We wash our hands, sanitise shopping trolleys and wipe down cafe tables. But what about our phones? We touch these devices dozens of times a day, and take them everywhere from the kitchen to the dining table, and even the bathroom.
Phones can be contaminated with many kinds of potential germs. When was the last time you wiped down yours – and with what?
If you use the wrong cleaning agents or tools, you could strip your phone’s protective coatings, degrade waterproof seals, or even affect its touch sensitivity.
Do phones really need cleaning?
Touchscreens get covered in fingerprints and smudges, so there are aesthetic and functional reasons to wipe down your screen.
While not all of these cause sickness, the potential for transmission is there. We use phones while in the bathroom and then put them near our mouths, touch them while eating, and pass them between people in meetings, cafes, parties and classrooms.
Unlike hands, which can be washed many times a day, phones are rarely cleaned properly – if at all.
If you do want to sanitise your phone, it’s also important to not damage it in the process.
Some cleaning products will damage your phone
You might think a quick swipe with a household cleaner or hand sanitiser is a clever shortcut to keeping your phone clean. However, many of these products can actually degrade your device’s surface and internal components over time.
Most smartphones are coated with an oleophobic layer – a thin film that helps resist fingerprints and smudges. Harsh chemicals such as alcohols, acetone or ammonia-based cleaners can strip this coating, making your screen more vulnerable to smudging, and diminished touch responsiveness.
Vinegar, a common DIY disinfectant, can corrode aluminium or plastic edges due to its high acidity. Bleach and hydrogen peroxide, though highly effective as disinfectants, are also too aggressive for the delicate materials used in consumer electronics.
In short: if the cleaner is tough enough to disinfect your kitchen bench, it is probably too harsh for your phone.
The oleophobic coating on a device screen can help repel fingerprints – but can be destroyed with harsh cleaning chemicals. Shuvro Mojumder/Unsplash
How should I clean my phone then?
The good news is that cleaning your phone properly is simple and inexpensive. You just need to follow the guidelines backed by major manufacturers. You should also unplug and remove any protective cases or accessories when cleaning your phone.
Most tech companies recommend using 70% isopropyl alcohol wipes (not higher), soft microfibre cloths, and anti-static soft-bristled brushes made of nylon, horsehair or goat hair to clean delicate areas like speaker grills and charging ports.
During the COVID pandemic, Apple revised its cleaning guidelines to permit the use of Clorox disinfecting wipes and 70% isopropyl alcohol on iPhones, provided they are used gently to avoid damaging screen coatings or allowing moisture to seep into the device.
Samsung offers similar advice, recommending users wipe down their phones with a microfibre cloth lightly dampened with a 70% alcohol solution, while steering clear of direct application to ports and openings.
Submerging your phone in any cleaning solution is also risky, even for water-resistant models: the seals that prevent water from getting in, such as rubber gaskets, adhesives, nano-coatings and silicone layers, can degrade over time.
Avoid using paper towels, tissues, or rough cloths which may leave scratches on the screen or shed lint that clogs openings.
Finally, be cautious about over-cleaning. Excessive wiping or scrubbing can wear down protective coatings, making your phone more susceptible to fingerprints, smudges, and long-term surface damage.
How often should I clean my phone?
While there is no strict rule for how often you should clean your phone, giving it a proper wipe-down at least once a week under normal use would make sense.
If you regularly take your phone into high-risk environments such as public transport, hospitals, gyms, or bathrooms it is wise to clean it more frequently.
If you’re serious about hygiene, cleaning not just your hands but one of the things you touch most every single day makes sense.
Doing it wrong can slowly damage your device. But doing it right is simple, affordable, and doesn’t take much time.
Meena Jha 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.
The global rollercoaster ride of United States trade tariffs has now entered its latest phase.
President Donald Trump’s April 2 “Liberation Day” announcement placed
reciprocal tariffs on all countries. A week later, amid financial market turmoil, these tariffs were paused and replaced by a 10% baseline tariff on most goods.
To evaluate the impact of these latest tariffs, we also need to take into account recently negotiated free trade agreements (such as the US-European Union deal), the 50% tariffs imposed on steel and aluminium imports, and tariff exemptions for imports of smartphones, computers and other electronics.
For selected countries, the reciprocal tariffs announced on April 2 and the revised values of these tariffs are shown in the table below. The revised additional tariffs are highest for Brazil (50%) and Switzerland (39%), and lowest for Australia and the United Kingdom (10%).
For most countries, the revised tariffs are lower than the original ones. But Brazil, Switzerland and New Zealand are subject to higher tariffs than those announced in April.
In addition to the tariffs displayed above, Canadian and Mexican goods not registered as compliant with the US-Mexico-Canada Agreement are subject to tariffs of 35% and 25% respectively.
Economic impacts
The economic impacts of the revised tariffs are examined using a global model of goods and services markets, covering production, trade and consumption.
GDP impacts of the tariffs are displayed in the table below. The impacts of the additional tariffs are evaluated relative to trade measures in place before Trump’s second term. Retaliatory tariffs are not considered in the analysis.
An economic own goal
The tariffs reduce US annual GDP by 0.36%. This equates to US$108.2 billion or $861 per household per year (all amounts in this article are in US dollars).
The change in US GDP is an aggregate of impacts involving several factors.
The tariffs will compel foreign producers to lower their prices. But these price decreases only partially offset the cost of the tariffs, so US consumers pay higher prices.
Businesses also pay more for parts and materials. Ultimately, these higher prices hurt the US economy.
The tariffs decrease US merchandise imports by $486.7 billion. But as they drive up the cost of US supply chains and shift more workers and resources into industries that compete with imports, away from other parts of the economy, they also decrease US merchandise exports by $451.1 billion.
Global impacts
For most other countries, the additional tariffs reduce GDP. Switzerland’s GDP decreases by 0.47%, equivalent to $1,215 per household per year. Proportional GDP decreases are also relatively large for Thailand (0.44%) and Taiwan (0.38%).
