Johansen.se

Federal Environment Minister Tanya Plibersek’s recent decision to approve expansion plans for three New South Wales coal mines disappointed many people concerned with stabilising the global climate.

Two of these mines, Narrabri and Mount Pleasant in New South Wales, featured in the high-profile but ultimately unsuccessful Living Wonders court case, intended to force the federal government to take account of climate damage done by coal mine approvals. A lawyer involved in the case said Plibersek’s decision showed a refusal to “recognise their climate harms”.

Why did Plibersek sign off on this? She has argued the mines will abide by domestic industrial emissions rules. As her spokesperson told the ABC:

The emissions from these projects will be considered by the minister for climate change and energy under the government’s strong climate laws.

But these laws apply only to emissions produced in Australia, which in this case will be from extracting and transporting coal and the relatively small amount of coal burned here. Most of the coal will be exported and burned overseas. Australian laws do not count those much larger emissions.

The government is effectively washing its hands of the far larger emissions created when the coal is burned overseas. Since taking office, the Albanese government has approved seven applications to open or expand coal mines. Just this week, NSW Treasurer Daniel Mookhey said his state would keep exporting coal into the 2040s.

This reasoning doesn’t stack up. If we stopped expanding coal mines, coal would get more expensive – and we would accelerate the global shift to clean energy.

How can more coal be compatible with net zero?

Under the 2015 Paris Agreement on climate action, nations must publicly commit to domestic emissions reductions goals and are expected to steadily ramp up ambition.

But these emissions cuts are domestic only – we don’t measure the emissions we enable by exporting coal and gas.

The Albanese government has increased domestic ambition by committing to a 43% reduction on 2005 figures by 2030. This seems to be a substantial advance on the 26-28% commitment made by the previous government. In reality, internal tensions in the Morrison Coalition government handed Labor an unintentional gift.

In 2021, estimates suggested Australia was already on track for a 35% reduction. But internal opposition among Coalition backbenchers stopped Morrison announcing this as a target. As a result, Labor’s change looks about twice as impressive as it should.

Still, progress is happening. Domestically, Australia is now burning less and less coal.

But in terms of exports, the government’s position – clear in Plibersek’s decision as well as the government’s plan to keep gas flowing for decades – is as long as there is a demand for coal and gas from other countries, Australia will be ready and willing to meet it.

Most of the coal unlocked by Plibersek’s decision will go overseas, given NSW exports 85% of its coal to partners such as Japan, China, South Korea and Taiwan.

How does the government defend this?

Expanding coal mines while maintaining a public commitment to net zero is a consistent theme between this government and its predecessor, which also committed to net zero. It meets a minimal interpretation of our legal obligations under the Paris Agreement, but maintains the planet’s path towards dangerous warming.

In her statement of reasons given in 2023 as to why the Mount Pleasant mine expansion should be permitted, Plibersek and the Labor government offer several defences.

The first is she is simply acting in accordance with Australian law, as the project would comply with “applicable Commonwealth emissions reduction legislation”. This is a weak reed, to put it mildly. The Albanese government, with the support of Greens and independents, can change the law whenever it chooses.

In reality, the government has steadfastly resisted pressure to include a “climate trigger” in Australia’s environmental approval processes. Their resistance is relatively new – as recently as 2016, Labor policy included a climate trigger for land clearing.

Labor’s second defence has often been dubbed the “drug dealer’s defence”. That is, if Australia didn’t export coal, other producers would take our place. As Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has put it:

policies that would just result in a replacement of Australian resources with resources that are less clean from other countries would lead to an increase in global emissions, not a decrease.

As I’ve argued previously, this defence doesn’t work. Coal is subject to a rising cost curve – if we stopped exporting it, new or expanded production from other sources would cost more to extract and hence be priced higher. More expensive coal would, in turn, accelerate the global energy transition. We do have agency – we could choose not to unlock more coal.

Finally, Plibersek claims emissions from burning Mount Pleasant coal – estimated at over 500 million tonnes of carbon dioxide equivalent over the mine’s extended lifetime – would not be “substantial” relative to total global emissions. For context, Australia’s total emissions are now less than 500 million tonnes a year.

This “litterbug’s defence” suggest Australia’s emissions – whether produced domestically or exported – are not big enough to make a difference. This is not true – we are now the second largest exporter of emissions globally, after Russia. That is due largely to coal.

Are fossil fuel exports untouchable?

There’s a huge gap between global pledges to cut emissions and the reductions needed to actually achieve the Paris targets. Most countries we export coal and gas to are not yet on a path to achieve the reductions in emissions necessary to stabilise the global climate – though China’s emissions may, remarkably, be about to decline.

That’s why we need to press for decarbonisation at every stage of the energy system, from extraction of coal, oil and gas to the financing of new carbon-based projects as well as at the point where the fuel is burned and emissions produced generated.

The problem for Australia is we sell a lot of coal and gas – more than ever before. So even as solar and wind energy begins to displace coal and gas in domestic power generation, our coal and gas exports seem all but untouchable.

We should be saddened but not surprised at this pattern. The Albanese government seems guided by the principle of doing nothing to generate substantial opposition – and to count on the fact a Dutton Coalition government would do even less. Läs mer…

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” So begins Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, first published in 1878, the year Russia’s imperial war against the Ottoman Empire concluded – a war that had prompted international alarm about Russian expansionism and fomented internal unrest.

The Mighty Red, the new novel by Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award winner Louise Erdrich, arrives at a moment with some uncanny historical parallels. Several of her characters read Anna Karenina, and her fiercely political book, like Tolstoy’s, offers its own sweeping canvas of unhappy families, infidelity and farming in an imperial nation.

At the heart of Erdrich’s novel is the centrality of family and the way unhappiness itself can be deeply political.

Review: The Mighty Red – Louise Erdrich (Hachette)

Set in the sugar-beet country of the Red River Valley along the eastern border of North Dakota and the booming oil fields of the state’s remote west, The Mighty Red is a complex drama of intertwined families, each suffering under its own distinct form of unhappiness.

