Author: MIL-OSI Publisher

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Michael Mayowa Farayola, PhD Graduate, School of Computing, Dublin City University

If artificial intelligence (AI) systems shape decisions that affect people’s lives, they should do so fairly. This should be a given considering that potential applications for AI include automated hiring systems, as well as tools used in education, finance and criminal justice.

But ensuring the fairness of AI systems is far more complex than it might sound. Despite years of research, there is still no consensus on what fairness means, how it should be measured, or whether it can ever be fully achieved.

Fairness inherently depends on context. What counts as fair in one domain may be inappropriate or even harmful in another. In criminal justice, fairness may prioritise avoiding disproportionate harm to particular communities. In education, it may focus on equal opportunity and long-term outcomes.

In finance, it often involves balancing access to credit with risk assessment. Because AI systems must be formalised mathematically, researchers translate fairness into technical definitions expressed through metrics that specify how outcomes should be distributed across groups.

These metrics are useful tools, but they are not neutral. Each encodes assumptions about which differences matter and which trade-offs are acceptable.

Problems with the data

A deeper issue lies in the data itself. AI systems learn from historical datasets that reflect past decisions, institutional practices, and social inequalities. When a model is trained to replicate observed outcomes, such as hiring decisions or loan and mortgage approvals, it may reproduce existing injustices under the appearance of objectivity.

Optimising for one notion of fairness often means violating another. This tension is evident in automated loan approval systems. An algorithm may be designed so that applicants with the same predicted probability of default are treated similarly across demographic groups.

Yet one group may still be more likely to be incorrectly denied credit, while another may be more likely to receive loans they later struggle to repay. Fairness in predictive accuracy can therefore conflict with fairness in how financial risk and opportunity are distributed.

These differences often reflect structural inequalities embedded in the data the model is trained on. Groups that have historically faced barriers to credit, due to factors such as discrimination or exclusion from financial systems, may have thinner credit histories or lower recorded incomes.

As a result, models can treat socioeconomic disadvantage as a signal of higher risk, even when it does not reflect an individual’s actual ability to repay.

The same pattern emerges in hiring. If a company historically promoted fewer women into senior roles, a system trained to predict “successful” candidates may learn patterns that favour characteristics more common among men, even if gender is not explicitly included as an input. In both cases, the model does not invent bias, it inherits it.

A fundamental question is whether AI systems mirror the world as it was, or attempt to correct for known injustices.

The idea of fairness is further complicated by how it is assessed. Many assessments examine a single protected attribute, such as gender or race, in isolation. While common, this approach can obscure how discrimination operates in practice.

An automated hiring system might appear fair when comparing men and women overall, and fair when comparing ethnic groups overall, yet it might also consistently disadvantage older women from minority backgrounds.

Complex evaluation

People are defined by several characteristics that intersect, including age, ethnicity, disability, and socioeconomic background. Because these intersectional subgroups are often small and underrepresented in data, the harms they face may remain invisible in standard evaluations.

This invisibility has a direct technical consequence. When a subgroup is small, the model encounters too few examples to learn reliable patterns for that group and instead applies generalisations drawn from the broader categories it has seen more of, which may not reflect that group’s actual characteristics or circumstances.

Errors and biases affecting small subgroups are also less likely to surface in standard performance metrics, which aggregate results across all users and can therefore mask poor outcomes for minorities within minorities. Which means that those most at risk are therefore often the least visible.

These challenges suggest that fairness in AI cannot be reduced to better metrics or more sophisticated algorithms. Fairness is shaped by institutional context, historical legacies, and power relations.

Decisions about what data to collect, which objectives to optimise, and how systems are deployed are influenced by social and organisational factors. Technical fixes are necessary but insufficient. Meaningful approaches must engage with the broader context in which AI systems operate.

This includes involving interested parties beyond engineers and data scientists. People affected by AI systems, often members of marginalised communities, possess contextual knowledge about risks and harms that may not be visible from a purely technical perspective.

Participatory approaches, in which affected groups contribute to the design and governance of AI systems, acknowledge that fairness cannot be defined without considering those who bear the consequences of automated decisions.

Even when interventions appear successful, they may not remain so. Societies change, demographics shift and language evolves. A system that performs acceptably today may produce unfair outcomes tomorrow. In particular, recent advances in large language models, the technology underlying many widely used AI tools, add further complexity.

Unlike traditional systems that make specific predictions, these models generate language based on vast collections of historical text. Such datasets inevitably contain stereotypes and imbalances.

Fairness is therefore not a one-time achievement but an ongoing responsibility requiring monitoring, accountability, and a willingness to revise or withdraw systems when harms emerge.

