Category: The Conversation

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Nara Parameswaran, Senior Associate Dean for Research, College of Human Medicine, Michigan State University

Fielding frantic faculty emails and panicked texts was not how I had hoped my 2025 would begin. Little did I imagine that my role as a research dean at a medical school would be taken over by navigating chaotic grant terminations and delays of federal research funding, all justified in the name of scientific progress.

Under normal conditions, a major part of my job is reducing barriers for faculty, staff and students engaged in innovative research. For example, I make sure my faculty have enough human help to complete necessary administrative tasks so they can focus on their science while writing their grants. My overall goal is to remove roadblocks and foster an environment in which new discoveries are made that can improve people’s lives.

But none of us in research leadership positions around the country had ever faced anything like the Trump administration’s attacks on universities and science.

One of my first clues that we were no longer operating in business-as-usual mode was when the White House terminated U.S. Agency for International Development grants. Michigan State University was one of the institutions affected by this major blow to agricultural, food and other global research, but the medical school where I work wasn’t directly hit. Our turn came when DOGE – the Department of Government Efficiency, a Trump administration effort at eliminating bureaucratic waste – turned its attention to the U.S. National Institutes of Health.

As the White House took aim at higher education and the scientific research enterprise with its budgetary scalpels, my world was thrown into chaos.

The human costs of grant uncertainty

While interruptions to grant funding slow scientific progress, there is an immediate real-world human cost to the upheaval.

Consider the case of one of my junior faculty members. 2025 was a critical year for them: If they didn’t receive funding, they would lose their employment – it’s common in academia for scientists to need to raise money to support their own research and part of their salary. Their NIH program officer – the person who recommends whether a grant would be funded – had previously told them their proposal would likely be successful. But by February 2025, that NIH officer was DOGE’d – that is, fired – and so the fate of the grant remained in limbo.

The review of a second grant proposal that this MSU researcher had submitted to NIH was delayed by several months after NIH suspended the panels that assess the scientific merit of grant submissions.

By the time the faculty member received initial feedback on that grant and resubmitted it for reevaluation, the government had shut down and delayed the review again. By this point, nearly a year had passed and no grant had been awarded – or rejected, for that matter.

Without funding, this faculty member cannot conduct experiments, pay or train students and other lab members, or purchase essential supplies to do experiments. As a result, both scientific progress and their career advancement remain in jeopardy; they hang on by a thread while waiting for yet another grant to come through.

Sadly, this was not an unusual case. A number of faculty – at my school and across the country – had received funding, only to have the government cancel their grants mid-project for unknown or unclear reasons. Haphazard grant terminations or prolonged uncertainty create chaos not only for faculty, but also for students, research staff and all the families who depend on these positions for income.

Identifying new resources to help faculty continue their work became one of my top priorities. But finding spare money is not a trivial task. It meant working with the college and university leaders to identify resources, prioritizing some spending while holding back on other budget items, as well as raising money from the community for what we called “research rescue.”

A small group of medical school research deans from various universities started meeting on Sundays – the only day that worked for everyone. We share information, provide advice and support and try to think strategically about how to help faculty. We talk about any successes and commiserate about the depth of the chaos at our institutions. None of us were trained to deal with this kind of situation, and the support of this group has been critical for me personally.

In addition, the research deans from various colleges here at MSU discuss these issues regularly with each other and other university officials to strategize how to navigate these difficult times, sharing information among people with different roles.

A generation of scientists at risk

One of the most profound consequences of all this instability has been its impact on the next generation of scientists, especially Ph.D. students and postdoctoral scholars. Not only are these early-career researchers training to be the scientists of the future, but they are also essential contributors to performing grant-funded experiments, publishing in scientific journals and ensuring research program continuity.

By June 2025, several dozen Ph.D. students across my campus were affected by grant terminations or delays. With more than 100 faculty from my college concerned about funding, many postdoctoral scholars working under them faced uncertain futures. This wasn’t unique to our college or university – this was, and is, a national problem.

Anticipating deep cuts to funding for student stipends and training, institutions were forced to reduce or even cancel graduate student admissions for the year.

Additional widespread disruption stemmed from revoking F-1 visas, which had allowed international students to study in the U.S., and terminating related recordkeeping, placing international students in academic and personal limbo.

Recruitment and training were further complicated by a September 2025 proclamation calling for restrictions on H-1B visas. This further constrained universities’ ability to recruit postdoctoral scholars and faculty who aren’t American citizens.

