MIL Submissions Engine

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Hilary Moss, Professor of Music Therapy, University of Limerick

A violinist plays in a cancer ward. A playlist loops in the waiting room. A surgeon hums along to the radio mid-operation. We assume, almost without thinking, that music helps. But what if it doesn’t – or worse, what if it harms?

Music has been used since the beginning of time, in every culture, as a positive part of social and ceremonial events, including eating, hunting, courtship, weddings, funerals, coronations, sports and social celebrations. But music has also been used as a weapon of war, to torture, humiliate and disorientate people.

Music was used as a form of torture in Guantanamo Bay after 9/11 and by the Nazis, who forced musical prisoners to entertain their captors while they starved and awaited death. It’s a jarring thought that the same force that moves us to tears at a concert can be weaponised to break people.

Similarly, in hospitals and clinics, music is generally seen as a low-risk and harmless way to reduce anxiety in waiting rooms, as background support for staff in the operating theatre and as a stimulation to exercise in rehabilitation. It is rare to recognise music as a double-edged sword.

Music therapists are healthcare professionals, trained to use music as a clinical tool rather than simply a pleasant distraction. They work across a wide range of settings – in hospitals, hospices, mental health units, care homes, specialist schools and community clinics – and their work is grounded in evidence, not instinct. They are experts in using music to improve health and wellbeing, attuned to whether music might cause harm or support wellbeing, yet the research in this field rarely focuses on whether music might sometimes do more harm than good.

In practice, music therapists do remarkable work. They help people with dementia to communicate and connect when words have failed them. They support children with brain injuries to develop speech. They help stroke survivors regain physical movement. Music is also used to help people work through complex trauma. These are serious, skilled interventions – not background noise.

The wrong note

But music can cause real harm too, and we don’t talk about this nearly enough.

Think about what happens when music is imposed on people who haven’t asked for it. Premature babies and patients with disorders of consciousness are particularly sensitive to sensory overload. Blasting music at them isn’t soothing, it’s stressful.

Residents in care homes are routinely subjected to music they didn’t choose, played at times that suit the staff rather than the people living there. Well-meaning volunteers turn up to hospital wards with guitars and ukuleles, and nobody asks whether the patients actually want a performance. Good intentions don’t cancel out a bad outcome.

Doctors and managers in hospitals and care homes are reaching for music as an easy, feel-good intervention without asking hard questions about whether it’s appropriate. Music can connect people and bring joy, but it can also exclude, irritate, distress and disorient. The same qualities that make it powerful make it problematic when used carelessly.

The principle should be simple: music should always be chosen by the person listening to it, never imposed on them. It should be thoughtfully selected and of decent quality. A study found that more than half of patients on an older people’s ward had no say over what was on the radio or television. That’s not music as therapy – it’s just noise.

This doesn’t mean music shouldn’t be used in hospitals and care homes. Used well, it can reduce pain, lift mood, aid recovery and help people feel less alone. “Used well” means assessing whether a patient actually wants music. It means choosing the right music for the right person at the right moment. It means training staff to understand when music helps and when it doesn’t. And it means being honest that a cheerful playlist isn’t a neutral act, it’s an intervention. And like any intervention, it can go wrong. It’s about qualified music therapists working with music to improve patient wellbeing.

Family visitors can create meaningful playlists to leave with the patient, and listening to music together is possible when other shared activities are difficult. But always ask first, and remember that silence can be just as valuable as any playlist. As the American entertainer Will Rogers said: “Never miss a good chance to shut up.”

Hilary Moss does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. The dark side of music as ‘therapy’ – https://theconversation.com/the-dark-side-of-music-as-therapy-278919

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Marlé Hammond, Reader in Arabic Popular Literature and Culture, SOAS, University of London

“I am a king of angels, from beginning to end. Arrani you’ll soon be crying out, weeping endless tears,” sings Akram Qawar in Arabic while gesticulating at his opponent. Muhammad al-Arrani sings back: “What are you mumbling about? No one understands your verse, did you just come here to make a fool of yourself in the arena?”

“Who’s [sic] uncles are out here doing battle raps,” one fan exclaims in the caption on a video in which he dances along to the sound of a similar exchange to the one above. If you’ve seen these videos of predominantly middle-aged men insulting each other poetically in Arabic you too may have likened them to modern day rap battles. What they actually are is a centuries-old genre of Arabic sung poetry called zajal.

In its general sense, zajal refers to poetry composed in any of a number of colloquial Arabic dialects. Much more specifically, it refers to a kind of musical poetic performance, often involving verbal duels, which is especially popular in Lebanon, Palestine, Syria and Jordan.

