Pakistan-Afghanistan conflict is rooted in local border dispute – but the risks extend across the region

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Rabia Akhtar, Associate of Managing the Atom, Belfer Center, Harvard Kennedy School; University of Lahore

A Taliban fighter inspects the site of a Pakistani strike in Kabul on March 17, 2026. Wakil Kohsar/AFP via Getty Images

A weekslong war between Pakistan and Afghanistan was paused on March 18, 2026, to mark the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Fitr. But that does not mean the conflict is over.

Neither side showed any indication that the planned five-day cessation of operations would be anything other than temporary, and they warned that any violation would be met with reciprocal strikes.

Already the conflict has seen hundreds killed, with a blast at a drug rehabilitation center in Kabul on March 16, 2026, killing more than 400 people, according to Afghanistan’s Taliban government.

The conflict has been largely kept off the front pages by the war in Iran. But as an expert on Pakistan’s foreign policy and security, I believe the fighting has the potential to further destabilize the region.

Why are Pakistan and Afghanistan fighting now?

The current conflict between Pakistan and Afghanistan is not a sudden rupture of relations between the two countries, which share a 1,640-mile (2,640 km) border called the Durand Line.

Rather, the flare-up is a result of an intensification of long-simmering, historical security concerns along the Durand Line. The immediate trigger lies in Pakistan’s growing concern over cross-border militant activity, particularly from groups such as the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan, which Islamabad believes operate from sanctuaries inside Afghanistan.

After the Taliban’s return to power in Kabul in 2021, Pakistan had anticipated a more cooperative security environment, based on earlier experiences in the 1990s.

However, that did not materialize. Instead, there was a perceptible rise in militant attacks within Pakistan, accompanied by Kabul’s reluctance or inability to decisively act against Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan.

Complicating this landscape further is the evolving character of the threat environment for Pakistan. In 2025, Pakistan was involved in a short war with historical rival India – the most intense fighting between the two countries for nearly 30 years.

The use of suspected Indian-made drones by the Afghan Taliban in recent attacks inside Pakistani territory adds an additional regional element to the fighting – Islamabad will be wary of any Indian interference in Afghanistan.

In response, Pakistan has reportedly undertaken countermeasures, including airstrikes targeting drone infrastructure linked to militant networks inside Afghanistan.

All this points to a widening battlespace, where new technologies make it easier to escalate in indirect and deniable ways.

This is not merely a bilateral border crisis but a layered security contest shaped by cross-border militancy, emerging technologies and competing threat narratives.

The convergence of Pakistan’s growing willingness to respond with physical force, the Afghan Taliban’s assertion of sovereignty and the absence of a mutually agreed framework for border management continues to drive episodic escalation rooted in structural mistrust.

What is the broader history of Pakistan-Afghanistan relations?

Historically, Pakistan-Afghanistan relations have often oscillated between uneasy cooperation and strategic suspicion toward each other – all shaped by unresolved territorial, ideological and geopolitical dynamics.

At the heart of it lies a dispute over the Durand Line, which Afghanistan has never formally recognized as an international border. This has resulted in a sustained and persistent tension in their bilateral relations since Pakistan’s independence in 1947.

During the Cold War, these tensions were overlaid by competing alignments. Pakistan was embedded in the U.S.-led security framework, while Afghanistan maintained closer ties with the Soviet Union at various points.

However, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 marked a critical turning point. Pakistan became a front-line state supporting the Afghan jihad against invading Soviet forces.

This entrenched cross-border militant networks and blurred the boundary between state policy and nonstate actors, resulting in dynamics that continue to shape the region.

The post-2001 period was marked by fraught relationships between Pakistan and successive U.S.-backed Afghan governments, particularly over allegations of Pakistan’s alleged proxy support for Islamist groups in Afghanistan.

Many thought the Afghan Taliban’s return to power in 2021 would resolve this tension. But instead, it reconfigured it.

While ideological affinities continue to exist between the two nations, they have not translated into any sort of strategic alignment – especially on questions of militancy and border control.

People stand on a vehicle.
Taliban fighters at a checkpoint near Torkham border crossing between Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Sami Jan/picture alliance via Getty Images

What are the implications of the conflict for the region?

The implications of Pakistan-Afghanistan tensions are significant and extend well beyond bilateral frictions. They intersect with broader questions of regional stability, militancy and great power competition.

I believe there are four direct implications:

  • First, the persistence of ungoverned or contested spaces along the Pakistan-Afghan border risks creating an enabling environment for transnational militant groups. This has real implications not only for Pakistan’s internal security but also for regional actors concerned about spillover effects.

  • Second, instability along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border complicates regional connectivity and economic integration initiatives, including projects linked to broader Central and South Asia. A volatile western frontier constrains Pakistan’s ability to act as a regional stabilizer and a safe conduit for regional trade and energy corridors.

  • Third, for outside interested parties like the U.S., the situation underscores the limits of disengagement from Afghanistan. While Washington’s military withdrawal marked the end of direct involvement, the persistence of militancy and the risk of regional destabilization ensure that Afghanistan remains strategically relevant not only for the U.S. but for other major powers as well.

  • Finally, I see these tensions as highlighting a broader pattern: The post-2021 Afghanistan remains internally consolidated but externally contested. Its relationships with neighbors, particularly Pakistan, will be central in determining whether the region moves toward managed stability or recurring cycles of escalation.

The Conversation

Rabia Akhtar 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. Pakistan-Afghanistan conflict is rooted in local border dispute – but the risks extend across the region – https://theconversation.com/pakistan-afghanistan-conflict-is-rooted-in-local-border-dispute-but-the-risks-extend-across-the-region-278740

Project Hail Mary is packed with hard science. An astrophysicist breaks it down

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Sara Webb, Course Director, Centre for Astrophysics and Supercomputing, Swinburne University of Technology

Jonathan Olley/Amazon Content Services

As an astrophysicist, my world revolves around the wonders of space and the mysteries of the universe. This means I can be a tough critic of science fiction books and films that explore these topics.

But when I walked out of a recent preview screening of the film adaptation of Andy Weir’s 2021 science fiction novel Project Hail Mary, I had tears of joy in my eyes. The filmmakers had done justice not just to the original story, but also to the science at the heart of it.

The story revolves around Ryland Grace, played by Ryan Gosling, who awakes from a coma with no memory and no idea why he’s on a space ship 11.9 light years away from Earth. As his memories slowly start to return, the truth becomes clear. The Sun is dying, and he is our only saving grace.

So here are the science facts – as well as the science fiction – of the film, which is in cinemas in Australia and New Zealand from today.

A dying sun

In Project Hail Mary the Sun is dying due to an alien organism that has spread around our part of the Milky Way.

Firstly, could an organism spread from one solar system to another? According to some scientists, yes. It’s a theory called panspermia.

We have no hard evidence to prove it right now. But the theory isn’t completely wild. We know material from solar systems can be transported great distances – we ourselves have witnessed as least three interstellar visitors enter and fly through our Solar System.

If life forms could survive the harshness of space and live on such rocky bodies, it’s possible this is how life could spread. But that life would likely be basic organisms.

As for the organism at the centre of this movie, astrophage, its mechanics and behaviour sit rightly in the wonderful world of science fiction.

The size of space

The idea of humans travelling between stars feels like an almost impossible challenge.

In our galaxy alone there are more than 400 billion stars, but only roughly 100 of them are within 20 light years of Earth.

Project Hail Mary focuses it’s attention on one of those systems, known as Tau Ceti, sitting 11.9 light years away.

If we were to travel to this star with the fastest spacecraft humans have ever flown in, the Apollo 10 module, travelling at more than 39,900 kilometres per hour, it would take us 320,000 years. In a story where the Sun is dying now, there is no time for that. So how does Project Hail Mary overcome this problem?

Enter special relativity.

Special relativity is one of the most paradigm-shifting theories of modern history. Developed by Albert Einstein in 1905, it equated mass and energy as one and the same. It best known by the famous E = mc2 formula.

What Einstein was able to work our mathematically, and we’ve later proved observationally, is that the closer to the speed of light something travels, the slower the time it experiences in its reference frame.

