Category: Analysis

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Anne Irfan, Lecturer in Interdisciplinary Race, Gender and Postcolonial Studies, UCL

The great Palestinian revolt, which began in 1936 and lasted three years, was a pivotal event in the modern history of both the Middle East and the British empire.

Often considered the biggest popular uprising in Palestinian history, it had far-reaching ramifications for Palestinian nationalism, Zionism and British colonialism. Despite this significance, it is typically absent from official accounts of British history. Few Britons today are aware of it.

In her latest film, Palestinian director Annemarie Jacir powerfully shows why this episode in history is so significant. The depiction of the revolt in Palestine 36 helps illuminate events in modern-day Palestine, including Israel’s recent assault on Gaza, which a UN human rights council commission of inquiry said amounts to genocide.

By 1936, the British had occupied Palestine for 18 years. The British army had first entered the country in 1917, the same year the British government declared its support for the Zionist movement’s campaign for a Jewish state in Palestine in the Balfour Declaration.

Five years later, Britain was granted a mandate to govern Palestine by the League of Nations, precursor to the UN. The text of the mandate incorporated the Balfour declaration, making the creation of a Jewish state part of its objectives. For this purpose, the British regime empowered a Zionist organisation subsequently known as the Jewish Agency and supported large-scale Jewish immigration to Palestine.

Unsurprisingly, these policies caused rising tensions with the Palestinians, whose own nationalist movement had been growing during the later years of the Ottoman empire that had previously ruled the country. By the 1930s, Palestinians were increasingly concerned about Zionist state-building and settlements in the country.

In 1936, the newly formed Arab Higher Committee called for a general strike. It was widely observed across the country and brought much of the economy to a standstill. Palestine 36 depicts the impact of the strike and the subsequent armed uprising in rural villages, alongside political debates among Palestinian elites in Jerusalem. We also see the brutal British repression of the uprising, as the mandate regime imports ruthless counterinsurgency tactics from elsewhere in the empire, including India and Ireland.

The film, which was selected as Palestine’s entry for the Academy Awards, intersperses archival footage with dramatised scenes by an ensemble cast. Real historical figures like Charles Tegart (Liam Cunningham) and Orde Wingate (Robert Aramayo) are depicted alongside fictionalised characters.

Yusuf (Karim Daoud Anaya) is a villager who begins working in Jerusalem and becomes politicised as he witnesses colonial machinations close up. Kholoud (Yasmine Al Massri) is a journalist and nationalist who writes under the pen name Ahmed Canaani. Kholoud’s husband Amir (Dhafer L’Abidine) colludes with the Jewish Agency (called the Zionist Commission) in the film while professing outward support for the Palestinian national cause.

One of the film’s most instructive elements is its clear depiction of the British mandate’s operations. The regime laid many of the foundations for the Israeli state, but has often avoided culpability in contemporary conversations.

In Palestine 36, we see the regime’s brutality alongside its contradictions and double standards. British officers violate Palestinian property while serving an empire that otherwise venerates ideals of private ownership. The mandate regime condemns Palestinian militancy while drawing its own power from deploying violence with impunity.

Early on, a British official implores Palestinian villagers to acquiesce to a new land registration system or risk losing everything. Nearly a century on – as Palestinians face similar pressures to comply with foreign demands – the viewer knows that acquiescence will provide no real protection.

It is one of many long-term continuities shown in the film, and Jacir largely avoids heavy handedness in how she depicts them. Wingate’s typically colonial tactics, including the designation of Palestinian villages as “good” or “bad”, the endorsement of collective punishment and disproportionate retaliation, and the control of movement via transit permits, checkpoints and curfews, are all practices that the Israeli state continues to deploy today.

Scenes showing Palestinians being incarcerated behind barbed wire and denied water will inevitably remind viewers of contemporary testimonies from Gaza and the Sde Teiman detention camp.

Read more:
Israeli doctors reveal their conflicted stories of treating Palestinian prisoners held in notorious ‘black site’ Sde Teiman

At the same time, many of the Palestinian slogans and symbols from 1936 remain resonant. The film depicts protesters chanting “Palestine is not for sale” outside the office of High Commissioner Wauchope (Jeremy Irons). And later on, Kholoud discusses the British ban on the keffiyeh (the traditional headdress made from a chequered scarf, which has become a symbol of Palestinian resistence). This was a move replicated by institutions in the US, Germany and Australia in the 2020s.

At the same time, the portrayal of Palestine before the establishment of Israel is an important rejoinder to ongoing denials of Palestinian national history. Jacir’s film shows a Palestine characterised by widespread agricultural village life before what is known as the Nakba forced hundreds of thousands of Palestinians into overcrowded and urbanised refugee camps.

