As Xi Jinping prepares to host Donald Trump for a delayed summit in Beijing on May 14-15, a lot has changed since the US president’s last visit to China in November 2017. Trump’s first trade war with China began in earnest the following year, ushering in a new era of trade tensions between the world’s two largest economies.
Trump will travel to Beijing in the wake of a US Supreme Court ruling in February that struck down his “Liberation Day” tariffs. The Trump administration responded by imposing a 10% universal tariff on all goods coming into the US, but it’s time limited to 150 days under US law and will expire on July 24. Since the ruling, both China and the US have also launched investigations into each other’s trade practices.
Before the Supreme Court ruling, the effective tariff rate on Chinese goods into the US was 47%. Now, researchers at Yale put the effective tariff rate at between 19-24%. The range reflects different scenarios for what might happen after July, and factors in tariffs on other goods, such as steel, aluminium and copper, not covered by the ruling.
And yet, amid all the tit-for-tat on tariffs, China reported a record trade surplus in 2025 of US$1.2 trillion. How did it manage it?
In this episode of The Conversation Weekly podcast, we speak to economist Jiao Wang at the University of Sussex, about how decisions China took over the past two decades, meant it was able to protect itself from the worst of Trump’s trade wars.
Wang explains that while the direct trade between the US and China fell sharply in 2025, “it was more than compensated by the increase in trade to other part of the world. We already observed this great reallocation in the first trade war, and then in the second trade war, the conclusion is it becomes even more prominent.”
She traces the history of this great reallocation to understand what moves China made to decouple its economy from the west, and the strategy its now pursuing on global trade.
This episode of The Conversation Weekly was written and produced by Mend Mariwany and the executive producer was Gemma Ware. Mixing by Eleanor Brezzi and theme music by Neeta Sarl.
Listen to The Conversation Weekly via any of the apps listed above, download it directly via our RSS feed or find out how else to listen here. A transcript of this episode is available via the Apple Podcasts or Spotify apps.
Jiao Wang 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.
For many people interested in health and wellbeing, the idea of ultra-processed food, or UPF, has become more than a technical term in nutrition research. In public debate, it often serves as shorthand for wider concerns about modern, industrially produced food.
Those concerns are not baseless. A large body of research has found associations between high UPF intake and poorer health outcomes. But the evidence is not always easy to interpret. Many studies rely on self-reported diets and struggle to separate the effects of processing from nutrient quality, eating patterns and wider social factors. The evidence points to real problems, but also to the need for more careful use of the term.
In the US, the Food and Drug Administration and the Department of Agriculture began a formal process in 2025 to develop a uniform federal definition of ultra-processed foods, arguing that no single authoritative definition exists for the US food supply. The central question is: what exactly makes a food “ultra-processed”? Is it the ingredients it contains, the way it is made, the extent to which it has been altered from its original structure, or some combination of these?
This helps explain why the topic has become so divisive. Within nutrition research, there is no consensus on how far the UPF category should guide policy or individual dietary advice. Some researchers see it as an important way of identifying harmful patterns in modern diets. Others argue that it is too broad to serve as a sound basis for dietary guidance on its own.
That distinction is important. A category can be useful for tracking population diets while still being too blunt to tell an individual whether a particular product belongs in their shopping basket, especially when it tries to capture ingredients, industrial processes, product formulation, marketing, palatability and dietary patterns within one category.
There are also valid concerns about the role of large food companies in shaping diets and public health. Many highly processed products are designed to be cheap, convenient, heavily marketed and easy to overconsume. But the political and commercial problems of the food system are not identical to the scientific problem of classification.
A better approach would distinguish more clearly between products that are ultra-processed and nutritionally poor, products that are ultra-processed but may still have a useful place in the diet, and minimally processed foods that people are encouraged to eat more of. This might include some fortified foods, high-fibre breads or medical nutrition products, depending on their composition and use.
One way to balance warnings about UPFs is to give more attention to positive dietary guidance. In the EAT-UP framework, I propose the term “unrefined plant foods”, or UPs, to describe plant foods whose natural structure remains largely intact. These include whole fruits, vegetables, beans and grains that have not been heavily broken down or reconstituted.
This is not a replacement for the UPF framework. Its main value may be communicative: it balances advice about what to limit with clearer guidance on what to add. Many dietary guidelines already encourage people to eat more fruit, vegetables, legumes and whole grains. Naming these foods more precisely may help make that advice clearer.
Like any food category, unrefined plant foods would need careful definition. The phrase “largely intact” is not self-explanatory, and different researchers, policymakers and consumers may draw the boundary differently. But the value of the concept lies in shifting part of the public health message from avoidance to addition.
Advice based only on avoidance can easily become confusing or punitive. Evidence that higher intakes of whole plant foods are linked with better health also has limitations, including food diaries, self-reporting, cohort studies and the difficulty of separating diet from wider lifestyle factors. Even so, fruit, vegetables, legumes and whole grains are consistently supported across dietary guidelines, public health research and long-standing evidence on diet quality.
These debates also shape how people understand food in everyday life. Dietary advice should avoid creating unnecessary fear around food. When processing is treated as inherently dangerous, the result can be confusion, guilt and anxiety rather than healthier behaviour. In some cases, highly moralised food messaging may even encourage disordered eating patterns, including an unhealthy fixation on foods perceived to be perfectly pure or healthy.