It’s called a Lorentz transformation – and it allows us to determine the time experienced in a reference frame different to our own, say travelling close to the speed of light.

The movie doesn’t give a full physics lesson on this, but rather uses visual cues, including correct mathematics worked out by Grace on a whiteboard to demonstrate this time change.

What Grace determines is that he’s only been in a coma for four years due to the effects of time dilation on a ship travelling that fast. Which is scientifically spot on.

We have to talk about the aliens

While on the mission to save our world, Grace meets another being trying to do the same – Rocky.

We (us astronomers at least) do believe aliens exist somewhere in the universe. This belief isn’t based on crop circles or UFOs; it’s based on statistical chances.

In the Milky Way alone we estimate there are at least 100 billion planets. If life was able to form, evolve and thrive on Earth, there are many reasons why astronomers believe that could be true in other systems.

A lot of our confidence relates to the essential building blocks of life as we know it. All life on Earth is carbon based. But if we break down our existence even more, we find one thing: amino acids. These organic compounds are the foundation of our DNA.

What’s most exciting is that we’ve identified these in space. Samples from asteroids and fallen meteorites have confirmed many of the amino acids needed for life on Earth also exist on other objects in our Solar System.

Alien earths beyond our own

The film allows audiences to see what other planets might look like.

When Andy Weir originally wrote this novel, it was scientific consensus that alien worlds likely existed around Tau Ceti and the home planet of our new friend Rocky, 40 Eridani A.

But in recent years science has progressed and new data suggests both of these systems appear to have had false detections of planets.

So at least for now, Rocky’s home doesn’t exist – but thousands of others do. As of March 2026 astronomers have confirmed 6,100 exoplanets. These are worlds that exist beyond our own solar system, around distant stars, and can be either rocky or gaseous.

One place Grace and Rocky need to explore on their adventure to save the stars is a theoretical planet orbiting Tau Ceti. Here we see stunning hues of green and red, and distinctive swirls of gases mixing in the atmosphere.

It’s reminiscent of the gas giant of our own Solar System, Jupiter.

Project Hail Mary is more than just an epic adventure film with beautiful visuals. It’s a story that reminds us how important our world is – and how vital science is to our continued existence on it.

The Conversation

Sara Webb 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. Project Hail Mary is packed with hard science. An astrophysicist breaks it down – https://theconversation.com/project-hail-mary-is-packed-with-hard-science-an-astrophysicist-breaks-it-down-278428

De l’Algérie à l’Europe : ce que l’héritage nucléaire français révèle sur la “dissuasion avancée”

Source: The Conversation – in French – By Leila HENNAOUI, Maîtresse de conférences en droit international, Universite Hassiba Benbouali de Chlef

Le président Emmanuel Macron a annoncé, le 2 mars 2026, une évolution significative de la doctrine nucléaire française. La France augmentera ses ogives nucléaires pour la première fois depuis 1992 et déploiera des avions à capacité nucléaire chez des alliés européens dans le cadre d’un nouveau concept baptisé « dissuasion avancée ». Huit partenaires européens participeront à des exercices et fourniront un soutien conventionnel.

Le discours a révélé une continuité avec les pratiques institutionnelles passées. Emmanuel Macron a détaillé ce que la France proposerait à l’Europe, mais donné peu de précisions sur les mécanismes institutionnels qui encadreront la transparence et la responsabilité de ce nouvel arrangement.

Cette asymétrie soulève une question centrale : comment la crédibilité d’une dissuasion nucléaire élargie peut-elle être évaluée, lorsque ses structures de gouvernance restent largement indéfinies ?

Pour avoir étudié les questions de gouvernance et d’héritage nucléaire, je soutiens que pour comprendre cet enjeu, il faut replacer ce moment stratégique dans une trajectoire plus longue de gestion institutionnelle du nucléaire français.

L’héritage algérien : une question toujours ouverte

Entre 1960 et 1966, la France a mené 17 essais nucléaires dans le Sahara algérien. Le programme a débuté avec l’explosion atmosphérique « Gerboise Bleue » en février 1960, suivie de 16 essais supplémentaires à Reggane et In Ekker, deux localités du sud de l’Algérie. À l’époque, la France exerçait son autorité sur le territoire et portait responsabilité envers les populations sous son administration.

Six décennies plus tard, de nombreuses obligations découlant de cette responsabilité restent largement non honorées. La loi Morin de 2010 a établi un mécanisme d’indemnisation, mais ses critères restrictifs ont exclu la majorité des demandeurs algériens, tandis que les vétérans militaires français exposés à des niveaux de radiation comparables reçoivent des prestations. Les protocoles d’essais, les données dosimétriques et les informations sur les sites d’enfouissement de déchets radioactifs demeurent classifiés.




Read more:
Les obstinations nucléaires des dirigeants français en Algérie indépendante


Renversement saisissant : l’Algérie elle-même a entrepris récemment des initiatives de décontamination sur d’anciens sites d’essais – l’État affecté assumant une responsabilité que l’État testeur n’a pas pleinement endossée. Parallèlement, des parlementaires français réclament depuis des années l’ouverture des archives complètes sur les essais nucléaires, mais celles-ci demeurent toujours classées “secret-défense”.

Au terme de cet examen, un constat s’impose : l’opacité française sur les conséquences nucléaires en Algérie ne s’est pas dissipée avec la fin de la période coloniale. Depuis 1962, l’Algérie souveraine demande la déclassification des archives d’essais, le partage des cartes topographiques des sites de déchets radioactifs, et la transparence sur les données dosimétriques.

La France refuse toujours, invoquant le secret-défense.Le cas algérien révèle que cette opacité persiste, indépendamment du statut reconnu à l’interlocuteur, à travers deux moments politiques pourtant radicalement asymétriques. Il s’agit là d’un indice d’une culture institutionnelle que des analystes comme Vipin Narang, Austin Long et Bruno Tertrais qualifient d’« ADN nucléaire français » : un attachement absolu à l’autonomie décisionnelle, jugée « fondamentale juridiquement, culturellement, philosophiquement », associé à des mécanismes limités de transparence et de supervision institutionnelle.

C’est cet héritage institutionnel qui aide à comprendre la logique d’opacité qui continue de structurer la doctrine nucléaire française.

Une doctrine fondée sur l’opacité

Ce même «ADN nucléaire français» se manifeste en effet dans l’approche actuelle de la dissuasion avancée. Emmanuel Macron a ainsi annoncé que la France cesserait de divulguer publiquement la taille de son arsenal nucléaire, rompant avec des décennies de transparence. Depuis 2008, les présidents français ont confirmé publiquement le nombre d’ogives. Emmanuel Macron lui-même a réaffirmé le plafond de 300 ogives en 2020.

Le chef de l’Etat français a été explicite :

Il n’y aura aucun partage de la décision ultime, ni de sa planification, ni de sa mise en œuvre (…). Il n’y aura pas non plus de partage de la définition des intérêts vitaux.

La France conserve ainsi l’autorité exclusive. Il n’y aura « pas de garantie au sens strict » pour les alliés. Des mécanismes de consultation ont été évoqués vaguement, mais aucune structure institutionnelle précisée.




Read more:
Les poussières du Sahara qui remontent en Europe sont-elles radioactives du fait des essais nucléaires des années 1960 ?


Cela contraste avec les arrangements nucléaires de l’Organisation du traité de l’Atlantique nord (OTAN), qui s’appuient sur le Groupe de planification nucléaire permettant une consultation structurée. L’approche française, comme le note la chercheure française Héloïse Fayet, demeure « délibérément opaque et souveraine ».

L’opacité s’étend au Parlement français lui-même. Les dépenses de réarmement nucléaire, comme l’observe le juriste Benoît Grémare, « du fait de leur caractère secret et stratégique, sont rarement détaillées auprès du Parlement ».

Ce tableau illustre, dans le contexte même de la dissuasion avancée, une caractéristique durable de la gouvernance nucléaire française : une forte autonomie décisionnelle de l’exécutif, combinée à une faible formalisation des mécanismes de transparence et de responsabilité. Ce que les analystes qualifient d’« ADN nucléaire français ».