Palestine 36 doesn’t shy away from the internal divisions of Palestinian society. The Jerusalem elites condescend to the fellahin (farmers), represented by Yusuf. Amir happily collaborates with the Zionist leadership in the hope of becoming mayor.

The film closes with continuing Palestinian insurrection, juxtaposed with intensifying British brutality. The informed viewer will know that by the end of the revolt, mandate repression had executed, wounded, imprisoned or expelled one in ten Palestinian men.

The fallout would have fatal repercussions for the Palestinians a decade later. As such, it is incomplete to survey Palestinian history since 1948 without taking account of the pivotal events of 1936. It’s a far too common oversight that Jacir’s film goes a long way to correcting.

Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.

Anne Irfan 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. Palestine 36 tells a forgotten story of revolt – and how the legacy of colonialism endures in Palestine – https://theconversation.com/palestine-36-tells-a-forgotten-story-of-revolt-and-how-the-legacy-of-colonialism-endures-in-palestine-269052

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Casper Laing Ebbensgaard, Lecturer in Human Geography, University of East Anglia

When you look at the promotional materials advertising luxury high-rise developments in London, it is obvious that the fantasy of living in the sky is fused by a desire for sunlight and “unobstructed” views of the city. Phrases such as “the brightest addition to London’s skyline” or apartments being “flooded with natural light” and offering “expansive sky views” are common.

It is a dream with a dark side, however, which plays out below in the shadows of London’s mushrooming cityscape. In a recent paper, I show how daylight and shadow are unevenly distributed across the urban population. Vulnerable and marginalised residents are disproportionately affected by overshadowing, a lack of privacy and the overbearing nature of new high-rise developments.

Dubbing such socially skewed access to daylight “light violence”, as I do, may sound dramatic. But it captures something insidious.

When you build tall buildings, it is no surprise that they cast shadows in the surrounding environment. In northern climates, where sunlight is scarce, especially during long, overcast winter days, the compounding effect of living in shadows can be potentially harmful. Scientific studies show that depriving people of daylight can lead to increased stress, sleep disruption and early onset of myopia or short-sightedness. Sudden changes in daylight are also linked to an increased risk of cardiovascular diseases.

To protect the health and wellbeing of residents, the UK’s Building Research Establishment (BRE) issue national planning guidance that sets out minimum daylight levels. Yet, in practice, the guidance is advisory. And in cases where a proposed development breaches the BRE guidelines, they are easily dismissed and breaches often deemed legally acceptable.

Take the example of Buckle Street Studio, a 13-storey apartment hotel that caused daylight to drop to levels in breach of BRE guidance for 201 windows across 166 rooms in 58 individual flats in neighbouring buildings. As I show in my paper, for each of these 58 homes, the drop in daylight levels amount to material harm. It is a deterioration of the living environment that will compromise the health and wellbeing of its residents.

Standing a mere nine meters from the newly built tower, Goldpence Apartments, a seven-storey housing block comprised of social and affordable homes, was the worst affected block. Of the 58 households in Goldpence apartments, 35 would be directly affected by the development. In fact, 33 residents submitted written objections that expressed both a concern for their individual homes and the lack of light for communal spaces in the neighbourhood.

The proposal was called in for a public inquiry, with a planning inspector assessing the reasons for the council’s refusal. In the final report, he sided with the developer and said that the existing levels of amenity and low levels of daylight in neighbouring buildings constituted a local norm, which the residents in Goldpence Apartments should expect

The research draws attention to the legal process through which the harm resulting from a drop in daylight is both neutralised in the planning inquiry and normalised through the planning process. Levels breaching the BRE regulations would be expected, because neighbouring flats already had poor living conditions.

I argue that this kind of race to the bottom amounts to a form of soft or light violence. It is a legally accepted and politically encouraged erosion of living conditions that disproportionately affects vulnerable and marginalised residents.

A dark future?

When Buckle Street Studios completed, the residents in Goldpence Apartments were not only exhausted from the lengthy planning process but had lost faith in the planning system’s ability to protect them. As I show in a related paper,
they had to come to terms with no longer being able to see the sky from inside their homes.

Many left their curtains drawn all day or rearranged furniture in their children’s bedrooms to prevent neighbours overlooking them. Instead of letting their defeat define them, the residents developed coping strategies that have allowed them to process and deal with the imposing presence of Buckle Street Studios.

This demonstrates how people deal with light violence in everyday life by developing innovative solutions to the challenges they face. And, if they can, so too can city builders.

