Macquarie University has been recognised as a Platinum Tier organisation at the 2026 LGBTQ+ Inclusion Awards, in recognition of its sustained efforts fostering diversity, inclusion and belonging.

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Octogenarian Roger Whalan has graduated from Macquarie University with a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy, bringing decades of life experience to his graduation and a story shaped by perseverance.

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New research from Macquarie University has found removing everyday positive mental health behaviours for just two weeks can rapidly trigger symptoms of depression and anxiety in otherwise healthy adults.

New research from Macquarie University has found removing everyday positive mental health behaviours for just two weeks can rapidly trigger symptoms of depression and anxiety in otherwise healthy adults. These symptoms then resolve once those actions are resumed.

The behaviours, known as The Big Five/The Things You Do, include:

* Maintaining realistic thinking

* Engaging in meaningful activities

* Having goals and plans

* Keeping healthy routines, including sleep

* Staying socially connected

What the research did

Researchers conducted a randomised controlled, staged behavioural experiment in healthy adults, measured against a control group:

1. Baseline (2 weeks): participants continued normal daily routines

2. Restriction (2 weeks): everyday behaviours were deliberately reduced

3. Resumption (5 weeks): routines were reintroduced over four weeks

What it found

Mental wellbeing deteriorated rapidly in the experimental group during the restriction phase.

While 97 per cent of people in the intervention group had been in the ‘healthy’ range for symptoms of depression at the start of the trial, only 31 per cent remained in the ‘healthy’ range by the end of the restriction phase, with almost 70 per cent having developed ‘mild’ or ‘moderate’ depression symptoms.

“We've known for some time that certain daily actions are linked to good mental health. What this study shows is the other side of that coin,” said Professor Nick Titov of the School of Psychological Sciences at Macquarie University and Scientific Advisor at online mental health clinic MindSpot.

“We found that when people stop doing these things, their mental health deteriorates. Within two weeks of restricting key daily actions, the majority of participants moved from healthy to experiencing symptoms of depression and anxiety.”

Key takeaway

The study helps explain how depression and anxiety can emerge from the loss of ordinary daily behaviours, such as disruptions to sleep, activity, routine and social connection, and not just from major trauma or biology.

“This isn't about big gestures or expensive treatments. It's about the small things we do each day,” said Macquarie University eCentreClinic co-director Professor Blake Dear.

“Our research shows that when life gets hard and we stop the basics – like doing little things that we enjoy, exercising, seeing friends, keeping a routine – that's when we become vulnerable. The good news is that getting back to those basics can make a real difference.”

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Hiring a sustainability executive may look like progress, but new research from Macquarie University suggests real environmental outcomes depend on embedding sustainable practices across an organisation.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing, or a wolf clothed in green? From carbon-neutral labels to promises of sustainability, businesses are increasingly positioning themselves as environmentally responsible.

But when those claims do not match their actions, the practice becomes what is widely known as greenwashing.

First coined in 1986 by environmentalist Jay Westerveld, who observed a hotel encouraging guests to reuse towels while simultaneously engaging in large-scale land clearing - the idea quickly expanded beyond resorts.

Throughout the 1980s and early 2000s, environmental messaging became an increasingly common feature of corporate advertising. Oil and gas companies sold a vision of pristine landscapes, while others wrapped their investments in ‘eco-friendly’ packaging. In 2015, Volkswagen would become one of the companies synonymous with the darker side of this approach, after its Dieselgate scandal exposed the gap between environmental messaging and real-world action.

More recently, companies like BHP have pledged to reach net-zero emissions by 2050 - a commitment that has raised eyebrows given the company's ongoing investment in emissions-heavy industries.

As scrutiny of greenwashing grows, new Macquarie University research suggests that corporate deception is moving beyond public relations and into recruitment decisions.

Le Luo, Associate Professor in the Department of Accounting and Corporate Governance at Macquarie University, explored the growing demand for green-skilled workers, particularly in senior sustainability leadership roles.

Much as Westerveld had decades earlier, Associate Professor Luo questioned whether those commitments were translating beyond corporate messaging into meaningful change.

“What we were seeing was that policies such as the AASB standards and the emission trading scheme, actually require someone within the firms that have the environmental expertise.

“As we observed this increase in the demand for green hiring, we were also interested to know if these companies have better environmental outcomes.

Contrary to what might be assumed, whether a company had a sustainability executive at the top was not the driver for positive outcomes. Instead, the research suggested that environmental expertise had a greater impact when embedded throughout an organisation.

“We found that this positive association is stronger when this environmental expertise is distributed across a wide range of occupations,” says Associate Professor Luo.

“Similarly, we found that if firms only hire from the top, or only concentrate on the management level, this positive association is weakened and is more likely to be symbolic.

“Ultimately, if you want to reduce emissions or improve the outcomes, you always have to have the substantive actions that are also implemented by those lower-level occupation roles. Green hiring without responsibly embedding an approach is just marketing - that's not enough.”

A further challenge is that many companies lack the financial resources to turn the genuine goals behind green hiring into change. Associate Professor Luo says this can place smaller businesses under greater pressure.

“In looking at the carbon-intensive sector and the large and the smaller firms, we do find that the smaller firms do face financial constraints to implement these substantively, which resulted in weaker results.”

That is not to say smaller firms can’t take environmentally friendly steps forward. While large-scale transformation may not happen all at once, building stronger governance systems can provide a foundation for broader change over time.

“They have to think long term rather than short term,” Associate Professor Luo explains.

Ultimately, the question doesn’t just come down to whether companies are talking about sustainability, but whether those commitments are being built into the fabric of an organisation - one hire at a time.

“I think in the future the employees may need to have dual skills, both functional but also green skills - that is where we will see the most effective and preferable outcomes,” says Associate Professor Luo.

“If they want to make real-world impacts and changes, they can’t just hire from the top. They have to invest the expertise in the lower levels, so they can support strategy implementation.”

Are you a business owner? Associate Professor Le Luo’s work is connected to Macquarie University’s Nature Positive Finance and Business Research Centre, which provides research-based insights to help businesses, policymakers and investors manage environmental risk and embed sustainability into decision-making.

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Aboriginal people of my vintage grew up surrounded by Aboriginalia in the form of kitsch everyday objects, often depicting racist stereotypes that showed what Australia thought about us.

From wall hangings to tea-towels, to drink coasters and ashtrays, they were ever present. Later, when they began to be regarded as cringe-worthy, they were relegated to the op-shops frequented by a young Tony Albert.

The Girrimay, Kuku Yilanji, Yidinji artist describes his early fascination with these objects: complex, tangible reminders of racism. By incorporating them into his work, he reframes them within an immutable Blak presence — one that has informed his decades-long practice.

Care and considered

When you first enter Albert’s exhibition, Not a Souvenir, showing at Sydney’s Museum of Contemporary Art, you are met with a wall of Aboriginalia reminiscent of the domestic display for which many were originally created.

Accompanying this wall is a glass display, resembling a colonial museum exhibit, that features a further assemblage of items. The sheer volume, variety, and span of time this vast assemblage represents is intentionally arresting. It’s a reminder of how diverse the public’s fascination with Aboriginalia once was.

In an earlier age, these objects reduced Aboriginal people to curios of utility and stereotype. But Albert presents them with care and consideration, treating them like an ancestor entrusting their meaning-making to Aboriginal hands.

The late Wiradjuri writer Aunty Kerry Reed-Gilbert(1956–2019) recalled how many Aboriginal people had a hand in making these objects. They were often held in our own collections, as memory pieces to be cherished, as a part of our long story.

However, Albert’s love letter to Aboriginal Kitch is interrupted in the next gallery, where the visitor encounters specific-use Aboriginalia in his 2008 work, Ash on Me, and the more recent, ASHamed (2025).

These works shows ashtrays featuring the bodies and faces of Aboriginal people made to have cigarettes stubbed out on their visages. It’s a confronting shift from kitch as pristine object of souvenir, to calling out the casual violence and disregard for Aboriginal bodies.

As Aboriginal people we are often asked to explain what truth-telling looks like. Here, we see it in Albert’s use of devastating whimsy: the history of these items, their use, and Australian complicity creates an opportunity for new truths to be told.

A nuanced dialogue with the past

The exhibition, like Albert’s larger body of work, is no single note. His truth-telling creates a complex dialogue between artist and visitor, often responding to events and existing works popular among the public.

Around the halfway point we see this in Conversations with Preston. This series recalls and responds to early 20th century artist Margaret Preston’s unauthorised appropriation of Aboriginal motifs across her practice.

Rather than dismissing Preston’s work, Albert recognises the beauty and tribute, while also insisting on its devastating impact. He asserts an Aboriginal hand in the re-telling.

From this gentle cadence, guests are thrust into a visceral challenge to coloniality with Albert’s series, You Wreck Me. Many encountered this work on the cover of Bronwyn Carlson and Terri Farrelly’s 2023 book, Monumental Disruptions – with both artwork and book calling for the long overdue toppling of colonial statues.

You Wreck Me shows the artist atop a wrecking ball, bound for a statue of Captain Cook. No subtle metaphor here. This is truth-telling through resistance, insistence and action.

Chance for reflection

This exhibition, curated by Albert’s long-time collaborator Bruce Johnson McLean (Wierdi), juxtaposes an astounding breadth of the artist’s works. Many of the works are seemingly disparate.

In the centre of the souvenir-laden coloniality of The Rocks, McLean reminds the visitor this is not neutral territory. Instead, Tallawoladah is a place where Aboriginal people have thrived for eons, with colonial violence being a more recent incursion.

The incongruence is reinforced through the Brothers series, which depicts Aboriginal boys with targets painted on their torsos, as direct recall of police brutality leading to the deaths of Aboriginal children.

Behind these stark representations are the windows of the gallery that face Circular Quay, replete with an enormous docked cruise ship and tourists milling around.

Visitors who are invested in truth-telling may be confronted. Tourists may second-guess their purchase of a souvenir boomerang: is it authentic? – should they own it? Non-Indigenous Australian visitors may recall a part of their own colonial past. And First Nations visitors may bear witness to the way Albert’s work can hold truths while presenting a complex reality.

The exhibition concludes with an opportunity for visitors who own uncomfortable Aboriginalia to donate it to Albert to be repurposed.

As Albert explains:

It’s about taking these objects and turning them into something that celebrates our survival and our vibrancy as the world’s oldest living culture.

In refusing to allow these items to be absent in his retelling of how we continue to thrive, Albert engages in a resistance that brings visitors along, making us co-conspirators in his anti-colonial vision.

Tony Albert: Not a Souvenir is showing at the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia from May 21 to October 19.

This article was originally published in The Conversation.

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From cost-of-living pressures to growing voter frustration, Macquarie University expert Kurt Sengul explores the conditions creating new opportunities for One Nation and populist politics in Australia.

After nearly three decades in Australian politics, Pauline Hanson and One Nation are once again gaining momentum, with recent polling suggesting the party could win as many as 59 seats if an election were held today, pointing to growing support beyond the party’s conservative working-class heartland and into frustrated suburban and regional communities.

While One Nation’s full policy platform is not yet clear, its proposal for new taxes on gas projects to fund a sovereign wealth fund has both major parties paying attention.

Positioned by the party as a replacement for the existing Petroleum Resource Rent Tax on new gas projects, the new policy cuts taxes on gas exploration by 30 per cent, but grants the government options for a 30 per cent claim of future gas projects.

Dr Kurt Sengul, a Research Fellow in the School of Communication, Society and Culture at Macquarie University, has been studying One Nation’s successful growth – built from a complex web of nationalism, populism and political opportunism.

He says the bold new energy policy shouldn’t be interpreted as a shift away from One Nation's established politics, but a clever attempt to reposition itself within Australia's changing political landscape.

“The interesting thing about One Nation is that these ideas aren't necessarily new, but the important thing with One Nation at the moment is that it feels that way because their existing policies were when they were a fringe, minor party,” Sengul explains.

“They are also now a serious political player, which gives this perception that One Nation is developing policies in response to Australia’s big challenges - that positions them as a legitimate policy alternative, which is pretty significant.”

The gas tax proposal also highlights the influence on Parliament that a party like One Nation can wield within what Sengul describes as a political "sweet spot".

Rather than fitting neatly within traditional left-right ideologies, One Nation appears increasingly willing to combine right-leaning positions on issues such as nationalism, migration and cultural identity with a more interventionist economic approach - a balancing act that can create political advantages.

“One Nation can frame this policy as standing up to multinational gas giants trying to reap the benefits of Australia's gas reserves, but at the same time, the industry doesn't seem too unhappy with this,” explains Dr Sengul.

“There has been some reporting that they wouldn't have to pay anything for at least 10 years, and there would be a 30 per cent rebate.

“It is clever and quite similar to what we see from right-wing populists in general.

“We've seen this with the Trump administration, which is also pursuing policies that take equity stakes in companies. They can appear somewhat left wing, but at the same time, are very right wing on the environment.”

Internationally, populist movements have been slowly building for many years. But Dr Sengul says the speed of One Nation's recent momentum has surprised him and many in Australian political circles.

“I don't think anybody expected this,” says Dr Sengul. “There was really no indication that One Nation was going to explode. I think the reasons for that are varied.”

He says the collapse of the Liberal Party, alongside the convergence of several broader political and social pressures unfolding across Australia simultaneously, are factors driving voters towards populist parties and once unthinkable policies– like government’s co-owning gas fields.

“We do have this ongoing and sustained intersection of several crises. Whether that's high inflation, housing affordability, or national security issues, a right-wing populist party like One Nation, has a lot to work with.

But attracting attention and translating that attention into political success are often two very different things. For One Nation, questions around long-term stability continue to loom ominously alongside the party's recent popularity.

“This is still a party that has an incredibly checkered history of disorganisation and implosion, infighting, and dysfunction,” says Dr Sengul.

“Those issues won't resolve themselves.”

Yet despite these concerns, One Nation seems to have developed a talent for political comebacks, breathing new life into a phrase Hanson herself is all too familiar with: "Please explain.”

“They appear far more resilient to scandals, controversy and dysfunction than they used to be - that perhaps speaks to their potential success,” reflects Dr Sengul.

“There are still many unknowns and reasons to think they could self-destruct, but something definitely feels different about the party.”

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Psychologists have sounded the alarm over “once in a generation” training reforms the government says will plug the gaps in Australia’s crippled mental health workforce.

By 2038, the Department of Health, Disability and Ageing projects demand for psychological services will outstrip supply by a staggering 96.6 per cent.

The shortfall was 57.3 per cent in 2025, according to the department’s Psychology Supply and Demand Study report released in April. The abysmal statistics prompted the training overhaul which many psychologists now fear will turn into a box-ticking exercise.

“The mental health workforce shortage tends to get framed as a pipeline issue, like we just need to train more people. But that’s only part of the story,” says Dr Leanne Hall, Director of Macquarie University’s Master of Clinical Psychology.

To become a registered general psychologist, students currently complete a three-year undergraduate degree, an accredited fourth honours year, either a one-or-two-year master's program, and a paid one-year internship. They are then required to complete a period of supervised registrar training after approximately six years of full-time study.

The government has directed the Psychology Board of Australia to replace this with a single integrated five‑year program from 2026.

The new training, which is under public consultation until June 10,  will embed practical placements earlier, remove the national psychology exam for domestic graduates, and introduce a potential exit point after three years into a new “psychology assistant” role.

“On paper and in principle, the reforms look good,” Dr Hall says. “The current pathway is very complex. It’s confusing for students, for the public, and for services.”

But she is urging the government to put money where its mouth is.

“I do think there’s a distinct lack of detail in the plans we’ve seen so far. It’s unclear exactly how practical placements are going to be embedded earlier in the training process without any additional funding allocated to the services who provide that supervision.”

Practical placements present a significant bottleneck to workforce training, she says. Most mental health services are under acute pressure, which limits their ability to take on and support registrars.

“If we truly want to address Australia’s mental health crisis, we cannot place that burden on the shoulders of our graduates alone,” Dr Hall says.

“At present, there are limited employment opportunities for graduate psychologists within publicly funded services, where the need is greatest. As a result, many graduates move directly into private practice, leaving significant gaps elsewhere in the system.

“In short, this is not simply a supply problem, it’s a system problem.”

Australian Psychological Society President Dr Kelly Gough describes underinvestment in the profession as “chronic”.

“The number of psychologists is growing, but average working hours are declining. Capacity isn’t increasing at the same rate, even as demand grows,” he said in response to the supply and demand report.

Gough said that increasing workforce numbers alone will not resolve the issue. “This is not just about how many psychologists we train. It’s about whether psychologists can sustainably work where they are needed most.”

The economic and social costs of not funding these services are already plain.

Two in five Australians aged 16–24 experienced a mental disorder in the last 12 months, according to the most recent National Study of Mental Health and Wellbeing.

“The Australian mental health system is funded for through-put,” Dr Hall explains.

“It’s designed for psychologists to see a maximum number of clients. Get them in, get them out. When someone presents with complex mental health needs, you can’t see them for 10 Medicare sessions and assume they’ll fine. That’s not how mental health works."

The government continues to invest in early intervention services such as the free Medicare Mental Health Check‑In, headspace centres, and Family Mental Health Support Services, which Dr Hall likens to an 'ambulance at the bottom of a cliff.'

“Better Access (Medicare) was not designed to support people with complex or high‑acuity presentations, yet in practice, there is often nowhere else for these clients to go," she says.

