Category: MIL-OSI

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Alexander Howard, Senior Lecturer, Discipline of English and Writing, University of Sydney

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.

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”.

Gripped by his belief in the predictive principles of historical materialism,

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.

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.

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.

– ref. Friday essay: ‘nothing quite like it in the history of espionage’ – the Russian spies who pretended to be American – https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-nothing-quite-like-it-in-the-history-of-espionage-the-russian-spies-who-pretended-to-be-american-260063

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.

It is also increasingly used in many professional contexts – from helping with recruitment to supporting health diagnoses and monitoring students’ progress in school.

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.

AI use in unis so far

A growing number of Australian universities now allow students to use AI in certain assessments, provided the use is appropriately acknowledged.

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.

As AI becomes increasingly embedded in professional life, the cost of uncritical use also scales up, from biased outcomes to real-world harm.

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.

– ref. AI is now part of our world. Uni graduates should know how to use it responsibly – https://theconversation.com/ai-is-now-part-of-our-world-uni-graduates-should-know-how-to-use-it-responsibly-261273

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Anjum Naweed, Professor of Human Factors, CQUniversity Australia

This article contains spoilers!

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.

– ref. ‘Don’t tell me!’ Why some people love spoilers – and others will run a mile – https://theconversation.com/dont-tell-me-why-some-people-love-spoilers-and-others-will-run-a-mile-256803

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Heike Schanzel, Professor of Social Sustainability in Tourism, Auckland University of Technology

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.

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.

Overall, diarrhoea-related infections are the leading cause of illness among travellers, including base camp trekkers. Studies conducted in the Himalayas show as many as 14% of mountain tourists contract gastroenteritis, accounting for about 10% of all helicopter evacuations.

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.

– ref. Thinking of trekking to Everest Base Camp? Don’t leave home without this expert advice – https://theconversation.com/thinking-of-trekking-to-everest-base-camp-dont-leave-home-without-this-expert-advice-260497

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Michael Wilson, Research Fellow and PhD Candidate in Men’s Mental Health, The University of Melbourne

Breakups hurt. Emotional and psychological distress are common when intimate relationships break down. For some people, this distress can be so overwhelming that it leads to suicidal thoughts and behaviours.

This problem seems especially the case for men. Intimate partner problems including breakups, separation and divorce feature in the paths to suicide among one in three Australian men aged 25 to 44 who end their lives.

Men account for three in every four suicides in many nations worldwide, including Australia. So improving our understanding of links between relationship breakdown and men’s suicide risk has life-saving potential.

Our research, published today, is the first large-scale review of the evidence to focus on understanding men’s risk of suicide after a breakup. We found separated men were nearly five times more likely to die by suicide compared to married men.

What did we find?

We brought together findings from 75 studies across 30 countries worldwide, involving more than 106 million men.

We focused on understanding why relationship breakdown can lead to suicide in men, and which men are most at risk. We might not be able to prevent breakups from happening, but we can promote healthy adjustment to the stress of relationship breakdown to try and prevent suicide.

Overall, we found divorced men were 2.8 times more likely to take their lives than married men.

For separated men, the risk was much higher. We found that separated men were 4.8 times more likely to die by suicide than married men.

Most strikingly, we found separated men under 35 years of age had nearly nine times greater odds of suicide than married men of the same age.

The short-term period after relationship breakdown therefore appears particularly risky for men’s mental health.

What are these men feeling?

Some men’s difficulties regulating the intense emotional stress of relationship breakdown can play a role in their suicide risk. For some men, the emotional pain tied to separation – deep sadness, shame, guilt, anxiety and loss – can be so intense it feels never-ending.

Many men are raised in a culture of masculinity that often encourages them to suppress or withdraw from their emotions in times of intense stress.

Some men also experience difficulties understanding or interpreting their emotions, which can create challenges in knowing how to respond to them.

Overall, our research found relationship breakdown may lead to suicide for some men because of the complex interaction between the individual (emotional distress) and interpersonal (changes in their social network and availability of support) impacts of a breakup.

Many of these impacts don’t seem to feature in the paths to suicide after a breakup for women in the same way.

Breakups also impact social networks

As intimate relationships become more serious, we tend to spend less time investing in our friendships, especially if juggling the demands of a career and family.

Many men, especially in heterosexual relationships, rely on their intimate partner as a primary source of social and emotional support – often at the expense of connections outside their relationship.

This can create a risky situation if relationships break down, as it seems many men are left with little support to turn to. This rang true in our research, as men’s social disconnection and loneliness seemed to increase their suicide risk following relationship breakdown.

We also know people can struggle to know how to support men after a breakup. Research has found some men who ask for support are told to just “get back on the horse”. Such a response invalidates men’s pain and reinforces masculine stereotypes that relationship breakdown doesn’t affect them.

So, what can we do?

There is no simple answer to preventing suicide following relationship breakdown, but a range of opportunities exist.

We can intervene early, by educating young people with the skills to end relationships healthily, handle rejection and regulate the difficult emotions of a breakup.

We can embed support groups and other opportunities for connection and peer support in relationship services that are regularly in contact with those navigating separation, to help combat loneliness.

We can ensure mental health practitioners are equipped with the skills necessary to engage and respond effectively to men who seek help following a breakup, to help keep them safe until they can get back on their feet.

Most importantly, if men come to any of us seeking support after a breakup, we can remember that time is often a great healer. The best we can do is sit with men in their pain, rather than try and get them to stop feeling it. This connection could be life-saving.

Support and information is available at Relationships Australia and MensLine Australia. If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.

Michael Wilson works for The University of Melbourne and consults to Movember. He receives funding from the Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship, provided by the Australian Commonwealth Government and the University of Melbourne.

Jacqui Macdonald receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council’s Medical Research Future Fund and the Australian Research Council. She convenes the Australian Fatherhood Research Consortium and she is on the Movember Global Men’s Health Advisory Committee.

Zac Seidler has been awarded an NHMRC Investigator Grant. He is also the Global Director of Research with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health. He advises government on men’s suicide, masculinities, violence prevention and social media policy.

– ref. Separated men are nearly 5 times more likely to take their lives than married men – https://theconversation.com/separated-men-are-nearly-5-times-more-likely-to-take-their-lives-than-married-men-258196