The architects who design the towers of tomorrow should be able to uphold standards and produce healthy living environments rather than detract from them. More sensitive daylight design would include considering the orientation of buildings, the size and placement of windows and in some cases using reflective materials or diffusers.

Yet, to ensure healthy living environments for all the residents in the city – both those living on upper floors flooded in natural light, and those living below – city-builders must acknowledge the deeper challenge of addressing the socioeconomic divisions that are created as part of new developments. And, they should take the role of design more seriously in challenging residential segregation rather than smoothing over it.

Casper Laing Ebbensgaard 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. Daylight robbery? How London’s skyscrapers deprive marginalised people of light – https://theconversation.com/daylight-robbery-how-londons-skyscrapers-deprive-marginalised-people-of-light-267332

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Adriana Marin, Lecturer in International Relations, Coventry University

When Claudia Sheinbaum — Mexico’s first woman president — was publicly groped during a walkabout recently, her response was striking in its restraint: “If this happens to the president, where does that leave all the young women in our country?”

The phrase ricocheted across Mexico and beyond. It captured both the routine nature of gendered harassment and the profound political implications of a society in which even the country’s most powerful woman can be violated in full public view.

The incident was trivialised by some as a momentary lapse of security. But it was emblematic of the deeper structures of machismo and misogyny that continue to shape political life across Latin America.

Viewed through a narrow lens, Latin America appears increasingly progressive on gender equality. Over the past two decades, the region has implemented some of the world’s most ambitious gender-parity laws. Countries including Mexico, Costa Rica, and Argentina have introduced sweeping legislative reforms requiring equal representation in party lists and public office.

As a result, Latin America consistently ranks among the regions with the highest proportions of women in national legislatures. The region has also produced several high-profile female heads of state.

In addition to Sheinbaum, there’s been Michelle Bachelet in Chile, Cristina Fernández de Kirchner in Argentina and Dilma Rousseff in Brazil. And were it not for some distinctly questionable electoral practices, we might be talking about this year’s Nobel peace laureate, Maria Corina Machado, as president of Venezuela.

Yet these advances in representation coexist with and often provoke virulent misogynistic backlash. The presence of women in power has not dismantled the patriarchal norms underpinning political life. Instead it has exposed how resilient they are.

Feminist scholars describe this phenomenon as “gendered political violence”. It’s a spectrum of practices aimed at punishing women who assume roles historically reserved for men.

Such violence is not confined to physical assault. It also manifests in smear campaigns, sexualised caricature, digital harassment and threats targeting both female politicians and their families. Misogyny here operates not simply as a cultural residue but as a political technology. It’s a way of disciplining women who disrupt established hierarchies.

Sheinbaum’s encounter illustrates this dynamic with unusual clarity. The groping was not merely an act of individual misconduct but a symbolic assertion of power over a woman whose very position challenges longstanding gendered expectations.

Public space across Latin America has long been shaped by the logic of machismo. Research conducted in Quito (Ecuador), Buenos Aires (Argentina) and Santiago (Chile) suggests that street harassment is a pervasive facet of everyday life for women in the region’s cities.

But when the president herself is subjected to unwanted touching, the incident becomes more than a breach of protocol. It becomes a fleeting but potent reminder of the gendered vulnerability deeply embedded in public life.

Sheinbaum’s remark distils a troubling truth: if the nation’s most protected woman can be violated in plain sight, what protections exist for those without status, visibility, or security personnel? In Mexico, this question is particularly acute. The country continues to record some of the world’s highest rates of femicide (the killing of women or girls because of their gender), and gender-based violence is frequently met with institutional inertia.

Against this backdrop, the symbolic violation of a female president cannot be dismissed as trivial. It speaks to a continuum of violence in which women’s bodies remain contested terrain, regardless of their political authority.

Systemic machismo

Machismo, far from being a casual label for male bravado, is a wider ideological system that normalises male dominance in public and private life. It seeks to shape who is seen as credible, rational and fit to lead. It sets expectations that political authority should look and sound masculine.

This means that traits praised in men – decisiveness, assertiveness, toughness – are often judged as inappropriate in women. Within this logic, women entering politics do not simply take up official positions, but rather challenge a symbolic order built on the assumption that power belongs to men.

This helps explain why female leaders attract forms of scrutiny fundamentally different in tone and tenor from those directed at their male counterparts. This includes the policing of their appearance, voice, emotional expression and personal morality, reinforcing the ideological boundaries that machismo seeks to maintain.

