Author: MIL-OSI Publisher

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Melanie Prentice, Research Associate, University of British Columbia

In 2013, a mysterious epidemic swept across the Pacific Coast of North America, rapidly turning billions of sea stars from Mexico to Alaska into goo.

Its name, sea star wasting disease (SSWD), describes what you might have seen if you wandered the shores of the Pacific Northwest at that time: contorted sea star bodies and fragmented arms littered the sea floor, as the tissues of sea stars melted away within a matter of days.

In the more than 10 years that has followed, SSWD has been described as the largest epidemic ever recorded in a wild marine species, and one of the 10 greatest unsolved ocean mysteries. Attempts to identify the pathogen responsible have turned up more questions than answers, until now.

We have recently published the findings of our five-year research project into the cause of SSWD.

Our team included multi-national and multi-disciplinary researchers from academic, government and non-profit institutions, a collaboration that was critical for the success of this work.

Together, we conducted laboratory experiments and analyzed data from wild outbreaks of SSWD to identify the pathogen responsible: a novel strain of the bacterium Vibrio pectenicida.

The significance of sea stars

Aside from the devastating loss of these charismatic rocky-shore inhabitants, the implications of this epidemic reverberate throughout the ecosystems sea stars inhabit.

More than two dozen species appear to be afflicted by SSWD, which vary in their susceptibility to the disease. Most susceptible is the sunflower sea star, a voracious marine predator and the largest species of sea star. They can grow to the size of a bicycle tire and have as many as 24 arms.

Almost six billion sunflower sea stars have been lost to SSWD, placing them on the critically endangered species list. With them, the kelp forest ecosystems they help to regulate have disappeared.

Sunflower sea stars keep kelp forests thriving by preying on sea urchins. With the rapid disappearance of these predators, unchecked urchin populations increased rapidly, mowing down kelp forests and replacing these lush, biodiverse ecosystems with urchin barrens.

The loss of kelp has had knock-on effects for the numerous species that rely on it for food and habitat. Alongside this staggering loss of biodiversity, millions of dollars from fishing and tourism are lost to impacted communities.

Although harder to quantify, the ecosystem services of kelp forests are also impacted, including water filtration which improves water quality, sediment stabilization that protects coastlines from erosion and storms, and carbon capture that helps mitigate the effects of climate change.

Recovery of kelp forests, and the species reliant upon them, requires a deeper understanding of SSWD and the sea stars devastated by it. The first step in our research was to identify the culprit responsible, however, the task proved more difficult than we initially anticipated.

A pathogen is revealed

Among the many possible pathogens suspected of causing the SSWD epidemic, it is unsurprising that the culprit turned out to be in the Vibrio species group.

From multiple diseases in corals to cholera in humans, the abundance of harmful Vibrio species in our oceans is on the rise with climate change as these bacteria favour warmer waters.

However, narrowing in on the specific culprit was not an easy undertaking. Vibrio pectenicida has some unusual characteristics not observed in other Vibrio species, allowing it to evade detection for more than a decade.

This was originally considered a risky and potentially unanswerable question. However, years of laboratory experiments and field sampling recently culminated in successful mortality-inducing experiments using a pure culture isolated by Amy Chan, a research scientist at the University of British Columbia, of the novel Vibrio pectenicida strain.

Named FHCF-3, it stands apart from previously identified strains (different genetic variants) by less than three per cent of its genome. Such strains have been isolated from diseased scallop larvae in France, crabs in the United Kingdom and, most recently, geoduck larvae from the Pacific Northwest.

Whether or not these strains can cause SSWD remains to be answered, but the potential implications are clear; with a large host range, broad geographic distribution, and propensity for warm seawater temperatures anticipated with advancing climate change, this pathogen is one to watch.

No time to waste

Like removing a blindfold, the identification of the pathogen causing SSWD unveils new opportunities for research and management of the species and ecosystems affected.

First on the list is developing a diagnostic test that can detect the genetic sequence of the pathogen. This would allow researchers to test sea star or seawater samples for its presence.

Much like the COVID-19 test eased humanity out of lockdowns, this test will help inform marine management by helping diagnose healthy versus sick sea stars, and identifying locations best suited for reintroduction efforts.

Another target of future research is to identify resilient sea stars (those that can either prevent infection entirely or fight it off once it takes hold) for conservation breeding.

Resilient individuals, particularly of highly vulnerable species like sunflower sea stars, will be vital for recovery efforts in a warming ocean where Vibrio pectenicida is already widespread.