Public mental health services tend to have narrow eligibility criteria and long waiting lists. Without access to these services, the alternative is private care. But seeing a psychologist without a Medicare referral is often prohibitively expensive.

"This is where significant equity issues emerge, with access to care increasingly determined by a person’s financial capacity rather than their level of need," Dr Hall says.

Source: Australian Bureau of Statistics.

So where do the people who can’t afford private therapy go?

“People are left cycling between short‑term supports, usually emergency departments, or systems that were never designed to provide ongoing mental health care... including the justice system.”

She is calling for coordinated state‑based investment at both the lower and higher ends of the public psychology sector.

“If you want more clinical psychologists and psychiatrists to be supporting patients with complex mental health, then you need to create funding structures and community-led care models that can actually support that."

“Most of my students would prefer to work in the public sector,” Dr Hall adds. “They got into psychology because they want to help people, and not just the ones who can afford it.

“The need for them is there. The numbers of psychology students are there, so the public roles must be there. If not, we’ll have more graduates becoming private therapists and end up right back where we started. For me, it’s the elephant in the room.”

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A humpback whale stranded for weeks in Germany became a global livestream spectacle – then a rescue moved him to sea, where he died days later. Timmy’s story is a sobering lesson in putting animal welfare ahead of the urge to play saviour.

This story was first published in The Conversation.

Since March, the world has watched live as a humpback whale lay stranded on a sandbank in German waters, far from the North Sea.

The stranded humpback whale was found in poor health, tangled in fishing gear with telltale cuts from a ship strike on its back. He was given the name Timmy.

Early attempts to rescue Timmy failed. As the weeks dragged on, public interest in his plight increased. The question was what to do. German politicians, animal welfare groups and concerned citizens debated euthanasia or rescue.

Despite experts pointing out Timmy was not well enough to be rescued, two millionaires reportedly chipped in €1.5m (A$2.4 million) to have him moved onto a barge filled with water, pulled by tugboat to the sea off the coast of Denmark and released on May 2. Just days ago, Timmy was found dead.

This story illustrates a clear principle – when it comes to an animal enduring suffering, we need to put their welfare first.

How did Timmy get stranded?

When a humpback whale becomes stranded, it’s usually a sign of poor health rather than poor navigation. Either way, the moment a whale becomes caught on a beach, the survival clock starts ticking.

For Timmy, the clock started in March when he was first found stranded off Germany’s Baltic coast. An excavator and dredger was used to free Timmy at least twice. The whale later became stranded again, many times.

During Timmy’s weeks-long strandings, people could watch on a 24-hour livestream. His plight is believed to be a unique case globally, as a large whale stranding multiple times in different places under constant observation. The German Oceanographic Museum described the situation as “uncharted territory”.

There were many concerns raised about Timmy’s welfare while stranded and during the rescue attempt. He was caught in low-salinity water, likely causing skin deterioration. His body weight likely crushed his internal organs – whales live in water and have likely never felt their own weight in air before. The whale was also vulnerable to sunburn.

Vocalisations – low-frequency sounds made by the whale – were heard while he was in the barge and being manoeuvred back into the sea. Unfortunately, we do not understand what these meant.

Given he was a mammal like you and me, it is possible Timmy was in pain. Large toothless whales such as humpback whales are known to have nerves like ours.

Was the rescue for humans – or for Timmy?

From an animal-welfare and ethics point of view, efforts to rescue Timmy were a bad idea. The whale was in very poor health. As a wildlife scientist, my view is that euthanasia was the kindest option.

Moving Timmy onto a barge would have likely caused him further pain and suffering. It’s no surprise he died not long after the rescue effort, given his already poor condition.

In fact, the rescue effort shocked marine scientists. Stranding experts from the International Whaling Committee described rescue efforts as “inadvisable” on grounds of animal welfare and human safety.

So why did it go ahead? Authorities allowed this to happen, perhaps feeling the weight of public opinion. Many people wanted to see Timmy released. As a whale expert, I can understand why people wanted to see this whale free. But it was never going to be simple.

Lessons not learned from Free Willy

For me, Timmy’s story reminded me of the film Free Willy, which was based on the true story of an orca named Keiko kept in captivity. In reality, Keiko was not suitable for release.

In the film, Free Willy is freed after caring humans mount a daring rescue and the orca swims happily away. But in real life, Keiko was freed at a cost of about A$28 million, failed to adapt to life in the wild, and died the following year.

Imagine if we used those funds for broader marine conservation, rather than two individual animals?

Like everyone, I cared about Timmy – we all did. But the reality is that humans placed Timmy and Free Willy in their respective positions, be it entanglement in fishing gear (Timmy) or capture from the wild (Free Willy). Both were our responsibility.

When it comes to an animal enduring suffering, let’s make sure it is welfare – not our human desire to play saviour – that is the first priority.

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AI tools are turning family photos into instant storybooks and opening publishing to anyone, but experts say the technology comes with serious trade-offs.

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Jimmy Donaldson, better known as MrBeast, runs the most subscribed-to YouTube channel in the world. He is also a prominent philanthropist. But despite improving the lives of many, his methods are controversial.

This story was originally published in The Conversation.

Jimmy Donaldson, better known as MrBeast, runs the most subscribed-to YouTube channel in the world (with 484 million subscribers and has an estimated net worth of US$2.6 billion).

He is also a prominent philanthropist. Beyond his involvement in fundraising initiatives such as #TeamTrees, which claims to have planted more than 24 million trees worldwide, Donaldson runs a dedicated Beast Philanthropy YouTube channel.

He claims 100% of profits from this channel’s ad revenue, merch sales and sponsorships go towards helping others. This has included paying for 1,000 cataract surgeries, constructing a medical clinic for children rescued from slavery, and building 100 wells to provide clean water in Africa.

These impressive philanthropic endeavours have dramatically improved the lives of their recipients. How could any of this be controversial?

The murky ethics of ‘stunt philanthropy’

Many of Donaldson’s videos involve subjecting people to what might be seen as degrading or exploitative situations, in exchange for money.

In Donaldson’s “Ages 1 – 100 Decide Who Wins $250,000” video, contestants (including young children) are put in an intense competitive structure and forced to eliminate one another. We see a grown man help to intentionally eliminate an 11-year-old girl, which leads to her sobbing on camera.

In another video, he tells a random group of shoppers they will win US$250,000 if they are the last to leave the store. Under pressure to stay, they are kept from their families and forced to endure poor living conditions, with some experiencing emotional breakdowns.

These videos have been labelled by various critics as “poverty porn”, as they could be seen as exploiting the desperation of vulnerable people to generate clicks and ad revenue.

The Beast Games reality series, which airs on Prime Video, is also built around challenges designed to provoke contestants into backstabbing one another, experiencing emotional distress, and revealing depressing stories about how badly they need the money.

Allegations against Donaldson also extend to behind the scenes, particularly in regards to the culture of work in his companies.

In 2024, several contestants who took part in Beast Games filed a lawsuit against Donaldson’s MrB2024 and other companies involved in the production. They allege they were subject to “chronic mistreatment”, including the infliction of emotional distress, inadequate food and rest breaks, delays in receiving medication, exposure to dangerous conditions, and a failure to prevent sexual harassment.

More recently, a former Beast Industries employee sued two of Donaldson’s production companies after suffering alleged sexual harassment and gender bias at work.

You can’t morally offset exploitation of people

When it comes to assessing the ethics of Donaldson’s work, one option is to take a simple “consequentialist” perspective. Act consequentialism is the view that the right action is the one which leads to the most amount of good.

If a few people suffer exploitative conditions so many more people can enjoy life-saving surgery, then the moral calculus is likely to come out in favour of this situation. Of course, there are longstanding philosophical worries with such a view.

The 18th century philosopher Immanuel Kant argued it is wrong to use others as tools to achieve our own ends, even if our ends are morally admirable. Treating some people as mere means right now can’t be morally justified by promising to help others later on.

According to Kant, one’s motives for helping others are also important, and the moral worth of an action is determined by these motives. So helping others out of a sense of duty has a moral worth that doing the same act out of self-interest does not.

Is Donaldson’s philanthropy motivated by duty and care for others, or by clicks, esteem and ad-revenue? Or perhaps both?

We can’t know the answer. Although, Kant himself did believe all humans are likely to be morally corrupt at the very root of their character.

Consent and power

Irrespective of Donaldson’s motives, a broader point remains: his philanthropic videos are an integral part of his overall brand. The philanthropy helps to make the other, more exploitative videos (and the significant revenues they generate) more “morally palatable”.

After all, Donaldson could simply give his money away. He doesn’t need to make people compete, scheme and suffer for it.

One might counter that the participants have consented to being involved. But when you offer people in economically vulnerable situations potentially life-changing amounts of money to endure degrading conditions, the “voluntariness” becomes contestable.

This is not what ethicists consider “informed consent”. The offer can be so large that it clouds judgement. And for people without genuine alternatives, saying “no” may not be a realistic option.

The fact that Donaldson sometimes subjects himself to similar treatment, such as when he buried himself alive for seven days, deepens rather than lessens the worry, given the power asymmetries at play. He owns the production company, controls the conditions, and profits from the content in ways other participants do not.

The underlying structural concerns

When political problems, such as poverty, or a lack of access to healthcare or clean water, are reduced to entertainment, they undergo a form of what scholars call “depoliticisation”. Political failures that demand collective action, institutional reform and democratic deliberation instead become fodder for entertainment.

If we think we can help solve these problems just by watching viral videos, then we can avoid facing the structural issues that underpin them.

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Behind glass cabinets and beneath carefully preserved wings, Macquarie University’s Biology Discovery Centre invites visitors into the fragile interconnectedness of life and death.

“Is it true that we are really all made of the stars?”

This is the question posed to Macquarie University's Biology Discovery Centre curator Libby Eyre, by a five-year-old child during a public tour of the collection.

Filled with native and critically endangered Australian animals, corals, shells, skulls, skeletons, and even a dinosaur casting, the Discovery Centre offers a rare opportunity to stand face to face with the natural world - where curiosity and mortality coexist.

While maintaining such a collection is no simple task, for Eyre, the museum's significance reaches far beyond preservation alone.

“It is a lot of work, but I also really love it,” says Eyre.

“It can also be challenging having museums, because, with the fast pace of life, social media, and opinions, people have become more cynical.

“But I think the place is there to remove people from their screens and to see objects that they can get up close to. You can look at the Wallabies, and you can see the Cassowary's feathers and remnants of wings.

“From there, you can think about our place in our responsibility in protecting the environment.”

The Discovery Centre offers a rare opportunity to stand face to face with the natural world. Image: Elaine Obran

Inside the museum, the instinct to scroll through notifications feels strangely misplaced, perhaps even sacrilegious.

Instead, visitors move slowly between cabinets of insects and sleeping marsupials frozen in time beneath glass.

The silence is occasionally interrupted by hushed reactions, quiet gasps, whispered “oh my gods,” as people encounter the collection up close. In these moments, the museum becomes less about spectacle and more about reflection: an invitation to consider humanity’s relationship with the ecosystems surrounding us.

For Eyre, it’s one that is becoming increasingly fragile.

“Throughout the ages, humans have been isolating themselves from animals, thinking we’re something else, but we're not. We are part of this whole system. We're part of that diversity of life, and we need that diversity of life.

“If you move online, if you forget the whole organism and its part in that ecosystem, then you're missing out on that big picture. We are very small, and life is very fragile.”

That awareness is also what makes the work emotionally confronting at times. Among the museum’s displays are species whose futures have become uncertain, or in some cases extinct even within Eyre’s own lifetime.

“I find it sad,” says Eyre.

“Humans don't have very long lifespans, but we do a lot during them. You can look at an animal like a koala that's here, they're now endangered, the same as the Tasmanian devil, which is critically endangered.

Species on display at the Discovery Centre include Koalas, which are now critically endangered. Image: Elaine Obran

“But even though it's sad to see so many dead, beautiful beings in one place, it’s important to make the most of it with research as well and to educate people.

This feeling of purpose continues to drive Eyre - not only in caring for the space, but in opening it to more visitors, something she hopes will continue to grow momentum into the future.

“This is an important part of the Macquarie University institution,” reflects Eyre.

“It’s part of its history, and part of its culture. It can be a hidden space that often people discover on their last day, so I would love more people to book a tour or just simply wander through.”

Visitors can move slowly between cabinets of insects and sleeping marsupials frozen in time beneath glass. Image: Elaine Obran

Whether visited between lectures or during a quiet moment in the day, the museum offers us a chance to sit with questions that can’t be answered by a screen alone.

“The space also asks us to find the beauty. Even though they're not alive anymore, they still preserve that form, function, and diversity,” says. Eyre.

“Once you start to question, you then want to find answers.”

And perhaps that is what lingers most after leaving the Discovery Centre, a childlike sense of wonder and curiosity, that can be carried forward the next time someone looks up at the night sky and asks, “are we really made from the stars?”

The Centre is open to everyone, Monday to Friday, 9am to 5pm at the 6 Science Road (formerly E8B) room 110. For more information, inquiries, or to plan your visit, contact: elizabeth.eyre@mq.edu.au or visit https://www.mq.edu.au/

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Macquarie University engineers are helping one of the world’s most powerful telescopes view the universe more clearly, after reaching a major milestone that will see an upgrade to the Gemini North telescope.

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New research has found 260 previously unknown enclosure burials east of the Nile River.

We have been on a years-long campaign of satellite remote sensing of the vast desert landscapes in Eastern Sudan.

This involved using satellite aerial imagery to systematically and painstakingly search for archaeological features in Atbai Desert of Eastern Sudan, a small part of the much larger Sahara.

Our team – which includes archaeologists from Macquarie University, France’s HiSoMA research unit, and the Polish Academy of Sciences – wanted to tell the story of this desert region between the Nile and the Red Sea, without having to excavate.

One mysterious archaeological feature stood out. We kept finding large, circular mass graves filled with the bones of people and animals, often carefully arranged around a key person at the centre.

Likely built around the fourth and third millennia BCE, all these “enclosure burial” monuments have a large round enclosure wall, some up to 80 metres in diameter, with humans and their cattle, sheep and goats buried inside.

Our new research, published in the journal African Archaeological Review, reveals how we found 260 previously unknown enclosure burials east of the Nile River, across almost 1,000km of desert.

Who built them?

Already known from a few excavated examples in the Egyptian and Sudanese deserts, these large circular burial monuments have long puzzled scholars.

What seemed once isolated examples emerge now as a consistent pattern. It is suggestive of a common nomadic culture stretching across a vast stretch of desert.

Most are within the borders of modern Sudan on the slopes of the Red Sea Hills. Unfortunately, satellite imagery alone cannot communicate the whole story of these enclosure burial builders.

The carbon dates and pottery from the few excavated monuments tell us these people lived roughly 4000–3000 BCE, just before Egyptians formed a territorial kingdom we know of as Pharaonic Egypt.

But these “enclosure burial” nomads had little to do with urbane and farming Egyptians.

Living in the desert and raising herds, these were Saharan desert nomads through and through.

A new elite?

Some enclosures show “secondary” burials arranged around a “primary” burial of a person at the centre – perhaps a chief or other important member of the community.

For archaeologists, this is important data for discerning class and hierarchy in prehistoric societies.

The question of when Saharan nomads became less egalitarian has plagued archaeologists for decades, but most agree it was around this time of the fourth millennium BCE that a distinctive “elite” class emerged.

This is still a far cry from the sort of huge divisions between ruler and ruled as seen in societies such as Egypt, with its pharaohs and farmers. However, it ushers in the first traces of inequality.

Animals held in high esteem

Cattle seem very important to these prehistoric nomads (a theory also supported by ancient local rock art in the area).

Burying themselves alongside their herd, these nomads show they held their animals in esteem.

Thousands of years later, local nomads chose to reuse these now “ancient” enclosures for their burial plots – sometimes almost 4,000 years after they were first built.

In other words, the prehistoric nomads created cemetery spaces that lasted for millennia.

What happened to these people?

No one can say for sure.

The few dates we have for these monuments cluster between 4000–3000 BCE, nearing the end of a period when the once-greener Sahara was drying, a phase scientists call the “African Humid Period”.

From north to south, the summer monsoon gradually retreated, reducing rainfall and shrinking pastures. This led nomads to abandon thirsty cattle, increase the mobility of their herds, migrate to the south or flee to the Nile.

The monuments are overwhelmingly located near what were then favourable watering spots; near rocky pools in valley floors, lakebeds and ephemeral rivers.

This tells us that when the monuments were being built, the desert was already quite challenging and dry.

At some point, as grass and bush made way for sand and rocks, keeping their prized cattle became unsustainable.

Having large herds of cattle in this desert, at this period, may have been a way of showing off an expensive and rare possession – a prehistoric nomad’s equivalent to having a Ferrari. This may help explain why cattle were frequently buried alongside their owners in enclosure burial monuments.

A bigger story

These enclosure burials are only one part of the greater story of human adaptation to climate change across North Africa.

From the Central Sahara, to Kenya and Arabia, keeping cattle, goats and sheep transformed societies. It changed the food they ate, the way they moved around, and community hierarchies.

It’s no coincidence communities changed how they buried their dead at the same time as they adopted herding lifestyles.

These burial enclosures tell us even scattered nomads were extremely well-organised people, and expert adapters.

Our discovery reshapes the story of the Sahara deserts and the prehistory of the Nile.

They provide a prologue for the monumentalism of the kingdoms of Egypt and Nubia, and an image of this region as more than pharaohs, pyramids and temples.