Together, these challenges suggest that fairness in AI is not a purely technical problem awaiting a finite solution. It is a moving target shaped by social values and historical context.

Rather than asking whether an AI system is fair in the abstract, a more productive question may be: fair according to whom, under what conditions, and with what forms of accountability? How we answer that question will shape not only the systems we build, but the kind of society they help to create.

Michael Mayowa Farayola receives funding from Taighde Éireann Research Ireland grants 13/RC/2094_P2 (Lero) and 13/RC/2106_P2 (ADAPT) and is co-funded under the European Regional Development Fund (ERDF).

– ref. AI doesn’t create bias, it inherits it – how do we ensure fairness when it comes to automated decisions? – https://theconversation.com/ai-doesnt-create-bias-it-inherits-it-how-do-we-ensure-fairness-when-it-comes-to-automated-decisions-280927

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Paul Hough, Lecturer Sport and Exercise Physiology, University of Westminster

While some people can spring out of bed at six in the morning and go straight into their day, others prefer to wake up later as they’re most productive in the afternoon or evening. This difference is due to your chronotype – the biological tendency to prefer certain times of day for sleep, waking and activity.

But these aren’t the only factors affected by your chronotype. A growing body of research also suggests that your chronotype can affect the benefits you see from exercise.

People who naturally rise early and feel sharpest in the morning are “early chronotypes”, whereas those who prefer to wake later and function better in the afternoon or evening are “late chronotypes”. People who fall in between are “intermediate chronotypes”.

Your chronotype is determined by your circadian rhythms – the body’s natural daily cycles that repeat around every 24 hours. Although these are strongly influenced by our environment, they function even without external cues such as daylight and food. These rhythms affect our physiology, behaviour and health.

Our circadian rhythms are controlled by the body’s circadian system, which is made up of tiny biological clocks composed of proteins, which are found in organs and tissues. These clocks rely on genes that help coordinate when different processes happen, such as when we feel alert or sleepy.

The circadian system also influences many other bodily functions, including blood pressure, heart rate, blood sugar regulation and blood vessel function. As these factors are also affected by physical activity, this may explain why aligning your workouts to your natural chronotype can be beneficial.

Some studies support this, suggesting that the time of day people exercise can influence health outcomes – including cardiovascular fitness and reducing the risk of cardiovascular disease, obesity and some cancers.

However, as these were observational studies (which only show associations rather than cause and effect), they can’t definitively prove that the findings were solely caused by the timing of the exercise.

But a recent randomised controlled trial has investigated whether aligning workouts with chronotype could enhance the benefits of exercise. The researchers specifically looked at people who were at risk of cardiovascular disease.

Participants were grouped according to their chronotype, which was measured using a specialist questionnaire. Morning types exercised between 8–11am and evening types exercised between 6-9pm. A third group exercised at the opposite time to their chronotype (morning types in the evening and evening types in the morning).

Participants whose exercise was aligned with their chronotype experienced greater improvements in blood pressure, aerobic fitness, blood glucose, cholesterol and sleep than participants whose training times were misaligned with their chronotype.

But though these improvements show that timing exercise to your chronotype can enhance its health benefits, there are a couple of important nuances.

Even the group that exercised at the supposedly wrong time still experienced health benefits, showing that exercise is beneficial even when it doesn’t align with your chronotype. The study also did not include intermediate chronotypes, who make up around 60% of the adult population. For these people, the timing of exercise may be less important.

Based on the available evidence, exercise timing appears to be a meaningful consideration, particularly for people who are strong morning or evening chronotypes.

Beyond your chronotype

So how do you know your chronotype?

Most people have an intuitive sense of this based on when they naturally prefer to sleep and wake. However, work schedules and care-giving responsibilities often force us into routines that conflict with our chronotype. Over time, this makes it harder to be sure of your chronotype.

For this reason, researchers developed a questionnaire to help you determine your chronotype. The 19 questions include what time you feel you’re at your peak and how easy you find it to wake up in the morning.

Once you have a clearer sense of your chronotype, you can start thinking about when to schedule your training.

However, chronotype isn’t the only factor that can affect training and how you respond to exercise. This is good news for those who may not be able to align workouts with their chronotype.

For instance, body temperature usually peaks in the afternoon regardless of chronotype, which enhances muscle function. This is why strength, speed and coordination tends to be best in the afternoon, making it a prime window for resistance training and technical practice for most people.

Habitual training time can also shift performance over time as the body adapts to the time you regularly train. So even if you’re naturally a night owl, consistent morning training may eventually make you perform better at that time.

Another critical factor to consider when deciding when to workout is sleep.