Despite the odds, the identification of the SSWD pathogen provides a new hopeful vision for our oceans and their inhabitants; one where disease-resilient sunflower sea stars once again roam the sea floor among thriving kelp forests replete with vibrant marine life.

Melanie Prentice receives funding from The Tula Foundation and The Nature Conservancy of California.

Alyssa-Lois Gehman receives funding from the Tula Foundation and The Nature Conservancy. She is affiliated with the Hakai Institute

Drew Harvell receives funding from The Nature Conservancy.

Grace Crandall receives funding from The Nature Conservancy.

– ref. The bacteria killing sea stars in the Pacific: How our team uncovered a decade-long mystery – https://theconversation.com/the-bacteria-killing-sea-stars-in-the-pacific-how-our-team-uncovered-a-decade-long-mystery-259875

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Hamza Tariq, PhD Student, Cognitive Psychology, University of Waterloo

New inventions — like the printing press, magnetic compasses, steam engines, calculators and the internet — can create radical shifts in our everyday lives. Many of these new technologies were met with some degree of skepticism by those who lived through the transition.

Over the past 30 years alone, we’ve seen our relationship with the internet transform dramatically — it’s fundamentally changed how we search for, remember and learn information; how we evaluate and trust information; and, more recently, how we encounter and interact with artificial intelligence.

---

Read more:
AI can be responsibly integrated into classrooms by answering the ‘why’ and ‘when’

---

As new technologies and ways of doing things emerge, we fixate on their flaws and errors, and judge them more harshly than what we’re already familiar with. These apprehensions are not unwarranted. Today, important debates continue around accountability, ethics, transparency and fairness in the use of AI.

But how much of our aversion is really about the technology itself, and how much is driven by the discomfort of moving away from the status quo?

Algorithm aversion

As a PhD student in cognitive psychology, I study human judgment and decision-making, with a focus on how we evaluate mistakes, and how context, like the status quo, can shape our biases.

In my research with cognitive psychologists Jonathan A. Fugelsang and Derek J. Koehler, we tested how people evaluate errors made by humans versus algorithms depending on what they saw as the norm.

Despite algorithms’ track record of consistently outperforming humans in several prediction and judgment tasks, people have been hesitant to use algorithms. This mistrust goes back as far as the 1950s, when psychologist Paul Meehl argued that simple statistical models could make more accurate predictions than trained clinicians. Yet the response from experts at the time was far from welcoming. As psychologist Daniel Kahneman would later put it, the reaction was marked by “hostility and disbelief.”

That early resistance continues to echo in more recent research, which shows that when an algorithm makes a mistake, people tend to judge and punish it more harshly than when a human makes the same error. This phenomenon is now called algorithm aversion.

Defining convention

We examined this bias by asking participants to evaluate mistakes made by either a human or by an algorithm. Before seeing the error, we told them which option was considered the conventional one — described as being historically dominant, widely used and typically relied upon in that scenario.

In half the trials, the task was said to be traditionally done by humans. In the other half, we reversed the roles, indicating that the role had traditionally been done by an algorithmic agent.

When humans were framed as the norm, people judged algorithmic errors more harshly. But when algorithms were framed as the norm, people’s evaluations shifted. They were now more forgiving of algorithmic mistakes, and harsher on humans making the same mistakes.

This suggests that people’s reactions may have less to do with algorithms versus humans, and more to do with whether something fits their mental picture of how things are supposed to be done. In other words, we’re more tolerant when the culprit is also the status quo. And we’re tougher on mistakes that come from what feels new or unfamiliar.

Intuition, nuance and skepticism

Yet, explanations for algorithm aversion continue to make intuitive sense. A human decision-maker, for instance, might be able to consider the nuances of real life like an algorithmic system never could.

But is this aversion really just about the non-human limitations of algorithmic technologies? Or is part of the resistance rooted in something broader — something about shifting from one status quo to another?

These questions, viewed through the historic lens of human relationships with past technologies, led us to revisit common assumptions about why people are often skeptical and less forgiving of algorithms.

Signs of that transition are all around us. After all, debates around AI haven’t slowed its adoption. And for a few decades now, algorithmic tech has already been helping us navigate traffic, find dates, detect fraud, recommend music and movies, and even help diagnose illnesses.

And while many studies document algorithm aversion, recent ones also show algorithm appreciation — where people actually prefer or defer to algorithmic advice in a variety of different situations.

We’re increasingly leaning on algorithms, especially when they’re faster, easier and appear just as (or more) reliable. As that reliance grows, a shift in how we view technologies like AI — and their errors — seems inevitable.

This shift from outright aversion to increasing tolerance suggests that how we judge mistakes may have less to do with who makes them and more to do with what we’re accustomed to.