In dollar terms, GDP decreases are relatively large for China ($66.9 billion) and the European Union ($26.6 billion).
Australia and the United Kingdom gain from the tariffs ($0.1 billion and $0.07 billion respectively), primarily due to the relatively low tariffs levied on these countries.
Despite facing relatively low additional tariffs, New Zealand’s GDP decreases by 0.15% ($204 per household) as many of its agricultural exports compete with Australian commodities, which are subject to an even lower tariff.
Although the revised reciprocal tariffs are, on average, lower than those announced on April 2, they are still a substantial shock to the global trading system.
Financial markets have been buoyant since Trump paused reciprocal tariffs on April 9, partly on the hope that the tariffs would never be imposed. US tariffs of at least 10% to 15% now appear to be the new norm.
As US warehouses run down inventories and stockpiles, there could be a rocky road ahead.
Niven Winchester has previously received funding from the Productivity Commission and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade to estimate the impacts of potential trade policies. He is affiliated with Motu Economic & Public Policy Research.
If you had to do a test, how would you respond? Would you relish the chance to demonstrate your knowledge? Or worry you were about to fall short of the mark and embarrass yourself?
Research tells us students’ attitudes towards taking tests or doing exams can have an impact on their performance. This is because what they think about themselves, the test questions, and the consequences of the test can impact their motivation and focus during the test.
To date, this research has largely grouped students into two main types of test-takers. One group sees tests as a challenge they can cope with. Another sees tests as a threat they will not be able to handle.
In our new study, the largest of its kind, we explored Australian high school students taking a science test. By capturing diverse psychological data, such as students’ brainwaves and stress responses, we found there are four types of test-takers.
Our study
We studied 244 male and female students from three Sydney schools in years 8 to 10 as they did a science test.
It is the largest study of its kind to collate diverse information on students’ brain wave activity, physiological responses and self-reported attitudes while they are doing a test.
This is significant because this kind of research is usually done in labs with large functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) machines, a setting quite different from a real classroom. Our approach allowed us to get a well-rounded look at the different psychological indicators at play when students do a test.
The students were part of a larger research project looking at science engagement. The test was developed by our research team, with guidance from science teachers.
The alpha waves measured how much students were focusing on the test and the theta waves looked at the strain on their working memory (which students need to use to solve problems in a test). Both these capacities can be disrupted if a person feels threatened or stressed.
Students also wore a biometric wristband that measured their sweat glands. In our study, lower “electrodermal activity” scores indicated a calmer and more positive state, and higher scores indicated stress.
Midway through the test, students reported how confident they were about meeting the demands of the test and how anxious they felt about not meeting the demands.
We then used a statistical technique called latent profile analysis to help us identify different types of test-takers. This technique enables researchers to identify subgroups based on certain variables.
4 types of test-takers
We were able to identify four groups of students who had distinct patterns on these different measures.
1. Confident striders: these students took the test “in their stride”. They reported high confidence and low anxiety, and recorded an optimal balance of attention and working memory. Their wristband readings indicated they were calm. They made up 27% of the group.
2. Confident battlers: also reported they were confident and low in anxiety, but other data suggested they were battling behind the scenes. Their wristband readings suggested their “fight or flight” system was aroused. Their brain waves also showed their working memory did not have as much capacity to problem-solve as the confident striders, which also indicates a level of stress. They made up 8% of the group.
3. Ambivalents: these students were average across all of the indicators, reflecting that they didn’t see the test as a challenge or a threat. They made up 38% of the group.
4. Fearers: reported low confidence and high anxiety. Their wristband readings indicated they were stressed, and their brain wave readings showed they were not directing much direction to the actual test. They made up 27% of the group.
How did these test-takers perform on the test?
We then looked at the test performance for each of these four test-takers. Not surprisingly, confident striders were the highest achievers. Confident battlers also did well on the test, but not as well as striders. Ambivalents scored lower on the test, but not as low as fearers.
These results were measured against students’ previous science results (in school tests and assignments), because we wanted to know whether students performed above or below their usual level. This was to ensure we were measuring the impact of students’ psychological approach to the test, rather than just how good they are at science.
Taken together, our findings suggest that believing in themselves, confronting any fearful thoughts, and having a clear mind to concentrate on the task, puts students in the strongest position to perform well.
What can teachers do?
Our findings also provide guidance for teachers to target the factors that defined the test-takers.
To help build confidence, students can be taught how to challenge doubts about themselves. This can include reminding students of their strengths as they approach the test. For example, students could reflect on how well they conducted the experiments in their science lessons if the test includes questions about those experiments.
To ease anxiety, students can be taught constructive ways to think about challenging schoolwork. For example, students can remind themselves of the knowledge they have learned that will be helpful. Students can also be taught to use breathing and mindfulness exercises to ease stress. This can reduce a physical stress response and help focus their attention on the task at hand.
Andrew J. Martin received funding from the Australian Research Council and The King’s School for this research. He also receives funding from Commonwealth and state departments of education.
Emma Burns receives funding from the Australian Research Council, is an associate editor for the Australian Educational Researcher and is on the board of the Australian Educational Research Organisation.
Joel Pearson receives funding from The Australian Research Council.
Rebecca J. Collie receives funding from Commonwealth and State Departments of Education. She has also received funding from the Australian Research Council.
Roger Kennett received funding from the Australian Research Council and The King’s School for this research.
When your favourite dress or shirt shrinks in the wash, it can be devastating, especially if you followed the instructions closely. Unfortunately, some fabrics just seem to be more prone to shrinking than others – but why?
Understanding more about the science of textile fibres can not only help you prevent the shrinkage of clothing, but also might help you “rescue” the occasional garment after a laundry accident.
It’s all down to the fibres
To know more about clothing shrinkage, we first need to understand a little about how textiles are made.
Common textile fibres, such as cotton and linen, are made from plants. These fibres are irregular and crinkled in their natural form. If you zoom deeper inside them, you’ll see millions of tiny, long-chain cellulose molecules that naturally exist in coiled or convoluted shapes.
