Category: The Conversation – UK

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Karl Pike, Lecturer in British Politics/Public Policy, School of Politics and International Relations, Queen Mary University of London

If you blinked you may have missed it. Labour has a new deputy leader, Lucy Powell, who won the contest to replace Angela Rayner.

The position of deputy comes down to a vote of party members and affiliated supporters, and this contest was seen as an opportunity to give Keir Starmer’s leadership the thumbs up or thumbs down.

Members have gone for the latter, selecting Powell over Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson, who was the Number 10 favourite for the role. In the end, Powell won 54% of the votes to Phillipson’s 46%.

Phillipson is popular in the party, and appears to have faced down grumbles from private schools about Labour’s VAT reforms. But polling and party mood had suggested Powell would win, even though Starmer had sacked her from his cabinet in September. This is proof both that politics is an unpredictable ride and that Labour’s internal politics is not currently blissful.

And although this was the first time since 2007 that Labour has held a contest for deputy leader while in office, turnout was just 16.6%.

Who is Lucy Powell?

Powell is no stranger to Labour leadership teams and of course only very recently served in Starmer’s government.

Having contested and lost the seat of Manchester Withington in the 2010 general election, Powell worked for Ed Miliband as Labour went into opposition, helping him establish himself as party leader.

A byelection in the Manchester Central constituency saw Powell selected and then elected for Labour in 2012, where she moved into shadow ministerial and shadow cabinet roles. Powell left the shadow cabinet in 2016, as Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership came under pressure from the parliamentary Labour party. She returned to frontbench Labour politics after Starmer became leader in 2020.

Based on her career so far, Powell is often characterised as being on the “soft left” of Labour – a label that could be used to describe many Labour party members, but which also obscures much variety, and different ideological perspectives. The “soft left” Powell is closer to the centre of that amorphous political grouping.

In choosing the candidate he did not favour, members are sending the prime minister a message that they, and many of those engaged with the party through trade unions, are not feeling motivated by the government’s performance – to say the least.

The deputy leader can play an important role within the parliamentary Labour party. They have a seat on the party’s National Executive Committee and are often involved in the party’s campaign machinery. They can act as a sounding board for MPs wanting to express views about political strategy, policy direction and legislative business.

Powell, who served as leader of the House of Commons in Starmer’s cabinet, already has experience of this kind of role. Her new role is simultaneously more formal and informal than her previous job.

As the elected deputy leader, Powell clearly has a legitimate role in discussing Labour’s ups and downs, privately and publicly. But from a governing perspective, the new deputy leader is outside of the cabinet and formal government decision-making – at least for now. This could be a recipe for further instability – and that was the argument against Powell’s candidacy during the contest.

That being said, Powell is experienced and has shown loyalty to the party. As the old adage goes, divided parties don’t win elections, and Powell will not want to make things worse for Labour.

What next?

Labour is in the doldrums. Losing the Caerphilly Senedd by-election was a sign that next year’s elections (which include elections to the Welsh and Scottish parliaments, as well as elections in England) may be very bad for Labour – meaning Starmer will come in for serious criticism.

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Read more:
Plaid Cymru’s staggeringly large victory in Caerphilly is a warning to both Labour and Reform

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He had already faced speculation about his position earlier in the autumn, including Manchester mayor Andy Burnham’s positioning prior to and during the party conference season. This demonstrated the unease felt after Labour’s first year.

Powell was right to dismiss the narrative connecting her candidacy to Burnham. The new deputy leader will instead be someone listened to in any analysis of Starmer’s leadership, particularly after the elections in 2026.

One big thing has not changed: Labour’s difficulty governing, stemming from Starmer’s cautious and ideologically confusing leadership. The next big political challenge to face is the budget, due to be delivered by Rachel Reeves on November 26.

The chancellor is in a difficult position, at least in part because Labour painted itself into a corner on tax policy before the 2024 general election.

Governing in these tumultuous times was always going to be difficult for Labour – but the leadership’s strategy has undoubtedly made it harder. This deputy leadership election may be looked back upon as a sign that the Labour party as a whole started to rethink its approach.

Karl Pike has received funding from the Economic and Social Research Council. He is a member of the Labour Party and before becoming an academic was a political advisor for the Labour Party.

– ref. Lucy Powell becomes Labour’s deputy leader – what that means for the party and Keir Starmer – https://theconversation.com/lucy-powell-becomes-labours-deputy-leader-what-that-means-for-the-party-and-keir-starmer-268410

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Louis Bayman, Associate Professor in Department of Film Studies, University of Southampton

Horror has always helped us establish the boundaries of acceptability by giving a name and shape to what transgresses them. Much of what constitutes horror stems from childhood, a time when boundaries and ideas of transgression are first being set.

Children can often encounter the world as a frightening place, full of unseen, mysterious powers. Any child who has been told that the monsters under the bed aren’t real knows just how little that reassurance helps their very real sense of fear.

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Read more:
Scary stories for kids: Watership Down made me aware of my mortality at age four

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It is the adult attitude to monsters that is harder to understand. As a society, we largely no longer believe in sprites and demons. However, we still fear the possible bad influence they could have on children’s minds. The 1984 film Gremlins is a good example of this.

Gremlins is about a young man who receives a new pet for Christmas. Billy’s father hasn’t bought him a cat or a dog but a cute little creature known as a mogwai, which he procured from a mysterious seller in Chinatown. Billy, who names the mogwai Gizmo, just has to follow three essential rules: do not expose him to light, he must be kept away from water, and, most important of all, he must never be fed after midnight.

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This article is part of a series of expert recommendations of spooky stories – on screen and in print – for brave young souls. From the surprisingly dark depths of Watership Down to Tim Burton’s delightfully eerie kid-friendly films, there’s a whole haunted world out there just waiting for kids to explore. Dare to dive in here.

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Gizmo is cute. He has big round eyes and chubby cheeks and a bashful smile that looks up expectantly at Billy, as if Billy is the centre of his universe. He babbles but can’t speak, snuggles softly and plays. Gizmo is, in other words, a representation of a child.

Billy spills water on Gizmo and finds out that this breeds a litter of littler mogwais. The more rambunctious of the new litter, Stripe, manages to trick Billy into feeding them after midnight, at which point they form into cocoons and then hatch into gremlins.

