For the past few weeks the headlines about Gaza have focused on the hundreds of people who have been killed while queueing for food. The aid distribution system put in place in May, backed by the US and Israel and run by the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, has proved to be chaotic and allegedly resulted in violence, with both Israel Defense Forces personnel and armed Palestinian gangs blamed for killing about 1,000 people in the two months the new system has been operating.
Now the headlines are focusing on the growing number of people dying of starvation.
Harrowing reports from the Gaza Strip report almost daily on the children dying of malnutrition in hospitals and clinics that simply don’t have the food to keep them alive. Writing in the Guardian this week, a British volunteer surgeon working in one of Gaza’s hospitals, Nick Maynard, described patients who “deteriorate and die, not from their injuries, but because they are too malnourished to survive surgery”.
The UK and 27 other countries this week has condemned the “drip feeding of aid and the inhumane killing of civilians” who are trying to get food and water. And yet, writes Simon Mabon, still the world’s leaders look on: “Most are apparently content to condemn – but little action has been taken.”
Mabon, a professor of international relations at Lancaster University, quotes the latest report from the IPC, which monitors food security in conflict situations. It estimates that 500,000 people in Gaza are considered to be facing “catastrophe”, while a further 1.1 million fall into the “emergency” risk category. Both categories anticipate a steadily rising death rate among civilians in Gaza.
So how can Israel’s allies apply pressure on Benjamin Netanyahu’s government to bring an end to the violence and allow Palestinian civilians access to the food, water and medical supplies they so desperately need?
Mabon canvasses a range of options. First of all, countries that have yet to recognise the state of Palestine can do so. It’s nonsense, Madon believes, to talk of a two-state solution – as the UK government does – when you haven’t actually recognised the second state in the equation.
Then they could stop selling arms to Israel. Many countries already have. But the US still issues export licenses for some weapons that are sold to Israel.
There are a plethora of other things world leaders could do to pressure Israel. Mabon recommends having a look at what the world did to isolate South Africa during the apartheid years, measures which eventually helped bring about meaningful change there.
As for Netanyahu, the Israeli prime minister is reported to be considering an early election. In previous months this looked like a move freighted with jeopardy. An election loss brought on by a disenchanted electorate, heartbroken at the hostage situation and exhausted by the conflict, would probably mean having to face the charges of corruption which have hung over him for more than five years.
But recent polls have suggested a bump in popularity following his 12-day campaign against Iran. Netanyahu is nothing if not a clever political manipulator. But Brian Brivati, a professor of contemporary history and human rights at Kingston University, believes that to have a chance of winning, the prime minister will need to fight a campaign on three narratives of his government’s success: securing the release of the hostages, defeating Hamas and delivering regional security. “It is a tall order,” Brivati concludes.
Anyone following the situation in Gaza over the past 18 months will have encountered Francesca Albanese, the UN’s special rapporteur for Palestine’s occupied territories. For three years she has monitored the human rights situation in Gaza and the West Bank, delivering trenchant criticism of Israel’s conduct and those who, by their inaction – and sometimes contrivance – have enabled it.
Earlier this months, the US government imposed sanctions on Albanese, because – as US secretary of state Marco Rubio insisted – she has engaged with the International Criminal Court (also subject to US sanctions) “in efforts to investigate, arrest, detain, or prosecute nationals of the United States or Israel”. Also she has written “threatening letters to dozens of entities worldwide, including major American companies”.
Alvina Hoffman, an expert in diplomatic affairs and human rights at SOAS, University of London, explains what a special rapporteur does and why their work is so valuable in the defence of human rights.
To Istanbul, where delegations from Russia and Ukraine met yesterday for their third round of face-to-face talks. All 40 minutes of them. There was another agreement of prisoner swaps and the two sides decided to set up some working groups to look into various political, military and humanitarian issues – but online rather in person.
The brevity of the talks came as no surprise to Stefan Wolff. Wolff, an expert in international security at the University of Birmingham who has provided commentary for The Conversation throughout the conflict in Ukraine, points out that both sides remain wedded to their maximalist war aims. For Russia, this is for Ukraine to accept Russia’s annexation of Crimea and four provinces of eastern Ukraine, a ban on Ukraine’s membership of Nato and a much reduced military capacity. For Ukraine, it is getting their territory back and Russian acceptance of their national sovereignty, meaning it gets to determine for itself what alliances it seeks.
Donald Trump has told Vladimir Putin that, if there’s no ceasefire in 50 days, he’ll apply harsh secondary sanctions on the countries buying Russian oil and that he plans to supply Ukraine with American weapons (via Nato’s European member states, that is). Wolff believes both sides will now play the waiting game. They will calculate their next move after September 2, when the 50 days run out, and when they know more about what the US president plans to do.
Volodymyr Zelensky, meanwhile, faces pressure from his own people. There have been days of protest at his decision to bring two formerly independent anti-corruption organisations under the direct control of the government. He argues that this was necessary to prevent Russian infiltration, while critics are saying that the Ukrainian president has launched a power grab designed to prevent independent investigation of alleged corruption against people close to him.
Jenny Mathers says these protests, which involve people from all political shades, including people who have fought in the defence of Ukraine since 2022, some with visible injuries, represents a fracture of the “informal agreement between the government and society to show a united front to the world while the war continues”.
Ukrainians protest after Zelensky signs law clamping down on anticorruption agencies.
It’s not as if Zelensky is in clear and present danger of losing his job. His party holds a majority of seats in the Ukrainian parliament, so he governs without having to depend on coalition partners. And the country’s constitution prohibits the holding of elections in wartime – whatever Putin, who regularly insists that Zelensky is an illegitimate leader because he is governing past his term limit, might think. Plus his approval rating sits at 65%.
Zelensky has been quick to soften his stance on this. Mathers says that political corruption is a very sore point in Ukraine, where there was decades of it until the Maidan protests of 2013-14 unseated the pro-Russian president Viktor Yanukovych. As she writes here, “the ‘Revolution of Dignity’ that rejected Yanukovych’s leadership and his policies was also a resounding demonstration of the strength of Ukraine’s civil society and its determination to hold its elected officials to account. Zelensky would be rash not to heed that.
He also knows it’s important for him to present a squeaky clean image to his supporters in the west. So while the protests may not present an immediate threat to his own position, he knows that unless he acts to root out corruption in Ukraine, it’ll be a threat to the future of the country itself.
But ethicist Marcel Vondermassen from the University of Tübingen believes another recent decision by the Ukrainian government is storing up trouble for the future. Ukraine has recently announced its decision to pull out of the Ottawa convention, the treaty that forbids the use of anti-personnel landmines.
In doing so, he’s following the example of Finland, Poland, Lithuania and Estonia which have all also quite the treaty in recent months for fear of Russian aggression.
But as Vondermassen points out, landmines don’t usually switch themselves off when a conflict ends and people are still being killed an maimed in former conflict zones around the world. Often it is farmers at work or children at play who are the victims. If other ways to protect countries from aggression aren’t pursued, as he puts it, in future decades we’ll still be “counting thousands of child casualties … from the landmines laid in the 2020s”.
Thailand-Cambodia: centuries-old dispute flares again
A dispute between the two south-east Asian countries that has been simmering since May flared into life yesterday when five Thai soldiers patrolling the border region were injured after stepping on a landmine – the second such incident in the past week. Both countries have sealed their border and there have been tit-for-tat ambassadorial expulsions.
Cambodia fired rockets and artillery into Thailand, killing 12 civilians. Thailand in turn has launched airstrikes against Cambodia. Both countries are blaming the other for starting it.
Petra Alderman, an expert in south-east Asian politics from London School of Economics and Political Science, traces the origins of this row, which go back to the colonial era in the 19th and early 20th centuries.
The House of Lords this week approved government legislation that will allow foreign states to hold up to a 15% stake in British newspaper publishers.
This vote clears the way for the American investment company Redbird to take control of the troubled Telegraph newspaper group following two years of uncertainty. An integral element of that bid is a 15% stake by the sovereign investment fund IMI which is owned by Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan, the vice-president of the United Arab Emirates.
The heated Lords debate raised fundamental questions about who should own newspapers, and the link between ownership and editorial content. On one side were those who argued that Britain’s newspapers faced an “existential threat” without outside investment. On the other were those who warned against the potential influence of a foreign power on one of the UK’s longest standing publishers.
Media mergers and acquisitions are often contentious. But given the parlous state of the newspaper industry, they are likely to become more frequent.
A very different kind of newspaper deal was completed last December, when news website Tortoise Media bought The Observer. Tortoise, which was founded in 2018 by former Times editor and BBC director of news James Harding, startled analysts and journalists alike by taking over a newspaper first published in 1791.
The deal prompted strong opposition from some Observer and Guardian journalists. But from a business perspective, the deal suited both sides.
