Source: The Conversation – USA – By Gregory P. Magarian, Thomas and Karole Green Professor of Law, Washington University in St. Louis
Ohio National Guardsmen on the Kent State University campus prepare to disperse student protesters on May 4, 1970. Troops later opened fire on students, killing four.Howard Ruffner/Getty Images
The president announces an aggressive, controversial policy. Large groups of protesters take to the streets. Government agents open fire and kill protesters.
In Minneapolis, free speech has weathered the crisis better, as seen in the protests themselves, the public’s responses – and even the protest songs the two events inspired.
Protesters march through the streets of downtown Minneapolis on Jan. 25, 2026, one day after federal agents shot dead U.S. citizen Alex Pretti. Roberto Schmidt/AFP via Getty Images
The public response to Minneapolis has made a difference. The Trump administration has announced an end to its immigration crackdown in the Twin Cities. Trump has backed off attacks on Good and Pretti. Congressional opposition to ICE funding has grown. Overall public support for Trump and his policies has fallen.
Free speech in protests, recordings and songs
What has caused people to view the killings in Minneapolis so differently from Kent State? One big factor, I believe, is how free speech has shaped the public response.
The Minneapolis protests themselves have sent the public a more focused message than what emerged from the student protests against the Vietnam War.
Anti-war protests in 1970 targeted military action on the other side of the world. Organizers had to plan and coordinate through in-person meetings and word of mouth. Student protesters needed the institutional news media to convey their views to the public.
In contrast, the anti-ICE protests in Minneapolis target government action at the protesters’ doorsteps. Organizers can use local networks and social media to plan, coordinate and communicate directly with the public. The protests have succeeded in deepening public opposition to ICE.
In addition, the American people have witnessed the Minneapolis shootings.
Finally, consider two popular protest songs that emerged from Kent State and Minneapolis: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Ohio” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Minneapolis.”
Bruce Springsteen sings ‘Streets of Minneapolis.’
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young recorded, pressed and released “Ohio” with remarkable speed for 1970. The vinyl single reached record stores and radio stations on June 4, a month after the Kent State shootings. The song peaked at No. 14 on the Billboard chart two months later.
Neil Young’s lyrics described the Kent State events in mythic terms, warning of “tin soldiers” and telling young Americans: “We’re finally on our own.” Young did not describe the shootings in detail. The song does not name Kent State, the National Guard or the fallen students. Instead, it presents the events as symbolic of a broader generational conflict over the Vietnam War.
The internet and social media let Springsteen document Minneapolis, almost in real time, for a mass audience. Springsteen’s lyrics balance symbolism with specificity, naming not just “King Trump” but also victims Pretti and Good, key Trump officials Stephen Miller and Kristi Noem, main Minneapolis artery Nicollet Avenue, and the protesters’ “whistles and phones,” before fading on a chant of “ICE out!”
At the same time, Minneapolis has shown how networked communication can promote free speech. Through focused protests, recordings of government action, and viral popular culture, today’s public can get fuller, clearer information to help critically assess government actions.
Gregory P. Magarian 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.
For the first time in more than half a century, there are no binding restraints on the buildup of the largest nuclear forces on Earth. The New START treaty expired on Feb. 5, 2026, ending the last agreed limits on U.S. and Russian nuclear forces.
New START limited the number of strategic nuclear weapons the United States and Russia could deploy to 1,550 each. It also limited the missiles and bombers those warheads were loaded on, required on-site inspections and data exchanges, barred interference with satellite monitoring, and established a joint commission to discuss disputes. It did not limit the number of nuclear weapons each side could hold in reserve.
With China rapidly building up its nuclear forces, intense rivalry between the United States, China and Russia, and evolving technologies – from precision conventional weapons to artificial intelligence complicating nuclear balances – there is a real potential of an unpredictable three-way nuclear arms competition.
Such a competition could increase the danger of nuclear conflict, which I believe is higher than it has been in decades.
The security of agreed restraint
While the particular numbers of warheads and delivery vehicles an accord specifies may not make an immense difference, nuclear agreements offer important advantages in four key areas:
Predictability, limiting the pressures to build up nuclear arsenals that come from worst-case analysis of what adversaries might build and the destabilization that unexpected new weapons can bring.
Transparency, elements such as data exchanges, on-site inspections and limits on interfering with satellite monitoring, giving each side a better ability to understand what is going on with the others’ nuclear forces.
Reduced first-strike incentives, from banning or limiting particularly dangerous types of weapons.
Improved relations, through the mere fact that the other side is willing to limit the nuclear forces arrayed against you, which undermines the belief that they are implacably bent on your utter destruction. This reduces the intensity of hostility that can drive crises and escalation.
The expiration of the New START treaty upends decades of international nuclear stability.
After 1962’s Cuban missile crisis, President John F. Kennedy realized that relying on nuclear deterrence without any agreed nuclear restraints or risk-reduction measures is just too dangerous. He moved quickly to negotiate the Limited Test Ban Treaty in 1963 and put in place a U.S.-Soviet hotline for crisis communication.
He also launched a series of initiatives that led to reductions in defense spending on both sides, cuts in production of nuclear materials for weapons, and even troop pullbacks in Europe. Every subsequent U.S. president has pursued nuclear arms control accords.
Moreover, the countries that have promised not to get nuclear weapons under the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treatywant to see the nuclear-armed nations living up to their treaty obligation to negotiate in good faith toward nuclear disarmament. As pressure builds for countries to get their own nuclear weapons, maintaining the nonproliferation regime and getting the non-nuclear countries’ votes for stronger nuclear safeguards or export controls is likely to require the nuclear-armed nations to accept at least some constraints of their own.
Critics of arms control point out that Russia has violated many past accords – and the Trump administration has accused both Russia and China of carrying out illicit nuclear tests, though his administration has not offered solid evidence in public so far. But despite these very real issues, key elements of these agreements were implemented, and they “left the United States safer,” as Secretary of State Marco Rubio has noted. More than four-fifths of the nuclear weapons that used to exist in the world have been dismantled.
New limits or buildup?
The U.S. is developing a new type of cruise missile that can carry a nuclear warhead and, like this Tomahawk, can be launched from submerged submarines. U.S. Navy via Getty Images
So, what’s next? President Donald Trump ignored Russian President Vladimir Putin’s proposal that both sides stay within the limits of New START while they explored options for new steps. But Trump said he wants to negotiate a “better” deal on fewer nuclear weapons – a deal that would not only limit U.S. and Russian strategic forces but also China’s much smaller but rapidly growing nuclear forces and Russia’s large force of nonstrategic nuclear weapons – that is, ones for battlefield or regional use.
So far, though, no negotiations on follow-on accords are underway, and the administration has not offered to negotiate about any of the U.S. weapons systems that worry Russia and China.
Moreover, there is strong pressure in Washington to build up U.S. nuclear forces rather than reduce them, to deter both Russia and China – while also dealing with the smaller but still dangerous North Korean nuclear force. The United States has many hundreds of nuclear weapons in storage that could be brought out and put on existing missiles, along with empty missile tubes on submarines that could again be filled with missiles. And the U.S. is developing new weapons, such as a nuclear-armed, sea-launched cruise missile.
Constraints and challenges
In my view, the more than 1,500 strategic nuclear weapons the United States already has deployed – with a major modernization underway – provide a sufficient deterrent to aggression. And if the United States begins to build up, Russia will respond in kind, and China may go even further. Once a multisided buildup is underway, its momentum will be more difficult to reverse.
Fortunately, the United States, Russia and China all have strong national interests in avoiding an unrestrained nuclear race, which would leave all of them poorer and no more secure. While the United States has quite a few nuclear weapons in storage, its nuclear modernization is struggling with enormous delays and cost overruns, and its industrial base is simply not prepared for a major nuclear expansion.
Putin is building a war economy that can churn out a lot of weapons – but he knows his economy is a 10th the size of the U.S.’s, and he wants to focus on rebuilding the conventional forces being chewed up in his war on Ukraine, making nuclear competition a bad idea. China has an economy to match the U.S.’s and an unrivaled manufacturing capacity, but it, too, would be worse off if its buildup provokes a U.S. buildup in response and a collapse of nuclear restraints.
Despite these common interests, finding a path to new accords among at least three parties, rather than two, will not be easy. Coalitions in each capital will have to win arguments that an accord is in their nation’s interest at the same time. The parties will have to address in some way the non-nuclear technologies that affect nuclear balances, and technologies such as cyber weapons and artificial intelligence would be hard to count or verify.
U.S. political polarization might make it very difficult to get a two-thirds vote in the Senate to ratify a treaty – though there are many other possible approaches, from reciprocal political commitments to executive agreements.
