When the announcement of Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi’s latest novel Dream Count was made, it was regarded as a major event in African literature. The internationally celebrated Nigerian writer had not published a novel in the past 12 years, and her long-awaited return stirred both anticipation and speculation. In the post-COVID context in which the book comes, so much has changed in the world.
The first leg of her three city homecoming book tour coincided with my stay in Lagos as a curatorial fellow at Guest Artist Space Foundation, dedicated to facilitating cultural exchange and supporting creative practices. After Lagos, Chimamanda took the tour to Nigeria’s capital city Abuja and finally Enugu, where she was born and grew up.
As a scholar of African literature, I arrived here in search of literary Lagos. But my attachment to the city may also just be romantic, a nostalgia born out of years of reading about it in fiction. No doubt, Lagos is a city of imagination and creativity.
Chimamanda’s book event was a reminder that literary celebrity, when it happens in Africa, can exist on its own terms. It’s rooted in a popular imaginary that embraces both the writer and the spectacle.
Lagos superstar
The launch in Lagos took place at a conference centre on the evening of Friday 27 June. The MUSON is a multipurpose civic auditorium located in the centre of Lagos Island which can accommodate up to 1,000 guests. And on this night, the auditorium was packed.
When I arrive, the scene outside is buzzing. A crowd gathers in front of a large canvas banner bearing a radiant image of the author. It’s more than just decoration; it’s a backdrop. It is an occasion for the selfie, a digital marker that you were there. There is even a hashtag for this: #dreamcountlagos. People take turns posing in front of it, curating their presence in the frame of Chimamanda’s aura.
The atmosphere is festive, electric. And yet beneath the surface shimmer is something more urgent: a hunger for story, for presence, for return. Perhaps that explains why people come not just to witness, but to be counted.
Inside the lobby, piles of Chimamanda’s books are neatly arranged on long tables. People are not just buying a copy. They are buying several in the hope that the author will autograph them. The sight is striking, almost surreal. In many parts of the continent, a book launch is often a quiet affair. Writers are lucky to sell a handful of copies. But this is something else entirely. This is not just a book launch, it is a cultural moment.
It would have been easy to mistake the event for a political townhall. There was a VIP section reserved for the who’s who of Lagos, but those class distinctions easily dissolved into the collective energy of the room. The auditorium was filled with genuine enthusiasm.
Even after a delay of more than an hour, when Chimamanda finally walked in, she was met with rapturous applause. She wore a bright yellow dress, an Instagrammable outfit, suited for the many fans who rushed forward to take selfies with her. Chimamanda, no doubt, is as much a fashion icon as she is a literary figure.
On stage, she was joined by media personality Ebuka Obi-Uchendu, widely known as the host of the reality TV show Big Brother Africa. But here, he was also something more intimate: the author’s friend. Chimamanda even credited him with being a “great reader”. This is a rare compliment in a literary world that often separates celebrity from critical engagement.
Their conversation was relaxed and full of laughter, offering the audience both intimacy and insight. Chimamanda addressed the question that had lingered for years: her decade-long silence. She spoke candidly of writer’s block, of the grief that came with losing both her parents in quick succession, and how that loss eventually reignited her desire to write.
Dream Count, she explained, is shaped by that rupture. It is one of the major post-COVID novels from Africa, and centres on the lives of four women. It is a book about love, friendship and independence.
Africans do read
When she spoke about her characters on stage, it was as though she was talking about relatives that the audience recognised. They responded by shouting out the characters’ names, to the delight of the author.
When I asked people about the launch afterwards, many said that it was a very Nigerian event – big, colourful, exuberant, festive. It was indeed a celebration that felt communal, even joyous. It was also a public demonstration of how literature can still command space and attention, not just in private reading rooms or crammed bookstores, but on a civic scale.
This was a remarkable event because it defied the tired cliché that Africans do not read. People, mostly young, came out in their hundreds. They bought books, they took selfies with their “favourite” author, they screamed the names of fictional characters as though greeting friends.
But more significant was Chimamanda’s choice to work with a local publisher, Narrative Landscape Press, which produced the Nigerian edition of Dream Count that is now available and accessible locally, at the same time as its release in Europe and North America. That alone is a radical act.
In returning to Nigeria to launch her book, Chimamanda also disrupts the assumption that African literary prestige must only be validated abroad. Even though she belongs to a cohort of African writers shaped by the diaspora, she actively insists on presence – on homecoming – not as simply nostalgia, but as active engagement.
Of course, Chimamanda is an exception. Her stature as a global literary figure, combined with her deep connection to home, allows her to move between worlds with remarkable ease. Few writers command the kind of multigenerational, cross-class attention she does. I found myself wishing though that more book launches could carry this same sense of occasion, of meaning, of return. That they could gather people in such numbers, not just to celebrate the writer, but to affirm the African book as something still worth gathering for.
And perhaps that is what made this book launch unforgettable: not just the celebrity or the spectacle, but the sense that literature still matters here, and that it belongs to the people.
Tinashe Mushakavanhu 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.
Source: The Conversation – France – By Mira Manini Tiwari, Research Associate at the Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, European University Institute
If you choose to buy a sustainable product at the supermarket, or invest in a sustainable portfolio at your bank, how far does that sustainability reach? Does the product’s “sustainable” label account for the environmental and labour costs where the raw materials were extracted? Does the portfolio include renewable energy in countries where the investment is needed most?
In the EU, whether you are an individual or represent a company or financial institution, these questions are governed by the bloc’s non-financial reporting (NFR) regulations. The latest ones include the European Sustainable Reporting Standards (ESRS), which are gradually coming into force through 2029. The ESRS set out reporting standards and requirements, while the Corporate Sustainability Reporting Directive (CSRD) determines which companies these standards apply to, to what extent, and when.
These EU regulations also have strong implications for the Majority World, the countries and territories outside Europe and North America where most people live, at a time when global, systemic policy effects are more important than ever. As supply chains become longer and more interconnected, and as communities involved in them confront the fragilities of economic, political and climate shifts, the regulations that govern the sustainability of these chains and that enable or prohibit participation in them must be crafted and implemented to minimise harm to the most vulnerable.
In an article in Environment and Development Economics, my co-authors and I developed a set of proposals to improve the global sustainability of the NFR regulations. These call for collaborative development of regulations across the value chain, better data accessibility, measuring of and accounting for cross-border environmental damage, and greater integrity and engagement from financial actors.
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Cooperation, not compliance
As the ESRS come into force, reporting requirements are being applied to companies’ full value chains. This means that Majority World actors, such as those that extract raw materials for European products, may be indirectly subjected to the NFR regulations. This is important, as it holds companies and consumers, EU and non, accountable for the ethics of the goods and services they rely on. However, when regulations are built without directly involving those they will affect, they risk causing collateral, longer-term damage. For example, reporting requirements that feel inaccessible to smaller organisations can foster distrust and backlash, or cause companies to withdraw from contexts where data are less accessible, taking away key sources of income for communities.