The Scott Trust, owners of the Observer since 1993, never seemed wholly committed to the Observer. (There was, for example, no dedicated Observer website). Tortoise, meanwhile, was keen to exploit the brand values of an established print product. It saw the Observer as a suitable vehicle for its approach of news analysis and explanation rather than breaking stories.
The media world has also been fixated on the succession story of the Murdoch family and its implications for his UK newspapers. The Sun, News of the World (until its closure in 2011), the Times and Sunday Times have been the bedrock of Rupert Murdoch’s economic and political power in the UK for decades.
In December, he lost the battle to give his eldest son Lachlan exclusive control of his media empire.
Speculation has grown as to whether any of Rupert’s progeny will want to continue the family’s print tradition after his death. His empire has suffered repeated financial and reputational hits since the phone hacking scandal. It is perfectly feasible that, once he goes, all the Murdoch press interests will be up for sale.
These various battles beg the question: why does it matter who owns a newspaper? In short, it matters because ownership, to a large extent, determines content.
Who owns the news?
From the very beginning of printed news, proprietors have exercised control over their title’s political direction and journalistic values. Prewar Britain saw Lord Beaverbrook famously exploiting his Express newspapers to campaign for free trade within the British empire.
Meanwhile, fellow newspaper baron Lord Rothermere turned his Mail newspapers into propaganda sheets for Oswald Mosley’s blackshirts, and cheerleaders for Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini during the 1930s.
The Rothermere family’s continued ownership of the Mail has guaranteed a consistent anti-immigration, anti-Europe rightwing worldview to the present day. How this consistent framing has been transmitted through the Mail’s editors has been well documented by journalist Adrian Addison.
Murdoch’s UK newspaper empire has also pursued his personal free market, anti-EU political vision. He has used his papers to attack the publicly funded BBC and the regulator Ofcom. Murdoch has, however, been slightly more flexible in adjusting his papers’ party political allegiance (guaranteeing a succession of prime ministerial genuflections from Margaret Thatcher through to Keir Starmer).
At the other end of the political spectrum, the Scott Trust – owners of the Guardian – was conceived by the son of C.P. Scott as a vehicle for sustaining his father’s liberal mission for the paper. It has a policy of no editorial interference, apart from continuing the paper’s editorial policy on “the same lines and in the same spirit as heretofore”. Editors are therefore enjoined to focus on the kind of progressive news agenda championed by Scott.
The trust model allows a level of freedom from traditional commercial oversight. Editors can pursue the Guardian’s well-established liberal tradition without worrying about shareholders driven by short-term profit maximisation, or an individual owner with a specific ideological agenda. This partly explains the hostility of Observer journalists to the Tortoise takeover.
Why it matters
The Lords debate focused on the risks of foreign state investment in British newspapers. But all commercial ownership models – and all owners – have their problems. Whether it be greedy shareholders, a power-hungry narcissist, an ideologically-driven family or a foreign state seeking influence in the UK, commercial models all involve editorial compromises.
One approach to the problems raised by commercial ownership is an insistence, through legislation, on a plurality of owners. But this is increasingly difficult in an industry whose traditional advertising-funded business model is under severe pressure. This context is precisely why the Telegraph’s new owner was desperate to access IMI funds.
Upmarket publications such as the Financial Times and the Times can monetise subscriptions, but paywalls discourage easy access and diminish journalistic reach. Subscriptions are also a much less attractive proposition for tabloids whose readers are less willing to pay.
Another approach is to diversify ownership models. Non-profit and charitable publishers, such as OpenDemocracy or the Bureau of Investigative Journalism, can leverage donations and are less vulnerable to the whims of corporate owners or powerful individuals. But this model is much less developed in the UK than the US.
I and colleagues have argued elsewhere that there are strong arguments for making charitable journalism easier. These models can enhance journalistic freedom, but they also come with potential downsides that need to be acknowledged.
All these options presuppose, of course, that newspapers and their online sites still have sufficient relevance and reach for us to continue to worry about ownership at all – a topic for another article.
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Steven Barnett is on the management and editorial boards of the British Journalism Review. He is a member of the British Broadcasting Challenge which campaigns for Public Service Broadcasting. He is on the Advisory Board of the Charitable Journalism Project which campaigns for public interest journalism and on the board of Hacked Off which campaigns for a free and accountable press.
Maritime folklore has long been shuffled to the margins of nautical history, presented as the quaint, colourful oddities of a former age. Yet this body of beliefs, practices and stories can offer important insights into how seafarers of the 19th century viewed and understood their working environment.
Beneath the dominant histories of European exploration, heroic naval battles and imperial claims to mastery of the seas, there was the daily reality of working, living and, not uncommonly, dying in a dangerous marine environment.
This folklore – which was exchanged between multinational crews of mariners and carried across the oceans – provides a way into appreciating their everyday fears, longings and hopes. It reveals a rich emotional and psychological engagement with the ocean, a history of sea fearing that does not sit easily with the stereotypical macho image of mariners.
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Much of maritime folklore spoke to anxieties about the temperamental ocean and storms, which boiled down to a fear of disaster and drowning.
To protect themselves from such a fate, 18th- and 19th-century sailors went to sea armoured with magical charms. A popular one was a caul. It was believed owning a caul – the membrane that protects a baby in the womb – would protect a seafarer from drowning.
Such items were openly sold in newspaper advertisements in the 19th century. Three advertised in the Liverpool Mercury in 1873 were priced from 30 shillings to four guineas, no small amount for a common mariner to pay for an idle “superstition”.
Nineteenth-century sailors and fishermen also developed a rich system of omens and predictions. They were attentive to their behaviour and even words (“pig” and “rabbit” being among the worst) that might provoke the ocean or attract bad luck.
Life in the Ocean Representing the Usual Occupations of the Young Officers in the Steerage of a British Frigate at Sea by Augustus Earle (1836). National Maritime Museum
One such example was whistling aboard ships, which was believed to stir winds or gales. The idea that the temperamental winds could be provoked by the smallest actions of the tiny human beings who passed over the ocean’s surface spoke to both mariners’ vulnerability at sea, but also a sense of personal responsibility for the good or bad fortune of their voyage.
That concerns about death haunted seafarers is also seen in a superstitious reluctance to have coffins, dead bodies or clergymen (associated with funerals) aboard ship. As the author and critic William Jones wrote in Credulities Past and Present (1880), the sailor who was fearless in battle or in the face of physical danger, often “shrinks with indescribable apprehension … at the sight of a coffin”.
This was reinforced by maritime ghost stories. Numerous tales of ghost ships, most famously The Flying Dutchman, served as a reminder of the haunting prospect of death at sea.
In telling stories of those who had been lost, seafarers could also express concerns about their present circumstances and future travails. Aboard ships, such tales could also serve as reminders of health and safety concerns. Stories about ghostly crew members who had fallen from the rigging or been washed overboard served as cautionary tales.
The decline and return of maritime folklore
Nineteenth-century critics of mariners’ “superstitions” attempted to debunk their ideas. They pushed the idea that this body of folklore was fading out with the transition from sail to steam power.
No longer reliant on the winds, the steamship symbolised a more rational, mechanical world that had no time for the supernatural whimsy of the age of sail. Yet, indicating its ongoing importance as a way of addressing seafarers fears and concerns, such ideas did not simply disappear. Rather they adapted to the modern world.
The Shipwreck by Joseph Mallord William Turner (1805). Tate
While the price of cauls had dropped in the late 19th century, suggesting declining belief in their protective power, there was a sudden revival in their trade when submarine warfare became a feature of the first world war. Accounts of ghost ships were updated to include steam and later diesel vessels in the 20th century.
Maritime folklore history reminds us that our proclaimed “mastery of the waves” has always been built on rhetoric as much as reality.
In an age of mounting concern about our relationship with the oceans, in which we are having to radically reassess our control over and influence on the natural world, it is perhaps time for this history to resurface.
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Karl Bell 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.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Travis Van Isacker, Senior Research Associate, School of Sociology, Politics and International Studies, University of Bristol
On a cold, wet November evening, Issa Mohamed Omar and more than 30 other men, women and children set off from their informal camp near the northern French port city of Dunkirk. They walked through the darkness in near-silence for around two hours, until they reached the beach from where they hoped to start a new and better life.
As they arrived, five men were busy pumping up an inflatable dinghy and attaching an outboard engine. These people smugglers had charged each of their customers more than a thousand euros for a trip that costs someone with the right passport less than a hundred.
The travellers were given life-vests, arranged into rows and counted. “There are 33 of you,” one of the smugglers said. For many on board, this was not their first attempt at reaching England.
Most came from Iraqi Kurdistan, including Kazhal Ahmed Khidir Al-Jammoor from Erbil, who was travelling with her three children: Hadiya, Mubin and Hasti Rizghar Hussein, respectively aged 22, 16 and seven.
A father and son from Egypt were shown how the engine worked and provided a GPS device and directions to Dover, around 35 miles (60km) to the west across the Channel. Mohamed Omar would later recall:
The Egyptian man was put in charge of steering the boat by the smugglers. He was travelling with his son, who looked like he was in his late teens or maybe early 20s. I do not know how they came to be the driver and navigator.