Cette exigence de transparence institutionnelle est d’ailleurs reconnue dans la littérature stratégique elle-même : le chercheur français Bruno Tertrais note que l’absence française du Groupe de planification nucléaire de l’OTAN relève de l’« ADN stratégique » du pays. Un choix qui, selon Camille Grand, ancien haut responsable de l’OTAN, risque de produire des arrangements peu rassurants pour les alliés si la seule réponse à leurs questions demeure «faites-nous confiance».

C’est précisément cette culture institutionnelle que l’héritage algérien, examiné plus haut, permet d’éclairer dans sa profondeur historique. Peu exploré dans ce contexte, il en révèle la persistance sur la longue durée, y compris dans des situations où les obligations juridiques et morales de transparence étaient pourtant les plus manifestes.

La question n’est donc pas de savoir si la France reproduira les dynamiques du passé — les contextes sont radicalement différents et les alliés européens sont des partenaires souverains qui auront librement choisi ce cadre. C’est plutôt de savoir si un mode de gouvernance historiquement marqué par une transparence limitée saura évoluer face aux exigences d’une collaboration nucléaire nouvelle avec des alliés démocratiques.

Ces éléments invitent ainsi à s’interroger sur le caractère potentiellement structurel — plutôt que strictement circonstanciel — de cette opacité dans la gouvernance nucléaire française, et sur ses implications pour la crédibilité d’une dissuasion élargie.

Au-delà de la capacité, la crédibilité

Du point de vue d’une analyse en droit international attentive aux zones de flou institutionnel qui ont entouré ce dossier depuis plus de soixante ans, l’enjeu n’est pas de savoir si la France peut contribuer à la sécurité européenne, mais si le cadre de gouvernance offre un niveau de transparence et de responsabilité suffisant pour fonder une confiance durable.

La crédibilité se construit dans la durée. Les États qui cherchent à étendre leur protection nucléaire sont jugés non seulement sur leurs capacités, mais aussi sur leurs pratiques démontrées de transparence. Les questions non résolues sur les essais passés ne sont pas qu’historiques : elles façonnent les évaluations contemporaines de fiabilité institutionnelle.

La dissuasion exige la confiance que la puissance protectrice agira selon des cadres prévisibles, transparents et responsables.




Read more:
Guerre d’Algérie : ce que les difficultés d’accès aux archives disent de notre démocratie


Le concept de «dissuasion avancée» n’est pas nouveau. Comme l’observe Vipin Narang, expert en stratégie nucléaire, les présidents français invoquent la « dimension européenne » des intérêts vitaux français depuis des décennies. Ce qui demeure également constant, c’est l’absence de mécanismes de gouvernance multilatéraux venant institutionnaliser la rhétorique élargie — une absence que le discours du 2 mars 2026 n’a pas encore comblée.

Le discours d’Emmanuel Macron a exposé la vision stratégique, mais pas l’architecture de transparence et de responsabilité qui ferait de la « dissuasion avancée » plus qu’une assertion de prérogative souveraine.

La question algérienne ne relève donc pas uniquement d’un grief historique. Elle renvoie à des schémas institutionnels qui continuent de façonner les débats contemporains sur la confiance, la transparence et la responsabilité.

The Conversation

Leila HENNAOUI 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. De l’Algérie à l’Europe : ce que l’héritage nucléaire français révèle sur la “dissuasion avancée” – https://theconversation.com/de-lalgerie-a-leurope-ce-que-lheritage-nucleaire-francais-revele-sur-la-dissuasion-avancee-278210

The silver lining in Europe’s deforestation law delay: A chance to build fairer supply chains

Source: The Conversation – Indonesia – By Douglas Sheil, Professor, Faculty of Environmental Sciences and Natural Resource Management, Wageningen University

When you reach for a “palm-oil-free” label at the supermarket, you likely feel you’re doing your part to save orangutans and protect biodiversity. However, the reality behind that label is more complex than it appears.

Our work with the IUCN Oil Crop Task Force reveals that replacing palm oil with alternatives actually increases the demand for land. Recent studies from both the IUCN and industry leaders like Musim Mas confirm that palm oil is exceptionally efficient, producing four to ten times more oil per hectare than soy or sunflower.

Consequently, a blind boycott of palm oil risks a “displaced” environmental catastrophe, potentially triggering the clearing of millions of hectares elsewhere.

As a conservation biologist with years spent on the forest frontier alongside local communities, I’ve learnt first-hand that the line between “good” and “bad” agriculture rarely lies in the crop itself.

The EU Deforestation Regulation (EUDR) attempts to address this complexity, yet it currently lacks the precision needed to avoid significant unintentional harm.

The fog of transparency

Our 2025 analysis of three major Western supermarket chains — selected for the transparency of their online ingredient lists — suggests that the often repeated “palm oil lurks in 50% of consumer items” claim may be an overstatement, at least according to our data.

While palm oil appeared in just 8% of the products we analysed, significant uncertainty remains; as much as 40% of items may contain hidden palm oil disguised as derivatives (processed ingredients) or listed under vague labels like “emulsifiers”.

This labelling fog prevents consumers from tracing product origins, allowing myths to eclipse the realities of supply chain management.

The EUDR offers a critical solution. By requiring that key commodities — including beef, cocoa, coffee, palm oil, rubber, soy and wood — entering the EU are both deforestation-free and legally produced, the regulation sets a high bar for global trade. However, the path to successful implementation faces significant hurdles.

With the European Parliament voting to delay enforcement for a second time, the law’s good intentions appear stuck in a political deadlock. While the core text remains intact, proposed simplifications for early 2026 include streamlining reporting obligations and refining the product list to include items like palm oil-based soaps and instant coffee.




Baca juga:
Which cooking oil is best? Asking how they’re made could tell you more


Why should Indonesia, the UK and others care about this regulatory pause?

The EUDR’s impact deeply affects tropical exporters and their trading partners, including the UK. British companies exporting goods containing these commodities must align with EUDR standards to maintain access to the EU market.

However, the UK’s own deforestation rules are notably less strict. This regulatory divergence threatens UK firms with higher compliance costs and risks turning the country into a “dumping ground” for deforestation-linked goods rejected by the EU. This delay offers a vital window of opportunity for the UK to align with the EUDR, mitigate trade risks and reclaim its leadership in ethical supply chains.

For exporting countries like Indonesia, the core issue remains fairness. The EUDR relies on satellite-derived “base maps” to verify forest loss, yet these maps are deeply flawed. Research shows that Indonesian agroforestry systems face a 63% risk of being misclassified as “deforested”. As a result, a single erroneous pixel in Brussels could effectively bar an honest smallholder in Sumatra from European markets.

Recent analysis from Mongabay warns that the extremely high costs of tracing and mapping farm locations threaten to marginalise these smallholders. This financial burden risks driving them toward less regulated markets — a phenomenon known as “leakage” that could dilute the EUDR’s environmental impact.

To date, nations like Indonesia, Malaysia and Brazil have condemned the regulation as “green protectionism”. The resentment is clear: many view it as hypocrisy from a Europe that cleared its own forests to build wealth, only to now lecture others without offering adequate support. By positioning Brussels as the only judge of what is legal, the law is seen as undermining national sovereignty.

Moving forward: Towards a fair system

For the EUDR to succeed, this delay must serve as a catalyst for practical reform.

First, the EU must engage producer nations as partners. This requires investing in collaborative, high-resolution mapping that accurately distinguishes sustainable agroforestry from industrial clear-cutting. Transparency should be treated as a funded public good rather than a financial burden pushed onto vulnerable producers.

Second, transparency must be enforced universally. The EUDR must apply rules equitably across all agricultural products that affect land use, and this accountability must extend to retailers and supermarkets. EUDR data could finally mandate clear labelling that reflects both origin and practice.

Crucially, to truly preserve global biodiversity, the EU must ensure its regulatory system rewards conforming smallholders and traditional guardians rather than favouring large corporations.

Finally, we must confront the trade-offs head-on. The EU accounts for only 10% to 15% of global trade in deforestation-linked commodities. If Brussels restricts imports without addressing the underlying drivers of deforestation, production will simply shift to less regulated markets. Forests will fall elsewhere, and prices will rise at home. We must ask ourselves: are we simply paying a premium to ease our consciences without actually solving the problem?

