Category: English

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Anders Grønlund, Postdoctoral Researcher, Centre for Languages and Literature, Film Studies, Lund University

In recent years, Kalaallit Nunaat, as Greenland is known in Kalaallisut (Greenlandic), has come under ever intensifying scrutiny — featuring in debates about geopolitics, climate change and natural resources. As US interest in the island continues, the EU is now stepping into the fray, with Ursula von der Leyen, the president of the European Commission, poised to visit Greenland and the wider Arctic region in March.

News reports are bolstered by images of Greenland’s colourful settlements, its icebergs and fjords. This attention builds on a long history. For over a century, Greenland and Greenlandic culture have attracted international filmmakers, particularly from Denmark, which began colonising the island in 1721. The country has functioned as a powerful visual and narrative resource in global screen culture. And yet, for international audiences, knowledge of Greenlandic society itself often stops at ice and strategy; Greenlandic culture itself remains unfamiliar.

My recent book chapter, in The Politics of Place: Space and Locality in the European Screen Industries, shows that attitudes are changing. Focusing on a Danish-led co-production shot in Greenland, I have found that when Greenlandic filmmakers and stakeholders are genuinely involved and films are shot on location in Greenland, Danish directors tend to work more reflexively and with greater accountability to local perspectives. By centring Danish characters in Greenlandic settings, these films also shift the focus of critique. Rather than reproducing colonial tropes, they turn attention towards Danish histories and responsibilities, resulting in a more self-critical portrayal of contemporary relations between the two cultures.

Expedition and ethnography

Greenlandic culture first appeared on screen in 1897, in the one-minute silent film, Driving with Greenland Dogs by Danish photographer Peter Elfelt. Filmmakers have been drawn ever since, with, my research shows, two recurring motives: expedition and ethnography.

The first relates to landscape, the second to culture. Both have been shaped by outsiders. Greenland was a Danish colony from 1721 to 1953, after which it was incorporated into Denmark as an “amt” (county). Home Rule was introduced in 1979, and since 2009 Greenland has exercised self-government within the Kingdom of Denmark. Yet the legacies of colonial rule continue to shape cultural and political relations, and questions of representation remain closely entangled with this history.

In the expedition strand, Greenland appears as both spectacle and territory: directors focus on distances, harsh weather, endless ice. If people are depicted at all, it is usually as a measure of scale or as proof of endurance.

During the Cold War, this spectacular, colonial gaze intertwined with geopolitical strategy. Greenland was often framed as a disputed territory or frontier. That visual habit persists. The 2022 film, Against the Ice, directed by Peter Flinth, extrapolates on the template of hardship and endurance; the TV series Thin Ice (2020) and Borgen: Power & Glory (2022) update that template through oil-discovery plots, with Greenland the stage for diplomacy, climate anxiety and international rivalry.

The ethnographic strand, meanwhile, promised access to Greenlanders rather than territory. It has been especially prevalent in documentary film, but also with a strong presence in especially Danish and French fiction, often focusing on daily life, language (barriers), cultural encounters and tradition.

Over time, this cultural gaze has often narrowed into two stereotypes: the precolonial idyll (the “happy Inuit”) and the postcolonial decline (addiction, abuse, suicide). Repeated often enough, these images shape both outsider expectations and Greenlandic self-understanding.

Cultural specificity

These filmic strands are now being contested. Productions increasingly combine spectacular landscapes with culturally specific storytelling. Greenlanders are more visible on screen. They’re also more present behind the camera.

Borgen: Power & Glory places Greenlandic politics at the centre of a Danish political drama. As noted above, the series uses Greenlandic landscapes and Arctic noir mood, and frames the island through global political stakes. But it also foregrounds tensions rooted in colonial history. It digs into who controls resources and makes decisions. Greenlandic characters are central to the storyline. Their language and agency matter, which is also the case behind camera.