Extreme close-up of a sewing thread shows the individual fibres, made up of millions of invisible convoluted cellulose molecules. Hadrian/Shutterstock
During textile manufacturing, these fibres are mechanically pulled, stretched and twisted to straighten and align these cellulose chains together. This creates smooth, long threads.
On a chemical level, there are also links between the chains called hydrogen bonds. These strengthen the fibre and the thread and make it more cohesive.
Threads are woven or knitted into fabrics, which locks in the tension that holds those fibres side by side.
However, these fibres have good “memory”. Whenever they’re exposed to heat, moisture or mechanical action (such as agitation in your washing machine), they tend to relax and return to their original crinkled state.
This fibre memory is why some fabrics wrinkle so easily and why some of them may even shrink after washing.
Cotton fabric under 40x magnification, showing the threads ‘locked’ in against each other. Kateryna Kon/Shutterstock
How does washing shrink the fabric?
To understand shrinkage, we again need to zoom down to the molecular level. During laundering, hot water helps to increase the energy level of fibres – this means they shake more rapidly which disrupts the hydrogen bonds holding them in place.
The way a fabric is knitted or woven also plays a role. Loosely knitted fabrics have more open spaces and loops, making them more susceptible to shrinkage. Tightly woven fabrics are more resistant because the threads are locked into place with less room to move.
Additionally, cellulose is hydrophilic – it attracts water. Water molecules penetrate inside the fibres, causing swelling and making them more flexible and mobile. Adding to all this is the tumble and twist action inside the washing machine.
The whole process makes the fibres relax and recoil back to their natural, less stretched, crinkled state. As a result, the garment shrinks.
It’s not just hot water – here’s why
This doesn’t just happen with hot water, as you may have experienced yourself with clothes made of rayon, for example.
Cold water can still penetrate into fibres, making them swell, along with the mechanical action of the tumbling in the washing machine. The effect is less dramatic with cold water, but it can happen.
To minimise shrinkage, you may use cold water, the lowest spin speed or the gentlest cycle available, especially for cotton and rayon. Machine labels don’t always fully explain the impact of spin speed and agitation. When in doubt, choose a “delicate” setting.
What about wool?
Different fibres shrink in different ways; there is no single mechanism that fits all.
While cellulose-based fabrics shrink as described above, wool is an animal-derived fibre made of keratin proteins. Its surface is covered in tiny, overlapping scales called cuticle cells.
Wool fibre under a microscope with the cuticles visible as overlapping scales. snap the reel/Shutterstock
During washing, these cuticles open up and interlock with neighbouring fibres causing fibre entanglement or “felting”. This makes the clothing feel denser and smaller – in other words, it shrinks.
Why don’t synthetics shrink as much?
Synthetic fibres such as polyester or nylon are made from petroleum-based polymers, engineered for stability and durability.
These polymers contain more crystalline regions that are highly ordered and act as an internal “skeleton”, preventing the fibres from crinkling.
The weave of nylon stockings under a microscope shows how the threads are much smoother and more crystalline than natural fibres. Alexander Klepnev/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY
Textile scientists and engineers are also working on fabrics that resist shrinkage through advanced material design. Among promising innovations are blended yarns that combine natural and synthetic fibres.
Some researchers are working on shape-memory polymers that can change shape – or return to a previous shape – in response to temperature or water, for example. This is different to stretch fabrics (such as those used in activewear) that are made up of highly elastic fibres which “bounce back” to their original state after stretching.
How can I unshrink a piece of clothing?
If a favourite garment has shrunk in the wash, you can try to rescue it with this simple method.
Gently soak the item in lukewarm water mixed with hair conditioner or baby shampoo (approximately one tablespoon per litre). Then, carefully stretch the fabric back into shape and dry it flat or under gentle tension – for example, by pegging the garment to a drying rack.
The reason this works is because conditioners have chemicals known as cationic surfactants. These will temporarily lubricate the fibres, making them more flexible and allowing you to gently pull everything back into place.
This process can’t completely reverse extreme shrinkage but it can help recover some of the lost size, making the clothes wearable again.
Nisa Salim 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.
Dad (Bandit), Mum (Chilli), Bluey and Bingo.Ludo Studios
She’s six years old, lives in Brisbane and might just be one of the best resilience coaches on television.
We’re talking about Bluey, the animated Aussie pup whose adventures have captured the hearts of families around the world.
But as our new study reveals, Bluey isn’t just entertaining kids, she’s modelling how to to deal with life’s ups and downs.
Why is resilience so important?
Resilience isn’t just about “toughing it out”. It’s the ability to cope with challenges, adapt to setbacks and recover from difficulties. It’s a vital part of healthy child development.
Research shows resilience helps children manage stress, regulate their emotions, build better relationships, and even perform better at school. Without it, children may be more vulnerable to anxiety, depression and poor coping skills later in life.
Children today face growing mental health challenges, including around anxiety and emotional dysregulation. For example, a 2023 national resilience survey of almost 140,000 students found more than one in four primary and one in three secondary students reported high levels of psychological distress.
Storytelling in films, books and TV can show children how to navigate challenges – not through lectures, but by modelling behaviours like emotional regulation, problem-solving and empathy.
It is known for its realistic portrayal of young family life. Yet until now, no one had systematically examined how it – or any kid’s TV show – presents resilience on screen.
So we watched all 150 Bluey episodes
In our study, we analysed every episode of Bluey from seasons one to three. The 150 episodes added up to 18 hours of Bluey, Bingo, Chilli, Bandit and their friends.
For each episode, we looked closely at the storyline, characters and themes, identifying moments where a character faced a challenge and showed a resilient response.
To guide our analysis, we used the Grotberg Resilience Framework. This is a widely recognised model in psychology that breaks resilience into three key elements.
1. I have: involving the support systems around a child, such as family, friends, and community role models they can rely on.
2. I can: involving practical coping skills, like solving problems, managing emotions and asking for help when needed.
3. I am: involving a child’s inner strengths like confidence, optimism, emotional regulation and a sense of self worth.
‘It’s out of our hands’
Our research found nearly half of all episodes (73 out of 150) included a clear resilience message as either a primary or secondary theme.