Unsurprisingly, these conditions have profoundly shaped how students and trainees assess their future careers. In a 2025 survey of 824 trainees, 77% said that recent executive orders or federal policy changes influenced their career plans significantly or somewhat. The long-term implications of these barriers could be grim, especially because more than half of the country’s postdoc scholars in science, technology, engineering and math, and around a third of the country’s graduate students, are visa holders.

Recent data on who received grant funding revealed troubling trends, particularly for early-career investigators. As a research dean, my major worry is about the livelihoods of these scientists, especially because most of them have young families to provide for.

A new reality for scientists

Countless breakthroughs that have altered the course of human and animal health have been made possible by sustained federal research investment through agencies such as NIH. These discoveries are made by real people working in research labs or in the communities we serve, and this work requires real money.

Declines in support for these researchers, coupled with reduced graduate enrollment and ongoing visa challenges, risk erasing an entire generation of scientists, with consequences that will reverberate for many years.

All these unresolved challenges – grant terminations, potential reductions in funding for research infrastructure, federal workforce cuts, visa instability, lawsuits and threats to the next generation of the scientific workforce – have converged into a single reality: Uncertainty has become the norm. Each day brings new questions about who will be affected and how to respond in ways that protect faculty, staff and students so they can continue their important work.

Nara Parameswaran has received funding from National Institutes of Health, American Heart Association, Korean Ginseng Society and the California Prune industry.

– ref. Panicking scientists, canceled experiments – federal funding cuts turned my work as a research dean into crisis management – https://theconversation.com/panicking-scientists-canceled-experiments-federal-funding-cuts-turned-my-work-as-a-research-dean-into-crisis-management-277162

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Ari Berkowitz, Presidential Professor and Graduate Liaison for biology programs; Director, Cellular & Behavioral Neurobiology Graduate Program, University of Oklahoma

The International Olympic Committee announced a new policy on March 26, 2026, for women’s competitions: Every athlete must be tested for a gene called SRY, usually found on the Y chromosome. Males typically have a Y chromosome and females typically don’t, so the IOC says this requirement will exclude “biological males.” This announcement comes as planning for the 2028 Summer Olympics, hosted in Los Angeles, is underway.

But the IOC statement hides the complexity of biological sex and continues the organization’s century of what the record shows is inconsistent and biologically unsound sports policies.

I’m a biology professor and author of an upcoming book, “The Binary Delusion: How Biology Defies the Myth of Two Sexes.” While the impetus for the new policy seems to be exclusion of transgender women from women’s athletics, it will more likely exclude and draw unwelcome publicity to many more women who are not transgender.

Few elite athletes are transgender

Transgender people have faced mounting legal and political attacks in recent years.

President Donald Trump issued an executive order on Jan. 20, 2025, asserting that biological sex is simple and binary – that everyone is unambiguously female or male – and another executive order precluding “males” from women’s competitions.

At least 29 U.S. states have excluded transgender girls and women from girl’s and women’s athletic competitions. These laws are built on the idea that men on average are superior to women in many sports, so women need to be protected from unfair competition.

But elite transgender athletes are rare. In a 2024 hearing before the U.S. Senate, the president of the NCAA testified that of the 510,000 athletes in U.S. colleges at that time, he was aware of fewer than 10 transgender athletes – less than 0.002%.

Only one known transgender woman has ever participated in an Olympic women’s competition since the committee allowed women to compete in the Games beginning in 1900: Laurel Hubbard, a weightlifter who competed for New Zealand in 2021 but did not medal.

The rarity of transgender athletes in elite competition suggests their exclusion is a solution in search of a problem.

Biological sex is complicated

The genetic test the IOC is requiring is more likely to identify intersex women.

Intersex people have a combination of typically female and typically male biological sex traits. These include sex chromosomes, internal and external reproductive anatomy, sex hormones and hormone receptors.

There are many variations of intersex traits, but three may be the most relevant for women’s athletic competitions: androgen insensitivity, 5-alpha-reductase deficiency and genetic mosaicism.

People with androgen insensitivity don’t respond as much to androgens like testosterone. Some believe that having high levels of testosterone can give athletes a competitive advantage. Athletes with this condition gain little or no advantage like muscle growth from androgens. This also means their visible sex characteristics, including their genitals, appear mostly or entirely female. The new IOC policy has an exception for “complete” androgen insensitivity but doesn’t say how athletes would demonstrate this.