No one’s 20s and 30s look the same. You might be saving for a mortgage or just struggling to pay rent. You could be swiping dating apps, or trying to understand childcare. No matter your current challenges, our Quarter Life series has articles to share in the group chat, or just to remind you that you’re not alone.

Read more from Quarter Life:

• Burned out by smartphones, young people are choosing flip phones, cameras and MP3 players instead

• Pimple patches have hidden our blemishes for hundreds of years – historian explains

• Five tips for becoming a cinephile in the age of streaming algorithms

Zajal dates back to 12th-century Islamic Iberia, where it emerged as an alternative to the standard Arabic poetic tradition. Zajal poems differed from that tradition not only in language – the Andalusian dialect of Arabic was used – but also in form. These poems had complex rhyme schemes, unlike the monorhyme that characterised high poetry of the time. And, they were composed to be sung.

Zajal’s most celebrated early practitioner was Ibn Quzman (1078 to 1160), a Cordoban who travelled from court to court seeking favour with his songs of praise, wine and love, which often had a rebellious twist. In one poem, for example, he celebrates the end of Ramadan as a return to illicit behaviour:

Hurrah, drunkards, for the sake of the Prophet, gang!
This is the time when the month of fasting ends!

From Spain, zajal soon spread to North Africa and the Middle East. According to an article by scholar of Arabic Adnan Haydar, there is a theory that, in the particular case of Lebanon, zajal poetry has its roots in the Maronite church. This is a church centred in Lebanon that is part of the Roman Catholic Church but with a distinct Antiochan/west Syrian liturgical tradition.

It’s believed that in late 13th century the Maronite church fathers started translating Syriac hymns into the local Arabic dialect. These zajal hymns were recorded in manuscripts from the 15th until the late 17th century, when zajal became an integral part of Lebanese folk culture.

A famous proponent and composer of zajal in the modern era was Rachid Nakhlé (1873 to 1939). Dubbed the Prince of Zajal, Nakhlé’s vernacular poetry is said to have influenced Lebanon’s Romantic and Symbolist poets.

Haydar describes the occasions for zajal performances as village gatherings, from weddings to saint days to functions in private homes. The best zajal performers from certain districts would sometimes meet for competitions where each would try to outperform the other in improvised verbal artistry. In its heyday in the mid-20th century, zajal performers would team up in bands and have competitions between two rival groups, sometimes before audiences in the tens of thousands.

The verbal sparring involves boasting about their capabilities and putting down their rivals and opponents. Martial imagery is common, but it is poetic supremacy that the zajal performers seek.

Haydar relates a famous exchange between zajal poets Jiryis Bustani and Tali Hamdan that took place in a concert at a monastery in Beit Meri, Lebanon in 1971. In the first stanza, Bustani compares his poetic prowess to slaughter, threatening to scatter heads, and asserting that the “Battle of Beit Miri” will go down in history. In the second stanza Hamdan mocks Bustani’s threats, saying “I shall strangle you and make you a mere echo (sada),” before asserting that he will beat Bustani in every battle, that of Beit Miri being no exception.

Bustani returns in the third stanza, picking up on Hamdan’s “echo”, saying that the registers of history will mention the “echoes of my cannonballs”. A common strategy is to repeat words and phrases at the heart of the competitor’s put-downs and to reframe them as a strength.

An excerpt from a 1968 concert underscores the extent to which wordplay guides the performers. Zajal poet Zein Sheib begins the exchange by waxing poetic about the free soldier who has his own mind. He speaks of piety, on land and in the air, and a quail flying off, as he negotiates the waves of a tumultuous sea. What makes his words cohere is not so much meaning as sound. He is continuously rhyming on the letter “r”, rolled and doubled, using words such as “farr” (escape) and “jarr” (drag). He’s showing off his ability to place these words in grammatically correct, if somewhat frivolous, sentences. Next comes Edouard Harb. He does the same with the letter “m”, continuing with the sea imagery.

Then Tali Hamdan sings of swords and rhymes intensively on the letter “l”. Zaghloul el Damour (aka Joseph al-Hashem) finishes things off decisively as he rhymes on the letter “d”. First, he boasts about himself, saying that although his horse has fallen he has managed to send his rival retreating, and then he taunts each of his three competitors: Zein got worked up, earnestly and in jest; Harb ranks in the minor league, and Hamdan thinks highly of himself but is no taller than a legless table. The insults are slung light-heartedly, and all present – performers and audience members alike – revel in their wit.