This is also why language needs care. Phrases such as “real food” are often used to mean foods that are minimally processed or close to their original form. But the phrase can also carry assumptions about what counts as proper eating and who is getting it wrong. Public health messages need to take account of differences in income, time, access and daily constraints.
Improving diets requires more than labelling a broad category of foods as harmful. It requires careful consideration of evidence, behaviour and context. The challenge is to produce advice that is scientifically sound, practical to follow and responsive to the real conditions in which people make food choices.
The UPF debate has rightly placed industrial diets and food quality at the centre of public health discussion. The next step is not to abandon the framework, but to improve it: to define categories more clearly, distinguish between different kinds of processing, and combine warnings about harmful products with practical advice about the foods people can eat more of. In practice, that means combining processing-based classifications with evidence about nutrient profile, fibre content, additives, marketing and the role a food plays in the overall diet.
Beverley O’Hara 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.
Kokuho is a colourful, lengthy epic, spanning five decades and running almost three hours, set in the world of kabuki – Japan’s most popular traditional performing art. It has been a huge hit in Japan, becoming the country’s highest ever grossing live-action film.
The film’s title translates as “national treasure”. But it does not refer to tangible treasures like Buddhist temples, tea bowls, or imperial calligraphy. Instead, it refers to ningen kokuho – “living national treasures”. It’s the popular term for people recognised by the Japanese state as embodying a traditional art or craft.
Honourees run the gamut from potters, dyers and swordsmiths to lacquerware makers. But it is the kokuho from the traditional theatrical genres, especially kabuki, that most strongly capture the public’s imagination. Only a handful of kabuki actors in each generation ever make it to this rarefied height of official recognition. In Japan today there are just six of them.
The film traces the career of Kikuo (played as an adult by Ryo Yoshizawa), the orphaned son of a Hiroshima gangster. We follow Kikuo as he first enters the world of kabuki in the late 1940s, trains as an onnagata (a male actor who specialises in female roles) under the uncompromising guidance of a famous Osaka actor Hanjiro (Ken Watanabe), wins then loses the friendship of Hanjiro’s son Shunsuke (Ryusei Yokohama) and finally ascends to the rank of kokuho in the 1980s.
Professional kabuki is a tight-knit and all-male world of family connections. Actors pass down their hereditary stage names to their sons (the professional world has been male-only since the early 1600s) and successful outsiders are vanishingly rare. So Kokuho’s central question is far more culturally specific than other A Star is Born-esque narratives. Namely, what makes a star kabuki actor – hard work or blood?
The trailer for Kokuho.
Where the film truly shines is in its understanding and rich evocation of kabuki’s offstage and backstage life.
Training is strict and fearsome. This is captured convincingly in scenes of the teenage Kikuo and Shunsuke stripped to the waist, sweating buckets in the summer practice room. They repeat sequences of dance movements over and over until they can internalise them to Hanjiro’s satisfaction.
Real kabuki actors are trained by their families and appear on stage regularly from five or six years of age, slowly moving up through minor to starring roles. They truly grow up on stage, under the initially tolerant then later increasingly expectant eyes of audiences who grow old with them.
Kabuki has survived as a commercial theatre for over 400 years and its impresarios remain in constant need of handsome actors whose image can be fanned and manipulated to attract a new generation of fans into the theatres. Kabuki, therefore, frequently forces promising young actors into roles and new hereditary names before they are quite ready for them. It’s a reality that Kokuho neatly captures. Shunsuke finds Kikuo backstage, about to play a starring female dramatic role for the first time and trembling with anxiety, unable to do his own makeup. Kikuo begs Shunsuke for a cup of his blood to drink, terrified that his years of hard training may not be enough.
The film does an excellent job of convincing us that Kikuo has indeed become a great actor. The onstage scenes, shot in a variety of lights by Tunisian cinematographer Sofian El Fani (Blue is the Warmest Colour, Timbuktu) look ravishing, drawing upon the vibrant colours of costume and set that are kabuki’s trademarks.
The plays chosen for these scenes have been carefully selected from the historical repertoire. With one notable exception of a love suicide play, they are spectacular dance pieces that permit an emphasis on kabuki’s vivid visual and aural palettes, and the stunning onstage hikinuki costume changes where the threads on an outer kimono are cut and it is suddenly whipped away by stage assistants to reveal a contrasting garment beneath. These choices also allow for lots of rapid cuts that go a long way to disguise the fact that Yoshizawa had only 18 months of kabuki training, instead of 25 years, before filming began.
The film’s attempt to answer its central question of blood or art is nuanced. Interestingly, for a film about an onnagata, it steers coyly clear of any problematic questions about sexual or gender identity. The only hint of that comes in the brief but memorably scenes with the older onnagata, Mangiku (played by butoh dancer Min Tanaka).
Tanaka brings an acidic taste of threat to his role, speaking directly to the “fearsome, negative narcissism” that Yukio Mishima saw in Utaemon Nakamura VI, the greatest onnagata of the mid 20th century. What we are given instead is the deeply ambivalent sense of self that Yoshizawa brings to Kikuo, untouched by lost loves, abandoned children, ailing friends and even the bloody death of his yakuza father.
The conclusion we are guided to is that his traumatised blankness is the true source of his art. This suggestion reaches its culmination in the film’s final dance sequence, where the spirit of a heron, embodied first as a young then later an older woman, whirls alone at night amid thickly falling theatrical paper snow. For Kikuo, the creation of identity through a concentrated evocation of beauty in performance is abundantly clear. Quite what message Japan’s film-goers have taken from it is much harder to parse.