Nearly two-thirds of the resilience moments were facilitated by a parent — most often Bluey’s mum. This fits with the “I have” category of resilience, which highlights how children draw strength from caring adults when things get tough.
For example in The Show (season two episode 19), Bingo accidentally drops a breakfast tray and bursts into tears. Mum gently models emotional coaching explaining her coping process: “I have a little cry, I pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep going.” Research shows that when caregivers model how to acknowledge distress, express feelings, and then recover with calm, children gradually learn to manage negative emotions effectively.
Later in the episode, Bingo repeats those exact words when things go wrong again.
‘Well, that was fun’
Bluey and her sister also frequently demonstrate practical coping skills on their own.
In Keepy Uppy (season one, episode three), the final balloon in a game pops. The kids pause, take it in, and smile. “Well, that was fun,” they say.
In a single moment, we see disappointment, emotional regulation, and reframing – the core of the “I can” category.
Everyday moments, powerful messages
We also see characters overcoming challenges with their own inner strength. In Seesaw (season two, episode 26) Pom Pom shows determination and self-confidence to get to the top of the seesaw and save her friends, in an example of “I am”. As she declares, “Pomeranians are a small but hardy breed”.
We found Bluey touches on almost all of the core elements of resilience: trusting relationships, emotional communication, problem-solving, self-regulation, empathy and more.
In Sheepdog (season three, episode 11), mum Chilli tells her family she needs “20 minutes” of alone time. Bluey is worried she’s done something wrong. Later, during play, Bluey gently echoes her mum’s words to a toy: “It’s hard work looking after you. I just need 20 minutes.”
That simple moment models self-care and perspective-taking as well as empathy. For kids, learning that grown-ups need rest too is a powerful message.
How to watch Bluey with your kids
Of course, no screen can replace real relationships. But when parents watch shows like Bluey with their kids, they become powerful teaching tools.
So the next time your child wants to watch an episode for the tenth time, don’t feel guilty – join them. When parents watch too, those moments become conversation starters. For example, “What do you think Bluey felt then?”, “Have you ever felt like that?” or “What would you do in that situation?”
Talking about what kids see on screen can help them reflect, process, and build the skills they need to cope, adapt and grow.
CQUniversity student Kelly Bohl and co-host of Bluey podcast Gotta Be Done Mary Bolling contributed to the original research on which this article is based.
Bradley Smith 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.
Deep in your memory, your brain has created a playlist of music from your teenage years. Even though life has moved on, hearing that music now likely still brings up some really powerful emotions.
Why?
Well, as with anything to do with the brain and with emotions, it’s hard to say for sure. But it’s likely a bit to do with evolution, and a bit to do with some key neurological changes that occur in the teenage years.
At the same time, we start to become less reliant on our parents.
This increasing independence accelerates the need to forge close relationships with peers. We need to learn very quickly how to interpret the emotions of others, and develop strong memories of things that are safe or unsafe.
Imagine the world of a prehistoric teenager. No longer a child wholly dependent on their parents, the adolescent feels an instinctive drive to explore new territory and strike out on their own.
Away from their family’s protection, survival now hinges on bonds with peers.
Going it alone is fraught with danger. Belonging to a group becomes a matter of life or death.
The teen finds a new pack, which communicates crucial information to each other using body language or non-linguistic verbalisations. Variations in the voice pitch or the speed of speech signal urgency or excitement.
Strong emotional reactions – the fear of danger, the thrill of a successful hunt, an intense connection with a potential mate – ensure memories about what to fear and what to seek are deeply carved into this teenage brain.
In today’s world, we seldom need to hunt for food or protect ourselves from predators trying to eat us. But modern teenage brains are still wired to react quickly and instinctively.
Modern teens will still strike out away from the safety of the family circle, learning to navigate the treacherous world of adolescent relationships.
As we all know – often from searingly painful personal experience – teenage brains are keenly attuned to non-linguistic social cues that signal acceptance or rejection by the pack.
We are evolutionarily wired to lay down deep memories in our brains of events that have had a strong emotional impact on us.
Lyrics can tell a story that makes us feel heard and understood. They might signal we belong and are connected – with the artist, with other fans, and with broader human experiences such as love, lust or loneliness.
In fact, some scholars believe the very reason music exists is related to the non-linguistic elements of speech that our prehistoric ancestors may have used to communicate before spoken language developed.
Our brains may respond to these signals in music the way our prehistoric ancestors responded to expressions of urgency, excitement or peace from other members of the tribe.
The way music communicates and evokes emotion is what makes it so important in life, particularly during the teenage years.
During this period – when emotional experiences and the learning that comes from them are so crucial to learning to survive – music becomes a powerful tool.
It can act as a simulator for practising emotional skills, a guide to navigating emotional ups and downs and a key to finding connection and belonging.
In other words, the music that we hear in our teenage years becomes closely intertwined with the strong emotions we experience at that time.
The music of your teens was likely the backdrop to your first kiss, the anthem you sang along to with friends, and a source of comfort when your heart was first broken.
Evolution has programmed you to feel every moment of your teenage years profoundly, so you can learn important lessons about how to survive, become independent and connect with others.
At the same time, music may be tapping into an ancient, pre-language part of our brains.
The music that accompanied high-stakes moments of your youth is forever linked to the powerful emotions you experienced then, and deeply embedded in the brain.
That is why, for the rest of our lives, those songs act as a kind of musical key to a neurological time capsule.
Sandra Garrido 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.
World Athletics president Sebastian Coe recently announced a new rule for women athletes, requiring mandatory genetic tests to verify their biological sex.
This test must be done if athletes wish to compete in September’s World Athletics Championships in Tokyo.
World Athletics has said all athletes competing as women must have an SRY gene test to identify whether a male Y chromosome is present.
Any athlete whose test shows the presence of the SRY gene will be banned from competing in the women’s category in elite events.