If you haven’t slept well the night before, research suggests it’s better to exercise earlier in the day, regardless of your chronotype. This is because the drive to sleep, known as “sleep pressure”, builds steadily from the moment you wake up and peaks just before you fall asleep. By evening, growing sleep pressure makes exercise feel harder and can impair your performance.

Exercising late in the evening can also reduce sleep quality, particularly when the session is intense. As a general rule, leave at least a two-hour gap between exercise and bedtime.

There’s no single best time to exercise that works for everyone. While the evidence on the long-term health benefits of matching exercise time to chronotype is growing, some principles apply broadly.

Peak performance varies by chronotype, and matching your workout time to yours may help you train harder and achieve better health benefits. However, any exercise is better than none – regardless of timing.

If you’re a night owl but can only train in the morning, a warm-up is essential. Wear extra clothing and start with 10-15 minutes of light aerobic activity to gradually increase body temperature and increase alertness.

If evenings are your only option, opt for moderate or low-intensity activities (such as yoga or a jog) to avoid disrupting sleep.

Paul Hough 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. Are you exercising at the wrong time? How your body clock can affect your workouts – https://theconversation.com/are-you-exercising-at-the-wrong-time-how-your-body-clock-can-affect-your-workouts-282297

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Vinicius de Carvalho, Director, King’s Brazil Institute and Senior Lecturer for Brazilian Studies, King’s College London

This year’s International Booker Prize shortlist presents a diverse and intriguing array of books that all demonstrate the highly creative imagination and inventiveness of their authors – and translators, of course.

Readers are invited to immerse themselves in six richly told tales from Bulgaria to Brazil and several points in between. Across these novels, we meet the unreliable narrator of a meta-fiction, a failed modern witch, a family of Iranian émigrés, a filmmaker compromised by the Nazis, a brutal prison warden, and a gender-traversing figure who seeks to save their own skin by shapeshifting.

Booker panel chair Natasha Brown has great praise for the shortlist, saying: “With narratives that capture moments from across the past century, these books reverberate with history. While there’s heartbreak, brutality and isolation among these stories, their lasting effect is energising.”

Here, our six literary experts guide you through the nominations for 2026.

Taiwan Travelogue by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ, translated by Lin King

Set in 1930s Taiwan under Japanese colonial rule, this exquisitely layered novel follows Japanese writer Aoyama Chizuko and her Taiwanese interpreter Ông Tshian-ho’h through a culinary and emotional landscape seeded with deliberate breadcrumbs: details that only reveal their full significance upon return visits to the book.

Taiwan Travelogue’s meta-fictional architecture is quietly audacious. Yang frames the narrative through a fictional author, a fictional translator and their respective silences, making the unreliable narrator not merely a device but a structural argument about whose knowledge counts and whose remains obstructed.

What makes the book genuinely pleasurable, however, is its treatment of intimacy between the two women. The queer undertow is rendered through the minute economies of shared meals and unfinished sentences, through which Yang smuggles the most profound questions about desire, friendship and colonial entitlement into the everyday.

Eva Cheuk Yin Li, lecturer in culture, media and creative industries

She Who Remains by Rene Karabash, translated by Izidora Angel

She Who Remains feverishly journeys through a centuries-old transgenerational wound that has reached its boiling point: a final reckoning between silence and testimony, tradition and change, truth and lies, living and dying.

A trans story narrated from an unspeakable place, the novel centres on Bekija, a 33-year-old gender-traversing member of a disappearing Albanian community ruled by the violent laws of the Kanun of Lekë Dukagjini.

In a place where women are a commodity and the only path to freedom is the willingness to kill and die, Bekija absconds their fate of a forced marriage as the last “sworn virgin” under the Kanun, socially transitioning from female to male.

A novel saturated with poetic intensity, captured stunningly by Izidora Angel’s translation, She Who Remains is a dervish dance of a dream. Timelines perpetually split, survival is not a promise, and gender outlaws face the impossible choice to break the cycle of centuries-old violence or perish in a gust of ash.

Boriana Alexandrova, senior lecturer in women’s and gender studies

The Witch by Marie NDiaye, translated by Jordan Stump

The Witch is an ambiguous, puzzling novella about Lucie, a minimally gifted witch. As she passes on her magic to her daughters, readers might expect a story of feminist empowerment. But instead, the family Lucie thought she knew flies away from her, and her own powers fail her when her husband leaves and her parents separate. The Witch tells the story of her response to this disintegration.

The novel shares its name with a famous 1862 French history of the witchcraze by Jules Michelet. But instead of Michelet’s potent witches defying medieval patriarchy, Lucie lives in a drab, modern world of fracture and disenchantment. That makes Ndiaye’s tale more realistic than magical.