Famously unpredictable, Trump might still reverse course and agree to some version of Putin’s proposal for a “strategic pause” in which neither the United States nor Russia would build up its nuclear capabilities for the time being, while talks on next steps were underway. That would have the advantage of offering time to explore the options before new nuclear buildups got locked in.
And that would give him more chance of reaching his oft-stated goal of being the one to bring home a deal to reduce nuclear weapons and the dangers they pose.
Matthew Bunn is a member of the Board of Directors of the Arms Control Association; is a member of the Committee on International Security and Arms Control of the National Academy of Sciences; has consulted for several U.S. national laboratories; and has served on the Academic Alliance of U.S. Strategic Command.
Public debate about artificial intelligence in higher education has largely orbited a familiar worry: cheating. Will students use chatbots to write essays? Can instructors tell? Should universities ban the tech? Embrace it?
These concerns are understandable. But focusing so much on cheating misses the larger transformation already underway, one that extends far beyond student misconduct and even the classroom.
Universities are adopting AI across many areas of institutional life. Some uses are largely invisible, like systems that help allocate resources, flag “at-risk” students, optimize course scheduling or automate routine administrative decisions. Other uses are more noticeable. Students use AI tools to summarize and study, instructors use them to build assignments and syllabuses and researchers use them to write code, scan literature and compress hours of tedious work into minutes.
People may use AI to cheat or skip out on work assignments. But the many uses of AI in higher education, and the changes they portend, beg a much deeper question: As machines become more capable of doing the labor of research and learning, what happens to higher education? What purpose does the university serve?
As these technologies become better at producing knowledge work – designing classes, writing papers, suggesting experiments and summarizing difficult texts – they don’t just make universities more productive. They risk hollowing out the ecosystem of learning and mentorship upon which these institutions are built, and on which they depend.
Nonautonomous AI
Consider three kinds of AI systems and their respective impacts on university life:
AI-powered software is already being used throughout higher education in admissions review, purchasing, academic advising and institutional risk assessment. These are considered “nonautonomous” systems because they automate tasks, but a person is “in the loop” and using these systems as tools.
These technologies can pose a risk to students’ privacy and data security. They also can be biased. And they often lack sufficient transparency to determine the sources of these problems. Who has access to student data? How are “risk scores” generated? How do we prevent systems from reproducing inequities or treating certain students as problems to be managed?
These questions are serious, but they are not conceptually new, at least within the field of computer science. Universities typically have compliance offices, institutional review boards and governance mechanisms that are designed to help address or mitigate these risks, even if they sometimes fall short of these objectives.
Hybrid AI
Hybrid systems encompass a range of tools, including AI-assisted tutoring chatbots, personalized feedback tools and automated writing support. They often rely on generative AI technologies, especially large language models. While human users set the overall goals, the intermediate steps the system takes to meet them are often not specified.
Hybrid systems are increasingly shaping day-to-day academic work. Students use them as writing companions, tutors, brainstorming partners and on-demand explainers. Faculty use them to generate rubrics, draft lectures and design syllabuses. Researchers use them to summarize papers, comment on drafts, design experiments and generate code.
This is where the “cheating” conversation belongs. With students and faculty alike increasingly leaning on technology for help, it is reasonable to wonder what kinds of learning might get lost along the way. But hybrid systems also raise more complex ethical questions.
If students rely on generative AI to produce work for their classes, and feedback is also generated by AI, how does that affect the relationship between student and professor? Eric Lee for The Washington Post via Getty Images
One has to do with transparency. AI chatbots offer natural-language interfaces that make it hard to tell when you’re interacting with a human and when you’re interacting with an automated agent. That can be alienating and distracting for those who interact with them. A student reviewing material for a test should be able to tell if they are talking with their teaching assistant or with a robot. A student reading feedback on a term paper needs to know whether it was written by their instructor. Anything less than complete transparency in such cases will be alienating to everyone involved and will shift the focus of academic interactions from learning to the means or the technology of learning. University of Pittsburgh researchers have shown that these dynamics bring forth feelings of uncertainty, anxiety and distrust for students. These are problematic outcomes.
A second ethical question relates to accountability and intellectual credit. If an instructor uses AI to draft an assignment and a student uses AI to draft a response, who is doing the evaluating, and what exactly is being evaluated? If feedback is partly machine-generated, who is responsible when it misleads, discourages or embeds hidden assumptions? And when AI contributes substantially to research synthesis or writing, universities will need clearer norms around authorship and responsibility – not only for students, but also for faculty.
Finally, there is the critical question of cognitive offloading. AI can reduce drudgery, and that’s not inherently bad. But it can also shift users away from the parts of learning that build competence, such as generating ideas, struggling through confusion, revising a clumsy draft and learning to spot one’s own mistakes.
Autonomous agents
The most consequential changes may come with systems that look less like assistants and more like agents. While truly autonomous technologies remain aspirational, the dream of a researcher “in a box” – an agentic AI system that can perform studies on its own – is becoming increasingly realistic.
Growing sophistication and autonomy of technology systems means that scientific research can increasingly be automated, potentially leaving people with fewer opportunities to gain skills practicing research methods. NurPhoto/Getty Images
Agentic tools are anticipated to “free up time” for work that focuses on more human capacities like empathy and problem-solving. In teaching, this may mean that faculty may still teach in the headline sense, but more of the day-to-day labor of instruction can be handed off to systems optimized for efficiency and scale. Similarly, in research, the trajectory points toward systems that can increasingly automate the research cycle. In some domains, that already looks like robotic laboratories that run continuously, automate large portions of experimentation and even select new tests based on prior results.
At first glance, this may sound like a welcome boost to productivity. But universities are not information factories; they are systems of practice. They rely on a pipeline of graduate students and early-career academics who learn to teach and research by participating in that same work. If autonomous agents absorb more of the “routine” responsibilities that historically served as on-ramps into academic life, the university may keep producing courses and publications while quietly thinning the opportunity structures that sustain expertise over time.
The same dynamic applies to undergraduates, albeit in a different register. When AI systems can supply explanations, drafts, solutions and study plans on demand, the temptation is to offload the most challenging parts of learning. To the industry that is pushing AI into universities, it may seem as if this type of work is “inefficient” and that students will be better off letting a machine handle it. But it is the very nature of that struggle that builds durable understanding. Cognitive psychology has shown that students grow intellectually through doing the work of drafting, revising, failing, trying again, grappling with confusion and revising weak arguments. This is the work of learning how to learn.
Taken together, these developments suggest that the greatest risk posed by automation in higher education is not simply the replacement of particular tasks by machines, but the erosion of the broader ecosystem of practice that has long sustained teaching, research and learning.
An uncomfortable inflection point
So what purpose do universities serve in a world in which knowledge work is increasingly automated?
One possible answer treats the university primarily as an engine for producing credentials and knowledge. There, the core question is output: Are students graduating with degrees? Are papers and discoveries being generated? If autonomous systems can deliver those outputs more efficiently, then the institution has every reason to adopt them.
But another answer treats the university as something more than an output machine, acknowledging that the value of higher education lies partly in the ecosystem itself. This model assigns intrinsic value to the pipeline of opportunities through which novices become experts, the mentorship structures through which judgment and responsibility are cultivated, and the educational design that encourages productive struggle rather than optimizing it away. Here, what matters is not only whether knowledge and degrees are produced, but how they are produced and what kinds of people, capacities and communities are formed in the process. In this version, the university is meant to serve as no less than an ecosystem that reliably forms human expertise and judgment.
In a world where knowledge work itself is increasingly automated, we think universities must ask what higher education owes its students, its early-career scholars and the society it serves. The answers will determine not only how AI is adopted, but also what the modern university becomes.
The Applied Ethics Center at UMass Boston receives funding from the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies. Nir Eisikovits serves as the data ethics advisor to MindGuard, a startup focused on AI integration into companies’ workflow.
Jacob Burley receives funding from The Applied Ethics Center at UMass Boston.
There is a long and storied history of nonhuman actors, from Luke, the dog of silent star Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, to the collies cast in the role of Lassie in film and on television. Bart the Bear racked up over 20 film and TV credits in the 1980s and 1990s, while countless horses have supported period dramas that now saturate streaming services.
But business has not been as good as it used to be for the animal trainers who specialize in renting creatures of all kinds to film and TV productions.
Hollywood’s adoption of visual effects – also referred to as computer generated imagery, or CGI – has had an outsized role in putting many animal actors out of work. Ever since “Jurassic Park” (1993) dared to comingle CGI dinosaurs with human actors, more and more digital animals have appeared alongside humans on screen.