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Alan Cummings 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.
On the eve of the American Revolution, Matthias Aspden made a decision that would change the trajectory of his life. A wealthy merchant from Philadelphia, Aspden carefully prepared to leave his home in March 1776 as rumors of revolution circulated. He drafted a will and appointed trusted friends to manage his property while he traveled to England.
As a loyalist, someone who wanted to remain loyal to the crown and the British empire, Aspden believed the war would be brief. Historians estimate that at the beginning of the war as many as one-third of all American colonists identified as loyalists. Aspden believed his departure would be temporary. Order, he assumed, would soon be restored, and he would permanently return within a few years.
But that wasn’t the case.
The American Revolution is often told as a triumphant story of democracy and freedom. But this narrative leaves out a significant group: the loyalist men and women who remained faithful to Britain and, as a result, lost their homes, property and sometimes their sense of belonging.
As a historian of the American Revolution who studies Philadelphia loyalists, I believe Aspden’s story offers a glimpse into an overlooked experience of the war.
A wealthy Philly merchant exiled in England
Born and raised in Philadelphia, Aspden was not a marginal figure. He was a Quaker merchant with extensive property holdings, including a home on Water Street, in what is now the Old City neighborhood, and land in Chester County outside Philadelphia.
When he left in 1776, he abandoned nearly everything he owned, believing he would return. As others celebrated independence that summer, Aspden quietly slipped away to London.
A letter written by Matthias Aspden from London in 1779. Yale University
In England, reality set in. Exile was not just physical; it was deeply social and emotional. In Philadelphia, Aspden had been established. In London, he was one of tens of thousands of displaced loyalists trying to rebuild a life. He gravitated toward communities of fellow exiles. These networks offered some stability, but they could not replace what he had left behind.
Aspden’s letters to friends and family from this period reveal a man caught between hope and anxiety. He followed news from Philadelphia obsessively, requesting newspapers and updates from friends and business contacts. At one point, he described himself as “an idle man until I can return to America.” His words suggest both longing and uncertainty, as if his life were on pause.
By 1780, that uncertainty turned into fear.
A ‘traitor’ trying to come back home
Aspden began hearing about laws in Pennsylvania aimed at confiscating loyalist property. These laws required individuals accused of treason to appear in court and defend themselves. Aspden, still in England, could not do so. As a result, he was tried in absentia, declared a traitor and subjected to the state’s harshest penalties.
The consequences were devastating. In 1782, Aspden learned that all of his property had been confiscated and would be sold to aid the patriots in the American Revolution. An official commissioner of confiscation seized his Philadelphia home and wharf, which were worth thousands of pounds, along with his land in Chester County. Aspden, facing financial ruin, decided to return to Philadelphia to defend his name and his property.
In 1785, after nearly a decade abroad and with the war over, he crossed the Atlantic, hoping the new United States would restore his property under the terms of the peace treaty with Britain. Instead, he was met with rejection.
Pennsylvania officials informed him that individuals in his position were not protected. He had no legal claim to his property and, more shockingly, no rights as a citizen. While the peace treaty prevented further confiscation of loyalist property, his property was not restored.
The message was clear: Philadelphia was no longer his home.
Aspden left again, traveling through New Jersey and New York before securing passage back to England. Reflecting on his departure, he wrote of the pain of being forced from his “native country.” His brief return confirmed what he had feared. He had no home.
In the years that followed, Aspden sought compensation wherever he could. The American government offered nothing, so he turned to Britain. The Loyalist Claims Commission, established to reimburse those who had lost property during the war, eventually awarded him just over 1,100 pounds, a fraction of his estimated losses.
Aspden made one final visit to America in the early 1790s. By then, he had received a legal pardon and could travel without fear of arrest. But he still could not recover his property or successfully pursue compensation in American courts. Once again, he left – this time for good.
Aspden died in England in 1824, having spent nearly 50 years in exile from the city he always considered home.
Decades after his death, his heirs pursued a legal claim in the United States against Pennsylvania, arguing that his estate had been unjustly seized. After years of litigation, the court ruled in their favor in 1848, awarding them over a half-million dollars – approximately US$20 million today. It was a remarkable reversal, but Aspden never saw justice.
His life raises difficult questions about loyalty, identity and belonging. Aspden did not see himself as disloyal to Philadelphia. To him, loyalty to the British Crown and loyalty to home were not opposites.
His story reminds us that the Revolution was not just a fight for independence. It was also a civil conflict that divided communities and reshaped lives. For every celebrated patriot, there were loyalists like Aspden and others who lost so much during the American Revolution.
Kimberly Nath 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.
Studying the types of messages hate groups spew online helps researchers understand the groups’ persistence. Westend61/Westend61 via Getty Images
Hate communities often flourish online for years, raising the question of how they persist. My research team has found that powerful stories keep members of a hate group galvanized, either by repeating the story over and over or by constantly adding fresh accusations and interpretations to it.
First, we measured who was posting and how that related to engagement on a site. Groups in which a small number of people produced most of the content tended to attract more reactions and responses. Then we looked at subjects the group members discussed – religion, immigration, geopolitics – and the kinds of stories members told about those topics, such as describing an entire group of people as criminals or warning that certain types of people are secretly taking over a country’s way of life.