While global climate negotiations have come under public scrutiny for their Minority World dominance, there has been relatively less scrutiny of global organisations governing financial and corporate sustainability standards. On their boards, the Majority World is conspicuous by its absence, demonstrating the dearth of attention to its agency in enabling greater sustainability, both locally and globally. European investors and policymakers are already shifting capital from the Majority World back to the EU in response to the NFR regulations, citing the difficulty of accounting for activities along the length of value chains. The damage falls on livelihoods, industries and essential investments, such as in renewable energy, which can suddenly disappear.
Developing NFR regulations in collaboration with all stakeholders, rather than only at the top, can provide a regulatory landscape that is, from the outset, more implementable, accessible and effective in the long run.
Democratic data and digitalisation
Efficacy in global NFR regulations relies on global data cooperation, which could lower the administrative burden on those reporting and enable greater accountability. The increasing number of EU NFR regulations do not exist in a vacuum: they have been accompanied by shifts in global regulations and a proliferation of national regulations. With regulations expanding to cover the full value chain, actors are increasingly likely to be subjected to multiple regulatory bodies, or have to provide data to reporting entities upstream. The time, financial resources and practical challenges involved in identifying, collecting, processing and sharing data are considerable, both for those submitting data and those receiving and verifying them. This makes divestment or significant losses more likely. Furthermore, the expansion of regulations can result in isolated streams of data and closed-circuit processes, which, in turn, cut out civil society organisations and individuals who use data to help hold firms to account for their social and environmental responsibilities.
Aside from EU calls for a European Single Access Point for corporate data, Majority World contexts offer particularly fertile ground for reimagining and building data infrastructures. Digitalisation in low- and middle-income countries is growing rapidly, and demonstrates the ability to make digital financial and business instruments democratic and accessible to those with the fewest resources. Such efforts should involve statisticians and local data experts from the outset to determine and harmonise appropriate data, along with transnational entities with the mandate of establishing links across data systems.
Support for international emissions accounting
Corporate reporting on environmental impacts must be accompanied by their reduction. Indeed, the work and transparency required to identify impacts in the first place, let alone mitigate them, underpins decisions to simply detach from the system, moving economic activity to local contexts where impacts are more traceable.
Firms that cannot afford to bring their activities onshore must account for emissions that occur from assets not directly under their ownership or control, which are known as Scope 3 emissions. In some cases, these emissions constitute well over half of a firm’s total value chain emissions. However, the implementation of the ESRS has designated the reporting of Scope 3 emissions, and climate impacts in general, to be largely discretionary, under the condition that firms provide evaluations of the economic and material implications of a given activity in their value chains.
The glaring gaps between some firms’ targets, actions and declarations are in part enabled by reporting systems that allow the omission of more distant climate risks and impacts, maintaining the misalignment between climate pledges and actions aimed at achieving them. While the number of firms showing readiness to comply with Scope 3 accounting is increasing, data on global investor preferences suggests that investors do not necessarily prioritise companies’ performance on these emissions when making investment decisions. For ethics to exist on the ground, they must be prioritised in financial flows.
Investment with integrity
In light of the above, financial institutions have a core responsibility to engage with NFR. These institutions’ economic leverage and centrality in the value chains and activities of several sectors give them incentivising power to catalyse a shift from the submission of reports to the building of living data systems and the achievement of fuller value chain accountability. Currently, many investors are not willing to accept reductions in their returns in exchange for the pursuit of social or environmental goals. Surveys suggest this is in part due to perceptions of low quality of environmental information, limited ability to assess the data received, and the difficulty of making investment decisions accordingly. In the current landscape of Minority World-led reporting, such mistrust is likely to be greater with respect to Majority World data, reiterating the need for data systems and reporting mechanisms built on equal footing.
Financial institutions can operate proactively, using their privileged access to data to bridge Minority and Majority World actors engaging in sustainable practices, such as microfinance bodies, local communities and relevant investors. Doing so could plug, at least in part, an information and trust gap that can hinder Minority World firms’ investment in unfamiliar contexts.
Regulating for whom?
The research underpinning our article initially involved a recommendation on streamlining and supporting reporting by small and medium enterprises (SMEs), which account for more than 60% of the EU’s corporate emissions. For these firms, especially, regulators face a critical balance between lowering the entry barrier of the reporting ecosystem and setting robust environmental targets. The nature, data points and timelines of reporting under the CSRD are currently under review following calls for simplification and greater support, and decision-makers are wrestling with the tension between accessibility and integrity.
Our work also included a recommendation that turns from the supply side, the focus of the preceding proposals, to the demand side: the data and sustainability literacy of the individual who walks into the supermarket to buy that sustainable product, or wants family investments to do more good than harm. Across sectors – public policy, investment and citizen engagement – resources must be dedicated to these literacies, so that actors are better placed to hold each other to account. Regulation becomes easily abstracted, reduced to figures and PDFs, databases and scores. Beneath each regulation is a world of citizens whose homes, livelihoods and health depend on them.
The author was affiliated with the University of Siena during the period in which she and her colleagues did the original work for the scholarly article that is mentioned in this piece. The author’s affiliation came via a project that, overall, was financed by the Italian National Recovery and Resilience Plan (PNRR). The scholarly article and the present article were not outputs for the project.
US President Donald Trump has been diagnosed with “chronic venous insufficiency” after experiencing some mild swelling in his lower legs.
According to a letter the White House published from the president’s doctor, the condition is common and not harmful, and the 79-year-old “remains in excellent health”.
But what is chronic venous insufficiency? What causes it, and can it lead to other health problems? Let’s take a look.
When someone has this condition, it becomes more difficult for the blood to flow back to the heart. In other words, blood pools in the legs, rather than travelling up easily through the legs, pelvis and abdomen to the heart.
Blood pooling in the legs creates increased pressure in the veins in the legs and feet. This can cause swelling (called oedema), skin discolouration, varicose veins, and even skin ulcers (the skin stretches because of the increased pressure and becomes weak and can tear).
What causes chronic venous insufficiency?
There are several potential causes of chronic venous insufficiency, including damaged valves inside the veins in the legs.
When we’re standing, blood has to flow back to the heart from the legs against gravity. Veins have valves inside them which ensure this one-way flow and stop blood from running back the wrong way.
When valves in the veins – either the deeper veins or those closer to the skin’s surface – are damaged, this allows blood to flow backwards and pool in the legs.
Damage to the inside lining of the vein wall can also cause chronic venous insufficiency. When the lining is damaged, it becomes less smooth and blood cells can stick to the wall and build up. This can block the inside of the vein and impede the return of blood to the heart. Smoking is a major cause of this, though it also happens naturally with age.
Physical compression of a vein in the pelvis from the outside can also be a factor. Pregnancy, obesity or a tumour can push on a pelvic vein from the outside. This makes it harder for blood to flow through that vein, which causes back up of blood in the veins of the leg.
Deep vein thrombosis (DVT) also increases the risk of chronic venous insufficiency. This is where blood clots form in the deep veins, most commonly in the legs. It can block blood flow or damage the vein wall, and increase blood pooling further down the leg.