Sadly, many of these enclosure monuments are currently being destroyed or vandalised as a result of unregulated mining in the region. These unique burials have survived for millennia, but can disappear in less than a week.

Maria Gatto (Polish Academy of Sciences) was an author on our paper. We also want to acknowledge Alexander Carter, Tung Cheung, Kahn Emerson, Jessica Larkin, Stuart Hamilton and Ethan Simpson from Macquarie University for their contribution. We are also grateful to the National Corporation of Antiquities and Museums (Sudan).

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Could ‘dark triad’ traits like narcissism and manipulation in leadership actually foster entrepreneurial energy? New research shows they may, but the same traits that build successful start-ups can also break them.

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A landmark High Court case is testing whether the subject of covertly filmed footage can claim copyright and use it to block publication. The decision could reshape public interest journalism, writes Professor Peter Greste.

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When Tinder launched in 2012, Silicon Valley was convinced it had solved modern dating. The right swipe promised efficiency, abundance and ease – a frictionless fix for the messiness of human connection.

Tinder became a global phenomenon, and by 2022, boasted upwards of 75 million monthly users. Competitors Bumble (created by Tinder co-founder Whitney Wolfe Herd) and Hinge (owned by Tinder’s parent company Match Group) remain the world’s most popular dating apps, a decade after their invention.

Reev users create voice-based profiles using a series of prompts. They can either ask someone out by requesting a five-minute phone call via their profile, or they are randomly matched up for calls during regular live speed-dating rounds.

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Could Indonesia’s diaspora be the key to unlocking the potential of the country’s digital economy?

Jakarta experiences some of the worst traffic in the world. Drivers in the Indonesian capital can spend up to 83 hours a year stuck in traffic, compared to 47 hours in Sydney.

It's of the reasons many locals depend on delivery service platforms for groceries and takeaway – something businesses including the homegrown Gojek and Singaporean company GrabFood have jumped on.

“When there are challenges, there are also opportunities,” says Wishnutama Kusubandio. “And you can use those opportunities to grow the economy.”

The former journalist and businessman, who served as Minister of Tourism and Creative Economy under President Joko Widodo, is passionate about the potential of Indonesia’s growing digital economy.

Indonesia has more than 210 million internet users and is projected to have a digital economy worth US $340 billion by 2030 – the largest in Southeast Asia.

Wishnutama, a postgraduate student at Macquarie University, is on a mission to encourage students and diaspora communities in Australia to participate and innovate in the sector.

He says the rapid rise of artificial intelligence is creating exciting career opportunities for talented students.

The panel spoke and also held a Shark Tank style pitch competition.

“Indonesia has a once-in-a-generation opportunity to define and shape our nation’s digital future, but we can’t do that without our best and brightest minds.”

Macquarie University recently hosted AI: the next chapter, a two-day event exploring the role the tech diaspora can play in Indonesia's evolving landscape. Wishnutama was the event’s lead organiser.

“In this digital era, there’s so much opportunity for Indonesian students to create jobs, startups and SMEs,” he says. “That’s why we invited speakers who are already doing that work – to inspire the next generation.”

One of the highlights of the event was a Shark Tank style pitch competition. Students from universities around Australia travelled to Macquarie’s Wallumattagal campus to present their ideas to a panel of expert judges and investors. The winning idea came from Muhammad Fuad Nasrullah, a Macquarie University Master of Management (Supply Chain) student, who developed AI technology that can be used by sports teams to analyse their opponents’ match performance. He will be supported to travel to Jakarta to further develop his idea.

In her opening remarks, Professor Leonie Tickle, Executive Dean of Macquarie Business School, observed that managing the potential of AI must be done with great care.

“Macquarie is deeply committed to our engagement with Indonesia,” she said. “And we hope this event marks the beginning of a deeper conversation about connecting global expertise with local potential and ensuring that the extraordinary promise of AI is realised responsibly and inclusively.”

The opportunity to do good with AI is not yet a mainstream narrative in Australia, but it was one of the recurring themes at AI: the next chapter.

Speakers dreamed big: sharing their excitement about how AI could one day make mental health services more accessible for young people living in remote parts of Indonesia or be used warn the authorities about illegal deforestation before it happens.

Students, alumni, experts and industry attended the forum to share ideas.

“Focusing on AI with a human centre is very important,” says Wishnutama. “We need to find the right formula for approaching this AI era in a way that creates jobs, opportunities and makes a difference in people’s lives.”

His advice for students curious about the digital economy is simple.

“Opportunity is in Indonesia. The research shows it. There are challenges, but that means there also chances to build solutions.”

It’s this message he’s taking on the road, with plans for AI: the next chapter events in China and the US later this year.

“Indonesia’s progressive attitude towards the positive potential of AI and ensuring its homegrown talent benefits is aspirational,” says Deputy Vice-Chancellor (People and Operations), Professor Eric Knight. “It sets an example for its Asia-Pacific neighbours, including Australia.”

“[This event] reinforced the transformative impact of our international students and partnerships, and Macquarie’s commitment to a high-quality, globally connected international education sector.”

He says the forum showed what a globally connected campus community can make possible, by bringing students, alumni, experts and industry together around one of the big challenges of our time, and showing how AI can become a source of shared opportunity for Indonesia, Australia and the wider region.

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The Swedish government recently announced it was moving from the classroom use of digital devices back to physical books. It cited concerns over declining test scores and increasing screen time.

Are these concerns well founded? And what does the science of reading say about the possible consequences of reading on digital devices versus books?

To address these questions, it’s worth remembering that, although reading might appear to be an easy task, this impression is false. Reading is arguably the most difficult task one must learn – one that requires years of formal education and practice to master. In contrast to spoken language, it is a skill we are not biologically predisposed to learn.

What does the science of reading say about the possible consequences of reading on digital devices versus books? Photo: Getty.

Why is reading so difficult?

To understand why reading is difficult, one must first understand the physiology of reading.

As you are reading this sentence, your eyes are making a series of rapid movements, called saccades, from one word to the next. During these saccades, the processing of visual information is suppressed and is only available during brief intervals, called fixations, when the eyes are stationary.

Experiments that measure readers’ eye movements have shown we fixate most on words because our capacity to extract visual information during each fixation is extremely limited.

In languages like English that are read from left to right, our capacity to perceive the features that distinguish letters is limited to a small region of the visual field called the perceptual span. This span extends from 2-3 letter spaces to the left of fixation to 8-12 letter spaces to the right of fixation.

The span’s asymmetry reflects the movement of attention through the text. It extends to the left in languages like Arabic, which are read from right to left. The size of the span is smaller for dense writing systems, such as Chinese.

We also know from eye-tracking and brain-imaging experiments that words require time to identify. Our best estimates suggest visual information requires 60 milliseconds to propagate from the eyes to the brain and words then require an additional 100-300 milliseconds to identify. (A millsecond is one-thousandth of a second).

These constraints limit the maximum rate of reading to 300-400 words per minute, depending on the difficulty of the text and one’s level of comprehension.

The physiology of reading is complicated, requiring a high level of mental coordination. Photo: Getty.

Speed-reading advocates, who falsely promise faster reading speeds, teach you how to skim a text. Comprehension declines at a rate inversely proportional to the gain in speed.

Importantly, the upper limit for reading speed requires years of practice to attain, because it requires the brain systems that support vision, attention, word identification, language processing and eye movements to operate in a highly coordinated manner. Anything that prevents this coordination will therefore reduce comprehension.

Consequences of digital reading

So what are the likely consequences of digital reading?

With some devices, such as e-readers, there is little reason to suspect digital reading differs from the reading of books, because both formats support the mental processes required for skilled reading.

The more questionable devices are those introducing distractions (such as news websites interspersed with ads) or which have suboptimal formatting, such as centre-justified text with large or unequal-sized gaps between words. The latter is rarely a feature of paper-based texts.

Although the consequences of these two factors are under-researched, enough has been learned about human cognition to make informed predictions.

For example, images and audio unrelated to a text such as pop-up ads can capture attention. Although most adults have developed a level of executive control sufficient to ignore such distractions, young children have not.

The implications for a child who is struggling to understand the meaning of a text are obvious. Their comprehension will suffer to the extent that additional effort is required to ignore distractions, or if they do not yet have the mental coordination to understand the text has been disrupted.

There is also evidence from eye-tracking experiments that many digital environments, such as webpages, can induce specific reading strategies, such as skimming for gist or searching for information.

Reading on phones offers many distractions. Photo: Getty.  

Although such strategies might be adaptive in some contexts, they reduce overall comprehension. This possibility should be especially concerning for children, because years of practice are needed to coordinate the mental systems that support adult levels of reading skill.

Such concerns have recently drawn more attention, because the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic caused a shift to online education and a marked increase in digital reading. Although these changes were motivated by practical necessity, their long-term consequences remain unclear.

So far, eye-tracking research has been carried out on computer screens. New technology is becoming available which will allow us to directly compare eye movements and comprehension between digital devices and paper. This should give us more clarity about the benefits versus costs of digital devices.

Given reading ability is predictive of one’s education, socioeconomic status and wellbeing, the importance of assessing the long-term consequences of digital reading cannot be overstated.

This article originally appeared in The Conversation.

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News the Australian government will spend over A$10 billion to boost fuel supplies is both welcome and well overdue.

The plans announced today ahead of next week’s budget include $3.7 billion for publicly owned fuel reserves able to hold 1 billion litres of diesel and aviation fuel. They also include increasing stockholding requirements another ten days, and $7.5 billion to support fuel companies to access loans, insurance and equity to purchase and store more stock. That would mean Australia would have 37 days of petrol and diesel and 50 days of jet fuel.

The plans announced by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese ahead of next week’s budget include $3.7 billion for publicly owned fuel reserves. Photo: Getty.

Successive governments have largely been asleep at the wheel on fuel security. As the largest energy crisis on record drives up fuel prices and makes diesel harder to source, the government is frantically trying to play catch-up. Australia is highly exposed, as it now imports almost all its liquid fuels. Shoring up diesel supplies is vital, given how critical this fuel is for farming and trucking.

After the US-Iran war broke out and the crucial Strait of Hormuz closed, Australian policymakers hurriedly developed a National Fuel Security plan. Today’s announcement is the biggest so far under this plan. Previous measures include using emergency procurement agreements with neighbouring countries, underwriting emergency fuel cargoes, increasing stockpiles under new emergency stockholding powers and increasing existing liquid fuel sources.

These measures are an excellent start to bolster fuel security. But they’re not enough. Our leaders should secure more refining capacity and look for more domestic oil. They must also accelerate the shift to electric vehicles to make sure the next oil crisis passes us by.

Until Australia shifts to electric vehicles in earnest, fuel policy is one area governments should control. Photo: Getty.

How did we get here?

There’s nothing new about Australia’s insecure supplies of liquid fuels.

A fuel crisis was likely as early as 2020, as my research has shown, because of the closures of domestic refineries, the decision to temporarily hold our strategic oil reserve in the United States and a lack of domestic oil exploration and production.

Over the last ten years or more, successive governments have made the decision to rely heavily on liquid fuel imports and to let all but two refineries close. Over 90% of Australia’s petrol, diesel and jet fuel for both civilian and military purposes are imported from Singapore, South Korea, Japan and China.

Such reliance leaves Australia exposed to fuel shortages if there is a disruption to shipping lanes or geopolitical tensions, such as there is now. Coupled with this, the collapse of domestic refining has severely reduced Australia’s ability to produce its own fuel.

Even if we still had refining capacity, we would need to import crude oil to refine.

Then there’s the elephant in the room – very low fuel stockpiles. Historically, Australia has held very low liquid fuel stockpiles of around 30 days under the government’s Minimum Stockholding Obligation.

These critically low stockpiles leave Australia vulnerable – especially around diesel. Soon, it will be time to plant winter wheat. That requires fuel and fertiliser, both of which are derived from fossil fuels and both of which are in desperately short supply.

This is a significant oversight by the government, given wheat is a major export crop.

Over the last ten years or more, successive governments have made the decision to rely heavily on liquid fuel imports and to let all but two refineries close. Photo: Getty.  

Is the new plan enough?

The government’s plan offers quick fixes. It may be enough to buy us some time. But a longer-term strategy is desperately required. Market interventions will not be enough – the government must lead.

As economic experts Yergin and Stanislaw have observed, some parts of the economy – the “commanding heights” – are so critical they should be controlled by the government and not left to the market. Until Australia shifts to electric vehicles in earnest, fuel is one of those areas.

Policymakers must take two actions in the medium-term.

One, build more refining capacity as a backup in case a fire breaks out as it did at the Geelong refinery last month – or other accident. The steady closure of local refineries in the face of intense competition across Asia suggests they may not be financially viable. This means government involvement through subsidies or part/full ownership will be necessary.

Two, secure oil to feed increased refinery capacity. It would be sensible to have significant domestic oil storage. Encouraging more domestic oil production would give us a measure of self-sufficiency in oil, a position Australia enjoyed until the oil wells of the Bass Strait began to run dry. It would be sensible to require current oil fields to maximise their production.

Shoring up diesel supplies is vital, given how critical this fuel is for farming and trucking. Photo: Getty.

Time to tackle consumption

At present, the vast majority of Australia’s cars, trucks, planes, machines and farm equipment run on liquid fuels. But that could change.

This is why addressing supply is not enough. We also have to tackle consumption by progressively reducing how much fuel we use for transport.

The easiest way to do this is to electrify as much transport as possible, which will reduce the need for liquid fuels over time.

Giving incentives to switch to electric vehicles as Norway, China and many other nations have done is key. Australia has some incentives, but the shift to EVs has been sluggish until very recently.

The second challenge will be to electrify freight, whether through electrified trucks or trains.

The third challenge will be to tackle how much fuel we use on farms. Across Europe, many farmers are switching to electric tractors. The European Union is encouraging their use.

But Australian farms are often much bigger than those in Europe. Huge fields and long distances between fields and farm infrastructure, and questions over grid power availability are hurdles to be overcome. One solution may be microgrids, where large farms run on solar and charge their electric equipment on site.

One option worth exploring seriously is biofuels. Making fuels from plant oils is progressing and may well prove essential for Australia’s long-term energy security.

Sensible, but late

We should see today’s announcement as a sensible suite of measures coming five years too late. It will take time for these to become reality. That means there’s likely more pain to come for farmers and truckies as the energy shocks of 2026 roll on.

This article originally appeared in The Conversation.

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Macquarie University’s parkrun will turn into a campus-wide celebration on Saturday 23 May, with staff, students and the community invited to run or walk in fancy dress to raise $50,000 for mental health research.

Macquarie University Deputy Group CFO and Co-event Director of Macquarie University Parkrun Ben Gray has first-hand experience of the impact the Macquarie University Mental Health Fun Run will have on people’s lives.

Parkrun is a five kilometre, two-lap course running throughout the university’s campus, beginning at 8am every Saturday near 18 Wally’s Walk; however, on Saturday 23 May, the weekly ritual will transform into a day of active fun and community fundraising to support mental health research.

Cheering on the participants at last year’s Mental Health Fun Run.

Returning to Wallumattagal (North Ryde) campus for its second year, the Fun Run is proudly headlined by Macquarie University Lifespan Health and Wellbeing Research Centre in collaboration with Macquarie University Sport and parkrun. The Macquarie Lifespan Health and Wellbeing Research Centre’s vision is to maximise the health and wellbeing of all Australians with several projects that address emotional, cognitive and social aspects, regardless of a person’s age, background, or psychosocial advantage. The event is looking to break parkrun records for participation this year as well as aiming to raise $50,000, with the help of staff, students and the Macquarie community.

Like many who will be participating in this years’ run, Ben can speak very personally and directly to the importance of mental health research, for both himself and those close to him.

Ben dressed up in his brilliant inflatable dinosaur at last year’s run.

“If I'm having a bad day and I'm feeling down, I go for a run; I'll come back and I feel better," Ben explained.

“I have kids who have struggled with anxiety as well. We have used the Cool Kids Program."

The Cool Kids program helps youth with developing skills to manage and overcome anxiety and is one of Lifespan’s many programs supporting mental health. The proceeds raised through the Fun Run will be directed to the important research and efforts that bring these programs to life.

“She’s (Ben’s daughter) been doing her passion, which is theatre… she’s able to better manage the stage nerves because we use the tools that we learned.”

For Ben, what the Cool Kids program has been able to deliver has been impactful.

“It’s helped create this awesome daughter of mine.”

The Lifespan Health and Wellbeing Centre has established many other programs that are critical at different life stages. Study Without Stress, is a program that equips students with knowledge and practical tips on how to approach and overcome stress associated with heavy workload and exams in the final years of high school. As well as Ageing Wisely, is a psychological treatment program that is specifically designed for older adults (aged 60 years and older) to help them learn skills to manage worry, anxiety, low mood or depression.

On the day of the Fun Run, participants will be encouraged to dress up in fun outfits and fancy dress, whether that be fluffy tutus, inflatable costumes, or the Man of Steel himself.

Ben isn’t giving anything away when it comes to his outfit. “I purchased my costume over the weekend, but no sneak peeks…  You will need to join on the day to find out!”

Fun Runners getting into the fun of the fancy dress, from tutus to capes.

After the run, those attending can hang around and chat over coffee and a sausage sizzle that will be running between 7am to 11am.

Taking part in the Fun Run is an all-round feel-good event: a great way to get an early morning boost, make new connections and be part of supporting mental health research. Ben encourages staff, students and the wider Macquarie community to get involved with parkrun in whatever way they can, especially on 23 May.