Gremlins are violent, sadistic, destructive pleasure-seekers, and their principle pleasure is mayhem. They have teeth and claws and scaly skin, and eyes that look with gleeful hatred at those who get in their way. Gremlins are, in other ways, also a representation of a child.

The psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud discussed the roots of the uncanny in the familiar, something that is altered just enough to become horrific. A pet, a toy, a bedroom at night, a child, have a comforting familiarity. But they are also classic sources of terror.

We are not scared of that which is different from us; we are scared of what is close to us – something that we thought was familiar, that is suddenly made strange.

What could be more familiar and yet more strange than a child? At once, both an idealised figure of helpless innocence and an unrelenting force of energetic indiscipline, a child is the most deeply human and the most deeply alien of creatures.

The Gremlins destroy Billy’s house, swing from the lampshades and take his mother hostage, all with the television constantly on. The scenario is surely familiar to many a parent, even more so given that the film takes place at Christmas.

Through various ever more ingenious methods – you may never look at a food blender the same way again – Billy, his mother, and his co-worker Kate (who is traumatised by Christmas after her father broke his neck trying to descend a chimney), manage to kill the gremlins off. The owner of the Chinatown emporium comes back to reclaim the mogwai (the word is Chinese for “evil spirit”), but not before chiding the family, and westerners in general, for their inability to take care of nature.

The film suggests that various rules have been transgressed. Our crazed desire to accumulate ever more things is done without thinking of the consequences. The films also poses the question about the limits of knowledge.

When Billy takes his new pet to school his teacher wants to experiment on it, a Gothic figure of the amoral scientist that goes back at least to Frankenstein. At the same time, the gremlins rampaging around the American suburb clearly reference moral panics over immigrants.

The discovery of the mogwai in Chinatown draws on a long tradition of orientalist fantasies of a magical, exotic but dangerous East, grafted onto a more modern association of east Asia with cheaply manufactured consumer goods.

The violence of Gremlins led American theatres to introduce a special PG-13 certificate. Here in the UK, I saw it in the cinema, aged five. I am not sure it was the children’s film my mother expected when she got me a ticket. But I loved it – and I think your kids will love it too.

Gremlins is suitable for children aged 13+

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

– ref. Scary stories for kids: Gremlins and the terror of normal, even cute, things becoming horrific – https://theconversation.com/scary-stories-for-kids-gremlins-and-the-terror-of-normal-even-cute-things-becoming-horrific-267788

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Phil Johnstone, Visiting Fellow, School of Global Studies, University of Sussex; University of Tartu; Utrecht University

Donald Trump’s recent visit to the UK saw a so-called “landmark partnership” on nuclear energy. London and Washington announced plans to build 20 small modular reactors and also develop microreactor technology – despite the fact no such plants have yet been built commercially anywhere in the world.

The UK prime minister, Keir Starmer, promised these plans will deliver a “golden age” of nuclear energy that will also “drive down bills”. Yet the history of nuclear power has been decades of overhype, soaring costs and constant delays. Around the world, the trends point the wrong way.

So why the renewed excitement about going nuclear? The real reasons have less to do with energy security, or climate change – and far more to do with military power.

At first sight, the case may seem obvious. Nuclear supporters frame small modular reactors, or SMRs, as vital for cutting emissions, meeting rising demand for electricity from cars and data centres. With large nuclear plants now prohibitively expensive, smaller reactors are billed as an exciting new alternative.

But these days even the most optimistic industry analyses concede that nuclear – even SMRs – is unlikely to compete with renewables. One analysis in New Civil Engineer published earlier this year concluded that SMRs are “the most expensive source per kilowatt of electricity generated when compared with natural gas, traditional nuclear and renewables”.

Independent assessments – for instance by the formerly pro-nuclear Royal Society – find that 100% renewable systems outperform any energy system including nuclear on cost, flexibility and security. This helps explain why worldwide statistical analysis shows nuclear power is not generally linked to carbon emissions reductions, while renewables are.

Partly, the enthusiasm for SMRs can be explained by the loudest institutional voices tending to have formal pro-nuclear remits or interests: they include the industry itself and its suppliers, nuclear agencies, and governments with entrenched military nuclear programmes. For these interests, the only question is which kinds of nuclear reactors to develop, and how fast. They don’t wonder if we should build reactors in the first place: the need is seen as self-evident.

At least big nuclear reactors have benefited from economies of scale and decades of technological optimisation. Many SMR designs are just “powerpoint reactors”, existing only in slides and feasibility studies. Claims these unbuilt designs “will cost less” are speculative at best.

Investment markets know this. While financiers see SMR hype as a way to profit from billions in government subsidies, their own analyses are less enthusiastic about the technology itself.

So why then, all this attention to nuclear in general and smaller reactors in particular? There is clearly more to this than meets the eye.

The hidden link

The neglected factor is the military dependence on civil nuclear industries. Maintaining a nuclear armed navy or weapons programme requires constant access to generic reactor technologies, skilled workers and special materials. Without a civilian nuclear industry, military nuclear capabilities are significantly more challenging and costly to sustain.

Nuclear submarines are especially important here as they would very likely require national reactor industries and their supply chains even if there was no civil nuclear power. Barely affordable even vessel by vessel, nuclear submarines become even more expensive when the costs of this “submarine industrial base” is factored in.

Rolls-Royce is an important link here, as it already builds the UK’s submarine reactors and is set to build the newly announced civil SMRs. The company said openly in 2017 that a civil SMR programme would “relieve the Ministry of Defence of the burden of developing and retaining skills and capability”.

Here, as emphasised by Nuclear Intelligence Weekly in 2020, the Rolls-Royce SMR programme has an important “symbiosis with UK military needs”. It is this dependency that allows military costs (in the words of a former executive with submarine builders BAE Systems), to be “masked” behind civilian programmes.

By funding civil nuclear projects, taxpayers and consumers cover military uses of nuclear power in subsidies and higher bills – without the added spending appearing in defence budgets.

When the UK government funded us to investigate the value of this transfer, we put it at around £5 billion per year in the UK alone. These costs are masked from public view, covered by revenues from higher electricity prices and the budgets of supposedly civilian government agencies.

This is not a conspiracy but a kind of political gravitational field. Once governments see nuclear weapons as a marker of global status, the funding and political support becomes self-perpetuating.

The result is a strange sort of circularity: nuclear power is justified by energy security and cost arguments that don’t stand up, but is in reality sustained for strategic reasons that remain unacknowledged.