When we put these pieces together, we discovered some clear patterns. Messages posted by a few very active people were strongly associated with higher site engagement in the form of likes and shares in the near term. And repetition – espousing the same ideas again and again – was an effective tactic. We also found that when many users kept adding fresh accusations, conspiracy theories and explanations, a group tended to persist. Very uniform content that used the same framing led to less engagement over time.
Different communities seemed to be drawn to different messaging patterns. In Islamophobic groups, the most prolific posters tended to repeat a narrow, consistent set of messages. Often these were religiously framed posts that portrayed Muslims as morally condemned. In antisemitic groups, the most engaged members were more likely to impart a mix of narratives, from tales of victimization to conspiracy theories about public figures.
A woman protests after a Kashmiri shawl seller was assaulted in India on Jan. 31, 2026. NurPhoto via Getty Images
Why it matters
Our findings suggest that hate communities can sustain themselves in various ways, so efforts to moderate them should consider these variations. If a few voices drive the conversation, removing them could quiet the noise. If new stories constantly appear from many contributors, harmful ideas may survive even if a few key online accounts are taken down. Hate networks can persist even after social media platforms ban specific groups or accounts.
It is also important to understand how stories can make prejudice feel justified and emotionally compelling. Extremist stories may claim that a group is under attack, that outsiders are dangerous or subhuman, or that violence is the only way to stay safe. Groups seen as outsiders – such as immigrants – are common targets, and they may be described as an “invasion” that threatens the nation.
What other research is being done
Researchers are finding that extremist ideas are now spreading through looser networks where many voices contribute and messaging can vary widely. That could affect whether engagement in the future still depends on consistent repetition or novelty. Some investigators are also scrutinizing how harmful language, conspiracy theories and propaganda evolve over time.
What’s next
Another important direction is tracking how hate narratives are spread by public figures and influencers, how the narratives move between online platforms, and how they surface in offline groups and efforts to organize supporters, all of which can normalize harmful ideas. My group is starting to study how this amplification works: who shares which narratives and why, which kinds of people become bridges across different online platforms, and how those roles shape which messages spread.
The Research Brief is a short take on interesting academic work.
Yu-Ru Lin’s research has received federal funding, including National Science Foundation and the Department of Defense (DARPA, AFOSR, Minerva, and ONR). Any opinions, findings, and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this material do not necessarily reflect the views of the funding sources.
One of the most visible ways that Canada responded to President Donald Trump’s tariffs was by sharply restricting U.S. alcohol sales. AP Photo/Jill Colvin
Almost a year and a half after President Donald Trump began slapping tariffs on nearly all U.S. trading partners, Canada’s pushback has reordered the economic relationship between Ottawa and Washington.
But the example of one sector in particular, U.S. alcohol, shows how quickly access to an important market can disappear – and how difficult it can be to regain.
From 2022 through 2024, Canada accounted for roughly 35% of U.S. wine exports, more than 15% of U.S. beer exports and as much as 13% of U.S. distilled spirits exports. Within just one year of Trump returning to office, Canada’s imports of U.S. alcohol cumulatively have plunged over 70%, thanks to a mix of both tariff and nontariff retaliatory measures.
It’s a sharp reversal from Canada’s traditional role as a top foreign destination for American beer, wine and spirits. That relationship reflected both long‑standing consumer preferences as well as geographic proximity and largely tariff‑free access through agreements like the North American Free Trade Agreement and its successor, the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement.
As an agricultural economist working on trade issues related to alcohol, I see Canada’s alcohol sector as a textbook example of how market access for politically exposed goods can quickly unravel. And for American beer, wine and spirits producers – and for the farmers who grow the barley, grapes and corn that go into these products – the recent experience highlights how trade disputes often hit food products hardest. If a trade ban becomes entrenched, it opens a way for consumers to develop a taste for domestic as well as other foreign alternatives.
President Donald Trump’s tariffs and talk of Canada as the 51st U.S. state have sparked a sustained backlash by Canadians. These protesters gathered near the Peace Bridge border crossing in Buffalo, N.Y., on April 2, 2025. AP Photo/Adrian Kraus
The Trump tariff shock
Before Trump’s tariffs and talk of Canada as the 51st U.S. state, U.S. alcohol occupied substantial shelf space in major alcohol-consuming provinces such as Ontario, British Columbia and Québec. In 2024, these exports to Canada constituted more than 20% of Canada’s alcohol imports, totaling US$744 million. For most U.S. producers, Canada served not only as a key export destination but as a stable and relatively low‑risk entry point into international markets.
That changed in February 2025, when Trump, citing a national security emergency, imposed 25% tariffs on Canada and Mexico. Those tariffs – which were overturned by the Supreme Court in February 2026 – marked the first time that law was used to authorize broad tariffs.
Canada responded by slapping retaliatory tariffs of 25% on roughly $30 billion of U.S. goods and signaling it would significantly expand countermeasures if tensions persisted. It also enacted nontariff countermeasures, most notably by letting provincial liquor authorities remove U.S. beer, wine and spirits from store shelves. These tools, which fall within Canada’s system of shared federal and provincial powers, sharply restricted market access for American producers.
Immediately after Trump’s announcement, eight of Canada’s 10 provinces imposed partial or full bans on U.S. alcohol imports by instructing their liquor boards to stop importing and selling U.S. alcohol altogether. In many cases, American products were physically removed from store shelves and online platforms – sometimes with instructions to target imports from U.S. “red” states that had supported Trump.