We have to start somewhere, and transparency is the right focus. The upcoming 2026 simplification package and review must prioritise these fundamental changes. The EUDR holds immense potential to benefit global sustainability — but only if it evolves beyond rigid rules and overly simple measurements.

The Conversation

Douglas Sheil tidak bekerja, menjadi konsultan, memiliki saham, atau menerima dana dari perusahaan atau organisasi mana pun yang akan mengambil untung dari artikel ini, dan telah mengungkapkan bahwa ia tidak memiliki afiliasi selain yang telah disebut di atas.

ref. The silver lining in Europe’s deforestation law delay: A chance to build fairer supply chains – https://theconversation.com/the-silver-lining-in-europes-deforestation-law-delay-a-chance-to-build-fairer-supply-chains-276968

What is Nowruz, the Iranian new year?

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Darius Sepehri, Doctoral Candidate, Comparative Literature, Religion and History of Philosophy, University of Sydney

Nowruz (meaning “new day” in the Persian language) is the Iranian, or Persian, festival celebrating the coming of spring – and the regeneration it brings. It is the first day of the year in the Iranian solar calendar (which began in 1079), marking the exact moment of the spring equinox. The date varies, between March 19 and 21 – this year, it’s March 21.

Within Iran, this year’s Nowruz will be especially emotionally charged, as its cities are under bombardment by Israel and the United States, leaving nearly 1,500 dead since February 28. By celebrating, Iranians will be reaffirming their unique identity and deep-rootedness in their homeland.

The geographical scope of Nowruz. Countries in blue recognise it as a public holiday – Wikimedia Commons.
CC BY

Rooted in the Middle East and Central Asia, Nowruz is celebrated in countries that were once part of Iranian empires: including Turkey, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, India, Pakistan and the Caucasus region, particularly Azerbaijan.

Iranian culture was absorbed and integrated into local cultures during the pre-modern period – and it often remained as these territories were gradually lost. This wider sphere of Iranian influence is called Iranzamin or “Greater Iran”.

When Nowruz was first established, during the early period of the pre-Islamic Sassanian dynasty (224–651 CE), it was celebrated throughout the Persian Empire.

In Iran, the span of Nowruz is two weeks, with a four-day national holiday. Happily for students, schools are closed. In some other countries that celebrate the festival, government and retail sectors are closed, and public ceremonies and gatherings are common.

Today, it is part of UNESCO’s list of intangible cultural heritage.

Origins, rituals and symbols

The origins of Nowruz are tied to the practices of Zoroastrianism, the religion of the ancient Persian world – and one of the world’s oldest living ones. It is based on the teachings of the prophet Zoroaster, believed to have lived around the 6th century BCE.

In the lead-up to the festival, people embark on vigorous spring cleaning (khaneh tekaani – literally, “shaking of the house”), participating symbolically in clearing, or sweeping away, the old – and any lingering negativity.

Kazakh woman in a traditional outfit during the Nowruz holiday.
Wikimedia Commons, CC BY

New clothes are often bought, and decorative dresses are prepared for the Nowruz festivities to come.

The last Wednesday of the year before Nowruz is Chaharshanbeh Soori, literally “Scarlet Wednesday”. Fire is a sacred element within Zoroastrianism. Chaharshanbeh Soori is an improvised ritual centred on purification by proximity to it. Small fires are lit in public places, fireworks are let off and decorative lights adorn the streets.

Special foods are prepared: rich soups, pastries and servings of dried nuts and fruits. Sometimes, young children go through the streets banging on pots and pans to drive out the “unlucky” Wednesday.

At the centre of Nowruz rituals is a decorative setting (sofreh), artfully arrayed on household tables – which are placed with the haft seen: seven items beginning with the letter s, or “seen” in Persian.

A typical ‘Haft Seen’ decorative setting in Iran – Wikimedia Commons.
CC BY

The seven items most often placed are: seeb (apple), sabzeh (shoots from wheat or lentils), serkeh (vinegar), samanou (a pudding made with wheat), senjed (a berry), sekkeh (a coin), and seer (garlic). Each item symbolises some aspect of living systems: birth, growth, health, beauty and wisdom.

The sabzeh grass, representing new growth, is grown in a flat dish, then placed outdoors on the 13th day of the New Year.

‘Sabzeh’ or lentil growths symbolising life – Wikimedia Commons.
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The central books of Irano–Islamic culture also feature. Readings are made from the Qur’an, and the collected poems (or The Divan) of beloved 14th-century Persian poet Hafez.

The first few days of the Nowruz festival are spent visiting family and friends. Presents are exchanged, with older family members giving small gifts of cash to younger ones. In Central Asia, athletic competitions may take place, such as traditional equestrian games in Kyrgyzstan. Public gatherings in town squares featuring treats and festive foods are common in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.

Sizdah Bedar, also known as Nature Day, brings the Nowruz period to an end, 13 days after the equinox. People gather outdoors in a park or green space for a picnic lunch, to bring good luck for the year.

Politics, revolution and nationalism

Iranian monarchies used Nowruz to reinforce prestige for centuries: from the Safavid dynasty (1501–1736), which birthed the modern Iranian state, through the Qajar dynasty (1789–1925) and the Pahlavi dynasty – which ruled from 1925 and was ousted in the 1979 Islamic Revolution.

The Shia Muslim clergy have long been a powerful faction within Iran. The Iranian monarchy embraced Nowruz and its non-Islamic roots to counterbalance the clergy’s power.

After the revolution, some Iranian authorities attempted to downplay Nowruz due to its non-Islamic character. But unsurprisingly, given the deep-rootedness of the festival, they failed. Today, Nowruz co-exists with Islamic festivals, highlighting the synthetic and dual nature of Iran’s culture.

The Soviet Union went much further than Iran: it outright banned the festival in Central Asian nations with Nowruz traditions. These traditions weren’t officially revived until post-Soviet independence in 1991.

Nowruz was a minor part of the Ottoman world, but it began to be revived at the end of World War I by the Turkish state, as part of Turkish political nationalism. At the same time, Kurds within Turkey embraced Nowruz more publicly, to promote the cause of Kurdish identity.

Nowruz in Iran in 2026

For many years, the US president has traditionally given a Nowruz message. But Donald Trump’s war against Iran and constant use of ultra-violent rhetoric against Iranians would sour any message he might give during this year’s Nowruz.

Similarly, this week Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu mentioned Nowruz while praising the destruction Israeli forces were carrying out in Iran. “Our aircraft are hitting the terror operatives on the grounds, in the crossroads, in the city squares,” he stated. “This is meant to enable the brave people of Iran to celebrate the Festival of Fire.” He ended with the threat: “We’re watching from above.”

This is all happening in the wake of attacks on Iran’s schools and hospitals, bombings of oil depots in Tehran releasing toxic elements into the atmosphere, and damage to dozens of Iran’s cultural heritage sites.

A ‘Haft Seen’ Table in Iran – Wikimedia Commons.
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This year, Iranians’ Nowruz celebrations will signal their intent to stay together in the face of threats demanding, in Trump’s words, “unconditional surrender”.

The Nowruz focus on regrowth and regeneration will allow celebrants to look to something beyond destruction. To wish for new birth, health and flourishing of life.

Nowruz Khosh Amad”: Welcome Nowruz, Nowruz has come joyously.

The Conversation

Darius Sepehri 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. What is Nowruz, the Iranian new year? – https://theconversation.com/what-is-nowruz-the-iranian-new-year-278779

Fines alone won’t stop big tech behaving badly. Here’s what might work

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Lauren C. Hall, PhD Candidate in Psychology, University of Tasmania

The Conversation, CC BY-SA

As countries around the world look to follow Australia’s lead and implement a social media ban for kids, many are also considering fines as an enforcement mechanism.

This is part of the playbook when it comes to regulating big tech. For example, last month the United Kingdom’s data watchdog fined Reddit £14 million (A$26 million) for unlawfully using children’s data.