Dilma Rousseff, for instance, experienced sustained misogynistic vitriol during and after her presidency. She had to put up with sexualised imagery, accusations of emotional instability and incessant commentary on her appearance — all documented by journalists and human rights organisations.

In Bolivia, women politicians have faced psychological, economic and symbolic aggressions, culminating in extreme cases such as the unsolved 2012 murder of councillor Juana Quispe .

The list is long and unedifying. And it reveals the limitations of formal gender parity. Legal frameworks have succeeded in bringing more women into public institutions, but they have not transformed the cultural logic that determines whose authority is respected and whose is contested.

In many cases, increased representation has heightened hostility, as women’s visibility exposes the fragility of entrenched patriarchal structures. Misogyny, in this sense, becomes a reaction to perceived disruption. It acts as a reassertion of dominance where male authority no longer appears guaranteed.

Ultimately, the episode underscores the gap between representation and transformation. Latin America has made significant strides in bringing women into positions of formal power, but the cultural and political structures that underpin misogyny remain deeply entrenched.

The groping of a sitting president encapsulates this contradiction. A woman can symbolise national authority and still be reduced, in an instant, to an object of public violation.

The future of gender equality in the region will depend not merely on increasing the number of women in political office but on confronting the cultural and political systems that enable misogyny to flourish.

Until machismo is challenged in legislation, public discourse, political culture and everyday life, women in power will continue to face the paradox embodied in Sheinbaum’s remark. Even at the highest level, authority does not guarantee respect, and visibility does not guarantee safety.

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

– ref. The groping of Mexican president Claudia Sheinbaum was more than just a personal assault – https://theconversation.com/the-groping-of-mexican-president-claudia-sheinbaum-was-more-than-just-a-personal-assault-269298

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jeremy Howick, Professor and Director of the Stoneygate Centre for Excellence in Empathic Healthcare, University of Leicester

Artificial intelligence has mastered chess, art and medical diagnosis. Now it’s apparently beating doctors at something we thought was uniquely human: empathy.

A recent review published in the British Medical Bulletin analysed 15 studies comparing AI-written responses with those from human healthcare professionals. Blinded researchers then rated these responses for empathy using validated assessment tools. The results were startling: AI responses were rated as more empathic in 13 out of 15 studies – 87% of the time.

Before we surrender healthcare’s human touch to our new robot overlords, we need to examine what’s really happening here.

The studies compared written responses rather than face-to-face interactions, giving AI a structural advantage: no vocal tone to misread, no body language to interpret, and unlimited time to craft perfect responses.

Critically, none of these studies measured harms. They assessed whether AI responses sounded empathic, not whether they led to better outcomes or caused damage through misunderstood context, missed warning signs, or inappropriate advice.

Yet even accounting for these limitations, the signal was strong. And the technology is improving daily – “carebots” are becoming increasingly lifelike and sophisticated.

Beyond methodological concerns, there’s a simpler explanation: many doctors admit that their empathy declines over time, and patient ratings of healthcare professionals’ empathy vary greatly.

Inquiries into fatal healthcare tragedies – from Mid Staffordshire NHS Foundation Trust to various patient safety reviews – have explicitly named lack of empathy from healthcare professionals as contributing to avoidable harm. But here’s the real issue: we’ve created a system that makes empathy nearly impossible.

Doctors spend about a third of their time on paperwork and electronic health records. Doctors must also follow pre-defined protocols and procedures. While the documentation and protocols have some benefits, they have arguably had the unintended consequence of forcing the doctors to play the bot game. Therefore, we shouldn’t be surprised when the bot wins.

The burnout crisis makes this worse. Globally, at least a third of GPs report burnout – exceeding 60% in some specialties. Burned-out doctors struggle to maintain empathy. It’s not a moral failing; it’s a physiological reality. Chronic stress depletes the emotional reserves required for genuine empathy.

The wonder isn’t that AI appears more empathic; it’s that human healthcare professionals manage any empathy at all.

What AI will never replicate

No carebot, however sophisticated, can truly replicate certain dimensions of human care.

A bot cannot hold a frightened child’s hand during a painful procedure and make them feel safe through physical presence. It cannot read unspoken distress in a teenager’s body language when they’re too embarrassed to voice their real concern. It cannot draw on cultural experience to understand why a patient might be reluctant to accept certain treatment.

AI cannot sit in silence with a dying patient when words fail. It cannot share a moment of dark humour that breaks the tension. It cannot exercise the moral judgment required when clinical guidelines conflict with a patient’s values.

These aren’t minor additions to healthcare; they’re often what make care effective, healing possible and medicine humane.