The parkrun community coming together to raise funds for mental health research.

And what is Ben’s advice for when the muscles start burning?

“You're listening to your body saying, ‘this is too hard’. You need to be talking to your brain and saying, ‘no, let's get this done, because we can do this’. It is hard, but we're going to do it because it's hard,” he said.

“You'll impress yourself.”

More information on the Fun Run event and where to register can be found here →

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A late‑night drone crash in Wollongong has exposed what criminologist Dr Vincent Hurley calls the new frontier of Australian drug trafficking.

Police allege two men, Kayd Simpson, 24, and Joshua Dendulk, 43, were using a consumer drone to deliver flying methamphetamine to a residential unit in Wollongong last Tuesday.

The men were discovered shortly before midnight, hiding in the unit after their drone crashed into the building.

Officers found a green dog poo bag containing 66 grams of meth inside the damaged drone, ABC Illawarra reported.

Dr Vincent Hurley, a former police hostage negotiator and senior lecturer at Macquarie University, says organised crime syndicates have always been early adopters of new technologies.

“We like to imagine that drug dealers are dumb, but some of them are pretty ingenious,” he says. “They’re always exploring new ways to avoid detection.”

Dr  Vincent Hurley is a former NSW police officer and police hostage negotiator who lectures in criminology and policing at Macquarie University. Photo: Supplied.

Dr Hurley puts the street value of the seized meth at $20,000–$30,000, depending on purity.

Recreational drone models require no licence, he says, making them effectively untraceable.

That creates a major evidentiary hurdle for police because drug supply charges hinge on proving possession.

“Unless of course they crash,” Dr Hurley says. “But you have to be able to prove ownership or possession of the drug by an individual to charge them with supply.

“What’s more, anyone can go to JB Hi-Fi and buy a drone. The police just don’t have the technology to combat this. They’re probably five years behind trying to track [drone deliveries].  It’s almost impossible.”

Bank robber John Killick escaped Silverwater Correctional Complex in 1999 after his girlfriend landed a hijacked helicopter in the exercise yard, Dr Hurley notes.

“So the notion of using something in flight for crime is not unusual, and drug-carrying drones often land in U.S prisons. But this is the first we’ve seen in Australia.”

Dr Vincent Hurley expects drug-carrying drones to become  a more regular occurrence in Australian crime. Photo: Getty.

While NSW Police have trialled remote‑operated surveillance drones in Moree, NSW, Dr Hurley says widespread deployment would trigger public backlash over privacy and racial profiling concerns.

“It’s evolving technology, and like any government department, police are behind the eight ball. How do you police an entire CBD for drug-carrying drones? You can’t.”

Organised crime investigators in New South Wales are also facing a rising tide of e-bike drug trafficking cases, according to some of Dr Hurley’s former colleagues.

“E-bike-related crime is no longer a fringe issue,” he says. “It has become a serious and organised problem spanning the UK and Australia, with criminal gangs using e-bikes to carry out robberies, drug trafficking and witness intimidation.”

Engineered for silence and power, e-bikes have elevated an existing criminal problem to an entirely new level. Unlike traditional motorcycles, they do not yet require registration, making them virtually untraceable and impossible to link to a suspect through conventional law enforcement methods.

Their varied shapes and sizes further complicate identification.

E-bikes are increasingly being used to discretely traffic drugs in Australia and the UK. Photo: Getty. 

“In Australia, e-bikes have become a familiar sight, largely associated with fast-food delivery riders, a perception that organised criminals have been quick to exploit,” Dr Hurley says.

“Offenders dress in dark clothing and face coverings, concealing their identity while allowing them to hear approaching vehicles, intimidate witnesses and evade detection. Their silence provides a critical advantage, enabling criminals to operate in ways that traditional motorcycles simply cannot.”

Public awareness of e-bike incidents has largely centred on road safety, fatalities, and the risk of fatal fires from batteries charged overnight in communal areas.

“Yet there has been little attention paid to their growing role in organised crime and drug trafficking,” Dr Hurley says.

In the UK, police forces have adopted a range of strategies to deal with those involved in organised crime riding e-bikes; from outright no-pursuit policies to tactical interventions such as the Metropolitan Police's 'tactical nudging,' which involves physically pushing a suspect from their bike.

“But the unintended consequence is stark,” Dr Hurley says. “When criminals know police will not pursue them, they are effectively free to carry out drug trafficking with little fear of being caught.

“This is one of the biggest evolutions we’ve seen in the drug trade and police simply can’t keep up.”

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Dr Kylie Moore-Gilbert writes about the increasing use of hostage-taking among nation-states and how to best deal with it.

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As 'Michael' – a major biographical film on Michael Jackson – hits cinemas more than a decade and a half after the singer’s death, a new study shows dead artists' brands remain powerful long after they are gone.

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Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi’s visit to Australia this week comes against a turbulent geopolitical backdrop.

This story was originally published  in The Conversation.

Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi’s visit to Australia this week comes against a turbulent geopolitical backdrop.

The war launched by the United States and Israel against Iran – and the subsequent closure of the Strait of Hormuz – have put energy issues at the top of the agenda.

The war has also weakened the United States’ strategic position in the Indo-Pacific. The US has had to divert crucial assets from the region to the Middle East, such as the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit, based in Japan. There are also concerns about US missile stockpiles, as well as the overall attention of the Trump administration on the region.

As two of the most important US allies in the region, both countries see US military presence as essential to their defence strategies and have been vigilant in countering China’s coercive actions.

Now, however, policymakers in both Tokyo and Canberra are wondering if the US will return to the old status quo after Trump’s departure, or if this is a sign of a bigger shift to a new American grand strategy.

Why is the Australia-Japan relationship so important?

Amid growing uncertainty, predictable partnerships have taken on greater value.

The Australia–Japan relationship has steadily deepened in recent decades, particularly in strategic and defence partnerships. This is exemplified by the contract that Australia signed last month with Mitsubishi Heavy Industries to buy 11 next-generation frigates.

Takaichi’s visit is also being framed around the 50th anniversary of the Basic Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation between the two countries. But the real importance lies in what comes next and how far the alignment between the two countries can extend.

Despite converging interests, Japan and Australia do not see every issue the same way. As their cooperation deepens, these differences are likely to become more visible – and, in some cases, more consequential.

Two ways of reading the relationship

The Australia-Japan relationship can be viewed through two quite different lenses.

The first is through a “middle power” lens. In response to the fracturing world order, both Japan and Australia are building more self-reliant defence, economic and political systems to push back against the hegemonic tendencies of the US and China.

Through this lens, their relationship is the nucleus of a looser coalition of partners that also includes the ASEAN bloc, India, New Zealand and the Pacific island nations. Together, they can form a strong framework capable of withstanding pressure from either direction.

The second way of viewing the relationship is through a “great power order” lens.

Through this lens, Japan and Australia are working to preserve the postwar international order centred on the United States. Both countries are strengthening their alliances with Washington and sustaining US engagement in the Indo-Pacific. This means reinforcing the existing system, not building an alternative to it.

In this view, the greatest threat to both countries comes from authoritarian states, particularly China.

These two readings of the current geostrategic environment can coexist. But where the governments in Tokyo and Canberra decide to put their emphasis matters enormously. This differs depending on the policy area.

Seeking more independence on trade

In economics and trade policy, the new middle-power coalition building has real traction.

Tokyo and Canberra have both been subject to Trump’s tariffs. And both have already shown they can act independently of Washington, and even alongside Beijing, when it suits them.

Both Japan and Australia have led the negotiations to deepen and expand the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP) after the US withdrew in Trump’s first term in office. This free-trade agreement includes 12 countries that comprise 14% of global GDP.

And both have ratified the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership (RCEP), which is touted as the world’s largest free-trade agreement in terms of members’ GDPs. This group includes China, but not the United States.

Heavy reliance on US for defence

In defence matters, however, the picture is very different. Japan has no appetite for a middle-power approach. The US alliance is foundational – not optional – because of China, North Korea and Russia on its doorstep.

This is Takaichi’s policy. She is following closely in the footsteps of former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe and viewing the United States not as a partner to hedge against, but as an anchor to keep engaged.

Takaichi has also taken a hard line against China. She caused a diplomatic storm last year by suggesting, for instance, that Japan would feel compelled to defend Taiwan if it was invaded by China.

However, the threat posed by China looks different when viewed from Australia. China is not on Australia’s doorstep. So, at least initially, Australia would not be on the front lines of a regional war.

Some have also pointed out that Taiwan’s importance is not well understood by the general public, with many Australians believing tensions in the Taiwan Strait are simply “not Australia’s problem.”

This gap in threat perception has led some analysts to ask whether a more hawkish Japan could pull Australia into a conflict it would not otherwise choose to enter.

Yet Australia is also deeply entwined with the US militarily – through intelligence sharing, AUKUS and the rotational deployment of American forces to Australia. In practice, Australia’s strategic choices in a conflict over Taiwan would be heavily shaped by that existing entanglement, regardless of what Canberra says publicly.

Accepting that reality is, paradoxically, what gives the Australia–Japan relationship its real value. Both countries are deeply tied to the United States for their national security, and neither is in a position to opt out.

The question is not whether to rely on that alliance, but how to make themselves indispensable to it – so that American engagement in the Indo-Pacific remains worthwhile for Washington, not just assumed.

That is a difficult balance to strike. Takaichi’s visit is an opportunity to think through, carefully and honestly, how both countries view this dilemma – and what they are prepared to do about it.

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Macquarie University expert Rebecca Mitchell sheds light on the failures that leave Australians experiencing homelessness unseen, even in the most visible places.

It seems hard to believe, that in the midst of one of Sydney’s busiest central train stations, thousands of people could walk past the dead body of another human.

And yet, that’s exactly what happened last December at St James Station, beside Hyde Park.

Bikram Lama, a young Nepali man, had been living at the station. With little more than a sleeping bag to his name, Lama lived in the periphery of commuters passing through each day.

As originally investigated and reported by The Guardian, Lama had moved to Australia to study, carrying with him hopes of building a better life.

While the circumstances that led him into homelessness remain unclear, his experience reflects an all-too-familiar narrative faced by migrants navigating life in Australia - particularly those without strong support networks.

Rebecca Mitchell, a Professor at the Australian Institute of Health Innovation, leads the Health and Societal Outcomes research stream.

She says the circumstances surrounding Lama’s death reflect broader systemic and social issues. Not only in how homelessness is experienced, but in how it is perceived.

“I think it's due to a range of things, but partly due to the normalisation of homelessness,” Mitchell explains.

“We get used to seeing people experiencing homelessness, living on the street especially in and around cities."

Back in his home country of Nepal, Lama’s family have also been trying to understand how and why his death went unnoticed for so long.

“If you're not an Australian citizen or belong to a country that has reciprocal Medicare arrangements, it can be difficult for someone experiencing homelessness to access health care,” says Mitchell.

“This might mean different ethnic groups don’t have access to health services within Australia or are even aware of what services might be able to help, which can create issues on its own.”

In the search for answers, Lama’s death has also prompted renewed debate about what meaningful change should look like.

Sydney’s peak business group called for the establishment of a dedicated safety taskforce, aimed at improving coordination between authorities, outreach services and transport staff to better support vulnerable people in public spaces.

Sydney’s peak business group have called for the establishment of a dedicated safety taskforce. Photo: imamember/gettyimages

But Mitchell emphasises that long-term solutions are needed - particularly when it comes to integrated and preventive health care and other supportive services.

“Many people are facing homelessness due to the reduced availability of social and affordable housing,” Mitchell explains.

“Even when someone does gain access to social housing, the tenancies don’t offer integrated health care, particularly mental health care, and other kinds of support to tenants.

“There's also a lack of preventive health care services for people experiencing homelessness. This means that over time, they can be more likely to be admitted to hospital or readmitted.

Research reinforces this pattern.

Mitchell points to her own data showing that among 2,500 people experiencing homelessness who attended psychiatric clinics in Sydney hostels, 87 per cent had been admitted to hospital.

“That is quite a high proportion and means it’s also costing the health system and taking a toll on their health. That money could probably be better supported by putting it into assisting them to gain housing and supportive post-discharge care arrangements.”

Beyond government and policy failures, Lama’s death also forces hard questions about the role we all play in responding to people experiencing homelessness.

Mitchell says while many argue homeless people are ‘invisible’ or hidden, the plight of Lama suggests that people who saw him, while registering he may be unconscious or extremely unwell, chose to pass by a fellow human being who is in need.

She encourages us all to have the courage and empathy to check-in on those living in the streets around us.

“We can also stigmatise and stereotype people, which can lead to dehumanising those experiencing homelessness.” says Mitchell.

“Having those conversations with people who are experiencing homeless can definitely reduce the stigma and the stereotypes.”

“Because often, this is something that they are experiencing through no fault of their own.”

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If the news of former ABC Sydney radio presenter James Valentine's death hit you hard, and you’re wondering why, it makes sense to  Macquarie University's Senior Lecturer in Radio, Helen Wolfenden.

This story was originally published in The Conversation.

If the news of former ABC Sydney radio presenter James Valentine’s death hit you hard, and you’re wondering why, it makes sense to me.

For many listeners, the strange part is not just the grief but having to account for it. He wasn’t your friend. Or was he? He wasn’t someone you’d meet for coffee. And yet it can feel like that kind of relationship. The sense of loss is real.

I’m in that position too. I didn’t know James personally. I knew him the way listeners do, through the radio. I did speak to him once, years ago, when I was a junior broadcaster trying to get better at the job. He agreed to talk to me about how he thought about his work in a project that became a PhD.

Vale James Valentine. Picture: Australian Broadcasting Corporation 

What struck me then, and has stayed with me since, is how clearly he understood his connection with his listeners. He understood it was a strange asymmetrical relationship, but that didn’t mean it was one-sided.

The first question I asked him was how different he was off-radio compared to on. He told me:

I don’t think [it’s] very different at all. People walk up to me in the street and start talking to me like they’re my friend and in fact they are. They are my friend. I don’t know them very well but they know me extremely well.

He didn’t see this as something mistaken. He understood how the relationship worked and it was as important to him as it was to his listener. It wasn’t something to correct. He had a way to hold the tension. He told me:

I conceive of them as a collective mass, one at a time.

A relationship over the airways

The affection James had for his listeners was genuine. “I love the audience. They’re my people.”

It might not look like other kinds of reciprocal friendship, but for James the connection wasn’t abstract or imagined – it drove the way he made radio.

What mattered to him, he told me, was what the program did for listeners in the middle of the mundane. To lighten the load. To make people laugh. To bring a bit of joy, or, as he liked to say, whimsy, to an otherwise unremarkable afternoon.

“It’s all about them,” he said. “If I make it all about them, I get my jollies.”

Listening back to the interview now, what also comes through is how deliberate that way of being on air actually is. It sounds easy, like someone simply talking. But that’s the work. As he put it,

you become experienced at drawing on yourself … finding the bits that you’re comfortable about bringing in […] well aware of the areas you don’t want to touch upon.

Knowing what to say, what to leave out, how much of yourself to bring in and how much to hold back. Done well, a voice starts to feel familiar. Part of the rhythm of the day. Something you return to without really thinking about it.

There is a word for this kind of relationship: parasocial. It’s used to describe that sense of friendship you feel with someone on the radio or TV. But we don’t often get to hear about it from the other side. What came through in the way James talked about his work was that he understood it and valued it.

As a listener it can feel weirdly one-sided. You know a lot about someone who doesn’t know you at all. But that isn’t how he understood it. He knew exactly what was going on. He knew you knew him. And he knew you were real. Not in some abstract sense, but as a person who had made space for him in their day, who had let his voice become part of their routine.

He could only ever encounter his audience as a collective, one at a time. But he didn’t reduce them to that. He worked with the relationship as it was.

It was about the listener

When I asked him what he takes from the work his answer was simple. It was about the listener. Sometimes people told him “I love it when you’re back after the holidays”. Or “I missed you the other day”. Or “I’m always happy when I’ve got to do the laundry at that time because I know I can listen to you”.

James’ response to that was:

Thanks! That’s a pretty good thing to carry away … you create a great lasting sense of having done something for somebody that’s quite a nice thing to have done.

It can feel strange to grieve someone you never met. To try to make sense of why it matters. But from what he told me, I don’t think James Valentine would have questioned it. He understood the relationship he had with you, and he took it seriously. He recognised it. So if it feels real, that’s because it is.

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Garry Myers, Macquarie University's new Lead for the Vaccine & RNA Design Centre, talks about his goals for the future of RNA vaccine research and delivery.

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It’s not often that something turns up in your working life that you didn’t see coming, uses skills you have, and then takes you somewhere you wouldn’t have gone on your own. That’s what The Assembly has been for me.

At the end of 2023, Macquarie University was approached by Helium, the production company developing an Australian version of the French series Les Rencontres du Papotin with the ABC.

The premise is straightforward: celebrity interviews conducted by autistic people.

The Australian version added another layer, and it’s the part that mattered most to me. The cast would be trained in journalism before they ever stepped into those interviews.

My colleague Dr Tai Neilson asked if I wanted to help design and deliver that training. I immediately said yes, despite having little experience working with neurodivergent students.

Journalism lecturer Helen Wolfenden and The Assembly star James Rapp take us behind-the-scenes of ABC's groundbreaking series. Photo: Chris Barlow.

Fortunately, we weren’t doing that alone. Autism Spectrum Australia (Aspect) were embedded in the process from the beginning, and they were central to everything that happened.