A global pattern

The UK is not unique, though other nuclear powers are much more candid. US energy secretary Chris Wright described the US-UK nuclear deal as important for “securing nuclear supply chains across the Atlantic”. Around US$25 billion a year (£18.7 billion) flows from civil to military nuclear activity in the US.

Russia and China are both quite open about their own inseparable civil-military links. French president Emmanuel Macron put it clearly: “Without civilian nuclear, no military nuclear, without military nuclear, no civilian nuclear.”

Across these states, military nuclear capabilities are seen as a way to stay at the world’s “top table”. An end to their civilian programme would threaten not just jobs and energy, but their great power status.

The next frontier

Beyond submarines, the development of “microreactors” is opening up new military uses for nuclear power. Microreactors are even smaller and more experimental than SMRs. Though they can make profits by milking military procurement budgets, they make no sense from a commercial energy standpoint.

However, microreactors are seen as essential in US plans for battlefield power, space infrastructure and new “high energy” anti-drone and missile weaponry. Prepare to see them become ever more prominent in “civil” debates – precisely because they serve military goals.

Whatever view is taken of these military developments, it makes no sense to pretend they are unrelated to the civil nuclear sector. The real drivers of the recent US-UK nuclear agreement lie in military projection of force, not civilian power production. Yet this remains absent from most discussions of energy policy.

It is a crucial matter of democracy that there be honesty about what is really going on.

Phil Johnstone is a Visiting Professor at the University of Tartu, Postdoctoral Researcher at the University of Utrecht, and Visiting Fellow at the University of Sussex. He is an unpaid member of the Sussex Energy Group, the Nuclear Consultation Group, a Patron of the Nuclear Information Service, and serves on the advisory board of the Medact Nuclear Weapons group.

He and Andy Stirling previously received funding from the United Kingdom Foreign, Commonwealth, and Development Office (FCDO) for research that underpins some of the insights in this blog.

Andy Stirling is Emeritus Professor at the University of Sussex. Among many previous government and intergovernmental policy advisory appointments, he currently serves on the sociology sub-panel of the UK Research Excellence Framework 2029 and the Research Council for the Canadian Institute for Advanced Research. He is an unpaid member of the Sussex Energy Group, the Nuclear Consultation Group, a Patron of the Nuclear Information Service and Nuclear Education Trust and a trustee for Greenpeace UK. He served in 2022-3 as an expert advisor for the official UK Government review of the DESNZ Nuclear Innovation Programme and (with Phil Johnstone) received funding from the United Kingdom Foreign, Commonwealth, and Development Office (FCDO) for research that underpins some of the insights in this blog.

– ref. The hidden military pressures behind the new push for small nuclear reactors – https://theconversation.com/the-hidden-military-pressures-behind-the-new-push-for-small-nuclear-reactors-266301

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Glenn Fosbraey, Associate Dean of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Winchester

In the last ten years, Bruce Springsteen has cemented his status as a bona fide music legend.

In that time, he has won the Presidential Medal of Freedom, had a worldwide bestselling book been the subject of the acclaimed film Blinded By The Light (2019), and seen his studio albums continue to scale the higher reaches of the charts.

It’s as a live act, though, that Springsteen has flourished the most. Known for a relentless work ethic which has seen him touring almost non-stop since the early 1970s, Springsteen’s recent world tour has been his most lucrative, best-selling, and longest to date. On the back of all this, it’s no real surprise that “the boss” (as fans call him) has now been given the biopic treatment.

Bruce Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere stars Jeremy Allen White in the title role. The majority of the film focuses on the period between 1981 and 1982, where, in the aftermath of number one LP The River and a sold-out world tour, a disenchanted Springsteen channelled his inner turmoil into the songs that would eventually form his next album, Nebraska (1982).

As well as a lyrical shift from his earlier work, Nebraska was a sonic departure, recorded on a four-track tape machine in his bedroom. Released on September 30 1982, Nebraska was as stark and minimalist as any album from a major rock star. Coming at the peak of Springsteen’s commercial success so far, it was an enormous risk.

Devotees will undoubtedly appreciate the deep-dive into a cult favourite album. But for the casual fan or interested cinema-goer, Deliver Me from Nowhere will likely feel underwhelming.

Despite getting the thumbs up form The Boss himself, White never quite convinces in the role. While he does an admirable job depicting the gentler side of Springsteen, he lacks the jutting-jawed physical presence that so defines the star’s stage persona.

The film is interspersed with black and white flashbacks to Freehold New Jersey 1957, where an eight-year-old Springsteen struggled to get attention from his disengaged, hard-drinking father (played by Stephen Graham). The distant father trope is well-worn ground in the music biopic genre (see Bohemian Rhapsody, Rocket Man and Love and Mercy) and it falls to Graham to pull off the unenviable task of providing context for why our titular rock star is so fragile, broken and unstable.

That Graham manages to achieve this in minimal screen-time is one of his finest acting achievements yet. His nuanced performance brings a complexity to what, in other hands, may have merely been a paint-by-numbers character.

Sadly, others didn’t escape this fate. Springsteen’s friend Matt Delia (Harrison Gilbertson) is ridiculously underdeveloped. Sound engineer Mike Batlan (Paul Walter Hauser) is a glorified delivery man, first bringing the four-track recorder to Springsteen’s house, then the cassette it produces to manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) and doing little else in between. Love interest Faye Romano (Odessa Young), meanwhile, seemingly only exists as a vehicle to deliver a series of cliché-heavy lines such as “I just wish you’d let me in” and “until you’re honest with yourself, you’ll never be honest with me”.

Sadly, the clichés aren’t exclusive to Faye. Towards the end of the film, Delia is saying goodbye to Springsteen after driving him to his new home in Los Angeles. As he turns to leave, Delia calls his name, Springsteen turns, Delia goes to say something but can’t seem to get the words out. Springsteen waits expectantly, Delia starts to speak, then thinks better of it and walks out. The implication, of course, is that Delia had something heartfelt to say, but for whatever reason was unable. Had I not seen the same technique used a hundred times already on screen (though never in real life), it might have been emotional.

Perhaps the biggest sledgehammer of a line, though, and one which very much laughs in the face of the old “show don’t tell” writing adage, comes when John Landau informs record executive Al Teller (David Krumholtz) that “it’s like Bruce is channelling something deeply personal”. Yes – we’ve been seeing that for the last hour, John, but thank you for the glaring neon arrow just in case we missed it.

