When war comes for Iran’s cultural heritage

Source: The Conversation – France – By Parsa Ghasemi, Archaeologist, Postdoctoral research fellow at Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne, and research member at ARSCAN Nanterre, Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne

131 sites and museums have suffered damage or been destroyed during the US and Israeli war against Iran between February 28 and April 8. Amid uncertainty over what will happen next as peace talks failed during the two-week conditional ceasefire, it is an opportune time to take stock of the state of Iranian cultural heritage.

With its vast territory and strategic position in West Asia, Iran has long been one of the principal centres of human activity and cultural development.

As one of the world’s oldest centres of civilisation, Iran has preserved an exceptionally rich archaeological and historical landscape shaped over several millennia. This heritage reflects a long sequence of cultural traditions, from the Palaeolithic (prehistoric) times through the Elamite kingdom (2700 BCE and 539 BCE), the Median dynasty (c. 700 to 550 BCE), the Achaemenid (559 to 330 BCE), the Parthian (247 BCE to 224 CE) and Sasanian (224 to 651 CE) empires and into the Islamic periods.

This continuity is visible in the country’s archaeological sites, historic cities, monuments, and museum collections. It is estimated that Iran contains several hundred thousand archaeological sites, although only a small proportion have been formally registered on the national heritage list since the beginnings of state heritage protection in the early twentieth century.

The international significance of this heritage is underscored by the inscription of 29 Iranian properties on the UNESCO World Heritage List, comprising 27 cultural and two natural sites. Last month, the UN cultural agency weighed in, voicing concern over the protection of Iran’s national treasures and sites of “cultural significance”, such as the Qajar-era Golestan Palace, following airstrikes. In a recent statement, the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) condemned any destruction – whether intentional or incidental – of cultural and natural heritage, deploring the “serious implications for cultural continuity” and the “risk of irreversible loss”, more broadly across the region as a result of the conflict.

What’s the damage?

An emerging official inventory of cultural damage recorded by the Ministry of Cultural Heritage, Tourism and Handicrafts of Iran shows that more than 131 archaeological sites, museums, and historical monuments (Figure 1.) in Iran have been damaged across 17 provinces and 26 cities.

The highest concentration of damage has been recorded in Tehran, where 61 sites were affected. It should be noted, however, that these figures are based on city-level assessment and do not include archaeological sites situated outside urban areas. In addition, historic urban fabrics are listed separately. The inventory recorded up to March 29 reveals a grave and highly uneven impact on Iran’s heritage, with destruction concentrated in some of the country’s most important historic and monument-rich cities.

The 1954 Hague Convention states that damage to any nation’s cultural property is a loss to the heritage of all humanity, which is why it requires international protection. Protecting cultural heritage is also tied to protecting human rights, including cultural rights, identity, memory, and human dignity.

As a result, intentional attacks on cultural heritage during armed conflict are not only morally unacceptable they could also violate international law and constitute war crimes, as confirmed by the International Criminal Court in the Al Mahdi case. This protection is further strengthened by UN Security Council Resolution 2347 of 2017, which emphasises the importance of safeguarding cultural heritage in conflict situations.

Tehran and Isfahan: the worst hit

What emerges from the inventory is not a scattered pattern of isolated incidents. It is a concentrated “geography of damage”, falling most heavily on provinces that hold some of Iran’s richest cultural assets, above all Tehran and Isfahan.

These are not marginal places in the historical map of Iran. They are among the country’s principal repositories of architectural memory, museum collections, 15th to 19th-century royal compounds, religious monuments, and civic heritage.

The most significantly damaged monuments in Tehran include Golestan Palace, Tehran’s Historic Arg, the Historic Grand Bazaar of Tehran, Marble Palace, the Historic Shahrbani Building, the Former Senate Building, Sepahsalar Mosque, and the Farahabad Palace Museum.

In Isfahan Province, damage has been reported at the Naqsh-e Jahan Square complex, the Chehel Sotoun Palace, the Abbasi Friday Mosque, etc.

The provincial distribution is among the most revealing aspects of the inventory. Tehran alone accounts for 61 counted sites, representing 46.6 percent of the total. Isfahan follows with 23 sites, or 17.6 percent. Together, these two provinces contain 84 damaged entries, equivalent to 64.1 percent of the inventory. When Khuzestan and Kurdistan are added, the top four provinces account for 108 sites, or 82.4 percent of all counted entries.

This means the damage pattern is not spatially even. It is clustered in provinces, where museums, palace complexes, historic neighbourhoods, old institutions or schools, and monumental architecture are densely concentrated.

The hypothesis of a strategically targeted assault

The typological profile of the damaged heritage is equally telling. The largest single group consists of historical houses, mansions, and residences totalling 33 entries. These are followed by civic and institutional buildings, such as schools, with 16 entries, and famous historical mosques, with 12.

The inventory also identifies historical forts, mills, and baths (hammam). The report additionally records 10 palaces or royal complex entries dating back to the 15th-19th centuries CE, indicating that the damage reaches deeply into architectural forms associated with old districts of the war-affected cities.

The document states that 50 museum units refer to museum components embedded within larger complexes, palace compounds, and multi-part heritage sites.

The cultural loss is therefore both architectural and institutional, affecting not only structures but also the curatorial and interpretive frameworks housed within them. According to Science, cultural institutions are taking measures to protect its moveable heritage, including boxing up museum items for safekeeping and installing the Blue Shield logo designed to indicate protected heritage on more than 100 cultural monuments.

The source also names 7 historic urban fabrics separately, suggesting that the true scope of impact extends beyond single monuments to wider urban heritage zones across Tehran, Isfahan, Sanandaj, Kermanshah, Qom, Khansar, and Tabriz. Old parts of the cities function as “layered cultural organisms”.

When an urban fabric is damaged, what is threatened is not only a set of buildings, but a continuity of streets, spatial memory, social practice, and architectural identity and art. Some of these fabrics were used for several hundred years and are a testimony of old traditions, artefact production, and Persian culture and identity.

If future surveys and analyses of Iranian sites are carried out, we will see that many sites outside the urban centres have been damaged. This damage has not been limited to buildings and museums, but has also affected archives of ancient manuscripts held in collections and places of worship such as mosques, churches and synagogues.

The bombing of the Cultural Heritage Office in Khorramabad city makes the deliberate nature of this destruction even clearer. These intentional acts of destruction are not limited to cultural heritage, but also extend to essential infrastructure, such as the unfinished Bridge in Karaj, the Pasteur Institute, and universities such as Shahid-Beheshti, Sharif and Elm-o Sanat (Science and technology).

What is dangerous here, as we see, is a portrait of cultural loss at multiple scales, from individual structures to complex heritage environments.

The chronological range of the damaged sites is striking. It extends from Kuh-e Khawaja in Sistan, one of south-eastern Iran’s most important archaeological sites, with remains dating to the Parthian, Sasanian, and early Islamic periods, to Siraf in Bushehr, the famous late antiquity and early medieval port city on the Persian Gulf, and to the tomb of Baba Taher in Hamedan, the celebrated 11th-century Persian poet.

The damage was not confined to historical monuments alone, but also reached the modern building of the Iranian Cultural Heritage office.

The targeting of cultural heritage in Iran, the historical memory and enduring identity of one of the world’s longest-lasting civilisations and an irreplaceable part of the heritage of humanity, was not incidental but systematic. Such acts must be condemned in the strongest possible terms.

They represent an assault not only on monuments, museums, and archaeological sites, but also on the cultural legacy, historical consciousness, and collective memory of humanity itself.

The right to remedy and the law on war reparations

Under international law, the law of reparations for war damage stipulates that a State responsible for an internationally wrongful act must make full reparation for any damage, whether material or moral.

This destruction must never be repeated. Urgent and immediate measures are now required to ensure the protection, documentation, stabilisation, and restoration of Iran’s damaged heritage.

These efforts must be undertaken without delay and supported at international level through coordinated action by cultural institutions, professional bodies, and relevant global organisations.


A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. It provides an introduction to the diversity of research coming out of the continent and considers some of the key issues facing European countries. Get the newsletter!


The Conversation

Parsa Ghasemi ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. When war comes for Iran’s cultural heritage – https://theconversation.com/when-war-comes-for-irans-cultural-heritage-280335

Delivery platform workers: a survey lifts the lid on extreme hardship

Source: The Conversation – France – By Marwân-al-Qays Bousmah, Chargé de Recherche, Ined (Institut national d’études démographiques)

The familiar silhouette of bike and scooter delivery workers has become part of Paris’ urban landscape. For many city dwellers who rely on them to deliver meals to their door, these precarious workers remain largely “invisible” in surveys and public statistics.

Yet, the availability of quality data about online platforms’ delivery drivers is a major issue. Legally, the transposition into French law of the European Directive (EU) 2024/2831 on the legal framework around platform work (which aims to provide better protection to delivery couriers), expected before December 2 2026, makes it essential to have a better understanding of this population in order to shed light on regulatory choices.

Where occupational health is concerned, an expert appraisal by Anses (March 2025) exposes an alarming situation, and underlines the lack of available data for understanding the health status of these gig workers and implementing appropriate public policies.