This is country where native bison were hunted almost to extinction by European settlers and where, in our own time, “soil would be chemically altered to grow the beet, and industrial factories would spring up to make the beet into sugar”. As the poisons take hold, characters gradually awaken to the catastrophic changes: to the weird consistency of soils wrecked by chemicals, to the wholesale disappearance of birds and insects, and to unearthly “plumes of flame in the black fields” of oil extraction.

Unhappiness reverberates across the community, becoming toxic. It operates as a shame that Erdrich’s characters feel compelled to hide, usually to the detriment of themselves and everyone around them.

The dramas of a mismatched wedding, a hidden act of criminal recklessness, and the disappearance of the local Catholic Church’s renovation fund dominate the narrative. But these elements are mostly hooks to draw readers into the more serious and often melancholy poetic meditations that become prominent in the novel’s second half.

Erdrich’s larger concerns are a range of interlocking issues that have transformed American life in the years of the book’s unfolding, from the 2008 financial crisis to the present. Among these are the long-term social and environmental consequences of ever more aggressively extractive fuel economies.

The novel addresses corporatised and polluting farming practices driven by the legacies of the Reagan administration’s decision to “call in […] loans that farmers had previously had decades to repay”. It also depicts an agribusiness industry that incentivises the use of herbicides, pesticides and genetically modified seeds at the expense of sustainability and environmental protection.

Alongside these issues, Erdrich explores the retrograde attitudes to gender roles in a rural American community dominated by the Catholic Church, and the insidious ways that race and class entwine to produce profound inequalities of opportunity and power.

Displacement, precarity and cultural capital

The river of the title is “the region’s life giver”, but also the site of fatal disasters and near-misses. It is “a treacherous brown vein of trifluralin, atrazine, polychlorinated biphenyls, VOCs, and mercury, not to mention uprooted trees and sunken cars”.

Red River cuts through land “taken from the Dakota, the Ojibwe, the Métis, by forced treaties”. The “original people” became employees “on the land they once owned”. Erdrich offers a stark vision of displacement, not only of the original owners, but also the migrant farm labourers, whose housing is “burned and the land lasered smooth to grow a few more rows of crops” by the white landowners.

Louise Erdrich.
Hachette Australis.

One of Erdrich’s great contributions to contemporary literature is the crafting of complex characters who hail from the economic and social margins of American life. In the hands of many other writers, such subjects are too often reduced to stock caricatures with uniform politics, predictable attitudes to gender, and a tendency to collapse into static crises of self-destruction. Stock working-class characters surrender their agency to resentment, anti-government paranoia or an unnuanced religiosity – or succumb to a ruinous cycle of intoxication and violence.

Erdrich’s characters are more believable for their nuanced and (undoubtedly for some readers) surprising range of attitudes, which run counter to any number of assumptions that continue to be made in media and literature about how farmers, truck drivers and manual labourers live, speak and think.

Among Erdrich’s most significant achievements in The Mighty Red are her depictions of truck driver Crystal Frechette and her bookish ex-goth daughter Kismet Poe, child of failed actor and itinerant drama teacher Martin Poe. The family name, we are told, was once Poésie. It has shortened over the decades so that the poetry has turned into a signifier of narrative darkness (as in, Edgar Allan Poe).

These three characters are “Turtle Mountain people who snagged each other in an oxbow on the Red River and got stuck there, like trash in the tree branches”. (Erdrich herself is a member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa.) Crystal hauls sugar beets from the farm of Winnie and Diz Geist, whose son, high school jock Gary, badgers Kismet into marrying him. In doing so, Kismet turns her back on dropout and autodidact Hugo, a bookstore owner’s son who appears to be her true love.

Crystal and Kismet realise that their precarity frames them in the wider culture as abnormal. They wear “75-percent-off clothing, from Alco, or from Thrifty Life”, while the rich locals shop in “Fargo or Minneapolis” and brag about it. Crystal makes her bread “from scratch not because it was artisanal but because it was cheaper”.

She and her daughter nevertheless “come to know on some level that they were the real Americans – the rattled, scratching, always-in-debt Americans”. Despite it always seeming “that the town well-off were considered the normal ones”, Crystal remains convinced she and her daughter will find a way to “rise” from their state of precarity.

The desire for ascent is, of course, a financial wish. But it is also an impulse towards the acquisition of more substantive cultural capital. These are characters with at least a passing knowledge not only of Tolstoy, but Chekhov, Flaubert, Proust, Brecht and Joan Didion. Such knowledge is rendered as entirely organic to their personalities, arising from particular histories, professions and experiences. Hugo and his mother’s bookstore and book club are key drivers in this area.

Leo Tolstoy in 1908.
Sergei Prokudin-Gorskii, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Erdrich is making a serious political point that high culture is not the preserve of the coasts, or the middle and upper classes, or white America. It has a real democratic value and purpose. Even “difficult” and “classic” works are accessible to anyone, she seems to be suggesting. All it takes is for such books to be placed within reach of these potential readers.

Flaubert’s Madame Bovary proves to be a consequential negative model. Kismet actively resists falling into the gendered traps Flaubert and Tolstoy set for their heroines. She escapes the fates of Emma Bovary and Anna Karenina to live a different kind of life entirely: one in which she seizes her own agency before it is too late.

The power of sentiment

That Erdrich addresses serious world-historical and environmental concerns without the novel feeling laboured is a testament to her talent for balancing a certain kind of engrossing melodrama with flights of rhetorical intervention.

For all its legitimate concerns about masculinity, corporatisation and environmental disaster, The Mighty Red is ultimately a hopeful book. It sees ordinary Americans as essentially good people. When they go wrong, they have the potential to change, redeem themselves and learn to do better – learn to be something more than they thought they were.

That is not to sugarcoat the real darkness, which is abundant and parcelled out over the novel’s length, until the horror that haunts a cluster of the main characters is finally brought to light.

Late in the novel, Erdrich offers a significant clue about how she may be trying to position The Mighty Red when the book club gathers to discuss Cormac McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic novel The Road. As if to suggest McCarthy’s suffocatingly masculine, moralistically Manichean, and reactionarily maudlin novel is the pole against which Erdrich is writing, Kismet offers the most sustained analysis:

I don’t think this book is about the end of the world. That’s just the setting, to show what happens between people in extreme situations. The end is about consolation. The father goes to the end of the earth for his son, then dies, satisfied. I mean, it’s a really sentimental book. And a brutal adventure book […] and then there’s that cannibal army.