In April 2025, the European Commission fined Apple and Meta €500 million (A$820 million) and €200 million (A$329 million) respectively for breaching the Digital Markets Act. And in September, the commission fined Google nearly €3 billion (A$4.9 billion) for abusive practices in online advertising technology.

But fines don’t always work to encourage companies to follow the law. For some companies, “illegal with a fine” is interpreted as “legal for a price”. So what are some other, more effective methods to encourage good corporate behaviour?

Fines can backfire

If fines are not consistent, immediate, and severe, they can backfire. If they do, bad behaviour may increase.

For example, a 2000 study examined the effect of childcare centres in Israel introducing fines for parents who regularly picked their children up late. But instead, these fines actually increased late pick-ups by parents.

Even after fines were stopped, the number of late pick-ups stayed higher than before.

Why? Because when there were fines, they were small (not severe), and parents could wait a month to pay (not immediate). However, parents got the immediate benefit of longer childcare.

Similarly, technology companies may decide a fine is cheaper than the costs to make changes, or any loss in money from fewer users and ad sales. And this could lead to them continuing with business-as-usual.

Corporate fines often fail because it may be unclear who in the company is directly responsible. Fines can also sometimes be too small to stop bad behaviour by large companies.

For these reasons, corporate re-offending is frequent, even if companies have been fined in the past.

A fine equals forgiveness

After introducing fines, behaviours previously considered socially or morally unacceptable may also be seen as “forgiven” by payment. This can increase bad behaviour.

The importance of unwanted behaviours may also be judged by the size of the fine.

If fines are seen as “small”, violations may also be seen as small, and bad behaviours may rise. Corporations may also see “small” fines as just a cost-of-doing-business.

Importantly, fine size is closely linked to a company’s financial size. For a small company, a fine could seem huge. The same sized fine may seem tiny to a large company. If similarly sized fines are given to companies making different revenue amounts, the companies may respond differently.

Changing company practices can also cost more for some companies than others. This too may affect how they respond to fines.

Furthermore, companies outside a legislative jurisdiction, or that have refused regulators’ demands in the past, may ignore fines altogether.

For example, 4Chan refused to pay fines issued under the UK’s Online Safety Act, and X decided to legally challenge instead of pay a €120 million (A$197 million) fine issued by the European Commission.

Given the borderless nature of some digital harms such as child sexual exploitation and abuse, coordinated changes to corporate laws, and international cooperation are needed.

Pulling multiple levers at once

So if fines alone don’t stop big tech and other businesses behaving badly, what will?

Research shows monitoring companies, and better resourcing regulators, are more effective than fines alone. Consistent regulator inspections combined with education also work well.

A 2025 paper suggests making “stand-alone consumer tech safety research centres” focused on reducing digital harms. This may require technology companies making data and algorithms available to these centres for inspection.

Then, regulators can look at if companies are using important and best practice safety features. For example, checking the images on sites to make sure users do not see harmful content online.

Regulators can also share knowledge with companies about laws and digital safety measures to improve consumer protections.

This cooperative model has been shown to be more effective than fines alone.

A 2016 study about what works when it comes to corporate deterrence found using multiple levers at the same time, such as monitoring, accountability, auditing, and punitive action were the most effective at stopping bad corporate behaviour.

Unfortunately, understanding the scope of digital harms, and best responses, have been limited by not enough resources, or access to data.

A 2025 paper highlights that increased data transparency from corporations will also improve evidence-informed decisions, ensuring regulation is fit-for-purpose.

As companies continue to prioritise rapid rollouts, with problems found after launch, fines may continue to be ineffective.

To tackle this problem, online regulators must ensure fines are complemented with other policy levers – and that the punishment for bad corporate behaviour is consistent, immediate and severe.

The Conversation

Lauren C. Hall is a recipient of an Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship to support Higher Degree Research training.

James Sauer has received funding from the Australian Institute of Criminology and the Internet Watch Foundation for projects looking to mitigate online harms,

María Yanotti receives grant funding from Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute (AHURI). She is a member of the tax gap advisory group for the Australian Taxation Office (ATO). She is the Tasmanian Chair for the Women in Economics Network (WEN) and a committee member for the Economic Society of Australia (ESA) Tasmanian Branch. Maria is an associate editor for the Australian Economic Papers.

Christine Padgett 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. Fines alone won’t stop big tech behaving badly. Here’s what might work – https://theconversation.com/fines-alone-wont-stop-big-tech-behaving-badly-heres-what-might-work-276969

Who are Iran’s new leaders? A look at 6 the US placed a bounty on – 2 of whom are already dead

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Mehrzad Boroujerdi, Vice Provost and Dean of College of Arts, Sciences, and Education, Missouri University of Science and Technology

A woman poses with a picture of Iran’s new supreme leader, Ayatollah Mojtaba Khamenei, in central Tehran on March 9, 2026. Atta Kenare/AFP via Getty Images

The Trump administration announced a US$10 million reward on March 15, 2026, for information leading to the capture of several senior Iranian figures.

While two of these leaders have since been killed by Israeli strikes, they are included here to provide a more complete picture of Iran’s powerful elite – people deeply embedded in the Islamic Republic’s political, intelligence and security architecture.

As an international affairs scholar, I know their careers reflect the institutional pillars of the regime – clerical authority, intelligence coordination, military power – and help explain why they are considered high-value targets.

Seyyed Mojtaba Khamenei

The son of former Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, who was killed in a U.S.-Israeli strike in February 2026, Seyyed Mojtaba Khamenei, 56, was chosen as Iran’s new supreme leader in early March.

Long viewed as a powerful behind-the-scenes figure, he operated within his father’s inner circle. He has cultivated strong relationships with Iran’s security and intelligence institutions and earned a reputation as a political fixer and enforcer.

Despite never holding formal elected or senior appointed office, Khamenei had been widely perceived as a potential successor to his father. Such a transition would have been controversial under normal circumstances, given his lack of experience and the ideological sensitivity around hereditary succession in a system born from anti-monarchical revolution.

Khamenei has also been linked to political controversies. During the 2005 presidential election, reformist candidate Mehdi Karroubi accused him of involvement in electoral manipulation. Former President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad later alleged that Khamenei engaged in financial misconduct.

Public opposition to his perceived rise was visible during the 2022–23 protests, when demonstrators explicitly rejected the prospect of his leadership by shouting “Mojtaba, may you die and never see leadership.”

Seyyed Ali-Asghar (Mir) Hejazi

A cleric with long-standing ties to Iran’s intelligence apparatus, Seyyed Ali-Asghar Hejazi had been among the closest aides to Ali Khamenei. He began his political career in 1980 as part of a “purification committee” tasked with firing perceived opponents from state institutions in the aftermath of the Iranian Revolution in 1979.

Hejazi later served as deputy for foreign affairs in the Ministry of Intelligence in the early 1980s and, more recently, as deputy chief of staff in the Office of the Supreme Leader. In this role, he has functioned as a key intermediary between various branches of government as well as religious and political personalities – transmitting Khamenei’s directives, shaping high-level policy and coordinating Iran’s complex intelligence and security networks.

He was sanctioned by the U.S. Treasury in 2013 for alleged human rights violations, including involvement in the suppression of the 2009 Green Movement, and by the European Union in 2019. He apparently survived an Israeli attack on March 6, 2026.

Seyyed Esmail Khatib

Seyyed Esmail Khatib, 64, who was killed on March 18, 2026, had built his career within Iran’s intelligence and security establishment. He joined intelligence operations linked to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps in 1980 and was wounded during the Iran–Iraq War.

Following the war, this cleric held a series of senior intelligence roles, including director general of intelligence for Qom province, starting in 1991. He also held positions within the supreme leader’s security office from 2009–11 and was head of the judiciary’s Protection and Intelligence Center, a counterintelligence body within Iran’s judiciary, from 2012–19. He later served as a senior official within Astan Quds Razavi, a major religious and economic conglomerate controlled directly by Iran’s supreme leader.

Sanctioned by the U.S. Treasury in 2020 for alleged human rights abuses, Khatib became Iran’s minister of intelligence in 2021.