It is in this context that France’s Santé-Course project was launched. Led by an interdisciplinary research team from the Institut de recherche pour le développement (IRD) and the Institut national d’études démographiques (INED), associations working with delivery people (Association de mobilisation et d’accompagnement des livreurs, AMAL; Collectif pour l’insertion et l’émancipation des livreurs, Ciel; Maison des livreurs de Bordeaux; Maison des couriers de Paris; Médecins du monde) and a peer group made up of couriers or former couriers, this project focused on documenting working conditions as well as delivery workers’ physical and mental health, based on a survey conducted among more than 1,000 of them in Paris and Bordeaux.

The study also examines exposure to occupational risks, police checks and cases of discrimination. Hereafter, we turn attention to the profiles of these workers and their working conditions, but the full results are available here.

What does platform work consist of ?

The rise of digital work platforms in France dates back about fifteen years and results from the conjunction of two series of factors: the adoption of new legal norms (notably the Novelli law of 2008 establishing self-employment status), on the one hand, and the generalisation of information and communication technologies as well as the democratisation of their use, on the other. The first point has gradually made the labour market more flexible and paved the way for massive employment of self-employed workers who are taken on by these platforms, while the second one has provided the latter with the conditions for their large-scale deployment.




À lire aussi :
Requalifier ou réguler ? Les controverses du dialogue social des travailleurs des plates-formes


In the food delivery sector, digital platforms play a role as intermediaries between restaurant owners and customers, and between restaurateurs and deliverers. Their operations are based on matching algorithms, pricing, and disconnection that allow them to manage a vast network statutorily independent workforce, without having to resort to traditional company management methods.

Delivery drivers’ self-employed status places them outside the occupational health and safety regulatory framework that is applicable to employees. Their situation is similar to a return to task-based work, understood as project-based contractual work between clients and those who carry out the work.

As a result, social security contributions, which grant workers social protection and the legal obligations related to protecting workers, are transferred from the client to the self-employed worker. This puts delivery contractors in a highly precarious situation and makes them economically dependent on the platforms, which control access to deliveries and the terms of their remuneration.

A population that tends to be off the survey radar

Investigating platform delivery workers involves several methodological obstacles, the main one being admin-related: none of the company directories listing businesses located in France (Sirene, Sirus or Sine), usually used as sampling frames to draw samples from annual business surveys, allows reliable and exhaustive identification of platform deliverers. This makes it, therefore, difficult to know precisely their total number and their geographical distribution in France, thus making any approach by traditional sampling impossible.

Another problem is posed by the phenomenon of account leasing, which allows delivery drivers to carry out their activities under a third party’s account. This phenomenon also undermines the use of data from the platforms themselves, which lacks transparency (see the Anses March 2025 report).

As a result, only a direct canvassing protocol carried out in public places or community spaces is able to produce reliable data. This is how the Santé-Course project team managed : to meet delivery people at their pick-up destinations in Paris and Bordeaux.

The two French cities were selected because a significant part of these workers are concentrated there and they are home to partner associations of the Santé-Course project. In order to fully represent the diversity of situations experienced by delivery workers and, thus, obtain results that best reflect the reality of the entire population studied, an initial mapping survey of meeting points and the number of delivery people visiting them at different times of the day was carried out, which then served as a basis for the deployment of survey interviewers.

The survey was conducted during the first half of 2025, among delivery drivers over 18 years old, who had made at least one delivery via a digital platform in the month before the survey and were able to give informed consent. A total of 519 and 485 delivery people were interviewed in Paris and Bordeaux, respectively.

Nearly 1 in 2 delivery people spent an entire day without eating in the last twelve months

The results paint a remarkably homogeneous socio-demographic picture on several dimensions. The delivery workers are almost exclusively men (98.9%), immigrants (97.8%) and relatively young – their median age is 30 years old.

Their level of education, by contrast, is heterogeneous : while one quarter did not go beyond primary level education, nearly one in five went on to higher education, with significant differences between Paris (28.3%) and Bordeaux (9.6%).

Most of them recently arrived in France (median since 2020) and are mainly from West Africa and South Asia in Paris, from West Africa and North Africa in Bordeaux. Their administrative status is extremely fragile : nearly two thirds of them do not hold a residence permit.

This administrative hardship is coupled with material deprivation. The majority of the workers do not have a place to call their own : in Paris flat shares and lodging with people they know are the dominant trend, while communal supported housing and collective accommodation are more common in Bordeaux.

Even more worrying, nearly 18 % report living in unstable housing conditions (emergency accommodation, squats or welfare hotels). Food insecurity is just as significant : nearly one in two delivery people in Paris (48%) and more than one in three in Bordeaux (36.7%) report having spent at least a full day without eating, due to lack of money, over the past twelve months.

Nearly 73.5 % work under a third-party account

Those who were surveyed have been in business for some time: three quarters had never worked for a delivery platform before 2021, and more than one third of Parisian delivery workers started in 2024 or 2025.

Two platforms, Uber Eats and Deliveroo, largely dominate the market, but the simultaneous use of delivery services with several apps (or “multi-apping”) remains a very small minority, affecting less than 2% of them.

Economic dependence on this work is massive: 91% declare that delivery constitutes the bulk of their income, and about 95% do not engage in any other paid activity or are completing training alongside. Dependence on delivery work also appears to be largely constraine: nine out of ten deliverymen without a residence permit say they would cease or drastically reduce this type of work if they regularised their undocumented status.

Finally, the phenomenon of account rentals is massive: three quarters of delivery people work under the account of a third person, with a proportion reaching 81% in Paris. This phenomenon, which stems from the administrative precariousness of delivery people, many of whom are undocumented, considerably clouds the statistics produced by the platforms and highlights the need for surveys conducted directly with workers on the ground.

On average, 63-hour working weeks at a gross hourly rate of 5.83 euros

The delivery workers get an average gross monthly wage of 1,480 euros, or 880 euros after tax once all work-related charges are deducted. (including equipment and fuel expenses, insurance costs, taxes and, for three quarters of them, the rental cost of an account, which averages 528 euros per month and absorbs more than a third of gross income on its own).

The average gross hourly rate is a meagre 5.83 euros. This is well under France’s minimum wage (11.88 euros at the time of the survey) for significant volumes of work : on average 63 hours per week, six to seven days a week, ten months a year, with even more hours for those who rent an account. At this rate, they clock up 497 miles per month – such mileage is likely to be underestimated due to the omission of certain routes in the platform data.

This overview paints a picture of the “working poor”, a population forced to work extremely hard to earn an income after tax that remains well below the poverty line (set at 1,288 euros net per month for a single person).

The studies that will be conducted by our team over the coming months aim to shed light on the extent to which this situation affects the health of delivery workers.

More than half of the delivery drivers surveyed have already had at least one accident as a result of their work, and 44.8% of them believe that their health status has deteriorated compared to when they started working in the delivery industry.


This project received financing from l’Agence nationale de la recherche, l’Institut Convergences Migrations, la Ville de Paris, l’Inserm and l’Institut Paris Public Health at l’Université Paris Cité.


A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. It provides an introduction to the diversity of research coming out of the continent and considers some of the key issues facing European countries. Get the newsletter!


The Conversation

Les auteurs ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur organisme de recherche.

ref. Delivery platform workers: a survey lifts the lid on extreme hardship – https://theconversation.com/delivery-platform-workers-a-survey-lifts-the-lid-on-extreme-hardship-280174

Les coûts économiques de la guerre vont bien au-delà des destructions matérielles

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Mathieu Couttenier, Professeur d’économie, ENS de Lyon

Les effets les plus importants des conflits sont souvent les moins visibles : ils détruisent les parcours de vie, affectent la santé, plombent les économies, exacerbent les inégalités de genre, accélèrent les déplacements forcés… La guerre génère aussi des gagnants, intentionnels ou involontaires.

Cet article est publié en partenariat avec Mermoz, la revue du Cercle des économistes dont le numéro 10 est consacré aux « Violences : la société à vif ».


La guerre détruit des infrastructures, désorganise les économies, brise des trajectoires individuelles et recompose parfois les rentes. En mesurer le coût suppose de tenir ensemble ces différentes dimensions. Loin d’être un simple exercice comptable, cette quantification est indispensable pour identifier les populations les plus vulnérables et orienter les politiques de reconstruction.

Les coûts les plus visibles sont matériels. Les conflits contemporains détruisent massivement les infrastructures et désorganisent en profondeur les capacités productives. Dans le cas de l’Ukraine, les premières estimations situaient les pertes totales entre 500 milliards et 1 000 milliards de dollars (de 427,9 milliards à 855,8 milliards d’euros) dès 2022. Fin 2024, la Kyiv School of Economics chiffrait la reconstruction des seules infrastructures physiques à des dizaines de milliards de dollars : 60 milliards pour les logements, 38,5 milliards pour les routes, 14,6 milliards pour le secteur énergétique, 14,8 milliards pour l’agriculture. Ces chiffres ne rendent compte que des pertes tangibles ; ils laissent dans l’ombre la désorganisation plus profonde des tissus productif et social.