The Mighty Red is not a sentimental book, but one that understands the power of sentiment. Nor is it a brutal adventure book, though brutality and adventure feature in its pages. And if there is a cannibal army, it comes in the guise of mass human self-destruction, not least in the way Erdrich frames the sugar-beet industry: “into every teaspoon,” she writes,

is mixed the pragmatic nihilism of industrial sugar farming and the death of our place on earth. This is the sweetness that pricks people’s senses and sparkles in a birthday cake and glitters on the tongue. Price guaranteed, delicious, a craving strong as love.

America is too varied, divided and vast a country to produce a work that might now be called a “state of the nation” novel; it is a country of multiple nations, jostling for command of the narrative, in what is fast becoming a zero-sum game. With The Mighty Red, Erdrich offers us something more modest and more genuine: a portrait of one place that is as clear-eyed about the problems besetting its people as it is determined to envision a more hopeful future. Läs mer…

There is a belief widely held across the Western world: Chinese students are schooled through rote, passive learning – and an educational system like this can only produce docile workers who lack innovation or creativity.

We argue this is far from true. In fact, the Chinese education system is producing highly successful students and an extremely skilled and creative workforce. We think the world can learn something from this.

In a viral video earlier this year, Apple CEO Tim Cook highlighted the unique concentration of skilled labour that attracted his manufacturing operations to China:

In the US, you could have a meeting of tooling engineers, and I’m not sure we could fill the room. In China you could fill multiple football fields.

To which Tesla CEO Elon Musk quickly responded on X: “True”.

When South African President Cyril Ramaphosa visited the Shenzhen headquarters of electric vehicle manufacturer BYD earlier this year, he was surprised to learn the company was planning to double its 100,000-strong engineering taskforce within the coming decade.

He might not have been so surprised had he known Chinese universities are producing more than ten million graduates every year – the foundation for a super-economy.

The ‘paradox of the Chinese learner’

Chinese learners achieve remarkable success levels compared to their Western – or non-Confucian-heritage – counterparts.

Since Shanghai first participated in the PISA educational evaluation in 2009, 15‑year-olds in China have topped the league table three out of four times in reading, mathematics and science.

How can a supposedly passive and rote Chinese system outperform its Western counterparts? A number of Australian scholars have been studying this “paradox of the Chinese learner” since the 1990s.

Their research shows those common perceptions of Chinese and other Asian learners are wrong. For example, repetition and meaningful learning are not mutually exclusive. As one Chinese saying goes:

书读百遍其意自现 – meaning reveals itself when you read something many times.

What can Western education learn?

An emphasis on education is a defining feature of Chinese culture. Since Confucianism became the state-sanctioned doctrine in the Han Dynasty (202BCE–220CE), education has entered every fabric of Chinese society.

This became especially true after the institutionalisation of the Keju system of civil service examinations during the Sui Dynasty (581CE–618CE).

Today, the Gaokao university entrance examination is the modern Keju equivalent. Millions of school leavers take the exam each year. For three days every July, Chinese society largely comes to a standstill for the Gaokao.

While the cultural drive for educational excellence is a major motivation for everyone involved in the system, it is not something that is easily learned and replicated in Western societies.

However, there are two principles we believe are central to Chinese educational success, at both the learner and system levels. We use two Chinese idioms to illustrate these.

The first we call “orderly and gradual progress” – 循序渐进. This principle stresses patient, step-by-step and sequenced learning, sustained by grit and delayed gratification.

The second we call “thick accumulation before thin production” – 厚积薄发. This principle stresses the importance of two things:

a comprehensive foundation through accumulation of basic knowledge and skills
assimilation, integration and productive creativity only come after this firm foundation.

Technique to art: weekly calligraphy lessons have been mandatory in Chinese primary and middle schools since 2013.
Getty Images

Knowledge, skill and creativity

The epitome of orderly and gradual progress is the way calligraphy is learned. It goes from easy to difficult, simple to complex, imitating to free writing, technique to art. Since 2013, it has been a mandatory weekly lesson in all primary and middle schools in China.

The art of Chinese writing embodies patience, diligence, breathing, concentration and an appreciation of the natural beauty of rhythm. It teaches Chinese values of harmony and the aesthetic spirit.

“Thick accumulation” can be illustrated in the way students study extremely hard for the national Gaokao examination, and also during tertiary education. This way they accumulate the basic knowledge and skills required in a modern society.

“Thin production” refers to the ability to narrow or focus this accumulated knowledge and skill to find and implement creative solutions in the workplace or elsewhere.

Ways of learning

On the face of it, the emphasis on gradual and steady progress, and on accumulation of basic knowledge and skills, may look like a slow, monotonous and uninspiring process – the origin of those common myths about Chinese learning.

In reality, it boils down to a simple argument: without a critical mass of basic knowledge and skills, there is little to assimilate and integrate for productive creativity.

Of course, there are problems with Chinese learning and education, not least the fierce competitiveness and overemphasis on examinations. But our focus here is simply to show how two basic educational principles underpin Chinese advances in science and technology in a modern knowledge economy.

We believe these principles are transferable and potentially beneficial for policymakers, scholars and learners elsewhere. Läs mer…

Anyone who has spent time inside a neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) knows it’s intense.

For the tiny babies cared for in these wards, any infection could prove fatal. Great care is taken to prevent the spread of pathogens, but outbreaks still occur.

Traditionally, detecting outbreaks within a NICU has been reactive – only after multiple babies fall ill at the same time.

Our research is advancing the use of whole-genome sequencing technologies to detect outbreaks early and stamp out bacteria before they threaten more babies.

From reactive to proactive

NICU outbreak surveillance usually involves monitoring rates of illness and identifying spikes and long-term trends that may point to a pathogen circulating on the ward.

When a potential outbreak is identified, bacteria may be cultured and retrospectively sequenced to determine if they can be linked to a shared source or transmission on the ward.