The policy also doesn’t mention partial androgen insensitivity, where androgen receptors respond to testosterone but probably not enough to gain a significant advantage in performance. Nevertheless, athletes with partial androgen insensitivity will presumably fail the test and be excluded from participating under the new policy.

People with 5-alpha-reductase deficiency make and respond to testosterone but make little or none of a more potent androgen called dihydrotestosterone, or DHT. If they have no DHT, their genitals appear more female and they gain less athletic advantage from androgens. People with this condition who have a Y chromosome will fail the new sex test and be excluded.

People with mosaicism are born with some cells that have a Y chromosome and some that do not. Women can develop mosaicism during pregnancy, when fetal cells with Y chromosomes cross the placenta into her body. The woman will have some cells with a Y chromosome, perhaps for the rest of her life. Such cells could cause a previously pregnant athlete to fail the new test.

History of sex testing in women’s athletics

The IOC and associated sports federations have a long history of sex testing, especially for track events. Sex testing has switched from genitals to genes to testosterone levels, and now back to genes. While the stated goal for these policies was to uncover males pretending to be female, they have never found any. Instead, they identified and excluded intersex women.

For much of the 20th century, sports administrators examined genitals if a competitor was suspected of being male. In the mid-1960s, they began examining the genitals of all women participating in International Amateur Athletics Federation competitions in what were called “nude parades.”

The nude parades embarrassed athletes and sports federations and were replaced by newly available chromosome or gene tests in the late 1960s. These tests were often done without informed consent – athletes were instead told they were being tested for performance-enhancing drugs. The test results were then often revealed publicly without the athlete’s consent.

For example, in 1967, the Polish sprinter Ewa Klobukowska, who had won three gold medals and set three world records, was designated “male” by a chromosome test, though she had typically female genitals. She was excluded from competition and forced to return her medals. But the following year, she gave birth – she apparently had genetic mosaicism.

In 1985, a Spanish hurdler, Maria José Martínez-Patiño, found out through a public announcement that she was designated “male” by a genetic test and excluded from competition. “I felt ashamed and embarrassed,” she has said in a personal account. “I lost friends, my fiancé, hope and energy. But I knew that I was a woman and that my genetic difference gave me no unfair physical advantage. I could hardly pretend to be a man; I have breasts and a vagina.” She has complete androgen insensitivity.

Genetic testing largely gave way to testing testosterone levels in recent decades, which also excluded many intersex athletes. The 2026 IOC announcement states that there is no overlap in the testosterone levels of female and male elite athletes, but published research examining hundreds of elite athletes contradicts this statement.

In 2021, the IOC announced a new policy stating that “Every person has the right to practise sport without discrimination and in a way that respects their health, safety and dignity.” But the committee left it to each sport’s federation to regulate their own competitions, leading to a confusing mix of criteria that may have paved the way for the organization’s simplified 2026 policy.

SRY gene test is misleading

The IOC’s 2026 policy hints at the complexity of biological sex, stating that sex includes “sex chromosomes, gonads and hormones.” But it’s odd that genitals didn’t make their list, considering that genitals – external sex organs like the vagina and penis – are how most ordinary people define female and male, how physicians assign sex at birth, and how the IOC itself defined sex for decades.

Sex testing through genital inspection, though embarrassing and traumatizing for many athletes, may have been a better indicator of athletic advantage from androgens like testosterone than the SRY gene. During prenatal development, androgens cause initially undefined body structures to become a penis and scrotum; in their absence, or with androgen insensitivity, these structures become a clitoris and labia instead. Thus, typically female genitals indicate low androgen levels or low sensitivity to androgens, which suggests an athlete’s physical performance was not enhanced by these hormones.

Unless the IOC takes scrupulous care to screen for these exceptions, its new genetic test will likely exclude athletes who have not gained an advantage from androgens. Their new policy, however, states that “the need for consistency and fairness across sports” will not allow for “case-by-case consideration.”

As a result, it’s likely that another generation of intersex women will be excluded from the Olympics.

Ari Berkowitz receives funding from the National Science Foundation.