U.S. wine exports were hit hardest, plunging from $460 million to just $103 million, while distilled spirits fell from $238 million to $89 million and beer exports from $47 million to $17 million. Collectively, these declines slashed total U.S. alcohol exports to Canada from $744 million to $208 million, wiping out $536 million in trade.
The spat quickly became testy. The alcohol boycott is one of the reasons Trump and White House officials have called Canada “mean and nasty to deal with,” in the words of U.S. Ambassador to Canada Pete Hoekstra.
The trade war’s latest turn
Those provincial restrictions remained in place even after the two countries reached a partial deal exempting about half of USMCA‑compliant goods from ongoing tariffs in summer 2025, leading Canada to scale back some retaliatory levies. However, the de facto trade bans on U.S. alcohol remain in place.
Alcohol resurfaced again recently as a flash point, when the top U.S. trade official, Jamieson Greer, said in April 2026 that existing U.S. levies on Canadian industrial goods would stay in place and might even be toughened until Canada walked back its alcohol restrictions. That threat a drew sharp retort from Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney.
Meanwhile, the trade dispute hasn’t prompted Canadians to drink less alcohol overall. Instead, their consumption has largely shifted to other countries, especially for wine. United Nations trade data shows that in 2024, American wine accounted for 21% of all imported wine in Canada before dropping to only 5% in 2025. That year, imports from major wine exporting countries not only increased but roughly offset the decline in imports from the U.S. For distilled spirits, the U.S. slipped from 24% in 2024 to only 10% in 2025, while beer has dropped from 13% to 5%. At the same time, Canadian imports of beer, wine, and spirits from other countries increased by 9%, 15%, and 7%, respectively.
“What’s different this time is that people aren’t just swapping one bottle, they’re rethinking the whole bar,” said Craig Peters, CEO of Canada’s Barnburner Whiskey, in an interview with the online magazine VinePair. “Traditionally, those rail spots were locked up by big U.S. brands for decades. Now, we’re seeing bars, especially independents, completely reset and go Canadian across the board.”
Andrew Muhammad has received funding from the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Southern U.S. Trade Association to address issues related to U.S. distilled spirits trade.
I have been a dog lover ever since I was a kid and have spent years learning about the temperaments and histories of different dog breeds, as well as famous dogs and their adventures. I have attended a variety of dog shows to meet various breeds and talk with their owners, and I’ve also lived with several dogs – including a dachshund, otterhound, German shepherd, Indian spitz and Labrador retriever – over the course of my life.
Beyond my canine concerns, I’m a professor of management who loves teaching courses and conducting research on leadership. So, it was a no-brainer for me to combine my two interests to write a book, “Learning Leadership from Dogs.” Various dog breeds embody distinct traits and behaviors that we humans can emulate to become better leaders.
Here are five qualities dogs model that any leader, at work or in life, can learn from.
The author’s own otterhound Fiona was always up for a good time. Aditya Simha
Joie de vivre
Happy-go-lucky hounds have an abundance of joie de vivre, a French phrase that refers to a cheerful and exuberant enjoyment of life. My own otterhound, Fiona, amply embodied this trait. A simple walk in the woods or hike on the beach was all she ever wanted.
This kind of optimism and cheerfulness can make leaders more empathetic and pleasant to work with, partly because psychology research finds that positive moods increase helping, generosity and interpersonal understanding. Those are key ingredients of empathy.
While there are many dog breeds that embody courage, I want to single out the Dutch shepherd. Smaller than the German shepherd and the Belgian Malinois, the Dutch shepherd is used in police and military work because of its athleticism, trainability and strong work ethic. Just like how Dutch shepherds run toward danger to protect others, courageous leaders take risks for their values and to support their team.
Intelligence
Leaders must not only know about their domain, they also need to be able to understand which of their followers needs to be treated or led differently. Both emotional and cognitive intelligence are essential for effective leadership and have positive consequences for their followers’ attitudes and performance.
I point to the border collie as a dog that exemplifies both forms of intelligence. The border collie not only knows how to herd sheep, but also which sheep to herd with patience and which sheep need a bit more sharpness.
This intelligence is something that needs to be guided and channeled. Border collies left without enough work or stimulation are famous for finding their own “jobs,” such as herding the human children, chasing shadows or inventing new mischief around the house.
Without proper direction, even brilliance can become counterproductive – another lesson leaders can keep in mind when managing their own flocks.
Kindness
Kindness is one quality that is sadly not given the amount of attention it merits in the world of management, even though it can shape whether followers feel respected, trusted and willing to contribute.
Displaying kindness is a canine specialty. The dog breed that comes to mind for me here is the Newfoundland. First bred in Canada and known as a fine water rescue dog, these gentle giants are supremely kind to everyone and display a benevolent, protective nature.
Leaders similarly need to be kind to their followers, even if a team member has failed at a task. A kind response does not mean ignoring mistakes; it means correcting them in a way that preserves dignity, making followers more likely to learn, speak up and try again. Together those patterns facilitate work environments that promote what researchers call psychological safety: a shared belief that people can ask questions, admit mistakes and raise concerns without fear of embarrassment, rejection or punishment.
Resilience
Resilience is not just toughness; it is the ability to recover from setbacks, adapt under pressure and keep moving forward when things don’t go as planned. Leaders rely on it during crises, failed projects, public criticism or periods of organizational change, all moments when uncertainty is high and confidence can falter.