In contrast, though, the depiction of depression is extremely well handled. The film manages to avoid stereotypes such as hysteria, violent outbursts, or sufferers who are represented as always sad or depressed (in real life depression is not necessarily a constant state of mind).

Depression is demonstrated by Springsteen letting people down, being unable to articulate his feelings, and withdrawing from social situations. And even if the film does fall short in many ways, the music is always there to rescue it. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was unable to resist playing Nebraska on repeat the second I was outside.

For everyone but the most hardcore fans, skipping the film altogether might be the best option. Especially as the album that inspired it has been given the box-set treatment, with five-disc set Nebraska ’82: Expanded Edition released last week (a coincidence, I’m sure).

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This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something from bookshop.org The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

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

– ref. Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is an underwhelming ode to ‘the boss’ – https://theconversation.com/springsteen-deliver-me-from-nowhere-is-an-underwhelming-ode-to-the-boss-268426

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Sally Christine Reynolds, Associate Professor in Hominin Palaeoecology, Bournemouth University

Experts have been puzzled by recently discovered fossils from the hand of an extinct human relative, Paranthropus boisei. They have been surprised by a mix of human-like and gorilla-like traits in the fingers.

In the journal Nature, researchers describe the set of 1.5-million-year-old fossils from a site in Kenya that includes the first unambiguous Paranthropus hand bones identified in the fossil record. They are also a very rare example of a relatively complete set of hand bones from this time.

The first example of Paranthropus was discovered in South Africa by Dr Robert Broom in 1938. Its name means “beside man” and reflects the fact that it shared a direct ancestor (known as Australopithecus) with our own genus, Homo, but existed alongside the early human lineage. Broom’s fossils belonged to the species Paranthropus robustus.

The species Paranthropus boisei, on the other hand, was first discovered in Olduvai Gorge, Kenya, by Mary and Louis Leakey in 1959. Its massive mandible and teeth led to its nickname: the Nutcracker Man. The very molarised teeth (where a non-molar tooth takes on the appearance of a molar) indicated a possible diet of tough and fibrous foods – almost certainly consisting of vegetation – that required extensive chewing.

Paranthropus was a bipedal hominin, like representatives of our own lineage, with a similar body size. It also lived in similar habitats to early Homo. Yet it became extinct around 800,000 years ago. Inevitably, these two hominin lineages have been compared in every possible manner to identify which traits ensured Homo’s survival. Homo‘s persistence has been attributed to its large brain, small teeth and meat-based diet.

Paranthropus, on the other hand, with its large teeth and a smaller brain, is often cast as an evolutionary “also-ran” – not quite clever or adaptable enough to persist in a changing world. However, there was little real evidence for concrete differences in how Paranthropus used its body or its surroundings. Until now.

The new fossil set from Koobi Fora, on the eastern shores of Lake Turkana in Kenya, shows that Paranthropus boisei was not clumsy or poorly adapted to its lifestyle. The remains, dated to around 1.52 million years ago, include a partial skeleton with both hand and foot bones found alongside unmistakable P. boisei jaws and teeth. For the first time, we can connect this species’ massive chewing apparatus with the limbs and hands that helped it function in the ancient landscape.

The fingers are, in many respects, more like gorillas than humans, but the feet are very similar to Homo feet. In fact, the foot shows that P. boisei was an efficient biped, walking on arched, rigid feet that resemble our own more closely than those of earlier species such as Australopithecus afarensis.

The big toe was aligned with the others, and the joints show the same upward tilt – called dorsal canting – that allows modern humans to push off powerfully when walking or running. A twisted third metatarsal bone formed a transverse arch, the architectural feature that stiffens the human foot and turns it into a spring for energy-efficient movement.

The new find suggests a mix of both advanced and primitive features. It paints a picture of a creature capable of traversing the mixed open habitats of East Africa on two legs, moving confidently between feeding areas and perhaps even carrying food or simple tools. The powerful hands may have been used to forage for food which required a strong grip.

There may be an argument that Paranthropus was pulling itself into the trees. Until now, Paranthropus has not been thought of as a climber, nor an animal associated with particularly dense tree cover. It was thought that cooling climates and thinning forests led to bipedalism in both Homo and Paranthropus.

Yet there are clear differences with Homo. The big toe of P. boisei was shorter than ours, hinting at a slightly different gait – perhaps a slower, heavier stride. The smaller toes were straighter and stiffer than those of apes but not as refined as in Homo sapiens. This mosaic anatomy shows that upright walking had already been perfected in several human relatives, even if each did it in their own way.

The foot of P. boisei demonstrates that by 1.5 million years ago, bipedalism was a shared foundation rather than a unique advantage. Both Homo and Paranthropus walked tall; their evolutionary paths diverged not in locomotion but in lifestyle. While Homo relied increasingly on brainpower, tools and cooperation, Paranthropus doubled down on strength and chewing muscle. One lineage adapted to flexibility, the other to endurance – and in the end, only one survived.

But the discovery also softens the old story of triumph and failure. Paranthropus boisei wasn’t a “failed” hominin relative. It was a successful species in its own right, perfectly adapted to its ecological niche for well over a million years. The new fossils remind us that human evolution wasn’t a straight march of progress but a branching bush of experiments – some favouring brains, others brawn, all walking upright beneath the same African sun.

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

– ref. Fossil hand from human relative puzzles scientists with mix of human- and gorilla-like features – https://theconversation.com/fossil-hand-from-human-relative-puzzles-scientists-with-mix-of-human-and-gorilla-like-features-267871

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Beverley O’Hara, Lecturer in Nutrition, Leeds Beckett University

The 2025 Joe Wicks documentary on “killer protein bars” highlights how even well-intentioned attempts to raise awareness about food can sometimes oversimplify complex public health issues. The show’s premise – to develop and market a supposedly “dangerous,” additive-laden “ultra-processed” food to prompt government action – aims to spark debate about the modern food system.

But framing foods as inherently “dangerous” risks distorting the science and adding to public confusion about nutrition.

Stoking fear around ultra-processed foods (UPFs) often provokes psychological resistance, leading people to ignore health messages altogether or, paradoxically, to double down on the behaviour being criticised. The “processed equals bad” narrative can also fuel guilt, anxiety and disordered eating and stigmatises foods that are widely eaten, particularly by people on lower incomes.

