Category: English

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Samuel Cornell, PhD Candidate in Public Health & Community Medicine, School of Population Health, UNSW Sydney

When news broke last week that US political influencer Charlie Kirk had been shot at an event at Utah Valley University, millions of people around the world were first alerted to it by social media before journalists had written a word.

Rather than first seeing the news on a mainstream news website, footage of the bloody and public assassination was pushed directly onto audiences’ social media feeds. There weren’t any editors deciding whether the raw footage was too distressing, nor warnings before clips auto-played.

Australia’s eSafety commissioner called on platforms to shield children from the footage, noting “all platforms have a responsibility to protect their users by quickly removing or restricting illegal harmful material”.

This is the norm in today’s media environment: extreme violence often bypasses traditional media gatekeepers and can reach millions of people, including children, instantly. This has wide-ranging impacts on young people – and on society at large.

A wide range of violence

Young people are more likely than older adults to come across violent and disturbing content online. This is partly because they are more frequent users of platforms such as TikTok, Instagram and X.

Research from 2024 from the United Kingdom suggests a majority of teenagers have seen violent videos in their feeds.

The violence young people see on social media ranges from schoolyard fights and knife attacks to war footage and terrorist attacks.

The footage is often visceral, raw and unexpected.

A wide range of harms

Seeing this kind of violent footage on social media can make some children not want to leave the house.

Research also shows engaging with distressing media can cause symptoms similar to trauma, especially if the violence feels close to our own lives.

Research shows social media is not simply a mirror of youth violence but also a vector for it, with bullying, gang violence, dating aggression, and even self-directed violence playing out online. Exposure to these harms can have a negative effect on young people’s mental health, behaviour and academic performance.

For others, violent content on social media risks “desensitisation”, where people become so used to suffering and violence they become less empathetic.

Communication scholars also point to cultivation theory – the idea in this case that people who consume more violent content begin to see the world as potentially more dangerous than it really is.

This potentially skewed perception can influence everyday behaviour even among those who do not directly experience violence.

Read more:
How images of knives intended to stop youth knife crime may actually be making things worse

A long history of violence

Violence distributed by media is as old as media itself.

The ancient Greeks painted their pottery with scenes of battles and slaying. The Romans wrote about their gladiators. Some of the first photographs ever taken were of the Crimean War. And in the second world war, people went to the cinema to watch newsreels for updates on the war.

The Vietnam war was the first “television war” – images of violence and destruction were beamed into people’s homes for the first time. Yet television still involved editorial judgement. Footage of violence was cut, edited, narrated and contextualised.

Seeing violence as if you were there has been transformed by social media.

Now, footage of war, recorded in real time on phones or drones, is uploaded to TikTok or YouTube and shared with unprecedented immediacy. It often appears without any additional context – and often isn’t packaged any differently to a video of, say, somebody walking down the street or hanging out with friends.

War influencers have emerged – people who post updates from conflict zones, often with no editorial training, unlike war journalists. This blurs the line between reporting and spectacle. And this content spreads rapidly, reaching audiences who have often not sought it.

Israel’s military even uses war influencers to “thirst trap” social media users for propaganda purposes. A thirst trap is a deliberately eye-catching, often seductive, social media post designed to attract attention and engage users.

How to opt out of violence

There are some practical steps that can be taken to reduce your chances of encountering unwanted violent content:

• turn off autoplay. This can prevent videos from playing unprompted

• use mute or block filters. Platforms such as X and TikTok let you hide content with certain keywords

• report disturbing videos or images. Flagging videos for violence can reduce how often they are promoted

• curate your feed. Following accounts that focus on verified news can reduce exposure to random viral violence

• take a break from social media, which isn’t as extreme as it sounds.

These actions aren’t foolproof. And the reality is that users of social media have very limited control over what they see. Algorithms still nudge users’ attention toward the sensational.

The viral videos of Kirk’s assassination highlight the failures of platforms to protect their users. Despite formal rules banning violent content, shocking videos slip through and reach users, including children.

In turn, this highlights why more stringent regulation of social media companies is urgently needed.

Samuel Cornell receives funding from an Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship.

T.J. Thomson receives funding from the Australian Research Council. He is an affiliate with the ARC Centre of Excellence for Automated Decision Making & Society.

– ref. Viral violent videos on social media are skewing young people’s sense of the world – https://theconversation.com/viral-violent-videos-on-social-media-are-skewing-young-peoples-sense-of-the-world-265371

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Kerry Whigham, Associate Professor of Genocide and Mass Atrocity Prevention, Binghamton University, State University of New York

Three and a half years after Russia invaded Ukraine, there are few immediate signs of a cessation to the ongoing hostilities. Yet amid the steady toll of front-line fighting and near-daily Russian airstrikes, Ukrainians are already considering how to remember the tens of thousands of lives lost over the course of this conflict.