Wellington Regional Hospital has changed its approach to infection surveillance in the NICU. Rather than waiting for infants to fall ill, they are using the same sequencing technology we developed at the Institute of Environmental Science and Research (ESR) for genomic contact tracking during the COVID pandemic.

Infants in the unit have diagnostic swab samples taken as part of routine practice. If any key bacteria are cultured from these samples, they are sequenced promptly to identify possible transmission events in near real time. This allows us to monitor the situation closely and respond quickly to emerging outbreaks.

Genome sequencing allows NICU teams to monitor infectious bacteria before babies fall ill.
Getty Images

Because not all infants carrying a particular bacterial strain will experience a severe infection, this proactive approach can detect an outbreak before any babies fall ill.

And because whole-genome sequencing decodes the entire genetic makeup of bacteria, it also provides the NICU team with information on how pathogens are related to each other. This allows them to differentiate one-off cases imported to the unit from any circulating within it.

This level of detail allows for precise infection monitoring and fast, informed decisions on outbreak control.

A case study

This shift was recently tested when proactive genomic surveillance showed two infants in the NICU had eye infections caused by the same organism, an uncommon strain of methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA).

MRSA is notorious for its resistance to common antibiotics, making it particularly dangerous in hospitals.

The onsite sequencing showed the two cases were likely linked. The priorities were to establish whether other infants were affected and limit the pathogen’s spread as quickly as possible. Screening of infants in the NICU found six more carrying the same strain of MRSA (though none with serious illness).

This meant these infants could be isolated rapidly and the outbreak contained before any others developed a significant infection. ESR’s experience as genomic contact tracers helped establish how these infections spread in the unit.

An outbreak response takes up resources and involves multiple steps, from the initial confirmation of the infection and its transmission route to communication with parents.

This proactive approach to infection surveillance provides an early-warning system. It means the NICU team can be confident an outbreak is underway and act quickly to contain it.

MRSA in New Zealand

The power of genome sequencing extends beyond immediate outbreak control.

By comparing the genomic data generated in the lab to that collected in national surveillance projects, our team was able to show the strain that caused the eye infections may have emerged in the early 1990s.

This strain has slowly accumulated the genes required to evade first-choice antibiotics, underpinning the risk of antibiotic-resistant bacteria in Aotearoa New Zealand.

We also highlighted the power of genomics to reveal connections when we found the MRSA strain causing illness in the NICU was related to bacteria collected from cattle. This discovery underscores the concept of “One Health” – the idea that human health, animal health and environmental health are inextricably linked.

The data suggest bacteria from a cow milk tank and from babies in a hospital may have shared a common ancestor at some point.

Future focus

As we continue to unravel the complex world of microbes, tools like whole-genome sequencing offer hope in the ongoing battle against infectious diseases. The work at Wellington Regional Hospital’s NICU is just the beginning.

From protecting our most vulnerable newborns to uncovering unlikely connections between farm animals and hospital patients, genomic technology is changing how we combat infectious diseases.

As this technology continues to evolve, it promises to play an increasingly crucial role in safeguarding public health, one DNA sequence at a time.

In the face of growing antibiotic resistance and emerging pathogens, this proactive, genomics-based approach to infection control may well be our best defence.

We would like to acknowledge the contributions by Max Bloomfield and the teams at Awanui Labs, and Emma Voss and team at Livestock Improvement Corporation. Läs mer…

Neurodevelopmental conditions such as attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and autism affect about one in ten children. These conditions impact learning, behaviour and development.

Executive function delays are core to challenges people with neurodevelopmental conditions experience. This includes skills such as paying attention, switching attention, controlling impulses, planning, organising and problem-solving.

These skills are important for learning and long-term development. They have been linked with future occupational, social, academic and mental health outcomes. Children with improved executive function skills and supports for these skills do better long term.

Decades of studies have described how difficulties in attention and impulse control underpin ADHD. Meanwhile, difficulties with switching attention and flexibility of thinking have been proposed to underpin autism.

As a result, different supports and interventions developed for different neurodevelopmental conditions target these skills. It sets up a system where a diagnosis is made first, then a set of supports is provided based on that diagnosis.

But our recent study, published in Nature Human Behaviour, shows executive function problems are similar across all neurodevelopmental conditions. Understanding these common needs could lead to better access to supports before waiting for a specific diagnosis.

Our study found more similarities than differences

We looked at 180 studies, over 45 years, that compared executive function skills across two or more neurodevelopmental conditions.

We brought the research together for all neurodevelopmental conditions that have been defined by diagnostic manuals, including ADHD, Tourette’s syndrome, communication disorders and intellectual disabilities.

Surprisingly, we found most neurodevelopmental conditions showed very similar delays in their executive skills.

Children with ADHD showed difficulties with attention and impulse control, for example, but so did children with autism, communication and specific learning conditions.

There were very few differences between each neurodevelopmental condition and the type of executive function delay.

This suggests executive function delay is best considered as a common difficulty for all children with neurodevelopmental conditions. All of these children could benefit from similar supports to improve executive skills.

But supports have become siloed

For decades, research has failed to integrate findings across conditions. This has led to siloed research and practices across the education, health and disability sectors.

Our data showed a gradual shift in the type of conditions that have been studied since 1980. In the earlier days, as a percentage, there were a far greater proportion of studies conducted on tic disorders, such as Tourette’s syndrome. In the past ten years, autism has been of greater focus.

This means research and practice is also siloed, based on the focus on funding and interest in the community. Some groups miss out from good science and practice when they become less visible in the political landscape.

This has led to a skewed support system where only children with a specific diagnosis can be offered certain interventions. It also reduces access to supports if families can’t access diagnostic services, which can be particularly difficult in regional and rural communities.

Due to these diagnosis-driven research practices, there are now assessment services, guidelines and treatments that are recommended for autism. These are usually independent from and not offered to children with ADHD, Tourette’s syndrome, communication disorders or intellectual disabilities despite a significant overlap in children’s needs.

How does this affect access to support

Families often find it hard to get the help they need. They often describe the assessment and support process as confusing, with long wait times and lots of barriers.

We have previously shown caregivers often attend assessment and support services with a broad range of needs, but leave with many needs unaddressed.