In her 2023 feature film, Kalak, Isabella Eklöf takes things even further. She engages with themes that have historically been used to pathologise Greenland, including substance abuse, incest and social decay. However, by centering the narrative on a Danish protagonist and his self-destructive behaviour, the film shifts attention away from the idea that Greenlandic society itself is the problem. Greenland is framed instead as a contemporary place shaped by colonial entanglements and personal trauma. And Eklöf’s production choices reinforce this storytelling. It was filmed entirely in Greenland and relied on substantial Greenlandic participation.

Production on Kalak nonetheless met with scepticism on the ground. The team had to address it through dialogue and local mediation. Attitudes within local communities have long been shaped by misrepresentation and by fatigue, with outsiders arriving, filming and leaving without considering the social consequences.

Local industry

Grassroots Greenlandic filmmaking has developed in parallel to these shifts in outsider production approaches. Directed by Otto Rosing and Torben Bech, and produced by Mikisoq H. Lynge, Nuummioq, released in 2009, is widely hailed as the first international Greenlandic feature film.

A wider body of documentaries and shorts have expanded what Greenland can look and sound like on screen. The 2014 music documentary, Sumé: The Sound of a Revolution, tells the story of how the influential Greenlandic rock band Sumé triggered a cultural and political awakening in the 1970s. The multi-award winning 2024 documentary, Entropy, meanwhile, relays the history of the vast Greenlandic ice sheet from an Indigenous perspective. And the 2025 documentary film, Walls: Akinni Inuk, explores memory, colonial legacy and environmental change through personal, grounded storytelling.

In 2024, the Greenlandic parliament passed a law establishing the country’s first film institute set to operate from 2026. Alongside support for Greenlandic production, it is implementing a rebate scheme and an obligatory application process for foreign shoots. Greenland’s landscapes are being treated as assets that can be marketed internationally.

However, this creates a tension. Incoming productions can bring much needed investment, employment and skills to an ultra-small sector. The danger is that they might also reproduce old patterns. The difference now is that Greenland has agency and it is making itself heard, via clearer standards for consultation, more local hiring and more collaboration over stories and images.

Commercial success should not revive the old silences. Greenland must be both seen and listened to. This matters because images linger. Their cultural and social effects shape what becomes possible both on screen and in real life.

Anders Grønlund 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 Greenland became visible on screen – and why who films it matters – https://theconversation.com/how-greenland-became-visible-on-screen-and-why-who-films-it-matters-275988

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Arun Dawson, PhD Candidate, Department of War Studies, King’s College London

After pressing allies for support – and being rebuffed – US president Donald Trump now insists that the United States can reopen the Strait of Hormuz alone. However, this would focus the risk on US forces and stretch limited naval resources.

Some 20% of global oil flows ordinarily passing through Hormuz; closure of the strait has caused oil prices to soar. British prime minister Keir Starmer has refused to let the UK be drawn into a wider war in the Middle East. However, he has said he is “looking through the options” on helping secure the strait for shipping.

The UK military has already stated that it is considering sending two drone types to the strait of Hormuz: interceptors, to counter Iranian drones, and mine-hunters. These could help ensure the security of shipping in the region, but their task will not be straightforward.

Iran is believed to have around 6,000 sea mines, ranging from simple contact types like the Maham-1 – anchored in place and triggered on impact – to more advanced systems such as the Chinese-designed EM-52, which sit on the seabed and fire a rocket at ships with specific acoustic or magnetic signatures.

So far, only a handful of mines are understood to have been deployed, often covertly at night or using traditional sailing ships to evade detection.

Divers are also used, in the case of limpet mines, to manually attach these devices to a ship’s hull and detonate them remotely. Even limited mining efforts deter commercial shipping, as crews, insurers and operators refuse to risk transit.

The mine threat is only one layer. Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps has built a broader anti-access system: fast attack craft, shore-based anti-ship missiles – such as the Noor/C802 – and one-way attack drones, such as the Shahed-136, which is so effective the Americans are now copying it. These can be launched from concealed positions along the coastline, allowing Tehran to threaten vessels across the strait.

The result is a multi-domain problem. A ship attempting to transit must contend simultaneously with threats from below the water, across the surface and from the air.

This technology enables selective disruption. Iran is targeting the vessels of specific countries while allowing others to pass, preserving its own oil exports while exerting pressure on the US and its allies.