In a study I did with colleagues looking at people with chronic venous insufficiency, about 10% had a previous deep vein thrombosis. However, Trump’s doctor said there was no evidence of deep vein thrombosis in his case.
Who gets it?
The data on how many people get chronic venous insufficiency vary, but it is relatively common. In the United States, an estimated 10% to 35% of adults have the condition.
A number of factors increase a person’s likelihood of developing chronic venous insufficiency. Smoking and having previously had a deep vein thrombosis are strongly linked to this condition. Other risk factors include older age, pregnancy, obesity, and prolonged periods of standing still.
Is it dangerous?
On its own, chronic venous insufficiency is not life-threatening, but it is a progressive condition. It increases the risk of other conditions which can be more serious.
Interestingly, while deep vein thrombosis increases the risk of chronic venous insufficiency, people with chronic venous insufficiency also have a higher risk of deep vein thrombosis. This is because pooled blood doesn’t move as much, so it can start to form a clot.
Deep vein thrombosis then increases the risk of pulmonary embolism, blood clots in the lungs, which are life threatening.
In the legs, the most serious consequence of chronic venous insufficiency is developing a venous ulcer. Venous ulcers can be painful, are prone to infection (such as cellulitis), and have a high rate of recurring.
Research has shown 4% of adults aged 65 and older in the US develop venous ulcers as a result of chronic venous insufficiency.
Can it be treated?
Whether and how chronic venous insufficiency can be treated depends somewhat on the cause.
Initial conservative treatment usually involves elevating the legs and wearing compression stockings. Elevating the legs higher than the body means gravity will help blood flow back to the heart. Compression stockings help to push blood from the leg veins towards the heart.
Exercise such as walking also helps because when the muscles in the legs contract, this moves more blood from the legs back to the heart. Exercise and diet changes may also be recommended to address any weight-related issues.
Overall, Trump has been diagnosed with a common condition for someone of his age, and his doctors have ruled out severe underlying disease. But this is a reminder of the importance of healthy veins and of the risk factors for venous disease.
Theresa Larkin 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.
This year is the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth and she hasn’t aged a bit as the cultural touchstone of classy romance. Her Pride and Prejudice anti-hero, Mr Darcy, perennially pops up in his breeches in Instagram memes, while Regency feminist, Elizabeth Bennet has been brought to life by a host of contemporary actors.
Along with new screen versions of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility (starring Daisy Edgar-Jones) and a Netflix version of P & P, there have been adaptations of her classics Persuasion, Emma, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. And, there are numerous biographies and biopics including a TV drama about Jane’s sister, Cassandra, who burnt most of Jane’s letters.
Review: The Novel Life of Jane Austen: A Graphic Biography –
Janine Barchas, Isabel Greenberg (Hachette)
Now, there is also a graphic biography: The Novel Life of Jane Austen, written by Janine Barchas and illustrated by Isabel Greenberg.
Together, they have co-created a storyboard for the domestic life that framed Austen’s writing, encompassing her closeness to both Cassandra and her brother Frank, who joined the navy and liked to sew.
Unlike a “cradle to grave” biography, Barchas begins with a teenage Jane in London with Frank touring an exhibition about Shakespeare and his work. We then follow her, in illustrative comic boxes and speech bubbles, through her publishing rejections, her breakthrough debut Sense and Sensibility, and her rise to become one of most beloved writers in the canon of English literature.
The book ends beyond the grave, flashing forward to the present, in a scene where contemporary fans – Janeites – visit Jane Austen’s House, the cottage in Hampshire where Austen lived when she revised and published her six novels.
It’s also a sign of subtle structural polish. Now Jane Austen is as deserving of her own gallery as Shakespeare was when we first met Jane as a young, unpublished author.
Thinking in pink
Barchas – an “Austenite”, as Austen scholars are called – is the author of The Lost Books of Jane Austen, a study of the mass market editions of Austen’s work. (The Novel Life touches on Austen’s posthumous appeal with a scene where readers buy Austen books for one shilling at a railway station after her death, aged 41.)
Barchas is the co-creator of the interactive digital exhibition, What Jane Saw, which invites us to visit two art exhibitions witnessed by Jane Austen: the Sir Joshua Reynolds retrospective in 1813 or the Shakespeare Gallery as it looked in 1796. The Novel Life, however, is a more definitive life story. It’s also best read in print (although it is available as an e-book) to appreciate Greenberg’s illustrations and graphic format.
The Novel Life is a gentler, less dramatic style than traditional comics with six-pack superheroes or Japanese manga, similar to Greenberg’s previous literary graphic biography foray, Glass Town, about the Bronte sisters.
For the Novel Life, Greenberg has drawn a world in which Austen is whimsical, with expressive eyes looming under her signature bangs. She and her sister Cassandra appear in bright yellow or blue empire line dresses.
Most scenes are illustrated in a muted palette of yellow, blue and grey. This palette, Barchas reflects in the preface, represents “the relative quiet of her (Austen’s) life”.
When Jane is thinking or writing however, the pages transform into vivid shades of pink to symbolise her imagination and inspiration. In these pages, The Novel Life is at its best, showing graphic biography can be both captivating and deceptively sophisticated.
Archival nods
Is a graphic biography really a biography in the conventional understanding of the genre? It can upset the perceived rules. Anticipating this, in the preface, Barchas reminds us:
Any biography of Austen, and there are many, exists at the intersection of speculation and research.
This book is at this intersection. While the dialogue is largely invented, it is grounded in Barchas’ expertise and there is a glossary of sources at the end.
Throughout, there are also nods to the archive. Barchas begins with a scene of Jane in 1796 writing a letter to Cassandra at a desk while staying in London – one of the few not burnt.
A speech bubble quotes an extract from it:
Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted.
There are also Post-it style notes, separate to the bubbles, offering extra biographical context for readers less familiar with the intricacies of Austen’s story. A key scene happens when Jane, 22, receives her first rejection by a publisher for her manuscript “First Impressions” and is comforted by the loyal Cassandra. The note reads:
Jane would carry out more than a decade and a half of revisions before she dared to offer the manuscript to another publisher, who released it in 1813 as Pride and Prejudice.
Because of their visual casualness, importantly the notes don’t interfere with the intimate, engaging tone of the story.
‘Easter eggs’
For Austen’s committed “Janeite” fan base, Barchas promises “cheeky easter eggs” in the preface. Janeites can delight in well-quoted lines from the novels that appear as dialogue or a character’s thoughts.
Look, for instance, for Jane reading at a dinner party from P & P: “It’s a truth universally acknowledged […]” and “she is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me […]”.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged too that graphic biography can be confused with the graphic novel, now the third most popular literary genre in sales after general fiction and romance.
But, dear reader, there’s a tradition of life writing in the medium. The Pulitzer Prize winning graphic biography/memoir, The Complete Maus, told Art Spiegelman’s father’s story of the Holocaust to his son, (Art) who struggled to understand his father. Maus portrayed Jewish people anthropomorphically as mice and Nazis as cats. It was described by The New Yorker “as the first masterpiece of comic book history”.