If witchcraft is a metaphor for women’s power, then as a daughter, wife and mother, Lucie’s story is one of missed opportunities and pensive struggle. A weird but interesting read.

Marion Gibson, emerita professor of renaissance and magical literatures

On Earth As It Is Beneath by Ana Paula Maia, translated by Padma Viswanathan

In a remote, forgotten Brazilian penal colony built on historical violence, a sadistic warden initiates a monthly fatal hunt of inmates during the prison’s final days.

It’s impossible to read On Earth As It Is Beneath without thinking of Kafka’s In the Penal Colony – not only because of the setting but also the distressing feeling that envelops the reader, almost making them a character in this brutal narrative.

Maia manages to capture the absurdity and violence of a concentration camp environment. The dynamic between calm and horror is particularly crucial. There are few prisoners, watched over by only one guard. However, what makes this prison inescapable is the dehumanisation of everyone – prisoners, the guard, the prison director. One way or another, all are forgotten by society, as if dead.

Without question, this is a novel that reminds us how much dehumanisation happens “on earth as it is beneath”.

Vinicius De Carvalho, reader in Brazilian and Latin American studies

The Nights Are Quiet In Tehran by Shida Bazyar, translated by Ruth Martin

A moving, quietly powerful novel about one family’s experience of revolution, exile, memory and the enduring persistence of hope, The Nights Are Quiet In Tehran begins after the 1979 Iranian revolution and moves across four decades to 2009, and a life rebuilt in Germany.

Four sections are narrated at ten-year intervals in the first person. The novel opens in 1979 with Behzad, the left-leaning activist father in Iran, then moves to Germany through Nahid, the literature-obsessed mother who is the family’s emotional anchor. The third section follows Laleh, the firstborn daughter, on an awakening family visit to Iran in 1999. The fourth centres on 2009, when son Mo is detached from politics until Iran’s Green Movement erupts onto global TV.

This structure gives the book the feeling of a family album: intimate, incomplete and quietly charged with history, the shifting voices allowing each generation to speak from its own wound. Ruth Martin’s translation reads with clarity and gentle elegance, preserving the novel’s shifts in voice and emotional nuance.

Narguess Farzad, senior lecturer in Persian studies

The Director by Daniel Kehlmann, translated by Ross Benjamin

A cleverly constructed historical novel from one of the most acclaimed contemporary German writers, The Director follows W.G. Pabst as he returns to Nazi Germany after an unsuccessful stint in Hollywood. Once a doyen of Weimar cinema, he is now expected to make films bolstering the nation’s wartime morale.

The German title, Lichtspiel, is an early term for the medium of film – literally, “play of light”. What wilful illusions did the likes of Pabst conjure up to persuade themselves that their art could and should continue under Nazism? Daniel Kehlmann searches for an answer in characteristic gripping narrative style, here with an added cinematic flair.

Ross Benjamin’s translation masterfully differentiates between the novel’s many voices, including Pabst’s wife, son and assistant, whose confused, half-repressed memories of work on his final wartime film frame the novel.

Karolina Watroba, lecturer in German studies

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This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org; if you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

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Boriana Alexandrova receives funding from UKRI and Horizon Europe.

Eva Cheuk-Yin Li, Karolina Watroba, Marion Gibson, Narguess Farzad, and Vinicius de Carvalho 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. International Booker Prize 2026: heartbreak, brutality, shapeshifting – six experts review the nominees – https://theconversation.com/international-booker-prize-2026-heartbreak-brutality-shapeshifting-six-experts-review-the-nominees-281179

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jennifer Mathers, Senior Lecturer in International Politics, Aberystwyth University

The military parade through Moscow’s Red Square on May 9, “Victory Day”, is the pinnacle of Russia’s annual celebrations marking the end of the second world war. Televised live and watched by millions, including invited foreign dignitaries, the Victory Day parade is all about showcasing Russia’s status and pride.

The first Victory Day parade was held in 1945 amid the triumph and relief at the defeat of Nazi Germany. A second was held in 1965 – but only two more were staged by the Soviet Union, in 1985 and 1990.

Under the leadership of Vladimir Putin, however, the parade has become a huge demonstration of Russia’s military prowess and might. And, since the start of Russia’s mass invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, the parade has also provided a snapshot of the progress of the conflict, including the country’s wartime mood and the extent of its international support.

But this year’s Victory Day parade showed the world a Russia that is fearful, diminished and isolated. There were no military vehicles or equipment on display. Instead, the products of Russia’s military industry were only visible to the crowds in video images displayed on big screens. Concerned that Ukraine might attack Moscow during the parade, Russian officials made the decision to protect valuable weapons needed for the war by withdrawing them from the event entirely.