If a human embryo has XY chromosomes, then at six weeks of development the SRY gene on the Y chromosome triggers a cascade of events involving some 30 different genes that lead to the formation of testes.
In simplest terms, the testes then produce hormones including testosterone, leading to male development.
However, if an embryo has XX chromosomes, a whole different group of genes come into play, ovaries form and the hormones produced result in a female.
We know making testes or ovaries requires a complex network of many interacting genes and proteins.
Some genes promote testis development while others promote ovary development.
Other genes either suppress ovary formation or antagonise testis formation.
Even once ovaries or testes are fully formed, we require other genes to maintain them. These genes don’t always function as expected, affecting the development of these organs.
How does this relate to sex testing of elite women athletes?
Changes or variants in the many genes that regulate the development of a testis or ovary can result in sex reversal or a non-functioning testis or ovary.
What do I mean by this?
If there is a change in the SRY gene so it does not function as usual, then a person can fail to develop testes and be biologically female. Yet they carry XY chromosomes and under the World Athletics tests they would be excluded from competition.
Other XY individuals may have a functioning SRY gene but are female – with breasts and female genitalia, for example – but have internal testes.
Importantly, the cells of these people are physically unable to respond to the testosterone produced by these testes. Yet, they would receive positive SRY tests and be excluded from competition.
World Athletics asserts the SRY gene is a reliable proxy for determining biological sex. But biological sex is much more complex, with chromosomal, gonadal (testis/ovary), hormonal and secondary sex characteristics all playing a role.
Using SRY to establish biological sex is wrong because all it tells you is whether or not the gene is present.
It does not tell you how SRY is functioning, whether a testis has formed, whether testosterone is produced and, if so, whether it can be used by the body.
Other problems with the SRY testing process
World Athletics is recommending all women athletes take a cheek swab or blood sample to test for the presence of SRY.
Normally, the sample would be sent to a lab that would extract DNA and look for the presence of the SRY gene.
This may be easy enough in wealthy countries, but what is going to happen in poorer nations without these facilities?
It is worth noting these tests are sensitive. If a male lab technician conducts the test he can inadvertently contaminate it with a single skin cell and produce a false positive SRY result.
No guidance is given on how to conduct the test to reduce the risk of false results.
Nor does World Athletics recognise the impacts a positive test result would have on a person, which can be more profound than exclusion from sport alone.
There was no mention from World Athletics that appropriate genetic counselling should be provided, which is considered necessary prior to genetic testing and challenging to access in many lower- and middle-income countries.
I, along with many other experts, persuaded the International Olympic Committee to drop the use of SRY for sex testing for the 2000 Sydney Olympics.
It is therefore very surprising that, 25 years later, there is a misguided effort to bring this test back.
Given all the problems outlined above, the SRY gene should not be used to exclude women athletes from competition.
The announcement this week by UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer on the recognition of a Palestininian state has been welcomed by many who want to see a ceasefire in Gaza and lasting peace in the region.
In contrast to other recent statements on the status of Palestine, however, the UK has said it will recognise Palestine as a state in September
unless the Israeli government takes substantive steps to end the appalling situation in Gaza and commits to a long term sustainable peace, including through allowing the UN to restart without delay the supply of humanitarian support to the people of Gaza to end starvation, agreeing to a ceasefire, and making clear there will be no annexations in the West Bank.
Until this week, the UK’s position had been that recognition would only follow a negotiated two-state solution in Israel-Palestine. Other countries have now begun to shift from that position, too.
The latest UK statement was preceded by announcements from France on July 25 and Canada on July 31 that they too would recognise Palestine as a state in September.
But the UK position is different in one important way: it is conditional on Israel failing to comply with its international humanitarian obligations in Gaza and the West Bank.
In other words, recognition of Palestine as a state by the UK is being used as a stick to persuade Israel to agree to a ceasefire. Should Israel agree to those conditions, the UK will presumably not recognise Palestine as a state in September, but will revert to its original position on a two-state solution.
Conditional recognition subject to action by Israel – a third state – represents an unwelcome and arguably dangerous departure from international practice.
While recognition (or otherwise) of states is inherently political – as demonstrated by the unique status of Taiwan, for example – it is not and should not be made conditional on the action or inaction of third states.
How states are recognised
According to the Convention on the Rights and Duties of States, a state must have a permanent population, territory, an independent government, and the capacity to enter into relations with other states, as well as self-determination.
Palestine has arguably met all these criteria, with the possible exception of an independent government, given the level of Israeli intervention in the West Bank and the current situation in Gaza.
Although recognition by other states is arguably not a formal criterion of statehood, it is very difficult to function as a state without reasonably widespread recognition by other states.
Some 147 countries – two-thirds of UN members – now recognise the State of Palestine, including Spain, Ireland and Norway, which made announcements in 2024.
Those choosing not to formally recognise a Palestinian state are now in a small minority, including Australia and New Zealand. This is inevitably leading to calls in those countries to change position.
Australia is considering such a shift, subject to conditions similar to those set out by Canada – including the release of Israeli hostages, the demilitarisation of Hamas, and reform of the Palestinian Authority.
New Zealand is currently maintaining its longstanding position of recognising Palestine within the context of a two-state solution. On July 30, Foreign Minister Winston Peters and 13 of his counterparts issued a joint statement – the “New York Call” – demanding an immediate ceasefire in Gaza and reiterating “unwavering commitment to the vision of the two-State solution”.
The statement also asserted that “positive consideration” to recognise the state of Palestine is “an essential step towards the two-state solution”.
Better options are available
The UK’s position, however, introduces another dynamic. By using recognition of Palestine as a tool to punish Israel for its actual and alleged breaches of international law in Gaza, it is implicitly failing to respect Palestine’s right to self-determination.
If Palestine deserves statehood, it is on its own terms, not as a condition of Israel’s policies and actions.
But it is also setting a dangerous precedent. Countries could choose to recognise (or not recognise) states to pressure or punish them (or indeed other states) for breaches of international law. Such breaches may or may not be connected to the state actually seeking recognition.