Hamza Tariq has received funding from the Natural Sciences and Engineering Council (NSERC) of Canada.

– ref. As the status quo shifts, we’re becoming more forgiving when algorithms mess up – https://theconversation.com/as-the-status-quo-shifts-were-becoming-more-forgiving-when-algorithms-mess-up-261166

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Tamara de Szegheo Lang, Adjunct Assistant Professor, Department of Film and Media, Queen’s University, Ontario

“If coming out of the closet was really as much fun as it is for the sexually adventurous youths in Better Than Chocolate, then everybody would be doing it, even straight people.”

So wrote film critic Bruce Kirkland in his 1999 review of the lesbian romantic comedy by Canadian filmmaker Anne Wheeler.

Kirkland pointed out that real life for queer and trans community members was “tougher, harsher and nastier” than portrayed in the 90-minute romp, but also wrote: “To hell with reality, at least for an hour-and-a-half. This movie is a little treasure and offers a lot of pleasure.”

The endearing rom-com won audience choice awards at a number of gay and lesbian film festivals, including in its hometown of Vancouver.

Today, more than a quarter century later, with hate crimes against queer and trans people on the rise and legal protections, especially in the United States, being threatened or ripped away, the film’s lens on romance — and the joy, safety and complications of being in community — may resonate with contemporary viewers and offer a brief reprieve from the heaviness of the political fight.

Like many Canadian lesbian-driven films from the 1990s, it also serves as an example of filmmakers working in queer communities to highlight once-censored voices, and reflects the sheer ingenuity and creative force of community collaboration in this moment — something that has been underrepresented in broader histories of queer and Canadian national cinema.

Whirlwind romance

In Better Than Chocolate, bookstore employee Maggie (Karyn Dwyer) and nomadic artist Kim (Christina Cox) start a whirlwind romance, moving in together within a matter of hours (echoing the classic U-Haul lesbian stereotype).

Their love story is complicated by the arrival of Maggie’s mother Lila (Wendy Crewson), a judgmental woman fresh off a divorce who doesn’t know her daughter is a lesbian. Comedic chaos ensues as the two young lovebirds navigate romantic, familial and community conflicts, all of which are neatly wrapped up by the end.

Though Better Than Chocolate may ultimately be a feel-good comedy, the film captures a community under attack from outside and within.

Skinheads harass Maggie and Kim, culminating in violence. Judy (Peter Outerbridge) is accosted for being transgender and is consistently misgendered by other lesbians.

The Canadian Border Services Agency purposefully targets neurotic bookstore owner, Frances (played by actor, author, playwright and Canadian lesbian icon Ann-Marie Macdonald), for selling queer literature.

Lesbian-centred 90s film

Better Than Chocolate is only one in a wave of lesbian-centred 90s films made in Canada. In this decade, creatives produced at least 12 narrative feature-length lesbian-centred films, several documentaries and over 400 short films.

Some echo Better Than Chocolate’s romantic tone, but the wave includes a diversity of genres – including erotic thrillers, family dramas and experimental dreamscapes.

Some of these films are well-recognized in the Canadian film canon, including Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1996) and Patricia Rozema’s When Night is Falling (1995), while others have been largely forgotten and prove hard to access today, like Patricia Rivera Spencer’s Dreamers of the Day (1990) and Jeanne Crépeau’s Revoir Julie (1998).

Ecosystem behind lesbian Canadian film

Canadian economic, social and artistic contexts offered a vital creative ecosystem that facilitated such a vibrant era of lesbian-driven cinema.

Feminist filmmaking collectives in the 1970s — like Women in Focus (Vancouver), intervisions/ARC (Toronto) and Reel Life (Halifax) — alongside the launch of Studio D at the National Film Board of Canada in 1974 — provided dedicated space for training talent and for producing films about women’s issues.

Wheeler came up through Studio D, co-directing the studio’s first film in 1975.

Canadian artists also had access to several funding sources, including federal, provincial and local arts councils. Beginning in the late 80s, such funding sources were soliciting more diverse content, a result of community activism driven by marginalized artists.

Importantly, a growing network of queer film festivals aided the development of an invested audience willing to pay to watch queer stories.

From 1985 to 2000, at least 11 annual queer festivals were founded in Canada, including Reel Pride (Winnipeg, 1985); Out on Screen (Vancouver, 1988); image+nation (Montréal, 1989); London Lesbian Film Festival (London, 1991); and Inside Out (Toronto, 1991).

With increasing venues to screen queer work and growing audiences came the demand for more films.