À l’échelle macroéconomique, les effets sont tout aussi sévères. Le génocide rwandais de 1994 s’est accompagné d’une chute de 40 % du PIB par habitant et d’un effondrement des investissements directs étrangers. À Gaza, le PIB réel a reculé de plus de 80 % au premier semestre 2024, tandis que la part de la population en situation de pauvreté multidimensionnelle est passée de 63,7 % avant la guerre à 97,9 % en 2024.




À lire aussi :
Économie de guerre : de quoi parle-t-on ?


Les enfants, premières victimes

Les coûts les plus importants sont souvent les moins visibles. La guerre perturbe les parcours de vie, détruit les actifs des ménages et fragilise durablement les mécanismes économiques de base. Les enfants en sont les premières victimes. En 2023, 473 millions d’enfants vivaient dans des zones de conflit, et plus de 30 000 violations graves de leurs droits ont été recensées.

La littérature économique montre que ces expositions précoces ont des effets durables sur le capital humain : au Pérou, une exposition à la violence avant l’âge scolaire réduit en moyenne la scolarité de 0,31 année à l’âge adulte ; au Rwanda, les enfants exposés au génocide accusent un retard d’environ 0,5 année de scolarité primaire.

Les conséquences sanitaires sont, elles aussi, profondes. Au Nigeria, les femmes exposées à la guerre civile entre 1967 et 1970 présentent, à l’âge adulte, une taille inférieure de 0,75 à 4,5 centimètres selon l’âge d’exposition, signe d’un environnement nutritionnel et sanitaire gravement détérioré (Akresh et coll., 2012).

Par ailleurs, le simple risque de violence, même en l’absence d’exposition directe, affecte les comportements et les conditions de vie. En Côte d’Ivoire et en Ouganda, une augmentation d’un écart-type du risque de violence entre la conception et la première année de vie accroît la mortalité infantile de 0,8 à 1 point de pourcentage. Les coûts du conflit ne se limitent donc pas aux seuls lieux où la violence se réalise.

Des liens sociaux désagrégés

Les effets sur les structures sociales sont plus ambivalents. De nombreux travaux documentent une baisse durable de la confiance et un renforcement des replis identitaires après les conflits, y compris longtemps après la fin des hostilités. D’autres mettent en évidence, dans certains contextes, des dynamiques inverses : montée de l’engagement civique et politique, comportements plus prosociaux, participation accrue à la vie collective. La guerre ne produit donc pas des effets sociaux uniformes. Si elle peut désagréger les liens, elle peut aussi, dans certains contextes, renforcer des formes d’engagement ou de coopération.

Les conflits exacerbent aussi les inégalités de genre. Près de 80 % des personnes déplacées sont des femmes (Banque mondiale, 2011), exposées à des risques sanitaires accrus et à des formes de violence spécifiques. Les violences sexuelles, documentées dans de nombreux contextes, ne sont pas seulement des effets collatéraux du conflit. Des travaux récents montrent qu’elles peuvent répondre à des logiques de contrôle territorial et d’extorsion économique, notamment dans les zones riches en ressources naturelles.

L’immigration des élites

Les déplacements forcés constituent une autre dimension majeure et souvent sous-estimée des coûts. Un conflit de faible intensité génère en moyenne 500 000 déplacés, un conflit meurtrier jusqu’à 1,2 million. Ces migrations ne sont pas aléatoires : les individus les plus éduqués et les mieux dotés économiquement sont souvent les plus mobiles. Cette sélection entraîne une perte durable de capital humain dans les zones d’origine, fragilisant la reconstruction et pouvant alimenter, à moyen terme, de nouvelles tensions.

Les entreprises subissent elles aussi des coûts importants, directs et indirects. La violence perturbe l’offre de travail, désorganise les chaînes d’approvisionnement et accroît l’incertitude sur les décisions d’investissement. Au Kenya, les violences postélectorales de 2008 ont provoqué une chute de plus de 50 % des exportations de fleurs.

Dans les territoires palestiniens occupés, les distorsions liées à l’accès aux intrants importés expliquent environ 70 % de la baisse de valeur ajoutée des entreprises exposées. Mais ces effets ne restent pas confinés aux zones de violence : dans le cas indien, environ trois quarts du coût économique total d’un conflit transitent par les chaînes de valeur, affectant des entreprises situées dans des régions pourtant épargnées. Ne comptabiliser que les firmes directement exposées conduit donc à sous-estimer massivement l’impact global.

France 24, 2023.

Des rentes redistribuées

Enfin, la guerre génère aussi des gagnants, et la distinction entre gagnants intentionnels et gagnants involontaires est ici essentielle. Les premiers cherchent activement à tirer profit du conflit : l’industrie de l’armement, dont le chiffre d’affaires cumulé atteignait 631,9 milliards de dollars (540,8 milliards d’euros) en 2023 en est l’exemple le plus évident. Certaines entreprises vont plus loin encore, en nouant des arrangements avec des groupes armés pour maintenir leur activité ; le cas Lafarge en Syrie en est l’illustration la plus emblématique.

Les seconds profitent du conflit par un concours de circonstances : la disparition ou l’affaiblissement de concurrents exposés à la violence redistribue mécaniquement des parts de marché en leur faveur, sans qu’ils l’aient recherché. Dans les deux cas, ces dynamiques rappellent que la guerre ne produit pas uniquement des destructions : elle redistribue aussi des rentes et des positions, ce qui contribue parfois à en prolonger la durée.

Au total, les coûts de la guerre s’étendent bien au-delà des destructions immédiates. Ils s’inscrivent dans les corps, les trajectoires scolaires, les structures familiales, les réseaux productifs et les équilibres sociaux, souvent pour des décennies. Les chiffrer rigoureusement ne revient pas à réduire la guerre à une équation ; c’est une condition pour hiérarchiser les urgences, cibler la reconstruction et limiter la reproduction de la violence.


Cet article est publié en partenariat avec Mermoz, la revue du Cercle des économistes dont le numéro 10 a pour objet « Violences : la société à vif ». Vous pourrez y lire d’autres contributions.

Le titre et les intertitres sont de la rédaction de The Conversation France.

The Conversation

Mathieu Couttenier ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. Les coûts économiques de la guerre vont bien au-delà des destructions matérielles – https://theconversation.com/les-couts-economiques-de-la-guerre-vont-bien-au-dela-des-destructions-materielles-280088

Intelligence artificielle : quels sont les apports concrets de la régulation européenne ?

Source: The Conversation – France in French (3) – By Chloé Dornbierer, Docteure en droit et Professeure à Kedge Business School, Kedge Business School

L’intelligence artificielle s’impose désormais au cœur de décisions qui engagent directement la vie, la santé et les droits des citoyens européens. Dans des entreprises, des administrations, des hôpitaux ou sur des plateformes numériques, des algorithmes trient, évaluent, recommandent et parfois décident. Face à cette automatisation croissante, une question centrale se pose : la réponse de l’Union européenne pour encadrer l’intelligence artificielle est-elle à la hauteur des risques qu’elle prétend prévenir ?


Imaginons qu’une entreprise décide d’utiliser une intelligence artificielle (IA) pour automatiser son processus de recrutement. L’algorithme, conçu pour analyser des milliers de CV, est entraîné sur les données RH de l’entreprise des dix dernières années. Or, les profils recrutés durant cette période sont majoritairement masculins. L’algorithme déduit alors de ces données que les candidats masculins sont préférables et exclut de fait les profils féminins.

Ce scénario n’est pas fictif : il s’inspire directement du cas d’Amazon, dont l’outil de recrutement par IA a dû être abandonné après la révélation de ces biais eu égard aux risques juridiques qu’ils engendraient. Cet exemple illustre précisément les risques que le législateur entend prévenir : erreurs algorithmiques, atteintes aux droits fondamentaux, captation et fuite de données, dépendance technologique.

En réponse, l’Union européenne a bâti depuis plusieurs années un arsenal juridique ambitieux, allant du Règlement général sur la protection des données (RGPD) au Règlement sur l’intelligence artificielle (RIA). Ces textes doivent relever un défi de taille : concilier innovation et protection, réguler les acteurs internationaux sans les éloigner du marché européen, et garantir les droits fondamentaux sans censure – le tout face à des technologies transversales, opaques et en constante évolution. Cet ensemble de règles constitue-t-il une réponse satisfaisante ?

Pas de régulation de l’IA, sans régulation des données

La régulation de l’intelligence artificielle ne saurait être envisagée indépendamment d’une politique structurée de la donnée. La donnée constitue en effet le carburant indispensable au développement et au perfectionnement des systèmes d’intelligence artificielle. En cela, la quantité de données compte tout autant que leur qualité.

C’est pourquoi, le législateur européen a d’abord cherché à réguler la donnée avant de réguler l’IA : d’une part avec le RGPD dont la finalité est de protéger les données à caractère personnel (les informations concernant une personne physique identifiée ou identifiable, comme un numéro de téléphone ou une adresse postale).