Recent national child mental health, autism and ADHD guidelines call for more integrated supports for children. But most services are not well set up to do this. It will take time to drive such system change if this is to be achieved.

Why we need integrated research

More integrated research will lead to more cohesive support systems across education, health and disability for all children in need.

Studies show, for example, that many risk factors (genetic and environmental) are common to all neurodevelopmental conditions. These include a broad overlap of risk genes that are the same between conditions, and common environmental factors that influence development in the womb, such as the use of certain drugs, stress and a significant immune response.

Other studies show how most children diagnosed with one neurodevelopmental condition will also be diagnosed with others.

But gaps remain. While we know certain stimulant medications can work well for ADHD, for example, we have less information about how they might help children with other neurodevelopmental conditions who have attention difficulties.

Unlike our knowledge about social supports for children with autism, we don’t have much research on how we can help children with ADHD with their social needs.

We should take a wider view of children’s needs

It’s important for families to be aware that if their child meets criteria for one neurodevelopmental condition, it is very likely that they will meet criteria for other neurodvelopmental conditions. They will likely have many needs relevant to other conditions.

It is worth asking clinical services about broader needs beyond a diagnosis. This should include developmental, mental and physical health needs.

It is also important to consider that many common interventions may have potential to support all children with neurodevelopmental conditions.

This is an important issue for government. Reviews are under way for supporting the needs of people with autism, intellectual disability and ADHD.

It’s time to establish more integrated systems, supports and strategies for all people with neurodevelopmental conditions for their home, school, play and work. Läs mer…

A Queensland tribunal has ruled it is not discriminatory for a school to require girls to wear a skirt at formal events.

The private high school said girls needed to wear skirts for occasions including excursions, ceremonies and class photographs.

A female student had complained to the Queensland Civil and Administrative Tribunal about different treatment for boys and girls.

While the tribunal acknowledged there was “different treatment between the sexes”, it found there was not enough evidence to show this was “unfavourable”.

Why are female students still made to wear skirts and dresses? And why is this a problem?

Who decides?

In Australia, uniform rules are largely determined by individual schools.

Schools have some obligations to their communities, governing bodies (such as state education departments and independent school peak bodies) and anti-discrimination legislation.

For example, Victoria’s Education Department requires policies to include an exemption process and “support inclusion”.

But ultimately, it’s up to the school to decide how their uniform looks, who can access different items, where and when items may be worn, and what non-uniform items are regulated.

School uniforms are ultimately decided by the school.
Monkey Business Images/ Shutterstock

Read more:
No mullets, no mohawks, no ’awkwardly contrasting colours’: what are school policies on hair and why do they matter so much?

The pants question

Pants occupy an odd space here. For public schools, most state education departments require girls to have the option of pants (which can include shorts or trousers), for both sport and regular uniforms.

This is a relatively new standard. For example, Queensland introduced this in 2019 and New South Wales allowed it from mid-2018.

Often, these changes were prompted by sustained campaigning by families and lobby groups.

But private schools do not have the same obligations. Some are starting to update their policies and allow girls to wear shorts or pants if they choose.

Others, however, have been met with conservative backlash when they do.

Public schools are starting to give girls the option of wearing pants.
Caiaimages/Robert Daly/ Getty Images

So, when can girls wear pants?

Girls’ access to pants is not as straightforward as a school including them within the uniform policy.

As researchers note, simply allowing girls to wear pants may not be enough. If school cultures are not welcoming, or if the design is uncomfortable, girls may still avoid them.

Or, as can be the case with private schools, a school may offer pants on a limited basis, such as only during winter. Alternatively, there may be a special order process for pants, making them difficult to obtain.

Or schools may permit their use, except on special occasions such as photo days or excursions, like the Queensland case.

Why does it matter?

The skirt itself isn’t the issue. The element of choice is.

As researchers note, skirts and dresses are linked to outdated expectations of modesty and femininity. They can be targets of fetish and harassment, and entrench binary ideals of gender.

Flexible policies support gender-diverse youth and enable all students to select uniform items based on their body rather than their gender. Research shows offering students pants or shorts can also promote physical activity.

These school uniform debates are also taking place amid concerns about misogyny and harassment of female students and teachers in schools and concern for queer young people’s wellbeing.

The longer gender-normativity is baked into school policies, the longer students are denied their right to equitable education. And the longer that schools promote the idea of “girl” and “boy” as opposite and concrete categories, the harder it will be to combat schoolyard misogyny and queerphobia. Läs mer…

Statements have been circulating online, including leading news platforms, that battery electric cars will greatly increase the average mass of the on-road fleet. This claim is used as an argument against these cars.

Even the Australian motoring organisation NRMA has posed the question: “EVs are heavy. Are they safe on our roads and carparks?” (It does say the answer is yes.)

The stated reason for such concerns is generally that electric car batteries are heavy and increase overall vehicle mass. A heavier vehicle needs more energy to drive it and so will typically increase emissions. A greater mass also reduces traffic safety and could have damaging impacts on parking spaces and roads.

A critical review released yesterday took a closer look at these claims to see if they hold true in Australia. It finds these claims don’t stack up in a country where sales of fossil-fuelled (petrol, diesel, LPG) vehicles skew towards large and heavy utes and SUVs.

When adjusted for actual top 10 vehicles sold and using realistic mass values, the average mass of battery electric and fossil-fuelled cars differs by just 68 kilograms. That difference is not significant, especially because electric cars are much more energy-efficient.

Oversimplifying a complex topic

The claims being made often oversimplify a complex reality. They tell only part of the story, which can be misleading.

For instance, internal combustion engine cars have consistently increased in mass over time. Known as car obesity, this fact is often unfairly ignored in comparisons.

Similarly, these statements pretend to know how complex consumer behaviour will respond to future availability of battery electric cars and their fast-changing and improving features. Often, the results of overseas studies cannot be directly applied to different Australian conditions.

4 points of contention

Our report identifies and unpacks four main points of contention.

First, there are different ways to define and compare the mass of battery electric and combustion engine cars. In practice, the choice is rather arbitrary. Depending on the method, the comparison may be neither adequate nor accurate.