There were also at least three Ethiopian nationals – one of whom, father-of-two Fikiru Shiferaw from Addis Ababa, sent his wife Emebet at home in Ethiopia a final WhatsApp voice message:
We have already boarded the boat. We are on the way. I will turn off my phone now. Goodnight, I will call you tomorrow morning.
These were the last words she would ever receive from her husband.
What happened to Fikiru Shiferaw and the other passengers on the night of November 23-24 2021 has been the subject of the UK’s Cranston Inquiry which, during March 2025, heard from 22 witnesses to the disaster, including officers involved in the UK’s search-and-rescue (SAR) response. Chaired by former High Court judge Sir Ross Cranston, the independent inquiry also heard from Mohamed Omar from Somalia – one of only two survivors – as well as family members of many of the dead and missing.
These hearings not only shed light on the actions of UK Border Force and His Majesty’s Coastguard officers during the failed rescue operation – designated Incident Charlie – in the early hours of November 24, but the agencies’ approach to “small boat crossings” in general dating back to 2017.
According to the testimonies, officers had been operating under extreme pressure in the months leading up to the disaster. Kevin Toy, master of the Border Force ship Valiant which was sent out to search for the missing dinghy that night, explained that in the run-up to the incident, “night after night” he could see his crew were “utterly exhausted” by the end of their shifts.
The evidence shows the British government was aware of the growing risk that Border Force and HM Coastguard could be overwhelmed by the rising number of small boat crossings – and that people might die as a result. In May 2020, a document produced by the Department for Transport acknowledged that “SAR resources can be overwhelmed if current incident numbers persist”. At least three senior HM Coastguard officers identified the same risk in August 2021.
Multiple communication failures have also been exposed by the inquiry – among British officers, with their opposite numbers in France, and between both countries’ emergency services and the increasingly desperate people aboard the sinking dinghy.
Despite numerous distress calls and GPS coordinates being shared via WhatsApp, a rescue boat failed to reach the travellers in time. Amid the confusion, when their calls stopped, the coastguard assumed Charlie’s passengers had been picked up and were safe. In fact, they were perishing in the cold waters of the Channel over more than ten hours.
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As part of my research into the digital transformation of the UK-France border, I attended the inquiry and have studied the many statements, call transcripts, operational logs, emails and meeting minutes it has made public. Initially, I wanted to understand how the November 2021 disaster became a watershed moment in the UK government’s response to people trying to cross the Channel by small boat or dinghy, catalysing the transformation of the UK’s maritime border into the hyper-surveilled space it is today.
But, after speaking to representatives for Mohamed Omar and the bereaved families as well as migrant rights organisations, larger questions have emerged. In particular, given the inquiry’s singular focus on this one catastrophic event in November 2021, those I spoke to are concerned that its recommendations will be unable to prevent further deaths from occurring in the Channel, which have risen dramatically over the last 18 months.
How ‘small boat crossings’ began
Since the UK and France began operating “juxtaposed” border controls in the early 1990s (meaning border checks occur before departure), asylum seekers trying to reach England have had to make irregular journeys across the Channel. Until 2018, these were typically aboard trains and ferries – after sneaking on to a lorry or through a French port’s perimeter security.
At the time of the “Jungle” camp near Calais in 2015-16, media coverage of collective attempts by its residents to enter French ports spiked UK government investment in the border. Between 2014 and 2018, it gave its French counterpart at least £123 million to “strengthen the border and maintain juxtaposed controls”. These funds paid for French police to patrol the ports and border cities, regularly evict migrants’ living sites, and finance detention and relocation centres.
As admitted by then-home secretary Sajid Javid in 2019, this increased security led people to find other ways across the Channel. Beginning in the winter of 2018, smugglers organised journeys in small, seaworthy vessels they had stolen from marinas along the French coast. These “small boats” continue to lend their name to this migration phenomenon – yet the unseaworthy inflatable dinghies used today, with no keel or rigid hull, are not worthy of the name.
Even in the context of the usual sensationalism surrounding irregular migration to the UK, small boat journeys were met with an especially intense response, both politically and in the media.
When 101 people crossed between Christmas and New Year in 2018, Javid declared it a major incident. Ever since, “stopping the boats” has been one of the UK government’s highest priorities. Despite small boat arrivals making up only 29% of UK asylum claimants in 2018-24, billions of pounds have been spent to try and control the route.
Frosty relations and the ‘pushback’ plan
As Channel crossings rose sharply over 2020-21, worsening relations between France and the UK due to Brexit complicated how the two governments worked together to respond. In his testimony, former clandestine Channel threat commander Dan O’Mahoney – appointed by Javid’s successor, Priti Patel, to “make small boat crossings unviable” – described relations between the two countries as already “very frosty” when he began in August 2020.
After France’s then-interior minister, Gérald Darmanin, axed a plan for UK vessels to take rescued migrants back to Dunkirk, O’Mahoney was tasked by senior ministers to come up with an alternative. The resulting “pushback” plan, called Operation Sommen, involved Border Force officers on jet skis driving into migrant dinghies to turn them back as they crossed the border line into UK waters. When France learned of the plan, O’Mahoney recalled:
They thought it went counter to their and our obligations around safety of life at sea … They objected to it very strongly, and it affected our already quite strained relationship with them further.
Operation Sommen was abandoned in April 2022 before having ever been used in anger. However, preparations were said to have taken up “a very considerable amount of time and resource” at both the Home Office and the Maritime and Coastguard Agency – and had “a detrimental effect” on the UK’s overall SAR response to small boat crossings.
At a meeting of senior officials in June 2021 to discuss Operation Sommen, ministers had made clear that the “numbers of people crossing [was] a political problem” – and that improving SAR capabilities did not “fit with [the] narrative of taking back control of borders”.
Although senior HM Coastguard officers recognised “it is extremely difficult to locate small boats or communicate with those onboard”, the inquiry heard that officers did not recall receiving “any small boat training before November 2021”, other than in the procedure to allow Border Force to push them back to French waters.
The head of Border Force’s Maritime Command, Stephen Whitton, told the inquiry he was under “a huge amount of pressure” to prevent small boat crossings, while also “providing the bulk of the support to search and rescue”. Despite carrying out 90% of all small boat rescues in the Channel and “regularly being overwhelmed”, Border Force Maritime Command received “no additional assets to manage the search and rescue response” before November 2021.
‘The pressure we were under’
When the decision was taken for Border Force – a law enforcement rather than search-and-rescue organisation – to be the primary responders to small boat crossings in 2018, only around 100 people were crossing each month. Yet by the time of the disaster three years later, according to an internal Home Office document, the total for 2021 was “already more than 25,000”.
At the inquiry, O’Mahoney stated: “As 2021 went on, it became much clearer that … frankly, we just needed more [rescue] boats.” Whitton admitted that before the disaster, Border Force, HM Coastguard, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution and other support organisations were all “on our knees in terms of the pressure we were under, and it was getting hugely challenging”.
The evidence shows this pressure was acutely felt inside Dover’s Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre, which sits atop the port’s famous white cliffs offering a commanding view of the Channel. Inside, Coastguard officers coordinate SAR operations and control vessel traffic in the Dover Strait – one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes.
On the night of November 23-24, three coastguard officers were on search-and-rescue duty: team leader Neal Gibson, maritime operations officer Stuart Downs, and a trainee – unnamed by the inquiry – who was officially only present as an observer.
HM Coastguard’s Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre at Dover overlooking the Channel. Travis Van Isacker, CC BY-NC-SA
Staffing appears to have been a longstanding issue at the Dover coastguard station where, according to divisional commander Mike Bill, there was “poor retention of staff” and “experience and competence weren’t the best”. Only the day before the disaster, during a migrant red days meeting – convened when, due to good weather, the probability of Channel crossers is considered “highly likely” – chief coastguard Peter Mizen had warned that only having two qualified officers at Dover on nights “isn’t enough”.
Over recent months, as the station had become busier responding to small boat crossings and in the wake of an unsuccessful recruitment drive, staff were having to work flat-out throughout their shifts, and were being asked to come in on scheduled days off.
On the night of November 23-24, owing to staff shortages, team leader Gibson told the inquiry he had to cover traffic control duties for three hours from 10.30pm. This meant he was away from the SAR desk at 00.41am, when a message arrived from the national rescue coordination centre along the coast in Fareham, stating that the Coastguard’s scheduled surveillance aeroplanes would not be flying over the Channel that night due to fog.
The officers were told they would be “effectively blind” – and should not allow themselves “to be drawn into relaxing and expecting a normal migrant crossing night”. The message warned: “This has the potential to be very dangerous.”