Here’s the tragic irony: AI threatens to take over precisely those aspects of care that humans do better, while humans remain trapped doing tasks computers should handle.

We’re heading toward a world where AI provides the “empathy” while exhausted humans manage technical work – exactly backward. This requires three fundamental changes.

First, we must train doctors to be consistently excellent at empathic communication. This cannot be a brief module in medical school. It needs to be central to healthcare education. Since AI already matches humans in many technical skills, this should free doctors to focus on genuine human connection.

Second, redesign healthcare systems to protect the conditions necessary for empathy. Dramatically reduce administrative burden through better technology (ironically, AI could help here), ensure adequate consultation time, and address burnout through systemic change rather than resilience training.

Third, rigorously measure both benefits and harms of AI in healthcare interactions. We need research on actual patient outcomes, missed diagnoses, inappropriate advice, and long-term effects on the therapeutic relationship – not just whether responses sound empathic to raters.

The empathy crisis in healthcare isn’t caused by insufficient technology. It’s caused by systems that prevent humans from being human. AI appearing more empathic than doctors is a symptom, not the disease.

We can use AI to handle administrative tasks and free doctors’ time and mental space, and even provide tips to help healthcare professionals boost their empathy. Or we can use it to replace the human connection that remains healthcare’s greatest strength.

The technology will continue advancing, regardless. The question is whether we’ll use it to support human empathy or substitute for it – whether we’ll fix the system that broke our healthcare workers or simply replace them with machines that were never broken to begin with.

The choice is ours, but the window is closing fast.

Jeremy Howick receives funding from the Stoneygate Trust.

– ref. AI is beating doctors at empathy – because we’ve turned doctors into robots – https://theconversation.com/ai-is-beating-doctors-at-empathy-because-weve-turned-doctors-into-robots-269108

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Aiden Hoyle, Assistant Professor in Intelligence and Security, Institute for Security and Global Affairs, Leiden University

When we talk about disinformation – the intentional spreading of misleading information – we usually picture blatant lies and “fake news” pushed by foreign governments. Sometimes the intention is to sway voters in elections, and sometimes it’s to sow confusion in a crisis.

But this is a somewhat simplified version of events. In fact, authoritarian countries, such as Russia and, increasingly, China, are engaged in continuous and more expansive projects aimed at creating a tilted political reality. They seek to subtly undermine the image of western democracies, presenting themselves, and their growing bloc of authoritarian partners, as the future.

Crafting this political reality includes the use of blatant falsities, but the narrative is typically grounded in a much more insidious manipulation of information. Positive facts are highlighted to a disproportionate degree, while inconvenient ones are ignored or taken out of context, so that they appear more in line with the narrator’s goals.

The Kremlin has, for a long time, used state-sponsored media outlets, proxy media outlets or bots to disperse a consistent stream of stories – news articles, tweets, videos or social media posts – designed to subtly steer and antagonise political discussions in democratic societies. Reports show that these stories can reach audiences far beyond their original Russian outlets. They are unknowingly (or sometimes, knowingly) repeated by local or national media, commentators or online users.

A common trope is the idea that democratic societies are chaotic and failing. Coverage might exaggerate crime, corruption, and social disorder, or highlight public protests, economic stagnation, or governmental instability as evidence that democracies are not working. The underlying message is that democracy leads to chaos.

Some stories focus on making progressive values in western societies seem weird. They ridicule progressive social change regarding, for example, LGBTQ+ rights or multiculturalism, making them seem illogical or silly.

Others use real grievances but frame them to amplify feelings of discrimination and victimhood. In the Baltic states, for example, Russian media frequently highlights the alleged persecution of Russian speakers, suggesting they are being treated as second-class citizens and giving far less space to other perspectives.

If we look at the growing online “manosphere”, this mechanism is also in evidence – messaging that reinforces a collective sense of victimhood that fuels division and distrust.

An authoritarian alternative

These types of stories, portraying western societies as dysfunctional and strange, have long been used by the Kremlin to damage the image of democracy. Increasingly, however, we are also seeing Russia and China collaborating in the global online media space to jointly present the authoritarian world as stable and principled alternative powers.

Both Russia and China are critical of the “international rules-based order”, a framework of liberal rules and political norms that emerged after the second world war. They see this order as western-centric and want to reshape the global order in their interest.

Military and economic collaboration form part of their efforts to challenge this order, but global media and online spaces are important too. Both states, for example, frequently disseminate stories that portray western countries as neo-colonial powers.