But even before these recent events, there were calls for Hollywood to radically reduce its dependence on animal actors.
In 2012, The Hollywood Reporter – the same trade magazine that recently lamented a downturn in animal rentals – published an exposé cataloging incidents in which animals died, were injured or were put at grievous risk on sets. These productions nonetheless went on to carry the famous “No Animals Were Harmed” credit awarded by the American Humane Association, despite the fact that, well, animals were harmed. American Humane maintained that the incidents were tragic but not the result of negligence.
In 2016, PETA released the results of undercover investigations documenting substandard living conditions and untreated medical conditions at Birds & Animals Unlimited, which operates animal training facilities for film and television. In 2024, the organization detailed neglect of animals in the care of Atlanta Film Animals. Both companies denied the allegations.
There are, of course, any number of ways to minimize or avoid using actual animals in film and TV altogether.
“The Rise of the Planet of the Apes” and its sequels have used motion-capture, with humans performing the movements of characters later rendered as chimpanzees, gorillas, bonobos and orangutans.
For Ang Lee’s 2012 production “Life of Pi,” visual effects artists created thousands of virtual animals, while director Darren Aronofsky opted for completely digital animals, supplemented by some practical props, in 2014’s “Noah.”
Bucking high-tech trends, the 2025 horror film “Primate” went old school without reverting to real animals, deploying a movement artist in a costume and prosthetics to play a murderously rabid chimp.
The 2025 horror flick ‘Primate’ doesn’t deploy CGI or an animal actor, but instead uses a costumed human to portray the maniacal ape.
Can CGI numb viewers to animal violence?
What do digital animals, these bestial avatars, make possible?
Undoubtedly, there are trainers who care deeply for their charges and uphold best practices in animal husbandry. But it stands to reason that the fewer captive animals, the better, and recent advances in AI have made visual effects and CGI even more realistic and easier to model.
In the past, the fact that the animals on set were real sometimes curbed filmmakers’ most savage impulses; violence was implied or took place off-screen in family fare like “The Yearling” (1946) and “Old Yeller” (1957). At the same time, camera tricks and props have been used to create scenes of animal cruelty in many films, from “American Psycho” (2000) to “John Wick” (2014).
While the effects of violent media on viewers are notoriously hard to study, some evidence suggests that some audiences can become desensitized to the real-world consequences of unhealthy and violent content. It’s easy to see how this desensitization could extend to watching cruelty toward animals on screen.
Viewers can still sniff out the virtual
A hybrid approach to portraying animals on screen seems to have taken hold, using what one scholar has called – in a reference to on-screen dogs – “composite canine performances.”
The team behind the 2025 version of “Superman,” for example, sought to create a realistic dog, right down to each scruffy patch of fur. But they needed it to defy gravity and other laws of physics. So they incorporated just enough live animal in preproduction to animate a mostly CGI creature, with director James Gunn’s own dog serving as the “model,” or “reference,” for the superdog, Krypto.
Director James Gunn’s dog was used to model the mostly CGI Krypto in 2025’s ‘Superman.’
This technique recalls the methods of Disney animators who were stumped by the challenge of creating the characters for “Bambi” (1942). So they studied animal anatomy, photographed deer in the wild and sketched animals brought into the studio in order to better capture their movements on paper.
But when it comes to live-action films grounded in everyday life, there’s still work on set for real animals. For one, it’s still usually cheaper to deploy the real thing. Moreover, most of the virtual animals on screen simply don’t look realistic enough to allow for the full suspension of disbelief that makes cinema magic.
Future opportunities for trainers and their charges appear to rest on just how good visual effects can get. For some animal activists – not to mention the animals that have no say in their work – that day can’t come soon enough.
Moviegoers and animal advocates, meanwhile, might hope for a middle ground: a future in which only ethically treated animals continue to get to appear on the screen.
Cynthia Chris 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.
“Humble” is not a word my colleagues would use to describe me, especially early in my career.
In fact, when word got around that I was researching humility, I suspect more than a few choked on their coffee.
And even though I have spent over a decade exploring the concept as an attribute and as a practice, it wasn’t until I recently reflected on my own professional challenges that I truly understood how to embrace humility.
I want to share my journey, but first it is important to understand what humility is – and isn’t. It’s been extolled as a virtue for centuries, but it’s often mischaracterized.
In today’s culture, it can be mistaken as a humblebrag, which disguises a boast as modesty – for example, “I really hate talking about myself, but people keep asking how I managed to run a marathon while working full time.” Or it can resemble impostor phenomenon, the persistent experience of feeling intellectually or professionally fraudulent despite clear evidence of competence or success.
But research shows that humble people hold accurate views of their own abilities and achievements. They openly acknowledge their mistakes and limitations and are receptive to new ideas. Overall, they recognize their places within a larger whole and genuinely appreciate the value of others.
Humility doesn’t always earn praise. Sometimes the humble may be seen as meek, subservient or self-abasing.
Generally, though, when humility is understood as grounded self-awareness rather than self-erasure, it’s viewed as something worth cultivating and practicing. We see openness, curiosity, acknowledgment of others and a lack of ego in fictional characters like Ted Lasso, hero of the same-titled Apple TV series; Samwise Gamgee in the “Lord of the Rings” books; and Jean-Luc Picard, commander of the USS Enterprise in “Star Trek: The Next Generation.”
Humility is also evident in public figures, such as former President Jimmy Carter, children’s television host Fred Rogers, and Nelson Mandela, the Black nationalist who served as the first Black president of South Africa.
Former U.S. President Jimmy Carter speaks to the congregation at Maranatha Baptist Church before teaching Sunday school in his hometown of Plains, Ga., on April 28, 2019, at age 94. After leaving the White House in 1981, Carter taught Sunday school at the church on a regular basis. Paul Hennessy/NurPhoto via Getty Images
From my research and my own experience, I’ve learned that true humility isn’t self-erasure. It’s a sense of security and confidence that your value doesn’t depend on recognition and that you are just one member of a larger system with a multitude of contributors. By removing the need to dominate, humility fosters openness to collaboration, innovation and an awareness of how the systems around us work.
Still, in a world of Instagram likes and LinkedIn accolades, humility can be the virtue everyone seems to admire but few practice It’s the one we say we want – until it requires us to confront the parts of ourselves that crave affirmation.
Climbing the professional ladder
I tend to stand out in a crowd. I’m 6-foot-4, with close-cropped hair, a heavy beard and tattoos. I also push myself to stand out professionally.
Starting in graduate school, I was determined to make my voice heard and sought after. I pursued nearly every opportunity, committee and position that came my way. No role was too small for me to accept.
I strived to present my work in top-tier journals and at conferences, and I cold-called prominent scholars to propose working together. And I constantly shared my findings and thoughts on social media.
Like many workplaces, the academic world has a set of defined success metrics, such as publications, citations of your work, grant funding and teaching evaluations from students. School culture and leadership influence what each college or university considers more or less valuable among those measures. To advance and get promoted, particularly to get tenure, it’s important to learn at an early stage what one’s department, college or university truly prioritizes.
I wanted to get tenure but also to be seen as an active citizen of academia – energetic, outspoken and unafraid to push boundaries. When my department chair described me as having my hair on fire, I took it as a compliment. I called it “making positive noise.”
Initially, the system rewarded that noise. I earned tenure at the University of Delaware and received departmental, college and national awards. I also was appointed to serve as associate dean and to direct a new research center. I felt validated, visible and valuable.
The sociology department at the University of Delaware had a typical academic culture that’s often summarized as “publish or perish.” The most important measures of scholars’ work were writing, publishing their work in respected journals and having other researchers cite those studies. Securing external funding from government, private companies or foundations was valued but was not as high a priority as publishing.
For many academic researchers, their number of publications and the frequency with which other scholars cite their articles are important measures of professional success. Barret Michalec
A new beginning that felt like an end
In 2020 I received a new opportunity at Arizona State University, a much larger school that branded itself as a hub of innovation and entrepreneurship. I was offered the chance to direct the Center for Advancing Interprofessional Practice, Education and Research and to step into the shoes of a leader I deeply admired. I arrived expecting to be a big fish in a bigger pond.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I showed up imagining there’d be a bit of buzz around my arrival given my time at the University of Delaware. But reality didn’t match the script: no greeting, office or nameplate marked my place when I arrived.
Early conversations with administrators weren’t about my research or teaching visions – the things that I thought set me apart. Instead, I felt they tended to focus on how much external funding I could raise from foundations and government agencies. My new colleagues often spoke in a shorthand of grant-based acronyms when referring to what projects they were working on, a “language” I was woefully unfamiliar with.