‘Their boat – there’s nothing left’
According to Mohamed Omar, the sea was calm when he and the other passengers departed the French beach around 9pm UK time. Giving his evidence to the Cranston Inquiry from Paris – he still cannot travel to the UK – a ship approached them around an hour into their voyage:
They came up to us to see what we were doing, and shone a light on us. I remember seeing a French flag on the boat. It was a big boat and I am certain it was the French coastguard. I had heard from people I met in the camp in Dunkirk that this happened sometimes, and that the French boat would follow until you reached English waters.
In fact, Mohamed Omar said, the French ship left the travellers again after about an hour. Shortly after this, the problems began.
A French warship patrols the shore of Mardyck in northern France, close to where Charlie is thought to have departed. Travis Van Isacker, CC BY-NC-SA
Around 1am, seawater began entering the dinghy. By now, it was in the vicinity of the Sandettie lightvessel, around 20 miles north-east of Dover. At first, passengers managed to bail out the 13°C water – but soon the flooding became uncontrollable. The dinghy’s inflatable tube began losing pressure, and a couple of the Kurdish men used air pumps to try to keep it inflated. Others tried to prevent panic spreading among the passengers.
Many onboard began to make frantic calls for rescue. What were reported to be leaked transcripts of some of these calls were published by French newspaper Le Monde a year after the sinking. They showed the first distress call from the dinghy was received by the French coastguard at 12.48am. Speaking in English, the caller said there were 33 people on board a “broken” boat.
According to Le Monde, three minutes later, another call was transferred to the French maritime rescue coordination centre at Cap Gris-Nez by an emergency operator who reported: “Apparently their boat – there’s nothing left.” Following procedure, the French coastguard officer asked the caller to send a GPS position by WhatsApp so she could “send a rescue boat as soon as possible”. At 1.05am UK time, the GPS position arrived.
Rather than send a French boat, Le Monde reported that the officer phoned her counterparts in Dover to warn them a dinghy 0.6 nautical miles from the border line would soon be crossing into UK waters. On the other end of the line was the trainee officer, who was handling routine calls that night despite officially only being an observer.
After the call finished, according to Downs’s evidence to the inquiry, the trainee mistakenly told him the dinghy was thought to be “in good condition” – information he recorded in the log for Incident Charlie. This miscommunication may have affected the urgency of the UK’s SAR response, preventing HM Coastguard and Border Force from appreciating the severe distress the “broken” dinghy was in.
Just before 1am, the French coastguard had sent its migrant tracker spreadsheet, containing information on all small boat crossings that night, to HM Coastguard for the first time. It showed four migrant dinghies at sea – which Gris-Nez had been aware of “for many hours”, according to Gibson.
The issue of the French coastguard appearing to withhold information about active small boat crossings had been raised by HM Coastguard’s clandestine operations liaison officer during a July 2021 review. And earlier that very evening, Gibson told one of his colleagues:
Sometimes they just seem to keep it quiet. Like we’ll not get anything – then we’ll get a tracker at three in the morning with 15 incidents, and they go: ‘Mostly these are in your search-and-rescue region.’ Wonderful.
At 1.20am, Downs phoned Border Force Maritime Command in Portsmouth to request a Border Force vessel search for the dinghy Charlie. He provided the GPS position received from his French counterpart and the number of people onboard – but also the incorrect information that “they think it’s in good condition”.
Ten minutes later, the Valiant, Border Force’s 42-metre patrol ship stationed at Dover, was tasked to proceed towards the Sandettie lightvessel. At the same time, the first direct call to the Dover rescue coordination centre came in from Charlie. The distressed caller said they were “in the water” and that “everything [was] finished”.
Around 15 minutes later, at 1.48am, Gibson took a call from 16-year-old Mubin Rizghar Hussein, who spoke good English. Despite the noise and commotion, he managed to provide Gibson with a WhatsApp number – in order to share their GPS position. The transcript of this call records voices shouting in the background: “It’s finished. Finished. Brother, it’s finished.”
A ‘grave and imminent threat to life’
Gibson told the inquiry that after his call with Rizghar Hussein, he had a “gut feeling that this doesn’t feel quite as usual”. By “usual” he meant what was, according to maritime operations officer Downs, a commonly held belief at the Dover coastguard station that with “nine out of ten”“ callers from small boats: “It would generally be overstated that the boat … was sinking, people were drowning … Whatever was going on would be overstated.”
Acting on his gut feeling, at 2.27am Gibson took the unprecedented decision to broadcast a Mayday Relay – denoting a “grave and imminent threat to life”. By maritime law, this alert required other vessels to offer their assistance.
Gibson told the inquiry he did this to get the French warship Flamant to respond. He could see on his radar screen that Flamant was closest to Charlie’s position and was the best vessel to rescue the people if the dinghy really was sinking.
Why the Flamant did not respond is at the centre of an ongoing criminal investigation in France into two of the warship’s officers and five coastguards from Gris-Nez, for “non-assistance of persons in distress”. This investigation’s strict confidentiality obligation means the inquiry was unable to access any information from the French side about their operations that night.
At 2.01 and again at 2.14am, HM Coastguard had received new GPS positions via WhatsApp showing the dinghy to be more than a mile inside UK waters.
Valiant, having been tasked at 1.30am, only exited the port of Dover at 2.22am and would need at least another hour to reach the Sandettie. Despite this, no other vessel was sent to join the search. At 3.11am, when asked during a call by Border Force Maritime Command whether Charlie was “still a Mayday situation”, Gibson replied: “Well, they’ve told me it’s full of water.”
With a total of four small boats being shown in the Channel that night by the French tracker spreadsheet, Gibson suggested there could be as many as 110 people on board these dinghies – beyond Valiant’s capacity for taking on survivors. Nevertheless, Border Force and HM Coastguard opted to “wait and see what the numbers are, and whether Valiant can deal with that … We don’t want to call any other assets out just yet.”
In a call with Christopher Trubshaw, captain of the Coastguard rescue helicopter stationed at Lydd on the Kent coast, aviation tactical commander Dominic Golden explained that Border Force was “not prepared to bring in their crews who are pretty knackered” unless “we can convince them there are people in real danger”. He then asked Trubshaw to search the Channel for the small boats shown in the French tracker, as the surveillance aeroplanes had been unable to take off.
In her closing submission to the inquiry, Sonali Naik, a legal representative of the survivors and bereaved families, highlighted Golden’s “dismissive attitude” towards Charlie’s distress when he gave Trubshaw the reason for the request, which included the following:
As usual, the catalogue of phone calls is beginning to trickle in … You know, the classic ‘I am lost, I am sinking, my mother’s wheelchair is falling over the side’ etc. ‘Sharks with lasers surrounding boat’ and ‘we are all dying’ type of thing.
Nevertheless, Golden asked the helicopter crew to pack a liferaft. “I can’t imagine we’re going to need it but … potentially you get to play with one of your new toys.”
While Golden described his words as “unwise” or “flippant”, Naik said they were “more than that” – suggesting they revealed rescuers’ general perceptions of the occupants of small boats and the widely held scepticism towards their distress calls.
‘We are dying. Where is the boat?’
With the water inside rising fast and their dinghy collapsing, Charlie’s increasingly desperate passengers kept trying to get rescuers to appreciate how dire their situation was.
At 2.31am in the Dover rescue coordination centre, Gibson received a second call from Mubin Rizghar Hussein, who pleaded: “We are dying, where is the boat?”
Gibson replied: “The boat is on its way but it has to get …” only to be interrupted by Rizghar Hussein saying: “We all die. We all die.”
“I get that,” Gibson told the terrified teenager, “but unfortunately, you’re going to be patient and all stay together, because I can’t make the boat come any quicker.” He ended the call saying:
You need to stop making calls because every time you make a call, we think there’s another boat out there – and we don’t want to accidentally go chasing for another boat when it’s actually your boat we’re looking for.
Gibson broke down briefly when recounting this second call during his evidence to the inquiry, explaining:
If you don’t understand what’s fully going on and you’re getting ‘we’re all going to die’, it’s quite a distressing situation to find yourself in, sitting at the end of a phone – effectively helpless. You know where they are, you want to get a boat to them, and you can’t.
Call records also show that coastguards on both sides of the Channel passed responsibility for rescuing the sinking dinghy off to one another. According to Le Monde, during one call a passenger told the French coastguard officer he was “in the water” – to which she replied: “Yes, but you are in English waters.”
The transcript of the last call before Charlie capsized, made at 3.12am, reveals that Downs asked “where are you?” 17 times – despite the caller being unable to answer anything beyond “English waters”. The maritime operations officer finished by instructing the caller to hang up and dial 999: “If it won’t connect on 999, then you’re probably still in French waters.”
In her closing submission, Naik pointed to “discriminatory stereotypes and attitudes towards migrants on small boats which fatally affected the SAR response” for Charlie – as rescuers, in her words, “jumped to premature conclusions”. According to survivor Mohamed Omar:
Because we have been seen as refugees … that’s the reason why I believe the rescue, they did not come at all. We feel like we were … treated like animals.