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Read more:
Ultra-processed foods might not be the real villain in our diets – here’s what our research found

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The misinformation in the show adds to what the World Health Organization calls an “infodemic” – the rapid spread of false or misleading health information. Nutrition has become one of the most misinformation-prone topics on social media, where personal opinion is often presented as scientific fact. A 2023 review found widespread inaccuracies in online dietary advice, adding to public confusion and distrust of science.

The evidence linking UPFs to poor health is far from conclusive. Systematic reviews show that many studies reporting associations between UPFs and disease rely on observational data rated as low or very low quality. This means it cannot prove that UPFs cause disease. The latest review of research found that the UPF category adds little scientific value when assessing links between diet and disease.

Yet even among scientists, there is no clear agreement on how to classify them. Research found that both consumers and nutrition experts struggled to consistently identify which foods met the criteria for being “ultra-processed”. Despite this uncertainty, around 65% of Europeans believe that UPFs are bad for their health.

Part of the problem lies in how the term is used. “Ultra-processed food” has become a catch-all phrase, often used to promote ideological views about modern food systems instead of being applied as a precise scientific category. The NOVA classification, which first introduced the concept, was intended as a research framework, not a moral ranking of foods. But, over time, it has been reinterpreted as a shorthand for “good” versus “bad” eating.

We have long understood that certain foods high in salt, sugar and saturated fat – traditionally called “junk food” – are not good for health. Rebranding these as UPFs adds little to that knowledge and risks distracting attention from the real structural issues that determine what people eat. These include the affordability of healthy foods, aggressive marketing of unhealthy ones and inequalities in time, income and access to cooking facilities.

Even governments can be influenced by simplistic narratives that attribute dietary problems to food processing itself rather than to social and economic policy. For example, critics argue that political discussions about banning UPFs can distract from more meaningful reforms that would make healthy foods affordable and accessible.

Why the UPF debate misses the point

Nutrition science is complex and evolves gradually. The anti-UPF narrative is appealing because it offers certainty in a world where people crave clear answers. But this makes the public especially vulnerable to misinformation. Turning preliminary findings into sensational headlines has always been profitable for the wellness industry. It sells books, builds brands and boosts online followings.

More concerning is how easily this kind of messaging drifts into conspiracy thinking, where “Big Food” and “Big Science” are portrayed as villains. Emotionally charged language, such as calling sugar “poison”, encourages fear and mistrust of science. The food industry becomes a caricature of evil, accused of deliberately creating “addictive” and “dangerous” foods to harm consumers.

This narrative is not only misleading but also harmful. It undermines legitimate food science and public health research that could help develop sustainable, nutritious options for the future. The same sector that produces unhealthy convenience foods also employs scientists and innovators working on healthier, more sustainable products.

The future of healthy eating will depend on technologies such as plant-based proteins, fermentation and novel food production methods. Creating fear around food processing discourages this progress and makes it harder to tackle global nutrition and climate challenges.

Time to move beyond the buzzword

Food choices are shaped not just by personal preference but by the systems people live in. Those with higher incomes and more flexibility can often resist systemic pressures. Most people cannot. For many households, processed foods provide convenience, affordability and stability. Shaming people for eating the foods they can afford or grew up with ignores the realities of everyday life.

A single parent working two jobs does not need to be told that their child’s breakfast cereal is “ultra-processed.” They need access to affordable, nutritious foods that fit their circumstances.

Public health communication requires expertise. A medical degree does not make someone a nutrition specialist, just as a dietitian would not claim to be a heart surgeon. Experts who speak publicly about nutrition should have appropriate qualifications and professional accreditation in public health nutrition.

People deserve advice that empowers them rather than confuses them. They need accurate, balanced information delivered by qualified professionals who understand the complexity of nutrition science. The way we talk about food matters. It shapes public opinion, health policy and the future of our food systems.

It may be time to move beyond the term “ultra-processed food.” What began as an attempt to describe modern diets has become a source of confusion, moral judgement and misplaced fear. The label no longer helps people make better choices. Instead, it risks turning important conversations about food, health and inequality into culture wars.

If we want to build a healthier and fairer food system, we must focus less on catchy labels and more on evidence, equity and education.

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

– ref. Why stigmatising UPFs could be doing more harm than good – https://theconversation.com/why-stigmatising-upfs-could-be-doing-more-harm-than-good-267711

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Adam Taylor, Professor of Anatomy, Lancaster University

In the run up to the launch of the latest series of The Kardashians, her new legal drama All’s Fair and the celebrations for her 45th birthday, Kim Kardashian made a very different kind of headline. She revealed that she had been diagnosed with a brain aneurysm.

Kardashian revealed her diagnosis in a teaser for The Kardashians Season 7, which includes footage of her undergoing an MRI scan believed to have identified the condition. So far, no details have been released about the type, size or location of the aneurysm, or whether it required treatment. It’s therefore unclear whether the finding represents a serious health threat or an incidental discovery; something that’s becoming increasingly common as more people undergo full-body scans or imaging for other reasons.

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Read more:
Full-body scans to look for hidden disease are a bad idea – here’s why

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An aneurysm is a widening or bulging of any artery in the body. It most commonly occurs in the aorta (the body’s main artery), as well as in arteries of the limbs, neck and brain. When the swelling affects arteries in the brain, it is known as a cerebral aneurysm.

Brain aneurysms can have devastating effects. The nerve cells in the brain are not designed to come into direct contact with blood. To protect them, the brain has a natural defence system called the blood brain barrier, which carefully regulates what can and cannot pass from the bloodstream into brain tissue.

The largest risk factor of developing a brain aneurysm is being female. These aneurysms are around 60% more common in women than in men, and this increases further after menopause. Oestrogen helps to keep blood vessels flexible; when its levels fall after menopause, blood vessels become more vulnerable to damage.

A family history of aneurysms also increases risk. Someone who has two first-degree relatives – that’s parents, children or siblings – who have experienced a ruptured aneurysm has an 11% higher chance of developing one themselves. This is because genetic factors influence the structure and strength of blood vessel walls, making some people more vulnerable to weakness and damage.

This genetic link is also seen in several connective-tissue disorders which change the structure and function of artery walls, increasing the likelihood of an aneurysm. These include Ehlers Danlos syndrome, which causes overly stretchy skin and joints and weakens connective tissues, including those in blood vessels; Marfan syndrome, which often leads to long limbs, flexible joints and a higher risk of heart and blood vessel problems; Loeys Dietz syndrome, a rare condition that causes arteries to twist and widen; and Neurofibromatosis type 1, which causes non-cancerous growths along nerves and can weaken blood vessel walls.