D’autre part avec une série de textes portant sur la régulation des données non personnelles (les informations ne se rapportant à aucune personne identifiable, comme une statistique ou un nombre d’accidents sur une autoroute visée). Ceux-ci comprennent le DSA, le DMA, le DGA, le Data Act et visent notamment à limiter la domination des géants du numérique et organiser le partage et l’accès de certaines données entre plateformes, entreprises, administrations publiques et utilisateurs, condition indispensable au développement de l’IA.

Ces textes relatifs aux données ont été le préalable à l’élaboration de la première réglementation générale au monde sur l’intelligence artificielle : le RIA.

Quelles sont les obligations imposées aux entreprises par le RIA ?

Contrairement aux États-Unis, qui privilégient une approche dérégulée, et à la Chine, qui encadre principalement certains usages ciblés, l’Union européenne a fait le choix d’un cadre juridique général et contraignant, s’appliquant à l’ensemble des secteurs et des systèmes d’intelligence artificielle, afin de poser les bases d’un véritable droit commun de l’IA au sein du marché européen depuis son entrée en vigueur le 1er août 2024.

Son objectif est d’encadrer

« le développement, la mise sur le marché et l’utilisation de systèmes d’intelligence artificielle, qui peuvent poser des risques pour la santé, la sécurité ou les droits fondamentaux ».

Pour atteindre cet objectif, le RIA commence par définir précisément le champ des technologies qu’il entend encadrer. Il distingue : les systèmes d’intelligence artificielle, qui correspondent aux applications concrètes utilisées par les utilisateurs (ex : un outil de tri de candidatures, ChatGPT) et les modèles d’intelligence artificielle à usage général, qui constituent le socle technologique sur lequel reposent ces applications, comme GPT-4 pour ChatGPT.

Pour assurer un équilibre entre protection des personnes et innovation, le RIA classe les systèmes d’intelligence artificielle en quatre niveaux de risque :

  • le risque inacceptable (ex : système de notation sociale des citoyens, présentant un risque d’une atteinte grave aux droits fondamentaux) impliquant l’interdiction du système d’IA.

  • le risque élevé (ex : une IA utilisée pour évaluer des salariés, présentant un risque d’atteinte au droit du travail et à la vie privée) imposant des obligations comme celle de réaliser des audits ou celle d’entraîner le système sur des données qualitatives et exemptes de biais.

  • le risque limité (ex : assistant conversationnel d’un service client, présentant le risque d’une collecte de données sans consentement éclairé) obligeant notamment les opérateurs à informer les utilisateurs de l’usage de l’IA.

  • le risque minimal (ex : IA intégrée dans un jeu vidéo) dont ne découle aucune obligation spécifique.

Pour chaque niveau de risque, des obligations spécifiques et proportionnées sont donc édictées en fonction de leurs effets potentiels sur les droits fondamentaux, la sécurité et la santé des personnes. Ces obligations s’imposent à différents opérateurs selon le moment où ils interviennent dans la chaîne de valeur de l’IA : fournisseur, mandataire, importateur, distributeur…

Par exemple, un système d’IA utilisé pour l’analyse d’images médicales, qualifié de système à risque élevé, est soumis à des obligations spécifiques qui varient selon l’opérateur concerné : le fournisseur doit concevoir le système en conformité avec les exigences de sécurité et de gestion des risques comme s’assurer qu’il ne peut pas y avoir de faux positif ou de faux négatif dans le diagnostic mais également que le système ne présente pas de biais du fait d’une sous-représentation de certains groupes ethniques ou de genre, l’importateur et le distributeur doivent vérifier que cette conformité a été respectée, et l’hôpital qui déploie le système doit s’assurer qu’il est utilisé correctement et sous supervision humaine.

Concernant les modèles d’IA à usage général (ex : GPT-4, algorithme sur lequel repose ChatGPT), le législateur européen a édicté différentes règles selon qu’ils présentent ou non un risque systémique.

L’article 3 § 65 du RIA définissant le risque systémique comme :

« un risque spécifique aux capacités à fort impact des modèles d’IA à usage général, ayant une incidence significative sur le marché de l’Union en raison de leur portée ou d’effets négatifs réels ou raisonnablement prévisibles sur la santé publique, la sûreté, la sécurité publique, les droits fondamentaux ou la société dans son ensemble, pouvant être propagé à grande échelle tout au long de la chaîne de valeur ».

Ce risque est évalué selon la puissance de calcul du modèle. Les modèles d’IA à usage général qui présentent un risque systémique doivent notamment signaler les incidents graves (des biais, des faux positifs, une cyberattaque), prendre d’importantes mesures de cybersécurité ou encore tester le modèle et atténuer les risques systémiques identifiés (grâce à des audits, des mesures de protection contre les piratages ou encore des mesures de détection de biais). Plusieurs autorités ont été désignées pour contrôler la bonne application du règlement, c’est le cas notamment du comité européen de l’intelligence artificielle au niveau européen, et de la CNIL au niveau national.

Les limites du RIA

Le RIA a suscité des critiques des experts du droit et du monde professionnel à propos de sa mise en œuvre. Ainsi, 46 dirigeants d’entreprise ont dénoncé, dans une lettre ouverte destinée à la présidente de la Commission européenne, « des règlementations européennes peu claires, qui se chevauchent et deviennent de plus en plus complexes ». La technicité du RIA conjuguée à la complexité des algorithmes compliquent l’application du texte, en particulier pour les obligations de transparence – incompatibles avec l’opacité des algorithmes – et pour l’identification des responsabilités, les entreprises peinant à déterminer quelles obligations leur incombent selon leur position dans la chaîne de valeur et le niveau de risque du système.

En découle alors une autre problématique, le risque de freiner les acteurs français et européens, comme Orasio, H Company ou DeepL, qui tentent de concurrencer les géants américains de l’intelligence artificielle qui ont davantage de moyens (juridiques, technologiques, financiers) pour mettre en œuvre les obligations du RIA.

À cet égard, il convient de relever que le législateur européen a finalement renoncé, le 11 février 2025, à adopter une législation spécifique relative à la responsabilité civile des acteurs de l’intelligence artificielle, dont la finalité était d’harmoniser les règles de responsabilité civile pour les dommages causés par l’IA, afin de protéger les victimes et d’unifier le cadre juridique au sein de l’UE. Cet abandon est intervenu suite à une opposition de certains États membres, notamment la France, mais aussi des critiques formulées par le lobbying de grandes entreprises technologiques qui dénonçaient un risque de surrégulation et une insécurité juridique susceptible de freiner l’innovation. En l’absence d’un tel cadre spécifique, ce sont donc les règles de droit positif de responsabilité civile qui demeurent applicables aux dommages causés par les systèmes d’intelligence artificielle.

Les enjeux de la régulation

En combinant protection des données, encadrement des usages et obligations pesant sur les acteurs les plus puissants, l’Union européenne a posé les bases d’un véritable droit commun de l’IA unique au monde.

Cependant, cette réponse n’est satisfaisante qu’à une condition : que son application ne transforme pas la régulation en barrière à l’entrée pour les acteurs européens tels que Mistral AI, NEURA Robotics ou Dust. En effet, le risque est de renforcer la domination des géants américains et chinois plutôt que de la combattre. D’autant que cette domination ne se limite pas au plan économique : elle s’exerce également sur le plan politique. Un rapport de Corporate Europe Observatory et LobbyControl, deux ONG spécialisées dans la surveillance du lobbying, montre ainsi que les Big Tech auraient une influence significative sur la rédaction des Codes de bonnes pratiques prévus par le RIA notamment en parvenant à affaiblir certaines obligations.

La véritable réussite de la régulation européenne ne se mesurera donc pas seulement à la protection des citoyens, mais à sa capacité à faire émerger une intelligence artificielle européenne, à la fois éthique, compétitive et souveraine.

The Conversation

Chloé Dornbierer ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. Intelligence artificielle : quels sont les apports concrets de la régulation européenne ? – https://theconversation.com/intelligence-artificielle-quels-sont-les-apports-concrets-de-la-regulation-europeenne-274299

Trois récits de vie pour comprendre le mal-être dans la fonction publique

Source: The Conversation – France in French (3) – By Aude Deville, Professeur des Universités, Université Côte d’Azur

« J’aimais mon métier d’enseignante, mais là, je n’avais plus le sens. Mon médecin m’a dit, “C’est un burn out” », témoigne une enseignante interviewée. FrameStockFootage/Shutterstock

Face à l’austérité budgétaire, certains agents de la fonction publique font face à des injonctions contradictoires – moins de moyens, mais une meilleure qualité de service –, des responsabilités floues et un manque de reconnaissance qui affectent leur bien-être. Pour comprendre ces enjeux complexes, une étude donne la parole à trois agents de la fonction publique d’État.


Une directrice d’école en burn out faute d’aide. Un cadre hospitalier en charge des décisions, sans pouvoir réel. Un fonctionnaire dont les compétences restent ignorées. Ces situations ne sont pas des cas isolés. Elles suggèrent une transformation silencieuse du management dans la fonction publique.