Fatal assumptions
At 3.27am, Border Force’s ship Valiant arrived at Charlie’s last recorded GPS position (from 2.14am) – but found nothing. Its master, Kevin Toy, decided to head north-easterly towards the Sandettie lightvessel, the way the tide was flowing.
En route, Valiant spotted two other dinghies in the darkness using its night vision – one still making its way towards the English coast, the other stopped in the water. The stationary dinghy was in greater danger from the Channel’s shipping traffic, so Valiant went to it and began rescuing those onboard – radioing back that it had “engaged unlit migrant crafts stopped in the water” with approximately 40 people onboard.
In the Dover rescue coordination centre, Gibson assumed this dinghy could be Charlie and gave Mubin Rizghar Hussein’s name and telephone number so Valiant’s crew could verify whether he was on board. At 4.16am, Gibson himself tried calling the WhatsApp number that Rizghar Hussein had shared, but the call failed.
At 4.20am, Valiant completed its first rescue of the morning. Two more followed after the Coastguard helicopter spotted two other dinghies in the Sandettie area – but nobody in the water. A near-capacity Valiant then returned to Dover just after 8am with 98 survivors on board.
None of the three rescued dinghies matched the description of Charlie. All were in good condition, differently coloured, and with disparate numbers of people onboard – yet the misplaced assumption Charlie had been rescued persisted amid the night’s murky information environment. Gibson stated that, while he had soon received additional information matching Valiant’s first rescue to a different dinghy, he was still “fairly certain Charlie had been picked up”.
“Once Valiant had picked up these [three] boats,” he explained, “we no longer received calls from Charlie, and a call to a known phone number on Charlie failed.” As a result, neither Valiant nor the Coastguard helicopter were sent back out to continue searching for the stricken dinghy.
In fact, Gibson’s call to Rizghar Hussein’s WhatsApp number did not fail because Charlie’s passengers had been rescued – nor because they had thrown their phones into the sea when Border Force arrived. Rather, it was because the dinghy had capsized and everyone had fallen into the Channel’s freezing waters.
‘No one came to our rescue’
In harrowing evidence to the inquiry, Mohamed Omar explained how, as one side of the dinghy deflated, the passengers – “hysterical and crying” – panicked and moved to the opposite side. This shift in weight caused the dinghy to capsize:
The screaming when the boat tipped and people fell in the water was deafening. I have never heard anything as desperate as this. I was not thinking about whether we were going to be rescued any more; it was all about how to stay alive.
As the passengers were thrown into the water, the dinghy flipped on top of them. Mohamed Omar described having to swim out from underneath to catch a breath: “It was dark and I could not really see. It was extremely cold and the sea was rough.”
As he surfaced, he saw Halima Mohammed Shikh, a mother of three also from Somalia and travelling alone, struggling as she couldn’t swim. She screamed his name for help, and he tried to get her back to what was left of the dinghy – but couldn’t. “I think she was one of the first people to drown,” he told the inquiry.
Others managed to cling to the broken inflatable, hoping rescue was on its way – but “no one came to our rescue”. Pushed and pulled by the waves, some lost their grip and drifted away before dawn. Mohamed Omar recalled:
All night, I was holding on to what remained of the boat. In the morning, I could hear the people were screaming and everything. It’s something I cannot forget in my mind.
By the time the sun finally rose at 7.26am, he estimated that no more than 15 people were left clinging to the broken dinghy – adrift on the tide in a busy shipping lane:
I do not recall speaking with anyone in the water. Those who were alive were half-dead. There was nothing we could do any more. I could see bodies floating all around us in the water. I presume most people were either already dead or were unconscious.
Shortly afterwards, Mohamed Omar said he let go of the dinghy and began to swim, thinking to himself: “I am going to die [but] I don’t want to die here. At least if I die whilst swimming, I won’t feel it.”
He swam towards a boat he could see in the distance and, as he got closer, began to wave his life jacket for attention. A French woman, out fishing with her family, saw him and jumped in the water to save him.
As he finished telling his story, Mohamed Omar told the inquiry: “I’m a voice for those people who passed away.”
Bodies are found
Around 1pm on the afternoon of November 24, 12 hours after the first distress calls from Charlie, a French commercial fishing vessel began finding bodies in the sea nine miles north-west of Calais. But as the news came in, no one at HM Coastguard or Border Force appears to have made the connection with Incident Charlie.
Days later, when the accounts of Mohamed Omar’s fellow survivor, Mohammed Shekha Ahmad from Iraqi Kurdistan, and a relative of two of the deceased emerged, the Home Office refuted their claims that the dinghy had sunk in UK waters as “completely untrue”.
However, five days after the disaster, Gibson contacted the small boats tactical commander to share his concerns that the reported deaths could be from Charlie. He had read a news article in which “the survivor states a male called Mubin called the emergency services, which could possibly be the ‘Moomin’ [sic] I spoke to”.
On December 1, clandestine Channel threat commander O’Mahoney responded to a question from the UK’s Joint Committee on Human Rights, as to whether the migrants whose bodies had been found in French waters had made distress calls to the UK authorities. O’Mahoney told the committee:
We are looking into that. To manage your expectation, though, it may never be possible to say with absolute accuracy whether that boat was in UK waters [and] I cannot tell you with any certainty that the people on that particular boat called the UK authorities.
Thanks largely to their grieving families tireless pursuit of the truth, however, it is now possible to say definitively that Charlie had been in UK waters – and that a number of its passengers spoke to HM Coastguard officers.
It was only after these families raised concerns that the disaster had involved the UK authorities that the Department for Transport commissioned a safety investigation into the incident in January 2022. A lawyer for the bereaved families suggested to me that without the threat of legal action, the Department for Transport “would likely not have done anything” – despite this being Britain’s worst maritime disaster for decades. Meanwhile, according to inquiry evidence, the Home Office is understood not to have conducted an internal review or investigation into its role in the disaster.
After a frustrating two years of waiting for the survivors and bereaved families, the Marine Accidents Investigations Branch published its report – which both confirmed most of their accounts and substantiated their criticisms of the SAR response.
Soon afterwards, the Cranston Inquiry was announced. Despite no bodies having been recovered in UK waters, it has been run almost like an inquest. In his final report – to be published by the end of 2025 – Sir Ross Cranston has promised to “consider what lessons can be learned and, if appropriate, make recommendations to reduce the risk of a similar event occurring”.
A ‘crucial and unique opportunity’
HM Coastguard and Border Force officers have repeatedly told the inquiry how the UK’s approach to small boat search-and-rescue has changed since the November 2021 disaster. More officers have been hired, Border Force has contracted additional boats to conduct rescues, information sharing has improved, and cooperation with French colleagues is better. Today, there are significantly more rescue ships on both sides of the Channel which can intervene faster when dinghies come to be in distress, and have undoubtedly saved many lives.
There has also been massive investment in drones, aeroplanes and powerful shore-based cameras to reduce the risk that HM Coastguard loses “maritime domain awareness” again if some of its surveillance aircraft are unable to fly. New technology automatically translates coastguard officers’ messages into different languages and extracts live GPS locations and images from travellers’ mobile devices.
Such investments make it unlikely that another dinghy could be lost in the middle of the Channel after its passengers call for help, in the way Charlie so catastrophically was.
Nevertheless, people continue dying while attempting to cross the Channel – with 2024 having been by far the deadliest year yet. At least 69 people lost their lives, according to the Refugee Council. So far in 2025, 24 people are documented as dead or missing at the UK-France border by Calais Migrant Solidarity, amid a record number of attempted crossings for the first half of the year.
Some migrants’ rights NGOs have suggested the UK’s “stop the boats” policies, and European efforts to disrupt the supply chain of dinghies and other equipment used in crossings, has driven such deadly overcrowding.
But it is also unlikely that the circumstances surrounding more recent deaths in the Channel will ever be investigated as thoroughly as Incident Charlie, if at all. Lawyers for the bereaved families have therefore been keen to highlight the Cranston Inquiry’s “crucial and unique opportunity” not only to look back and offer answers about one of Britain’s worst maritime disasters in recent decades – but to look forwards and “prevent the further loss of life at sea”.
The survivors, families and migrants’ rights organisations who contributed their evidence thus hope the inquiry’s recommendations go beyond purely operational and administrative improvements to search-and-rescue, to address the fundamental role that UK, France and European border policies play in why more people are dying in the Channel, despite the improvements to search-and-rescue strategies and resources.
Above all, they ask why only some people are able to travel to the UK in comfort and safety while others must make the journey in precarious, overcrowded inflatable dinghies – and thus entrust their lives to the search-and-rescue services whose success can never be guaranteed. As Halima Mohammed Shikh’s cousin, Ali Areef, told the inquiry:
It makes me feel sick to think about crossing the Channel in a ferry where others including a member of my family lost their lives because there was no other way to cross. I will never take a ferry across the Channel again.
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Travis Van Isacker gratefully acknowledges the support of the Economic and Social Research Council
(UK) (Grant Ref: ES/W002639/1).
