Category: English

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Freddie Daley, Research Associate, Centre for Global Political Economy, University of Sussex

The world’s major oil and gas companies claim they are leading the energy transition. They spend billions on PR to brand themselves as part of the solution. The data we’ve reviewed tells a different story.

Where a rapid transition to renewables is taking place, incumbent fossil fuel firms have almost nothing to do with it. Analysis by one of us shows that the largest 250 oil and gas companies only own 1.42% of global renewable energy, and just 0.01% of the energy they extract comes from renewable sources.

For decades, many Indigenous peoples and environmental activists have accused the fossil fuel industry of offering “false solutions”. These are projects that amplify the industry’s green credentials while leaving its core business model untouched. Our research supports their case.

We argue that fossil fuel companies’ deployment of renewable energy, biofuels, carbon capture and storage (CCS), green hydrogen and carbon offsetting isn’t designed to oppose decarbonisation, but to manage the conversation around renewables. False solutions signal compliance while helping to mute calls for a systemic transformation.

Mapping the delay

Drawing on the Global Atlas of Environmental Justice, the world’s largest environmental conflict database based at the Autonomous University of Barcelona, we mapped and analysed 48 projects run by fossil fuel firms. These ranged from biofuels to CCS and forest restoration schemes, as well as some renewable energy projects that are owned and used by these firms.

Crucially, we found that these were rarely displacing fossil fuels. Instead, they justify further use of oil, gas or coal.

For instance, CCS facilities are often linked to “enhanced oil recovery”. That involves CO₂ captured from a power plant or factory being injected into wells to squeeze out more fossil fuels from underground reservoirs – an approach that actually extends the lifespan of oil fields. The industry’s own documents back this up: the Global CCS Institute’s 2025 status report lists 77 commercially facilities in operation around the world. Of these, it notes 33 were developed to enhance oil recovery.

Likewise, “clean hydrogen” is often used to greenwash projects that are actually built on continued gas production. Even renewables can become false solutions. We found solar and wind farms built specifically to power refineries and oil and gas drilling. These projects don’t decarbonise the grid, they simply make it easier and cheaper to extract fossil fuels.

New tech, old injustices

False solutions do more than lock in fossil fuel dependence. Across the 48 cases there were examples of land conflicts. Carbon offset schemes often involve high emitters paying to protect or restore a forest or other ecosystem, to “make up” for their emissions. But in practice, they can lead to the enclosure of previously common land and the loss of communal or Indigenous rights. Biofuel plantations can displace smallholders, replacing local food systems with industrial-scale farms.

Indigenous and traditional communities are disproportionately affected by false solutions. Many projects are sited on ancestral or sacred land without meaningful consultation or consent.

Resistance to these projects is often framed by the fossil fuel industry and its supporters as hostility to climate action or a form of nimbyism. But our data suggests that, in many cases, these communities are opposed to projects that perpetuate the fossil fuel economy.

We also found evidence of governments channelling public subsidies to fund many of these projects. Such cases amount to a direct cash transfer from taxpayers to private companies for promises that deliver minimal emissions reductions.

They are, therefore, in effect helping to delay the end of the fossil fuel era.
Yet these projects have enabled politicians to claim they are climate leaders without having to confront a powerful industry.

After examining these 48 conflicts, one lesson becomes unmistakable: false solutions are not experimental missteps. They are in effect helping to delay the end of the fossil fuel era.

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.

– ref. We reviewed 48 ‘low carbon’ projects and found they were becoming part of the fossil fuel problem – https://theconversation.com/we-reviewed-48-low-carbon-projects-and-found-they-were-becoming-part-of-the-fossil-fuel-problem-271906

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Adi Imsirovic, Lecturer in Energy Systems, University of Oxford

One of the most striking features of the Iran war has been the resilience of the global oil market. Despite the disruption of flows through the Strait of Hormuz, the world’s most important oil transit chokepoint, prices have generally hovered around US$100 (£75) per barrel – a lower level than many observers had expected.

A key reason for this resilience is the growing importance of oil production in the Americas. Even before the war, the International Energy Agency predicted that virtually all global oil demand growth in 2026 could be met by rising supply from North and South American countries such as the US, Canada, Brazil, Guyana and Argentina.

At that time, the Opec oil producers’ cartel was also preparing to increase output, raising expectations of a period of oversupply and weak prices. The war changed that picture dramatically. The closure of Hormuz has removed up to 14 million barrels a day from the market, propelling prices higher and triggering large global stock draws instead of the expected stock builds.