– ref. Sex test used in IOC’s new transgender ban more likely to exclude from Olympics intersex women who were assigned female at birth – https://theconversation.com/sex-test-used-in-iocs-new-transgender-ban-more-likely-to-exclude-from-olympics-intersex-women-who-were-assigned-female-at-birth-279489

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Zachary Slepian, Associate Professor of Astronomy, University of Florida

Curious Kids is a series for children of all ages. If you have a question you’d like an expert to answer, send it to CuriousKidsUS@theconversation.com.

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Are multiverses real? If so, what do they look like? How do you get there without disturbing time? – Emily, age 9, Pune, Maharashtra, India

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The idea of a multiverse – a hypothetical collection of all possible universes – is one that
science fiction fans love to explore. But does the multiverse actually exist?

To answer the question of whether the multiverse is real, we first need to agree on what it means for something to be real. As an astrophysicist who studies cosmology – the large-scale history and structure of the universe – and the philosophy of physics, I’ve thought about this question more than a few times over my career.

The most immediate definition of “real” might be that you can see and touch it. My lunch is real in this sense, because I can taste it and you can hear me chewing it (hopefully not too loudly). So “real” might be defined as something you can perceive with at least one of your five senses.

But that would leave out a lot of things that are also real. The microwaves that heat up your food are real, but you can’t directly perceive them – only their effect, heated food. So some real things you can “see” only indirectly by the evidence they leave behind. The existence of dinosaurs is another example – you can see only their fossils.

So, you can ask two versions of the question of whether the multiverse is real. One: Can you see, hear, touch, smell or taste it? Two: Even if you can’t, is there any evidence of its effects?

Quantum mechanics of the multiverse

The answer most researchers would offer to whether you can perceive the multiverse with your five senses is probably not. But there are lots of real things that aren’t real in this sense, such as microwaves. So can we see any indirect evidence of the multiverse, such as the effects it might have on the observable world?

The short answer is yes, sort of.

The multiverse is one way to understand the behavior of very, very small things, such as atoms and subatomic particles. Scientists call the rules governing how these very small objects behave quantum mechanics. In quantum mechanics, it’s never certain what the outcome of an experiment will be. You can only write down the chance – that is, the probability – of something happening.

It’s like rolling dice: You can’t be sure what number you’ll get, but you can say you have an equal chance of getting one, two, three, four, five or six on top of the dice. However, if you knew enough information about the dice – such as its exact shape and mass, the air patterns around it and the exact way you threw it – you could predict exactly what side it would land on. It might take a big computer simulation to crunch the numbers, but it’s possible.

Now imagine really, really, really small dice. Even if you had a very powerful computer, you wouldn’t be able to predict which side this super small dice would fall on. That’s because it’s governed by quantum mechanics, where you can’t predict outcomes with complete certainty. You can predict only probability.

Many worlds and the multiverse

Quantum mechanics is only somewhat random – not everything has an equal chance of happening. We can predict the chance of each scenario happening, but not the actual outcome. In the case of quantum dice, all we could know about it is that there’s a 1 in 6 chance of it landing on any face.

One way scientists have interpreted this strange property of quantum mechanics is that each possible scenario actually does happen. But when it does, it creates another universe. This is called the many-worlds view of quantum mechanics.

In the case of our quantum dice, the many-worlds view would say there’s a 1 in 6 chance of rolling each number because six universes are created every time we roll the dice. Although we stay in one of them – say, the world where the dice comes up three – five other universes are also created where the dice comes up as one of the other numbers.

In this picture of quantum mechanics, universes branch off with every scenario. Of course, we cannot really make a quantum mechanical dice and roll it – just interacting with the dice would destroy its quantum nature.

Does this mean quantum mechanics is evidence that the multiverse is real? I would say no. While it’s a fascinating way to imagine quantum mechanics, it’s just one interpretation, not undeniable evidence of the multiverse.

The multiverse and string theory

Another relevant aspect of the multiverse is its role in string theory. String theory argues that the fundamental particles that make up matter are themselves made of vibrating strings of energy. Think of an elastic band vibrating inside each particle.

String theory also argues that the universe has more than three dimensions. Different string theories predict different numbers of extra dimensions. This means physical constants such as the speed of light and the charge of electrons could have different values. So could the amount of stuff in the universe, such as matter. That suggests a landscape of possible different universes, each with different conditions – a multiverse.

So far, there isn’t definite evidence of a multiverse based on string theory. These universes probably wouldn’t connect to each other, otherwise they wouldn’t count as separate universes – just part of our own. So even if they do exist, we may never get direct evidence for their existence.