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Marc Fullman, Docotoral Researcher in Organisational Behaviour, University of Sussex Business School, University of Sussex
If your first task of the day is triaging a bulging inbox at 6am, you are not alone. A recent Microsoft report headlined “Breaking down the infinite workday” found that 40% of Microsoft 365 users online at this hour are already scanning their emails – and that an average worker will receive 117 emails before the clock rolls around to midnight.
But that’s not all. By 8am, Microsoft Teams notifications outstrip email for most workers, and the typical employee is hit with 153 chat messages during the day.
The report states that, while meetings swallow the prime 9am–11am focus window, interruptions arrive every two minutes throughout the day. This perpetual work overload means a third of professionals reopen their inbox to answer more emails at 10pm.
In short, Microsoft’s telemetry of this “triple-peak” day (first thing, mid-morning and late at night) paints a vivid picture of a work rhythm that never stops.
From an occupational psychology perspective, these statistics are more than curious trivia. They signal a cluster of psychosocial hazards.
Boundary Theory holds that recovery depends on clear and solid boundaries – both psychologically and in terms of time – between work and the rest of life. Microsoft’s findings show those limits dissolving. This includes 29% of users checking email after 10pm.
Similarly, a four-day diary study of Dutch professionals found that heavier after-hours smartphone use predicted poorer psychological detachment and exhaustion the next day.
This can have wider consequences. When people are busy, rushed or harried, one of the first things to suffer is their regulation of online behaviour. Large-scale survey research shows that ambiguous or curt digital messages occur when we are depleted. These can obviously sap wellbeing in recipients.
In a 2024 study of workers in the UK and Italy, incivility in emails between colleagues predicted work-life conflict and exhaustion via “techno-invasion”, as workers reported being exposed to an ongoing torrent of unpleasant messaging.
So-called ‘techno-invasion’ could lead to work-life conflict and emotional exhaustion. fizkes/Shutterstock
My ongoing doctoral research examines how workers respond to messages they receive, and exposes the nuance on different communication platforms. Among the 300 UK workers involved, identical messages were rated as more uncivil on email than on Teams, particularly when they were informal. Frustration on the part of a recipient (in terms of how they interpret a message) accounted for nearly 50% of perceived incivility on email, but only 30% on Teams.
These findings suggest that choice of platform significantly influences how messages are received and interpreted. Using these insights, organisations can make informed decisions about communication channels, and potentially reduce workplace stress and improve employee wellbeing in the process.
Microsoft suggests that AI “agent bosses” will rescue workers. These tools could summarise inboxes, draft replies and free up humans for higher-order work.
The data, however, exposes a cultural contradiction. Managers tell staff to switch off, yet their appraisal spreadsheets tell a different story. In one set of experiments, the same bosses who praised weekend digital detoxing also ranked the detoxers as less promotable than colleagues who were glued to their inboxes.
Little wonder Microsoft’s own data shows the same late-night peak, despite widespread wellbeing guidance to switch off after hours. Without changing how commitment is signalled and rewarded, faster tools risk accelerating the treadmill rather than dismantling it.
What organisations can do
1. Individual level – let people feel they have control
Encourage “quiet hours” and teach employees to disable non-urgent notifications. Boundary-control research shows that when workers feel they have control over connectivity, it creates a buffer against fatigue caused by after-hours email.
2. Team level – communication charters
Teams should agree explicit norms for communication. This could include capping the numbers invited to meetings and insisting on agendas. Simple charters along these lines restore predictability for workers and cut “decision fatigue”.
3. Organisational level – redesign metrics
Organisations could shift from visibility (green dots and instant replies) to outcome-based metrics for productivity. This removes the incentive for workers to stay online and aligns with evidence that autonomy is a key resource.
4. Technological level – AI for elimination, not acceleration
Workplaces should deploy AI assistants to remove low-value tasks (for example, sorting email or drafting minutes), not just speed them up. Then they should conduct workload audits to ensure the time saved is reinvested in deep work, not simply swallowed up by extra meetings.
The Microsoft dataset is enormous, but there are two important points to note. First, European jurisdictions with “right to disconnect” laws may be missing from the figures. Second, some metrics (for example, interruptions) are calculated on the most active fifth of users, potentially overstating a typical experience.
But if the numbers in Microsoft’s report feel familiar, that is precisely the point. The technology designed to liberate workers is now scripting their day minute-by-minute. Occupational psychology researchers warn that without deliberate boundary setting, rising digital job demands will continue to tax wellbeing and dull performance.
AI can be a circuit breaker, but only if it is accompanied by cultural and structural change that gives employees permission to disconnect.
The infinite workday is not a law of nature, it is a design flaw. Fixing it will take more than faster software – it will demand a collective decision to prize focus, recovery and civility as fiercely as workers currently prize availability.
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Marc Fullman 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.
Technology platforms operating in the UK now have a legal duty to protect young people from some of the more dangerous forms of online content. This includes pornography, content that encourages, promotes, or provides instructions for violence, promotion of self-harm and eating disorders. Those failing to comply face hefty fines.
Until now, parents have had the unenviable role of navigating web content filters and app activity management to guard their children from harmful content. As of 25 July 2025, the Online Safety Actputs greater responsibility on platforms and content creators themselves.
In theory, this duty requires tech organisations to curb some of the features that make social media so popular. These include changing the configuration of the algorithms that analyse a user’s typical behaviour and offer content that other people like them usually engage with.
This is because the echo chambers that these algorithms create can push young people towards unwanted (and crucially, unsolicited) content, such as incel-related material.
The Online Safety Act directly acknowledges the impact of algorithms in targeting content to young people. It forms a key part of Ofcom’s proposed solutions. The act requires platforms to adjust their algorithms to filter out content likely to be harmful to young people.
It’s yet to become clear exactly how tech companies will respond. There has been pushback over negative attitudes to algorithms, though. A response from Meta, which owns Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp, to Ofcom’s 2024 consultation on protecting children from harms online counters the idea that “recommender systems are inherently harmful”.
It states: “Algorithms help to sort information and to create better experiences online and are designed to help recommend content that might be interesting, timely or entertaining. Algorithms also help to personalise a user’s experience, and help connect a user with their friends, family and interests. Most importantly, we use algorithms to help young people have age-appropriate experiences on our apps.”
Age verification
A further safety measure is the use of age checks. Here, Ofcom is enforcing platforms to make “robust age checks” and, in the case of the most serious of content creation sites, these must be “highly effective”.
Users will need to prove their age. Traditionally, age-verification checks involve the submission of government-issued documents – often accompanied by a short video to verify the accuracy of the submission. There have been technological advances which some platforms are embracing. Age-estimation services involve uploading a short video or photo selfie which is analysed by AI.
If enforced, the Online Safety Act may not only restrict access to pornography and other recognised extreme content, but it could also help stem the flow of knife sales.
Research shows exposure to knife crime news on social media is linked to symptoms similar to PTSD. Research by one of us (Charlotte Coleman) and colleagues has previously shown that negative effects of seeing knife imagery may be more severe for girls and those who already feel unsafe.
Even on strongly regulated platforms, though, some harmful material can seep through the algorithm and age checks net. Active moderation is therefore a further requirement of the act. This means platforms need to have processes in place to look at user-generated content, assess the potential harm and remove it if appropriate to ensure swift action is taken against content harmful to children.
This may be through proactive moderation (assessing content before it is published), reactive moderation based on user reports, or more likely, a combination of the two.
Even with these changes, invisible online spaces remain. A host of private, encrypted end-to-end messaging services, such as messages on Whatsapp and snaps on Snapchat, are impenetrable to Ofcom and the platform managers, and rightly so. It is a vital fundamental right that people are free to communicate with their friends and family privately without fear of monitoring or moderation.
However, that right may also be abused. Negative content, bullying and threats may also be circulated through these services. This remains a significant problem to be addressed and one that is not currently solved by the Online Safety Act.
These invisible online spaces may be an area that, for now, will remain in the hands of parents and carers to monitor and protect. It is clear that there are still many challenges ahead.
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Charlotte Coleman has previously received funding from UKRI to understand the negative online experiences of UK police staff.
Jess Scott-Lewis 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.
We are living in an age of anxiety. People face multiple existential crises such as climate change and conflicts that could potentially escalate into nuclear war.
So how do people cope with competing threats like this? And what happens to climate anxiety when wars suddenly erupt and compete for our attention?
Climate change affects our physical and mental health, directly through extreme climate-related droughts, wildfires and intense storms. It also affects some people indirectly through so-called “climate anxiety”. This term covers a range of negative emotions and states, including not just anxiety, but worry and concern, hopelessness, anger, fear, grief and sadness.
A team of researchers led by Caroline Hickman from the University of Bath surveyed 10,000 children and young people (aged 16 to 25 years) in ten countries (Australia, Brazil, Finland, France, India, Nigeria, Philippines, Portugal, the UK and the US). They found that 45% of respondents said their feelings about climate change negatively affected their daily lives. It was worse for respondents from developing countries.