Another theme is that democracies are hypocritical actors who preach equality and fairness but do not practice it. Stories of a lack of unity in western alliances like Nato or the EU are also consistent in Russian and Chinese narration. Conversely, Russia and China are presented as logical and sane countries, seeking to protect other, more vulnerable nations from western exploitation.

Why are these stories effective?

These stories seem to resonate, especially with audiences in developing countries. That’s often because they have a kernel of truth. Storytellers might focus on real issues, like inequality, foreign policy missteps or double standards and, of course, it’s true that many western countries are indeed dealing with cost of living crises and that foreign policy is not always consistent. Memories of colonial rule make accusations of current exploitation all the more believable.

It’s often the way a story is told that misleads. Details are withheld or taken out of context. Speculative information is presented as fact. This creates a distorted version of the truth.

The stories are often told in emotive terms in a bid to trigger our anger, shock, fear or resentment. For example, in the context of the war in Ukraine, disinformation might suggest that our governments are betraying us by getting involved in foreign wars, or that ordinary citizens are the ones paying the price for the ambitions of a corrupt elite.

They are laden with scandal and sensationalism, skipping nuance in favour of emotional resonance. This ensures the stories are shared and promoted across social media.

The truth can be complex and, at times, boring. Yet by capitalising on our tendency to gravitate towards the sensational, Russia and China can drip-feed a specific worldview into our own – where democracy is ineffective and chaotic and where they offer a fairer, functional future.

In this way, disinformation today is less about outright falsehoods and more about the subtle sculpting how we see the world. Over time, this quiet reshaping can reach far beyond what a false headline might do, and make us doubt the very value of democracy itself.

Aiden Hoyle 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. How authoritarian states sculpt a warped alternative reality in our news feeds – https://theconversation.com/how-authoritarian-states-sculpt-a-warped-alternative-reality-in-our-news-feeds-266092

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Abisola Olawale, PhD candidate, Centre for Migration, Diaspora, Citizenship and Identity, University of the West of Scotland

Moving and living abroad is one of the most exhilarating experiences you can have as a young adult. For the tens of thousands of people on youth mobility schemes or simply working abroad, it is a leap that can bring new adventures, career opportunities and friendships.

But underneath the excitement lies something much more complex: the challenge of figuring out your identity when your “home self” and your “new self” begin to evolve side by side.

I experienced this “dual identity” myself when I moved from Nigeria to Scotland at age 33. It’s what pushed me to my current academic path, researching Nigerian migration to Scotland. My ongoing work analyses how adults and young adults navigate cultures, form identities and settle into a new society, and how changing policies affect their experience of integration.

Cultural identity formation starts at a young age and continues throughout your development. For those who move abroad or are children of immigrants, this process is more complex, involving a negotiation between personal goals, cultural heritage and the social environment of the host country.

Your twenties and thirties are a time for self-discovery, marked by building a career, forming new friendships and romantic relationships, and shaping the adult you want to become. All of this while integrating into a new society adds an extra layer of complexity.

Navigating two identities

In the very first stage of migration, you may be excited by the new foods, people and ways of life you are exposed to. But as time goes by, the difficulty of adapting may become clearer. You may experience challenges like discrimination, an unwelcome political climate, visa restrictions, professional barriers, or simply feel homesick for the people and things back home.

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

Read more from Quarter Life:

• Feel like you’re in a funk? Here’s what you can do to get out of it

• Moving back home doesn’t mean you’ve failed in life – here’s why

• Why losing a parent when you’re a young adult is so hard

This is when the intrapersonal battle of cultural adaptation typically starts. You realise that migration is not merely about moving, but about living two lives. Half of you stays behind where you originally came from, and half of you moves to the host country. This duality is what many migrants experience as they struggle to belong to two worlds. Research shows that people or groups adopt the cultural norms of the host culture over, or at the expense of, their home country culture.

This negotiation of your dual migrant identity emerges in seemingly insignificant moments. At work, you might worry about what your colleagues think of the food you’ve brought from home. You may struggle to understand your colleagues and their patterns of speaking.

When you meet new people, you may pause or think in your head before introducing yourself. Do you say your name the authentic and cultural way, or say it the easier way so it is not mispronounced or laughed at? You laugh at jokes, but feel gutted when no one understands the humour you grew up with.

Some people accept their dual identity and integrate smoothly. Dual identity can give you flexibility and resilience as you learn and shift between languages, accents and cultural cues. This allows you to express a fuller version of yourself rather than hiding some part of your identity.

For others, the process is more difficult and prolonged, shaped by factors such as discrimination, isolation or limited social support. Some days, you may feel like you don’t fully belong in your new country of residence. To locals, you might seem “too foreign” and to people back home, you might appear “too changed”.