Lifestyle factors can also play a role in increasing aneurysm risk. Current and former smoking are both strongly linked to weakened blood vessels. Quitting smoking reduces the risk, but it does not completely remove it when compared with those who have never smoked. High cholesterol can also damage blood vessels and raise the likelihood of an aneurysm.

In Kardashian’s case, she has mentioned stress as a contributing factor. Although stress itself does not directly cause aneurysms, it can increase blood pressure. Persistent high blood pressure, whether brought on by emotional stress or underlying health issues such as certain types of kidney disease, can weaken and damage blood vessel walls, making aneurysms more likely to develop.

Recreational drug use can also contribute to aneurysm risk, although there is no suggestion that this is relevant in Kardashian’s case. Cocaine raises blood pressure while narrowing blood vessels in the brain. These combined effects push pressure within the brain’s arteries even higher, increasing the chance of aneurysm formation and rupture. Amphetamine and methamphetamine have similar effects, altering blood vessel diameter, raising blood pressure and driving inflammation that weakens vessel walls. These processes contribute to aneurysm formation and an increased rate of progression and rupture.

When an aneurysm does form, its effects depend largely on where it develops and whether it ruptures, which can make symptoms unpredictable and sometimes difficult to recognise.

Ruptured cerebral aneurysms often begin with a small leak of blood that causes a sudden, severe headache, often described as “the worst headache of my life” or a thunderclap headache. This may serve as a warning sign of a larger rupture that could occur hours, days or even weeks later. Other symptoms can include uncoordinated movements, nausea, vomiting and sudden changes in consciousness.

Unruptured cerebral aneurysms tend to cause a wider range of symptoms because the effects depend on where the aneurysm is developing. Nerves responsible for vision, balance, hearing, swallowing and speech all run close to major blood vessels in the brain, so even a small change in pressure can have noticeable effects.

Vision problems are common, presenting as double or partial loss of sight. Eye pain or difficulty moving the eyes due to muscle weakness, a stiff neck and ringing in the ears may also occur. Less common symptoms include neck pain and difficulty swallowing.

Because these symptoms overlap with many other conditions, diagnosing an aneurysm can be challenging. Unruptured aneurysms often grow slowly and may not cause symptoms until they reach a certain size, while ruptured aneurysms appear suddenly and require emergency treatment.

Once discovered, aneurysms are measured and categorised. The smaller the aneurysm, the lower the risk of rupture. Those with a diameter under 7mm are least likely to rupture, those between 7mm and 12mm are considered medium, 12mm to 25mm are large, and anything over 25mm is classed as giant. The size and location of the aneurysm are key factors in determining its risk. Aneurysms on arteries at the base of the brain carry a higher chance of rupture.

Treatment depends on individual circumstances, and not all aneurysms require intervention. In fact, many people live healthily with small aneurysms without ever realising they have them. There are growing detection rates as imaging becomes more common and less invasive, and AI is also being used to improve accuracy. Small, symptom-free aneurysms are often monitored with regular imaging scans, especially in people with few additional risk factors. Treating underlying conditions such as high blood pressure can reduce the risk of rupture.

Those cerebral aneurysms that rupture or are at high risk of rupture require surgical intervention. The two most common procedures are clipping and endovascular repair. Clipping is a more invasive operation that involves opening the skull to access the aneurysm directly, and it is better suited to certain aneurysm locations.

Endovascular repair is less invasive and involves inserting a catheter through a blood vessel in the leg, guiding it into place and delivering a coil that prevents blood from entering the aneurysm. These coils are usually made of platinum and measure between half the width of a human hair to twice the width.

Because aneurysms are often silent until they reach a critical point, any sudden or unexplained neurological symptoms should always be assessed by a medical professional.

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

– ref. Kim Kardashian’s brain aneurysm diagnosis: what it means and who is most at risk – https://theconversation.com/kim-kardashians-brain-aneurysm-diagnosis-what-it-means-and-who-is-most-at-risk-268397

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Marcel Lukas, Senior Lecturer in Banking and Finance and Vice-Dean Executive Education, University of St Andrews

Beyond cutting back on meat or making the jump to an electric vehicle, another way consumers can reduce their environmental impact is to switch to a green bank. It’s a lifestyle change that could deliver powerful effects – removing money from the fossil fuels pipeline – for little effort or inconvenience.

Yet it has been claimed that people in the UK are more likely to get divorced than switch banks – despite there being services that make changing your current account easy.

The UK’s seven-day Current Account Switch Service (Cass), in operation since 2013, has completed more than 11.6 million switches, including over a million in the year to March 2025. The service switches your incoming and outgoing payments including salary payments, direct debits and standing orders.

Cass reports that 99.7% of these account switches were completed within seven working days – and nearly 90% of people who used the service were satisfied with it. Yet relative to the whole UK population, the number of people actually switching remains modest. The process works, but behaviour lags.

A set of well-documented psychological tendencies help to explain this gap.

“Prospect theory” shows that people weigh any potential losses more heavily than equivalent gains. This tilts people toward staying with their familiar provider when a change involves any chance of disruption or error.

The “endowment effect” increases the subjective value of someone’s existing bank account, simply because they already own it.

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Ever wondered how to spend or invest your money in ways that actually benefit people and planet? Or are you curious about the connection between insurance and the climate crisis?

Green Your Money is a new series from the business and environment teams at The Conversation exploring how to make money really matter. Practical and accessible insights from financial experts in the know.

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Many people’s status quo bias turns hesitation into inertia, because departing from a default requires attention and effort. And our usual bias towards the present adds a timing problem: the admin is immediate while the benefits arrive later and accrue gradually.

All these mechanisms interact with how people organise their money. Many maintain informal “mental accounts” for bills, savings and day-to-day spending. A bank move forces a rewiring of standing orders, direct debits, salary instructions and payees. It feels like opening a filing cabinet and relabelling everything.

Fear of missing a mortgage or utility payment is especially salient. As such, guarantees like those around direct debits and standing orders provided by the Cass system only help if people trust they are actually covered.