Yet high prices are often the best cure for shortages. Oil producers across the Americas have responded to the disruption by increasing output and exports. In the US, crude exports rose to a record 6.44 million barrels a day in April. It is also adding new export infrastructure, with nearly 800,000 barrels a day of additional dock capacity due to come online in 2026.

Meanwhile, Brazil has added eight new offshore floating oil production vessels in recent years, with a combined capacity approaching 1.5 million barrels a day. Its oil production is also expected to rise sharply again in 2026.

Petrobras, Brazil’s state oil company, recently started a new production project at one of these vessels in the Búzios field off the coast of Rio de Janeiro. Production began five months ahead of schedule, partly to take advantage of elevated global prices.

Elsewhere in South America, Guyana has emerged as one of the world’s fastest-growing oil producers. Guyanese oil output has already reached around 900,000 barrels a day and could almost double by the end of the decade. Even Venezuela, long associated with declining oil production and economic crisis, has substantially increased exports in response to higher prices.

Taken together, the Americas are expected to produce around 30 million barrels of oil per day later in 2026, approaching pre-war Opec production levels. The US alone remains the world’s largest producer, with its total production of liquid hydrocarbons reaching almost 22 million barrels a day in April.

Opec helped create this boom

This rise in western hemispheric production did not happen in isolation. Ironically, it was helped by Opec itself. For years, Opec’s de facto leader Saudi Arabia and its partners restricted oil output to support higher prices. Those elevated prices helped make more expensive projects in the Americas commercially viable, especially US shale production.

Saudi Arabia’s strategy of “higher for longer” prices was partly driven by domestic economic ambitions. To finance projects linked to its economic diversification plans, including the vast new Neom city development, the Saudis need oil prices of at least US$90 a barrel. The result has been a powerful incentive for producers outside Opec to expand.

Yet, despite this momentum, declaring a permanent shift in oil’s centre of gravity away from the Middle East would be premature. The economics of production still strongly favour Gulf producers, with oil extraction costs in the Persian Gulf remaining among the lowest in the world.

In some fields, Saudi Arabia and neighbouring producers can extract oil for less than US$10 a barrel. Across the Gulf region more broadly, average production costs are estimated at roughly US$27 a barrel. By contrast, much of North American shale production requires prices closer to between US$50 and US$65 a barrel to remain profitable.

That difference matters enormously during periods of lower prices. If markets weaken again, higher-cost producers in the Americas would come under pressure first. Gulf producers, with vast reserves and extremely low costs, would probably be able to outlast them.

Geography also favours the Middle East in many key markets. For growing Asian economies such as India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, importing oil from the nearby Gulf remains the cheapest option.

Many Asian refineries were designed specifically to process Middle Eastern crude grades, which are rich in middle distillates such as diesel and jet fuel – the hydrocarbons that typically drive economic development. Much of the shale oil exported from the US is lighter and less suitable as a direct replacement.

At the same time, Gulf producers are investing heavily to protect their long-term role in global energy markets. The United Arab Emirates is expanding pipeline infrastructure that bypasses the Strait of Hormuz, including upgrading its Habshan-Fujairah pipeline.

And Saudi Arabia already operates its vast East-West Pipeline, which is capable of transporting 7 million barrels per day of oil to the Red Sea. These projects are designed to reduce vulnerability to regional instability and secure export routes for decades to come.

The Americas are unquestionably transforming the global oil market. The region is now effectively what is known as a swing producer, providing some flexibility during supply crises and geopolitical shocks.

But long-term dominance in oil markets is determined not only by production volumes. Cost, geography, infrastructure and reserve size matter too. On those measures, the Middle East still holds a formidable advantage.

For as long as the world continues to consume large volumes of oil, the Gulf is likely to remain the industry’s core production and export hub – even if the Americas are becoming an increasingly important source of crude oil.

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

– ref. Is the Gulf losing its grip on the oil world? – https://theconversation.com/is-the-gulf-losing-its-grip-on-the-oil-world-282926

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Mark Tsagas, Senior Lecturer in Law, Cybercrime & AI Ethics, University of East London

The third in a series of military AI summits was held in La Coruña, Spain in February 2026. The aim of the meeting was to convert previously agreed principles on the military use of AI into action. The summit was attended by government officials, military personnel, representatives from industry and researchers from thinktanks.

The goal of many experts and policymakers in this area is to usher countries towards a regulatory framework on using machine intelligence in warfare. To this end, the latest Responsible AI in the Military Domain (REAIM) summit presented a non-binding commitment for countries to sign.

The REAIM agreement affirmed the need for human oversight of military AI systems, called for countries to carry out risk assessments and robust testing, and committed to transparency on how decisions are made when using AI in conflicts.