A spontaneous memorial of flags and photographs already exists and grows daily, having first sprung up in 2022 in Kyiv’s Independence Square. Now, government and civil society groups have begun conversations on how such acts of commemoration can be made more permanent through monuments and memorials across the country.

As a scholar of public memory and how societies remember large-scale violence and mass atrocities, I study and support the work of governments and organizations developing memory sites around the world. As Ukraine negotiates its own related challenges, lessons from research on how memorials have changed and the role they can play in post-violence societies can help guide these processes.

The long history of remembering war dead

The impulse to create public monuments to remember collective death, like war, is millennia old. The first known war memorial dates to over 4,000 years ago in modern-day Syria. Obelisks and triumphal arches that dotted ancient Egypt and ancient Rome have served similar purposes.

As societies have progressed and architectural tastes have changed, so too have war monuments. Still, there are some underlying traits that have remained relatively consistent for thousands of years.

Traditionally, war memorials used monumental architecture to remember those who died during conflict. Typically, they were aimed at honoring soldiers who died fighting for their country. The monuments framed the death of soldiers as a sacrifice for a higher cause, often using larger-than-life architectural elements and materials like marble and granite to convey a sense of both grandeur and memory permanence.

In that traditional vein of glorification, war memorials typically feature recognizable symbols, like sculptures of soldiers and inscriptions with names or information. By honoring the soldiers who died fighting a war, the monuments also legitimize the war and the state that waged it, marking it as a cause worthy of dying for. In this way, such war memorials are not only about revering soldiers but also venerating the nation-state.

That all started to change following World War I, however. The scale of destruction and death was so widespread and total that countries began erecting war memorials depicting soldiers with their faces downcast or their bodies tired. The sacrifices of the soldiers were still framed as valiant, but the monuments also revealed a war weariness not present in earlier memorials.

At the same time, communist countries in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union maintained the tradition of using memorials to celebrate the state. In Soviet-era Ukraine, for instance, the 335-foot-tall Mother Ukraine was erected to tower over Kyiv as a monument to World War II.

Memorializing the horrors of the 20th century

Outside of the former Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc, however, the horrors of World War II completely transformed the way societies memorialized collective death. This is largely because the deaths that needed commemoration were not only those of soldiers but of the millions of civilians murdered by the Nazi regime, especially European Jews.

Indeed, the Holocaust changed everything about the way the world memorializes large-scale death. The architectural language of the war memorial was completely insufficient for remembering the victims of genocide. They did not sacrifice themselves to the glory of the nation, but instead were slaughtered by governmental leaders.

As a result and over time, memorials focused far less on monumental forms and realistic imagery glorifying the state and opted for abstract and immersive styles intended to invoke a sense of loss and a commitment to preventing future violence. These memorials to victims of genocides and other atrocities also respond to an increasingly recognized “right to memory,” as victims demand acknowledgment of the trauma they have experienced.

One of the most influential examples of how memorialization has changed is the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin. Designed by American architect Peter Eisenman and inaugurated in 2005, it features over 2,700 concrete columns arranged in a grid over almost 5 acres of land in central Berlin. Visitors are invited to walk through the grid-work of columns, which are meant to evoke an emotional response in visitors.

Echoes of this abstract and immersive space can now be seen in numerous other memorials to collective death globally, including the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama, which memorializes the Black victims of racial terror lynchings in the United States, and the Parque de la Memoria in Buenos Aires, Argentina, which remembers the thousands of people disappeared in the 1970s and 1980s during a military dictatorship.

Ukraine and memorializing the present

As Ukrainians begin the process of determining how best to commemorate their own recent losses, they face some notable challenges.

For one, Ukraine has lost both soldiers, who have died fighting for their country, and civilians, killed through the attacks of invading forces from Russia. Can and should these losses be memorialized together? Or should there be separate memorials to those who died on the battlefield and those others who were killed in atrocities, like the massacre in Bucha of March 2022, which saw the death, torture and rape of hundreds of civilians, including children, by Russian forces?

Ukraine is not without experience in memorializing both war and atrocity. Many of its war memorials were constructed during the Soviet period, however, so they tend to utilize the socialist realism style that characterizes most communist-era monuments. But Ukraine has also experienced atrocities, such as the Holodomor, the human-made famine implemented by Josef Stalin in the 1930s that led to the deaths of millions of Ukrainians. The Memorial in Commemoration of the Holodomor-Genocide in Ukraine opened in Kyiv in 2008, 75 years after the Holodomor began.