However, there could be indirect evidence of the existence of multiple universes. For instance, string theory can help scientists predict the results of very high-energy experiments in our own universe. It can also make predictions for how matter behaves on very, very small scales. If these predictions turn out to be true, that could be evidence for string theory. And if string theory is possibly real in our universe, this indirectly means the multiverse may also be real.

While there hasn’t been any definitive evidence in our own universe for string theory, who knows what the future may hold.

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Hello, curious kids! Do you have a question you’d like an expert to answer? Ask an adult to send your question to CuriousKidsUS@theconversation.com. Please tell us your name, age and the city where you live.

And since curiosity has no age limit – adults, let us know what you’re wondering, too. We won’t be able to answer every question, but we will do our best.

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

– ref. Are multiverses real? An astrophysicist explains why it depends on how you define ‘real’ – https://theconversation.com/are-multiverses-real-an-astrophysicist-explains-why-it-depends-on-how-you-define-real-268357

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Maya Mueller, Ph.D. Candidate in Architectural Engineering, Drexel University

What does gentrification in Philadelphia look like?

“High-rise, modern apartment buildings.”

“(A) modern look that’s so out of place with our traditional row homes that have been here for a hundred years.”

“Six- to seven-floor high-rises with garages in the basement. They charge an extra $200 to park.”

“Gray, industrial looking.”

“The houses are ugly as heck. No architectural style. They’re probably two-bedroom, some probably one. And they usually put a deck up. It’s not geared for kids or families. A lot of steps.”

These are some of the descriptions that longtime residents of gentrifying neighborhoods in Philly used to describe the new construction popping up around them.

We are Ph.D. candidates in architectural engineering and geography, environment and urban studies at Drexel and Temple universities in Philadelphia. Working with a multidisciplinary team of professors and students, we recently developed a new way to map gentrification in Philly neighborhoods using a combination of accounts from longtime residents, Google Street View images and machine learning.

Using AI to spot gentrification

Our team posited that the best source for knowing what gentrification looks like comes from the perceptions of longtime residents in gentrifying neighborhoods.

So we held focus groups in three rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods – one in Northeast Philadelphia and two in the River Wards section north of Center City and along the Delaware River.

We asked residents to identify the visual cues of building designs, materials, colors and landscaping choices that they associate with gentrification.

Many of these residents could recount, in great detail, the exact street intersections where they saw gentrification-related development occur over the decades.

We corroborated each location they identified through historical Google Street View imagery. By examining the exteriors of these buildings, we could expand upon the more generalized language used in the discussions, such as “modern” or “boxy,” to , such as “presence of bump-out windows” and “increased floor area ratio,” which is a measure of how much of the surface area of a land parcel a building takes up.

When pulling panoramas of residential building exteriors from Google Street View, we looked at two distinct time periods: 2009-13 and 2017-21.

AI is getting better at spotting the visual signs of gentrification. Researchers refer to AI systems that categorize scenery according to certain characteristics, like seeming “gentrified” or “not-gentrified,” as “deep mapping” models.

Deep mapping models use neural network algorithms, which can pick up on patterns in big datasets. The particular model we used is able to pick up subtle, pixel‑level differences between two images.

The model learned to approximate how residents distinguish gentrified scenes from unchanged ones. When we tested the model’s output, we found that it was able to separate “gentrified” from “not‑gentrified” images with an accuracy of about 84%. This showed us that visual cues guided by residents’ observations can be translated into a reliable machine learning signal.

Gentrification doesn’t always look the same

As a neighborhood becomes gentrified, wealthier people move in and long-standing residents can be displaced through rent hikes or the loss of housing. Gentrification can also lead to the disappearance of a “sense of place” – characteristics that make a neighborhood feel familiar and like home.

With deep mapping models, researchers and neighborhood stakeholders can pull their own data on landscape changes related to gentrification and better understand how gentrification changes physical environments. With better data, they can map hot spots of new development and use machine learning models that predict future trajectories of change.

For example, several of our focus group participants in one neighborhood noted that gentrification was connected to the demolition of old buildings that likely contained hazardous substances, such as asbestos and lead. They wondered about the potential for air pollution. With accurate data on where development is occurring, researchers can model relationships between new construction and environmental conditions such as air quality.

Moreover, this process can also give legitimacy to neighborhood groups that may see changes occurring around them but lack the quantitative data to legitimatize their concerns to the media and to city government.