While there is no perfect guide to integrating, transitioning and navigating your identity after you move, there are ways to make it less overwhelming and more empowering.

First, allow yourself to grow without guilt. This new phase doesn’t erase your other self, it enriches it.

Second, keep the traditions that matter most to you. Consider joining support groups to connect with people who understand both sides of your experience. This could be fellow migrants or locals who are genuinely accepting and curious.

Third, say yes to experiences that push you. This will help you improve and build your resilience. Belonging is not about fitting into one box, it’s about finding your identity and thriving in a way that spans oceans, cultures and time zones.

Abisola Olawale 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. Moving abroad in your 20s can leave you with two identities – here’s how to cope – https://theconversation.com/moving-abroad-in-your-20s-can-leave-you-with-two-identities-heres-how-to-cope-262903

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jeremiah Stanley, Postdoctoral Researcher, Viral and Cancer Genes, University of Limerick

Serotonin is often described as the happiness chemical because of its well-known role in regulating mood. However, recent research suggests this familiar molecule may play an unexpected role in cancer development. Not through its effects on the brain, but through a completely different mechanism in other parts of the body.

Despite serotonin being commonly associated with the brain, almost 95% of the body’s serotonin is produced in the gut. From there, it enters the bloodstream and travels to various organs and tissues, including the liver, pancreas, muscles, bones, fat tissue and immune cells.

Gut serotonin helps regulate blood sugar levels through its actions on the liver and pancreas, and regulate body temperature by acting on fat tissue. It also contributes to maintaining healthy bones, stimulating appetite and gut motility, stimulating sexual health, promoting wound healing, and supporting immunity against harmful microbes. It essentially drives the functions of many cells throughout the body, and its effects extend far beyond mood regulation.

In 2019, scientists at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai in New York discovered that serotonin can enter cells and interact directly with DNA. They found that it binds to molecular “switches” that control whether genes are active or inactive – and this binding can turn specific genes on.

Studies since then have shown that serotonin can switch on genes involved in cancer growth. This mechanism has been seen in brain, liver and pancreatic cancers – and it may play a role in many other types of cancer.

My colleagues and I at the University of Limerick in Ireland are currently investigating the interaction between serotonin and DNA to better understand how it influences cancer. Identifying the specific sites where serotonin binds to cancer-related genes could support the development of targeted “epigenetic” therapies – treatments that control which genes are switched on or off.

Epigenetic therapies aim to reprogramme cancer cells by adjusting their gene activity directly. They can specifically turn off the harmful genes and turn on the beneficial ones in cancer cells without altering the DNA sequence itself. Such therapies may one day attack cancer cells with greater precision than current methods: surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy. (While these approaches can be life-saving, they are often aggressive, carry significant side-effects and do not always prevent recurrence.)

Scientists are also exploring how serotonin produced in the gut reaches cancer cells. Understanding this pathway could allow doctors to manage serotonin levels in patients. Approaches might include dietary changes, maintaining a healthy gut microbiome, or using antidepressant drugs called “selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors” (SSRIs).

Cells take up serotonin through tiny “transport channels” and the SSRIs block these channels, limiting serotonin’s entry into cancer cells. These drugs increase serotonin levels in the body but prevent it from reaching the DNA to cause their cancer-promoting effects. This strategy could complement existing therapies and possibly improve their effectiveness.

Untangling serotonin’s double life

Brain and gut serotonin operate largely independently. The serotonin that influences mood does not appear to drive cancer growth. For instance, people with depression may have lower serotonin activity in the brain, but the serotonin produced in the gut doesn’t seem to have a clear effect on brain serotonin. SSRI antidepressants, such as Prozac, Celexa and Zoloft, act by increasing serotonin levels in the brain and, therefore, people taking these pills need not worry that their pills may be driving cancer.

On the contrary, as mentioned above, early studies suggest that SSRIs could have beneficial effects against certain cancers – although larger clinical trials are needed to confirm this.

Our research aims to build a detailed understanding of serotonin’s role across different tissues and cellular pathways, potentially opening new avenues for treatment. However, significant challenges remain.

A clearer understanding of how serotonin interacts with cancer-related genes is needed to determine which targets are most effective. Accurate delivery systems must also be developed to ensure epigenetic drugs reach their intended sites of action. Most importantly, encouraging results from cell-based experiments must be validated in ethically designed animal studies and human clinical trials before meaningful progress can be claimed.

If therapies can be developed to target serotonin’s activity specifically in cancer cells, tumours could become less aggressive and easier to remove surgically, with a lower risk of recurrence.