But determining how to memorialize more recent violence can be a challenge. Memorials serve to literally and figuratively concretize memory. But memory — that is, the story a society tells itself about its past and its impact on the present and future — evolves over time. Communities of victims may desire a memorial as a recognition of the harms that they have suffered, and this can indeed be an important step in symbolically repairing those damages.

But it may be difficult to get a full “picture” of the story a memorial should tell while violence is ongoing. The victim count is increasing every day. And now there is also some pushback within Ukraine against the way President Volodymyr Zelenskyy is governing and approaching issues of internal corruption.

Ukrainians had 75 years to determine how they wanted to relate to and remember the Holodomor. With so much uncertainty, any memorial built now to the current war may need to be reconsidered in the very near future as government officials, victim groups and other stakeholders continue to discuss how they want to remember this violence.

Today, many experts and practitioners advocate for conversations on memorialization to take place alongside other processes that societies undergo to deal with histories of violence and human rights abuses. Often labeled “transitional justice,” these processes of truth-seeking, justice, reparations and reform can complement processes of memorialization. Engaging actively with all the consequences of past violence can be crucial in developing a consensus on how to remember that violence and educate future generations about it.

Undertaking such tasks while violence is ongoing, however, can be difficult, if not impossible. The underlying instability caused by war, along with the uncertainty around what the future will bring, leaves so many open questions that it may be too soon to start answering them. That said, the groundwork can be laid now so that these processes can begin as quickly as possible once the war finally comes to an end.

Ukrainians are understandably ready to move forward and deal with the repercussions of this horrific violence. But building a memorial will not, in itself, mark the end of the conflict and, as such, may be putting the cart before the horse. Victims have a right to memory, but they first and foremost have a right to peace. The picture of what story should be told through public memorials and monuments will become clearer once it is not so obscured by the fog of war.

Kerry Whigham is affiliated with the Auschwitz Institute for the Prevention of Genocide and Mass Atrocities, an international non-governmental organization that works on atrocity prevention.

– ref. Ukraine is starting to think about memorials – a tricky task during an ongoing war – https://theconversation.com/ukraine-is-starting-to-think-about-memorials-a-tricky-task-during-an-ongoing-war-263598

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Jonathan L. Zecher, Associate Professor, Institute for Religion and Critical Inquiry, Australian Catholic University

Charlie Kirk: white nationalist, conservative Christian, right-wing social media personality, shooting victim, and now, a “martyr”. That is, according to his supporters.

Since Kirk’s death last week, a number of his followers from the Christian right have ascribed him the title of “martyr”. President Donald Trump himself called Kirk a “martyr for truth and freedom”.

Similarly, Rob McCoy, a pastor emeritus from California, said at a Sunday morning church service

Today, we celebrate the life of Charlie Kirk, a 31-year-old God-fearing Christian man, a husband, father of two, a patriot, a civil rights activist, and now a Christian martyr.

Looking back at the history of martyrdom offers insight into what it means for Kirk to be hailed a martyr, both for his memory, and for the future of the United States.

From witness to criminal to witness again

The term martyr emerged in ancient law courts with the Greek word martus, meaning a witness or person who gives testimony.

From their earliest days, Christians appropriated it to refer to those who testified to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The gospel of Luke even concludes with Jesus telling his disciples: “You are witnesses – martyres – of these things” (Luke 24:48).

Early Christians regularly ran afoul of Roman authorities, and were brought to court as criminals. The charges generally revolved around questionable loyalty to the Roman state and religion. Could someone worship Jesus and also offer sacrifice to the traditional gods, including the emperor or his divine spirit (his “genius”)?

Christians and Romans alike thought not. From the 2nd century onward, accounts of these trials centred on a single question: “are you a Christian?”. If the answer was “yes”, execution followed.

For local authorities, the executed person was a criminal. But for fellow Christians, they were witnesses to the truth of the gospel, and their deaths were evidence of the Christian God. They were both witness and testimony – “martyrs” in every sense.

In 2004, scholar of early Christianity, Elizabeth Castelli, argued martyrs are born only after their death. The martyr isn’t a fact, but a figure produced by the stories told about them, and the honour afforded them in ritual commemorations. A person isn’t a martyr until other people within a specific community decide they are.

To understand what makes someone a martyr, we have to ask two questions:

1. what are they a witness to? As in, what ideal or cause led to their death and how did their death testify to it?

2. who are they a witness for? Who tells their story and who calls them a martyr?

Boundaries and borderline cases

The history of martyrdom is also a history of debates over what kind of death “counts”, and what role martyrs play in the church.