Other high points in graphic biography include Peter Bagge’s Woman Rebel, the story of birth control campaigner Margaret Sanger, published in 2013.
Not everyone will appreciate a work diverging so dramatically from the expectations of a traditional biography. And those who will most appreciate or scrutinise The Novel Life are yes, the Janeites and Austenites.
Regardless, Austen comes to graphic life in the mind and hands of Barchas and Greenberg. More generally, for those of us who like our biographies in vivid colour – literally – and enjoy experiments in nonfiction storytelling, it’s a delightful reading experience, just like Jane Austen.
Kerrie Davies 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Mathieu Duval, Adjunct Senior Researcher at Griffith University and La Trobe University, and Ramón y Cajal (Senior) Research Fellow, Centro Nacional de Investigación sobre la Evolución Humana (CENIEH)
Fossils are invaluable archives of the past. They preserve details about living things from a few thousand to hundreds of millions of years ago.
Studying fossils can help us understand the evolution of species over time, and glimpse snapshots of past environments and climates. Fossils can also reveal the diets or migration patterns of long-gone species – including our own ancestors.
But when living things turn to rock, discerning those details is no easy feat. One common technique for studying fossils is micro-computerised tomography or micro-CT. It’s been used to find the earliest evidence of bone cancer in humans, to study brain imprints and inner ears in early hominins, and to study the teeth of the oldest human modern remains outside Africa, among many other examples.
However, our new study, published today in Radiocarbon, shows that despite being widely regarded as non-destructive, micro-CT may actually affect fossil preservation and erase some crucial information held inside.
Preserving precious specimens
Fossils are rare and fragile by nature. Scientists are constantly evaluating how to balance their impact on fossils with the need to study them.
When palaeontologists and palaeoanthropologists (who work on human fossils) analyse fossils, they want to minimise any potential damage. We want to preserve fossils for future generations as much as possible – and technology can be a huge help here.
Micro-CT works like the medical CT scans doctors use to peek inside the human body. However, it does so at a much smaller scale and at a greater resolution.
This is perfect for studying small objects such as fossils. With micro-CT, scientists can take high-resolution 3D images and access the inner structure of fossils without the need to cut them open.
These scans also allow for virtual copies of the fossils, which other scientists can then access from anywhere in the world. This significantly reduces the risk of damage, since the scanned fossils can safely remain in a museum collection, for example.
Micro-CT is popular and routinely used. The scientific community widely regards it as “non-destructive” because it doesn’t cause any visual damage – but it could still affect the fossil.
Jaw bone of the human fossil species Homo antecessor from Spain. Left: micro-CT scan with a cutting plane to visualise the inner structures, bone and teeth; right: 3D reconstruction based on the high-resolution micro-CT images. Laura Martín-Francés
How does micro-CT imaging work?
Micro-CT scanning uses X-rays and computer software to produce high-resolution images and reconstruct the fossil specimens in detail. Typically, palaeontologists use commercial scanners for this, but more advanced investigations may use powerful X-ray beams generated at a synchrotron.
The X-rays go through the specimen and are captured by a detector on the other end. This allows for a very fine-grained understanding of the matter they’ve passed through – especially density, which then provides clues about the shape of the internal structures, the composition of the tissues, or any contamination.
The scan produces a succession of 2D images from all angles. Computer software is then used to “clean up” these high-resolution images and assemble them into a 3D shape – a virtual copy of the fossil and its inner structures.
Example of micro-CT results on a hominin fossil known as Little Foot, from southern Africa.
But X-rays are not harmless
X-rays are a type of ionising radiation. This means they have a high level of energy and can break electrons away from atoms (this is called ionisation).
However, despite what we know about the impact of X-rays on living cells, the potential impact of X-rays on fossils through micro-CT imaging has never been deeply investigated.
What did our study find?
Using standard settings on a typical micro-CT scanner, we scanned several modern and fossil bones and teeth from animals. We also measured their collagen content before and after scanning.
Collagen is useful for many analytical purposes, such as finding out the age of the fossils using radiocarbon dating, or for stable isotope analysis – a method used to infer the diet of the extinct species, for example. The collagen content in fossils is usually much lower than in modern specimens because it slowly breaks down over time.
After comparing our measurements with unscanned samples taken from the same specimens, we found two things.
First, the radiocarbon age remained unchanged. In other words, micro-CT scanning doesn’t affect radiocarbon dating. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that we did observe a significant decrease in the amount of collagen present. In other words, the micro-CT scanned samples had about 35% less collagen than the samples before scanning.
This shows micro-CT imaging has a non-negligible impact on fossils that contain collagen traces. While this was to be expected, the impact hasn’t been experimentally confirmed before.
It’s possible some fossil samples won’t have enough collagen left after micro-CT scanning. This would make them unsuitable for a range of analytical techniques, including radiocarbon dating.
What now?
In a previous study, we showed micro-CT can artificially “age” fossils later dated with a method called electron spin resonance. It’s commonly used to date fossils older than 50,000 years – beyond what the radiocarbon method can discern.
This previous study and our new work show that micro-CT scanning may significantly and irreversibly change the fossil and the information it holds.
Despite causing no visible damage to the fossil, we argue that in this context the technique should no longer be regarded as non-destructive.
Micro-CT imaging is highly valuable in palaeontology and palaeoanthropology, no doubt about that. But our results suggest it should be used sparingly to minimise how much fossils are exposed to X-rays. There are guidelines scientists can use to minimise damage. Freely sharing data to avoid repeated scans of the same specimen will be helpful, too.
Mathieu Duval receives funding from the Spanish State Research Agency (Agencia Estatal de Investigación). He is currently the recipient of a Ramón y Cajal fellowship (RYC2018-025221-I) funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033 and by ‘‘ESF Investing in your future”. This work is also part of Spanish Grant PID2021-123092NB-C22 funded by MCIN/AEI/10.13039/501100011033/FEDER, UE, and by ‘‘ERDF A way of making Europe”.
Laura Martín-Francés receives funding from Marie Sklodowska-Curie Actions of the EU Ninth programme (2021-2027) under the HORIZON-MSCA-2021-PF-01-Project: 101060482.
The kettle is a household staple practically everywhere – how else would we make our hot drinks?
But is it okay to re-boil water that’s already in the kettle from last time? While bringing water to a boil disinfects it, you may have heard that boiling water more than once will somehow make the water harmful and therefore you should empty the kettle each time.
Such claims are often accompanied by the argument that re-boiled water leads to the accumulation of allegedly hazardous substances including metals such as arsenic, or salts such as nitrates and fluoride.
This isn’t true. To understand why, let’s look at what is in our tap water and what really happens when we boil it.
What’s in our tap water?
Let’s take the example of tap water supplied by Sydney Water, Australia’s largest water utility which supplies water to Sydney, the Blue Mountains and the Illawarra region.