The reasoning behind such recommendations is sound. However, translating such a framework from plan to action faces multiple hurdles. Ultimately, less than half of the countries represented at this year’s REAIM summit signed the non-binding commitment.

To understand why, it’s instructive to look at what happened at the 80th UN General Assembly held in New York in December 2025. At the meeting, members of the assembly’s first committee voted overwhelmingly to approve two resolutions calling for greater international scrutiny of the risks from military uses of AI. However, the US and Russia notably opposed the resolutions.

The US had been a signatory to earlier REAIM summit commitments. But this year, the US and China both declined to sign it. There seems little doubt that this helped fuel the hesitancy of other countries.

The Netherlands’ defence minister Ruben Brekelmans put it succinctly when he said that governments face a “prisoner’s dilemma”. This is a concept in game theory where two rational individuals face competing incentives to cooperate with or betray one other.

Countries are effectively having to implement responsible restrictions on military AI without subjecting their armed forces to limitations that could be exploited by a less conscientious enemy.

An important sticking point is the deployment of autonomous AI systems in warfare. The idea of autonomous weapons systems, which make decisions without input from a human, remains a grave concern for many interested parties on this issue.

There continues to be a consensus against using such weapons. But countries can’t reach a common position over how to define them, particularly so-called lethal autonomous weapons systems – or Laws for short. These are often characterised as “killer robots”, though a more detailed description remains elusive.

A uniform definition for such systems could be an important first step towards a discussion on regulation. But, despite efforts by academic experts to draft and amend flexible definitions, countries remain too far apart on the characteristics they ascribe to these weapons.

The impasse is informed by a fear that accepting a definition could restrict countries’ militaries on the battlefield – threatening national security.

Testing grounds for tech

Existing legal mechanisms, such as international humanitarian laws, already prohibit the irresponsible and unethical use of military AI – in theory, at least. But how these laws would function in practice when applied to real world scenarios is uncertain.

The ongoing Russia-Ukraine war, the war in Gaza and the more recent escalation in Iran are being used by militaries as testing grounds for such technology.

The Lavender intelligence gathering and targeting software, used by Israel in Gaza, and Anthropic’s AI Model Claude, used by the US in Iran, demonstrate the rapid pace of advancement in AI-powered data gathering and analysis. This can help military planners make quicker decisions.

Drone warfare – AI assisted, autonomous and semi-autonomous – has grown at an equally rapid rate. This emerging technology is evolving significantly faster than the potential rules that could govern its use.

There’s a recurring argument that humans in the loop can operate as effective safeguards against the misuse of military AI systems. But as human overseers become familiar with the AI systems they use, their engagement may slip, causing them to become detached from the process.

As this happens, they may start to view real people as mere objects on a screen. This effect is known as automation bias. In such instances, human oversight could cease to be meaningful and instead lead to the simple rubber stamping of recommendations made by AI.

Additionally, the downsides of AI technology, such as bias, misinformation and disinformation generated by the systems themselves, and the erosion of human judgement resulting from overreliance on these systems, are not easy to solve after they enter use. This is why the REAIM summit commitment recommended risk assessments and robust testing before AI systems are adopted by militaries.

Without regulation, the risk of harm caused by AI systems remains significant. The severity of such risks balloons in magnitude when they are applied to military contexts. Miscalculations can lead to unintended escalation, as well as civilian deaths.

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

– ref. Fears of helping the enemy are blocking international agreements on AI in weapons systems – https://theconversation.com/fears-of-helping-the-enemy-are-blocking-international-agreements-on-ai-in-weapons-systems-282160

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Matthew Bolton, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, School of Law, Queen Mary University of London

Police are investigating an attack on a Jewish man in Golders Green, London, just weeks after two Jewish men were stabbed in the area. These are the latest in a series of violent attacks on Jewish people and institutions. They have also given fresh impetus to a long-running debate about the extent of antisemitism in the UK.

My research explores how the law approaches the thorny question of where political critique of Israel ends and antisemitism begins. This is a sensitive topic, which events like this have brought to public attention once again.

In a statement, Prime Minister Keir Starmer identified three causes of what he described as a “crisis for all of us”. First, he cited “hate preachers” and “charities that promote antisemitic extremism”. Second, Starmer referred to “the malign threat posed by states like Iran,” after a group with Iranian links was investigated in relation to arson attacks on Jewish charity Hatzola ambulances in Golders Green.

The third was more controversial: the prime minister pointed the finger at those who “diminish” the antisemitism faced by Jews today. Standing alongside those who chant “globalise the intifada” at marches is, according to Starmer, “calling for terrorism against Jews”.