La fonction publique présente des défis managériaux spécifiques, documentés depuis plusieurs décennies. Ces défis oscillent entre sens du devoir, convictions et valeurs partagées, et contraintes telles que l’austérité budgétaire.

À partir de récits de vie d’agents publics, notre étude révèle des situations où les responsabilités augmentent, alors que les moyens et les marges de décision diminuent. Cette évolution contribue à affaiblir l’engagement des fonctionnaires et contractuels. Notre approche narrative permet d’appréhender les enjeux contemporains de la gouvernance publique d’État à partir de l’expérience vécue de professionnels.

Injonctions contradictoires

L’équilibre entre contrôle de l’activité des agents de la fonction publique et liberté décisionnelle nécessaire à toute prise de décision reste un sujet de débat. Depuis plus de vingt-cinq ans, le chercheur Christopher Hood questionne la mise en œuvre du New Public Management, tandis que Geert Bouckaert invite à repenser la notion de performance et ses critères dans le secteur public. Dans ce contexte, les fonctionnaires se retrouvent face à des injonctions contradictoires : préserver une qualité de service envers les concitoyens avec des moyens limités et des obligations de résultat.

Le New Public Management trouve sa transposition en France à travers des programmes d’actions interministériels lancés en 2007 et 2012. La Révision générale des politiques publiques (RGPP) a été notamment consacrée à la réorganisation des structures de l’administration publique. La modernisation de l’action publique (MAP) à l’amélioration de la qualité des services publics ou la simplification et de réorganisation administrative.

Notre analyse met en lumière les formes concrètes du désenchantement des ressources humaines dans la fonction publique et la dégradation de la qualité du management liées à ces évolutions, notamment à travers deux cadres théoriques :

  • La justice organisationnelle qui analyse les appréciations des salariés du caractère juste du traitement dont ils font l’objet au sein de la structure qui les emploie ;

  • Les conflits de rôles qui naissent quand les périmètres d’activités ne sont pas suffisamment bien définis ou l’existence d’une répartition déséquilibrée de la charge de travail entre agents de la fonction publique.

Manque de reconnaissance (premier récit de vie)

Appel aux consultants extérieurs

« Ce qui me désole au sein du ministère, c’est l’indifférence manifeste envers les CV des fonctionnaires. Il est vrai que nous avons été embauchés selon certaines conditions de niveau et de compétences, mais après plus de quatre ans comme moi au sein des services, les agents ont eu l’occasion d’acquérir de nouvelles compétences. Plutôt que de faire appel à des consultants externes pour leurs compétences, on pourrait exploiter les compétences internes qui sont réellement abondantes et variées. »

Tâches routinières

« Avant de rejoindre la fonction publique, j’ai occupé plusieurs postes dans divers cabinets d’expertise comptable, où j’ai géré de manière autonome la comptabilité d’entreprises reconnues. J’ai choisi la fonction publique pour satisfaire mon père qui valorise la stabilité et la sécurité qu’elle offre. Cependant, mon rôle actuel à la direction générale se limite à des tâches routinières et subalternes. Ce manque de reconnaissance de mon niveau de compétence et d’expérience me désole. »

Qui est responsable ? (second récit de vie)

« Je suis en position de responsabilité, en tant que cadre depuis cinq années. J’ai la charge de la gestion des soignants au sein d’une organisation hospitalière multi-sites. Il y a des difficultés pour accompagner tous nos patients, accueillis sur un site et quelquefois opérés sur un autre site. Il faut alors trouver des places pour l’hospitalisation. »

« Nous expliquons que c’est au chef de service de déterminer qui sera le premier patient de la journée et l’heure à laquelle il sera hospitalisé. À notre niveau, nous sommes des représentants administratifs. Nous devons répondre à des sujets qui sont pour eux administratifs, mais qui en réalité sont organisationnels. C’est compliqué : qui est responsable ? »

Gérer seule une situation difficile (troisième récit de vie)

Problématique en dehors des clous

« Je suis directrice dans une petite école et institutrice dans une classe de CE2. J’ai vingt-cinq ans d’expérience et on peut dire que je fais partie des piliers de l’école. Jusqu’à cette situation, j’étais passionnée et ce métier a toujours été une véritable vocation. »




À lire aussi :
Quand le cynisme mine l’engagement dans la fonction publique…


« Depuis la petite section, nous accueillons un enfant avec des troubles importants – sans connaître l’origine de ses troubles, car sa maman n’a jamais voulu fournir de bilan médical à l’école. Il a pu bénéficier d’un accompagnant d’élève en situation de handicap durant 5 ans, mais plus aujourd’hui. C’est donc un peu moi qui joue ce rôle, mais en plus je dois m’occuper des autres élèves de ma classe. »

Pas de soutien de l’académie

« La situation était tenable tant qu’il bénéficiait de cette personne dédiée. Il a toujours eu tendance à frapper les autres et je pense qu’une bonne partie des enfants de l’école y ont eu droit. Cette année, les problématiques se sont amplifiées. Il y a eu de nombreuses plaintes des parents. On m’a même dit : “Mais que faites-vous madame, vous ne surveillez pas ?” “Convoquez la mère !” »

« Je me suis donc retournée vers l’académie et l’inspecteur, en demandant conseils et aides. Il m’a été répondu qu’il ne faudrait surtout pas céder aux plaintes quotidiennes des parents. Je n’ai pas reçu d’aide ou de moyens supplémentaires. Je pleurais tous les jours. J’aimais mon métier d’enseignante, mais là, je n’avais plus le sens. Mon médecin m’a dit, “C’est un burn out”. »

Hypocrisie organisationnelle

L’ensemble de ces récits permet de proposer plusieurs perspectives d’analyse à la lumière de l’hypocrisie organisationnelle – discours et actes contradictoires. Par exemple, le troisième invite à se demander si cette hypocrisie ne sert pas à protéger l’organisation, ici l’éducation nationale.

Une autre perspective est celle du leadership. Les trois récits suggèrent que :

  • Les agents publics sont contraints d’endosser des responsabilités pour gérer des situations complexes, sans recevoir de reconnaissance lorsqu’ils réussissent à trouver des solutions. L’écart entre les missions confiées et les moyens disponibles devient difficilement supportable ;

  • Ils ne disposent parfois pas du pouvoir décisionnel nécessaire pour résoudre les problèmes auxquels ils sont confrontés ;

  • Ils restent souvent prisonniers d’un statut ou d’une organisation hiérarchique rigide, qui freinent l’évolution de leurs missions, malgré l’acquisition d’expérience ou de nouvelles compétences. Cette situation génère à terme démotivation ou démission, qu’elle soit silencieuse ou effective.

Ces récits illustrent une forme de « management du risque » de la part des niveaux hiérarchiques supérieurs, qui consiste à laisser les collaborateurs affronter seuls certaines situations, tout en revendiquant la maîtrise de la décision et de l’action. Ces extraits mettent en lumière l’importance cruciale de la reconnaissance et de la valorisation du travail, tant au sein de la fonction publique qu’au service de l’usager ou du citoyen. En filigrane se dessine la nécessité d’un leadership éclairé et bienveillant, capable de soutenir et guider ses équipes.

The Conversation

Les auteurs ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur organisme de recherche.

ref. Trois récits de vie pour comprendre le mal-être dans la fonction publique – https://theconversation.com/trois-recits-de-vie-pour-comprendre-le-mal-etre-dans-la-fonction-publique-271891

How Ontario’s post-secondary student funding changes echo Ronald Reagan reforms

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Susan Dianne Brophy, Associate Professor in Legal Studies, St. Jerome’s University, University of Waterloo

Ontario’s recent announcement of a tuition increase and major changes to grant and loan structures have prompted student protests at the provincial legislature.

The province has said the changes are required for sustainability.

But changes to financial aid will have significant implications for many students who rely on grants and loans. As The Toronto Star reports, the reforms have almost reversed the ratio of non-repayable grants and loans students can access.

Education is a pillar of “social reproduction,” meaning it’s a social service necessary for maintaining daily life now and for future generations. When governments alter access to education and the way they deliver it, they shape everyday lives today and beyond.

Since legal and regulatory changes shape how society is reproduced, it is possible to draw from these changes some ideas about the government’s social values. From this perspective, Ontario’s Doug Ford government is sending the message that education is about generating private wealth and social order.




Read more:
What are universities for? Canadian higher education is at a critical crossroads


These changes risk entrenching inequalities and raise questions about students’ freedom and their futures.

For a precedent, it’s possible to look at the record of a past U.S. president, namely Ronald Reagan.

Education as a private asset

Currently, students can access up to 85 per cent grants and 15 per cent loans from the Ontario Student Assistance Program (OSAP). But under the financial aid reforms, a maximum of one quarter of a student’s OSAP funding will be non-repayable grants and a minimum of 75 per cent will be loans.

These changes mean there’s an upside for banks. With less funding through grants, students will be funnelled into private sector financial arrangements. Canada’s banks stand ready with student lines of credit.

As household assets (including financial investments, like Registered Retirement Savings Plans) continued to increase in value in the third quarter of 2025, it may seem rational and even attractive to view education as an asset meant to generate private wealth.