While financial education improves what people know, studies have found it typically only encourages modest changes in behaviour. A meta-analysis of 201 studies reported that education efforts explained only about 0.1% of changes in money-related behaviour (things like saving, dealing with debt and avoiding fees), with these effects often disappearing over time.

A later meta-analysis with a sample size of more than 160,000 people found that financial education improved knowledge more than it prompted changes in behaviour. This was measured across areas such as budgeting and saving.

These reviews do not test current account switching directly. But they support the narrower point that information alone usually only shifts real-world financial actions a little.

However, small changes to the way choices are presented can move outcomes when used at scale. A comprehensive analysis of 23 million participants found that “nudges” – such as making a process simpler or sending a reminder – increased behaviour changes in areas as varied as signing up to a savings plan or making safety improvements in the home by about 1.4 percentage points, on average. While this may seem small, scale is key.

We can view this finding through a banking lens. Without intervention, perhaps 5% of customers would switch to a better account. A simple nudge might boost this to 6.4%. Across 100,000 customers, that’s 1,400 additional people making a beneficial switch.

How to overcome your inertia

So-called “implementation-intention techniques”, where a person invents conditions to help them achieve a goal, are a practical option. Across 94 tests, it was found that forming an explicit “if–then” plan – for example: “If I get the job then I’ll increase the amount I save” – produced a medium-to-large improvement in people attaining their goals.

In terms of banking, this technique could be used along the following lines: “If it is Sunday at 8pm, I will compare three accounts for 30 minutes. If one is clearly better on fees or green credentials, I will apply for it the same evening. Once approved, I will move two direct debits per night until I’m finished.”

In my experience, there are three steps that can help you overcome inertia when it comes to your finances.

First, convert a general goal into time-boxed tasks on your calendar, using an if–then plan rather than a vague intention.

Second, use frustrations with your existing bank account to motivate you – such as being charged a fee you did not expect, or discovering your bank’s environmental failings. Your motivation to act is elevated at these moments.

Third, to make the task less overwhelming, use a short checklist of payees and subscriptions. Ticking items off in small batches should reduce the cognitive load you feel.

Broader lessons

Clear communication about how much switching services such as Cass will do for an account holder can make them worry less about the risks. This should also help them realise if certain authorisations need to be switched manually.

But the lessons here apply beyond current accounts. Loss aversion, attachment to the familiar, present bias and default effects also shape decisions about savings products, energy tariffs and mobile contracts – choices that all come with environmental consequences.

Systems that assume consumers will tirelessly compare their options will disappoint. Those that make better options prominent, easy and well timed are far more likely to encourage meaningful change, at scale.

Marcel Lukas is the Vice-Dean Executive Education at the University of St Andrews Business School and has previously received funding from the British Academy, UKRI and Interface UK.

– ref. Why most of us are reluctant to switch banks, even though it could cut our environmental impact – https://theconversation.com/why-most-of-us-are-reluctant-to-switch-banks-even-though-it-could-cut-our-environmental-impact-267042

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Justin Stebbing, Professor of Biomedical Sciences, Anglia Ruskin University

Every few months, a new “miracle cure” for cancer trends on social media. From superfoods and supplements to extreme diets, the promises are always bold – and almost always misleading. The latest claim suggests that a 21-day water fast can “starve” cancer cells and trigger the body to heal itself. It sounds simple, even empowering: stop eating and your body will do the rest.

But biology is rarely that simple. Cancer is not a single disease, and metabolism does not switch neatly between “sick” and “healthy.” While fasting can affect how our cells use energy, there is no scientific evidence that it can eradicate tumours. In fact, prolonged fasting can be dangerous, especially for people already weakened by cancer or its treatments.

While fasting can influence metabolism, immunity and some aspects of cell growth, there is no credible evidence that prolonged water fasting can treat or cure cancer.

Fasting, in its many forms – from intermittent fasting to short-term calorie restriction – has been shown in laboratory studies to influence how cells repair themselves and manage energy. 2024 research shows that fasting temporarily suppresses intestinal stem cell activity, followed by a powerful regenerative phase once food is reintroduced. This rebound in stem cell growth is driven by a pathway known as mTOR, which promotes protein synthesis and cell proliferation.

While this regeneration helps tissues recover, it can also create a vulnerable window in which harmful mutations may occur more easily, raising the risk of tumour formation.

Most research on fasting’s effects has focused on intermittent or short fasts lasting between 12 and 72 hours, not on extreme water-only fasts that continue for weeks. A 21-day water fast, as promoted in some wellness circles, carries serious risks. Extended fasting can cause dehydration, electrolyte imbalances, dangerously low blood pressure and muscle loss.

Cancer itself often leads to malnutrition, and fasting can accelerate wasting (cachexia), weaken the immune system and increase susceptibility to infection. Many cancer patients are undergoing chemotherapies that require adequate nutrition to maintain organ function and safely metabolise drugs. Combining these treatments with prolonged fasting can amplify toxicity, delay recovery and worsen fatigue.

There are ongoing clinical studies into short fasting or fasting-mimicking diets before chemotherapy, but these are medically supervised, typically lasting less than 48 hours and carefully monitored for safety.

Fasting continues to intrigue scientists because it activates ancient survival mechanisms. During food scarcity, the body triggers processes such as autophagy, where cells recycle damaged components. This process can reduce inflammation and improve metabolic health in animal studies.

But in cancer, the story is far more complex. Cancer cells are resourceful. They can adapt to fasting by finding alternative fuel sources, sometimes outcompeting healthy cells under nutrient stress. Long periods without nutrition can also weaken immune cells that normally detect and attack tumours.

The 2024 fasting study demonstrates this duality. Fasting may reset metabolism, but refeeding rapidly activates growth pathways such as mTOR. In healthy cells, this helps repair tissues. In cells already carrying DNA damage or early mutations, it can encourage malignant progression. This makes fasting a complex biological stress factor rather than a harmless or therapeutic intervention.

The ‘detox’ myth

Much of fasting’s popular appeal comes from the myth of “detoxification”: the belief that abstaining from food “cleanses” the body. In reality, organs such as the liver, kidneys and lymphatic system already perform this task continuously. Cancer is not caused by accumulated “toxins” that can be flushed out. It develops through genetic changes that cause uncontrolled cell growth. No research has shown that fasting can eliminate cancer cells or shrink tumours in humans.

Controlled studies have observed only short-term metabolic shifts that may influence inflammation or insulin signalling. These effects could help reduce long-term risk factors for chronic disease, but they do not reverse cancer once it has developed.