From the publicly available data for the January to March 2025 quarter for the Illawarra region, these were the average water quality results:
pH was slightly alkaline
total dissolved solids were low enough to avoid causing scaling in pipes or appliances
fluoride content was appropriate to improve dental health, and
it was “soft” water with a total hardness value below 40mg of calcium carbonate per litre.
The water contained trace amounts of metals such as iron and lead, low enough magnesium levels that it can’t be tasted, and sodium levels substantially lower than those in popular soft drinks.
These and all other monitored quality parameters were well within the Australian Drinking Water Guidelines during that period. If you were to make tea with this water, re-boiling would not cause a health problem. Here’s why.
It’s difficult to concentrate such low levels of chemicals
To concentrate substances in the water, you’d need to evaporate some of the liquid while the chemicals stay behind. Water evaporates at any temperature, but the vast majority of evaporation happens at the boiling point – when water turns into steam.
During boiling, some volatile organic compounds might escape into the air, but the amount of the inorganic compounds (such as metals and salts) remains unchanged.
While the concentration of inorganic compounds might increase as drinking water evaporates when boiled, evidence shows it doesn’t happen to such an extent that it would be hazardous.
Let’s say you boil one litre of tap water in a kettle in the morning, and your tap water has a fluoride content of 1mg per litre, which is within the limits of Australian guidelines.
You make a cup of tea taking 200ml of the boiled water. You then make another cup of tea in the afternoon by re-boiling the remaining water.
On both occasions, if heating was stopped soon after boiling started, the loss of water by evaporation would be small, and the fluoride content in each cup of tea would be similar.
But let’s assume that when making the second cup, you let the water keep boiling until 100ml of what’s in the kettle evaporates. Even then, the amount of fluoride you would consume with the second cup (0.23mg) would not be significantly higher than the fluoride you consumed with the first cup of tea (0.20mg).
The same applies to any other minerals or organics the supplied water may have contained. Let’s take lead: the water supplied in the Illawarra region as mentioned above, had a lead concentration of less than 0.0001mg per litre. To reach an unsafe lead concentration (0.01mg per litre, according to Australian guidelines) in a cup of water, you’d need to boil down roughly 20 litres of tap water to just that cup of 200ml.
Practically that is unlikely to happen – most electric kettles are designed to boil briefly before automatically shutting off. As long as the water you’re using is within the guidelines for drinking water, you can’t really concentrate it to harmful levels within your kettle.
But what about taste?
Whether re-boiled water actually affects the taste of your drinks will depend entirely on the specifics of your local water supply and your personal preferences.
The slight change in mineral concentration, or the loss of dissolved oxygen from water during boiling may affect the taste for some people – although there are a lot of other factors that contribute to the taste of your tap water.
The bottom line is that as long as the water in your kettle was originally compliant with guidelines for safe drinking water, it will remain safe and potable even after repeated boiling.
Faisal Hai 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.
In the thrilling finale of the TV series The Americans, set during the Reagan administration, deep-cover KGB operatives Philip and Elizabeth Jennings are faced with a difficult decision. Posing as an ordinary American married couple, for decades they have raised children, filed tax returns and slipped effortlessly into the rhythms and routines of everyday suburban existence in Washington, D.C.
All the while, they’ve been spying – gathering intelligence and surreptitiously feeding it to their communist masters in Soviet Moscow. Now, with the FBI closing in and their cover on the brink of collapse, they must decide whether to stay and face arrest or flee the country they’ve come to call home. There’s also their teenage children to consider.
The story seemed too incredible to be true – but in fact it was based in part on Donald Heathfield and Ann Foley, subsequently outed as Andrei Bezrukov and Elena Vavilova, a Russian couple who had spent more than 20 years masquerading as Canadians. At the time of their unmasking, they were living quietly in the United States with Tim and Alex, their two sons.
Review: The Illegals: Russia’s Most Audacious Spies and the Plot to Infiltrate the West – Shaun Walker (Profile)
A new book, The Illegals, tells of a network of Russian agents operating across the US, during the late 20th and early 21st centuries – including Bezrukov and Vavilova. It opens with their dramatic 2010 arrest, part of ten Russian spies (mostly illegals like them) detained by the FBI.
Author Shaun Walker, the Guardian’s central and eastern Europe correspondent, draws on declassified archival material and first-hand interviews. The result is an engrossing, eye-opening account of the secret world of the Soviet “illegals programme”: embedded spies who lived surreptitiously in the West without the safety blanket of diplomatic protection.
As Walker explains, “legals” were Russian operatives working under official cover – as diplomats or embassy staff, privy to diplomatic immunity. By contrast, “illegals” operated off the grid. They crept silently into Western countries under false identities, often stolen from the dead. This made them harder to detect, but left them far more vulnerable if exposed.
One of the most high-profile figures in the 2010 spy bust was Anna Chapman. Unlike many other illegals, Chapman didn’t even bother to disguise her Russian identity. Instead, as Walker recounts, she entered America using a British passport – acquired through a brief marriage to a UK citizen – and worked as a New York real estate broker.
Her photogenic looks and media-friendly persona made her the public face of the scandal. After being deported, Chapman reinvented herself as a television host, runway model and pro-Kremlin influencer.
The real Americans
Walker outlines how Bezrukov and Vavilova first met in the early 1980s, as history students in Siberia. There, KGB “spotters” identified them for potential recruitment. Later, he adds,
they progressed to an arduous training programme lasting several years, moulding their language, mannerisms and identities into those of an ordinary couple. They left the Soviet Union separately in 1987, staged a meeting in Canada, and began a relationship as if they had just met.
Having married under their assumed names, Andrei and Elena adopted the habits and customs of an ordinary middle-class life. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the couple were cut off from Moscow, but by the end of the decade they were reactivated by the SVR, Russia’s new foreign intelligence agency. Around this time, Andrei won a place at Harvard’s Kennedy School, allowing the family to move to Massachusetts and integrate further into American society.
As Andrei networked in academic and policy circles, Elena maintained the illusion of domestic normality, fashioning herself as a doting “soccer mom”, raising the kids and keeping house. Meanwhile, she was secretly decoding encrypted radio messages in the back room.
This went on for years. Then, one day, an unexpected knock on the door as they celebrated their son Tim’s 20th birthday brought the charade crashing down. FBI agents burst in, handcuffed the couple in front of their sons and marched them out into the street.
Soon after their arrest, Andrei and Elena were deported to Russia in a high-profile spy swap. They were awarded state honours by Vladimir Putin and briefly became minor celebrities in Moscow. Their sons, both born in Canada, were left reeling.
In 2016, Walker tracked the sons down for a piece he was writing for The Guardian: they were in the process of suing the Canadian government to have their citizenship reinstated, having been stripped of it when everything kicked off. In 2019, a court ruled Tim and Alex (who was 16 when the FBI arrested his parents) could keep their citizenship. Both insisted they had known nothing about their parents’ espionage work.
Alex Valivov, son of Russian ‘illegal’ spies disguised as Americans, talked to the media after he won a court bid to keep his Canadian citizenship.