To make matters worse, I arrived during COVID-19, with classes either canceled or taught online and faculty members working mainly from home. The hallway chatter, open doors and spontaneous collaboration that I was accustomed to were absent. I began to feel alienated and disoriented as a scholar.
Even after ASU resumed in-person classes in the fall of 2021, I felt like the silence and distance lingered. No students waited for office hours. I struggled to make connections with my colleagues. I eagerly proposed collaborations when really everyone was just trying to find their footing in this new era of education.
My proposals for new classes and curricular programs hit up against institutional barriers I was unaware of. At one point, a college administrator asked, “How do we get you on other people’s grants?” – a question that I took to imply that they felt my research wasn’t strong enough.
It appeared that my colleagues in Edson College were accustomed to these values and spoke the language. I was a stranger in a strange land. Although I was producing some of my best work, measured in terms of publications and citations, I felt no one seemed interested. I had come from an environment where I felt known and valued to one where I seemed to be a nobody.
I felt as though I needed to staple my resume to my forehead and parade around the hallways asserting, like Ron Burgundy in the movie “Anchorman,” “I’m not quite sure how to put this, but … I’m kind of a big deal. People know me.”
Newsman Ron Burgundy gets a cool reception in a new media market in ‘Anchorman.’
The impact of feeling unseen
For people who have built careers by being highly engaged and visible, suddenly feeling unseen can be devastating. In any profession, a fear that you don’t belong at your workplace can be debilitating and make you question your own value.
I sought advice from peers and college leaders, and even hired a professional coach. Things only worsened. Curricular proposals were stalled or turned down. My center was shuttered in a restructuring, although it was meeting its goals and earning international recognition.
At first, I blamed ASU and Edson College for my feelings of disconnection. I thought the leadership structure and style was dysfunctional; that many colleagues were cold, unfriendly and conformist; and that the college’s stated values were inauthentic.
This series of what I came to call “unacknowledgments” sent me into a personal and professional tailspin. Negativity and self-doubt consumed me, and I truly worried that my career was over. Had I been blackballed? Why did it feel as though no one cared?
When the noise turns inward
I had spent years studying empathy – the ability to understand and feel what someone else is feeling – and how to cultivate it among health care professionals and students in order to support more patient-centered care. To that end, at the University of Delaware I had developed a program designed to foster empathy across health professions. It aimed to help students see one another as collaborators, build shared respect and recognize their collective role on the same health care delivery team.
But when I further analyzed the program’s outcomes from my office at ASU, I realized that empathy wasn’t enough. It could help students feel with others, but it didn’t necessarily help them see themselves, or others, differently.
I realized that what I really wanted the students to develop was humility. This step would require them to recognize their limits, accept that they were fallible, see themselves as part of a larger team and value others’ contributions.
That realization changed my research trajectory – and eventually, my professional life.
Health care often involves teams whose members play varying roles. Here, Dr. Akrum Al-Zubaidi performs a bronchoscopy on patient Orlando Carrasco, with the help of his team, from left, Ana Stefan, R.N., Mike Galloway, respiratory therapist, and anesthesiologist Michael Kessler, M.D., on Aug. 7, 2017, at National Jewish Health in Denver, Colo. Helen H. Richardson/The Denver Post via Getty Images
As my own professional world began to unravel, and as I dived deeper into the concept of humility through my research, something unexpected happened. I realized that humility wasn’t just an idea to study – it was becoming a mirror that made me rethink my own perspective.
Slowly, I began to see how pride and insecurity were entwined in my reactions to my new setting at ASU. I realized that my need to be noticed, and my insistence that others validate my worth, represented my own kind of arrogance.
Perhaps my ambition had been less about contributing and more about gaining external validation. I had lost the selfless wonder and awe that drive scholarly inquiry and curiosity. And now I had to confront what remained when the spotlight dimmed.
Humility, I began to understand, wasn’t just an abstract concept to explore “out there” among others. I needed to hone it internally by thinking beyond myself. By decentering my ego, I realized that I could nurture and sustain curiosity in its own right.
In short, I needed to practice what I was preaching. It wasn’t an easy lesson. I assume that cultivating humility never is.
To that end, I felt that it was essential to develop a program to help build humility “muscles.” In 2024 I developed HIIT for Humility, an online training package for individuals or groups, modeled after the fitness concept of high-intensity interval training. This program provides evidence-based strategies to help users start building “habits of humility,” such as acknowledgment of others and self-awareness.
Just as physical exercise requires consistency to produce results, so does the cultivation of humility. Leaning into HIIT for Humility workouts gradually eased my sense of alienation and defensiveness. I became more appreciative of others, less quick to judge and better able to listen to others’ perspectives. In doing so, I started to feel more confident and secure.
While I still took pride in my work, I began to see that my contributions were not the only ones that mattered. I also found that I could stretch into unfamiliar but necessary tasks, such as working harder to win federal and foundation grants and seeing the value of my colleagues’ contributions to science.
Why am I here?
Only a few years into this process, I can see that ASU and Edson College have unintentionally taught me humility by signaling, often quietly, which contributions are deemed essential and which forms of success carry the most weight. Navigating stalled proposals, shifting priorities and structural reorganizations have required me to recalibrate my ego, expectations and identity.
Not being seen as a “big fish” and being expected to persist without consistent recognition have required me to understand my work as part of a larger system with differing values and, at times, challenging constraints. Shifting to ASU forced me to rethink my identity as a professor and to reevaluate my sense of purpose from the inside out.
A colleague of mine often asks students who he feels are coasting along, “Why are you here?” Lately, I’ve taken that question personally. What is the point of being a professor – writing papers, submitting grant proposals, teaching courses? Why did I choose this path in the first place?
When I feel unseen, unheard or unappreciated, pondering why I’m here helps ground me. For anyone who is struggling to feel visible or valued at work, I strongly recommend considering this simple question.
Over time, I’ve stopped needing to be the big fish in the pond and measuring my worth in titles and awards. I now see that my responsibility as a scholar, teacher and human being is to stay curious, listen more deeply and make space for others’ voices.
Embracing humility, and consistently using my humility muscles, have helped me realize that I’m here to be part of the creative energy of academia, do the work and cultivate curiosity in my students, my peers and myself.
Barret Michalec 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.
Michelangelo’s fresco of “The Last Judgment,” covering the wall behind the altar of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City, is being restored. The work, which started on Feb. 1, 2026, is expected to continue for three months.
The Sistine Chapel is one of the great masterpieces of Renaissance art. As the setting where the College of Cardinals of the Catholic Church meets to elect a new pope, it was decorated by the most prestigious painters of the day. In 1480, Pope Sixtus IV commissioned Domenico Ghirlandaio, Sandro Botticelli, Pietro Perugino and Cosimo Rosselli to paint the walls. On the south are six scenes of the “Life of Moses,” and across on the north are six scenes of the “Life of Christ.”
In 1508, Pope Julius II commissioned Michelangelo to paint the ceiling. The theme is the Book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible. The images show God creating the world through the story of Noah, who was directed by God to shelter humans and animals on an ark during the great flood. The ceiling’s most famous scene may be “God Creating Adam,” where Adam reaches out his arm to the outstretched arm of God the Father, but their fingers fail to meet.
At the sides, the artist juxtaposed the male Hebrew prophets and the female Greek and Roman sybils who were inspired by the gods to foretell the future. It was completed in 1512; then in 1536, Michelangelo was asked to create a painting for the wall behind the altar. For this immense work of 590 square feet (about square meters), filled with 391 figures, he labored until 1541. He was then nearly 67 years old.
As an art historian, I have been aware how, from the beginning, Michelangelo’s “The Last Judgment” sparked controversy for its bold and heroic portrayal of the male nude.
Many layers of meaning
Michelangelo liked to consider himself primarily a sculptor, expressing himself in variations of the nude male body. Most famous may be the Old Testament figure of David about to slay Goliath, originally made for the Cathedral of Florence.
The artist’s ceiling for the Sistine Chapel had included 20 nude males as supporting figures above the prophets and sibyls. Originally, Michelangelo’s Christ of “The Last Judgment” was entirely nude. A later painter was hired to provide drapery over the loins of Christ and other figures.
“The Last Judgment” scene also contains multiple references to pagan gods and mythology. The image of Christ is inspired by early Christian images showing Christ beardless and youthful, similar to the pagan god of light, Apollo.
At the bottom of the composition is the figure of Charon, a personage from Greek mythology who rowed souls over the river Styx to enter the pagan underworld. Minos, the judge of the underworld, is on the extreme right.