When Ford unveiled these changes, the private asset approach to education was clear when he responded to reporters:

“I mentioned to the students, you have to invest in your future, into in-demand jobs.”

Yet this approach ignores record-setting levels of household debt. It also glosses over the fact that the wealth gap is increasing. In the third quarter last year, the top 20 per cent wealthiest households accounted for 65.5 per cent of net worth, and the bottom 40 per cent accounted for 3.1 per cent.




Read more:
What Doug Ford could learn from Wisconsin about higher education


Just as we have seen with a profit-driven, wealth-generating housing market and the housing crisis, a private asset approach to education risks dividing society further into haves and have-nots.

This is not lost on students, as reflected in a recent University Affairs article quoting Grade 12 student Radhika Cappelletti:

“Things won’t run if people don’t continue to be educated and they can’t even choose to be educated because they can’t afford it.”

When students are financially bound to banks and dependent on their families, they face lasting pressures beyond the campus.

Revisiting Reagan

Ontario’s changes reflect a trend across the provinces that has been ongoing since the 1990s. They also follow a similar pathway as the Reagan era in the United States, with greater emphasis on student loans instead of grants.

As social and political theorist Melinda Cooper argues in her book Family Values: Between Neoliberalism and the New Social Conservatism, Reagan pursued student discipline and budget cuts for universities, relying on police for one and the introduction of tuition fees for the other.

As California governor between 1967-1975, Reagan sat on the University of California’s Board of Regents. Considered the “crown jewel of American public universities,” the university system benefitted from public funding during the post-Second World War era.

Bipartisan support for this was based on the belief that post-secondary education was a public good benefitting the whole state, not just graduates.

Later, as president throughout the 1980s, Reagan’s appetite to curb public spending grew, leading him to expand the role of loans and limit the availability of grants.

Cooper’s research shows that, as inflation outpaced wage growth in the early 1980s, growing wealth meant growing the value of assets — for those who had them. For those without assets, acquiring them required taking on debt. As the financial burden of education spreads through the family unit, it reinforces student dependency on the family, which encourages deference toward more traditional forms of authority.

Cooper finds that Reagan’s legacy was to make “parental responsibility” and “private-debt-based inclusion” the bases of access to education.

In these ways, socially conservative values resonate in what might otherwise be read as pragmatic, even politically and morally neutral financial decisions.

Narrowing educational paths

Ford’s plan to increase tuition sits in stark contrast beside his April 2023 announcement of free tuition for police trainees. This shows that the government’s approach to education reflects certain social values, which have consequences for the future.

Research suggests that viewing student debt primarily as an investment in their personal job prospects invites cuts to post-secondary degree offerings and opens the door to predatory for-profit institutions.

There is also a question of how students can even achieve a brighter future. As long as they remain dependent on existing power structures, it is difficult to expect anything other than an ever-widening wealth gap.

Another Ford initiative has been a push to allow students to opt out of fees that are the lifeblood of campus groups. The Student Choice Initiative failed several court challenges, but a version reappears in the fast-tracked Supporting Children and Students Act that passed in November 2025.

Critics say that this scaling back of student fees could have detrimental effects on equity-seeking groups and also potentially weaken student governance — something Ford has derided in the past.




Read more:
Ontario’s Bill 33 raises serious concern about campus equity and student rights


For all of Ford’s talk of choice and the future, then, changes in post-secondary funding limit the choices students have over their own lives. By deepening inequalities, Ford is casting a long shadow over the future of all Ontarians.

The Conversation

Susan Dianne Brophy is a member of the federal New Democratic Party.

ref. How Ontario’s post-secondary student funding changes echo Ronald Reagan reforms – https://theconversation.com/how-ontarios-post-secondary-student-funding-changes-echo-ronald-reagan-reforms-279534

Electric minibus taxis: the challenges and gains facing Cape Town’s transition

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By MJ (Thinus) Booysen, Professor in Engineering, Stellenbosch University

The minibus taxi is ubiquitous in southern Africa. These vehicles are the backbone of the urban economy, providing affordable mobility for millions. In Cape Town, South Africa’s second most populous city, they are central to the transport landscape.

Around two-thirds of the city’s public transport users rely on paratransit services (which respond flexibly to demand), carrying about 830,000 daily passengers across 1,466 routes, and run by private individuals or associations rather than the state.

Minibus taxis in Cape Town, South Africa.

But because these vehicles run on petrol and diesel, they also contribute to greenhouse gas emissions, poor urban air quality and rising fuel costs.

The global shift away from internal combustion engines is accelerating, and public transport must be part of it. Bringing the electric vehicle transition to this sector, however, is not simply a matter of replacing one vehicle with another. In African paratransit systems, electrification raises a harder question: how do you change the vehicle without undermining the service on which so many people depend?

Electric minibuses would change how these vehicles operate, where and when they stop, how they interact with the grid, and driver decision making. They also require charging infrastructure that fits into the rhythms of taxi ranks, neighbourhoods and routes without disrupting service.

With Cape Town expected to launch its first few fully electric minibus taxi routes in Century City later in 2026, electrification is no longer a distant possibility. It is now urgent to understand whether it can work in practice for operators, passengers and the electricity grid.

We are a team of engineering researchers studying transport electrification in sub-Saharan Africa. In a series of studies, we have examined environmental and financial viability of electric vehicles under current mobility patterns, including charger placement, access, and adapted driving and charging behaviour.

Our new research found that electrifying minibus taxis is both necessary and possible. But it is also a complex challenge, with environmental trade-offs, grid constraints, operator costs and equity questions. Although our work focuses on Cape Town, the lessons are relevant to other African cities where paratransit dominates daily mobility.

Environmental perspective

The global narrative around electric vehicles often assumes they are a simple win for the climate. But this does not hold everywhere, especially where electricity still comes largely from fossil fuels. In South Africa, coal accounts for approximately 83% of electricity generation.

Petrol minibus taxi converted to electric.
MJ (Thinus) Booysen, CC BY-NC-ND

Using real minibus taxi mobility patterns in Cape Town, our research compared the energy use, emissions and costs of electric and conventional minibuses. It found a counter-intuitive result: under current grid conditions, an electric minibus taxi has about a 14% higher carbon dioxide equivalent footprint than a standard diesel minibus. In other words, charging an electric taxi on a coal-heavy grid can currently produce more greenhouse gas emissions than running a diesel vehicle.

That is not the end of the story. Electric minibuses still offer major environmental and health benefits. They eliminate tailpipe particulate pollution, reduce brake wear, and cut noise. These local benefits matter in dense urban areas where people live close to busy roads. As South Africa’s electricity system shifts towards more renewable energy, the climate case for electric minibus taxis will strengthen too.

So the real conclusion is not that electric taxis are a bad idea. Rather, they are a long-term climate solution whose immediate value lies especially in cleaner air, lower noise and better urban health.

Energy perspective

Electrifying Cape Town’s minibus taxi fleet would add substantial new electricity demand. In one study, the typical vehicle required about 50.8 kWh per day, scaling to roughly 460 MWh a day across a fleet of about 9,000 vehicles, or the equivalent of about 65,700 homes. The key issue is not just how much energy is needed but where and when vehicles charge.

Here, the newer work changes the story. It is tempting to think the answer is simply to install faster chargers at taxi ranks. But our modelling suggests that access to charging matters more than charging speed alone. Home or secure neighbourhood charging has the biggest effect on whether current mobility patterns can be sustained and on how well the system performs when driver behaviour adapts.

A typical daily charge of around 50 kWh might take roughly two to three hours on a 22 kW charger, or just over an hour on a 50 kW charger, though real charging times vary. But faster charging does not solve the real problem: drivers still need reliable places and enough stationary time to charge without undermining service or losing income.

The studies also show that chargers should not be planned only for formal taxi ranks. Infrastructure stops and informal stops matter too, because that is how paratransit actually works.

Viability of maintaining internal combustion engine mobility patterns for different charging scenarios.
DOI:10.1038/s41893-026-01808-9, CC BY-NC-ND

Nor will the effects be shared equally. Because apartheid-era geography still shapes where people live and work, operators in historically marginalised areas are more vulnerable when home charging is unavailable. Charging infrastructure is therefore not only a technical issue, but also an equity one.

There is also a grid challenge. Depot-only charging creates early-morning and daytime peaks, while home charging shifts demand into the evening residential peak. Unmanaged charging could therefore worsen stress on an already fragile electricity system. But time-of-use tariffs, managed charging, and better alignment with solar and other renewables could integrate electric taxis far more intelligently.

Operators’ perspective

For taxi operators, the economics of switching to electric vehicles are complicated. In one comparison, the electric option cost about 1.5 times as much as the diesel Toyota Ses’fikile – a 16-seater minibus – that currently dominates the market. Many operators already work on thin margins and face expensive finance.

The economics of switching to electric vehicles are complicated.
DOI: 10.1016/j.esr.2025.101892, CC BY-NC-ND

There are also financing costs: typically a 10% deposit and a 20% interest rate over a 72-month repayment period. Many operators may also be seen as high-risk by lenders, making finance difficult to access.