Often the comparison is made between similar or similarly sized battery electric and combustion engine cars. Or electric cars can be compared only to an equivalent non-electric version of models such as the VW Golf. Another variation is to simply compare the average mass of a large range of cars currently on sale, without considering the impact of sales volumes.

Second, a common argument is that batteries are heavy, so electric cars are heavier than fossil-fuelled cars. But this is simplistic – it’s not only the battery that matters.

Offsetting the extra battery mass, other parts of the electric car such as their motors are smaller and lighter. They can cut its mass by up to 50%.

And actual extra battery mass itself depends on a range of factors. Battery chemistry, battery size and energy storage capacity (which determines how often a car needs recharging) all affect the mass. Indeed, battery mass varies between 100 and 900 kilograms for cars.

Third, car obesity has greatly and consistently increased fossil-fuelled car mass. Unless we include this rise in car obesity, the comparison with battery electric cars tells only half the story.

Finally, it is challenging to accurately predict the mass impacts of electric cars. A common assumption is that future vehicle buyers’ behaviour does not change when switching to battery electric cars. This assumption seems unlikely and again oversimplifies the comparison.

For instance, market availability, marketing focus, purchase price and performance characteristics will largely guide buyers’ decisions. These considerations are all highly dynamic. They are changing significantly and fast.

So how do they compare in Australia?

A proper comparison needs, at least, to include realistic vehicle mass and sales data. Our study compares the differences in vehicle mass between the top ten best-selling cars for both battery electric and fossil-fuelled vehicles in Australia in 2022, as shown below.

Masses of the top 10 most popular new battery electric (top) and fossil-fuelled (bottom) passenger cars sold in Australia in 2022. Circle sizes represent sales volumes. The top-selling internal combustion engine car is the Toyota Hilux (64,391 sold). For pure battery electric cars it’s the Tesla Model 3 (10,877 sold). Vehicle mass is defined as ‘mass in running order’, adjusted for average vehicle occupancy.
Author provided, Transport Energy/Emission Research (TER)

Currently sold top 10 models of battery electric cars cluster more at the heavy end, but the most popular cars are relatively light. The top 10 models of fossil-fuelled cars have a larger spread in mass. Yet, when it comes to sales, most are relatively heavy SUVs or utes.

When ranked by popularity and compared, battery electric cars are not always heavier. They can be almost 300kg (12%) lighter to almost 800kg (55%) heavier than the corresponding fossil-fuelled car. Importantly, the overall difference in the average mass of the two categories when adjusted for sales is just 68kg (about 3% of total vehicle mass).

This small difference is insignificant in terms of energy and emission impacts. A more important factor here is the superior energy efficiency of battery electric vehicles.

How will they compare in future?

Clearly, future sales profiles may differ from current sales profiles. The current profile may be largely defined by a certain type of customer (such as a high-income early adopter). They might not be typical of mainstream consumers in coming years.

Buyers’ future behaviour is uncertain and hard to predict. It would depend on the effectiveness of (new) policy measures such as Australia’s New Vehicle Efficiency Standard, the actual vehicles offered for sale, marketing efforts by car suppliers and possibly also cultural changes.

Any shifts in buyer behaviour could greatly influence the car fleet’s average mass. They could continue the current trend towards larger and heavier vehicles, or shift to smaller and lighter vehicles.

But this is the point: the impacts of electrification of passenger vehicles on average mass are highly uncertain. Statements on the matter are often speculative and can be unfairly biased by the methods used.

In markets where heavy petrol and diesel vehicles dominate car sales, such as Australia and New Zealand, current evidence suggests increased electric car sales are unlikely to greatly increase average vehicle mass. In fact, average mass could actually go down as cheaper and lighter electric cars go on sale here.

As cheaper and lighter electric cars like the BYD Atto 3 become more widely available, buyer behaviour could change.
Matthias Schrader/AP/AAP

Vehicle mass remains important

Importantly, the report is not downplaying the importance of vehicle mass for transport emission abatement.

In previous research it was estimated that only a passenger vehicle fleet dominated by small and light battery electric vehicles may get Australia close to achieving the net-zero emissions target in 2050.

To meet the target, it is thus important to reverse the trend of increasing car obesity, for all cars. But vehicle mass should not be used as an argument against electrification. Läs mer…

For anyone who has been online in Australia longer than a decade or so, the discussion around current proposals to set a minimum age for social media use might trigger a touch of déjà vu.

Between 2007 and 2012, the Rudd–Gillard government’s efforts to implement a “Clean Feed” internet filter sparked very similar debates.

Beset by technical problems and facing fierce opposition, the Clean Feed was eventually abandoned in favour of laws that already existed. Will the proposed social media ban face a similar fate?

How to regulate cyberspace

The question of how to regulate a cyberspace occupied by both adults and children has puzzled governments for a long time. Traditional controls on physical media are difficult to apply to online spaces, particularly when so much online media comes from overseas.

As early as 1998, an Australian Broadcasting Authority report noted a key difficulty in online regulation. Namely, balancing adults’ access to legal online spaces and content with restrictions on childrens’ access to age-inappropriate material and bans on illegal content.

The Clean Feed proposal attempted to address parental concerns about age-inappropriate websites. First raised in 2006 by Labor in opposition, it became a campaign promise at the 2007 election.

Kevin Rudd’s Labor Party promised a ‘clean feed’ internet filter in their campaign at the 2007 federal election.
Alan Porritt / AAP

The proposal aimed to solve the issue of overseas content. Australian authorities could already require website owners in Australia to take down illegal content, but they had no power over international sites.

To address this, the Clean Feed would require internet service providers to run a government-created filter blocking all material given a “Refused” classification by the Australian Classification Board, which meant it was illegal. Labor argued the filter would protect children from “harmful and inappropriate” content, including child pornography and X-rated media. The Australian Communications and Media Authority created a “blacklist” of websites that the filter would block.

Technical trouble

The Clean Feed was plagued by technical issues. Trials in 2008 revealed it might slow internet speeds by up to 87%, block access to legal websites, and wouldn’t block all illegal content.

While the effect on speeds was improved, the 2008 trials and others in 2009 revealed another problem: determined users could bypass the filter.

There were also fears the blacklist would be used to block legal websites. While the government maintained the filter would only target illegal content, some questioned whether this was true.