This is important, because the post-colonial settlement of geographical boundaries remains deeply insecure in many regions. As well, low-lying island nations at risk of losing territory from sea-level rise may also find their status challenged, as territory has traditionally been a requirement of statehood.
The UK’s apparent conditional recognition of Palestine is only likely to increase this international instability around statehood.
While the UK’s announcement may be “clever politics” from a domestic perspective, and avoids outright US opposition internationally, it has conflated two separate issues.
The better option would be for the UK to recognise Palestine as a state, joining a growing number of countries that plan to do so in advance of the UN General Assembly meeting in September. It could make this subject to conditions, including the release of hostages and exclusion of Hamas from Palestinian governance.
And it should continue to press Israel to agree to a ceasefire in addition to the other demands set out in its announcement, and hold Israel accountable for its gross breaches of international law in Gaza. It can back up those demands with appropriate diplomatic and trade sanctions.
New Zealand, too, has a range of options available, and can help increase the pressure on Israel by using them.
Karen Scott 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.
The Roman baths at Sabratha, Libya, were damaged in the earthquake and tsunami of 365 ADReza / Getty Images
The Greek poet Crinagoras of Mytilene (1st century BC–1st century AD) once addressed a little poem to an earthquake. He asked the quake not to destroy his house:
Earthquake, most dread of all shocks … spare my new-built house, for I do not know of any terror equal to the quivering of the earth.
Like us, ancient people had many things to say about natural disasters. So, what information did they leave behind for us, and what can we learn from them?
The story of Nicomedia
One of the most vivid ancient accounts of an earthquake is found in the writings of the Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus (c. 330–395 AD).
On August 24 358 AD, there was a huge earthquake at Nicomedia, a city in Asia Minor.
A terrific earthquake completely overturned the city and its suburbs … since most of the houses were carried down the slopes of the hill, they fell one upon another, while everything resounded with the vast roar of their destruction.
The human effect was devastating.
The palace of the emperor Diocletian at Nicomedia was damaged in the quake of 358 AD. G. Berggren / Getty Images
Most people were “killed at one blow”, says Ammianus. Others, he tells us, were “imprisoned unhurt within slanting house roofs, to be consumed by the agony of starvation”.
Hidden in the rubble “with fractured skulls or amputated arms or legs”, injured survivors “hovered between life and death”, but most could not be recovered, “despite their pleas and protestations” resounding from beneath the rubble, according to Ammianus.
Famous natural disasters in the ancient world
A number of natural disasters involving earthquakes and tsunamis were especially famous in ancient Greek and Roman times.
In 464 BC, in Sparta, there was a huge earthquake. People at the time said it was greater than any earthquake that had ever occurred beforehand.
According to the Greek writer Plutarch (c. 46–119 AD), the earthquake “tore the land of the Lacedaemonians into many chasms”, collapsed the peaks of the surrounding mountains, and “demolished the entire city with the exception of five houses”.
In 373–372 BC, the Greek coastal cities of Helice and Buris were destroyed by tsunamis. They were permanently submerged beneath the waves.
An anonymous Greek poet evocatively wrote that the walls of these cities, which had once been thriving with many people, were now silent under the waves, “clad with thick sea-moss”.
But arguably the most famous ancient tsunami occurred on July 21 365 AD on the northern coast of Africa, at that time controlled by the Romans.
Again according to Ammianus, early in the morning there was a huge earthquake. Then, not long after, the water retreated from the shore:
the sea with its rolling waves was driven back and withdrew from the land, so that in the abyss of the deep thus revealed people saw many kinds of sea-creatures stuck fast in the slime … and vast mountains and deep valleys, which nature had hidden in the unplumbed depths.
Then, suddenly, the sea returned with a vengeance. As Ammianus tells us, it smashed over the land destroying everything in its path:
The great mass of waters killed many thousands of people by drowning … the lifeless bodies of shipwrecked persons lay floating on their backs or on their faces … great ships, driven by the mad blasts, landed on the tops of buildings, and some were driven almost two miles inland.
Earthquakes were famous for their sound. The Roman scholar Pliny the Elder (23–79 AD) explained that earthquakes have a “terrible sound” – like “the bellowing of cattle or the shouts of human beings or the clash of weapons struck together”.
Ancient ideas about what causes earthquakes and tsunamis
Like today, ancient people wanted to know what caused these phenomena. There were various different theories.
Some people thought Poseidon, god of the sea, earthquakes and horses, was responsible.
As the Greek writer Plutarch (c. 46–119 AD) comments, “men sacrifice to Poseidon when they wish to put a stop to earthquakes”.
An ancient statue of Poseidon, god of the sea and earthquakes, from the island of Milos. Sepia Times / Getty Images
However, other people looked beyond divine explanations.
One interesting theory held by the philosopher Anaximenes (6th century BC) was that the earth itself was the cause of earthquakes.
According to Anaximenes, huge parts of the earth beneath the ground can move, collapse, detach or tear away, thus causing shaking.
“Huge waves”, said Anaximenes, are “produced by the weight [of falling earth] crashing down into the [waters] from above”.
Ancient people knew nothing of tectonic plates and continental drift. These were discovered much later, mainly through the pioneering work of Alfred Wegener (1880–1930).
Preparing for natural disasters
Ancient Greeks and Romans had little way of predicting or preparing for earthquakes and tsunamis.
Pherecydes of Samos (6th century BC) was said to have predicted an earthquake “from the appearance of some water drawn from a well”, according to the Roman statesman Cicero (106–43 BC).
For the most part, though, ancient people had to live at the mercy of these occurrences.
As the anonymous author of a treatise titled On the Cosmos once wrote, natural disasters are part of life on earth:
Violent earthquakes before now have torn up many parts of the earth; monstrous storms of rain have burst out and overwhelmed it; incursions and withdrawals of the waves have often made seas of dry land and dry land of seas…
While our understanding of these events (and our ability to prepare for them, and recover afterward) has improved immeasurably since ancient times, earthquakes and tsunamis are things we will always have to deal with.
Konstantine Panegyres 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.
