these reasons, First Peoples may not want names from their language to be publicly available or used in official documents without their consent.

Permission is key

There are cases where English names should and can be replaced by a First Peoples’ name.

For example, in 2020 the bird now known as the mukarrthippi grasswren was recognised as a separate subspecies and needed its own common name. Australia’s rarest bird, it is known from just a few sand dunes on Country of the Ngiyampaa people in western New South Wales.

Ngiyampaa elders together settled on the name mukarrthippi. It is a combination of Ngiyampaa words – mukarr or spinifex (the spiny grass in which the grasswrens live) and thippi which means little bird.

Across Australia, 14 other bird subspecies have only ever been known from Country of a single First Peoples group. This means conversations with elders could be had about ascribing a First Peoples’ name to these birds.

In other cases, language users from multiple First Peoples groups could decide together on a name.

Where First Peoples offer alternative names for animal and plant species, governments should embrace the change. But no new First Peoples’ names should be adopted for species without explicit permission of the speakers of the language. Läs mer…