Questionable cases have accumulated through the decades. Some “martyrs” volunteered eagerly, perhaps too eagerly.

On April 29 304 CE, an archdeacon named Euplus stood outside the city council chamber in Catania, Sicily, shouting: “I want to die; I am a Christian”. After some discussion, the governor sentenced him to torture and he died of his injuries. Was this martyrdom, or suicide?

Under Christian emperors from the 4th century on, soldiers who died fighting Persians (or later Arabs) also came to be called martyrs. A soldier’s death is especially considered martyrdom if they fought against members of a different religion.

However, the soldier-martyr label has also raised anxieties. The most recent example came from the troubling claim by Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kyrill that Russian soldiers who die fighting in Ukraine are martyrs – despite fighting fellow Orthodox Christians. What do these soldiers testify to?

The stories of martyrs define community borders. Those who kill martyrs tend to be treated as enemies of the faith, whether they are Roman authorities, enemy combatants, or even people assumed to be complicit in the event.

The MAGA martyr

Let’s apply the two questions above to Charlie Kirk, who has been dubbed both “martyr” and “patron saint of MAGA”.

What would Kirk be a martyr to? To his supporters and those on the MAGA right, he died for free speech, for Judeo-Christian values, for a commitment to “Western civilisation”, and supposedly for the “truth” itself.

To others, especially those he attacked and denigrated publicly – such as queer and trans people, immigrants, Muslims and feminists – he died for white nationalism, hatred and exclusion.

This takes us back to the second question: who is Charlie Kirk a martyr for? Clearly, the answer to this is Christian nationalists, MAGA supporters and the broader American right.

He testified in life to their shared beliefs and values, and in death is their “patron saint”. The legacy of Kirk’s death will be to define who is part of this community, and who is excluded. The question then is, will a division framed in such polarising terms come to define American society as a whole?

From revenge to love

Following Kirk’s death, people on the far-right called for violent revenge against the left – even though the shooting suspect’s political motivations are unknown.

Media have reported a surge in radicalisation on right-wing platforms. There was even a website, now removed, dedicated to doxxing anyone who spoke negatively about Kirk and using that information to get them fired.

Against this rhetoric of revenge, the history of martyrdom offers a different way forward. The early theologian, Clement of Alexandria, said someone becomes a martyr not because of their death, but because of their love.

The only true witness, he argued, is love, because God is love. The only honour one can offer the martyrs is to love as they loved. Clement suggests it’s possible to reject vengeance and sectarianism, even if one loves the martyrs.

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

– ref. Can Charlie Kirk really be considered a ‘martyr’? A Christianity historian explains – https://theconversation.com/can-charlie-kirk-really-be-considered-a-martyr-a-christianity-historian-explains-265283

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Nir Kshetri, Professor of Management, University of North Carolina – Greensboro

Days of unrest in Nepal have resulted in the ousting of a deeply unpopular government and the deaths of at least 50 people.

The Gen Z-led protests – so-called due to the predominance of young Nepalese among the demonstrators – appeared to have quieted down with the appointment on Sept. 12, 2025, of a new interim leader and early elections.

But the protests leave behind dozens of burned government offices, destroyed business centers and financial losses estimated in the billions of dollars.

The experience has also underscored the importance of social media in Nepal, as well as the consequences of government attempts to control the flow of online information.

I study the economic, social and political impacts of social media and other emerging technologies. Being based in Kathmandu, I have watched firsthand as what began as a protest over a short-lived ban on social media snowballed into something far greater, leading to the toppling of Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli.

Indeed, social media has played a crucial role in this ongoing turmoil in two ways. First, the government’s decision on Sept. 4 to ban social platforms served as the immediate catalyst to the unrest. It provoked anger among a generation for whom digital spaces are central not only to communication, identity and political expression, but also to education and economic opportunities.

And second, the pervasive use of these platforms primed the nation’s youth for this moment of protest. It heightened Gen Z’s awareness of the country’s entrenched social, economic and political problems. By sharing stories of corruption, privilege and inequality, social media not only informed but also galvanized Nepal’s youth, motivating collective mobilization against the country’s systemic injustice.

The role of social media

As with many other nations, social media is central to daily life and commerce in Nepal, a landlocked nation of 30 million people situated between two Asian giants: China and India.

As of January 2025, just short of half the population had social media accounts. This includes some 13.5 million active Facebook users, 3.6 million Instagram users, 1.5 million LinkedIn users and 466,100 X users.

Indeed, social media platforms drive roughly 80% of total online traffic in the country and serve as vital channels for business and communication. Many users in Nepal depend on these platforms to run and promote their businesses.