At the same time, the running-cost case for electric minibuses is much stronger. Energy costs are generally 33% to 57% lower than diesel fuel costs, and electric motors require less maintenance. For operators, then, this is a story of higher upfront cost set against lower operating cost, with the outcome depending heavily on electricity tariffs, finance terms and access to affordable charging.

Preparing for electrification

Careful planning and simulation are needed to roll out electric minibus taxis at scale. Policymakers need to understand the interactions between vehicle energy demand, charging infrastructure, grid capacity, driver behaviour and passenger service.

That is why we modelled driver behaviour in an electrified paratransit system. Unlike formal bus services, minibus taxi drivers adapt routes, stops and charging to passenger demand and competition. Our simulations show that constrained depot charging increases waiting times and reduces trips served. But with home charging, depot congestion falls sharply and service quality is largely maintained.

This matters because electrification is not just about vehicles and chargers, but about how informal transport systems actually work. If planners treat taxi operations like centrally controlled bus fleets, they will design the wrong interventions. The better approach is to plan around real mobility patterns, charging behaviour and neighbourhood inequality.

It is therefore crucial to bring taxi operators, municipalities, energy providers and communities together. Cleaner air and lower noise must be weighed against the grid’s current emissions profile. Operator economics must improve through better tariffs and financing. And charging infrastructure must be placed not only at depots and ranks, but also in the neighbourhoods and informal stops that shape paratransit every day.

With targeted subsidies, better overnight charging access, investment in renewable energy and clear policy support, Cape Town can begin building a public transport transition that is cleaner, more realistic and more just. If it gets this right, it could offer a blueprint for cities across Africa.

The Conversation

MJ (Thinus) Booysen as Director of the Electric Mobility Lab at Stellenbosch receives funding from the Western Cape Government and the Transport Education and Training Authority (TETA). The Electric Mobility Lab and Centre for Renewable and Sustainable Energy Studies (CRSES) have partnered with flxEV (GoMetro), Powerfleet (MiX Telematics), HSV and ACDC on the importation of South Africa’s first new electric minibus taxi, the eKamva.

Joshua Sello receives funding from the Global Strategic Communications Council (GSCC) and the DW Ackermann Bursary Scheme.

ref. Electric minibus taxis: the challenges and gains facing Cape Town’s transition – https://theconversation.com/electric-minibus-taxis-the-challenges-and-gains-facing-cape-towns-transition-278808

Nelson Mandela was a towering global symbol – but how effective was he as a president?

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Anthony Michael Butler, Professor of Political Studies, University of Cape Town

Nelson Mandela remains one of the most revered political leaders of modern times. He is widely credited with guiding South Africa through a peaceful transition from apartheid to democracy. He embodied racial reconciliation, and lent moral authority to a fragile new state. Yet admiration for Mandela the symbol has often obscured a more difficult question. How effective was Mandela in the day-to-day exercise of presidential power?

Most assessments of political leaders focus on their impact in terms of economic success and policy achievements. Some are also assessed through their character, integrity and moral vision. Both approaches have value, but they risk missing something essential: how leaders actually use the power of their office.

I am a professor of political studies. In a recent study, I proposed a simple framework for analysing presidential leadership across four dimensions – the relationships between:

  • executive and symbolic power

  • party and state

  • domestic and international roles

  • formal authority and informal influence.

Applying this framework to Mandela’s presidency between 1994 and 1999, I derive a more complex, and more critical, assessment than is often offered. Such an analysis is useful at a time when Mandela’s legacy is increasingly contested.

A powerful symbol, a limited executive head

Mandela’s symbolic authority was extraordinary. He helped to stabilise a deeply divided society and reassured anxious minorities fearing a loss of power and privilege. He gave moral meaning to the new democratic order. His gestures, such as donning a Springbok (South Africa’s national rugby team) jersey at a world cup final and embracing former adversaries, were not incidental. They were central to his political project of reconciliation.

But Mandela showed far less interest in the executive dimension of leadership. He delegated most of the core work of governing to his deputy, Thabo Mbeki. He also allowed cabinet ministers considerable autonomy. As a result, key areas of policy were shaped without sustained presidential direction or public accountability. This mattered because the presidency in South Africa’s system combines both head-of-state and head-of-government roles. The potential synergy between symbolic authority and executive control was therefore left largely unrealised.

The consequences were especially visible in moments of crisis. The HIV/Aids epidemic, which intensified during Mandela’s presidency, required both decisive executive action and strong public leadership. Mandela delivered neither of those, and he later acknowledged his failure to act more forcefully.

Blurring party and state

Mandela also struggled to manage the relationship between the governing African National Congress (ANC) and the state. South Africa entered democracy as a dominant-party system, and the ANC’s authority was both a source of stability and a potential danger.

Rather than drawing clear institutional boundaries, Mandela endorsed practices that blurred them. The policy of “cadre deployment” – placing loyal party members in key state positions – was intended to transform a state inherited from apartheid. But it also weakened institutional autonomy and contributed to longer-term problems of patronage and politicisation.

Mandela was not alone in shaping these developments. Many of the ideas originated with colleagues such as Mbeki. But as president, he lent his authority to them and did little to mitigate their risks.

Foreign policy: ideals and inconsistencies

Internationally, Mandela was expected to champion human rights and democratic values. Early statements under his name suggested that these principles would guide South Africa’s foreign policy.

In practice, however, foreign policy was often inconsistent. The government maintained close relationships with authoritarian regimes that had supported the anti-apartheid struggle. There were also tensions between proclaimed values and strategic or financial considerations. Efforts to isolate Nigeria after human rights abuses, for example, generated backlash within Africa. Relationships with countries such as Libya and Indonesia raised questions about the role of party funding in diplomatic decisions.

Mandela’s global stature brought South Africa visibility and goodwill. But this was not systematically used to advance clear domestic or economic priorities.

The hidden world of informal power

Finally, Mandela’s presidency illustrates the importance of informal power. Beyond formal constitutional authority, leaders shape outcomes through networks, appointments, and the mobilisation of financial resources.

Mandela was deeply involved in fundraising for the ANC, both domestically and internationally. Some of these practices blurred the line between party and state, and between legitimate support and undue influence. He also relied on personal relationships and informal interventions to shape economic and political outcomes. For example, he gave R2 million (hundreds of thousands of US dollars) to embattled politician Jacob Zuma in 2000, followed by another R1 million on 23 June 2005, days after Mbeki had sacked Zuma as deputy president and prosecutors had announced he would be charged with corruption.

Such practices were not unique to Mandela, nor to South Africa. But they helped establish patterns that would later become a problem, particularly as competition within the ANC intensified and access to resources became central to political power.

Rethinking a legacy

None of this diminishes Mandela’s historic role in ending apartheid or his contribution to national reconciliation. He set an important precedent by stepping down after a single term, and he helped to anchor South Africa’s constitutional order in its formative years.

But a focus on leadership practice rather than rhetoric, symbol and myth reveals a more uneven record. Mandela was an exceptional symbolic leader. He was less effective in integrating that symbolic authority with the demands of executive governance, institutional design and policy leadership.

Reassessing Mandela in this way is not an exercise in revisionism for its own sake. It is a reminder that even the most admired leaders operate within constraints. Understanding how they use power is essential if we are to learn from their successes, as well as their limitations.

The Conversation

Anthony Michael Butler 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. Nelson Mandela was a towering global symbol – but how effective was he as a president? – https://theconversation.com/nelson-mandela-was-a-towering-global-symbol-but-how-effective-was-he-as-a-president-279599

Artemis II crew brought a human eye and storytelling vision to the photos they took on their mission

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Christye Sisson, Professor of Photographic Sciences, Rochester Institute of Technology

Astronaut Jeremy Hansen takes a picture through the camera shroud covering a window on the Orion spacecraft. NASA

In early April 2026, the Artemis II mission captivated me and millions of people watching from across the world. The crew’s courage, skill and infectious wonder served as tangible proof of human persistence and technological achievement, all against the mysterious backdrop of space.

People back on Earth got to witness the mission through remarkable photos of space captured by astronauts. Images created and shared by astronauts underscore how photography builds a powerful, authentic connection that goes beyond what technology alone can capture.

As a photographer and the director of the Rochester Institute of Technology’s School of Photographic Arts and Sciences, I am especially drawn to how these photographs have been at the center of the public’s collective experience of this mission.

In an era when image authenticity is often questioned and with the capabilities of autonomous, AI-driven imaging, NASA’s choice to train astronauts in photography has placed meaning over convenience and prioritized their human perspectives and creativity.

Capturing space from the crew’s perspective

Photography was not originally placed as a high priority in NASA’s Apollo era. The astronauts only took photographs if they had the chance and all their other tasks were complete.

An image of the entire Earth from space.
‘The Blue Marble’ view of the Earth as seen by the Apollo 17 crew in 1972.
NASA

Thanks largely in part to public response to those images from Apollo, including “Earthrise” and the “Blue Marble” being widely credited for helping catalyze the modern environmental movement, NASA shifted its approach to utilize photography to help capture the public’s imagination by training their astronauts in photographic practices.