Giorgio Vasari, a fellow artist and historian who knew Michelangelo personally, later recounted the criticism by a senior Vatican official, Biagio da Cesena. The official stated that it was disgraceful that nude figures were exposed so shamefully and that the painting seemed more fit for public baths and taverns.
Michelangelo’s response was to place the face of Biagio on Minos, the judge of the underworld, and give him donkey’s ears, symbolizing stupidity.
Michelangelo included a reference to his own life in a detail connected to the Apostle Bartholomew, who is located to the lower right of Christ. The apostle was believed to have met his martyrdom by being flayed alive. In his right hand, he holds a knife and, in his left, his flayed skin whose face is a distorted portrait of the artist.
Michelangelo thus placed himself among the blessed in heaven, but also made it into a joke.
Thought-provoking imagery
The Last Judgment is a common theme in Christian art. Michelangelo, however, pushes beyond simple illustration to include pagan myths as well as to challenge traditional depiction of a calm, bearded judge. He uses dramatic imagery to provoke deeper thought: After all, how does anyone on Earth know what the saints do in heaven?
In these decisions, Michelangelo displayed his sense of self-confidence to introduce new ideas and his goal to engage the viewer in new ways.
A digital reproduction of the painting will be displayed on a screen for visitors to the Sistine Chapel during this period of restoration. Behind the screen, technicians from the Vatican Museums’ Restoration Laboratory will work to restore the masterpiece.
Virginia Raguin 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.
L’Afrique est entrée dans une nouvelle « ère fiscale pour le développement ». À mesure que les financements extérieurs se tarissent, de nombreux pays africains comptent désormais davantage sur leur propre capacité à lever des fonds par le biais de la fiscalité. Mais une grande partie des économies africaines est informelle, ce qui est largement considéré comme un obstacle à la collecte des recettes fiscales.
Mes travaux récents montrent également que les pays où le secteur informel est très développé ont tendance à percevoir moins de recettes fiscales et à être confrontés à d’autres difficultés connexes.
Les gouvernements qui ont du mal à payer les salaires et à fournir des services publics ont deux options principales :
augmenter les impôts du secteur formel en relevant les taux, en introduisant de nouvelles taxes ou en réduisant les incitations fiscales (mesure impopulaire auprès des entreprises qui paient déjà)
La réalisation de la seconde option se heurte à de nombreux obstacles.
Environ 85 % des personnes en âge de travailler en Afrique subsaharienne sont employées de manière informelle. Il est donc extrêmement difficile pour les autorités fiscales de suivre l’activité économique ou de faire respecter la conformité. L’informel complique la tâche des gouvernements pour développer les trois capacités nécessaires à une fiscalité efficace : l’identification, la détection et la collecte.
La technologie apporte une réponse à ces trois défis. Mais, comme le montrent mes recherches, elle ne constitue pas une solution complète. Des outils mal conçus peuvent amplifier les défis existants ou créer de nouvelles injustices, affaiblir la confiance et pousser les gens à revenir à l’argent liquide.
La technologie, un outil à double tranchant
La capacité d’identification est la capacité à savoir qui doit payer des impôts – qu’il s’agisse de particuliers, d’entreprises ou de propriétés – grâce à des registres et des bases de données fiables. La capacité de détection consiste à vérifier si les particuliers et les entreprises déclarent les montants corrects. Cela se fait souvent à l’aide d’informations provenant de tiers, telles que les reçus électroniques et les enregistrements de transactions monétaires mobiles. La capacité de collecte est la capacité à garantir que les impôts sont payés de manière fluide et sécurisée. La technologie peut renforcer ces trois capacités :
les systèmes d’identification numérique permettent de mettre les contribuables face à leurs obligations.
les données de transactions électroniques aident à découvrir les revenus sous-déclarés.
les systèmes de déclaration en ligne ou de retenue à la source automatisés facilitent les paiements pour les contribuables tout en réduisant les contacts directs, source d’inefficacité et de fraude.
Les technologies émergentes telles que l’intelligence artificielle et l’apprentissage automatique sont désormais utilisées pour évaluer le risque fiscal, signaler les déclarations suspectes, détecter les fraudes potentielles et hiérarchiser les cas d’audit de manière beaucoup plus précise et efficace que la sélection manuelle.
Il est nécessaire de mettre en place des équipements de base, des infrastructures numériques fiables avant de pouvoir réaliser des progrès significatifs dans ce domaine dans les pays à faible revenu. L’une des méthodes utilisées par les gouvernements pour taxer le secteur informel consiste à mettre en place des «régimes fiscaux simplifiés».
La technologie joue ici un rôle important. Par exemple, l’expérience du Rwanda montre à quel point la facturation numérique peut être puissante. Lorsque les grandes entreprises ont besoin de factures électroniques valides pour déclarer leurs dépenses. Elles imposent cette exigence aux petits fournisseurs auprès desquels elles s’approvisionnent. Cela améliore le respect des obligations fiscales.
Les machines de facturation électronique du Rwanda ont également montré que la conformité volontaire à la TVA est possible lorsque la technologie simplifie le processus, réduit la paperasserie et comble le déficit d’information.
Au Kenya, le gouvernement a mis en place l’eTIMS, un système numérique sans papier qui stocke les reçus sous forme électronique. Il fonctionne grâce à des registres fiscaux électroniques qui valident, signent, cryptent puis envoient les données de vente directement à l’administration fiscale kenyane.
Fiscalité des services financiers numériques
Les services financiers numériques font désormais partie de la vie quotidienne sur tout le continent, en particulier l’argent mobile et les portefeuilles numériques. Ces dernières années, les gouvernements ont également commencé à utiliser ces services comme base d’imposition.
L’idée est que même si les commerçants informels ne paient pas d’impôts officiels, beaucoup d’entre eux effectuent néanmoins des paiements électroniques via des systèmes tels que l’argent mobile ou les portefeuilles électroniques.
Au Ghana, le gouvernement a introduit une taxe électronique de 1,75 % sur les transactions électroniques, avec une exemption de 100 cédis (10 dollars américains). Après une levée de boucliers et un retour massif à l’argent liquide, le taux a d’abord été réduit, puis complètement supprimé en 2025. Il était perçu comme contre-productif pour les efforts de formalisation et d’inclusion financière.
L’art du possible
La fiscalité dans les pays à faible revenu relève souvent de « l’art du possible ». Les données montrent que les taxes sur l’argent mobile peuvent réduire considérablement l’utilisation des services financiers numériques, jusqu’à 39 % dans certains contextes. La charge est particulièrement lourde lorsque la pénétration bancaire est faible. Les utilisateurs ruraux et non bancarisés n’ont pas vraiment d’alternative à l’argent mobile. Ils doivent soit payer la taxe, soit recourir à des options inefficaces et souvent plus coûteuses.
Les gouvernements doivent trouver un équilibre entre des priorités concurrentes. Ils souhaitent promouvoir la numérisation et soutenir les marchés des services financiers numériques, tout en élargissant l’inclusion financière en maintenant des services financiers formels abordables et accessibles. Dans le même temps, ils doivent générer des revenus durables.
La technologie doit faire partie de la solution, mais elle nécessite des bases solides.
Au-delà de la technologie qui aide à numériser les documents administratifs ou permet un dépôt instantané, il existe une question plus fondamentale. À mesure que la richesse passe au numérique (applications, plateformes, portefeuilles électroniques, blockchain et même cryptomonnaies), les systèmes fiscaux doivent évoluer en conséquence. Les pays ne peuvent pas suivre le rythme s’ils n’investissent pas dans les compétences fiscales du XXIe siècle et dans l’infrastructure numérique nécessaire pour dépasser les systèmes fiscaux analogiques.
Les outils numériques ne peuvent tout simplement pas fonctionner là où l’accès à l’électricité ou à Internet n’est pas fiable.
Le facteur humain est également important : même lorsque les systèmes fonctionnent, de nombreux contribuables n’ont pas les compétences, la conscience ou la capacité financière nécessaires pour les utiliser. Et les agents fiscaux peuvent résister ou faire un mauvais usage des nouveaux outils si les incitations ne sont pas adaptées. Le cadre juridique est également important, car les audits numériques peuvent être effectués rapidement, mais le processus peut être ralenti si les tribunaux sont inefficaces.
Ce qu’il faut faire
Le défi fondamental en matière de fiscalité reste le même : aucun système fiscal ne peut maximiser à la fois les recettes, l’équité et la simplicité. Une bonne politique consiste à trouver le juste équilibre, plutôt que de faire des compromis qui font peser le plus lourd fardeau sur les plus pauvres. Et les gens sont plus disposés à payer lorsqu’ils voient que l’État fournit des services essentiels en retour.