The Russians had good reasons for their anxieties. Ukraine has developed the capability to strike targets deep inside Russian territory. Just a few days before the parade, two of Moscow’s airports were temporarily closed in response to hundreds of drones reportedly attacking in multiple regions of Russia, including near the capital.

This is not the first time that Russian officials have scaled down a Victory Day parade out of concern about Ukrainian attacks. In 2023 the situation was similar, with drone strikes in Russia leading up to the holiday amid widespread expectation of an imminent major Ukrainian counteroffensive. But even then, the number of military vehicles in Red Square not eliminated entirely. And the following year the parade featured launchers for intercontinental ballistic missiles to emphasise that Russia was willing and able to use any means necessary – including nuclear weapons – to impose its will on Ukraine. In 2025 the parade featured nearly 200 military vehicles.

Now, in the fifth year of the war, the Russian leadership is clearly concerned about their ability to protect their capital city from the Ukrainians, despite surrounding Moscow with elaborate air defences – including some equipment hastily relocated from combat zones.

It was not only the absence of military equipment that made this Victory Day parade underwhelming. One of the features of the event that helps to elevate it beyond a national holiday is the presence of international distinguished guests in the audience. This year, only a handful of national leaders were in attendance, three of whom represent former Soviet states and close allies of Russia: Belarus, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan.

The contrast with last year’s parade was stark. In 2025 – to celebrate the 80th anniversary of the end of the second world war – Putin hosted leaders from nearly 30 countries, most notably China’s president Xi Jinping, who was given the place of honour next to Putin. Chinese soldiers marched in the parade, providing a further symbol of the cooperation between the two countries and the support that Moscow could rely on from Beijing.

This year Russia’s president was surrounded not by powerful world leaders but by elderly war veterans placed around him in the viewing stand. In this company, Putin looked like just another old man, dreaming of glory days long behind him.

The sharp reduction in the number – and status – of foreign leaders that the Russians were able to attract to Moscow this year reflects changes in the international political climate that are not in Russia’s favour. In 2025, the Slovakian prime minister, Robert Fico, attended the parade – an indication of rifts within the European Union over the war and support for Ukraine.

In 2026 Fico was again in Moscow – but didn’t attend the parade. Last year Venezuelan President Nicholas Maduro sat in the viewing stands – this year he sits in a US jail having been removed from power in an American raid.

War-weariness in Russia

Putin’s Victory Day speech this year was another indication of a change in Russia’s fortunes, striking a far less confident tone than in previous years. In 2023, the Russian president compensated for that year’s scaled-back parade with defiant rhetoric, claiming Russia was under threat of attack from the west and styling the conflict as “the people’s war”. In 2024, Putin responded to a suggestion from French president, Emmanuel Macron, that western troops might be deployed to Ukraine with thinly veiled threats that Russia might use nuclear weapons to reassert its dominance.

This year Putin was far more subdued. Although he denounced the west and claimed that victory would belong to Russia, these statements had a tired, ritualistic feel. His emphasis on Russia’s ability to endure anything and respond to any challenge hinted at the current state of the war.

Russia is losing territory on the battlefield to the Ukrainian forces for the first time since 2024 and is reported to be losing troops faster than it can replace them. Meanwhile, Ukrainian drones regularly attack Russian oil refineries, threatening Moscow’s ability to sell its most profitable export.

But this war is far from over. Russia still has a large military, a well-resourced defence industry and is increasingly drawing in foreign soldiers to fight on its side – North Koreans marched alongside Russian troops in the parade.

But while Russia may not be on the verge of defeat, the way that it celebrated its most important holiday of the year suggests a new war-weariness. It’s a big contrast with the confidence exuded by Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky. His tongue-in-cheek decree giving Putin permission to hold the parade suggests a turning point in the two countries’ morale – at the very least.

Jennifer Mathers 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. Fearful, diminished and isolated: what this year’s Victory Day parade in Moscow tells us about Russia’s war against Ukraine – https://theconversation.com/fearful-diminished-and-isolated-what-this-years-victory-day-parade-in-moscow-tells-us-about-russias-war-against-ukraine-282609

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Holly Tessler, Senior Lecturer, Music Industries; Programme Leader, MA Beatles, Heritage and Culture, University of Liverpool

The Cavern Club in Liverpool, the nightclub birthplace of the Beatles, promotes itself as “the place where it all began”. On May 11, Apple, the Beatles’ management company, announced its re-acquisition of 3 Savile Row, London, the building they might usefully conceive of as “the place where it all ended”.