In theory, reopening the strait is straightforward: clear the mines, escort shipping and deter further attacks. In practice, western navies are poorly configured for this. Mine warfare has been deprioritised for decades. The US has historically devoted less than 1% of its naval budget to it, despite mines accounting for 80% of US warships sunk or damaged since 1945.

Its Avenger-class minesweepers are being retired, replaced by platforms reliant on unmanned systems. European fleets face similar constraints. The Royal Navy’s last minehunter in the Gulf, HMS Middleton, left for maintenance shortly before the current crisis. Of the seven vessels in the fleet, four are unavailable, with the remaining three earmarked to protect home waters and UK submarines.

Vulnerable to attack

Even where mine countermeasure vessels exist, they are ill-suited to Hormuz. They operate slowly and close to the threat, using sonar and remotely operated vehicles to locate and neutralise mines. In a contested environment, this places them within range of missiles and drones, requiring escort ships – which are similarly scarce.

Autonomous minehunters include the Royal Navy’s Sweep system. Instead of detecting and then destroying mines in separate stages and with separate tools, Sweep uses an uncrewed surface vessel towing three sensor boats that replicate the magnetic, acoustic and electrical signature of a ship. This effectively tricks mines into detonating harmlessly at a distance. It entered service in 2025 and can be controlled remotely from a ship or portable platform.

These systems nevertheless remain limited in number and untested in combat. The control ships and command nodes may also have to operate within range of Iranian aerial weapons.

That includes Shahed drones. With a cost of US$35,000 (£26,000) each, these are effective at overwhelming traditional air defences, exhausting expensive interceptor stocks like the Patriot, which costs $4 million per missile.

The economics are forcing the development of cheaper responses. Interceptor drones, such as the UK-produced Octopus system, use onboard sensors and AI-driven image recognition to physically collide with incoming drones like the Shahed. Costing less than a tenth of the target, they offer a far more scalable defence than high-end missiles.

The US faces challenges if it intends to go it alone on reopening the strait. Mine clearance is inherently slow. The last major western operation of this kind, after the 1991 Gulf war, took more than seven weeks. Doing this alone would concentrate risk on US forces and stretch already limited mine countermeasure capacity.

Other possibilities like helicopters with anti-mine capabilities would not be able to overcome the threat posed by drones or missiles.

At the same time, Washington has targeted Iranian minelaying vessels and naval facilities. A marine force is also en route, raising the possibility of operations against Iranian coastal drone and missile launch sites. But this would involve putting boots on the ground – something unpalatable to many, even within the Trump administration.

Immediate impact

Europe, despite political hesitation, is unlikely to remain absent. The economic impact of disruption in Hormuz is immediate. Deploying autonomous counter-mine and counter-drone systems already in the region could be framed not as joining a controversial war, but as restoring freedom of navigation in a vital international waterway.

There are reputational factors at play, too. The untimely withdrawal of mine-hunting vessels has strained trust with Gulf partners, particularly for countries like the UK that had committed to their security. Reinforcing capabilities to the region could help repair that relationship.

However, systems like Octopus are currently needed in Ukraine. Diverting them to the Middle East to defend against Iranian Shaheds would deny Kyiv a vital capability. Already, more Patriot missiles have been launched by the Gulf states to protect their airspace than Ukraine has in four years of war.

While Trump may be right that the US does not need European assistance, that is not the most important question. The real dilemma is whether any western military – acting alone or together – can quickly, safely and sustainably secure one of the world’s most critical waterways against a layered, modern threat. That is a much harder test.

Arun Dawson 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. Can British drones help secure the strait of Hormuz for international shipping? – https://theconversation.com/can-british-drones-help-secure-the-strait-of-hormuz-for-international-shipping-278675

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ourania Filippakou, Professor of Education, Brunel University of London

Student loans now sit at the centre of how higher education is funded in England, shaping how millions of graduates finance their studies. Many students leave university with debts of £50,000 or more and may spend decades repaying them.

The current system rests on the idea that higher education primarily benefits individuals, because going to university means that they will earn more over their lifetime. On this view, graduates should bear a significant share of the cost of their education through loan repayments once they enter the labour market.