Internet service providers were already required to prevent access to content that had been given a Refused classification. This, along with unclear government statements about removing age-inappropriate material, led many to believe the blacklist could be more far-reaching.

The government also planned to keep the list secret, on the grounds that a published list could become a guide for finding illegal material.

The blacklist

In 2009, the whistleblowing website Wikileaks published a list of sites blacklisted in Denmark. The government banned those pages of Wikileaks, and in response Wikileaks published what it said was the Australian government blacklist. (The government denied it was the actual blacklist.)

Newspapers noted that around half the websites on the published list were not related to child pornography.

Wikileaks published what it claimed was the government’s planned ‘blacklist’ of websites, along with a rationale for publishing the list.
Wikileaks

The alleged blacklist also contained legal content, including Wikipedia pages, YouTube links, and even the website of a Queensland dentist. This lent weight to fears the filter would block more than just illegal websites.

More debates emerged surrounding how the Refused classification category was applied offline as well as on the internet.

In January 2010, the Australian Sex Party reported claims from pornography studios that customs officials had confiscated material featuring female ejaculation (as an “abhorrent depiction” or form of urination) and small-breasted adult women (who might appear to be minors). Many questioned whether these should be banned, and if such depictions would be added to the blacklist – including members of hacker-activist group Anonymous.

Operation Titstorm and the end of the Clean Feed

While Anonymous members had already protested the Clean Feed, this new information sparked a new protest action dubbed Operation Titstorm.

On February 10 2010, activists targeted several government websites. The Australian Parliament site was down for three days. Protesters also mass-emailed politicians and their staff the kinds of pornography set to be blocked by the filter.

While Operation Titstorm gained media attention, other digital activists (such as Electronic Frontiers Australia and other members of Anonymous) criticised its illegal tactics. Many dismissed the protest as juvenile.

In February 2010, hacker-activists from Anonymous launched denial-of-service attacks and email campaigns in protest of proposed internet filters.
WIkipedia

However, one participant argued that many protesters were children, who had used these methods because “kids and teenagers don’t really get the chance to voice their opinions”. The protesters may have been the very people the Clean Feed was supposed to protect.

The government abandoned the Clean Feed in 2012 and used existing legislation to require internet service providers to block INTERPOL’s “worst of” child abuse list. It remains to be seen whether the social media minimum age will similarly crumble under the weight of controversy and be rendered redundant by existing legislation.

The same, but different

The Clean Feed tried to balance the rights of adults to access legal material with protecting children from age-inappropriate content and making cyberspace safer for them. In a sense, it did this by regulating adults.

The filter limited the material adults could access. Given it was government-created and mandatory, it also decided for parents what content was age-appropriate for their children.

The current proposal to set a minimum age for social media flips this solution by determining what online spaces children can occupy. Similar to the filter, it also makes this decision on parents’ behalf.

The Clean Feed saga reveals some of the difficulties of policing the internet. It also reminds us that anxiety about what Australian youth can interact with online is nothing new – and is unlikely to go away. Läs mer…

Later this week the government will receive the report of the year-long independent inquiry into its handling of the COVID pandemic.

Among the issues it will have to contend with is air quality, in particular the air quality in high occupancy public buildings such as schools, aged-care facilities, shops, pubs and clubs.

Many already have high quality air. High-fitration air conditioning (so-called mechanical ventilation) is standard in offices, hospitals and shopping centres.

But not in schools. Almost all of our schools (98% in NSW) use windows.

In Australia’s national construction code, this is called “natural ventilation” and it is allowed so long as the window, opening or door has a ventilating area of not less than 5% of the floor area, a requirement research suggests is insufficient.

Windows, but no requirement to keep them open

There’s no requirement to actually open the windows. School windows are often shut to keep in the heat in (or to keep out the heat in summer).

The result can be very, very stuffy classrooms, far stuffier than we would tolerate in shopping centres. This matters for learning. Study after study has found that when air circulation gets low, people can’t concentrate well or learn well.

And they get sick. Diseases such as flu, COVID and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) spread when viruses get recirculated instead of diluted with fresh air.

The costs of the resulting sickness are borne by students, parents, teachers and education systems that need to find replacement staff to cover for teachers who are sick and parents who need to look after sick children at home.

A pilot study prepared for the Australian Research Council Centre for Advanced Building Systems Against Airborne Infection (known as “Thrive”), suggests the entire cost of installing high-filtration air conditioning in every Australian school would be offset by the savings in reduced sickness.

What classroom air is like

ARINA put CO2 meters in classrooms.
Geogif/Shutterstock

The study carried out by the education architecture firm ARINA compared the ventilation of 60 so-called naturally ventilated schools in southern NSW and the Australian Capital Territory to that of a school in Sydney that happened to have been fitted with a Standards Australia-compliant air conditioning system to control aircraft noise.

It used carbon dioxide levels to measure ventilation. Carbon dioxide is a good proxy for ventilation because its levels are determined by both the number of people breathing out concentrated carbon dioxide and the clean air available to dilute it.

Under a normal load, defined as 26 students, one teacher and one assistant, measured levels of carbon dioxide in the air-conditioned school stayed below 750 parts per million (ppm) and were typically between 500 and 600 ppm.

A reading of 700 ppm is particularly good. It means the people in the room breathe in less than 0.5% of air breathed out by others.

But in “naturally ventilated” classrooms the reading often climbed to 2,500 ppm and sometimes more, within an hour of a class commencing.

At 2,500 parts per million, people in the room are breathing in 5.5% of the air breathed out by others. This is also high enough to affect cognition, learning and behaviour, something that begins when carbon dioxide climbs above 1,200 ppm.

Research suggests using ventilation to cut carbon dioxide to 700 ppm can cut the risk of airborne transmission of disease by a factor of two and up to five.

The economic case for healthy air

In 2023, Australia had 9,629 schools with 4,086,998 students.

ARINA has previously estimated the cost of ensuring all of these schools are mechanically ventilated at A$2 billion per year over five years.

Offsetting that cost would be less sickness. Documents released under freedom of information laws show Victoria spent $360.8 million on casual relief teachers between May 2023 and May 2024, 54% more than before COVID in 2019.