Climate anxiety can potentially serve a positive function. Anger, for example, can push people to act to help mitigate the effects of climate change.
But it can also lead to “eco-paralysis”, a feeling of being overwhelmed, inhibiting people from taking any effective action, affecting their sleep, work and study, as a result of them dwelling endlessly on the problem.
Climate anxiety is not included in the American Psychiatric Association’s authoritative guide to the diagnosis of mental disorders. In other words, it is not officially recognised as a mental disorder.
Some say this is a good thing. The author and Stanford academic Britt Wray wrote: “The last thing we want is to pathologise this moral emotion, which stems from an accurate understanding of the severity of our planetary health crisis.”
But if it is not officially recognised, will people take it seriously enough? Will they just dismiss people who suffer from it as “snowflakes” – too sensitive and too easily hurt by the hard realities of life. This is a major dilemma.
I explore how climate anxiety relates to other types of clinical anxiety in my recent book, Understanding Climate Anxiety, recognising that there are adaptive and non-adaptive forms of anxiety.
According to Steven Taylor, a clinical psychologist from the University of British Columbia, adaptive anxiety can “motivate climate activism, such as efforts to reduce one’s carbon footprint”. Maladaptive anxiety, however, may “take the form of anxious passivity”, he warned, where the person feels anxious but utterly helpless.
Identifying different types of climate anxiety, understanding their precursors and how they interact with personality is a major psychological challenge. Identifying ways of alleviating climate anxiety and making it more adaptive, and focused on possible climate mitigation, is a major societal challenge.
But there’s another important issue. Some global leaders, including Donald Trump, don’t believe in human-induced climate change, claiming it’s “one of the great scams”. He seems to view climate anxiety as an overblown reaction to propaganda pumped out by a biased media.
This can make the experience much worse for those who feel anxious but then having their feelings dismissed.
Some psychologists argue that climate anxiety can be a form of pre-traumatic stress disorder. This hypothesis arose from observations of climate scientists and their growing feelings of anger, distress, helplessness and depression as the climate situation has worsened.
In 2015, researchers devised a new clinical measure to assess pre-traumatic stress reactions using items found in the diagnostic and statistical manual for post-traumatic stress disorder, but now focused on the future rather than the past, asking about “repeated, disturbing dreams of a possible future stressful experience”, for example.
They tested Danish soldiers before their deployment in Afghanistan and found that “involuntary intrusive images and thoughts of possible future events … were experienced at the same level as post-traumatic stress reactions to past events before and during deployment”.
They also found that soldiers who experienced higher levels of pre-traumatic stress before deployment had an increased risk of post-traumatic stress disorder after their return from the war zone. Their hypervigilance primed their nervous system to react more strongly when anything untoward occurred.
This would suggest that we need to take stress reactions to future anticipated events such as climate change very seriously.
The crisis response
But how important is climate anxiety in the context of these other threats? Researchers assessed the emotional state and mental health of people aged 18 to 29 years in five countries (China, Portugal, South Africa, the US and UK) focusing on three global issues: climate change, an environmental disaster (the Fukushima nuclear accident in Japan), and the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East.
They found the strongest emotional engagement was with the ongoing wars, with climate change a close second, and the radiation leak third. The strongest emotional responses to the wars were concern, sadness, helplessness, disgust, outrage and anger. For climate change, the strongest responses were concern, sadness, helplessness, disappointment and anxiety.
All three crises made young people feel concerned, sad, and very importantly helpless, but climate change has this burning level of anxiety added into the bubbling mix.
It seems that climate anxiety still has this undiminished power regardless of all the other awful things that are currently happening in the world, and I suspect the stigma of being dismissed as “snowflakes” makes this particular fear response all the more unbearable.
Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?_
Geoff Beattie has received funding from the British Academy and the AHRC to investigate psychological barriers to climate change mitigation and the effects of climate change on emotional responses.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Eerke Boiten, Professor of Cybersecurity, Head of School of Computer Science and Informatics, De Montfort University
As of July 25 2025, people in the UK accessing web services with pornographic content will have to prove they are over 18 years of age. This development has been in the works for a while. It was proposed in 2014 by the video-on-demand regulator, and legislated for introduction in 2019 through the British Board of Film Classification.
It is of course important to stop children from accessing inappropriate material online. But, as often with technological solutions to societal problems, all available methods of age checking come with significant downsides in terms of privacy, security and human rights.
A strict separation between sites that do or do not have pornography means the definition of pornography, (not in itself illegal in the UK, becomes crucial. Tech companies are likely to use conservative algorithms (“overblocking”) in response. Historically this has affected sex education online, making it harder for young people to find sexual health advice or explore LGBT+ identities.
The failure to implement the law in 2019 was blamed on an administrative error, but the problems with technological solutions also played a role. Technology in this area has barely progressed, but nevertheless the regulator Ofcom ghas now said that several methods are capable of being highly effective.
The methods Ofcom suggests now come into two categories, which I will describe here as direct and indirect.
With direct methods, visitors will have to prove to the website that they are over 18. The most obvious way is by sharing both photo ID, such as a passport, and then also a selfie as proof that the passport belongs to them (in cybersecurity terminology, the passport is a “credential” and the selfie serves to “bind” the credential to the user).
Most people would obviously object to submitting these to a porn site. Part of the reason for this is that this would fully identify users, and allow the site to associate their identity to their preferences in browsing.
Anonymity on the internet may have got a bad name because of online “trolls”, but it has a serious positive human rights dimension, particularly also for children. Freedom of expression and association can be exercised much more safely if online anonymity is an option.
Anonymous access to any sites relating to sex can be viewed as liberating people to exercise their right to a sex life without interference or shame. Most age verification methods undermine anonymity to some extent, even if not as obviously and completely as passports and selfies do.
Indirect methods use an intermediary organisation to verify the person’s age. There are lobby groups associated with these organisations that have been influential in policy making for UK online safety for the last decade. Another strong influence has been politicians’ belief in the economic potential of the UK “safety tech” sector.
Users prove their age once with the intermediary, leading to a credential that may be used – typically multiple times – on the website without providing personal data. This looks like a nice clean solution, requiring trust in the intermediary but not in the “porn site”, until you consider “binding” – how do you know it’s the same user?
Borrowing or stealing of such credentials may be minor risks, but a black market in them could provide ways for teenagers to circumvent age restrictions (alongside virtual private networks VPNs, an encryption method which stop a user’s internet traffic from being intercepted by third parties).
Intermediaries do all promise to delete or protect the information used for the proof of age, after varying periods. This limits the associated security and hence privacy risks, but does not eliminate them.
There are also incidental indirect methods, where an existing third party happens to know we are over 18. This includes banks (the “open banking” verification method), credit cards (not allowed under 18 in the UK), or mobile phone companies that can confirm a person has been able to get their porn filter removed, proving they must be over 18.
All indirect methods have so-called “linkability” privacy issues. The credential becomes an identifier, which allows the website, the intermediary, or both to link different visits to the same site or to other sites, and build up a picture like a browsing history that will become more individual and more intrusive over time.
Age estimation
Finally there are methods that do not actually verify your age but only estimate it. One way is via your email address and detecting how much “adult behaviour”, such as buying insurance, it has been involved with.
For most of us who do not use throw-away email addresses, it drives home the extent to which our main email address forms the key to mass online surveillance of everything we do. Maybe we would rather not be reminded. It certainly seems excessive for proving our age.
A lot of commercial effort has also gone into face-based age estimation technology. As with human age checking for alcohol in supermarkets, it is very approximate and unfair on people who do not look their age. In both cases, another verification method needs to be added as a backup.
To make the online world safer for kids, technological measures have had adverse effect on freedom that go beyond just removing porn. As a result, additional online surveillance gets put in place for many of us. Creating additional sensitive databases of information also sets up targets for cybercriminals.
Even more seriously, the “database state” offers potential for the kind of repressive mass surveillance that privacy activists have been warning of for decades. In that context, can we really afford to add to internet surveillance?
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Eerke Boiten has in the past received funding from various research funding organisations, none of it relating to the topic of this article.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Jennifer Mathers, Senior Lecturer in International Politics, Aberystwyth University
Protests have erupted in Kyiv and other Ukrainian cities against a new law that threatens the independence of Ukraine’s anti-corruption institutions. The legislation was hastily passed on July 22 by parliament and signed by the Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelensky, that same day.
It places Ukraine’s national anti-corruption bureau and its special anti-corruption prosecutor’s office under the direct control of the prosecutor general, one of Zelensky’s appointed officials. Zelensky has argued that the measure was necessary to address Russian infiltration of anti-corruption bodies.
Critics of the measure, however, believe the real purpose of the law is to give the president the power to quash ongoing investigations into alleged corruption by members of his inner circle. These include his close ally and former deputy prime minister, Oleksiy Chernyshov.