A Vancouver lesbian story

Alongside the broader Canadian context, local contexts also encouraged more filmmakers to tell lesbian stories.

Wheeler had long been committed to making films about lesser-represented Western Canada. While most of her films were set in Alberta, Better Than Chocolate moved her focus to Vancouver and its local queer politics.

The dramatic subplot between bookstore owner Frances and the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) is a clear reference to the then-ongoing Supreme Court of Canada case involving Little Sister’s Book and Art Emporium in Vancouver.

Little Sister’s, a queer bookstore, had been targeted for years by the CBSA, which would delay shipments while confiscating and sometimes damaging materials that it considered obscene.

The film publicized the homophobia of the CBSA, with Frances comedically demanding to know why books such as Little Red Riding Hood had been confiscated.

As we discovered in our archival research, Janine Fuller, the manager of Little Sister’s, provided feedback on an early draft of the screenplay. A flyer from the film’s production company was also used to raise the visibility of the court case.

Local community ties

The film’s community ties extended further. As noted in archival documents and the film’s press package, Canadian trans activist and performance artist Star Maris inspired the filmmakers when crafting the character of Judy. Her song, “I’m Not a Fucking Drag Queen,” was solicited for use within the film.

Vancouver’s lesbian community was invited to participate as extras in a bar scene, with an advertisement stating, “This is an excellent opportunity to meet new friends, party with old ones, have much fun being in a movie.”

Finally, as Anne Wheeler told Eye Weekly in 1999: “Right from the development phase on, we had a group of 12 young lesbian women whom we consulted with and they told us very specifically what they did and didn’t want to see. … So we set out very intentionally to break the mould and dispose of the old perceptions about gay women.”

In returning to Better Than Chocolate and other films, queer audiences may find entertaining gems, but may also be reminded of the power of survival of queer communities.

Better Than Chocolate is now available on CTV. Don’t stop there! In addition to films named above, check out these other Canadian lesbian-centred 90s feature films.

Tokyo Cowboy (1994)

Skin Deep (1994)

Devotion (1995)

Cat Swallows Parakeet and Speaks (1996)

High Art (1998)

2 Seconds (1998)

Emporte-Moi (1999)

Tamara de Szegheo Lang receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC)
for the project “Bodies on Fire: Rekindling Canada’s Decade of Lesbian-Driven Filmmaking.”

Dan Vena receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC) for the project “Bodies on Fire: Rekindling Canada’s Decade of Lesbian-Driven Filmmaking.”

– ref. ‘Better Than Chocolate’ highlights lost 90s decade of lesbian Canadian cinema – https://theconversation.com/better-than-chocolate-highlights-lost-90s-decade-of-lesbian-canadian-cinema-259494

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Billie Anderson, Ph.D. Candidate, Media Studies, Western University

This story contains spoilers about ‘Eddington,’ ‘Midsommar’ and ‘Hereditary.’

Ari Aster’s new film Eddington is a political satire set in a small American town, where a feud between Sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix) and Mayor Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal) begins with disagreement over pandemic policy, but quickly escalates into a chaotic, paranoid power struggle. What starts as a clash of ego spirals into increasingly violent and absurd confrontations.

In the film’s closing minutes, Joe is abruptly stabbed in the head by someone described as “anti-fascist terrorist” after an extended shootout. He survives, and the next time we see him he’s a quadriplegic wheelchair user and non-verbal.

By the end, Joe has been appointed mayor, either by default or out of public pity. The last shot leaves him as the town’s figurehead alongside a giant AI data centre in the desert: a monument to the forces that now shape human life, governance and identity.

It’s brutal, cynical, mean-spirited and a tad esoteric. But Aster seems to be offering a scathing portrait of American politics and the men like Joe who populate it: stubborn, self-righteous, vaguely libertarian; men clinging to authority, even as the world moves on without them.

There’s irony in the film’s portrayal of anarchic protesters, live-streamers and the failed machismo of Joe’s character arc. But when the laughter of the climax fades, what remains is something all too familiar: disability as the poetic consequence of bad behaviour. Not as an ongoing human experience, but as karmic spectacle.

Disability as consequence, not condition

Joe’s fate follows a centuries-old narrative pattern in which disability is framed as punishment, poetic justice or moral revelation. From medieval Christian theology to contemporary satire, bodily difference has long been used to symbolize inner failing. Impairment stands in for sin, ego, corruption or spiritual deficiency.

Enlightenment rationalism and eugenics-era pseudoscience cemented this association, casting disabled bodies as physically manifest proof of social and moral inferiority.