The promise and limits of metabolic research

There is scientific interest in how metabolism affects cancer. Researchers are exploring whether targeted calorie restriction or ketogenic diets could make tumour cells more sensitive to treatment while protecting healthy ones. These studies are still in early stages and focus on precision, not deprivation. None involve starving the body of all nutrients for weeks.

Sensational claims blur the line between hypothesis and proof, giving vulnerable patients false hope by cherry-picking facts, mentioning fasting’s role in cell repair while omitting the crucial detail that most findings come from animal models, not human trials. For someone undergoing cancer treatment, attempting an unsupervised extreme fast could delay essential care, worsen side effects, or even put their life at risk.

Fasting is a physiological stressor. In small, controlled doses, it can trigger adaptive processes that benefit health. In excess, especially during illness, it can cause harm.

A 21-day water fast is neither a plausible nor a safe cancer treatment. Research into fasting helps us understand how cells respond to nutrition and stress, but that knowledge underscores fasting’s complexity rather than supports it as therapy. While balanced nutrition, hydration, regular physical activity and adequate sleep can all support resilience during cancer therapy, none replace medical treatments designed to target tumour biology. Cancer care requires targeted, evidence-based treatments such as chemotherapy, radiotherapy, surgery and immunotherapy.

Fasting research is helping us understand the deep connections between metabolism and disease, but that is very different from curing cancer with a glass of water and willpower. It is understandable that people want control when facing something as frightening as cancer. The search for alternatives often comes from fear, frustration or a wish to avoid painful treatments. But hope should never rest on misinformation.

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

– ref. Why fasting won’t cleanse your body – or beat cancer – https://theconversation.com/why-fasting-wont-cleanse-your-body-or-beat-cancer-267555

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Lucy E. Hyde, Lecturer, Anatomy, University of Bristol

Buried in your body is a tribute to a long-dead Italian anatomist, and he is not the only one. You are walking around with the names of strangers stitched into your bones, brains, and organs. We all are.

Some of these names sound mythical. The Achilles tendon, the band at the back of your ankle, pays homage to a Greek hero felled by an arrow in his weak spot. The Adam’s apple nods to a certain biblical bite of fruit. But most of these names are not myths. They belong to real people, mostly European anatomists from centuries ago, whose legacies live on every time someone opens a medical textbook.

They are called eponyms: anatomical structures named after people rather than described for what they actually are.

Take the fallopian tubes. These small passageways between the ovaries and the uterus were described in 1561 by Gabriele Falloppio, an Italian anatomist with a fascination for tubes who also gave his name to the Fallopian canal in the ear.

Or “Broca’s area”, named for Paul Broca, the 19th-century French physician who linked a region of the left frontal lobe to speech production. If you have ever studied psychology or known someone who has had a stroke, you have probably heard his name.

Then there is the eustachian tube, that small airway you pop open when you yawn on a plane. It is named after Bartolomeo Eustachi, a 16th-century physician to the Pope. These men have all left fingerprints on our anatomy, not in the flesh, but in the language.

Why have we stuck with these names for centuries? Because eponyms are more than medical trivia. They are woven into the culture of anatomy. Generations of students have chanted them in lecture halls and scribbled them into notes. Surgeons drop them mid-operation as if chatting about old friends.

They are short, snappy and familiar. “Broca’s area” takes two seconds to say. Its descriptive alternative, “posterior inferior frontal gyrus,” feels like reciting an incantation. In busy clinical settings, brevity often wins.

Eponyms also come with stories, which make them memorable. Students remember Falloppio because he sounds like a Renaissance lute player. They remember Achilles because they know where to aim the arrow. In a field that can feel like a wall of Latin, a human story becomes a useful hook.

And, of course, there is tradition. Medical language is built on centuries of scholarship. For many, erasing eponyms would feel like tearing down history itself.

But there is a darker side to this linguistic love affair. For all their charm, eponyms often fail at their main purpose. They rarely tell you what a structure is or what it does. “Fallopian tube” gives no clue about its role or location. “Uterine tube” does.

Eponyms also reflect a narrow version of history. Most originated during the European Renaissance, a time when anatomical “discovery” often meant claiming knowledge that already existed elsewhere. The people being celebrated are overwhelmingly white European men. The contributions of women, non-European scholars and Indigenous knowledge systems are almost invisible in this language.

Then there is the truly uncomfortable truth: some eponyms honour people with horrific pasts. “Reiter’s syndrome,” for example, was named after Hans Reiter, a Nazi physician who conducted brutal experiments on prisoners at Buchenwald. Today, the medical community uses the neutral term “reactive arthritis,” a small but meaningful refusal to celebrate someone who caused harm.

Every eponym is a small monument. Some are quaint and historical. Others are monuments we would rather not keep polishing.

Descriptive names, by contrast, simply make sense. They are clear, universal and useful. You do not need to memorise who discovered something, only where it is and what it does.

If you hear “nasal mucosa,” you immediately know it is inside the nose. Ask someone to locate the “Schneiderian membrane,” and you will probably get a blank stare.

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Read more:
Medical jargon is often misunderstood by the general public – new study

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Descriptive terms are easier to translate, standardise and search. They make anatomy more accessible for learners, clinicians and the public. Most importantly, they do not glorify anyone.

So what should we do with all these old names?

There is a growing movement to phase out eponyms, or at least to use them alongside descriptive ones. The International Federation of Associations of Anatomists (IFAA) encourages descriptive terms in teaching and writing, with eponyms in parentheses.

That does not mean we should burn the history books. It means adding context. We can teach the story of Paul Broca while acknowledging the bias built into naming traditions. We can remember Hans Reiter not by attaching his name to a disease, but as a cautionary tale.

This dual approach allows us to preserve the history without letting it dictate the future. It makes anatomy clearer, fairer, and more honest.

The language of anatomy is not just academic jargon. It is a map of power, memory, and legacy written into our flesh. Every time a doctor says “Eustachian tube,” they echo the 16th century. Every time a student learns “uterine tube,” they reach for clarity and inclusion.

Perhaps the future of anatomy is not about erasing old names. It is about understanding the stories they carry and deciding which ones are worth keeping.

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

– ref. How anatomical names can carry hidden histories of power and exclusion – https://theconversation.com/how-anatomical-names-can-carry-hidden-histories-of-power-and-exclusion-267880