Zajal experienced a decline during the Lebanese Civil War (1975 to 1990) but has seen a revival in the decades since. For instance, in the 2010s the zajal competitions in the TV show Owf attracted competitors from throughout the region. Meanwhile, highlights from Lebanese zajal performances in the 1960s and 70s are being sampled in remixes and mashups on YouTube, TikTok and Instagram. Palestinian artists engage in a similar tradition, which is also trending.

So, if a friend shares a video of uncles “doing battle raps” you can tell them what they’re actually doing, which is engaging in the storied poetic tradition of zajal.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Zajal – this form of Arabic poetic duelling has broken onto TikTok – https://theconversation.com/zajal-this-form-of-arabic-poetic-duelling-has-broken-onto-tiktok-279630

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Violet Broadhead, Research associate, University of Bristol

Charity shops are generally seen as a responsible way to get rid of unwanted belongings. In theory, donating items allows them to be reused and raises money for important causes. However, many charity shops struggle to make use of the donations they receive.

The UK has more charity shops per person than any other country, handling hundreds of thousands of tonnes of used clothing every year in addition to a wide range of other household items.

When goods are donated to charity shops, they are either sold to local customers to be reused or purchased by commercial companies and traded through complex international markets.

An estimated 70-90% of donated goods follow these routes, with local traders reusing and recycling as much as possible. However, large quantities are also dumped and burned, resulting in environmental damage and waste.

My ongoing research shows the challenges charity shops face in reusing donated goods. Charity shops are the primary outlet for used textiles in the UK: roughly half of all textiles currently collected for reuse and recycling are charity shop donations. This role already puts them under significant pressure, and is likely to become more challenging if rates of production and disposal increase.

My research found that many charity retail staff are very focused on fundraising. Shops have strict financial targets to ensure they are supporting the charitable cause. As one charity retail senior manager put it: “That’s why you exist.”

Charity trustees have a legal duty to act in the best interests of their charity and to manage its resources responsibly, so shops which aren’t profitable can end up being closed.

This can be problematic for the reuse of low-value goods, which offer a limited return on staff labour time and shop floor space. In the words of another interviewee for my research: “We can’t stick everything out with a penny on it, that’s not how it works. We have to prioritise what we’re going to see the biggest return on.”

This issue is intensified by the overwhelming volume of discarded goods. Charity shops in the UK receive an estimated 350,000 tonnes of used clothing every year, in addition to a wide range of other household items, the quantities of which are not well documented.

Sorting and preparing donated goods for sale is time-consuming and labour-intensive. In one shop, a senior manager at a national charity retailer told me: “They get that many donations, and they’re that understaffed – they don’t have the time or the space, so it’s easier and better to just put it in the bin.”

As a result of these challenges, donated goods which are potentially reusable (as well as those which are too worn out for sale) may be landfilled, incinerated or recycled into low-value applications such as mattress stuffing.

This problem is linked to levels of consumption in the UK and other high-income countries. The average number of garments purchased per person globally increased by roughly 60% between 2000 and 2014, with each item being kept for half as long. In 2022, UK shoppers bought 1.42 million tonnes of new textile products, and this figure could reach 2.37 million tonnes by 2030. Much of this clothing is low quality, with little potential for reuse.

International markets for used goods are increasingly over-saturated, and are also vulnerable to geopolitical unrest, so are increasingly constrained in what they will take.

What you can do to help

1) Make sure your donations are clean and in working order. Overstretched charity shop staff may not have time to sew a new button onto a shirt or even clean a piece of crockery. If something you want to get rid of is broken and you don’t know how to mend it, take it to your local repair cafe first.

2) Try to donate seasonally appropriate goods. If you bring jumpers in June, the charity shop has to find somewhere to store them until September.

3) If you have a lot to donate, call your local charity shop first. Check if they have capacity to take it, and don’t be offended if they politely decline or ask you to come back another day.

4) Take items which can’t be reused, such as worn-out socks and stained teatowels, to a recycling point instead of a charity shop.

5) Find specialised outlets that will offer the best chance of an item being reused. For example, consider a baby bank for buggies and cots, or a scrap store for unwanted craft materials.

6) Get involved with groups in your local community who are working to tackle waste, or consider setting up your own.

Violet Broadhead received funding from the Economic and Social Research Council to complete her PhD research.

– ref. Expecting charity shops to recycle your unwanted clothes is creating a rubbish pile – here’s how to help to avoid that – https://theconversation.com/expecting-charity-shops-to-recycle-your-unwanted-clothes-is-creating-a-rubbish-pile-heres-how-to-help-to-avoid-that-278739

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Raisul Islam Sourav, PhD Candidate in Legal Analytics, University of Galway

In just a few years, generative artificial intelligence (gen AI) has brought about significant changes in many industries from healthcare to education, entertainment to finance, and even law.