By being more explicit about how gentrification is defined when we categorize images and train our machine learning model, researchers can be more transparent about how image data is prepared and prevent personal biases from guiding the model and the patterns it learns.

For example, certain research finds that gentrification leads to increased greenery. However, some participants in our focus groups reported that gentrification resulted in the loss of community gardens and greenery. This experience runs contrary to common assumptions in gentrification research.

Transparency in training models builds trust

By defining how gentrification is perceived by residents, researchers like us can add clarity to how we prepare the model data. Even with more clarity, however, these AI systems are still “black box” in nature. A black box model means that the connection between inputs and outputs is unclear to the model user.

One way to make the model more transparent is by applying an additional model called XAI, or explainable artificial intelligence. Through XAI, there is potential to better understand which characteristics in an image are more important to the model prediction. For example, does the model focus on the windows of a building or the relative height of buildings?

Answering these questions will help researchers and stakeholders trust model predictions.

At the same time, one of us is leading a complementary line of research focused on explaining the reasoning behind the machine learning model decisions. In Philadelphia and many other U.S. cities, street scenes can have a dense mix of cars, vegetation and architectural styles that can confuse the model. There is a lot of complicated visual information to parse through, a lot of variety. Understanding the model’s internal logic helps ensure that its predictions reflect real neighborhood dynamics rather than irrelevant details in the imagery.

Together, these research directions aim to deepen our understanding of how gentrification unfolds on the ground and how AI can help illuminate patterns that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Read more of our stories about Philadelphia and Pennsylvania, or sign up for our Philadelphia newsletter on Substack.

Maya Mueller receives funding from the National Science Foundation.

Isaac Quaye received funding from the National Science foundation.

– ref. We analyzed Philly street scenes and identified signs of gentrification using machine learning trained on longtime residents’ observations – https://theconversation.com/we-analyzed-philly-street-scenes-and-identified-signs-of-gentrification-using-machine-learning-trained-on-longtime-residents-observations-277704

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Will Glovinsky, Research Assistant Professor of Humanities, Binghamton University, State University of New York

A story has been going around about artificial intelligence for the past decade: At some point, AI advances, robots and self-driving cars will throw countless people out of work.

The rich folks who control AI companies will get richer. Most other people’s fortunes will decline as their skills lose value and they fail to get new jobs. To prevent the U.S. from suffering mass hunger and political chaos, the story goes, it will need a new system: The government will provide many people, or maybe everyone, with no-strings-attached cash payments.

There are many names for this kind of policy, including “basic income.”

Backing from a diverse group

This is essentially the story told by 2020 presidential candidate Andrew Yang and by the labor leader Andy Stern. You may also hear it from an array of tech billionaires, including OpenAI CEO Sam Altman and Tesla and SpaceX CEO Elon Musk. In telling it, those moguls also get to hype their companies’ AI models.

Local governments from Stockton, California, to Atlanta are testing basic income programs by giving low-income residents cash. Across the Atlantic, British Investment Minister Jason Stockwood has said he and other leaders are “definitely talking” about the idea.

Meanwhile, social scientists are also interested. They point to basic income experiments that have found more tangible benefits, such as fewer hospitalizations and improved parenting practices.

Telling the ‘basic income’ origin story

I think this talk about basic income – as a solution to automation-driven job losses, or simply as a way to help people – misses something important.

As a scholar of British culture, literature and politics, I study the English thinkers and activists who first called for a form of basic income at the turn of the 19th century – an era of political turmoil, technological change and the global exchange of ideas. I believe that understanding the origins of basic income policies can help clarify what’s behind the current surge of interest in the idea.

This history suggests that basic income is not just about finding a solution to automation or efficiently reducing poverty, though it might do those things.

More fundamentally, calls for basic income respond to the sense that something has been unfairly taken from ordinary people.

AI’s ‘expertise theft’

The feared mass layoffs from AI have not yet materialized, though cracks may be forming in the job market for entry-level workers.

But technology is developing rapidly, making it hard to predict the future.

Meanwhile, another side of AI’s impact on workers is coming into focus.

Three MIT economists, including two Nobel laureates, published a paper in February 2026 in which they bluntly warned that current AI models are engaged in what they called “expertise theft.”

“AI systems,” they wrote, “freely scrape content from websites, social media, YouTube, newspapers, Wikipedia, and blogs, then statistically recombine this material and sell access to the results.”