The money is easy to trace. Scroll back through tech entrepreneur Peter Thiel’s political donations and you’ll soon hit US$15 million worth of transfers sent to Protect Ohio Values, JD Vance’s campaign fund. The donations, made in 2022, are a staggering contribution to an individual senate race, and helped put Vance (Thiel’s former employee at tech fund Mithril Capital) on a winning trajectory.
But if money matters, so do ideas. Scroll back through Vance’s speeches, and you’ll hear echoes of Thiel’s voice. The decline of US elites (and by extension, the nation) is supposedly a result of technological stagnation: declining innovation, trivial distractions, broken infrastructure. To make the nation great again, Thiel believes, tech should come first, corporates should be unshackled, and the state should resemble the startup. For Vance, who has now risen to the office of US vice-president, a Thiel talk on these topics at Yale Law was “the most significant moment” of his time there.
Thiel’s influence on politics is at once financial, technical and ideological. In the New York Times, he was recently described as the “most influential right-wing intellectual of the last 20 years”. And his potent cocktail of networks, money, strategy and support exerts a rightward force on the political landscape. It establishes a powerful pattern for up-and-coming figures to follow.
To “hedge fund investor” and “tech entrepreneur”, Thiel has recently added a new label: Republican kingmaker.
Who is Peter Thiel?
Thiel was born in Germany but grew up in the United States, with a childhood sojourn in apartheid South Africa. Max Chafkin’s critical but balanced biography, The Contrarian, claims Thiel was bullied growing up and protected himself by becoming resolutely “disdainful”. He studied philosophy and then law at Stanford, where he founded The Stanford Review, a libertarian–conservative student paper that signalled his early interest in controversial politics and culture wars.
While difficult to pin down precisely, Thiel’s Christianity shapes his belief in a declining or even apocalyptic world that can only be countered with unapologetic interventions and technological innovations. God helps those who help themselves – but could always use additional help from ambitious tech elites.
In 1998, Thiel cofounded his first tech company, Confinity, which launched its flagship product PayPal in 1999 and merged with Elon Musk’s X.com in 2000. In 2002, eBay bought PayPal for $1.5 billion and Thiel became a multimillionaire. He invested in several startups, including Facebook, and established his hedge fund, Clarium, and his venture capital firm, Founders Fund.
In their own ways, each of these developments is a response to Thiel’s thesis that the world is stuck. In his 2011 essay The End of the Future, he decries the “soft totalitarianism of political correctness in media and academia” and the “sordid world” of entertainment. The result is “50 years of stagnation” that has transformed humanity “into this more docile kind of a species”.
Thiel’s answer is more risk, more tech and more ambition. It’s exemplified most clearly by Palantir Technologies, the data analytics firm he cofounded in 2004.
Palantir has worked closely with US armed forces and intelligence agencies for 14 years. It is currently working closely with the Trump administration to create a “super-database” of combined data from all federal agencies, and building a platform for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) “to track migrant movements in real time”.
Investing in right-wing politics
Thiel’s political interventions have ramped up over time. Libertarianism generally takes an arms-length approach to politics in favour of individual freedom and market determination. But even in “purely” financial spaces, politics creeps in.
Clarium’s macroeconomic approach meant the political landscape had to be factored in: “high-conviction, directional investments based on key drivers of the global economy and fundamental themes underappreciated by the marketplace”.
If politics, like technology, had stagnated – into a non-choice between similar parties – how could it be “disrupted”? Thiel began making political donations in December 2011, with contributions totalling at least $2.6 million, to the third presidential campaign of Ron Paul, a longstanding conservative congressman in Texas.
While Paul would ultimately be unsuccessful, Thiel recognised something others had missed. Voters had not been attracted to some idealistic libertarian, as the media portrayed him, but to the old Ron Paul, a neoconservative whose newsletters published in his name in the 1980s and ‘90s suggested 95% of Black men in Washington DC were criminals. (He denied writing them in 2011, calling the statements “terrible”.) His appeal was never “merely” about economic freedom, but about race and class, fear and grievance.
Donald Trump took this dark undercurrent, a strain that has always underpinned parts of US politics, and ran with it. Dog-whistles were dispensed with in favour of overt claims that most illegal immigrants were rapists, certain Latin American countries were shitholes, women were bitches, and white supremacists were “very fine people”. Trump, noted one article, was “weaponizing the conservative id”.
In these visions, multiculturalism and progressivism are not just cultural threats, but economic ones. They undermine the ability of company founders to exploit labour, blow past regulations, and obey the brutal logic of the market.
“A world safe for capitalism is presumably one of monopoly companies and patriarchal networks,” note media scholars Ben Little and Alison Winch in their profile of Thiel. It’s a world “where ‘the multiculture’ has been transformed into racialised domination”.
Thiel has certainly contributed to the rise of Trump and the new breed of right-wing politicians through his vast wealth. In 2016, Thiel contributed $1.25 million to Trump’s campaign, thinking “he had a 50-50 chance of winning”. This earned him a speaking slot at the Republican convention. But his influence extends beyond mere money.
Thiel’s endorsement of Trump at the 2016 Republican convention was hugely significant for garnering support. So was his famous declaration there that he was proud to be gay, Republican and American. After Trump won his first term, Thiel continued to be involved. He joined the transition team and recommended aligned individuals for key positions, such as Michael Kratsios, who would become chief technology officer.
So, Thiel’s support of Trump should be understood as an investment, just like his early investments in PayPal and Facebook. As Chafkin notes, Thiel’s bet on Trump is a wager with high upsides and low risk. Thiel’s outspoken views in favour of “seasteading” (floating independent city-states) and against immigration and women’s emancipation had already alienated the more progressive sectors of Silicon Valley.
If the bet paid off, Thiel and his empire could benefit handsomely. And this is exactly what has played out. Since Trump has taken office in his second term, Palantir has already netted more than $113 million in federal government spending.
Palantir: from information to domination
Palantir’s origin story reflects its blend of technical expertise and political ambition. To combat rising fraud, members of PayPal developed a software tool that could mine vast amounts of transactions and find the connections between them, homing in on a handful of culprits in a deluge of data.