Any leader can look to the Rhodesian ridgeback as a resilience role model. This breed hails from South Africa and was originally used to assist in lion hunting – an activity fraught with peril and with high prospects of failure. Rhodesian ridgebacks are dauntless dogs, always ready to try another dangerous hunt even in the wake of repeated failures.
Like these dogs, leaders often must confront perilous tasks with a high likelihood of failure, and they must be ready to bounce forward so they can eventually seize success. Without resilience, leaders may panic, withdraw or become overly reactive, especially during a crisis. When that happens, uncertainty spreads, confidence erodes and teams are less likely to stay focused or move forward effectively.
Dogs are the most popular choice of pet in the United States and worldwide. You probably don’t need to look far to find some furry friends who can inspire you with their admirable characteristics. Dogs may never author a leadership book, but they live out leadership lessons in courage, kindness and joy every day.
Aditya Simha 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.
So why are so few people physically active when the benefits are widely known?
As a physical therapist and rehabilitation scientist who studies how to boost movement for people living with chronic conditions and physical disabilities, I spend a lot of time thinking about that question.
The short answer is that understanding the importance of exercise usually doesn’t translate into exercising. Making it a part of your lifestyle requires believing you can do it and knowing you can do it.
Exercise is a lifestyle choice that helps reduce the likelihood of developing a chronic illness. But the good news is that if you’re one of the 194 million Americans already living with one or more chronic illnesses, beginning or maintaining an exercise routine can slow the progression, reduce symptoms and improve health outcomes.
An array of health benefits
The list of benefits from movement is long. Here are just a few examples:
While some movement is better than none, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention offer research-based guidelines for the type and frequency of activities to engage in weekly for long-term health benefits.
The CDC encourages all adults, including those with chronic health conditions or disabilities, to aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate intensity aerobic activity, such as walking, jogging or swimming. Adults should also do muscle-strengthening activities two or more days per week, which could include weightlifting and body weight exercises.
Older adults should add balance activities, such as tai chi or yoga, to help prevent falls by challenging the body’s balance systems.
If you’re not achieving these recommended weekly physical activity guidelines, you’re not alone. Only half of Americans hit the aerobic target, and just 1 in 4 meet the full CDC guidelines.
This gap represents a health crisis that, if addressed, could save lives. A 2024 large-scale review showed that people who engage in regular physical activity in adulthood may reduce the risk of early death by 30% to 40% from all causes, most specifically from cardiovascular disease and cancer.
The study also showed that beginning exercise at any time in adulthood can improve survival benefits.
Instead, shifting your beliefs about the barriers preventing you from exercise might actually be the key to get you moving more.
In 1977, a psychologist named Albert Bandura proposed that the ability to perform a task even when it’s difficult – a concept called self-efficacy – is the most important personal characteristic that drives healthy changes in behavior.
Half a century later, self-efficacy is still considered one of the most crucial personal factors for behavioral change when it comes to long-term physical activity. Researchers who develop and test exercise interventions, including me, evaluate novel tools and programs that are built to boost self-efficacy.
Someone with high self-efficacy might say that they can get back to their exercise routine even if they miss a day. Or they might find a way to still exercise when they’re busy or tired. Someone with lower self-efficacy might be thrown off their routine if presented with the same obstacles.
But how do you build this crucial trait and get moving more? A meta-analysis found that despite its importance, there is not one magic way to boost self-efficacy.
That’s because people’s behavior is more complicated than individual factors alone. People and groups have varying needs and contexts that require tailored approaches.
Self-efficacy may be affected by multiple factors, but people can still apply techniques to boost their ability to start and stay with an exercise routine.
Make it manageable. It may seem intuitive to set personal goals, but many of us aim too high and end up discouraged. Goals focused on weight loss, heart health or muscle strength are fine, but they can take a long time to achieve. Long-range goals don’t tend to be motivating in the difficult moments – like when you want to hit snooze but promised yourself that you were going to take a long walk before work.
Instead, try short-term goal-setting – such as aiming to get a set number of lunchtime walks in during the workweek. This will move you toward your long-term goals, while making it easier to see and feel progress.
In 2026, the American College of Sports Medicine refreshed its guidance on strength training, which represents synthesized findings from 137 systematic reviews and the first update since 2009. The biggest recommendation difference? Consistency matters more than specificity of strength programs. What that means is that doing any strength training has health benefits as long as it is the kind you will keep doing.
Make it add up. The CDC’s recommended 150 minutes of aerobic activity is meant to be spread throughout the week – not done all at once. Research shows that small bursts of activity still have significant impacts on your overall health, and you’re much more likely to stick with them.
Only have 15 minutes while your kid is asleep? Have a short exercise video or app cued up for nap time. Waiting for your next Zoom meeting to start? Climb your stairs once or twice. Microwaving your lunch? Hold on to the counter and lift and lower your heels until the timer goes off. Every little bit matters to your mind and body.
Make it meaningful. Prioritize doing things you enjoy. The gym is not for everyone, and luckily this style of structured exercise is just one of many options for physical activity. Go bird-watching, join a gardening group, binge watch your favorite show on the treadmill. Any activity you do that uses energy is like dropping a coin into your weekly physical activity bank.
Make it more fun. Choose to be around people who are already exercising – and who encourage you to do it, too. Research shows that people who are sedentary will increase their physical activity by socializing with someone who is active.