They trained the crew, reviewed teaching materials, supported students, and stayed with us throughout the whole process. The work was guided by their Autism Friendly framework, and it shaped the course in concrete ways.

We built sessions around preparation and predictability. We paid close attention to structure, pacing and communication, and tailored content to personal interests as we came to know individual students better. Spaces were adjusted to reducing lighting and noise. Quiet rooms were created.

James Rapp, 25, joined The Assembly cast in season two after responding to an open casting call while studying at Macquarie.

“I was elated to join the show,” he says. “I think the thing I appreciate the most about Helen’s teaching style is that she really meets us where we are. She’s very good at opening the floor up to questions and calling on people who might not feel confident enough to ask them.”

Participation stops being something you assume and becomes something you design for. You pay more attention to preparation, to clarity, to removing environmental barriers. You stop thinking about support as something that gets withdrawn once someone is “ready”, because readiness isn’t fixed. It shifts with the conditions.

Over two and a half years and three seasons, The Assembly has produced 19 episodes and interviewed guests ranging from the Prime Minister to actors and athletes. That’s the visible outcome. The more important question, at least for me, is what counts as success for the people doing the interviewing.

Helen and James want to break down popular misconceptions about autism and learning Photo: Chris Barlow.

It isn’t one thing, and it isn’t always what ends up on screen. Success might be asking a question in a room that feels manageable. It might be staying for the full session. It might also be leaving the room when that’s what’s needed, or asking for an adjustment that makes participation possible. It might be deciding that this is something you want to keep doing.

“We did studies with Helen on campus, where we gained the theoretical knowledge that we’d later put into practice in our filming sessions with Leigh Sales,” Rapp says.

“I found that journalism really suited me, and as a result, I’ve changed my degree so I can continue exploring it.”

There’s also a tension running through the work that you must stay alert to. Th e will to do good is not neutral. It can tip into something controlling if you’re not careful, particularly in a production environment with cameras, schedules and outcomes to meet. You can over-direct. You can smooth out difference in the name of support. Avoiding that means holding back at times and letting things unfold in ways that don’t fit neat expectations.

James changed his degree after an "overwhelmingly positive" experience starring on The Assembly. Photo: Chris Barlow.

“Many of my cast mates had never been to university before,” Rapp says, “and some had unsuccessful experiences with higher education.

“To go into an environment where the professors are attuned to all of our needs was an overwhelmingly positive experience.”

The media still tends to present autism in narrow ways. Often flattened, often gendered, often reduced to a limited emotional range. That’s not what I’ve seen through The Assembly. I’ve seen is variation: different ways of communicating, different ways of thinking, and different ways of being present in a conversation.

“I think the biggest misconception about people with autism is that we’re all the same,” Rapp agrees. “People forget the word ‘spectrum’ and assume that all autistic people have certain traits, largely based on depictions in popular culture.

“When you watch our show, you see that spectrum amongst the 19 of us in the cast. We’re all different and have different strengths, challenges, abilities, and interests.”

Helen Wolfenden is a Senior Lecturer of Radio and Journalism at Macquarie University. Photo: Chris Barlow.

I don’t know if there will be another season. If there is, and they’ll have me, I’ll be back. But what stays with me isn’t just the program itself. It’s what the collaboration made possible.

When the ABC, Helium, Aspect, and Macquarie University worked together, the result wasn’t just a television program. It was a set of conditions which enabled more people to participate and gave the Australian media a greater diversity of voices.

Change the conditions, even slightly, and more becomes possible.

Build environments that expect difference, and more people can take part on their own terms. On The Assembly, this means that you get interviews shaped by different questions, different instincts, and a different sense of what matters.

It’s just the beginning of what’s possible.

“I think it’s so great that something like The Assembly exists,” Rapp says. “Because until something’s been done before, it’s really hard to picture what that might look like.

“One TV series won’t change the world, but when it comes to how autistic and neurodiverse people learn, it certainly shows that a different way forward is possible.”

Season 3 of The Assembly premieres on Sunday, 26 April 2026, at 7:30pm on ABC TV.

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New research finds Indigenous communities are wary of AI, warning that without accountability, cultural authority and Indigenous leadership, these systems risk entrenching harm.

This story was originally published in The Conversation.

Much of the current conversation about AI assumes uptake is inevitable, more technology means better outcomes and the main task is managing risk.

But we asked Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people how they are encountering AI in their everyday lives, and a different picture started to emerge. Our Relational Futures project explores Indigenous sovereignty and the governance of AI.

Relational Futures positions AI not as a standalone tool, but as part of a wider system that shapes relationships between people, institutions, data and Country.

We have now reported our findings, and there are clear warnings about what happens when questions of accountability, harm and care are ignored. As one participant told us, AI comes with “no accountability, no checks and balances, no responsibility”.

Facing limited trust

In Australia, we have seen automated decision-making lead to devastating consequences, such as in Robodebt. Similar dynamics are emerging in aged care and in the National Disability Insurance Scheme.

These systems are often introduced in the name of efficiency. But efficiency for whom, and at what cost?

AI and automated systems do not enter neutral environments. They enter institutions that already have uneven distributions of power, trust and accountability. When things go wrong, the impacts are not evenly felt.

Our project set out to find the first qualitative baselines of Indigenous perspectives on AI, using surveys alongside yarning circles.

We wanted to centre Indigenous perspectives and understand more deeply how Indigenous peoples experience new technologies.

Our participants express limited trust in AI and, in many cases, a clear willingness to refuse using it. That refusal is not about rejecting technology outright. Participants recognised AI can intensify existing inequalities, particularly in sectors such as welfare, health and social services.

There is a strong awareness that automation can make decisions faster – but also harder to see, harder to question, and harder to hold accountable.

Understanding Indigenous data sovereignty

Indigenous data sovereignty centres collective rights and responsibilities in the governance of data. It affirms the authority of Indigenous peoples to control data relating to their communities, lands and resources across the full data lifecycle.

Such governance requires that data practices support self-determination, are grounded in community, and deliver collective benefit without reproducing harm or marginalisation. The participants in our research had a consistent emphasis on community benefit.

The risks identified by our participants go well beyond privacy or data breaches. They pointed to environmental costs, the appropriation and flattening of Indigenous knowledges, and the lack of transparency in how systems are built and deployed.

There is also a clear concern that AI will be used to fill gaps in under-resourced services.

One participant said:

There are times when AI doesn’t quite grasp the depth of First Nations experiences, cultural nuance or community dynamics. It can miss the emotional weight or the context, which reminds me that cultural authority must always sit with mob, not technology.

An ‘AI Elder’

The project also pushed into more speculative territory, asking people to think about what AI could be, not just what it is now. One of the ideas we tested was an “AI Elder”, who could work in areas like reconnecting to culture, or providing advice on cultural matters.

We asked: what if AI was built around care, cultural knowledge, and responsibility to community, instead of speed and efficiency?

But the reaction of our participants was blunt. Who would that Elder speak for? Who would it answer to? How could it have any real relationship to community?

Elders aren’t just people who hold knowledge. They are part of community: they are trusted because of their relationships, their responsibilities, and their accountability over time.

AI can’t be in relationship in that way, can’t be held accountable, can’t carry obligation. It can’t stand in connection to Country or community.

Even when we try to imagine better versions of AI, there are some things that just don’t translate.

A way forward

AI governance cannot be limited to technical standards or compliance frameworks. It has to engage with authority, responsibility, harm and care.

If AI systems can be designed in ways that are safe, accountable and beneficial for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples – who are often the most surveilled and marginalised within systems – they are far more likely to be safe and effective for everyone.

Designing for those at the margins is not a niche concern. It is a test of whether these systems work at all.

As one participant told us:

My biggest concern is that we get left behind. It’s easy to frame AI negatively, seeing it as a threat. It is just as easy to see the benefits it stands to offer. Clearly we need to be involved positively (we risk being left out otherwise) on how AI systems are designed, trained and used, otherwise there is a risk that existing power imbalances will be reproduced through technology.

Relational Futures offers both a warning and a way forward.

Without Indigenous leadership and relational approaches to governance, AI will continue to reproduce the kinds of harms already seen in systems like Robodebt. The way forward is less about slowing technology down, and more about rethinking what it is for, who it serves and how it is held to account.

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Is Australia giving away its natural gas resources for free?

Australia’s debate over whether to impose a 25 per cent tax on gas exports has intensified after a snap Senate inquiry heard the measure could raise tens of billions of dollars a year and ease pressure on domestic energy prices. Economists, former senior public servants and climate change officials told the committee on Tuesday that Australia was failing to capture a fair return on its natural resources, while industry groups and the federal opposition warned the proposal would threaten future investment.

The Australia Institute told the inquiry a flat 25 per cent levy on LNG exports would raise $17 billion annually. “An export tax solves all those problems,” the institute’s executive director Richard Denniss said.

In a statement released before the hearings, the institute argued Japan, a major importer of Australian gas, had collected almost $40 billion in taxes on gas and coal imports over the past five years, compared with the $7 billion Australia received from its petroleum resource rent tax (PRRT).

“Not only has Australia been literally giving more than half of the gas we export away for free, we now learn that the same Japanese government that is opposed to us putting a tax on our gas and coal exports has been raking in billions of dollars per year via their own tax,” Denniss said.

The push for reform has been welcomed by Professor Tina Soliman‑Hunter, an energy and resources law specialist at Macquarie University and Transforming Energy Markets Research Centre co-director, who argues Australia is effectively giving away a public asset. “The resource that’s in the ground belongs to all of us,” she tells Lighthouse. “When gas companies dig it up and sell it without taxation, they are essentially getting that resource for free.”

Australia already applies the PRRT to offshore oil projects, but gas has long been exempt. Prof. Soliman‑Hunter says the arrangement dates back to the 1980s, when the government offered generous incentives to encourage development of the then‑nascent LNG export industry on the remote North‑West Shelf.

The region required costly new infrastructure and long‑term contracts to secure financing, and Canberra allowed gas producers to avoid the PRRT entirely to attract investment. “We were trying to establish ourselves in the market,” she said. “But the industry is now mature and extremely lucrative.”

Over the last decade, Australia has become one of the world's largest exporters  of liquified natural gas. Photo: Getty.

“Imagine Coca Cola building its first Australian factory,” she explains, “and like an oil or gas company, they build all the infrastructure to make the Coca-Cola. But instead of having to buy the sugar, caffeine, and other ingredients, they’re just given all of that.

“Sure, they’re paying for the infrastructure, but we’re arguing they shouldn’t be just given the ingredients.”

Several witnesses told the inquiry that Australia lags far behind other major exporters such as Norway and Qatar, which collect vastly more revenue from their gas industries.

Prof. Soliman‑Hunter pointed to Norway’s petroleum tax regime, created in 1975 after the ‘73 global oil shock, as evidence that high resource taxes can coexist with a thriving export sector. “At the time, Norway had two gas fields,” she says. The Norwegian government applies two taxes to petroleum profits – a 22% company tax and a 56% special petroleum tax – which mean companies are taxed on 78% of their profits. “Norway said ‘we’ve got all this potential and we’re stable like nobody else is, but these are the conditions. If you don’t like it, don’t come’,” she says. “And they built one of the most successful resource industries in the world.”

The first gas shipment of LNG from Australia to Europe in more than half a decade arrived to storage units on the Isle of Grain in Rochester, England in 2022. Photo: Getty.

Prof. Soliman-Hunter argues history is rhyming amidst the US-Iran global energy crisis, and Australia is uniquely positioned to follow Norway’s roadmap.

“Establishing a sovereign wealth fund is an exceptionally good idea and the reason is this,” she explains: “Extracting petroleum is like selling a house. Once it’s sold, the asset is gone. Currently, Australia’s revenue from PRRT goes into the government slush fund.”

“It is spent, rather than re-invested.”

Norway's sovereign wealth fund, established in 1990, is built almost entirely on profits from its oil and gas sector. As of early 2026, its total assets exceed $3 trillion. Over half the fund's current value is derived from returns on its global investments rather than direct oil/gas income.

“The trade-off we’re talking about is interfering with the profits of private companies, who are selling our resource wealth, versus providing for every Australian with the resources that we own.”

Former Treasury secretary Ken Henry, whose submission advocated for a 100 per cent windfall profits tax, issued a blunt message to the committee. “Just do it. In the national interest, just do it,” he said. “And stop the crap that the Australian public have put up with for decades now in respect of the taxation of Australia’s finite natural resources.”

Industry groups have pushed back strongly, arguing the sector paid $21.9 billion in tax last year and warned that new levies would deter investment.  Shell Australia chair Cecile Wake called it “spectacularly ill advised.”

Greens senator Steph Hodgins-May asked how much Shell had paid in PRRT, sparking a heated exchange. Wake said Shell paid $109m in PRRT last year and another representative from Shell, Coralie Trotter, said the company's profit that year was $2.5 billion before tax.

Trotter confirmed the company had paid zero dollars in PRRT in the previous decade.

Prof. Soliman‑Hunter rejects their claims the tax would threaten jobs or undermine our mature industry. Over the last decade, Australia has become one of the world’s largest exporters of liquified natural gas, she says, with research suggesting gas companies have made roughly $149 billion from exports in the last four years. Only a small percentage of this profit has been taxed.

She also suggests that a tiered tax structure (25 per cent on exports and 10 per cent on gas sold domestically) could help redirect supply back into the local market. “Domestic buyers don’t pay as much as LNG export markets, so companies prefer to send it overseas,” she said. “A differential tax could guarantee domestic supply and stop energy prices rising.”

The researcher is hopeful about the public mood finally shifting. “I've spent 25 years of my life trying to make people aware that this is our gas and our wealth,” she says. “Now is the time.”

With the federal budget approaching on May 12, the government faces mounting pressure to ensure Australians receive what advocates call a fair share of the country’s natural resources. Whether it adopts the 25 per cent export tax, or opts for a more modest change, may determine how much of Australia’s remaining gas wealth is captured for future generations.

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Will the latest AI agent make people's lives easier or is it a security threat waiting to happen?

It feels like only yesterday that ChatGPT took the world by storm. Its ability to reason and give human-like responses made everyone believe that artificial intelligence is set to revolutionize our digital lives.

Underlying ChatGPT is the technology of large language models, which are learned programs that can engage in conversations, automatically reason, and code computer programs for you. There are many alternatives to ChatGPT now, including Anthropic’s Claude, Google’s Gemini, and Meta’s Llama, and the range of tasks they can perform is continually expanding.

AI developers are now building technologies to unlock the potential of LLMs beyond simple question-answering. One such technology is AI agents: programs that can autonomously perform tasks on a user’s behalf — from organising emails and browsing the web to handling customer support — with minimal user interaction, without requiring explicit prompts for every action.

AI agents  are designed to perform administrative tasks on the behalf of users

Major players in the AI industry have already begun developing their own AI agents, including OpenAI’s ChatGPT agent and Google’s Gemini Agent. However, one AI agent that has curiously gone viral, and become the talk of the tech community over the past few weeks, is OpenClaw, developed by Peter Steinberger. The project was initially launched under the name Clawdbot, but following copyright claims by Anthropic AI, it was renamed Moltbot and eventually OpenClaw, all the while retaining its lobster-themed identity.

Why such sudden interest in OpenClaw?

Tech-savvy users can already integrate LLMs into their own programs to automate many tasks that OpenClaw and other AI agents aim to provide. But this is limited to a small group of enthusiasts; most users lack the time, patience, or technical expertise to do so. OpenClaw lowered this barrier significantly.

With a relatively simple setup, users can install OpenClaw on their computers and, through a straightforward dashboard, select an external LLM (such as ChatGPT) and communicate with it via familiar messaging platforms like WhatsApp or Slack. Several additional features contributed to its popularity: it runs locally on the user’s machine rather than on external infrastructure, it supports persistent memory that allows it to retain context and adapt over time, and it is open source.

Most importantly, it is easy to use: you can issue instructions through a messaging app and then let the agent operate autonomously on your computer without requiring repeated restarts or manual intervention.

These features fascinated users. The enthusiasm around OpenClaw grew so rapidly that entrepreneur Matt Schlicht created an internet forum called Moltbook, similar to Reddit but dedicated exclusively to AI agents, where agents can post, interact, and chat with one another on a wide range of topics. People have been using OpenClaw for a variety of tasks. Some users even deployed OpenClaw to trade on their behalf.

OpenClaw’s popularity soared, and it has reached over 170,000 GitHub stars in a remarkably short time. GitHub stars serve as a de facto rating system for open-source projects, and this places OpenClaw at 27th in GitHub’s top-100 repositories.

Everything seems nice and dandy, until you realise it’s a security nightmare.

One of the reasons AI agents are undergoing long development cycles is their potential for misuse. We are still figuring out how to prevent sensitive information from being inadvertently exposed to LLMs hosted by third parties. Yet, unlike standard conversational LLMs, AI agents can access far more than what we explicitly send as prompts. They may handle credit card information, phone numbers, or other personal data to make purchases or schedule appointments. If anything goes wrong, this data could be exposed, or worse, exploited by hackers. Needless to say, AI agents demand armour-like security.

Should users be trusting AI agents like OpenClaw with their personal data?

Security was not at the forefront behind the creation of OpenClaw, as is acknowledged by Mr Steinberger, who started it as a weekend project, and has put security as the main priority for its future. So it should not come as a surprise that numerous vulnerabilities have been demonstrated on OpenClaw.