Thiel was prescient in spinning this core idea from finance to intelligence, where analysts were searching for patterns and anomalies amid the noise – a needle in a haystack. Palantir commercialised and expanded this concept, bringing a leaner, data-driven Silicon Valley approach to a sector dominated by established Washington incumbents.
Thiel and Palantir chief executive Alex Karp believe Silicon Valley has lost its way, frittering away its vast talents and ingenuity on trivial pursuits: advertising, gaming, social media. For them, the era of ambitious scientific projects and unapologetic military industrial collaborations – the Manhattan Project, the Moon landing — needs to be revived.
In his book, the Technological Republic, Karp calls for a state that looks more like a startup – lean, technology-driven, and led authoritatively by a founder-like figure who is not afraid to “move fast and break stuff” (the Silicon Valley motto), especially when it comes to dominating enemies and ensuring the safety of a nation’s citizens.
Palantir, of course, answers this call. It combines machine learning with military spending, data-driven “intelligence” with naked violence. This is most clear in its longstanding collaboration with ICE, which is now carrying out notorious immigration raids at the behest of the Trump administration. “On the factory floor, in the operating room, on the battlefield,” states a recent Palantir recruitment ad placed across US college campuses, “we build to dominate.”
Palantir’s blueprint has been emulated by a growing array of others. Anduril, Skydio and Shield AI are all founded on developing information technologies for military and intelligence use. Last week, Rune Technologies closed a $24 million Series A round of funding to move warfare logistics away from the “Excel era” and towards AI-augmented tools.
Answering Karp’s call, these startups are unapologetic in leveraging engineering expertise for more substantial, authoritarian and historically controversial areas.
Playing the scapegoat
One of the clearest outlines of Thiel’s political philosophy is laid out in the Straussian Moment, a 30-page essay he published in 2007.
For Thiel, the spectacular violence of the September 11 terrorist attacks was a wake-up call, rousing the citizenry from that “very long and profitable period of intellectual slumber and amnesia that is so misleadingly called the Enlightenment”.
In Thiel’s view, the Enlightenment project – to advance knowledge, cultivate tolerance, and elevate humanity as a whole – rested on a naive understanding of human nature. Like Curtis Yarvin and other influential Silicon Valley political thinkers, he asserts that humanity is brutal and a shift from Enlightenment optimism to Dark Enlightenment pessimism is required.
It is unsurprising, then, that Thiel looks to René Girard (once called “the new Darwin of the human sciences”) for inspiration; he even organised a symposium at Stanford with Girard in attendance. Girard begins from a bleak view of human nature, a Hobbesian world where life is nasty, brutish and short. For Girard, mimesis or imitation is at the heart of the human. This mirroring quality means violence is always threatening to escalate, to constantly ramp up with no inherent limit.
To corral this violence, ancient cultures created the scapegoat, a sacrificial system where all-against-all was replaced by all-against-one. Yet the scapegoat is no longer viable – the revelation of Christ is that the scapegoat is an innocent victim.
Thiel takes Girard’s insights and twists them to his own ends. First, Thiel asserts that even if violence begets more violence, nonviolence is not an option. Enemies must not be allowed to prevail. In the face of uncompromising adversaries, such as the 9/11 attackers, who threaten to dismantle some idealised way of life, preemptively responding to violence is “urgently demanded”.
Second, Thiel takes the concept of the scapegoat and flips it. In this judo-like manoeuvre, the real victims are not the marginalised or the minority, but the hegemonic class (whites, males, liberals, conservatives), who are being pressured by cancel culture, political correctness, diversity initiatives and so on.
Shortly after graduating, Thiel coauthored a book, The Diversity Myth, about alleged political intolerance at Stanford. In it, he rails against a rampant multiculturalism that he claims stifles freedom of speech and derails education and entrepreneurialism. Here, scapegoating is weaponised. It’s mobilised toward a conservative advance in the ongoing cultural wars, which are always also political wars.
Contradiction or evolution?
Thiel is a walking paradox. He bemoans cancel culture and political correctness, while waging a highly expensive and clearly personal war to bankrupt a media outlet that offended him. (After Gawker printed the “open secret” of Thiel’s gay status in 2007, Thiel funded lawsuits against them until they were shut down.)
He calls himself a libertarian, but has founded a company that derives millions in contracts from the bloated budgets of the many military agencies (the National Security Agency, the FBI, the US Army) that now comprise the sprawling state.
He celebrates capitalism and the free hand of the market, but always stresses that the path to business success rests on establishing monopolies with no real competition. He is a German-born immigrant who actively supports technologies (Palantir) and candidates (Trump) that establish xenophobic environments and seek to deport those deemed “other”. And, most personally, he is both a conservative Republican and an openly gay man.
At a purely logical level, these elements are incompatible. There is a perceived gap between Thiel’s words and actions, a gulf between his ideologies and his activities. For staunch libertarians at Thiel’s companies, his manoeuvrings at the state level make no sense. For queer scholars, Thiel’s exclusionary rather than liberatory politics mean he is a man who has sex with other men, rather than being gay.
For these critics, both things cannot be true; therefore, some labels, identities and activities are fake, marginal or impossible. Yet one of Thiel’s many lessons is that contradiction is a strength rather than a weakness.
Thiel’s philosophy, which journalists have called techno-fascism, recalls philosopher Umberto Eco, who described fascism as a “beehive of contradictions” and “a collage of different philosophical and political ideas”. The radical right, in particular, has no problem mashing together many views that at face value should not fit: scavenger ideologies that are opportunistic in grabbing elements that work for them.
Instead of contradictions, these hybrid forms need to be understood as evolutions. They are tensions, held within the body and the mind of the subject, that push monolithic frameworks like conservatism beyond their existing limits. Thiel’s power – and his political blueprint for others – is insisting you can be a philosophical entrepreneur, an illiberal patriot, and a queer conservative.
Luke Munn 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.
.jpg){kind=link}