In the Beatleverse, 3 Savile Row is perhaps most associated with the Beatles’ iconic yet bittersweet rooftop performance. Iconic because this improvised concert was first captured for posterity in their 1970 film (and album) Let It Be. It was then digitally zhuzhed up for Peter Jackson’s epic retelling, Get Back, in 2021. Bittersweet because that performance on a chilly January day in 1969 was the last time the world ever saw the magic of John, Paul, George and Ringo gigging together. Or in the words of the promotional trailer for Let It Be: “rehearsing, recording, rapping, relaxing, philosophising … creating.”

The Savile Row building was the Beatles’ third London office. They moved there after outgrowing 94 Baker Street, which had previously housed the Apple Boutique in 1967, and following a short-lived stay at 95 Wigmore Street in early 1968.

Purchased for a snip at £500,000 in June of that year, 3 Savile Row became general HQ for all things Beatles. It had a recording studio in the basement, offices for each of the Fab Four and, of course, an impromptu gig space on the roof. Beatles fans, immortalised in George Harrison’s song Apple Scruffs (1970), would gather round the front entrance, hoping for a glimpse, a quick chat or a hug from their favourite Beatle. Yet few would ever have the opportunity to cross that elusive threshold. Until now.

Apple’s new venture heralds seven floors of unseen material from Apple Corps extensive archives, rotating exhibitions, a fan store and the recreation of the original studio where Let it Be was recorded.

It will also give fans the opportunity to tread in the band’s footsteps as they relive the iconic rooftop concert on exactly the spot where it happened. In other words, it promises the rarest of Beatles finds: a genuinely new experience.

The Fab Four in the flesh

As we are so accustomed to seeing in Liverpool, Beatles fans the world over demonstrate a ceaseless fascination with the band’s origin story. In part, this is because no book, film or theatrical production can so tangibly communicate the extraordinary ordinariness of the Beatles’ lives as being there can do: seeing for yourself the sheer magnitude of the improbability of four young Liverpudlians’ journey from two up-two down terraced houses in south Liverpool to the 20th century’s most successful pop group.

In the same way as standing in the front room of the McCartney family home in Forthlin Road, at the gates of Strawberry Field or in the middle of the roundabout in Penny Lane, there is little doubt that clambering onto the roof of 3 Savile Row, gazing across the London skyline and standing in the very steps of John, Paul, George and Ringo will foster in Beatles people a kind of indescribable wonder: making the imagined real and the real imagined.

With the re-acquisition of 3 Savile Road back into the Beatles’ property portfolio, Apple has made a genius move. The museum will connect the flesh and blood, bricks and mortar world of the 1960s Beatles to the social media and big screen worlds of the post-60s Beatles. And theirs is undeniably a big story to tell. It took Peter Jackson nearly eight hours of documentary time. Sam Mendes requires four feature-length films. And coming soon to a rooftop near you: the chance to experience all the Beatle magic for yourself.

Holly Tessler 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. Beatles museum to open on seven-storey site (and rooftop) of band’s last gig – https://theconversation.com/beatles-museum-to-open-on-seven-storey-site-and-rooftop-of-bands-last-gig-282756

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Stephan Blum, Research Associate, Institute for Prehistory and Early History and Medieval Archaeology, University of Tübingen

Archaeologists have found something unexpected inside a 1,600-year-old Roman-era Egyptian mummy: a fragment of Homer’s Iliad. It wasn’t placed beside the body, but inside the mummy’s abdomen. But the real surprise isn’t just where the fragment was found. It’s how it got there. To understand, we must go back – to the Iliad itself, and to what it became in the Roman world.

In The Iliad, a poem shaped in the 8th century BC and attributed to Homer, the Trojan war does not end in triumph or renewal. It ends in devastation. The poem closes at the edge of collapse, with Troy reduced to a landscape of heroic ruin. And yet, this is not where the story ends.

According to later Roman tradition, one Trojan escaped. Aeneas – son of Anchises and the goddess Aphrodite – fled the burning city carrying his father on his shoulders and the household gods in his hands. He moved west, across the Mediterranean, towards Italy, where he became the ancestor of Rome.

This continuation did not come from the Iliad itself. It was shaped centuries later, most famously in Virgil’s Aeneid. But it changed the meaning of the Trojan war entirely. The past, in other words, was actively reorganised – through stories that could be reworked, extended and connected across time and space.

Turning defeat into origin

For Roman audiences, the Trojan war was more than a distant Greek legend. It became a way of thinking about origins, identity and power.