En fin de compte, la fiscalité est une question politique. Elle implique des décisions sur qui paie et comment. Ces décisions reflètent autant les priorités d’un pays que ses capacités techniques.
À mesure que les revenus et l’activité commerciale se déplacent vers les plateformes numériques, les gouvernements ont besoin de systèmes modernes capables de suivre le rythme, de comprendre comment les entreprises informelles se tournent vers le numérique, en tout ou en partie, et d’appliquer efficacement les règles fiscales.
Abel Gwaindepi 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.
Plateforme EucFACE, près de Sydney, Australie.Vinod Kumar, Craig McNamarra, Craig Barton., Fourni par l’auteur
Expérimentation à ciel ouvert avec des prairies recouvertes de Plexiglas ou bien avec des anneaux en carbone de 25 mètres, reproduction d’écosystèmes miniatures en laboratoire, utilisations de données historiques, suivis depuis l’espace, équations… Pour comprendre comment le changement climatique va impacter les écosystèmes, les méthodes sont nombreuses et souvent complémentaires.
« Gérer l’inévitable pour éviter l’ingérable. » À l’heure où les effets du changement climatique ne vont partout qu’en s’accroissant, telle est la formulation courante des climatologues pour exprimer très concrètement l’objectif stratégique des politiques climatiques.
Face aux prédictions préoccupantes, les écologues observent, cherchent à comprendre ce phénomène pour mieux prédire ses conséquences sur nos écosystèmes.
Il existe différentes approches pour tester comment le changement climatique influe sur les organismes, leurs interactions entre individus, entre espèces et avec leur environnement. Cela combine des observations, des expérimentations et de la modélisation. Voici un tour d’horizon de ces différentes approches mises en place en France et dans le monde.
Des plateformes expérimentales grandeur nature
Une première approche consiste à modifier un écosystème via des équipements et à étudier les changements qui en découlent. Que ce soit pour évaluer la sécheresse, les hausses de température ou l’augmentation du CO2 dans l’atmosphère, le principe reste le même. Cela permet de contrôler une ou plusieurs variables environnementales (la pluviométrie, la température et autres) comme si nous étions sous les conditions futures, pour simuler les scénarios climatiques à venir.
C’est le cas de la plateforme de Puéchabon, dans le sud de la France, ou de la plateforme DRI-GRASS, près de Sydney (Australie). Toutes deux cherchent à comprendre comment un changement dans les régimes de pluie impacte l’écosystème et son fonctionnement, mais dans deux écosystèmes bien distincts.
À Puéchabon (Hérault), un système de gouttières dans une forêt de chênes verts exclut partiellement l’eau de pluie pour simuler la sécheresse. Cette expérimentation a débuté en 2003, avec quatre parcelles de 140 mètres carrés dans la forêt de chênes verts. Ainsi, on évalue l’effet de la sécheresse sur des parcelles entières de forêt. Quels effets sur la forêt, sur les arbres, sur le sol ? Quels effets sur le stockage de carbone ?
À Sydney, la plateforme DRI-Grass utilise un système similaire dans un autre type d’écosystème : une prairie. À la place de gouttières, ce sont des toits en Plexiglas qui couvrent différentes parties de la prairie. Cette expérience, plus récente, a débuté en 2013 et couvre un peu plus de 120 m2.
Plateforme expérimentale DRI-GRASS, près de Sydney (Australie). Coline Deveautour, Fourni par l’auteur
Élément en plus, un système d’irrigation simule plusieurs scénarios possibles : une augmentation, diminution ou changement dans la distribution des eaux de pluie. Cette dernière permet d’étudier les scénarios d’événements extrêmes : des pluies plus rares mais plus fortes. Les chercheurs peuvent donc modifier les régimes hydriques pour se caler sur les scénarios de prédiction des climats futurs. L’un d’entre nous a ainsi travaillé sur cette plateforme pendant trois ans pour mieux comprendre la réponse des champignons et leur interaction avec les plantes face au changement climatique.
Toujours en Australie, mais beaucoup plus impressionnante par sa taille et le dispositif mis en place, la plateforme EucFACE teste l’effet de l’augmentation du CO2 dans l’atmosphère. Ici, ce sont des anneaux en fibre de carbone qui entourent des parcelles circulaires de forêt d’eucalyptus de 25 mètres de diamètre et hauts de 28 mètres !
Plateforme expérimentale EucFACE, près de Sydney (Australie). photos prises par l’équipe gestionnaire du site EucFACE — Vinod Kumar, Craig McNamarra, Craig Barton., Fourni par l’auteur
Durant la journée, ces anneaux injectent du CO2 sur la forêt pour simuler une augmentation de CO2 à 550 ppm, la concentration attendue dans l’atmosphère pour l’année 2050. De nombreux chercheurs travaillent sur cette plateforme pour comprendre comment l’augmentation du CO2 risque de perturber le fonctionnement des forêts natives d’Australie.
Pour une simulation plus réaliste des changements à venir, certaines plates-formes allient plusieurs facteurs. La plateforme autrichienne ClimGrass par exemple, teste non seulement l’augmentation du CO2 mais aussi la température et la sécheresse. Cette plateforme de maintenant dix ans s’intéresse aux impacts du changement sur une prairie.
Quels que soient la plateforme et le scénario testé, des chercheurs de plusieurs disciplines travaillent et prennent des mesures pour étudier les effets du changement climatique sur les organismes (plantes, organismes du sol, herbivores et autres), la diversité des espèces et sur le fonctionnement de l’écosystème (sa capacité à fixer le carbone, par exemple).
Une des difficultés liées avec cette approche expérimentale est la multitude de facteurs qui ne sont pas contrôlés dans une expérimentation à ciel ouvert. Les résultats peuvent varier d’une année sur l’autre en fonction des aléas bien réels du terrain (une année exceptionnellement pluvieuse, par exemple). De plus, ces études sont en général plus coûteuses et demandent plus d’entretien.
Créer et contrôler un mini-écosystème : les microcosmes
Pour des conditions plus contrôlées, d’autres projets consistent à mettre en place des écosystèmes à échelle réduite en laboratoire. Par exemple, un microcosme terrestre peut contenir soit des assemblages artificiels d’organismes (une sélection de plantes en pots) soit des portions d’écosystème venant de l’environnement (des sols et plants extraits d’une prairie ou autre).
Plants de tomates dans une enceinte phytotronique (température, photopériode et hygrométrie contrôlées) de l’équipe de recherche AGHYLE, UniLaSalle. Adrien Gauthier, Fourni par l’auteur
Ces mini-écosystèmes sont ensuite placés dans des chambres climatiques. Ces chambres varient en taille, mais peuvent être aussi réduites à deux mètres cubes. Elles confinent des communautés d’organismes et les exposent à des variables environnementales (température, humidité, CO2…) simulant des scénarios du changement climatique en conditions entièrement contrôlées.
Ce genre d’expérimentation a l’avantage d’avoir un environnement qui facilite l’interprétation et le suivi. Par exemple, simuler une hausse de température tandis que les autres paramètres (humidité, CO2…) sont constants et eux aussi contrôlés avec précision. Cela permet d’isoler et d’interpréter l’effet de la température, et uniquement de la température, sur le microcosme. Ainsi, les microcosmes ne sont qu’une portion de l’écosystème, et s’éloignent de conditions plus fluctuantes et réalistes.
Exploiter les gradients naturels
Plutôt que modifier l’écosystème ou d’en isoler une partie, certains chercheurs utilisent des gradients naturels, soit les variations naturelles que l’on constate dans la nature. Sur les écosystèmes terrestres, on retrouve des gradients de température avec l’altitude en montagne, par exemple. Plus on monte en altitude, plus les températures chutent. Un gradient de température existe aussi en fonction de la latitude. En général, plus on se rapproche des pôles, plus les températures sont froides. Et, plus récemment utilisés, il existe aussi les gradients de température entre les zones rurales et urbaines avec leurs îlots de chaleur.
Ainsi, l’impact de la température peut être évalué en suivant un transect (ligne virtuelle) le long du gradient, mais pas seulement.
Il existe des expériences de « translocation », où les chercheurs déplacent soit des espèces soit des communautés entières de zones élevées en montagne vers des zones plus basses pour simuler un réchauffement. Par exemple, des chercheurs ont déplacé des placettes de prairie de 0,7 mètre sur 0,7 mètre à trois différentes élévations dans les Alpes : 950, 1 450 et 1 950 mètres au-dessus du niveau de la mer. À la suite de ces transplantations, un suivi régulier peut être effectué pour étudier les plantes, leurs abondances et les espèces associées.