Putin ‘beside himself’
As Walker recounts, the raid had been coordinated by then-FBI director Robert Mueller. It had been timed to avoid derailing a carefully planned diplomatic summit.
In 2009, Barack Obama launched a high-profile “reset” of relations with Russia. Obama wanted to woo Dmitry Medvedev – a moderate political figurehead standing in for Putin, who remained the real power behind the scenes in Russia.
A planned summit in Washington intended to cement the spirit of renewed cooperation. But as the scale of Russia’s covert operation became apparent, the White House was faced with a dilemma: how to respond without jeopardising the reset.
According to Walker, Obama was irked by the whole situation. He quipped that it felt like something out of a John Le Carré novel. Eventually, a compromise was reached: the arrests would happen, but only after Medvedev’s visit, so as not to cause undue embarrassment.
Colonel Aleksandr Poteyev, deputy head of Directorate “S” of the SVR, was the man overseeing the illegals scheme. After the arrests were made, he quietly walked out of the agency headquarters in Yasenevo for the last time. He was the mole who had tipped off the Americans. From there, he made his way to Ukraine, where the CIA could safely extricate him to the US. On hearing the news, Putin was reportedly beside himself with rage, Walker writes.
Intrigued by this “twisted family story”, Walker started to look into the illegals venture in greater depth. He quickly realised “there was nothing quite like it in the history of espionage”. At times, various intelligence agencies had deployed operatives as foreign nationals, “but never with the scope or scale of the KGB programme”.
A century of dramatic, bloody history
The illegals were, in Walker’s reckoning, something uniquely Russian, rooted in the country’s complex historical experience. The more he read, the more he came to view the programme as a lens through which he could “tell a much bigger story, of the whole Soviet experiment and its ultimate failure, a century of dramatic and bloody history”.
To understand how the illegals project came about, Walker winds the clock all the way back to 1917, when the Bolsheviks seized power – and espionage became a cornerstone of the nascent Soviet state. He reminds us while Lenin and his comrades had won formal control of the nation, “they still faced the colossal task of implementing and retaining it across the vast Russian landmass”.
Lenin was sure that state institutions would eventually wither away, the evolving worker’s paradise rendering them meaningless. However, to achieve this happy end point, he believed an interim period of ruthless state violence was required.
The Cheka: precursor to the KGB
This helps to explain why he established the Cheka, a secret police force tasked with crushing counterrevolutionary activity and enforcing Bolshevik rule. At its head was Feliks Dzerzhinsky, a fanatical Polish ideologue who had spent years in Siberian exile. Far from a temporary measure, the Cheka “quickly grew to a huge fighting force that could be unleashed on political and class enemies”, Walker writes.
Feliks Dzierzynski was the head of the Cheka, the Russian secret police force that preceded the KGB. Wikimedia Commons
The Cheka was an important player in the Russian Civil War, which pitted Lenin’s Reds against the Whites – a loose alliance of pro-tsarist regiments and foreign mercenaries, often united by little more than their implacable hatred of Bolshevism. The situation on the ground was chaotic and unpredictable; both sides engaged in ruthless violence.
Here, in this blood-drenched crucible, the Bolsheviks honed their clandestine methods – konspiratsiya (subterfuge) – perfecting the use of disguises, false identities and underground communication. In areas where the Whites gained a territorial foothold, agents were ordered to stay behind and coordinate resistance, laying the groundwork for what would become the illegals programme.
When the Bolsheviks emerged victorious in 1921, the Cheka was not disbanded – but repurposed. The practice of planting operatives deep inside enemy lines survived the war and expanded in scope. Lenin’s idea of combining legal diplomatic work with illegal undercover infiltration became a defining feature of how the Soviet Union would run its intelligence services for the next 70 years.
Stalin’s secret police
Under Lenin’s successor, Joseph Stalin, the secret police was transformed into an all-encompassing instrument of surveillance, repression and domination.
Purges consumed the party. Ideological fervour curdled into show trials and murderous terror. And paranoia became an organising principle of Soviet political life. The demand for vigilance intensified – not just at home, where informants and denunciations became routine, but also abroad. Real and purported enemies were seen lurking in the democratic institutions of the West.
Ironies abound here. The very methods that helped to sustain the early Soviet state – secrecy, trickery, duplicity – soon became grounds for suspicion on Stalin’s watch. The generation of illegals trained and embedded during the 1920s and early 1930s were among those earmarked for liquidation, Walker writes. Stalin, ever wary of plots against him, came to view his own spies as potential traitors.
He ignored – or wilfully dismissed – much of the intelligence they had risked their lives to gather, often with disastrous consequences. When advance warnings of Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s secret plan to betray Stalin and launch a massive invasion of the Soviet Union, landed on his desk in 1941, for instance, they were waved away as provocation or outright fabrication. In some cases, he had his spies tortured or shot. Loyalty was no protector against paranoia.
Dmitry Bystrolyotov was a legend in Soviet intelligence circles. Alchetron
Among the casualties was Dmitry Bystrolyotov, who Walker describes as “perhaps the most talented illegal in the history of the programme”. A truly chameleonic figure, Bystrolyotov was a dashing and multilingual agent whose exploits in Western Europe made him a legend in Soviet intelligence circles. “His speciality was the recruitment of agents who had access to diplomatic codes and ciphers,” the Russian scholar Emil Draitser attests, “and his modus operandi involved women”.
Through a series of painstakingly crafted affairs, Bystrolyotov gained access to confidential dispatches, internal memos and state secrets. His work offered Stalin a rare glimpse into the inner workings of Europe’s ruling elite. But when The Great Terror rolled around in 1937, none of it mattered. He was arrested, sentenced and dispatched to the Gulag, callously tossed aside by the system he had served with such distinction.
Walker emphasises:
the history of the illegals offers a neat reflection of the story of Russia itself. The early programme, with its soaring ambition, its obsession with subterfuge, and its disregard for the well-being of individuals, holds up a mirror to the fiery utopianism of the early Soviet Union.
Did the Cold War really end?
These were people expected to vanish into enemy territory, sacrifice their identifies and live double lives, all in service of a revolutionary vision. But by the time the Soviet Union spluttered to an ignominious halt in 1991, that dream had long since died.
As Walker shows, most of the operatives who followed in the footsteps of Bystrolyotov were not darkly romantic infiltrators scaling embassy walls or charming secrets out of countesses. They were “sleepers” – often efficient, occasionally incompetent – blending quietly into Western cities and suburbs, awaiting a call to action that, in many cases, never came. The glitz had given way to the grind.
The Americans ends with Phillip and Elizabeth, the couple based on Bezrukov and Vavilova, gazing out across the Moscow skyline. Two weary spies coming in from the cold, they have returned to a rapidly unravelling motherland that may not understand – let alone appreciate – the sacrifices they have made in the service of its ideology.
As Walker discovered, Berzukov, when he isn’t being paid handsomely by an oil company, now lectures in international relations at one of Russia’s most prestigious universities. Vavilova, fittingly enough, now writes spy fiction.