Ali Larijani

Ali Larijani, who was assassinated on March 17, 2026, was one of the Islamic Republic’s most experienced political insiders. Born into a prominent clerical family, he rose through both military and civilian institutions, beginning with roles linked to the Revolutionary Guard in the early 1980s.

A man speaks in front of several microphones.
Ali Larijani speaks to media in Tehran on May 31, 2024.
Fatemeh Bahrami/Anadolu via Getty Images

Over the decades, Larijani, 68, held numerous senior positions. Those include minister of culture from 1992–94 and head of state broadcasting from 1994–2004. He was also secretary of the Supreme National Security Council from 2004–08 and again from 2025–26. Larijani also served as Iran’s chief nuclear negotiator from 2005-07.

From early January 2026, and more clearly following the Feb. 28 killing of Ayatollah Khamenei, Larijani emerged as a central decision-maker within the system before his death.

Brig. Gen. Eskandar Momeni

A Revolutionary Guard-affiliated security official, Eskandar Momeni, 64, is a veteran of the Iran–Iraq War and participated in counterinsurgency operations against leftist groups in northern Iran.

He later held a range of senior law enforcement roles, including head of the Police Emergency Center, a dispatch center that directs emergency response units, from 2004–05, deputy for operations of the national police from 2005–08, and chief of traffic police from 2009–14. He also holds a doctorate in national security.

As deputy commander of Iran’s Law Enforcement Force, responsible for public security, from 2015–18, Momeni oversaw security responses during the 2017-18 protests, which were met with force. Since becoming minister of interior in August 2024, he has remained a central figure in domestic security policy, including the lethal response to unrest in early 2026 in which an estimated 7,000 to 30,000 Iranians were killed.

A man in a blazer speaks at a podium.
A commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, Eskandar Momeni speaks to lawmakers in the Iranian Parliament in Tehran on Aug. 20, 2024.
Morteza Nikoubazl/NurPhoto via Getty Image

Maj. Gen. Yahya Rahim Safavi

A senior Revolutionary Guard commander and longtime military strategist, Yahya Rahim Safavi, 73, received military training in Syria prior to the 1979 revolution and later became a key figure during the Iran–Iraq War.

He served as commander of the Revolutionary Guard ground forces, from 1985–89, deputy commander in chief from 1989–97 and commander in chief of the Revolutionary Guard from 1997–2007. During his tenure, he reportedly also earned a Ph.D. in geography.

In December 2006, the U.N. Security Council put Safavi on its sanctions list for his involvement in Iran’s nuclear and ballistic missile programs. After stepping down as Revolutionary Guard commander, Safavi was appointed senior military adviser to the supreme leader and is still serving in that role. He remains under U.S. sanctions.

The Conversation

Mehrzad Boroujerdi 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. Who are Iran’s new leaders? A look at 6 the US placed a bounty on – 2 of whom are already dead – https://theconversation.com/who-are-irans-new-leaders-a-look-at-6-the-us-placed-a-bounty-on-2-of-whom-are-already-dead-278509

Sweden’s ‘old-growth’ natural forests store 83% more carbon than managed woodlands – new study

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Anders Ahlström, Associate Professor, Department of Physical Geography and Ecosystem Science, Lund University

Old-growth forest in Sweden. Ulrika Ervander, CC BY-NC-ND

Most of Europe’s original natural forests have been transformed for agriculture and managed forests producing energy, paper and timber. The few remaining “old-growth” natural forests are relics of the past that illustrate how forests would have looked in the absence of human management. They can, therefore, tell us how people have transformed forests.

Most Swedish forests are so-called boreal forests. This type of coniferous woodland ecosystem encompasses most of the northern regions of the planet. These relatively cold regions have historically had low populations. Here, large-scale use of forests began relatively late.

In Sweden, modern forest management emerged in the 20th century. It involves cutting most trees in an area – clear-cutting – followed by planting and sowing of new trees, cleaning and thinning until the trees are clear-cut again up to 120 years later. The soil is also disturbed. It is very common to plough the soil and excavate trenches and ditches to remove water from forests.

After mapping and measuring the most natural old-growth forests in Sweden, we found that they differ much more from managed forests than previously thought, even if some of those managed forests looked old.

We found that old-growth forests store 78-89% more carbon than managed forests do, a difference in carbon storage larger than Sweden’s cumulative emissions from the combustion of fossil fuels since 1834. Our new study underscores the much larger carbon storage benefits that flow from protecting forests than using them to produce bioenergy and wood products.




Read more:
Sweden has vast ‘old growth’ forests – but they are being chopped down faster than the Amazon


light shining through tree trunks in old forest, moss on ground
Old-growth forests store much more carbon than managed forests.
makalex69/Shutterstock

Eight years ago, we started mapping the most natural lowland old-growth forests across the country. We focused on old-growth forest remnants in the least attractive areas for agriculture and forest management. We excluded these because they are usually slow-growing mountain forests and store less carbon than they would in the broader landscapes used for wood production. We then spent three years collecting samples and measuring the carbon content of the old-growth forests and compared with that of managed forests.

Soils are difficult to study. They store vast amounts of carbon but measuring that is difficult. The main methods to measure soil carbon have not changed in the last century. We dug 220 pits up to one-metre deep and took samples at different depths from across the country.

We analysed those soil samples in a lab and calculated carbon content in trees and dead wood from our measurements. We used the vast Swedish national forest inventory (a database collating annual sample-based survey results) to estimate carbon storage in managed forests and could then compare their carbon storage.

Managed forests are losing carbon

We found a huge difference in carbon storage between old-growth and managed forests. Old-growth forests store 87% more carbon in the trees, 334% more in dead wood, and 68% more in the soils than managed forests do. Overall, this amounts to 83% more carbon in old-growth forests than managed forests in Sweden’s boreal forests.

Most of that carbon is stored in the soils. Old-growth forests store as much carbon in their soils as the managed forests do in trees, dead wood and soils combined.

Our methods of comparing old-growth to managed forests show the sum of the total carbon accumulated in forests over time. This means the differences can be due to the loss of carbon in managed forests or a larger carbon uptake in old-growth forests.

We also took into account how the wood extracted from managed forests was used as wood products (for example, to build a house), which might not reach the atmosphere and produce climate change for decades to come.

In Sweden, around half of the harvested wood (or biomass) is burnt for heating and electricity production, around 25% is used for paper, and only around 25% ends up in products with relatively long lifetimes, such as houses, where they can form a sizeable storage over time.

When including carbon in all these products, primary forests still stored about 70% more carbon than managed forests. Actually, there’s more carbon in dead wood in the old-growth forests than in these wood products and dead wood in managed forests combined.

Why losing old-growth forest matters

The losses of carbon from forest management in Sweden are much larger than previously estimated. The difference in carbon storage between old-growth and managed forests (including harvested wood products) is equivalent to 1.5 times all Swedish fossil fuel emissions since 1834, or 220 years of Sweden’s fossil fuel emissions at current levels.

Of course, if wood products had not been used, other materials would have been used instead, some of which may have high carbon intensity (such as steel). This makes it difficult to estimate the overall effect on atmospheric greenhouse gases. However, there are now plenty of non-wood alternatives for heat and electricity (heat pumps, solar and wind energy, for example).

There are also vast areas of natural forests where the largest trees were logged many decades to a century ago, and they are likely in a state much closer to an untouched old-growth forest than an average managed forest is. Protecting these forests will, therefore, lead to a carbon sink as the large trees grow back, and avoid soil carbon losses from management.

We have previously reported on the ongoing loss of these old-growth forests in Sweden – a loss that is five to seven times faster than the loss of the Brazilian Amazon forest.

EU regulation currently protects all remaining old-growth forests in Europe, but definitions of old-growth forests are left to the member countries. In Sweden, the proposed definition of old-growth forest is based only on tree ages. This definition is not well anchored in science and sets a very high bar: 180 years in the north of the country and 160 years in the south.

These proposed Swedish definitions have been heavily criticised by conservation organisations for undermining the ambition of the EU nature restoration regulation to protect all remaining old-growth forests. If the proposed definition stands, little of the remaining unprotected old-growth forest will be protected and their logging will likely continue.