For instance, LLMs are known to be vulnerable to prompt injection attacks: malicious prompts that instruct LLMs to behave unexpectedly. This implies that an AI agent, which is powered by LLMs, could be induced to reveal a user’s personal data via a hidden prompt injected into a script on a web page the agent visits.

Other attacks are less speculative: OpenClaw stored credentials, such as a software developer’s API key, in cleartext rather than encrypted at rest, meaning that any other process on the computer could access them. These credentials could be stolen via prompt injection or if the system were otherwise compromised.

Another potential attack involves community-created “skills” for AI agents. These skills are programs built by users to help an AI agent perform specific tasks. However, because OpenClaw has access to the computer’s command line, the powerful interface used to control the computer, a malicious skill could exploit this access to run harmful commands. With such elevated privileges, it could cause far more damage to the user’s computer than a normal application.

What lesson can we learn from this?

Tech enthusiasts are quick to latch on to new and exciting AI technologies that have the potential to disrupt and improve how we do things today. That’s understandable. However, very often, new technology that is rushed to end users, such as OpenClaw, does not necessarily have security best practices in place.

That said, we can’t slow the pace at which AI technologies are rapidly evolving. AI is unique – with the gains driven by its machine learning ability continually accelerating its amazing power and functions – for example to help create driverless cars, humanoid robots or devise tailored genetic medicines.

The stabilised, cautious model of governance may not be achievable in a global, technological race. This echoes the early days of the 1990s internet, where security was treated as an afterthought, as governments, banks and other big organisations rushed to build IT infrastructure, despite a feeling things were moving too fast to fully control.

What’s different today is that the rapid pace of AI introduction is frenzied.

This calls for a more dynamic approach – with governments, business and academic experts engaging fully with these technologies as they emerge, shaping their development with agreed guardrails, and accepting that the window between innovation and adoption is narrower than ever.

It’s an exciting challenge – the opportunity presented by AI isn’t marketing hype – and if embraced cleverly is a once-in-a-generation to deliver unimaginable new tools and discoveries that will help humans solve some of our biggest challenges.

This story was originally published by Innovation Aus.

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For decades, Australia’s biggest department stores sold service, style and experience. But the model was built on something far less sustainable, and businesses can no longer paper over the cracks.

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Have you ever tasted a word, or seen colours while listening to music? If you have, you may be among the small percentage of people who have a fascinating trait known as synaesthesia.

Synaesthesia is a neurological phenomenon where the activation of one sense, such as hearing, triggers the activation of another usually unrelated sense, such as sight. This means people with synaesthesia often experience additional sensations compared to the rest of us.

We’ve devoted a lot of time to understanding this rare phenomenon. While there’s much more to unpack, what we do know shows we don’t all perceive the world in the same way.

What is synaesthesia?

People with synaesthesia are known as synaesthetes. Research suggests synaesthesia may be more common among women, although this could reflect sampling biases, and may be influenced by genetics.

There are many different types of synaesthesia. Some people have auditory-visual synaesthesia, meaning they see colours when they hear sounds. Others see colours when they read, hear or think about letters or numbers. This is known as grapheme-colour synaesthesia. Another example is mirror-touch synaesthesia, where a person feels sensations on their own body when they see another person being touched.

All of us naturally combine information from different senses. For instance, when you watch someone speak, your brain blends what you see and hear to understand them better. In synaesthesia these links are a bit different – a sound might, for example, trigger a visual experience – but may still depend on the same mechanisms.

People with synaesthesia don’t have any control over how their senses collide. Instead, these are spontaneous, vivid experiences that usually stay the same over time. For example, today a person with grapheme-colour synaesthesia may perceive the letter “A” as being red. And they’ll most likely see it as being the same shade even years later.

It’s worth noting synaesthesia is not an illness or disorder. And it doesn’t cause harm or impairment, although some people may find their synaesthesia overwhelming at times. For example, if they feel pain every time they see someone else in pain, going to the movies can be quite disturbing. However, on the whole it does not seem to interfere with daily life. In fact, many people don’t realise they have synaesthesia because it’s simply how they perceive the world.

People with synaesthesia can often hear colours.

What causes it?

We don’t yet know exactly what causes synaesthesia. But scientists have come up with two main theories.

1. Synaesthetes have more connections in their brain

According to this view, known as the cross-activation theory, people with synaesthesia have more connections between different parts of their brain. This could happen because their brain hasn’t gotten rid of unused connections between brain cells. This process, known as synaptic pruning, helps the brain work more efficiently and is part of normal development.

Under this theory, a person with grapheme-colour synaesthesia for example, would have the region that recognises letters directly linked to the part that processes colour. So when they see a letter, they perceive it with a colour.

2. Synaesthetes have slightly different activity in their brain

The other main theory is that people with synaesthesia have the same neural connections as non-synaesthetes, but certain pathways might be stronger or more active. Synaesthesia does seem to build on mechanisms we all have. For example, when you see a picture of a grey banana, you know bananas are usually yellow. We even see patterns of brain activity that reflect this. Grapheme-colour synaesthetes might also do this with letters so that when they see black letters, their brain activates specific colours.

Simply put, the debate about what causes synaesthesia comes down to whether synaesthetes have a different brain structure or just use their brains in an alternative way.

Does it make you more creative?

You might’ve heard artists such as Kandinsky or musicians such as Lorde describe their synaesthesia-like experiences. And there is some evidence to suggest synaesthesia is more common among people in creative fields.

One large survey of Australian synaesthetes found roughly 24% had creative occupations, such as being an artist, musician, architect or graphic designer. This is compared to the less than 2% of people in the general population who have these jobs. This gap is striking, even though we don’t understand what’s behind it. One reason may be synaesthetes link ideas and sensations in unusual ways, helping them think more creatively. Research suggests people with certain kinds of synaesthesia may form stronger memories or have more vivid imaginations, but only to a limited extent.

Synaesthesia is a powerful window into how our brains make sense of the world. It reminds us perception is not a fixed, one-size-fits-all process. Rather, it’s something the brain actively builds in ways that are often more varied, and far richer, than we might expect.

This story was originally published in The Conversation.

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Step inside the creative world of Macquarie University’s Dr Steve Collins, who balances lecture notes with distortion pedals and academia with industrial chaos.

Steve Collins isn’t wearing shoes when I knock on his office door.

His beard sits somewhere between professorial and frontman, and the room itself feels less like a workplace and more like a curated collision of worlds, as synths lean against bookshelves and cables coil around stacks of journals and trinkets.

It isn’t what you would expect of the Chair of Media and Communications at the School of Communications, Society and Culture. But then again, Collins isn’t your typical academic.

“I never really set out to do this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the office, the university, and perhaps even the idea of academia itself.

Collins’ path to Macquarie University was never a straight line; it instead followed a series of creative detours, each step shaped by curiosity rather than convention.

The same attitude also defines his teaching, where he blends technical skills and critical thinking across subjects as diverse as web design, digital media, and copyright law.

Once he steps outside the lecture theatre, Collins shifts into an entirely different register.

Known in the underground industrial music scene by names like INfest8, Konqistador, Other, and z(cluster), Collins moves between self-made studio spaces and experimental festivals like Dark Mofo, swapping structured lectures and student emails for distortion, mechanical melodies and an electronic fusion of noise and rock.

Steve Collins is known in the underground music scene by names like INfest8, Konqistador, Other, and z(cluster). Photo: supplied

“I’m an old goth,” Collins says.

“I love my ‘80s music, but I also really like industrial music. The band people might have heard of in that genre is Nine Inch Nails, but industrial music goes back to the ’70s and it has this political philosophy behind it, this drive to challenge authority.”

Listening to tracks like Everyday Is Halloween, The Rapture and Death Drive, it’s easy to hear that sentiment reverberating.

The sound is deliberately abrasive, textured and immersive. It’s built by grinding rhythms and fractured tones. There’s a sense of deconstruction at play: Collins doesn’t just compose music, he dismantles it - shaping sonic narratives that feel simultaneously chaotic and carefully engineered.

“I call it industrial, mainly because I use a lot of the harsh noises, but I also like melody,” Collins says.

“I have chronic migraine, and the grit in the audio is like a reflection of my vision. To some people, it might just sound like a lot of noise, but everything has a place and a role to play. And if people like it, then great. If they don't, it's going up on my SoundCloud anyway.”

Driven by a love of experimentation, Collins built a global fanbase of his music. In 2015 he produced a remix of singer Sara Noxx's release of Entre Quatre Yeux, which spent three weeks at number one on the German alternative charts.

Steve Collins describes himself as an "old goth." Photo: Elaine Obran

Then, in 2018, he worked on Nafada with Konqistador, a politically charged industrial hip-hop project featuring female Arab and Muslim artists.

The album offered a platform for often unheard voices by sharing the lived experiences of women navigating life in the Middle East.

“In 2007, I started collaborating with this band called Konqistador,” Collins says.

“One of the members, Reg, had this idea to do an industrial hip-hop collaboration and started reaching out to artists across the Middle East.

“So, we created this album, and Sony was really interested. They saw it as an untapped space. But at the eleventh hour, they pulled the plug. They were worried about the political repercussions from some Middle Eastern governments.”

Despite the setback, the project found new life. Independent digital distributor The Orchard released the album, and while the corporate backing fell away, industry support didn’t disappear entirely.

“Sony still helped us behind the scenes,” Collins adds.

“They got us a homepage feature for Spotify users across the Middle East and North Africa.”

“As a creative project, it was very exciting, and it made me push the envelope on my appreciation of other genres as well.”

Back in his office, Collins’ dual worlds sit side by side comfortably. The academic and the creative are not two disparate identities, but two threads woven into the same fabric.

Collins’ dual worlds sit side by side comfortably. Photo: Elaine Obran

“My work and music do come together at points. A lot of my understanding of creative technologies and the music industry is an amalgam of my professional and personal interests and experiences.

“Some students have found their way to my music, but it's not something I actively promote.

“There are some points in my copyright law unit where I’ll show my Spotify royalty rates, but that is only as a teaching tool.”

Looking ahead to the future, that is the legacy he hopes to leave behind at Macquarie University. Not one measured by Spotify streams or stages, but in the quiet, lasting impact of those who pass through his classroom and beyond.

“I just really want to keep teaching and researching the things that I think are interesting and useful provocations for people to think about,” Collins reflects.

“I hope I'll leave an impression on students' lives and that it's a good one.

“That’s not just a ‘feed the ego thing’: seeing that they're using the skills and doing something that they are passionate about is the most important thing. Life's too short to work a job that you hate.”

Contact: Steve

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The structure of the new AI world is being designed and built today yet large parts of the global south are not among its architects. Dr Govand Azeez from Macquarie University's School of International studies examines the ramifications.

Southeast Asia is rapidly embracing artificial intelligence, with governments, businesses and investors touting its potential to transform economies and deliver up to US$1 trillion in growth by 2030. But beneath this optimism lies a more uncomfortable reality: the region risks becoming structurally dependent on technologies it does not own or control.

New research argues that Southeast Asia’s role in the global AI economy mirrors earlier industrial patterns, where wealth and power concentrate in countries that own the technology, while others supply labour, data and raw materials. Despite national AI strategies, data laws and regional frameworks, much of the region’s digital infrastructure – from cloud platforms to data centres –remains dominated by multinational tech giants.

This creates what the author calls a “technological sovereignty simulacrum”: the appearance of control without the underlying capacity to shape or benefit from the system.

Drawing on economic theory from Ricardo to Marx, the research suggests this imbalance is not accidental but structural, reinforcing inequality and limiting long-term development.

As AI adoption accelerates, the central question remains unresolved: who owns the technology, who benefits from it, and who ultimately bears the cost?

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A study of HR professionals shows inclusion-focused AI can reduce disability discrimination and improve fairness in real-world recruitment scenarios.

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Invasions of ancient Persia were always daunting tasks. They often led to disaster.

In the 6th and 5th centuries BCE, the Persian empire came to dominate a vast and varied geography with Iran at its heart.

Comprising modern Iran, Iraq, Turkey, the Persian Gulf and parts of other neighbouring countries, the Persian Empire was established and ruled by the Achaemenids. This powerful dynasty lasted all the way to about 330 BCE when Alexander the Great defeated its last ruler, Darius III.

But in the early days of this Achaemenid Persian expansion (546 BCE), the legendary King Croesus (from Lydia, in western Turkey) decided to challenge it.

Reputedly the richest man in the world, Croesus consulted the famed Oracle of Apollo at Delphi (in Greece). The oracle, according to ancient writer Herodotus, told Croesus:

that if he should send an army against the Persians he would destroy a great empire.

An engraved illustration of Pythia (priestess at Delphi) in a semi-trance she delivers the messages of god Apollo. Photo: Getty.

Croesus’ subsequent invasion and defeat by the Persian king, Cyrus, saw the destruction of his own empire. The oracle accurately foretold the outcome but not as Croesus had hoped.

Croesus wasn’t the last ruler to invade Persia and realise he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

From the 6th century BCE to the 4th century CE, Greeks and Romans invaded Persia multiple times. The risks were high, the logistics complicated.

In fact – as US President Donald Trump is now discovering – wars like these, in this part of the world, are a lot easier to start than they are to end.

Croesus wasn’t the last ruler to invade Persia and realise he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Photo: Getty.

Complex and high-risk

The vast resources and manpower of the Achaemenid empire, together with its varied geography, made any invasion of Persia complex and high-risk.

When Alexander the Great (also known as Alexander III of Macedon) invaded in 334 BCE, he led stunning military successes against the Persians over the next few years.

But by the time of his premature death in Babylon in 323 BCE, organisation of the vast territory he had conquered was a hodge-podge of short-term arrangements.

Over time, the memory of Alexander in the Iranian territories he conquered was one of contempt. The Persian territory he conquered couldn’t be held by his successors.

Around 70 years after Alexander’s death, a new dynasty emerged in Iran.

Known as the Arsacid Parthians, they would dominate much of the former Achaemenid territory for centuries.

The Arsacid Parthians became the key rivals of the Romans as they (the Romans) expanded further east from the 1st century BCE onwards.

The first invasion of the Parthian empire by the Romans ended in total disaster – for the Romans.

The Roman general Crassus invaded Parthian imperial territory in southern Turkey in 53 BCE. The Parthian army annihilated Crassus’ forces near the city of Carrhae. Around 20,000 Roman soldiers died (including Crassus and his son) and 10,000 were captured.

This disaster would live in the Roman memory for centuries.

‘A source of constant wars and great expense’

Even when Roman invasions of the Parthian empire in the 2nd century CE were successful, there was often a sting in the tail. The emperor Trajan invaded all the way to the Persian Gulf in 116/117 CE but couldn’t hold any of his gains.

Later in the 2nd century CE, Roman invasions of the Parthian empire did see territorial gains in Mesopotamia (southern Turkey).

But one contemporary Roman writer, Cassius Dio, thought these gains were more trouble than they were worth:

He [emperor Septimius Severus] used to declare that he had added a vast territory to the empire and had made it a bulwark of Syria. On the contrary, it is shown by the facts themselves that this conquest has been a source of constant wars and great expense to us.

From loss to ultimate humiliation

In the 3rd century CE, the Sasanian dynasty took control of Iran and Mesopotamia from the Parthians. The Sasanian Persians inflicted serious defeats on invading Roman armies in the centuries ahead. The Roman emperor Gordian III died in battle against the Sasanians in 244 CE. He led a large-scale invasion of the Persian empire but died trying to attack the capital, Seleucia-Ctesiphon. His successor (Philip I) signed a humiliating peace treaty to ransom what was left of the army.

But the ultimate humiliations for Roman emperors were yet to come.

In 260 CE, the emperor Valerian was captured by the Persian king, Shapur I.

Legendary accounts claimed Valerian served as a footstool for Shapur when he mounted his horse.

Rock reliefs from the 3rd century depicting Valerian and Philip I in subjection to Shapur survive in Iran to this day.

Around a century later, the emperor Julian died while invading the Persian empire. Leading an army of 60,000 men, Julian suffered a heavy defeat and was killed north of the Persian capital, Seleucia-Ctesiphon.

The ensuing peace treaty saw Rome lose key territory and fortresses in northern Mesopotamia.

It would take more than a century for Rome to recover from this defeat.

Most ancient invasions of the Persian empire caused serious problems for those who prosecuted them.

The varied and sometimes harsh nature of the geography was an important factor. The national resolve and military preparedness were others.

While the current US-Israel war against Iran is different in many ways to ancient wars directed at Persia, the 3rd-century Sasanian rock reliefs are reminders of what can go wrong.

This article was originally published in The Conversation.

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A salt-powered breakthrough is turning mineral resources into copper, and behind it is a team of women engineers redefining both innovation and inclusion.

It looks like something plucked from a strange, radioactive planet. A glass incubator sits at the centre of a laboratory, its network of clear channels illuminated by a distinctive green dye.

To the trained eye however, this isn’t science fiction; it’s a breakthrough. Inside the glowing streams, a new engineering process is helping rewrite the future of mining.

The liquid in the incubator is green dye used to highlight the scientific process. Image: Chris Barlow

Developed by Loop Hydrometallurgy at Macquarie University, the patented Halion Loop™ technology leaches, purifies and recovers copper directly from low-grade and problematic mining resources - an alchemy-esque process powered by salt water.

By replacing energy-intensive and chemically harsh traditional methods, the system offers a cleaner, more efficient way to extract one of the world’s most in-demand metals - a game changer for an industry under growing pressure to reduce its environmental footprint.