But the thing to remember is that even small improvements can have big impacts. It is consistent practice – not perfection – that is key to reaping all the benefits physical activity has to offer.
Laura Baehr receives funding from the Department of Defense, the Arthritis Foundation, and the Clinician-Scientists Transdisciplinary Aging Research Coordinating Center (a National Institutes of Health National Institute on Aging funded center).
If you follow the Trump administration’s social media posts, you might spot its new mascot: a cartoon lump of coal with big eyes and babylike features. “Coalie” sparked a backlash almost as soon as Interior Secretary Doug Burgum debuted it for the Office of Surface Mining and Reclamation Enforcement in early 2026.
As a scholar of American literature and culture, I write about media portrayals of coal, beginning in the 19th century with its rise to become the leading fuel in the United States. Coal use grew until the early 2000s, when other sources became cheaper and its health and environmental damage became unacceptable to more of the public.
While “Coalie” might be new, the logic behind it is not. For centuries, coal’s promoters have worked hard to show coal as harmless – as well as “clean” and “beautiful,” to use President Donald Trump’s words.
‘An agreeable heat’
Humans living with the effects of burning coal have disliked it for as long as they have burned it.
In 1578, Queen Elizabeth complained that she was “greatly grieved and annoyed with [its] taste and smoke” in the air. In 1661, John Evelyne’s treatise Fumifugium outlined negative health effects of breathing coal smoke.
English settlers were drawn to North America in part because of the continent’s abundant supply of timber, a substitute for coal that deforestation had made prohibitively expensive in England.
In addition to its lower price, anthracite coal grew desirable because of its high carbon, low-sulfur content, which produced less visible smoke when it was burned. An enthusiastic 1815 letter to the editor of the American Daily Advertiser captured increasingly common attitudes toward anthracite as “affor[ding] a very regular and agreeable heat.”
‘A healthful home’
The spread of anthracite also shored up tolerance for smokier but cheaper bituminous coal.
To help people, housekeeping manuals aimed at the fossil fuel’s mostly female users tried to invent workarounds for its smoke. In 1869, Harriet Beecher Stowe, best known as the author of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and her sister Catharine Beecher wrote one of many 19th-century articles to acknowledge the “evils” of coal smoke, while outlining “modes of making a healthful home,” in the housekeeping manual American Woman’s Home.
Consumers provided temporary solutions for maintaining indoor air quality while burning coal by sending in suggestions that were published in housekeeping manuals, magazines and newspapers.
An 1892 advertisement in the Rocky Mountain News promoted a brand of coal stoves as ‘the best, handsomest and most economical.’ Nineteenth Century Newspapers
At the same time, as the century progressed, coal and coal-stove companies began to suggest that burning coal was healthy, that it could improve indoor air as well as domestic aesthetics. One 1892 newspaper advertisement claimed that stoves were “necessary to heat, cheer, and beautify the home and preserve its health.”
To keep the children clean and bright …
In the 20th century, marketers churned out more colorful claims about the benefits of coal: One magazine advertisement showed a mother and child pointing at the crackling stove aflame with the company’s coal, saying it “cannot be excelled in purity, cleanliness, and free-burning qualities.”
Similarly, the Lackawanna Railroad Company came up with the classy, often rhyming, character of Phoebe Snow. In one ad, she points to the importance of comfort, suggesting that not only could anthracite fuel faster travel, but it could also make your travel – and your life – more comfortable.
Coal marketing often used children to suggest safety and reach parents. Another iteration of the Phoebe Snow series promised that anthracite-powered railway travel could keep children “clean and bright.”
A 1930s advertisement went so far as to position a piece of anthracite coal next to a child in a bathtub, a visual proximity implying that coal was as good as soap.
In fact, soap made of “coal tar” – a liquid byproduct of producing coke, a fuel made from bituminous coal used in industrial blast furnaces – did (and does) exist. The British company Wright’s, also popular in the U.S., generated a slew of advertisements praising its soap as having antiseptic properties for children.
Wright’s Coal Tar Soap used a sleeping child dressed in white and sleeping on white sheets to advertise its ‘nursery soap,’ which it claimed protected children from infection, in 1922. Wikimedia Commons
Each of these advertisements tried to capitalize on a mother’s desire for healthy children. And they pushed back against the image of the tyrannical “King Coal” that had come about amid strikes by miners protesting dangerous, degraded working and living conditions as well as the rise of black lung disease.
In response, coal companies doubled down on the fantasy of “clean” coal.
An American Electric Power ad in The Wall Street Journal in 1976 talked about cleaning coal. Wall Street Journal archive
A 1979 advertisement for American Electric Power, for example, flew in the face of Clean Air Act mandates that coal corporations employ “scrubbing” technology to remove sulfur dioxide from smoke – the ad depicted someone cleaning coal by hand.
In addition to ordering some coal plants to continue operating, the Trump administration has pulled out old coal promotion tactics from the past, including repeatedly referring to coal as “clean and beautiful.” One image inserts Coalie next to a coal-mining family that otherwise looks like an ad that could have appeared a century ago.
A 2026 promotion for the Office of Surface Mining Reclamation and Enforcement includes a cartoon family with ‘Coalie’ added to the picture, looking like a child’s toy. OSMRE
The myth of coal as healthy and family friendly has been around for centuries – but coal has never been clean, or cute.
Annie Persons 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.