Claiming descent from Troy was more than a matter of tracing a lineage. It required constant cultural work – through storytelling, education and shared knowledge. The Iliad provided the raw material: characters, events and genealogies that could be reshaped and redeployed across generations.

Across the Roman Empire, educated elites learned Homer as part of their schooling. They quoted him in speeches, analysed him in classrooms and used him to signal cultural authority. To know the Iliad was to speak a language that others across the empire understood.

A senator in Rome, a teacher in Asia Minor or a student in Egypt could all draw on the same stories. The poem created a shared frame of reference – one that allowed very different people to situate themselves within a common past.

In the Roman imperial period, the site of ancient Troy – located in modern-day Turkey – became a destination. Emperors invested in its development, tying it directly to Rome’s claimed Trojan origins. Under Emperor Augustus, Troy was folded into the political language of empire. And under Emperor Hadrian, it became part of a wider culture of travel, memory and heritage.

A visitor to Troy in the 2nd century AD would have arrived at a curated landscape. There were baths, places to stay and spaces for performance. A small theatre – the Odeion – was built directly into the ancient citadel, so that the remains of the bronze age city, understood as the setting of the legendary battles around Troy, formed a dramatic backdrop.

Visitors could walk through what was presented as the setting of Homeric epic, experiencing the Trojan war as something anchored in the ground beneath their feet.

From Troy to Egypt

Across the Roman Empire, the Iliad circulated as a living text: copied, taught and read. Egypt, one of Rome’s most important provinces, was no exception. Yet here, Homer circulated within a cultural landscape that differed in important ways from the Greek literary world in which the poem had first taken shape.

For Roman observers, Egypt often appeared as a place where antiquity was materially preserved as well as remembered – through temples, monuments and practices that emphasised continuity with the past. At the same time, it was a deeply hybrid society, where Egyptian, Greek and Roman traditions interacted in complex ways.

Homer was among the most widely copied authors in Roman Egypt – read and taught as a marker of education and cultural belonging and deeply embedded in everyday literary culture.

The Homeric version of the Trojan War was particularly prominent among the Greek-speaking elite, especially in urban centres such as Oxyrhynchus, where the mummy was found. Other versions of the story – which placed greater emphasis on Paris and Helen’s stay in Egypt, as reported by Herodotus based on accounts from Egyptian priests – were probably more widespread among the broader Egyptian population.

The initial media coverage of the discovery of the fragment inside the Egyptian mummy suggested the text was deliberately chosen to accompany the deceased. As a personally meaningful object, perhaps reflecting their education or cultural identity.

The most telling explanation, however, may be the most straightforward. Discarded or damaged papyri could be reused as inexpensive material. The fragment may therefore have functioned as stuffing – bundled together and inserted into the body cavity without particular regard for its literary content.

The very fact that a scrap of the Iliad could end up as disposable filling, however, speaks to how deeply Homer had penetrated everyday life in Roman Egypt.

A text in motion

To make sense of the past in the Roman world meant moving between story and monument, between genealogy and deep time. Each perspective made the others more intelligible.

The Iliad helped create a world in which different pasts could be connected, compared and reshaped. By linking stories, places and traditions across the Mediterranean, the Roman world turned the past into a flexible resource – one that could generate identity, authority and belonging in shifting contexts.

This is why the Iliad mattered: it circulated across many different settings. It shaped elite education, but it was also part of everyday reading culture. At Troy, it helped transform the city into a place of cultural memory. The text itself also had a long material afterlife, surviving not only as an authoritative story, but through manuscripts and writing materials that were copied, passed on – or even reused for entirely different purposes.

Its most enduring insight is therefore this: the past is not something simply preserved, but something continuously made and remade – through the stories, practices and materials that carry it across time.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

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. Why was an Egyptian mummy stuffed with a fragment of Homer’s Iliad? – https://theconversation.com/why-was-an-egyptian-mummy-stuffed-with-a-fragment-of-homers-iliad-282190

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jilly Gibson-Miller, Senior Lecturer in Psychology, University of Sheffield

The MV Hondius left Ushuaia, Argentina, on April 1. Within days, one passenger had become ill. Within weeks, the voyage had become the focus of an international health response after cases of Andes virus, a type of hantavirus, were identified among passengers and crew. By early May, several people had died. Passengers and crew have since left the ship, but many are now facing quarantine and monitoring elsewhere, along with intense public scrutiny.

For those affected, the threat is not only medical. It is psychological too. Quarantine asks people to live with a difficult combination of fear, uncertainty and loss of control. Research tells us that our ability to tolerate uncertainty is broadly related to our levels of distress, so the uncertainty surrounding Andes virus could influence how worried people feel about their health and safety.