At the heart of this innovation is a team of engineers at Macquarie University. But much like the technology itself, the team represents far more than just scientific progress.

In an industry long dominated by men, the group behind the Loop is strikingly different, made up of over 80 per cent women.

One of the women on the team is Macquarie University student Eliza Langer.

Macquarie University student Eliza Langer is part of the team developing the Loop Hydrometallurgy technology. Image: Chris Barlow

First joining as an intern through the support of Dave Sammut, the Chief Executive Officer and Founder of Loop Hydrometallurgy, Langer quickly stood out, producing some of the strongest lab work among participants through Loop’s Women in STEM initiative.

Since then, she has taken on increasing responsibility. From organising and bringing beautiful prototypes to life, and putting her hand up to tackle complex projects, Langer brings a unique and important perspective to the incubator team.

“In 2023, I was at the point in my Bachelor of Science degree when I was doing my internship unit. I was struggling to find somewhere that would have me but also be able to facilitate my accessibility needs,” Langer says.

“Dave was a guest lecturer one week, talking to us about entrepreneurship. The unit convenor, who knew Dave quite well, introduced me to him, and it sort of just went from there.

“He was so understanding and worked really hard to make it very inclusive.

“He then offered me a part-time casual position as a Lab Assistant, which is what I'm doing now.”

Eliza Langer has produced some of the strongest lab work among participants through Loop’s Women in STEM initiative. Image: Chris Barlow

However, Langer says her experience reflects a broader issue faced by people living with disabilities.

“A massive misconception for any person working with a disability, not just in STEM, is that we are not capable. I have been constantly underestimated throughout my whole life, and that is something that I would love to see change in the future.”

Still, she remains optimistic and encourages other women to step into the field.

“I think just go for it. It’s very, very rewarding work. If you’re passionate and excited by it, then you will do well.”

Her drive is echoed by Sammut, who not only leads the team but has been working on the incubator technology for more than 30 years.

He says that cultivating an environment where diverse voices are valued has been key to the company’s success.

“At the moment, over 80 per cent of our STEM roles in our company are filled by women, including women from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds, and women living with disabilities,” Sammut explains.

“We believe that creates a significantly better balance in our team and an environment in which everyone is heard.”

Dave Sammut, the Chief Executive Officer and Founder of Loop Hydrometallurgy has created an inclusive environment for students like Eliza Langer to thrive. Image: Chris Barlow

It is here that students like Langer are supported to thrive.

“She has just done the most wonderful job. You can't expect miracles from a student; they're still learning, but she has already had so many incredible achievements. Her journey has been so rewarding to witness,” Sammut says.

Also on the team is Afsha Awramenko, the Engineering Manager, who is balancing her leadership role with the demands of being a new mother.

Afsha Awramenko, the Engineering Manager. Image: Chris Barlow

She says this has helped her bring a new level of perspective and adaptability to her work.

“In one sense, it has been good because it gives me a lot of experience negotiating with suppliers; it isn’t too different from negotiating with a toddler.”

Beyond the day-to-day negotiations - whether with suppliers or toddlers - Awramenko's work is grounded in something far bigger: a long-term commitment to how this incubator will help to revolutionise mining technology.

“I've been working in minerals processing for 15 years now, and started working with Dave about 10 years ago,” Awramenko reflects.

“This project in particular has been a long time coming, and we are now in phase two, which is amazing. It’s really rewarding to see something that we have been working on get closer to being able to implement in industry and have a real-world impact.”

Despite the success, it is important to note the barriers and challenges each female engineer has had to overcome.

For Senior Engineer Daniela Perez Bravo, the path into engineering forced her to prove herself in environments where she was often in the minority.

Senior Engineer Daniela Perez Bravo. Image: Chris Barlow

“When I had just graduated at 25, you always have to work harder to prove yourself technically, especially if you are on site.”

“But over time, you start to feel more confident and start to believe in yourself. I feel proud that I can be part of opening the doors for more women.”

As the team continues to push the boundaries of what mining can look like, Awramenko says the real transformation needs to continue to happen far beyond the green glow of the incubator itself.

“Don’t be scared, and don’t wait for someone to give you a leadership position, take the lead and put yourself out there,” Awramenko says.

“A lot of the time, a man will have exactly the same degree and the same experience as a woman, and even if he doesn’t have a specific skill, he will still apply. Whereas a woman might think, ‘I don’t know how to do that,’ and hold back. It’s important to be confident.”

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Criminology lecturer and former police officer Dr Vince Hurley writes about how Sydney’s escalating gang and drug war is becoming less targeted, less controlled and far more dangerous.

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The death of Married At First Sight relationship expert Mel Schilling has triggered a surge in public health awareness, as clinicians report an immediate increase in younger patients seeking bowel cancer tests.

Schilling, 54, died last Tuesday following a three-year battle with the disease.

It was only on March 13 that Schilling revealed her “light was starting to fade”, sharing on Instagram she had been diagnosed with a tumour the “size of a lemon” in December 2023. This was successfully removed in surgery, but in February 2024, a routine scan revealed small nodules in her lungs. Over the next two years, Schilling underwent 16 rounds of chemotherapy.

Despite these interventions, the cancer metastasised to her lungs and earlier this month, to her brain. She leaves behind her husband Gareth Brisbane, and 11-year-old daughter Madison.

“In her final moments, when I thought cancer had taken away her ability to speak, she ushered me closer and whispered a message for Maddie and me that will sustain me for the rest of my life,” Brisbane wrote on Instagram.

“To most of you, she was Mel Schilling — matriarch of MAFS and queen of reality TV. To Maddie and me, she was our wee Melsie: an incredible mum, role model, and soulmate.”

Married At First Sight psychologist Mel Schilling, 54,  passed away from bowel cancer on March 24, 2026. Photo: Nine. 

Schilling joined the Australian version of the reality show in 2016, where she counselled couples alongside fellow psychologist John Aitken and sexologist Alessandra Rampolla.

Her passing has highlighted a dangerous gap in public understanding of the disease’s progression and its often-invisible early warning signs.

Bowel cancer is the second-deadliest cancer in Australia. One in 16 Australians will be diagnosed in their lifetime, with the disease claiming more than 5200 lives annually. However, medical experts warn the persistent misconception—that only those above 50 are at risk—is costing lives.

“The story is definitely resonating with the community,” says Clinical Professor Rupert Leong of Macquarie Medical School, who has already seen “asymptomatic” patients return for tests since Schilling's death.

Bowel cancer is the second-deadliest cancer in Australia, with the disease claiming more than 5200 lives annually. Photo: Getty.

“My first patient at the clinic today was a 55-year-old that failed to return for her follow up colonoscopy, which was last conducted five years ago. I immediately booked her in for one.”

While Schilling was in her early 50s at the time of her diagnosis, the medical community is increasingly concerned with "early-onset" cases appearing in younger demographics who do not meet standard screening criteria.

What symptoms can point to bowel cancer?

Postdoctoral Research Fellow Binod Rayamajhee (pictured) investigates the role of the gut microbiome in precancerous colon polyp growth and progression to colorectal cancer. Photo: Supplied.

Professor Leong says there are several to look out for. These include blood in your stool, altered bowel habits,  an unexplained iron deficiency causing fatigue, and unusual pain or swelling of the abdomen.

“Regular screening is a good way of identifying lesions before they become symptomatic,” Leong says, “because by the time some people get symptoms, like in Mel’s case, it may already be too late.”

“Blood in your stool is not normal and shouldn’t be ignored,” Leong says. This won’t be the typical, bright red blood of haemorrhoids. “Sometimes it can be dark blood, or watery in appearance, so any colour of blood should be an alarm bell to have an evaluation by a GP, then a gastroenterologist or colonoscopy if needed.”

Early-stage bowel cancer or even polyps may cause bleeding in such a “minute” amount that it wouldn’t raise any alarm bells.

Macquarie University researchers believe that a sustained imbalance of the gut microbiome may contribute to the progression of colorectal polyps toward a cancerous stage.  Photo: Supplied.

Changes in normal bowel habits are another commonly missed symptom. “For example, if stools have started to become loose, or the person is getting constipated and cannot go to the toilet,” Leong says. “The change could be diarrhoea, constipation, or even a change in the shape and appearance of the stools. Any change of normal bowel habits that lasts for more than a week should prompt a visit to the GP.”

Abdominal pain or swelling are classified as non-specific symptoms, while Leong flags iron deficiency and unexplained anaemia as “important” potential indicators.

“Because bowel symptoms are very common, they may not necessarily always lead one to think about bowel cancer,” he says.

Why are more young people getting bowel cancer? 

While bowel cancer has historically been viewed as a disease of the elderly, there is a shifting epidemiological pattern in Australia.

Cases in patients over 50 have largely “plateaued or decreased”, Leong says, due to established population-based screening and increased awareness. However, the disease is now the deadliest cancer for Australians aged 25 to 54.

“We can’t say for sure why this is occurring now, but our speculation is due to changes in the environment,” he says.

A conceptual illustration of colorectal cancer cells. The disease is now the deadliest cancer for Australians aged 25 to 54. Photo: Getty.

“We are now eating foods that are very different to what our parents and grandparents used to eat. We’re eating more refined, ultra-processed foods and in a much greater quantity. One theory is that these foods are damaging the gut balance of the healthy organism.”

The potential overuse of antibiotics in the population may also be responsible for stripping the gut of its protective bacteria.

How can you check for bowel cancer?

The Australian Government provides free bowel cancer screening kits to people aged 50 to 74, every two years. As of July 2024, people aged 45 to 49 can opt in for mail screening, which Leong strongly encourages.

People with “risk factors” such as prior polyps (small growths on the inner lining of the colon), a family history of bowel cancer, or an Inflammatory Bowel Disease such as Crohn’s, should test every two years.

However, Leong says it’s imperative for anyone younger than 50 to monitor for symptoms as well: “It’s very, very important that if something doesn’t seem right, you make an appointment with your GP.”

General practitioners use faecal immunochemical tests (FIT) to check for hidden bleeding in the bowel. “If that test is positive, the person would then undergo a colonoscopy,” Leong says.

“In a colonoscopy, any small polyps or abnormalities can be identified, diagnosed, and most importantly, treated. We remove the polyps to remove the risk of them ever turning into bowel cancer.”

According to Bowel Cancer Australia, 99 per cent of cases can be successfully treated with early detection.

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Email: communications@mq.edu.au

As Australians navigate soaring Easter chocolate prices, Macquarie University expert John Dumay explains why the spike is no yolk and whether the tradition will endure.

We are living through what many describe as ‘unprecedented times’.

The climate is reaching critical tipping points, global conflicts are escalating, and Australians are nervously watching fuel supplies dwindle.

Just when it seemed things couldn’t get more challenging, Aussies have been hit with another financial blow: skyrocketing prices for Easter eggs.

But the issue isn’t simply cost-of-living inflation.

Since early last year, pressures on chocolate producers have been mounting, driven largely by structural challenges faced by farmers in West Africa, where much of the world’s cocoa is cultivated.

A consumer group, Choice, found that Australian shoppers could expect to pay up to 33 per cent more per 100 grams of Easter chocolate than last year. While some product prices have stayed the same, many Australians are also experiencing shrinkflation, with products reduced in size and weight despite unchanged pricing.

The cocoa conundrum

John Dumay, from Macquarie University’s Department of Accounting and Corporate Governance, explains that the chocolate market is a delicate balance between production, supply, and consumer demand – a market where prices climb, but companies trust shoppers will continue reaching for the shelves.

“Cocoa prices hit around 12,000 US dollars a ton about a year and a half ago. That is a significant spike, largely driven by supply shortages, and the cost is passed on to cocoa makers,” Dumay explains.

“Chocolate companies still need to generate returns for their shareholders. That means cocoa supply is relatively inelastic. It’s affected by price, but it’s more of a luxury than a commodity.

Structural challenges face farmers in West Africa where much of the world’s cocoa is cultivated. Image: Daniel RIFFET/ Getty

“When you increase price, people will still want their cocoa or chocolate and are willing to pay more, which allows companies to increase their margins.”

While the sudden spike in prices might appear to be a seasonal issue tied to Easter, Dumay explains that the challenges we’re seeing are the result of years of economic pressures.

Chocolate producers typically lock in cocoa prices well in advance through contracts that protect them from extreme price swings. These prices factor in everything from packaging to transportation costs.

Unlike products such as petrol, cocoa operates on much longer timelines – a factor central to its pricing complexities.

“Companies rely on price stability to plan their forecasts,” Dumay explains.

“Today’s chocolate comes through a supply chain pricing system that could have been locked in up to two years ago. It takes time for these costs to reach the consumer.

“Shoppers can probably expect these higher prices to persist even into next year.”

Tradition isn’t cheap

But the conversation isn’t just about economics – it’s about habits.

Far more than a seasonal treat, Easter chocolate is a deeply ingrained tradition in Australian households.

Australian shoppers could expect to pay up to 33 per cent more per 100 grams of Easter chocolate than last year. Image: Dan Kitwood/ Getty

While rising costs may give families, especially those impacted by mortgage increases or other financial strains, reason to pause, they’re unlikely to abandon the ritual altogether, perpetuating a cycle that favours continued consumption.

“I think it’s hard to break a tradition, but disposable income plays a big role,” Dumay says.

“We’re up by about one per cent over last year’s consumer price index, and now we’re experiencing oil price pressures and mortgage hikes, that’s why we hear the term ‘cost of living crisis’ more widely now.

“But I don’t think people will stop buying Easter chocolate altogether, which is exactly what companies count on.”

For Australian families navigating growing financial pressures, each Easter egg could represent a far-reaching narrative – from struggles faced by cocoa farmers and climate change, to European legislation protecting deforested land.

Easter chocolate prices reflect a market fragile to inflation, where costs rise quickly and rarely fall.

“Prices rarely decrease the way they rise,” Dumay points out.

“Unless we see a sudden surge of cocoa production or a major drop in demand, I don’t believe prices will drop significantly anytime soon.”

Contact: John Dumay

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Email: john.dumay@mq.edu.au

What was it really like to live in the epicentre of Australia’s AIDS epidemic?

That is a question best answered by the ordinary people who called Darlinghurst home in the '70s, '80s, and '90s. In a revelatory new podcast by Macquarie University historian Leigh Boucher, the Sydney suburb’s nurses, frontline workers, party boys and girls lay bare the shocking realities of “the best and worst” time of their lives.

History Lab: Darlinghurst’s AIDS Crisis functions as an auditory time capsule, transporting listeners into the gyms, parks, cafés and clubs of Sydney’s inner-east, exactly as they were 50 years ago.

“I live in Darlinghurst, the centre of LGBTQIA+ life in Sydney and Australia,” Boucher tells Lighthouse. “I had a sense of the HIV/AIDS catastrophe. Incredible numbers of people getting sick. Inspiring community activism. Heartbreaking grief and loss. But I didn’t know what it was like to live through that within a neighbourhood. I’d never heard that story told.”

Boucher painstakingly conducted 20 in-depth interviews with Darlinghurst residents, many of whom have never previously shared their experiences.

(L-R): Best friends Peter Vincent and Pierre Touma lived in Darlinghurst throughout the AIDS crisis. Photo: Supplied.

He began by interviewing people whose voices had not been recorded in Oral History Archives, including healthcare workers, volunteers from ACON, and individuals who were simply forging a life in the ‘gaybourhood’ in the 1980s and 1990s.

Sydney Star Observer cover star and City Gym manager Peter Vincent passed away on World AIDS Day in December 1991. He was a beloved Darlinghurst fixture, whose two-line obituary and name on an AIDS Memorial Quilt panel, left Boucher with more questions than answers.

The historian tracked down Peter’s friends, lovers, and family to piece together a heartfelt portrait of his life. “In telling me about him, they naturally told me a lot about Darlinghurst as well,” he says.

“Their stories took me to a Darlinghurst life I recognised, where connection and joy were made at the Midnight Shift (now Universal) and gay hotspot City Gym.”

Peter Vincent. Photo: Supplied.

What Boucher uncovered was a treasure trove of "surprising, confounding, and paradoxical” truths that are lost to the mainstream narrative of Australia’s “heroic” HIV response.

“The history of Sydney’s HIV/AIDS crisis is often told as a national success story because transmission rates were much lower here than elsewhere in the world,” Boucher explains.

“That story is told by activists, health leaders, politicians, and high-profile figures.”

This new hyper-local history offers fresh insight into how Darlinghurst’s queer subcultures responded to one of the deadliest epidemics of modern times, working out, living, and loving as AIDS spread through their world.

The AIDS Memorial Quilt panel dedicated to Peter Vincent. Photo: Supplied.

“I discovered a whole set of subterranean practices from when people were trying to figure out how to treat HIV on their own,” Boucher says.

“I learned that the years leading up to the crisis, in the late ‘80s, were also the peak years of queer activity, dance parties, and agency in the neighbourhood. Many people told me, ‘This was the best time of my life’, which is a real contradiction.”

Boucher also learned the historical narrative of community resilience that we use to talk about AIDS “really conceals how difficult things got when death rates got really high.”

In 1994, LGBTQ+ magazine Sydney Star Observer was printing up to 25 obituaries per week.

“People talk about going to a café and opening the paper to figure out who’s died,” Boucher says. “Many people I spoke to buried half of their friendship group. People started to get exhausted, and because the experience was so concentrated in Darlinghurst, there was no escape. You couldn’t get away from it. It became too much.”

The Sydney Star Observer was first published in July 1979, serving as a directory for gay-friendly businesses during a time when homosexual acts were criminalised in New South Wales.