Yet universities also generate wider social benefits. They educate professionals in sectors such as healthcare, education and engineering. They produce research that contributes to innovation and public policy. They make a significant contribution to cultural and civic life.

This raises the question of whether higher education should be treated mainly as a private investment for individuals, or as a public good that benefits society as a whole.

Research also shows that higher levels of education are associated with greater civic participation, higher levels of political engagement and improved health. These findings suggest that the benefits of higher education extend beyond individual graduates.

If this is the case, the question of who should finance universities becomes more complex. Should the cost fall mainly on graduates, or should it be shared more broadly through public funding?

The shift in funding models

Over the past two decades, England has gradually moved away from a system in which universities were funded largely through public expenditure. Now, graduate contributions play a much larger role.

Before tuition fees were introduced in 1998, most undergraduate teaching in England was financed primarily through public funding. Fees were later increased significantly in 2012, when the system that now allows universities to charge over £9,000 per year was introduced.

Students do not normally pay these fees upfront. Instead, they take out government-backed loans to cover tuition fees and living costs, which they repay once their earnings exceed a certain threshold. Repayments therefore depend on income rather than the total amount borrowed.

A fair system?

Several features of the current system have raised concerns about fairness.

One issue is the length of the repayment period. Under recent reforms in England, many graduates may repay their student loans for up to 40 years before the debt is written off.

Another concern is the interest charged on student loans. Interest begins accumulating while students are still studying and continues after graduation. It also continues to accumulate during periods when graduates are not making repayments because their income falls below the repayment threshold. This might be during unemployment, part-time work or parental leave.

Graduate earnings also vary widely. Some graduates repay their loans relatively quickly, while others work in sectors such as teaching, social care or the creative industries where salaries tend to be lower.

Lower-earning graduates typically repay more slowly. As a result, interest accumulates for longer. They may therefore accrue more interest overall and repay a larger total amount than higher-earning graduates. Some may also still have a balance outstanding when the loan is written off.

Earnings also differ across gender, ethnicity and social background, reflecting wider labour market inequalities. Because repayments depend on income over time, these differences shape how the costs of higher education are distributed among graduates.

Possible directions for reform

Different proposals for reform emphasise different priorities, shifting the balance between graduate contributions and public funding.

These include lowering interest rates, adjusting repayment thresholds so lower earners repay less, or shortening the repayment period so student debt does not follow graduates for most of their working lives. Some also argue that a fairer system would involve greater public investment in universities, reducing reliance on graduate repayments and spreading costs more widely across society.

These debates also raise a more fundamental question about justice. The issue is not simply how individuals pay for their degrees, but how societies sustain universities that produce knowledge and educate citizens for democratic life. The real question is whether higher education is treated as a private investment or a public good essential to democracy.

If universities are understood mainly as providing a private benefit to individuals, a system based on graduate repayments may appear reasonable. But if higher education is also recognised as contributing to economic development, research, professional training and civic life, the case for sharing its costs across society becomes stronger.

As discussions about student loans continue, the challenge for policymakers is not only to adjust repayment rules but also to consider how funding reflects the wider role of the university. Ultimately, debates about student loans are also debates about how societies choose to support universities and invest in future generations.

Ourania Filippakou 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. What would make England’s student loan system fairer? – https://theconversation.com/what-would-make-englands-student-loan-system-fairer-277672

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Georgina Brewis, Professor of Social History, UCL

Student finance in England is up for debate once again, with extensive discussion on the perceived unfairness of the Plan 2 student loan repayment system

But concerns about how to pay for a university degree are far from new. Our new book Student London: A New History of Higher Education in the Capital explores the financial challenges students have faced for years – and the activism that has changed the student experience.

Undergraduate degrees in England have long been expensive to provide. One of the key features of the new London University, founded in 1826 as England’s third university, was that the education on offer was ten times cheaper than at Oxford or Cambridge. From the late 19th century, government grants provided universities with income that allowed them to keep fees relatively affordable.