Read more:
Why banning pro-Palestine marches is a risky response to antisemitic violence

“Intifada” is an Arabic term used to describe Palestinian uprisings against Israel in the late 1980s and early 2000s – the latter involving suicide bombings aimed at civilian targets in Israel. Starmer went as far as saying that people who approvingly use that phrase should be prosecuted.

Responses from some of the British Jewish community seemed to back Starmer up. Many expressed a sense of vulnerability and isolation, exacerbated by betrayal at a perceived lack of solidarity from anti-racist activists.

Similar feelings surfaced after the Hamas atrocities of October 7, 2023. For many Jews, a lack of empathy – at best – for the victims and the scale of the trauma testified to an “indifference to Jewish death … across the world”. Throughout the subsequent war in Gaza, many felt that the military threat posed by Hamas was routinely erased from public debate.

The rising popularity of zero-sum arguments pitting Israeli “settler colonialism” against Palestinian “indigeneity” further squeezed the space for dialogue. This led to a defensive hardening of positions. Even British Jews sceptical of – or appalled by – the war’s conduct felt unable to express that opposition, for fear that it might be used to delegitimise Israel’s existence and encourage antisemitic reprisals.

But it also contributed to the widespread adoption of a new critique of “antizionist ideology”. While recognising that some of the more outlandish claims about Israeli conduct can draw on an older repertoire of anti-Jewish conspiracies, in its more crude variations this ends up classing almost any accusation of Israeli wrongdoing as a “libel”.

The claim that Israeli actions in Gaza could amount to genocide, for example, is regarded as akin to the “blood libel” – the antisemitic fantasy that Jews kill Christian children for religious rituals. Often, no distinction is made between, say, the careful analysis of an Israeli scholar and the wild-eyed rantings of a social media provocateur.

There are diverse modes of opposition to Israel, ranging from Islamist rejections of the concept of Jewish sovereignty, to sober reports of Israeli human rights abuses. In the current framing of antizionism, these are reduced into a singular, undifferentiated ideology, which is then inflated into an existential threat to “the west”.

This mirrors the equally reductive characterisation of Zionism by some of the pro-Palestinian movement: a single, innately malign ideology that is “the enemy of world peace”, responsible for climate change, and a danger to the world.

At its worst, this new movement against antizionism denies Palestinian suffering in much the same way as those who refuse to “open their eyes to Jewish pain”, as Starmer put it.

Jewish identity and Israel

Starmer’s claim that slogans like “globalise the intifada” should be simply understood as “terrorism against Jews” owes something to this reductive approach. It is true that some Jews interpret such phrases in this way, particularly in light of the sometimes casual attitude to political violence among protesters. And there are clearly times when they could be hate speech – if directly targeted at Jewish people, communal buildings or even pro-Israel protesters for instance.

But there are other rational interpretations for its non-targeted use – using “intifada” as substitute for “revolution”, perhaps, or as an attempt to link the Palestinian cause to wider opposition to global capitalism. Regardless of how convincing one finds such explanations, such uses of the word cannot be automatically classed as calls for antisemitic violence.

To insist that this is the only meaning is to eradicate any distinction between Jews in general and Israel in particular. This is troublingly similar to those who call for violence against Jews in retaliation for Israeli actions – albeit for very different reasons.

Conflating Jews and Israel, from whatever direction, simplifies the complex historical relation that exists between modern Jewish identity and Israel. The two are certainly not identical, as confirmed by the rising number of Jews who are rejecting any connection, or warning of an impending clash between “Jewish values” and an Israel controlled by far-right factions.

Yet it is also too easy to pretend that they have nothing to do with each other. Like other 19th-century nationalisms, Zionism sought to revive and transform older modes of (Jewish) collective belonging. Meanwhile, the post-Holocaust reconstruction of Jewish identity was inextricably linked to the establishment of Israel as a Jewish-majority state.

The connection might vary from person to person – from the belief that Israel is needed to guarantee Jewish safety, to national, religious, cultural and familial reasons. But the significance of Israel to the majority of Jews cannot be lightly skipped over by repeating truisms like “not all Jews are Zionists” – even if it categorically does not mean Jews are politically responsible for what the Israeli government does.

But neither is Israel a simple extension of Jewish identity, in the way that Starmer suggests. The risk is that – as shown by the misguided proscribing of the Palestine Action group – pouring police resources into arresting those who chant indeterminate slogans will divert attention away from protecting communities like Golders Green.

Matthew Bolton receives funding from UK Research and Innovation (UKRI) under the UK government’s Horizon Europe funding guarantee (grant number EPZ002893/1).

– ref. What Keir Starmer got wrong about Zionism and antisemitism – https://theconversation.com/what-keir-starmer-got-wrong-about-zionism-and-antisemitism-282505