Yet in real life, the story doesn’t end quite there. Under Putin, a former KGB officer who cut his teeth in the culture of espionage, Russia’s intelligence services have returned to the illegals programme with a renewed sense of purpose (though stripped of the ideological zeal that once propelled it).
Walker is careful not to indulge in idle speculation, but he points to compelling evidence suggesting the illegals programme has evolved rather than vanished. High-profile attacks on UK soil – including the poisoning of form spy Sergei Skripal – suggest Russian intelligence agencies remain willing to operate far beyond their national borders.
In the same breath, Walker describes what might be termed the digital turn of the illegals programme. In the place of suburban sleepers decoding radio signals, Russia has backed teams of online operatives – “troll illegals” – tasked with wrecking havoc across Western social media platforms.
These paid agents don’t gather intelligence so much as sow discord. They stoke culture wars, amplify political divisions and undermine trust in democratic institutions. Walker offers Russia’s meddling in the rancorous 2016 American election as an illustrative case in point.
In Putin’s merciless autocracy, secrecy has once again became a virtue – and the spy, far from being a dusty relic of the 20th century, is once again a symbol of national strength.
In that sense, The Illegals is not just a history of espionage. It is a timely reminder that, at least for some, the Cold War never really ended. It just burrowed deeper underground.
Alexander Howard 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.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Rachel Fitzgerald, Associate Professor and Deputy Associate Dean (Academic), Faculty of Business, Economics and Law, The University of Queensland
Artificial intelligence is rapidly becoming an everyday part of lives. Many of us use it without even realising, whether it be writing emails, finding a new TV show or managing smart devices in our homes.
But apart from a handful of computing-focused and other STEM programs, most Australian university students do not receive formal tuition in how to use AI critically, ethically or responsibly.
Here’s why this is a problem and what we can do instead.
But this does not teach students how these tools work or what responsible use involves.
Using AI is not as simple as typing questions into a chat function. There are widely recognised ethical issues around its use including bias and misinformation. Understanding these is essential for students to use AI responsibly in their working lives.
So all students should graduate with a basic understanding of AI, its limitations, the role of human judgement and what responsible use looks like in their particular field.
We need students to be aware of bias in AI systems. This includes how their own biases could shape how they use the AI (the questions they ask and how they interpret its output), alongside an understanding of the broader ethical implications of AI use.
For example, does the data and the AI tool protect people’s privacy? Has the AI made a mistake? And if so, whose responsibility is that?
What about AI ethics?
The technical side of AI is covered in many STEM degrees. These degrees, along with philosophy and psychology disciplines, may also examine ethical questions around AI. But these issues are not a part of mainstream university education.
This is a concern. When future lawyers use predictive AI to draft contracts, or business graduates use AI for hiring or marketing, they will need skills in ethical reasoning.
Ethical issues in these scenarios could include unfair bias, like AI recommending candidates based on gender or race. It could include issues relating to a lack of transparency, such as not knowing how an AI system made a legal decision. Students need to be able to spot and question these risks before they cause harm.
In healthcare, AI tools are already supporting diagnosis, patient triage and treatment decisions.
For example, if a teacher relies on AI carelessly to draft a lesson plan, students might learn a version of history that is biased or just plain wrong. A lawyer who over-relies on AI could submit a flawed court document, putting their client’s case at risk.
How can we do this?
There are international examples we can follow. The University of Texas at Austin and University of Edinburgh both offer programs in ethics and AI. However, both of these are currently targeted at graduate students. The University of Texas program is focused on teaching STEM students about AI ethics, whereas the University of Edinburgh’s program has a broader, interdiscplinary focus.
Implementing AI ethics in Australian universities will require thoughtful curriculum reform. That means building interdisciplinary teaching teams that combine expertise from technology, law, ethics and the social sciences. It also means thinking seriously about how we engage students with this content through core modules, graduate capabilities or even mandatory training.
It will also require investment in academic staff development and new teaching resources that make these concepts accessible and relevant to different disciplines.
Government support is essential. Targeted grants, clear national policy direction, and nationally shared teaching resources could accelerate the shift. Policymakers could consider positioning universities as “ethical AI hubs”. This aligns with the government-commissioned 2024 Australian University Accord report, which called for building capacity to meet the demands of the digital era.
Today’s students are tomorrow’s decision-makers. If they don’t understand the risks of AI and its potential for error, bias or threats to privacy, we will all bear the consequences. Universities have a public responsibility to ensure graduates know how to use AI responsibly and understand why their choices matter.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
I once leapt out of a train carriage because two strangers were loudly discussing the ending of the last Harry Potter book. Okay – I didn’t leap, but I did plug my ears and flee to another carriage.
Recently, I found myself in a similar predicament, trapped on a bus, entirely at the mercy of two passengers dissecting the Severance season two finale.
But not everyone shares my spoiler anxiety. I have friends who flip to the last page of a book before they’ve read the first one, or who look up the ending before hitting play. According to them, they simply need to know.
So why do some of us crave surprise and suspense, while others find comfort in instant resolution?
What’s in a spoiler?
Spoilers have become a cultural flashpoint in the age of streaming, social media and shared fandoms.
Researchers define “spoiler” as undesired information about how a narrative’s arc will conclude. I often hear “spoilers!” interjected mid-sentence, a desperate protest to protect narrative ignorance.
Hitchcock’s twist-heavy Psycho elevated spoiler sensitivity. Its release came with an anti-spoilers policy including strict viewing times, lobby warnings recorded by the auteur himself, and even real policemen urging “total enjoyment”. A bold ad campaign implored audiences against “cheating yourselves”.
The twists were fiercely protected.
Even the Star Wars cast didn’t know Darth Vader’s paternity twist until premiere night. Avenger’s Endgame filmed multiple endings and used fake scripting to mislead its stars. And Andrew Garfield flat-out lied about his return to Spider-Man: No Way Home – a performance worthy of an Oscar – all for the sake of fan surprise and enjoyment.
But do spoilers actually ruin the fun, or just shift how we experience it?
The satisfaction of a good ending
In 2014, a Dutch study found that viewers of unspoiled stories experienced greater emotional arousal and enjoyment. Spoilers may complete our “mental models” of the plot, making us less driven to engage, process events, or savour the unfolding story.
But we are also likely to overestimate the negative effect of a spoiler on our enjoyment. In 2016, a series of studies involving short stories, mystery fiction and films found that spoiled participants still reported high levels of enjoyment – because once we’re immersed, emotional connection tends to eclipse what we already know.
But suspense and enjoyment are complex bedfellows.
American media psychology trailblazer Dolf Zillmann said that suspense builds tension and excitement, but we only enjoy that tension once the ending lands well.
The thrill isn’t fun while we’re hanging in uncertainty – it’s the satisfying resolution that retroactively makes it feel good.
That could be why we scramble for an “ending explained” when a film or show drops the ball on closure. We’re trying to resolve uncertainty and settle our emotions.