This meant that although only a very small proportion of the population was able to attend university, not all students came from wealthy backgrounds. Students survived on a patchwork of scholarships, loans and family help. Many were able to afford only a year’s study. Memoirs attest to the indignities experienced by poorer students who struggled to pay bus fares, refectory prices or students’ union subscriptions.

Institutions could set their own fees. For example, the rates set by colleges across the University of London varied widely even though students sat the same exams and received the same degree. The 1913 Haldane commission on higher education in London recognised the need for fees to be equalised and called for a national inquiry into the topic. However, national government showed little interest.

Local authorities had begun providing higher education scholarships in the late 19th century, but these were unevenly distributed and the sums awarded varied. Another important source of funding was Board of Education grants for prospective teachers, although students resented having to pledge to teach as the price for the opportunity to study at university. After the first world war, the Scheme for the Higher Education of Ex-Service Students reflected a growing recognition that the wider social value of university justified greater state funding for individual students.

The 1920s was a time of rapid inflation. The hardship caused by rising prices led to the invention of the student discount. The National Union of Students (founded in 1922) secured reduced prices for books, newspapers, insurance and travel. Student unions helped ameliorate the cost of living crisis by opening shops and canteens that bought at wholesale prices and sold to students at a narrow margin.

The second world war disrupted higher education enormously, with institutions facing evacuation and the conscription of both staff and students. One innovative response was the creation of college hardship funds, although lobbying of the University Grants Committee to provide maintenance grants for evacuated students proved unsuccessful.

After the war, a growing proportion of students had their fees paid directly to universities by their local education authority and were in receipt of maintenance grants. However, it was not until 1962 that a new Education Act introduced a national system entitling students to the same level of support, regardless of where they lived or where they chose to study. It was this that enabled students to move away from home and fuelled a boom in the building of halls of residence. But it also gave rise to new stereotypes of students as taxpayer-funded layabouts.

By the 1970s, students were again struggling with the cost of living as grants were eroded in real terms by inflation. Alternative forms of living such as squatting and short-term housing (staying in buildings scheduled for demolition) were part political stance and part pragmatic response. In what many British students saw a moral cause, they also campaigned against “discriminatory tuition fees” for overseas students introduced from 1967.

The introduction of loans

In the face of concerted opposition, the shift from grants to repayable loans took place only gradually. In 1984 students successfully campaigned to halt the introduction of loans but, like differential overseas fees, ultimately this was to be a lost cause. One concession was that rather than have commercial banks run the scheme, the Student Loans Company was set up in 1990 to oversee it.

The 1998 reintroduction of tuition fees at a means-tested flat rate of £1,000 triggered another wave of student protest. Students we interviewed for our research remembered being so angry because the fees had to be paid up front. The campaign generated extensive media interest but this did not stop a fee increase to £3,000 per year in 2006 – although these no longer had to be paid up front. The financial crisis of 2007-8 shaped the context in which the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition government again raised tuition fees to £9,000 a year in 2012.

In the 2020s, a key challenge is that maintenance loans now cover just half of students’ costs but still leave them with enormous debt many will never pay off. It is not surprising that over the past decade there has been a 50% increase in students choosing to live at home. This return to older models signals an erosion of the choice that a national system of student financing was supposed to enable. A number of the people we interviewed expressed regret about such changes.

Financial support for students has often been a low priority for governments facing competing budgetary demands. There have been moments of optimism when the value of higher education to society and the economy helped justify investment in individual students – but this is far from the situation today.

Looking back over the history of student finance, it is hard to see successive campaigns against repayable loans or fee increases as anything other than a series of failures. But it is also clear that many of the support systems students today take for granted arose out of such activism, from student discounts to subsidised canteens to union shops and hardship funds.

Georgina Brewis has received funding from the AHRC, the ESRC, the Swedish Research Council, the Society for Educational Studies and the British Academy.

Sam Blaxland received funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council to study his Master’s and PhD degrees.

– ref. Grants, loans and hardship funds: what we can learn from the long history of student finance – https://theconversation.com/grants-loans-and-hardship-funds-what-we-can-learn-from-the-long-history-of-student-finance-277526