Cinema inherited these tropes, and still leans on them. As disability studies scholars David Mitchell and Sharon Snyder argue, disability is often introduced not to explore a character’s complexity, but to serve as a metaphorical crutch or shortcut to meaning.

The disabled body often appears when something needs to be revealed, resolved or punished. In Eddington, Joe’s fate is exactly that.

Disability arrives not as an opening to new experience but as closure: a visual and symbolic transformation from dangerous man to inner object. Joe is no longer speaking, acting or choosing.

The film seems to punish him, not for a single action, but for what he represents: a particular kind of white male authority figure that is combative, self-righteous and increasingly out of touch.

While Joe does oppose the mayor’s early pandemic policies, including mask mandates, his real “crime” in the film is his stubbornness and inflated self-control. He doubles down on personal power, even as systems collapse around him. His disability, then, functions as justice: a final, ironic version of the control he fought so hard to maintain.

He has become a site for meaning-making — a silent figure whose stillness now says everything about the futility of power, the absurdity of authority, the fall of the American sheriff, the political centrist.

Familiar patterns in Aster’s work

Ari Aster’s earlier films follow similar patterns. In Hereditary (2018) Charlie’s facial difference and neurodivergence signal otherness and fragility; her death becomes the hinge on which the horror turns.

In Midsommar (2019), Ruben, a disabled oracle, is portrayed as both holy and someone without personal agency: a vessel for prophecy rather than a fully developed character.

Across Aster’s filmography, disability tends to show up not as life, but as a symbol; as curse, as mysticism, as moral sign. Eddington takes that formula and strips it down even further: Joe becomes disabled at the moment the movie decides he’s no longer needed. It’s efficient, final and familiar.

Disability as visual rhetoric

As disability studies scholar Rosemarie Garland-Thomson writes, disabled bodies are often positioned as visual rhetoric. They are something to be interpreted, not inhabited.

Joe’s silence and stillness as a result of him becoming disabled don’t invite audiences to understand his experience; they invite us to read him, as if his body were a sentence the director had written.

We do see a glimpse of care: Joe appears to be tended to by a man who is now also his mother-in-law’s partner. But even this is played for laughs.

There’s no reckoning with long-term adaptation, no real engagement with the material realities of disability. The body remains an object, not a subject, and once it serves a rhetorical function, the camera moves on.

The real pandemic disabled millions

The symbolic use of disability hits differently given the film’s setting. Eddington is a pandemic movie — a chaotic satire of COVID-era paranoia, misinformation and isolation.

But COVID-19 hasn’t just destabilized governments, upended social norms and exacerbated online political turmoil — it has disabled people.

Millions globally now live with long COVID, facing chronic pain, fatigue, cognitive impairment and dramatic changes to their work, social lives and health-care access.

---

Read more:
People with long COVID continue to experience medical gaslighting more than 3 years into the pandemic

---

The pandemic is a mass disabling event, not a metaphor. And yet, Eddington engages with disability only as a punchline. It becomes an ironic punishment for a man too arrogant to admit his limits. The joke lands harder when it treats disability as poetic justice instead of ongoing reality.

Toward fuller representation

Disability studies invites us to consider disability not as a narrative end point, but as a relational and continuous experience shaped by care networks, access barriers, evolving identities and collective adaptation.

What if Eddington had stayed with Joe after his injury? What if it explored his new position not through silence or shame, but through the messy human realities of interdependence?

What if the satire had gone further, asking not just what happens to a sheriff when he’s taken down, but what happens to power when it must rely on care? What if Joe had died and his mother-in-law had become mayor as a serious disruption of legacy politics?

Absurdism and dark comedy about the body aren’t the problem. But the symbolic shorthand of disability as justice carries weight, especially when disabled people continue to be marginalized, disbelieved and erased in the very real world that Eddington pretends to parody.

A sharper satire would engage with disability as part of the social fabric that challenges the audience to reckon with embodiment, dependence and mutual obligation. It could surprise audiences by refusing the easy exit of moral symbolism. It could be more rewarding, radical — and frankly, more intellectual — than another joke equating impairment with comeuppance.

The portrayal of disability in Eddington is not malicious, but it is predictable. It continues a long tradition of using disability to signal judgement, irony or narrative finality.

But real life doesn’t offer such clean punctuation. Disability is not the end of a story, but the start of a more complex, embodied and political one. Until cinema catches up, satires like Eddington will continue to undermine what they claim to critique.

Billie Anderson 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. Eddington ends with a dark joke about disability – but its punchline is centuries old – https://theconversation.com/eddington-ends-with-a-dark-joke-about-disability-but-its-punchline-is-centuries-old-262780