When combination treatments for HIV arrived in ‘96, it meant AIDs was no longer a terminal condition, but a chronic one. Everything changed.

“From many, there is a real turning away,” Boucher says. “The feeling is: ‘Actually we just need to move on. We can’t talk about this anymore’.

“There are lots of metaphors that people use to describe this collective trauma response,” Boucher says.

‘Closing the chapter’, ‘walking away’, and ‘shutting the door’ are the big ones.

Green Park Rotunda, pictured with the AIDS Memorial Quilt, is a 'pulse point' of queer history in Darlinghurst. Photos: Supplied.

“It’s in that space that the ‘hero’ Australian response narrative emerges about how strong and united we were. But when you drill down into people’s individual experiences, that’s not how things worked,” Boucher says.

“There was a real reluctance to speak about the experience honestly and fully for quite some time, so what we’re left with is an uneven sense of the realities.

“If everyone wanted to ‘shut the door’ in ‘96, I see this podcast as giving people a way to look inside the room. I was very lucky that I had so many people willing to open the door for me.”

The following stories are short excerpts from the interviews in History Lab: Darlinghurst’s AIDS Crisis, which you can listen to in full on Spotify, Apple, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Pierre Touma, close friend of Peter Vincent 

“As a Lebanese gay guy, it was unheard of to come out. I worked in the bars at night and was a trainer by day at City Gym. It was a wonderful time. Darlinghurst back then, the Golden Mile, it was hustling. You couldn’t move on Oxford Street. That’s how busy it was."

Pierre Touma (pictured) and Peter Vincent bonded over their mutual love of body-building.  Photo: Supplied.

1981: “I said there’s something going on in America man. You have sex with somebody and then you die a year later. No one believed me. It came to Sydney a year later.”

“In a sincere way, we became so good at funerals. People would talk about ‘this one had a good funeral, the other one had a bigger funeral.' There was a lot of sadness. A lot of paranoia.

“When I think of Pete, I think of the parties, good times, of the cheekiness that he had. Something in me is missing from him not being there. I will never forget him. You lost a lot.”

Lizzie Griggs, found herself immersed in the queer world of Darlinghurst at 17. When the crisis hit, she pioneered the ‘AIDS bus’: an outreach service that operated from the Albion Centre.

Lizzie Griggs pictured on the Mardi Gras 'AIDS Bus' float in the mid-1980s. Photo: Supplied. 

“We moved the service from Albion Street to Kirketon Road in 1990 because it was a much better match. Let me tell you, Albion Street was really for gay middle-class men. Our gorgeous, street-based, chaotic clients [often IV drug users and sex workers] did not mix well. They didn’t make appointments. There was a clash of cultures.

“People were getting increasingly skeletal. They couldn’t socialise properly because of the different infections, like cryptosporidium (a parasitic disease that causes shocking diarrhea). I had a friend that literally would have to go bar to bar up Oxford St and s*** his way up to be able to get from A to B.

“We all crossed paths and all worked together. It was all very intersected. It became your whole world. We all mourned together. We all went to the funerals together. Everyone read the Star Observer every day for the names of all these people who died. Then we’d all get together at the vigils. I didn’t think I would ever experience anything like that. I was so lucky… I know that’s a weird thing to say.

“There was an incredible coming together of different people from all different walks of life. Socio-economic status, gay, straight, whatever, it didn’t matter. My friends and I say it was like a war. It must be similar to the camaraderie between war veterans.”

Gary Dunn moved from Adelaide to Darlinghurst andstarted working as a writer for the Sydney Star Observer in the mid 1980s.

(L-R): Leigh Boucher and Gary Dunn pictured at the launch event for  History Lab: Darlinghurst’s AIDS Crisis in February 2026. Photo: Supplied.

“The one thing that editors had to do was make sure everything they published about HIV was double checked and accurate. Because the Sydney Morning Herald wasn’t doing that, the Daily Telegraph wasn’t, and The Australian certainly wasn’t. There was a real responsibility to get it right because people made decisions about what was okay [regarding safe sex and transmission] based on us.”

Bruce Carter grew up in working-class Balmain, Sydney. He started hanging out in ‘Darlo’ aged 15 and later became a nurse.

Late 1980s: “On a Friday night, I was off duty. We’d say, ‘It’s been really heavy. I’ve seen this many people die. I saw this young queen slashed up in front of me…’ but it’s been a s*** of a week, let’s have a party.”

Ian Innes, moved to Darlinghurst with his HIV positive partner in the early 1990s.

“Some friends of mine, who are like gay uncles, still have a place in Fitzroy Street in Surry Hills — just around the corner from Albion Street and part of Bourke Street. I remember in ‘92, we walked up part of Bourke Street and they knew somebody in every single house that had died. Or both partners had died. The people that were left just couldn't cope with that.

“Some people got sick and died quickly, but others went through multiple illnesses and were sick for 2-3 years. There was a long-term impact on the surviving partner, who would then be left to deal with the mess. I think a lot of them packed up and moved.”

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Email: communications@mq.edu.au

After a British doco exposes the online world of misogyny and manfluencers, Macquarie University expert Lise Waldek explains what is fuelling its spread.

“We are all increasingly inside the manosphere, and it’s up to us how we get out.”

That’s the warning posed by Louis Theroux in his latest documentary, ‘Inside the Manosphere’, which explores the rise of right-leaning online communities of men, also known as ‘manfluencers.’

The film has sparked widespread discussion both online and off, leaving viewers with questions that go far beyond surface-level curiosities - why do so many of these men keep that small patch of hair unshaved? And what are they preparing for with such intense exercise routines? Toward something more urgent: how can we loosen the grip these communities have on young men, and on society more broadly?

In the search for answers, it’s helpful to understand how the manosphere came to be in the first place.

A 2021 study published in the Proceedings of the International AAAI Conference on Web and Social Media explains that its genesis lies in the Men’s Liberation Movement of the 1960s and 1970s.

That movement initially centred on the idea that traditional gender roles could be restrictive for men, creating dialogue around expectation, stoicism, dominance, and emotional restraint. Over time, however, parts of it evolved into something more adversarial, with feminism framed as the source of ‘men’s problems.’

While the internet didn’t necessarily create these beliefs, it accelerated them. The study points to a growing network of forums, blogs, and online communities built around shared grievances about modern masculinity. This was quickly overshadowed by more extreme communities, including incels and Men Going Their Own Way (MGTOW).

Louis Theroux latest documentary, ‘Inside the Manosphere’, explores the rise of right-leaning online communities of men. Photo: Louis Theroux Instagram

Lise Waldek is a Senior Lecturer in the School of International Studies at Macquarie University whose expertise centres on far-right violent extremism.

Waldek explains that while the manosphere’s appeal is complex - often tied to identity, belonging, and frustration with modern masculinity - the language used within these communities can play a role in reinforcing these ideas.

By coining terms that signal insider knowledge, the manosphere both reinforces group identity and draws in new participants who want to be in the know.

One key example of this is the red pill.

Adapted from the 1999 film The Matrix, in the eyes of the manosphere, taking the red pill symbolises awakening to the truth about gender relations and society - one that is deliberately hidden from the mainstream.

“The concept of pilling is effective because it’s part of the conspiratorial nature of these conversations,” explains Waldek.

“Within the far right, there was this kind of sense that there were normies, and then there were the people in the know. And people in the know could take the red pill.”

“While the manosphere is distinct from far-right extremist movements and warrants its own specific understandings and considerations, there are areas where these blur.”

This manifests in different ways across communities. In looksmaxxing spaces, men attempt to ‘beat the system’ by optimising their appearance and social capital. In incel forums, however, the tone often shifts toward nihilism and determinism.

“You essentially make it totally acceptable to be Islamophobic, racist, anti-Semitic, and anti LGBTQI. You destroy democracy from within through the political process itself,” explains Waldek.

“In its most extreme forms, that process becomes tied to violence, which is where the idea of the ‘black pill’ comes in.”

Once someone adopts that worldview, she adds, changing it can become difficult.

“After taking the pill - once you believe you have that knowledge - there’s a sense there’s no going back. That’s not to say that I don't think that once you have taken a black pill you can't change your decision and identity - it's harder but not impossible.”

In the eyes of the manosphere, taking the red pill symbolises awakening to the truth about gender relations and society. Photo: Louis Theroux Instagram

Of course, any discussion of the manosphere must also assess its growing impact on women.

Theroux’s documentary itself has drawn criticism for its portrayal of women, who briefly appear as wives or girlfriends in the orbit of wealthy manfluencers, in subservient roles.

Intentionally or not, Waldek argues these portrayals reinforce a broader pattern - justifying men’s toxic behaviours through childhood experiences, strained maternal relationships, or romantic rejection.

She says this framing means what lies at the core of the manosphere - misogyny - becomes less of the focus.

“Australia has a major problem with domestic violence and structural systemic misogyny,” reflects Waldek.

“I'm not sure that that's solely getting it from the online environment, but maybe the online environment is giving them a slightly more accessible language to talk about that systemic, structural violence that is acceptable, which we have clearly accepted for a really long time.”

This suggests a crisis far bigger than a single online subculture, as the manosphere transforms from a niche part of the internet into a global, social ecosystem - one that shapes identity, politics, and relationships.

Waldek says how young people encounter these spaces during identity-forming life stages is critical.

“Do we want young people forming their identities in these spaces? No, we don't. It doesn't matter whether you're looksmaxxing, red pilling, or watching gory videos.

“These kinds of environments of polarisation and toxicity are not a place where young people should be solely going through identity formation and helping to reinforce those communities. That’s the bottom line here.”

The challenge then becomes not just understanding the manosphere, but how we respond to it. And if Louis Theroux is right, the question is simple: will we confront it, or remain trapped inside?

If you or anyone you know needs support call Lifeline on 131 114, beyondblue on 1800 512 348, or the MensLine Australia (1300 78 99 78). Services such as No to Violence and Movember offer resources for men, as well as for friends, family members, and partners seeking guidance.

Contact: Lise Waldek

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Email: lise.waldek@mq.edu.au

Scientists have discovered mosquitoes can act like tiny “flying wildlife surveyors”, helping researchers detect elusive and endangered animals in Australia’s national parks.

Researchers from Macquarie University and the Department of Climate Change,
Energy, the Environment and Water used DNA found in mosquito blood meals to
identify around 70 species of birds and mammals living in Kakadu National Park,
including several animals that are rarely seen or difficult to monitor.

The technique involves analysing the DNA of animals from female mosquitoes which
have recently fed on. When mosquitoes are trapped, scientists can extract traces of
that DNA to determine which species are present in the area.

Dr Christine Chivas from Macquarie University’s Environmental eDNA and
Biomonitoring Lab said the approach offers a powerful new tool for conservation.

“Monitoring wildlife in Australia is extremely challenging, particularly when you’re
trying to detect threatened or elusive species,” Dr Chivas said. “We need new non-
invasive methods that can detect a wide range of animals without disturbing them.”

Dr Christine Chivas in the field. Picture: Supplied

The research, recently published in the journal Environmental DNA, trialled the
technique in Kakadu during both wet and dry seasons.

From just two nights of mosquito trapping, researchers were able to identify 70
species, including 19 mammal species.

When the results were compared with camera trap surveys, the mosquito method
detected around twice as many mammal species, despite the camera traps operating
for six weeks.

Among the species detected were the threatened ghost bat, the spectacled hare-
wallaby, and the white-throated grasswren, a bird so difficult to monitor that it has only
been recorded once in two decades of surveys in Kakadu.

Founder of Macquarie University’s Environmental eDNA and Biomonitoring Lab Prof.
Anthony Chariton said mosquitoes effectively act as natural biological sampling
devices.

Because mosquitoes digest blood quickly and stay close to their prey, the DNA signal
gives researchers highly precise information about what animals are present in a
specific location. The method also avoids the need to capture animals, which can
cause stress and sometimes injury.

“Think of them as thousands of tiny drones flying around every night collecting
samples for us,” Prof. Chariton said. “This approach allows us to monitor biodiversity
without disturbing wildlife.”

The researchers believe the technique could help improve conservation programs
across Australia, particularly for endangered species that are difficult to find.

“Unless you know where an animal is and where it’s distributed, you can’t protect it,”
Prof. Chariton said. “This gives us a much more efficient way to find out what species
are actually out there.”

A selection of mosquitoes captured in Kakadu. Picture: Supplied

The team is currently working with the NSW Government to use the method to search
for rare mammals and survey biodiversity in remote regions.

They are also exploring its use in conservation areas and wildlife rehabilitation zones.

The researchers say the technique could dramatically reduce the cost and effort
involved in biodiversity monitoring, allowing conservation programs to redirect funding
to habitat protection and invasive species control.

With Australia experiencing some of the highest rates of mammal extinction in the
world, the researchers believe innovative tools like mosquito DNA monitoring could
play an important role in protecting wildlife.

“In Australia we’ve lost a huge number of species during the last few decades,” Dr
Chivas said.

“If we want to protect the remaining species, we need better ways of knowing where
they are and how ecosystems are changing.”

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Until now, the conflict in Iran has been confined to attacks to civilian infrastructure, where the damage is unlikely to affect critical services. Tina Soliman Hunter explains why the bombing of Iran's South Pars gas field has sent shockwaves through global energy markets.

This story was originally published in The Conversation.

Israel’s bombing of Iran’s South Pars gas field has sent shockwaves through global energy markets.

The South Pars gas field is part of the world’s largest gas field, known as North Dome, shared by Iran and Qatar.

Until now, nations on both sides of the conflict have confined their attacks to civilian infrastructure, where the damage is unlikely to affect critical services.

But Israel’s attack on South Pars, and Iran’s retaliatory strike on Qatari gas infrastructure, represents a major escalation in the Middle East conflict.

So why is energy infrastructure being targeted? And how might this affect global energy prices.

The bombing of Iran's gas fields could have huge global repercussions.

Remind me, who’s attacking who?

Israel has been vocal about its campaign to destroy critical infrastructure, such as electricity and water services, as a way to cripple Iran, both economically and militarily.

Earlier this week, Israeli forces bombed the South Pars gas field, a crucial part of Iran’s domestic energy sector. South Pars accounts for about 70% of the country’s total gas production and 90% of its domestic energy use. It’s also a key processing site for Iranian gas exports, which mainly go to Turkey and Iraq.

The bombing of the South Pars gas field is the first time either side of the US-Iran conflict has attacked energy infrastructure used to produce fossil fuels.

Within hours of the South Pars attack, Iran launched a retaliatory missile strike on Qatar’s Ras Laffan Industrial City. Ras Laffan is the world’s largest liquefied natural gas facility, producing about 20% of global supplies. Qatar primarily exports reserves from Ras Laffan to China and Europe.

According to QatarEnergy, the country’s state-owned petroleum company, the damage from Iran’s strike has reduced its processing capacity by about 17% and will potentially cut its revenue by US$20 billion. It will likely take between three and five years for the site to become fully operational again.

In the days since, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has apparently agreed not to attack any more Iranian energy infrastructure, at the request of US President Donald Trump. In a social media post, the president suggested he did not know Israel was planning to target Iranian gas infrastructure.

How will these attacks affect global energy markets?

On a regional level, the South Pars and Ras Laffan attacks have escalated already heightened tensions in the Gulf region. And it’s likely to trigger further retaliatory strikes on key energy infrastructure.

Of particular concern is Saudi Arabia’s 1,200-kilometre Yanbu oil pipeline and Abu Dhabi’s Habshan–Fujairah pipeline. Both pipelines bypass the Strait of Hormuz, allowing countries to keep exporting oil even when this crucial shipping route is closed or disrupted. But as regional tensions rise, it is unlikely the Strait of Hormuz will be opened any time soon.

The prolonged closure of the Strait of Hormuz is affecting economies around the world. The closure has already cut an estimated 20% of global oil supplies, and this is reflected in surging oil prices. At the time of publication, the price of brent crude oil has surpassed US$106 a barrel.

This 20% drop in global oil supplies, coupled now with the 17% loss of Qatari liquified natural gas exports, is driving this surge in oil prices. But perceived oil and gas shortages are also contributing. And the threat of further attacks on energy infrastructure will only reinforce this perception.

These strikes will not only impact fuel prices. The International Monetary Fund has already warned if oil prices remain elevated for more than a year, this will boost global inflation and slow economic growth. This would also raise the price of crucial commodities such as food and fertiliser.

What does this mean for Australian fuel prices?

When it comes to gas, the recent strikes on Middle East energy infrastructure may have little effect on Australia. This is because we produce the vast majority of the gas we consume.

However, oil is a different story. Here in Australia, we import almost all our oil. So surging oil prices, exacerbated by Israel and Iran’s latest attacks, will likely increase the cost of almost every commodity.

Australian farmers are already bearing the brunt of fertiliser shortages, with many struggling to sow or harvest their crops. And many people, in Australia and around the world, are facing higher fuel, food, energy, and transport costs.

This raises the broader, but no less urgent, question of whether Australia has enough liquid fuel to survive such crises. Over the past decade, refinery closures, poor oil production and the transfer of our strategic oil reserve to the US have weakened our liquid fuel security.

We currently have enough liquid fuel, which includes petrol, diesel, and aviation fuel, to last just over a month. This may be adequate in peacetime. But that’s unlikely to be the case in times of disruption or, as we are now experiencing, war.

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Engineers and scientists working to answer humanity’s biggest questions have a new home on the Macquarie campus.

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