Hantaviruses are a family of viruses usually spread to humans through contact with infected rodents or their urine, droppings or saliva. Andes virus is unusual because limited person-to-person transmission has also been recorded. For passengers and crew, this means living with a threat that is serious, unfamiliar and difficult to judge. They are also doing so under the watchful eye of the world’s media, at the centre of an international emergency medical response, while facing unplanned isolation away from home. This is a particular kind of psychological strain.

A similar incident occurred during the COVID-19 pandemic, when the Diamond Princess cruise ship was quarantined for several weeks. During that time, passengers experienced fear of infection, hypervigilance – being constantly on alert, scanning the body or the environment for signs of danger – about their physical symptoms and difficulty sleeping. These are all common features of anxiety.

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Read more:
Coronavirus self-isolation: a psychologist explains how to avoid cabin fever

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Outbreak guidance often asks people to keep their distance, isolate, ventilate shared spaces, wear masks and wash their hands to reduce the risk of transmission. However, social isolation brings psychological costs. People who are isolated in quarantine facilities, hotels, hospitals or other controlled settings may be more likely to experience low mood, anxiety and disturbed sleep, especially if they cannot go outside or maintain ordinary contact with others.

Over the longer term, many people recover well after quarantine. Recovery is helped by clear communication, trust and contact with others. During an outbreak, accurate and consistent information matters, and honestly acknowledging what is not yet known can build trust more effectively than false reassurance. Informal support networks, including WhatsApp groups, video calls or shared daily routines, may also help protect people psychologically.

The common-sense model of self-regulation could help explain what passengers might be thinking and feeling, and how they might cope. This model suggests that when people face illness, they try to make sense of two things at once: what the illness means to them and what emotions they experience. These perceptions will determine which coping strategies will be used to manage the illness.

For example, when control is taken out of people’s hands and they believe the consequences of infection could be serious, distress and panic are more likely. A passenger may think: “I have been exposed; I could become ill; I could die.” Thoughts like these can intensify emotional reactions and increase the perception of danger, creating a cycle of fear and the use of unhelpful coping strategies such as symptom checking, rumination, anger or withdrawal.

This is where clear information and psychological support can help. Passengers can be supported to build an accurate understanding of the virus based on reliable medical information. This can help them develop realistic action plans and adopt positive problem-based coping strategies, such as following testing guidance, isolating when necessary, seeking medical help if symptoms emerge, and staying connected with others where possible.

The World Health Organization has made clear that this is not the start of a pandemic similar to COVID-19. The wider public health risk is assessed as low. However, for passengers and crew, the risk assessment is different, which is why monitoring and quarantine measures have been recommended.

As passengers continue with up to six weeks of monitoring or quarantine after leaving the ship, the psychological strain may continue too. The incubation period is the time between exposure to a virus and the appearance of symptoms. Because Andes virus can have an extended incubation period, symptoms may not emerge immediately. This means passengers may remain in a heightened state of bodily alert for several weeks, prolonging stress and exhaustion.

Some passengers may need follow-up care as they return to normal life after a highly controlled and stressful experience, especially if they have witnessed severe illness or are grieving. As the public receives confirmation of further cases among passengers, there is a chance that they may be stigmatised or treated by others as contagious. This carries two risks. First, passengers may be socially excluded by their communities, which could affect relationships or work. Second, they may experience guilt or grief if they fear they have unwittingly exposed others to the virus.

Managing uncertainty

Psychological research shows that people vary widely in how they respond to the same event. It is entirely normal to experience stress in response to uncertainty, isolation and fear. For many people, recovery is likely. But some will need ongoing support during and after quarantine.

In practical terms, people in quarantine need meaningful social contact, even if that contact is virtual. Simple coping strategies can help: maintaining a predictable daily routine, protecting sleep, eating healthily, taking exercise where possible, and using grounding techniques to calm the nervous system. Breathing exercises, meditation, having a shower or making a cup of tea may sound small, but small acts of routine and control can matter when so much else feels uncertain.

An experience like this really matters. Deaths, quarantine, media scrutiny and the fear of infection are not psychologically trivial. But recovery is also shaped by what happens around it: whether people receive clear information, whether they remain connected to others, whether their distress is normalised and whether support continues after quarantine ends. Uncertainty cannot be removed entirely; it is how we manage it that protects us from a fear of the unknown taking hold.

Jilly Gibson-Miller receives funding from ESRC, Triumph and UK Research and Innovation funds.

– ref. The mental toll of quarantine on board a cruise ship – explained by a psychologist – https://theconversation.com/the-mental-toll-of-quarantine-on-board-a-cruise-ship-explained-by-a-psychologist-282522