The figures for other states are harder to get, but if Victoria (with 26% of Australia’s population) is spending $234 million more per year on casual relief teachers than before COVID, it is likely that Australia is spending $900 million per year more.

Add in the teachers in non-government schools (37% of Australia’s total) and the potential saving from air conditioning schools exceeds $1 billion per year.

Add in the other non-COVID viruses that would no longer be concentrated and circulated in classrooms and the potential savings grow higher still.

Worth more than $1 billion per year

And, in any event, the cost of replacement teachers is a woefully incomplete measure of the cost of illness in schools. Many ill teachers can’t be replaced because replacements aren’t available, making schools cancel lessons and combine classes, costing days, weeks and sometimes months of lost education.

Also, the bacteria and viruses spread by recirculated air infect students as well as teachers, keeping students (and often their parents) at home as well.

This suggests the costs per year of not air conditioning schools exceed $1 billion and may well approach or exceed $2 billion, which is the estimated cost per year over five years of air conditioning every Australian school.

Natural ventilation was never a good idea for classrooms: it was cheap at the time, but not cheap at all when the costs are considered. Those costs happen to extend beyond disease to thermal comfort, energy use and the ability of students to concentrate.

It’s time we gave students and teachers the kind of protections we demand for ourselves in our offices, our shopping centres and often our homes. It would soon pay for itself. Läs mer…

Welcome to our ‘Light and health’ series. Over six articles, we look at how light affects our physical and mental health in sometimes surprising ways.

For most of our evolutionary history, human activity has been linked to daylight. Technology has liberated us from these ancient sleep-wake cycles, but there is evidence sunlight has left and continues to leave its mark.

Not only do we still tend to be awake in the daytime and sleep at night, we can thank light for many other aspects of our biology.

Light may have driven our ancestors to walk upright on two legs. Light helps explain the evolution of our skin colour, why some of us have curly hair, and even the size of our eyes.

As we’ll explore in future articles in this series, light helps shape our mood, our immune system, how our gut works, and much more. Light can make us sick, tell us why we’re sick, then treat us.

Million of years of evolutionary history means humans are still very much creatures of the light.

We stood up, then walked out of Africa

The first modern humans evolved in warm African climates. And reducing exposure to the harsh sunlight is one explanation for why humans began to walk upright on two legs. When we stand up and the Sun is directly overhead, far less sunshine hits our body.

Curly hair may have also protected us from the hot Sun. The idea is that it provides a thicker layer of insulation than straight hair to shield the scalp.

Early Homo sapiens had extra Sun protection in the form of strongly pigmented skin. Sunlight breaks down folate (vitamin B9), accelerates ageing and damages DNA. In our bright ancestral climates, dark skin protected against this. But this dark skin still admitted enough UV light to stimulate vital production of vitamin D.

However, when people colonised temperate zones, with weaker light, they repeatedly evolved lighter skin, via different genes in different populations. This happened rapidly, probably within the past 40,000 years.

With reduced UV radiation nearer the poles, less pigmentation was needed to protect sunlight from breaking down our folate. A lighter complexion also let in more of the scarce light so the body could make vitamin D. But there was one big drawback: less pigmentation meant less protection against Sun damage.

How our skin pigmentation adapted with migration patterns and changing light.

This evolutionary background contributes to Australia having among the highest rates of skin cancer in the world.

Our colonial history means more than 50% of Australians are of Anglo-Celtic descent, with light skin, transplanted into a high-UV environment. Little wonder we’re described as “a sunburnt country”.

Sunlight has also contributed to variation in human eyes. Humans from high latitudes have less protective pigment in their irises. They also have larger eye sockets (and presumably eyeballs), maybe to admit more precious light.

Again, these features make Australians of European descent especially vulnerable to our harsh light. So it’s no surprise Australia has unusually high rates of eye cancers.

We cannot shake our body clock

Our circadian rhythm – the wake-sleep cycle driven by our brains and hormones – is another piece of heavy evolutionary baggage triggered by light.

Humans are adapted to daylight. In bright light, humans can see well and have refined colour vision. But we see poorly in dim light, and we lack senses such as sharp hearing or acute smell, to make up for it.

Our nearest relatives (chimps, gorillas and orangutans) are also active during daylight and sleep at night, reinforcing the view that the earliest humans had similar diurnal behaviours.

This lifestyle likely stretches further back into our evolutionary history, before the great apes, to the very dawn of primates.

The earliest mammals were generally nocturnal, using their small size and the cover of darkness to hide from dinosaurs. However, the meteorite impact that wiped out these fearsome reptiles allowed some mammalian survivors, notably primates, to evolve largely diurnal lifestyles.

If we inherited our daylight activity pattern directly from these early primates, then this rhythm would have been part of our lineage’s evolutionary history for nearly 66 million years.

This explains why our 24-hour clock is very difficult to shake; it’s so deeply ingrained in our evolutionary history.

Successive improvements in lighting technology have increasingly liberated us from dependence on daylight: fire, candles, oil and gas lamps, and finally electric lighting. So we can theoretically work and play at any time.

However, our cognitive and physical performance deteriorates when our intrinsic daily cycles are disturbed, for instance through sleep deprivation, shift work or jet lag.

Futurists have already considered the circadian rhythms required for life on Mars. Luckily, a day on Mars is around 24.7 hours, so similar to our own. This slight difference should be the least of the worries for the first intrepid martian colonists.

How would humans cope on Mars? At least they wouldn’t have to worry too much about their body clocks.
NikoNomad/NASA/Shutterstock

Light is still changing us

In the past 200 years or so, artificial lighting has helped to (partly) decouple us from our ancestral circadian rhythms. But in recent decades, this has come at a cost to our eyesight.

Many genes associated with short-sightedness (myopia) have become more common in just 25 years, a striking example of rapid evolutionary change in the human gene pool.

And if you have some genetic predisposition to myopia, reduced exposure to natural light (and spending more time in artificial light) makes it more likely. These noticeable changes have occurred within many people’s lifetimes.

Light will no doubt continue to shape our biology over the coming millennia, but those longer-term effects might be difficult to predict. Läs mer…