The use of gen AI in court verdicts poses significant risks to justice. Erroneous outcomes generated from “hallucinated” information, discriminatory decisions and lack of transparency are all concerns when this technology is introduced to courtrooms.

But already a number of judges around the world have used it in decision-making and judgment writing. This is why some jurisdictions, including the UK, have issued guidelines for judges regarding AI use.

Read more:
‘Hallucinated’ cases are affecting lawyers’ careers – they need to be trained to use AI

Broadly, the guidelines suggest judges might use AI as a tool to conduct preparatory works such as drafting summaries of long documents, translating legal documents, identifying legal precedents or enhancing readability of documents. They recommend against the application of it for core judicial functions, including decision-making.

Recently, some senior judicial leaders have opined that AI might be used to decide “low-stakes” or less-complex cases with adequate precautions, such as keeping a human judge in the loop.

In a November 2024 speech, the UK’s second most senior judge, Geoffrey Vos, spoke of a “spectrum” of legal decisions that AI might soon make, or help make.

Vos said the use of AI for “broadly mechanical decisions, like those about the amount of a pension or benefits, or the calculation of personal injury damages and loss of earnings” would likely save money and time. But he called for discussion on whether such use would violate essential human rights.

A year later, Vos again called for “serious debate” about what rights humans should have protected in this context. And he urged that AI be “used responsibly, effectively and safely in legal systems and processes”.

AI has long been discussed as a threat to jobs and livelihoods. But what’s the reality? In this new series, we explore the impact it is already having on different occupations – and how people really feel about their AI assistants.

A number of jurisdictions are testing or using AI in such “mechanical” cases already. Estonia uses a semi-automated small-claims system in civil proceedings for monetary claims up to €7,000 (£6,100), with human clerks overseeing the process.

Frankfurt District Court in Germany has tested an AI system named Frauke to deal with air passenger rights lawsuits. Frauke analyses earlier cases and rulings to create pre-configured draft judgments. Judges assemble final verdicts from these texts following their ruling, significantly reducing the time spent drafting.

Taiwan piloted an AI-powered tool to assist courts by producing ruling notices for Driving Under Influence cases, or aiding and abetting in fraud cases. The AI system generates a complete draft ruling including the facts, legal reasoning, citations and final verdict. The judge reviews this draft and, upon approval, can issue it as the official judgment, with or without modifcations.

It is evident from these examples that the key motivation to replace human judges in a certain category of cases is efficiency. As a result, a few other jurisdictions are also exploring the scope of integrating gen AI to adjudicate certain litigation without human judges.

The cost of using gen AI as judge

Courts are overburdened, and technology like gen AI promises consistency and efficiency. But it would mark a significant change of centuries-old practice. And it risks undermining what some legal scholars argue is a fundamental principle of justice: the right to be judged by a human being.

Court adjudication is not only about reaching a decision. It is about a holistic and fair process that includes the right to be heard – presenting defence, weighing competing narratives, and exercising judgment in light of law and equity.

Algorithmic tools, no matter how advanced, do not hear or “understand” even their own output, let alone human values or changing social contexts. Gen AI cannot recognise suffering, credibility, remorse or vulnerability like a human. That alone makes it unfit to sit in a judge’s seat.

Categorising cases as simple or complex may look pragmatic, but it is both legally and morally dangerous. What counts as a “simple, routine or mechanical” case is itself a human decision. Legal disputes over compensation or benefits may appear straightforward on paper, yet carry significant consequences for the person bringing the case.

Allocating such cases as appropriate for algorithmic adjudication risks creating a two-tier justice system – in which one group of citizens gets to present their case before a human judge, while others are handled by machines. Only the former, I would argue, are exercising their right to a fair hearing and trial before an independent and impartial tribunal, as protected under Article 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights.

Additionally, the efficiency argument may become illusory. Algorithmic systems like gen AI require continuous human oversight, auditing and rectification. Hallucination or mistakes, whether from flawed design or biased training data, can completely negate the claimed benefits.

Public trust matters in all legal systems. If people lose trust in automated decisions, appeals will increase – adding to the existing backlog of cases.

Emerging technology such as gen AI may be suitable to manage court administration and reducing clerical burdens. But substituting human judges, even in supposedly low-stakes cases, undermines basic principles of justice. Efficiency should not come at the expense of the values the justice system exists to protect.

Raisul Islam Sourav does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Why AI shouldn’t be used even to decide ‘simple’ court cases – https://theconversation.com/why-ai-shouldnt-be-used-even-to-decide-simple-court-cases-273535