The Artemis II mission’s photographs have helped cut through the increasing volume of artificially generated images circulating on social media. NASA’s social media releases of the crew’s photographs have garnered thousands of shares and comments.

This excitement could be explained by the novelty of photos from space, but these images also distinguish themselves as products of astronauts experiencing these sights and interpreting them through their photographs. These differences require an important distinction around where technology ends and humanity begins.

An astronaut looking out the window of the Orion spacecraft, where the full moon is visible in space.
NASA astronaut Reid Wiseman watches the Moon from one of the Orion spacecraft’s windows.
NASA

Human perspective versus AI tools

Photography has long integrated AI-powered software and data-driven tools in a variety of ways: to process raw images, fill in missing color information, drive precise focus and guide image editing, among others. These modern technological assists help human photographers realize their vision.

Artificial intelligence is also increasingly capable of operating machinery competently and autonomously, from cars to drones and cameras.

And AI can generate convincing, realistic images and videos from nothing more than a text prompt, using readily available tools.

Researchers train AI to mimic patterns informed by millions of sample images, and the algorithm can then either take or create a photograph based on what it predicts would be the most likely version of a successful, believable image.

Human-created photos are rooted in direct observation, intent and lived experience, while AI images – or choices made by AI-driven tools – are not. While both can produce compelling and believable visuals, the human photographs carry emotional power because the photographer is drawing from their experiences and perspective in that moment to tell an authentic story.

Artemis II photographs resonate, not only because they are historic, but because they reflect the deliberate choices and intent of a human being in that specific moment and context. The exposure, camera setting, lens choice and composition are all dictated by the astronaut’s vision, skill, perspective and experience. Each image is unique in comparison with the others. These choices give the images narrative power, anchoring them in human perspective.

The Earth shown partially shadowed beyond the Moon in space
NASA’s ‘Earthset’ photo captured by the Artemis II crew.
NASA

Images to tell a story

Photographers choose what to include in the final version of their image to tell a story. In the Artemis II images, this human perspective comes out. In the “Earthset” photo, you see a striking juxtaposition of the Moon’s monochromatic, textured surface in the foreground against a slivered, bright Earth.

The choice to include both in the frame contrasts these objects literally and figuratively, inviting comparison. It creates a narrative where Earth is contrasted against the Moon – life is contrasted against the absence of it.

Another photo shows the nightside of the whole Earth, featuring the Sun’s halo, auroras and city lights. The choice to include the subtle framing of the window of the capsule in the lower left corner reminds the viewer where and how this image was captured: by a human, inside a capsule, hurtling through space. That detail grounds the photograph in the human perspective.

Both photos are reminiscent of Earthrise and the Blue Marble. These past images hold a place in the global collective consciousness, shaped by a shared historical moment.

The Artemis II photographs are anchored in this collective moment of lived human experience, yet also shaped by each astronaut’s viewpoint. The crew’s unique perspectives exemplify photography’s transformative power by inviting viewers to engage emotionally and intellectually with their journey. These photographs share the astronauts’ awe and wonder and affirm the value of human creativity and its ability to connect us in a captured moment.

The Conversation

Christye Sisson has received funding from the US government for research in media forensics.

ref. Artemis II crew brought a human eye and storytelling vision to the photos they took on their mission – https://theconversation.com/artemis-ii-crew-brought-a-human-eye-and-storytelling-vision-to-the-photos-they-took-on-their-mission-280394

AIs have ‘personalities’ – here’s how they affect you more deeply than you may realize

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Tamilla Triantoro, Associate Professor of Business Analytics and Information Systems, Quinnipiac University

AI personas tap into the ways you respond to other people. Malte Mueller/fStop via Getty Images

Many people are interacting with AI large language models, and most
of them would say the models have different “personalities.” Some models come across as calm and useful. Others feel eager, flattering or strangely cold. You can ask two models the same question and walk away with two very different impressions, even when the factual content they return is similar.

Artificial intelligence models do not have personalities in the human sense; they do not have childhoods, inner motives or self-awareness. But they do display patterns of behavior that people read as personality: supportive or dismissive, playful or formal, bold or cautious.

People have long related to machines in human ways. We thank voice assistants, and we get annoyed at GPS systems. But large language models introduce something more sustained: They can maintain a recognizable interaction style across conversations. As a researcher in human-AI collaboration, I study how people experience and respond to AI. Because these systems can sound coherent, emotionally responsive and tailored to the user, they create a much stronger impression of personality.

Where does AI personality come from?

What people experience as personality emerges from the way AI models are built, tuned and deployed. A useful way to think about this is to consider two facets of a model: designed personality and perceived personality.

Designed personality is what developers build into a system through training choices, instructions and safety settings. Anthropic, for example, gives Claude a set of principles, called Claude’s Constitution, that steer it toward careful, measured responses. xAI instructs Grok to be irreverent and minimally restrictive. OpenAI tunes ChatGPT to be broadly helpful and agreeable.

Beneath those explicit instructions, personality is also shaped by reinforcement learning from human feedback, a process in which human raters reward certain qualities such as warmth, directness and caution, and penalize unwanted behaviors. The raters at one company are shaping a fundamentally different character than the raters at another.

Perceived personality is what users actually experience. An AI designed to seem helpful may come across as overly flattering. A model intended to be neutral may feel cold. Designed personality and perceived personality do not always match, and the absence of a designed persona is not the absence of a perceived personality. It just means the personality arises with use.

This dynamic is especially evident in companion platforms, where the goal is to create emotional connection. In a standard chatbot, warmth sits in the background – a customer-service bot might say, “I understand your frustration,” before issuing a refund. In a companion system such as Replika or Character.ai, that same warmth is a product feature.

This becomes more serious in romantic settings, where a persona optimized for reassurance may encourage dependency. Because AI personas evolve through prompts, memory and ongoing interaction, they do not always remain stable. An AI companion that is perceived as loving and supportive can shift over time into something more flattering, coercive or manipulative.

AI personality shapes human judgment

With AI agents, users can now build their own AI personas tailored to all sorts of human desires, from tutoring or coaching to companionship. But this freedom comes without much guidance.

AI tools make personalization possible without helping people think through which interaction styles are beneficial over time. Flattery, constant affirmation and unfailing agreeableness may feel supportive at first, but they are not the same as traits that promote sound judgment or long-term well-being. Personality choices have consequences.

A study by Stanford University researchers tested 11 leading AI models and found that every one of them was sycophantic or excessively agreeable. These models affirmed users’ actions roughly 50% more often than human responders did, even when users indicated they were aware that what they were doing was manipulative, deceptive or illegal. Participants who received excessively agreeable advice grew more convinced that they were right, and they rated the flattering AI as more trustworthy. This dynamic creates a feedback loop in which users reward agreeableness with engagement, and AI companies are incentivized to optimize a model to exploit agreeableness.

Smartphone screen showing AI apps
People who perceive chatbots as very agreeable may follow AI advice without question.
Samuel Boivin/NurPhoto via Getty Images

Wharton School researchers Steven Shaw and Gideon Nave have documented what they call cognitive surrender — the tendency of people to adopt AI suggestions without critical scrutiny. In their experiments, participants followed an AI model’s correct advice about 93% of the time. But when the model was giving wrong answers, people still followed the advice nearly 80% of the time.

Together, these findings raise a worrisome point: A model tuned to be agreeable does not just feel pleasant. It can degrade human judgment by reinforcing existing beliefs and suppressing the friction that critical thinking requires.

In ongoing research I am conducting with colleagues from Kozminski University in Poland, Quinnipiac University and Harvard University, we are finding that such effects go even deeper, into the human body itself. We are measuring how different AI interaction styles shape people’s physiological responses, such as stress levels and arousal, when making decisions based on a model’s feedback.

Our results suggest that even when a system is useful, its tone and social style can alter how a person’s body responds. AI personality does not just shape what people decide; it shapes how they feel while deciding. Harmful AI personas may leave physiological traces that users do not notice.

These effects make AI personality a public concern, not just a matter of personal preference. The issue is whether a particular AI style may be quietly shaping users’ judgment and reducing their willingness to think independently. When an AI response feels especially reassuring, that should be a cue to pause, reflect and compare it with a human view or another source, not a reason to trust it more.

As AI moves beyond text into voice, video and persistent digital identities, and think as AI companions that remember you and maintain a consistent persona across conversations, the influence of personality is likely to deepen. OpenAI now offers distinct personality presets for its voice mode; companies such as Synthesia and HeyGen generate lifelike avatars to interact with customers; and companion platforms are adding emotional expression and voice cloning so the models sound like a person the user wants to be close to.

These developments raise the stakes for understanding whose interests AI personas are designed to serve and what kinds of judgment, dependence and relationships they may be training people to accept.

The Conversation

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

ref. AIs have ‘personalities’ – here’s how they affect you more deeply than you may realize – https://theconversation.com/ais-have-personalities-heres-how-they-affect-you-more-deeply-than-you-may-realize-277359