Protecting and restoring old-growth forests for carbon storage and biodiversity benefits can significantly contribute to limiting climate change in countries like Sweden.

The Conversation

Anders Ahlström receives funding from the Crafoord Foundation (20200755 & 20241108), Swedish Research Council (2021-05344, 2024-01983), BECC, Carl-Tryggers Stiftelse, Stiftelsen Extensus, Stiftelsen Längmanska kulturfonden, the Royal Physiographic Society of Lund, P.O. Lundells stiftelse, Jan Hain stiftelse för vetenskaplig teknisk forskning inom miljö och klimat, EU H2020 Climb-Forest (101059888), Blaustein visiting professorship at Stanford University and The Sustainability Accelerator at Stanford University.

Pep Canadell receives funding from the Australian National Environmental Science Program (NESP2)-Climate Systems Hub.

Didac Pascual 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. Sweden’s ‘old-growth’ natural forests store 83% more carbon than managed woodlands – new study – https://theconversation.com/swedens-old-growth-natural-forests-store-83-more-carbon-than-managed-woodlands-new-study-277150

La influencia cultural de las marcas y sus productos

Source: The Conversation – (in Spanish) – By Alberto Herencia, Director Máster en Branding. Profesor en grado de Publicidad y Branding., UDIT – Universidad de Diseño, Innovación y Tecnología

La marca Starbucks lideró una nueva experiencia de consumo en sus cafés. Happycreator/Shutterstock

Starbucks redefinió el café como “el tercer espacio”. El producto –un café de mayor calidad que el del bar tradicional– servido en un entorno cómodo donde se puede pasar un largo tiempo de calidad tras la vivienda y el trabajo. El impacto cultural no se debió a la marca, sino a una propuesta de producto y experiencia que fue revolucionaria en su momento. Además, junto a Nespresso, contribuyó al inicio de la nueva cultura del café de calidad que ha evolucionado mucho después y dejando atrás a estas referencias.

Desde que existe el comercio, las empresas productoras han visto el mercado como una competencia técnica. Ganaba quien hacía el mejor producto: más confiable, más innovador, más eficiente o más barato. Automoción, ropa, alimentación, la batalla se libraba en la fábrica. El producto era el centro del pensamiento empresarial.

Sin embargo, el enorme desarrollo del mercado y la estandarización de la producción y del gusto han modificado esa lógica. Los productos se han vuelto tan parecidos que es difícil distinguirlos: los vehículos de gama media son intercambiables entre marcas, los teléfonos móviles son casi idénticos, la moda usa patrones clonados y el sabor de los refrescos no es el factor de decisión.

En este entorno donde todo se parece, la diferencia ya no está en lo que el producto es, sino en lo que significa cuando lo elegimos. Esto es lo que hace la marca, son las dos caras de una misma moneda: el producto satisface una necesidad; la marca le da un significado.

La visión tradicional habla de cómo el análisis de la cultura social acaba por crear nuevas propuestas de consumo o experiencias diarias, o al menos que la interacción y retroalimentación entre ambos lados es lo que hace evolucionar este ecosistema social. Pero ahora vamos a analizar cómo también puede ser en el orden opuesto.

Las nuevas dinámicas del mercado han traído una consecuencia más profunda: los productos y las marcas pueden estar moldeando la cultura social contemporánea, modificando nuestros hábitos, nuestros imaginarios, nuestra forma de relacionarnos e incluso nuestros valores. Existen dos perspectivas de esto: cuando es el producto el que influye en la cultura y cuando lo hace la marca.

Cuando el producto modifica las costumbres

A veces, no es la marca, sino el producto en sí –el objeto físico, el servicio o la institución– lo que modifica comportamientos y costumbres. Su influencia no depende de una narrativa, sino de la innovación o del diseño que aporta a la vida diaria:

  • Airbnb no transformó el turismo con una marca atractiva, sino ofreciendo un producto y narrativa radicalmente distintos: la posibilidad de “vivir en una ciudad por unos días”. Esto cambió nuestros hábitos de viaje, la relación con las ciudades, la economía de alquileres e incluso las normativas urbanas.

  • BlablaCar permite una nueva forma de desplazarse que no solo es lowcost, sino que además llega donde los servicios de transporte no lo hacen, entre pequeñas ciudades que exigirían una intermodalidad inexistente. Por otro lado, el propio nombre hace referencia a otro de los beneficios: conocer gente y hacer un viaje entretenido.

  • Netflix, Spotify, Amazon y Deliveroo/Glovo trajeron una forma nueva de tener todos los contenidos y productos disponibles en cualquier lugar y dispositivo, y así cumplir con una necesidad de inmediatez, independencia y libertad deseada por los consumidores. Además, modificaron la propia industria de creación del entretenimiento.

En estos ejemplos el producto funcionó como una innovación cultural. No vendían solo una historia; introdujeron una nueva forma de vivir que la marca, en paralelo, se encargó de potenciar.

Del pollo en Navidad a las chanclas brasileñas

En otras ocasiones, no es una innovación funcional lo que transforma la sociedad, sino una postura cultural explícita. La marca, no el producto, genera debates, modifica percepciones y desplaza normas sociales. Los ejemplos más claros proceden de marcas con un propósito activista.

En una época de poca conciencia social por parte de las marcas, Benetton, con las imágenes provocadoras de Oliviero Toscani, convirtió la publicidad en una plataforma global para temáticas sociales difíciles: racismo, VIH y mezcla de culturas/religiones.

La narrativa sobre la idea y el origen de las costumbres de la Navidad actual tiene muchas versiones relacionadas con marcas comerciales. Más desconocida es la historia de cómo llegó a Japón, a mediados de los años 70, la idea de que, para sustituir el típico pavo de la cultura anglo, en Nochebuena se comiera pollo de KFC. La idea cuajó de tal manera que aún sigue siendo un ritual social para gran parte de la población de cualquier religión, no solo de la católica.

  • Dove no cambió el jabón, cambió la conversación sobre la belleza. Con su campaña por la belleza real introdujo narrativas que ampliaron los cánones fuera de la belleza normativa. Fue la marca, no la fórmula del producto, la que abrió el diálogo público y generó impacto cultural.

  • The Body Shop hizo del activismo su seña de identidad, al menos antes de ser comprada por L’Oreal. No vendía productos de belleza, promovía una visión de la sociedad. Sus campañas contra las pruebas en animales y a favor del comercio justo generaron presión política, impulsaron cambios regulatorios y fomentaron una cultura de consumo más ética.

  • Patagonia llevó el propósito ambiental a un nivel casi político. La campaña “No compres esta chaqueta” no promocionaba un producto, cuestionaba el consumismo a través de hacer productos de alta calidad y larga vida. Sus acciones impulsaron a competidores y otras muchas marcas a adoptar prácticas más sostenibles.

En todos estos ejemplos, la marca actúa como un poder fáctico. No innova en lo funcional, innova en la narrativa. Fueron las marcas, y no la idea de producto, las que impulsaron el cambio.

La marca de calzado Havaianas, como muchos otros, es un caso que podría atribuirse a ambos lados, porque aunque rescata el diseño de las populares chanclas, lo hace actualizando la experiencia de producto a través del rediseño, colores, texturas, etc. También con colaboraciones con diseñadores famosos y diseñando un espíritu de marca nuevo y muy atractivo. Especialmente en Brasil, Havaianas cambió el imaginario construido alrededor de la marca, redefinió la informalidad, democratizó el “glamour”, mostró cómo un objeto humilde puede convertirse en un símbolo, reescribiendo normas de estilo aspiracional de la moda.

Propósito social frente a lucro

Si una marca cambia la cultura, ¿lo hace por compromiso genuino o por estrategia comercial? ¿Puede una empresa actuar éticamente sin tener en cuenta los ingresos?

El propósito no es un eslogan, es una promesa de valor a la sociedad que guía cualquier decisión. Cuando el propósito es auténtico, se implementa y se respeta, puede dirigir la influencia cultural hacia resultados positivos. Cuando es superficial, deriva en lavado de imagen y por tanto, en posible pérdida de confianza.

¿Deben las marcas ejercer su poder cultural?