Spoilers can also take the pressure off. A 2009 study of Lost fans found those who looked up how an episode would end actually enjoyed it more. The researchers found it reduced cognitive pressure, and gave them more room to reflect and soak in the story.
Spoilers put the audience back in the driver’s seat – even if filmmakers would rather keep hold of the wheel. People may seek spoilers out of curiosity or impatience, but sometimes it’s a quiet rebellion: a way to push back against the control creators hold over when and how things unfold.
That’s why spoilers are fertile ground for power dynamics. Ethicists even liken being spoiled to kind of moral trespass: how dare someone else make that decision for me?!
But whether you avoid spoilers or seek them out, the motive is often the same: a need to feel in control.
Shaping your emotions
Spoiler avoiders crave affect: they want emotional transportation.
When suspense is part of the pleasure, control means choosing when and how that knowledge lands. There’s a mental challenge to be had in riding the story as it unfolds, and a joy in seeing it click into place.
That’s why people get protective, and even chatter about long-aired shows can spark outrage. It’s an attempt to police the commentary and preserve the experience for those still waiting to be transported.
Spoiler seekers want control too, just a different kind. They’re not avoiding emotion, they’re just managing it. A spoiler affords control over our negative emotions, but also softens the blow, and inoculates us against anxiety.
Psychologists dub this a “non-cognitive desensitisation strategy” to manage surprise, a kind of “emotional spoiler shield” to protect our attachments to shows and characters, and remind us that TV, film and book narratives are not real when storylines hit close to home.
Knowing what happens turns into a subtle form of self-regulation.
So, what did I do when Severance spoilers floated by? Did I get off the bus? Nope, I stayed put and faced the beast. As I tried to make sense of the unfamiliar plot points (The macrodata means what? Mark stays where?), I found the unexpected chance to dive deeper.
Maybe surprise is not the sum of what makes something entertaining and worth engaging with. Spoiler alert! It’s good to have an end to journey towards, but it’s the journey that matters, in the end.
Anjum Naweed 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.
Tourists in Kathmandu are tempted everywhere by advertisements for trekking expeditions to Everest Base Camp. If you didn’t know better, you might think it’s just a nice hike in the Nepalese countryside.
Typically the lower staging post for attempts on the summit, the camp is still 5,364 metres above sea level and a destination in its own right. Travel agencies say no prior experience is required, and all equipment will be provided. Social media, too, is filled with posts enticing potential trekkers to make the iconic journey.
But there is a real risk of creating a false sense of security. An exciting adventure can quickly turn into a struggle for survival, especially for novice mountaineers.
Nevertheless, Sagarmatha National Park is deservedly popular for its natural beauty and the allure of the world’s highest peak, Chomolungma (Mount Everest). It is also home to the ethnically distinctive Sherpa community.
Consequently, the routes to Everest Base Camp are among the busiest in the Himalayas, with nearly 60,000 tourists visiting the area each year. There are two distinct trekking seasons: spring (March to May) and autumn (September to October).
High mountains require everyone to be properly prepared. Events which under normal conditions might be a minor inconvenience can be magnified in such an environment and pose a serious risk.
Even at the start of the trek in Lukla (2,860m), one is exposed to factors that can directly or indirectly affect one’s health, especially altitude mountain sickness or unfamiliar bacteria.
We interviewed 24 trekkers in May this year, as well as 60 residents and business owners in May 2023, to explore some of the safety issues anyone considering heading to base camp should be aware of.
Life at high altitude
First, it’s vital to choose goals within one’s technical and physical capabilities. While the human body can adapt to altitudes of up to 5,300m, the potential risk of altitude mountain sickness can occur at only 2,500m – lower than Lukla.
Proper acclimatisation above 3,000m means ascending no more than 500m a day and resting every two to three days at the same altitude. The optimal (though rarely followed) approach is the “saw tooth system” of climbing during the day but descending to sleep at a lower level.
Residents of the Khumbu region (on the Nepalese side of Everest) are familiar with the problem of tourists not acclimatising, or not paying attention to their surroundings. As one hotel owner said, pointing to a trekker setting out:
He’s going uphill and it’s already late. It’s going to get dark and cold soon. He won’t make it to the next settlement. We have to report this to the authorities or go after him ourselves.
Inexperienced trekkers should hire a local guide. Several we interviewed had needed medical evacuation, including a woman in her mid-20s who had to leave base camp after one night. She found her guides – not locals – online. But they never checked her vital signs during the trek:
[The doctors] said that I had high-altitude pulmonary edema […] it was just really important to come down the elevation. And if I had tried to go higher, it probably would have been really bad.
Health checks throughout the trek are imperative. This includes assessing the four main symptoms of altitude mountain sickness: headache, nausea, dizziness and fatigue. If they appear, the trekker shouldn’t go higher and might even need to descend.
A Sherpa woman at the market in Namche Bazar, Nepal: respect the culture, eat local food. Paula Bronstein/Getty Images
Take time to adapt
Using a reputable local trekking agency might be more expensive, but it will help ensure safety and also familiarise the visitor with the local culture, helping avoid negative impacts on the host community.
Too often, the primary goal of trekkers is a photo on the famous rock at base camp. Once obtained, many simply take a helicopter back to Kathmandu. As a helicopter tour agency owner said:
They don’t want to get back on their feet. The goal, after all, has been achieved. In general, tourists used to be much better prepared. Now they know they can return by helicopter.
Helicopter travel can be dangerous on its own, of course. But this tendency to view the trek as a one-way trip also affects host-guest relations and can irritate local communities.
It’s also important to monitor your food and drink intake and watch for signs of food poisoning. Diarrhoea at high altitudes is particularly dangerous because it leads to rapid dehydration – hard to combat in mountain conditions.
Low air pressure and reduced oxygen exacerbate the condition, weakening the body’s ability to recover. Also, the symptoms of dehydration can resemble altitude mountain sickness.
When travelling in other climate zones or countries with different sanitary standards, there is inevitable contact with strains of bacteria not present in one’s natural microbiome.
A good solution is to spend a few days naturally adapting to bacterial flora at a lower altitude in Nepal before heading to the mountains. Also, try to eat the local food, such as daal bhat, Nepal’s national dish. According to one hotel owner in Pangboche:
Tourists demand strange food from us – pizza, spaghetti, Caesar salad – and then are angry that it doesn’t taste the way they want. This is not our food. You should probably eat local food.
Most of the trekkers we interviewed during this spring season reported experiencing gastrointestinal issues, often for several days.
In the end, the commonest cause of failure or accident in the mountains is overestimating one’s abilities – what has been called “bad judgement syndrome” – when the route is too hard, the pace too fast, or there’s been too little time spent acclimatising.
A simple solution: walk slowly and enjoy the views.
Michal Apollo receives funding from the National Science Centre NCN Poland, the small-scale project awarded by the Institute of Earth Sciences, and the Research Excellence Initiative of the University of Silesia in Katowice. He is affiliated with the Global Justice Program, Yale University, and Academics Stand Against Poverty.
Heike Schanzel 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.