Un autre type d’expérimentation consiste à déplacer un organisme vers des zones plus élevées, et donc actuellement plus froides. Ces zones, pour le moment inaccessibles aux organismes de basses altitudes (avec des températures plus clémentes), deviendront propices à leur développement avec le réchauffement global. L’intérêt de ces études est de mesurer l’impact de ces futures migrations sur les écosystèmes où ces espèces sont pour le moment absentes.
Bien qu’informatives, ces expériences ont, elles aussi, leurs biais. Le gradient de température est un facteur déterminant, cependant il existe toute une myriade d’autres facteurs environnementaux qui varient le long de ces gradients. Ces facteurs ne peuvent pas être contrôlés, mais on peut tout de même les prendre en compte pour interpréter les observations des chercheurs.
Des suivis et des mesures de longue haleine
Certains écosystèmes sont étudiés depuis très longtemps. C’est le cas de la forêt expérimentale Hubbard Brook, au New Hampshire, dans le nord-est des États-Unis. Des mesures environnementales et les suivis d’espèces associées sont collectés depuis 1955 (soit soixante-et-onze ans cette année !). En France, le Centre d’études biologiques de Chizé effectue des recherches sur l’évolution des populations animales sauvages depuis 1968.
On peut ainsi corréler les données météorologiques avec l’activité, l’abondance et la diversité d’espèces. Les données permettent non seulement d’observer directement le changement du climat lors des décennies passées mais aussi comment la variabilité des événements climatiques influence le fonctionnement de l’écosystème.
Une autre manière d’obtenir des mesures sur le long terme et de réaliser des suivis à grande échelle se fait grâce aux sciences citoyennes. Que ce soit dans un jardin, en ville ou en randonnée, les données d’observation d’espèces permettent non seulement d’enregistrer la présence de l’espèce mais aussi leur phénologie, c’est-à-dire comment le climat influence la saisonnalité des espèces.
Parmi les données citées par le rapport du Giec, on retrouve la date de floraison des cerisiers au Japon. L’agence japonaise de météorologie constate que la floraison avance en moyenne de 1,2 jour tous les dix ans. Ryosuke Yagi/flicker, CC BY
Ce genre de projet permet de répondre à plusieurs questions, par exemple : Est-ce que le printemps démarre de plus en plus tôt ? Est-ce que la distribution géographique de l’espèce change ? Lesquelles sont les plus impactées ?
La modélisation est une activité incontournable en sciences, permettant de représenter de manière simplifiée un système, en l’occurrence ici, un écosystème. Ces modèles peuvent prendre des formes très différentes, de la simple équation mathématique jusqu’au modèle complexe reposant sur un grand nombre de paramètres (climatiques, pédologiques, biologiques et autres).
Un exemple très parlant de l’utilisation de la modélisation est la projection des feux de forêts. Cela permet de prédire comment le changement climatique influe sur l’intensité, la durée des saisons des feux, leurs étendues. Ces modélisations sont d’autant plus importantes car elles permettent aussi d’identifier des forêts jusque-là épargnées, mais qui avec le changement climatique, seront touchées.
Une fois que les risques d’incendie sont estimés, il est possible d’allier ces prédictions avec les observations de terrain : quelles espèces sont présentes ? Sont-elles adaptées aux feux ? Des simulations permettent aussi d’examiner l’implantation et l’extinction de différentes espèces en relation avec les feux et l’environnement.
De manière générale, les modèles sont adaptables à différents écosystèmes (forêts, prairies, lac, océans…), espèces modèles, climats (tempérés, tropicaux…). Avec l’avancée de nos technologies, ces modèles deviennent toujours plus performants. Bien que complexes, ces méthodes sont des outils puissants pour explorer les conséquences du changement climatique et laissent la porte ouverte à tout un champ des possibles.
Quelle que soit l’approche utilisée par les chercheurs, tous ces outils et méthodes sont complémentaires. Chacun apporte une pierre à l’édifice dans la construction d’une connaissance scientifique opérationnelle pour l’atténuation des causes du changement climatique et l’adaptation face à ses effets déjà observables.
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.
La dauphinelle des montagnes (_Delphinium montanum_) est une fleur de montagne emblématique des Pyrénées, menacée par le changement climatique.Olive Titus / Flickr, CC BY
L’évolution des conditions climatiques menace, à l’horizon 2100, près de la moitié des espèces florales endémiques uniques des Pyrénées. Il est urgent de renforcer les suivis pour mener des stratégies de conservation plus efficaces. À cet égard, les modèles de distribution d’espèces constituent un outil précieux.
Leurs aires de répartition restreintes, parfois limitées à quelques sommets, les rendent particulièrement vulnérables au changement climatique. Nos travaux récemment publiés montrent que près de la moitié des espèces endémiques pyrénéennes considérées pourraient voir leurs conditions climatiques, aujourd’hui favorables, disparaître du massif d’ici à 2100.
Le persil d’isard (Xatartia scabra), une plante strictement endémique des éboulis d’altitude des Pyrénées. Comme beaucoup d’espèces montagnardes à aire très réduite, elle pourrait voir disparaître d’ici à 2100 les conditions climatiques qui permettent sa survie. Joris Bertrand, Fourni par l’auteur
Cette perte se traduirait par une réduction majeure des zones où ces espèces sont le plus à même de se maintenir ou de s’établir. Ceci fragiliserait durablement les populations et accroîtrait fortement leur risque d’extinction locale.
Flore endémiques des Pyrénées : un patrimoine en danger
L’analyse couvre quatre périodes du climat actuel à l’horizon 2100 et repose sur quatre scénarios climatiques illustrant différentes trajectoires de réchauffement. Celles-ci vont d’une hausse modérée (environ + 2,16 °C) à un réchauffement nettement plus marqué (jusqu’à + 6,14 °C) à l’échelle des Pyrénées.
Les résultats dressent un constat alarmant. D’ici à la fin du siècle, 69 % des espèces endémiques étudiées pourraient perdre plus des trois quarts de la superficie des zones qui leur sont climatiquement favorables. Suivant les scénarios les plus pessimistes, plus d’une espèce sur deux verrait même l’intégralité de sa niche bioclimatique disparaître. Autrement dit, perdrait toutes les conditions climatiques nécessaires à sa survie.
Certaines plantes emblématiques du massif, telles que la Dauphinelle des montagnes (Delphinium montanum), l’endressie des Pyrénées (Endressia pyrenaica), ou encore l’esparcette des Pyrénées (Onobrychis pyrenaica), apparaissent particulièrement vulnérables. Les modèles indiquent que les conditions climatiques qui leur sont favorables pourraient déjà avoir disparu à l’échelle du massif, suggérant soit une survie temporaire dans des microrefuges, soit un décalage entre déclin climatique et extinction biologique. Ce phénomène est connu sous le nom de « dette d’extinction ».
Réduction des zones favorables aux plantes endémiques des Pyrénées d’ici à 2100. Noèmie Collette, Fourni par l’auteur
Malgré une dynamique globalement défavorable, deux espèces (Linaria bubanii) et Pinguicula longifolia) pourraient toutefois voir leurs habitats favorables s’étendre dans le futur. Même si ces espèces pourraient théoriquement coloniser de nouveaux milieux, ces cas resteraient marginaux et ne compenseraient pas la tendance globale attendue.
Les montagnes figurent parmi les écosystèmes les plus exposés aux bouleversements climatiques. Les températures y augmentent plus rapidement qu’en plaine, contraignant de nombreuses espèces à coloniser des altitudes toujours plus élevées pour suivre les conditions qui leur sont favorables.
Dans l’étude présentée sur les plantes endémiques pyrénéennes face au changement climatique, au-delà du déclin attendu des zones favorables, nos résultats montrent que les conditions climatiques adaptées à ces plantes pourraient se déplacer progressivement. La plupart des zones actuellement favorables ne le resteraient pas, et cela non pas parce que le climat deviendrait défavorable partout à la fois, mais parce que les conditions favorables à ces espèces pourraient se déplacer.
En moyenne, les zones climatiquement favorables aux espèces devraient s’élever d’environ 180 m en altitude et de 3 km vers le Nord d’ici à 2100. Cela ne signifie pas que les espèces suivront automatiquement ce mouvement : de multiples contraintes biologiques, écologiques ou physiques limiteront leur capacité de dispersion.