Las marcas ahora comparten estructuras culturales similares a la religión, la política o los deportes más populares. Generan significado, moldean identidades, crean rituales y construyen aspiraciones. Si una marca determina cómo nos vestimos, cómo viajamos o qué causas apoyamos, actúa como una institución social.

Si las marcas tienen el poder de cambiar la sociedad, ¿deberían ejercerlo?

La respuesta es compleja. Las marcas “comerciales” son entidades económicas, no ONG. Su objetivo principal es el lucro. Sin embargo, en un mundo donde los límites entre consumo y cultura se han difuminado y los consumidores buscan marcas con las que compartir valores, ignorar la responsabilidad social sería irresponsable. Cuando una marca puede desactivar estereotipos dañinos o promover narrativas positivas para la sociedad, no posicionarse es, en sí mismo, una elección; una omisión que puede resultar lamentable, aunque no siempre sea criticable.

Si las marcas tienen tanto poder, entonces el asunto es que tomen conciencia de si tienen una visión del mundo y con qué compromiso van a desarrollar su misión. Cuando se moldea la cultura, no solo se construye un mercado, se construye el mundo.

The Conversation

Alberto Herencia no recibe salario, ni ejerce labores de consultoría, ni posee acciones, ni recibe financiación de ninguna compañía u organización que pueda obtener beneficio de este artículo, y ha declarado carecer de vínculos relevantes más allá del cargo académico citado.

ref. La influencia cultural de las marcas y sus productos – https://theconversation.com/la-influencia-cultural-de-las-marcas-y-sus-productos-271708

Un índice científico para medir su felicidad social y calidad de vida

Source: The Conversation – (in Spanish) – By Víctor Raúl López Ruiz, Catedrático de Universidad en Economía Aplicada (Econometría), Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha

Na_Studio/Shutterstock

¿Alguna vez se ha preguntado por qué dos personas que viven en la misma ciudad, trabajan en el mismo sector y tienen ingresos similares sienten niveles de bienestar tan distintos? ¿Y si pudiera medir su felicidad social, del 1 al 10, con un índice diseñado con método científico?

El progreso de las sociedades se ha medido usualmente a través de indicadores económicos. Sin embargo, un país puede crecer económicamente y, al mismo tiempo, experimentar problemas de desigualdad, polarización, precariedad laboral o deterioro ambiental.

Por este motivo, las investigaciones en ciencias sociales intentan responder a una pregunta aparentemente sencilla pero metodológicamente compleja: ¿cómo medir realmente la calidad de vida?

A qué llamamos calidad de vida

El primer reto aparece al intentar definirla. Algunos piensan en los servicios sociales como salud o educación, otros en la economía familiar, otros en el trabajo y otros en el barrio donde fijan su residencia. Todos tienen razón, pero solo en parte.

Durante años hemos usado distintos indicadores con este fin. Uno de los más influyentes es el Better Life Index desarrollado por la Organización para la Cooperación y el Desarrollo Económico (OCDE), que propone medir el bienestar a partir de once dimensiones, entre ellas empleo, educación, medioambiente, seguridad y satisfacción con la vida.

A partir de este enfoque multidimensional han surgido propuestas científicas que usan ponderaciones similares –en España, por ejemplo, el Indicador Multidimensional de Calidad de Vida del INE– o métodos que integran dimensiones con distintas técnicas. Todos ellos permiten medir la calidad de vida de los habitantes de un país o región.

En esta línea, y tras una revisión de los índices existentes y un proceso de reflexión y aprendizaje colectivo de Big Data, los expertos que formamos parte del Observatorio de Intangibles y Calidad de Vida (OICV) del Grupo de Investigación en Capital Intelectual (ICRG) hemos diseñado el Multidimensional Index of Social Quality of Life (MISQL).

Comience a medir su felicidad

La nueva herramienta se centra en la calidad de vida social. Es decir, en aquello que depende del entorno y de las relaciones: familia, empleo y clima laboral, confianza comunitaria, seguridad, ocio y cultura, movilidad, medio ambiente urbano, capacidades digitales, etc.

El índice MISQL invita a detenernos unos minutos para reflexionar sobre el día a día, identificar los factores que generan equilibrio personal y comprender cómo influyen las relaciones y el contexto en el bienestar cotidiano.

Para desarrollar este método comenzamos preguntándonos qué factores sociales influyen realmente en cómo una persona evalúa su propia vida. Para responder, analizamos miles de respuestas proporcionadas anualmente por ciudadanos españoles desde 2020.

Esperábamos que la economía personal ocupase el primer lugar, pero no ha sido así: la familia y la satisfacción laboral son dimensiones más influyentes que el dinero. También destaca la confianza en el vecindario y la integración social, o sea, esa clara sensación de que podemos caminar tranquilos en nuestro entorno o de que nuestros vecinos estarán ahí si los necesitamos.

El índice toma forma cuando aplicamos coeficientes estandarizados desde un modelo socioeconométrico, permitiendo obtener ponderaciones objetivas (pesos derivados de los propios datos, no de nuestras preferencias como investigadores). Ese paso ha sido crucial, dejando que hablasen las respuestas reales de la gente.

El peso de la ciudad, el barrio y el territorio

Al aplicar el modelo sobre más de 4 100 respuestas en España para 2025, la dimensión social explica el 64 % de la variación del bienestar percibido. El resto corresponde, en buena medida, a la esfera personal (salud física y psicológica, desarrollo personal, espiritualidad, estilo de vida) y a los límites propios de cualquier medición basada en encuestas.

Esas proporciones muestran el enorme peso que tienen nuestras ciudades, barrios y entornos en cómo nos sentimos.

En cuanto a las diferencias territoriales, el índice encuentra patrones que invitan a pensar. No se trata de comunidades ganadoras y perdedoras, sino de distintas formas de vivir y sentir el entorno. Comunidades autónomas como La Rioja, Navarra, Aragón o Castilla-La Mancha muestran un equilibrio interesante entre satisfacción residencial, felicidad declarada y calidad de vida social percibida. Estas regiones destacan no tanto por cuestiones de renta personal, sino por su cohesión y la satisfacción de sus habitantes con su entorno.

Además, la dimensión de la población está asociada al mercado de la vivienda. Así, aquellas poblaciones con servicios de calidad, fácil accesibilidad y baja densidad sacan una clara ventaja en la puntuaciones del índice.

Esta nueva herramienta no es un mero ejercicio académico o individual, sino una brújula para que los responsables públicos identifiquen prioridades reales agregadas. En un mundo complejo, necesitamos indicadores que no solo midan lo que producimos, sino cómo vivimos y lo qué realmente importa.

Cómo nos sentimos en comunidad

Una cuestión que muchas personas se plantean es qué hace que nuestra vida sea, en esencia, “buena”. Y eso es lo que permite resolver el índice MISQL.

No se trata solo de obtener una puntuación, sino de favorecer una mirada más consciente sobre cómo vivimos con otros, cómo nos sentimos en nuestra comunidad y qué elementos fortalecen –o debilitan– esa armonía.

Cualquier persona puede entender mejor por qué se siente como se siente, reconociendo qué aspectos clave de su entorno social pesan más en su calidad de vida. Ahora es posible evaluar y comparar nuestra felicidad con la de la población en general, lo que permite descubrir cuáles son los condicionantes que predominan para la mayoría y qué áreas personales debemos potenciar.

Por último, cuidado con la paradoja de la felicidad: preguntarse constantemente si uno es feliz puede llevar a dejar de serlo. A menudo se experimenta mejor cuando no se busca obsesivamente, sino cuando se vive el presente con un objetivo claro. Ahora podemos observar las tendencias de nuestras sociedades desde cada individuo, permitiendo definir mejor el propósito en nuestro presente.

The Conversation

Las personas firmantes no son asalariadas, ni consultoras, ni poseen acciones, ni reciben financiación de ninguna compañía u organización que pueda obtener beneficio de este artículo, y han declarado carecer de vínculos relevantes más allá del cargo académico citado anteriormente.

ref. Un índice científico para medir su felicidad social y calidad de vida – https://theconversation.com/un-indice-cientifico-para-medir-su-felicidad-social-y-calidad-de-vida-278270