It’s tough to avoid the current hype about the health benefits of injecting peptides. Although these substances – essentially, synthetic bits of protein in solution – have long made the rounds in the fitness world, their popularity has exploded. Social media influencers, podcasters, wellness clinics and online sellers promote peptides as a quick and easy way to build muscle faster, heal injuries more quickly, reduce inflammation, lose fat, sleep better and more.
But do these products actually work, and can people who use them be sure they are safe?
Two of the most-hyped peptides widely promoted for injury recovery are BPC-157 and TB-500, sometimes marketed together under the comic book-sounding nickname the “Wolverine stack.”
That stack is part of a much larger longevity and fitness boom in which vendors sell or promote many different peptide products, often for uses that have not been studied rigorously in people. Online, people swap dosing protocols, compare “stacks” and describe these compounds as shortcuts for everything from tendon recovery to fat loss and muscle gain.
Some peptide drugs are important, legitimate medicines. Insulin is one example. GLP-1 drugs are another.
The issue is not whether something is a peptide but whether it has gone through the long process that makes medicines credible: reproducible manufacturing, careful dose testing, clinical trials for a specific condition and ongoing safety monitoring.
BPC-157, TB-500 and other internet-hyped peptides have not gone through that process. Such peptides are often sold online as supplements, or as research-grade products made for laboratory use but not FDA-approved as a treatment for people.
That distinction matters, because it means that producers might prepare such peptides at different concentrations, using different solvents, stabilizers and other ingredients. In other words, one vial of what’s supposedly the same substance would not necessarily be the same as the next, even if it were made by the same producer. And there’s no requirement that manufacturers ensure that products are free of contaminants.
Different vials could thus potentially behave differently in the body and may carry different risks, such as infection. That is a big problem if people are injecting something sold online as a shortcut to recovery.
The evidence for BPC-157
BPC-157 was discovered in the early 1990s as an isolated version of a peptide fragment linked to compounds found in stomach acid.
Early research focused on benefits for the gut, but because some animal studies suggested the compound could help promote blood vessel growth, calm inflammation and support tissue repair, researchers years later began testing it in cell and animal models of tendon, ligament, muscle, bone and cartilage injury.
Some hints from those studies are promising, which is why influencers and scientists got excited about BPC-157.
But in humans, the evidence is extremely thin. In fact, for common sports and orthopedic injuries, it’s close to nonexistent, as my colleagues and I found when we reviewed the published literature on BPC-157 for musculoskeletal healing in 2025.
The one published study we found in people included only 16 participants with knee pain. It relied on their self-assessment to gauge improvement and didn’t compare the group that received the peptide to one that did not. Those flaws made it impossible to tell whether the improvement was due to placebo effects, because many injuries get better over time anyway, or from the peptides.
Other reviews uncovered similar limitations: For musculoskeletal injuries, the studies in people are too sparse and low quality to pin down whether the peptide works or what risks it poses.
Basic, practical questions remain, too – such as what dose people should use, how long the compound lasts in different tissues and whether the product in a purchased vial actually matches its label.
TB-500 claims are even harder to evaluate
TB-500 has a slightly different story. It is usually marketed as a synthetic product related to a naturally occurring peptide called thymosin beta 4, which is found in many tissues.
Thymosin beta 4 has attracted scientific interest because it appears to be involved in processes relating to tissue repair, including cell movement, how new blood vessels form and how tissues respond to injury. Animal studies suggest it may support bone healing after fractures as well as muscle repair.
Here’s the issue, though: TB-500 is a smaller piece of thymosin beta 4. This means that research on thymosin beta 4 does not necessarily show that TB-500, the version most commonly sold online, helps a person recover faster from a tendon, muscle or joint injury.
Another complication is that the biological processes thymosin beta 4 seems to promote, such as new blood vessel growth and cell migration, don’t just occur in bone or muscle healing. They also play a role in other contexts, such as scarring, abnormal tissue growth and cancer biology.
This does not prove harm, but it does mean these are not simple, risk-free recovery supplements. Human studies don’t just have to show that thymosin beta 4, TB-500 or products sold under that name help people recover from common sports injuries, but also that these products are safe for long-term use.
So far, data on safety is scant. A recent analysis of more than 12,000 Reddit posts about using BPC-157 and other peptides after musculoskeletal injuries or surgery found that users frequently raised concerns about side effects, product purity and long-term safety. For example, some users reported injection-site reactions, diarrhea and emotional numbness. Studies like this one rest on low-quality, anecdotal evidence, but it’s the only evidence available for most of these peptides.
How to think about bold peptide claims
What makes the current peptide craze so confusing is that BPC-157 and TB-500 are not miracle cures, but they are not pure nonsense either. They sit in a more uncomfortable middle ground: interesting biology, intriguing findings in animal studies and, realistically, no convincing proof that they promote musculoskeletal healing in people.
In other words, peptides on the whole can be real medicines. But that does not mean the vial being marketed online is a safe, tested treatment for an injured shoulder, Achilles tendon or knee.
When you encounter wellness influencers or online sellers promising the glamour of faster healing, better recovery or a more aesthetic body, a few mundane questions can help cut through the marketing:
Has this exact product been tested in people with my injury?
Was it studied at the same dose and by the same route being marketed online?
Do I know exactly what is actually in the vial?
Is the promised benefit strong enough to justify the risk of using a product that has not cleared the usual standards for drug quality and evidence?
For now, none of those questions yield a clear, positive answer.
Flynn McGuire 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.