Ainsi, la plupart des lieux où ces plantes survivent aujourd’hui ne leur conviendront plus demain, augmentant le risque de déclin. Dans les scénarios les plus pessimistes, les aires propices à un maximum d’espèces se concentreraient au-delà de 2 000 m, et deviendraient très morcelées du fait de la topographie du massif, formant de petits « refuges » isolés. Cette fragmentation accentuerait les risques d’isolement génétique et d’extinction locale.
Paysage de haute montagne pyrénéenne dominé par des éboulis et des pelouses alpines sur des versants raides, caractéristique des milieux privilégiés par les espèces endémiques. Joris Bertrand, Fourni par l’auteur
Ces résultats invitent à repenser les stratégies de conservation. Les sommets et crêtes, où subsisteront les dernières conditions favorables, doivent devenir des refuges prioritaires. Les espèces les plus menacées nécessitent un suivi renforcé et la protection de leurs micro-habitats, voire, dans certains cas, des mesures exceptionnelles, telles que la conservation ex situ ou la migration assistée.
Plus largement, cette étude souligne que la conservation doit intégrer les climats futurs, et pas seulement les distributions actuelles des espèces, sans quoi les efforts de conservation risquent d’être déployés là où les espèces ne pourront de toute façon plus se maintenir.
Dans leur forme la plus complète, les SDM peuvent intégrer de multiples dimensions de l’écologie : conditions bioclimatiques, capacités de dispersion, traits fonctionnels, interactions biotiques, ou encore des informations génétiques permettant de quantifier l’adaptation locale. Ils permettent ainsi de caractériser non seulement où une espèce vit, mais aussi pourquoi elle s’y maintient et comment elle pourrait répondre aux changements environnementaux. Toutefois, toutes ces informations ne sont pas disponibles pour l’ensemble des espèces, ce qui limite leur intégration lorsqu’on en étudie un grand nombre simultanément.
Résumé graphique des résultats principaux de l’étude sur l’impact du changement climatique sur la flore endémique des Pyrénées. Fourni par l’auteur
Dans ce contexte, l’approche la plus appropriée consiste à caractériser la niche bioclimatique d’une espèce, entendue comme l’ensemble des conditions climatiques, notamment de températures et de précipitations, compatibles avec son maintien. Cette approche repose sur le croisement de données de présence, provenant de relevés de terrain, d’herbiers ou de bases de données en ligne, avec des variables décrivant les conditions environnementales des sites occupés.
Éclairer les trajectoires possibles
Les modèles permettent ainsi de définir les combinaisons climatiques associées à la présence (ou l’absence) de l’espèce, et donc les environnements où elle est susceptible de se maintenir. Une fois ce portrait établi, il devient possible d’étudier comment ces conditions favorables évolueraient sous différents climats futurs afin d’estimer où l’espèce pourrait subsister, migrer ou disparaître.
Afin de renforcer la robustesse des résultats, l’étude présentée mobilise cinq grandes familles de modèles couramment utilisés en biologie de la conservation, chacun doté d’avantages et d’inconvénients : certains captent mieux les relations non linéaires, d’autres sont plus adaptés aux espèces présentant peu d’occurrences dans une zone d’étude donnée. Les combiner dans une approche dite « d’ensemble », permet de réduire l’influence des incertitudes propres à chaque méthode et d’obtenir des prédictions plus robustes. Pour chaque espèce, plusieurs dizaines de modèles ont ainsi été calibrés, puis agrégés afin d’obtenir une prédiction consensus, plus robuste face aux incertitudes méthodologiques.
Face à l’accélération du changement climatique, le suivi scientifique et la protection des derniers sites favorables ne suffiront pas toujours à prévenir les déclins, mais ils demeurent essentiels pour préserver au mieux la richesse et la singularité de la flore pyrénéenne tout en accompagnant au mieux les transformations à venir. Les modèles de distribution des espèces n’ont pas vocation à prédire précisément l’avenir, mais à éclairer les trajectoires possibles.
Ici, leur message est clair et cohérent : si le réchauffement se poursuit au rythme actuel, une part importante du patrimoine végétal unique des Pyrénées pourrait disparaître d’ici la fin du siècle. Préparer la transition plutôt que la subir, renforcer la coordination entre la France, l’Espagne et Andorre, et protéger les derniers refuges de biodiversité montagnarde apparaissent désormais comme des leviers indispensables pour protéger ce patrimoine irremplaçable.
a bénéficié pour cette étude des financements de la Région Occitanie Pyrénées-Méditerranée (Émergence 2024), l’État-Commissariat de massif des Pyrénées (FNADT 2023) et du programme Interreg-POCTEFA dans le cadre du projet Floralab+ (EFA024/01).
Joris Bertrand a bénéficié pour cette étude du programme européen Interreg-POCTEFA dans le cadre du projet Floralab+ (EFA024/01). Il a par ailleurs été financé et est actuellement financé par l’Agence Nationale de la Recherche (ANR).
Sébastien Pinel a reçu des financements pour cette étude du financement d’un programme européen Interreg-POCTEFA dans le cadre du projet Floralab+ (EFA024/01).
Valérie Delorme-Hinoux a bénéficié pour cette étude du financement d’un programme européen Interreg-POCTEFA dans le cadre du projet Floralab+ (EFA024/01).
Soldiers from the South African National Defence Force are going to be deployed alongside members of the South African Police Service to combat gangs and armed groups associated with illegal mining.
More broadly, the decision was both praised and condemned by commentators.
I have studied militarised forms of policing for many years. The findings of my research suggest that there are both positive and negative aspects to these kinds of interventions.
There are clear drawbacks to the domestic deployment of the military in a policing role. But, under certain conditions, there have been crime reduction effects.
The history
The military have been deployed to assist the police in crime fighting (including
combating gang violence) in South Africa on regular occasions since the late 1990s. It was commonplace during the 1980s in apartheid South Africa.
The defence force was also deployed alongside the police in 2020 to enforce
“hard” COVID-19 lockdown restrictions.
This situation is not unique to South Africa. Numerous countries, such as Brazil, Colombia, El Salvador, Kenya, Mexico and the US, have used their militaries for policing.
Decisions by governments to use soldiers to perform policing functions are
primarily due to pragmatic and political considerations.
Police are at times not sufficiently capable of responding to specific criminal dangers due to their hyper violent nature (such as gang conflicts) or due to constraints such as a lack of resources, inadequate training and corruption.
The military sometimes takes on policing roles when a government wants to demonstrate that it is capable of containing criminal threats.
There are other reasons too for the use of soldiers in civilian settings. Soldiers have been deployed in contexts of intense rivalries between political parties. For example, policing scholars have emphasised that the US federal government’s deployment of the National Guard to Democrat-led cities (such as Los Angeles and Chicago) in 2025 and 2026 was an effort by the Trump administration to undermine the credibility of the political leadership in these cities.
My research has established that both pragmatic and political reasons have been behind the defence force’s involvement in police work in South Africa over the past 30 years. That is, in many high crime areas the authorities have had to contend with well-armed criminal groups and highly dangerous environments where there are low levels of community trust in the police.
In September 2025, the acting police minister, Firoz Cachalia, admitted that there was no practical plan to respond to gang violence in the Western Cape. Moreover, during times of elevated crime levels, government tends to frame its policing as a “war” and criminals as “enemies” on which the police and defence force must “stamp their authority”.
To date there has been no comprehensive multi-country research on the impact of
military involvement in combating crime. Existing studies are based on single case analyses (such as Colombia). These studies indicate that the crime reduction effect of using the military for policing is limited.
A study on US troop deployment in Africa, Latin America and the Middle East indicates that it was associated with an increase in property crime.
Furthermore, there’s evidence that the use of the military in the “war on drugs” has led to human rights abuses. In the case of the Philippines for example, it also led to extrajudicial killings.
My research on high density policing operations in South Africa has demonstrated that deploying the military can result in the reduction of violent crime (especially murder) in targeted areas. But this is dependent on the arrest of large numbers of “wanted” criminals. And the seizure of large quantities of illegal firearms.
The domestic deployment of the defence force also increases the risk of human rights abuses. Soldiers are trained to use lethal force and are not schooled in the subtleties of police work.
This was evident during the defence force’s enforcement of the COVID-19 lockdown, when numerous allegations of abuse were reported. There was also video footage on social media of soldiers forcing people to perform demeaning physical exercises as punishment for not adhering to lockdown regulations.
My research has shown that the crime reduction effect of military deployment is temporary. Violent crime levels tend to increase in high crime areas within a year of the intervention being concluded. This has been confirmed in a study done in 2023. The reason is that police operations involving the military typically do not address the underlying societal causes of violent crime and the external sources of illegal firearms.
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