As such, the government’s decision to block 26 social media platforms sparked immediate concern among the Nepalese public.

The move wasn’t completely out of the blue. Nepal’s government has long been concerned over the growth of social media platforms.

In November 2023, the Ministry of Communication and Information Technology introduced new social media regulations, requiring platforms to register with the government, set up a local contact point, appoint a grievance officer and designate an oversight official. Platforms were also obliged to cooperate in criminal investigations, remove illegal content and comply with Nepali law.

The Nepalese government, citing concerns over fake accounts, hate speech, disinformation and fraud, said the measures were to ensure accountability and make operators responsible for content on their platforms. Then, in January 2025, the government introduced a Social Media Bill that placed further requirements on social media platforms.

Censorship concerns

Regardless of their intent, these government measures sparked immediate civil liberties concerns. Critics and rights groups argued that both the ban and the bill function as tools for censorship, threatening freedom of expression, press freedom and fundamental rights.

Ncell, Nepal’s second-largest telecommunications service provider, noted that shutting down all platforms at once was, in any case, technically difficult and warned that the move would severely impact business. Small business owners, who rely on social media to promote and sell their products, were especially worried with a busy festive season looming.

The ban also had significant implications for education. Many students rely on social media platforms to access online classes, research materials and collaborative learning tools.
More generally, the Nepalese public criticized the government’s measures disproportionate impact on ordinary users.

As such, this deep reliance on social media by Nepalese society turned the ban into a flashpoint for public dissent.

The rise of #NepoKids

Even before the protests began on Sept. 8, the pervasive use of social media, along with exposure to content showcasing inequality and elite privilege, had heightened Gen Z’s awareness of Nepal’s entrenched social, economic and political problems.

A few weeks before the protests began, the hashtags #NepoBaby and #NepoKids began trending, fueled by viral videos of politicians’ lavish lifestyles.

The content drew attention to the country’s inequality by contrasting the lives of the children of the country’s elite – with designer clothing and foreign vacations – with images of Nepali migrant workers returning home in coffins from dangerous jobs abroad.

The hashtag campaigns gained traction on TikTok and Reddit, leading to calls for asset investigations, anti-corruption reforms and even transferring the assets of the wealthy to public ownership.

One particularly notable viral video featured the son of a provincial government minister posing in front of a tree made from boxes of luxury labels including Louis Vuitton, Cartier and Gucci.

Such posts served to further fuel public outrage over perceived elite privilege.

The immediacy and interactivity of social media platforms amplified the outrage, encouraging group mobilization. In this way, social media acted both as a magnifier and accelerator, linking perceived injustice to on-the-ground activism and shaping how the movement unfolded even before the Sept. 8 protests began.

A deeper story of hardship and corruption

Yet a social media campaign is nothing without a root cause to shine a light on.

Economic insecurity and political corruption have for years left many of Nepal’s youth frustrated, setting the stage for today’s protest movement. While the overall unemployment rate in 2024 was 11%, the youth unemployment rate stood significantly higher at 21%.

But these figures only scratch the surface of Nepal’s deep economic problems, which include pervasive vulnerable employment – informal and insecure work that is prone to poor conditions and pay – and limited opportunities that constrain long-term productivity.

Between 2010 and 2018, fewer than half of new entrants into the workforce secured formal, stable jobs; the remainder were primarily engaged in informal or precarious work, which often lacked consistent income, benefits or legal protections. Most available positions are informal, poorly compensated and offer little stability or room for career growth.

All told, children born in Nepal today face a grim economic reality. By age 18, they are likely to achieve only about 51% of their productivity potential – that is, the maximum economic output they could reach if they had full access to quality health, nutrition and education.

Meanwhile, corruption is widespread. In 2024, Nepal ranked 107th out of 180 countries on Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index, with 84% of people perceiving government corruption to be a major problem.

An upshot of corruption is the growing influence of Nepal’s politically connected business elite, who shape laws and regulations to benefit themselves. In the process, they secure tax breaks, inflate budgets and create monopolies that block competition.

This capture of public policy by an entrenched elite stifles economic growth, crowds out genuine entrepreneurs and exacerbates inequality, while basic public services remain inadequate.

Combined, these economic and political pressures created fertile ground for social mobilization. While persistent hardships helped fuel the rise of the #Nepokids movement, it was social media that gave voice to Nepali youths’ frustration.

When the government attempted to silence them through a ban on social media platforms, it proved to be a step too far.

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

– ref. How hardships and hashtags combined to fuel Nepal’s violent response to social media ban – https://theconversation.com/how-hardships-and-hashtags-combined-to-fuel-nepals-violent-response-to-social-media-ban-264932