A more complete understanding of serotonin’s functions in the body – across mood, metabolism and cancer – may guide the development of more precise and effective therapies in the future.

Jeremiah Stanley receives funding from the Horizon Europe research and innovation programme of the European Commission.

– ref. Scientists are uncovering serotonin’s role in cancer – here’s what we know – https://theconversation.com/scientists-are-uncovering-serotonins-role-in-cancer-heres-what-we-know-266199

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Pragya Agarwal, Visiting Professor of Social Inequities and Injustice, Loughborough University

The Land Sings Back, a new exhibition at the Drawing Room gallery in London, is a gorgeous evocation of our rights to our lands and our symbiotic relationship with nature.

Thirteen artists with ancestral lands in south Asia, Africa and the Caribbean are subverting the role that sketching and drawing have played in conquest and colonialism. Instead, they have reimagined it as a way to reclaim indigenous knowledge for environmental justice. Drawing on archival research, soundscapes, zines, ceramics, found objects and ephemera, the work on show dissolves the boundaries and lines between various media, questioning the institutionalisation of knowledge.

The exhibition draws on the concept of ecofeminism, first coined by French writer Françoise d’Eaubonne in her 1974 book Feminism or Death. Ecofeminism maintains that patriarchy and colonialism are inherently interlinked. The subjugation of women and marginalised people, which has severed their connection to the lands and the oppression of their myths and stories, has created an imbalance between nature and humans.

The exhibition opens with the work of Lado Bai, a Bhil artist from Madhya Pradesh in India. Bai combines traditional motifs with contemporary symbolism to show a deep connection to the natural world. The Bhil religion is deeply rooted in animism. Animism is the belief that everything from trees and rivers to rocks and animals possesses a spiritual essence and that these entities must be respected through rituals and offerings.

In the 1901 census, 97% of Bhils identified as animists, and they retain this connection through stories and folklore. This forms the basis of Bai’s work. Like so much of indigenous art from India, there is a deceptive simplicity to her work, but within the dots and lines, there is a deeper story of ancient knowledge. Every painting presents an episode in the larger story of Bhil ritual and tradition.

Another Indian artist on display is Manjot Kaur. Kaur reimagines the historical miniature paintings from Mughal art and Rajasthani tradition and uses anthropomorphism to challenge black-and-white thinking. It’s a hopeful response to the climate crisis and extinction. Not merely content with representing the traditional stories and rituals, Kaur is reimagining the mythologies for a post-queer world – a world where people no longer feel the need to define themselves through queer labels – or even a post-human one.

This series is titled Chthonic Beings. The title comes from the Greek mythological creatures of the underworld. These monstrous looking beings are gods of fertility – but also of death. Both coexist, fluidly merging into one another. And so, here too, Kaur decentres the human, instead imagining many of the local Indian species such as blackbuck and great Indian bustard playing the roles of protectors and care givers.

Whose truth and whose land?

Every artist in this exhibition is unique in their approach and response, but drawing is the thread that weaves their stories together. There are broad questions at play: what does a line on the paper mean? Whose labour is hidden? Who has the power to imbue meaning in these lines?

Historically, lines have been drawn to divide people, marginalise them and push them away from the mainstream of society where power lies. Here, the lines are doing the opposite. They are discordant, but only to challenge the disharmony and oppression of the past and the present.

The lines are uncomfortable at times, as in Anupam Roy’s work, which uses satirical imagery and protest posters to draw attention to the land rights movement against the many mining projects in rural Bengal. In February 2025, local activists from west Bengal’s Birbhum district demanded the mining work in the Deocha-Pachami-Dewanganj-Harisingha coal block be cancelled.

It led to the displacement of thousands of indigenous people from their lands. Roy’s drawings demand urgent action for the subaltern subjects (those people who have been historically marginalised and excluded from the dominant power structures) and their precarious condition in the contemporary capitalist system.

But the larger question in Roy’s work is the matter of truth, and whose truth we see represented in images around us. Truth and propaganda are very much on the same axis, as we are seeing today in our current political climate.

The Land Sings Back is beautifully curated by Natasha Ginwala, artistic director of Colomboscope. And it is an emotional experience too, which left me with more questions than answers. But then, that is what good art always does.

The Land Sings Back is on at Drawing Room, London until December 14 2025

Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.

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

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

– ref. The Land Sings Back: a gorgeous exhibition of drawings inspired by ecofeminism – https://theconversation.com/the-land-sings-back-a-gorgeous-exhibition-of-drawings-inspired-by-ecofeminism-269033