Politicians from opposition parties and civil society activists also regard the new law as an example of the president attempting to take advantage of wartime conditions to silence critics and consolidate power.
The protests have involved thousands of ordinary people. This includes veterans of the war against Russia’s invasion, some with visible war injuries such as missing limbs. Anger at the attempt to curb the independence of anticorruption bodies has broken the informal agreement between the government and Ukrainian society to show a united front to the world while the war continues.
The protests may be the most serious domestic political challenge Zelensky has faced since he was elected president in 2019.
Ukrainians protest after Zelensky signs law clamping down on anticorruption agencies.
Formally, Zelensky’s political position is secure. His Servant of the People party holds the majority of seats in parliament and governs without the constraints of coalition partners. Zelensky and his party will also not face voters anytime soon. There is a ban on holding elections during martial law, which is due to continue for the duration of the war.
Zelensky is not unpopular in Ukraine. According to a survey conducted in June by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology, Zelensky’s personal popularity was running at 65%. This is down from the heady heights of 90% in the first few months after Russia’s 2022 invasion, but up significantly from 52% in December 2024.
However, Zelensky was quick to respond to the street protests by promising to reverse the new law. He said he would submit a new bill to parliament to restore independence to the agencies. The speed of his response reveals the sensitivity of the president – and indeed most Ukrainian politicians – to criticism on the corruption issue.
Why corruption is a big issue
Corruption is a topic that resonates strongly with Ukrainian society. Anger at the corruption of Viktor Yanukovych’s presidency fuelled the Maidan protests of 2013 and 2014, which began in response to his decision to break off negotiations with the EU and instead pursue closer political and economic ties with Russia.
The “revolution of dignity” that followed robustly rejected Yanukovych’s leadership and his policies, and ultimately saw him ousted from power. The revolution was a resounding demonstration of the strength of Ukraine’s civil society and its determination to hold its elected officials to account.
Any suggestion that Ukraine is failing to address corruption is also a matter of great concern for Ukraine’s international supporters. This is especially the case for major lenders such as the International Monetary Fund. Its willingness to disperse the large loans that help keep the Ukrainian economy functioning depends on Kyiv reaching the good governance milestones it sets.
European leaders have expressed concern at the new law and the possibility that Zelensky may be taking a backwards step when it comes to dealing with corruption.
President of the European Commission, Ursula von der Leyen, phoned Zelensky to express her strong concerns and ask for an explanation for diluting the independence of anti-corruption bodies. French and German leaders have also indicated that they intend to hold discussions with Zelensky about the issue.
Meanwhile, Russia has been quick to take advantage of the protests in Ukraine. According to intelligence from Ukraine’s ministry of defence, Moscow has already distributed doctored photographs of the protesters that show them holding pro-Russian signs. It has falsely claimed that Ukrainians are coming on to the streets to demand an immediate end to the war.
So far, there are no indications that these protests will spill over from demanding the reversal of one controversial piece of legislation into calls for a change of government. Some protesters have even been explicit in their remarks to the media that they are broadly supportive of Zelensky, but are calling on him to take action on this specific issue.
However, Zelensky cannot afford to be complacent. He needs to act quickly to keep his domestic and international supporters on side. A great deal of effort has been expended to demonstrate Ukraine’s commitment to democratic values and its suitability to join western institutions like the EU and Nato. Any hint of backsliding on anti-corruption could undermine that message.
Ukrainians continue to be remarkably united in their support for the war effort and their approval of the armed forces. But the mobilisation process is itself tainted with corruption. Ordinary citizens are reluctant to respond to the state’s call for more soldiers when it is widely known that the family members of powerful and wealthy Ukrainians are able to avoid military service and instead lead comfortable lives abroad.
Zelensky cannot afford to let dissatisfaction with corruption grow. Even if it does not threaten his hold on power today, society’s anger at corrupt practices and the inequalities they create is already damaging the war effort. Ukraine’s political leaders need to demonstrate that their commitment to democracy is as strong as that of the society that they lead.
Jennifer Mathers 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.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Alvina Hoffmann, Lecturer in Diplomatic Studies, Department of Politics and International Studies, SOAS, University of London
The United States has imposed sanctions against the UN’s special rapporteur in the Palestinian territories, Francesca Albanese. It’s an unprecedented situation. The US secretary of state, Marco Rubio, cited as the reason her direct engagement with the International Criminal Court “in efforts to investigate, arrest, detain, or prosecute nationals of the United States or Israel”.
The statement also described Albanese’s “threatening letters to dozens of entities worldwide, including major American companies” as an escalation of her strategies. The sanctions were framed as preventing “illegitimate ICC overreach and abuse of power” and as part of Trump’s Executive Order 14203 on imposing sanctions on the ICC.
This raises the question: who are special rapporteurs and why would Albanese’s performance of her role elicit such a strong reaction from the US? Special rapporteurs are independent human rights experts, part of the UN Human Rights Council’s special procedures system established in 1979. There are 46 “thematic mandates” on issues such as extrajudicial killings, enforced disappearances and the environment, and 14 “country mandates”, including in Palestine.
Experts on human rights from academia, advocacy, law and other relevant professional fields are appointed to fulfil a variety of tasks. These include undertaking country visits, sending communications to states about individual cases of human rights violations, developing international human rights standards, engaging in advocacy and providing technical cooperation based on their legal and thematic expertise.
In 1967, 22 years after it was set up, the United Nations established institutional provisions for independent experts on human rights. This happened first in 1967 when it appointed an ad hoc working group of experts on apartheid and racial discrimination in southern Africa. In 1968 the same group of experts was appointed to investigate “Israeli Practices Affecting the Human Rights of the Palestinian People and Other Arabs of the Occupied Territories”. This is still in place today.
Neither South Africa nor Israel allowed experts to enter their territories to inspect their human rights record at the time. But in 2003, nearly a decade after it first held democratic elections, South Africa issued a standing invitation to all thematic special procedures, meaning they committed themselves, at least in theory, to always accept requests to visit from rapporteurs.
Attacks on individual rapporteurs
Albanese, a specialist in international human rights law, is the eighth rapporteur since the creation of her mandate in 1993. She was appointed to this pro bono position in 2022 for three years, and her mandate was recently renewed for another period of three years.
It was her most recent report from June 30 which led to her being sanctioned by the US. The report focused on the role of the corporate sector in “colonial endeavours and associated genocides” and named over 60 companies as “complicit”.
A host of institutions and leading human rights figures have come to her defence. Agnes Callamard, a former special rapporteur on extrajudicial killings, now the secretary general of Amnesty international noted the “chilling effects for all special rapporteurs” of the US decision. Top UN human rights officials denounced this dangerous precedent and called for its reversal.
In February 2024, the government of Israel declared Albanese persona non grata in response to her remark that “the victims of the October 7 massacre were not murdered because of their Jewishness, but in response to Israeli oppression”. As with the newly imposed sanctions, she called this step a distraction and called upon the world to keep their focus on Gaza.
Diplomatic immunity
Special rapporteurs are granted diplomatic immunity which, in theory, should enable them to speak up or write critical reports without the fear of reprisals. But in 1989 and 1999 the ICJ had to intervene with an advisory opinion on two cases when this status was jeopardised after the home countries of two special rapporteurs tried to restrict their freedom of speech. This involved Romanian national Dumitru Mazilu, tasked with writing a report on “Human rights and youth”, and Malaysian national Dato’ Param Cumaraswamy, special rapporteur on the independence of judges and lawyers.
Special rapporteurs wrote a collective letter denouncing the second case, when the Malaysian government filed several legal proceedings against Cumaraswamy. The body of experts called this “judicial harassment of a special rapporteur” and “a challenge to the status of the United Nations as a whole, its officials and its experts on mission”.
Special rapporteurs occupy an ambiguous institutional position. They take their mandate from the Human Rights Council, but they act in their personal capacity, and hence are not considered to be UN officials. In practice, they need to balance relations carefully between the UN secretariat, civil society, state representatives and, at times, their own countries.
The advisory opinions helped clarify that it was the secretary general, as the head of the United Nations, that entrusts them with the privileges of diplomatic immunity. The arrangement also leaves the door open for national courts to disagree with the secretary general. This enabled individual countries in some cases to exercise some form of control over their own nationals.
The recent attack on Albanese adds to the broader budgetary crisis of the UN, as the Trump administration is withholding funds of about US$1.5 billion (£1.2 billion) in addition to other countries such as China, Russia and Saudi Arabia. These are serious challenges for the UN human rights and humanitarian aid programmes. As past cases of attacks against individual rapporteurs have shown, it is important for all rapporteurs to stand together as one body and defend the integrity of the system as a whole.
Despite these attacks on her integrity and person, Albanese maintains faith in the human rights law instruments. As she stated during a public talk I attended at SOAS University of London in November 2024, we are yet to unlock the full potential of these instruments. This can only be done as a collective.
Alvina Hoffmann has previously been funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (UKRI).