The concern is that companies will sell all of us – or our former bosses – AI-mediated access to the very ideas, artwork and knowledge contributed by generations of skilled humans.

This large-scale appropriation of the resources that knowledge workers use to make a living – skills, styles, theorems, jokes, recipes – has a historical parallel. As the Oxford economist and machine learning expert Maximilian Kasy argues, AI companies’ wholesale data theft echoes the enclosure of common lands in England in the lead-up to the Industrial Revolution.

The loss of the commons

From 1604 to 1914, English landowners leveraged their control over Parliament to seize 6.8 million acres (275,186 square kilometers) of land once shared by commoners. In the mid-18th century, the process began to accelerate.

Previously, common people had shared the right to plow open fields, gather firewood, graze animals and cut peat from nearby bogs. Rules and fines had discouraged overuse.

Now, with these resources fenced off, commoners had to till someone else’s land for a wage. A communal inheritance was literally hedged in.

As with AI companies’ expertise theft today, the enclosure of the commons was defended by large landowners as a modernizing step. Experts debate the issue, but the economists Leander Heldring, James A. Robinson and Sebastian Vollmer found that English enclosures contributed to a 45% increase in farm yields.

But the enclosures of lands that previously belonged to all also reduced the economic independence of ordinary people. One observer summed up the feelings of commoners this way: “All I know is, I had a cow, and an act of Parliament has taken it from me.”

Amid this widespread dispossession, the first basic income proposals arose.

A response to losses due to enclosures

In the early 1770s, the magistrates of Newcastle attempted to enclose the town’s common land and keep its rental income for themselves.

The local townspeople successfully resisted. If they gave up their rights to use the land, they would divide its rent equally.

The struggle inspired a young Newcastle schoolmaster named Thomas Spence to develop the world’s first basic income proposal.

The son of an impoverished netmaker, Spence never left England. But he was intrigued by reports of Indigenous American systems of egalitarian land use.

His reading persuaded him that the English enclosures were designed to fence most people out from the very resources they needed to survive, rendering them dependent. “If Grass or Nettles they could eat,” he joked, landowners would fence them off, too.

Spence therefore called for the real estate of each parish, the ancient administrative unit in England, to be collectively owned by its residents. Farms would be leased out to the highest bidder, preserving competition.

But rather than accrue to landlords, the rents would fund parish-run schools, hospitals, courts and roads. The remainder would be distributed equally every three months to all residents of the parish, regardless of their age, occupation or gender. In one version of the plan, the local women would run the parish.

In 1798, Spence estimated the dividend at almost 10 pounds annually. In 1816, his followers proposed a version that would compensate former landholders but still yield a payout of 4 pounds.

Those 4 pounds in 1816 would be worth about 342 pounds, or US$456, as of February 2026. And 10 pounds in 1798 would equal 1,126 pounds, or $1,496.

Both were huge sums at a time when male farm laborers might make about 28 pounds annually if employed year-round. The economist Thomas Malthus, Spence’s contemporary, doubted the dividend would be so high.

Whatever the payment’s value, Spence argued that this money was owed to the people. If enclosing land they previously could farm forced commoners to work for landlords or move to northern factory towns, the payments would compensate them for the loss of their “natural rights” to the earth.

The first basic income movement

By the 1790s, Spence had landed in London.

There, hawking radical pamphlets and a sassafras-flavored beverage called saloop out of stalls and storefronts, he spread the gospel of basic income as the French Revolution raged.

A tireless propagandist, he published dialogues, handbills, ballads, anthologies and – when Spence was inevitably arrested – his own trial proceedings. He was imprisoned several times between 1792 and 1802, usually without any trial at all.

When he died in 1814, he had a loyal following of Spenceans, who chalked slogans on walls and sang ballads in the London taverns promoting his plan for unconditional cash dividends.

The doctrine of universal payments was considered so dangerous that the Spenceans were outlawed in 1817.

Basic income aims to address dispossession

Up until recently, Spence’s ideas had found their closest analog in Alaska, which since 1982 has paid several thousand dollars yearly to every resident out of the revenue generated from the drilling of oil on state-owned lands.

In my view, Spence’s writings are evidence that the concept of basic income is a response to pervasive dispossession. Two centuries ago, Spence and his followers fought for universal cash payments because enclosure had made ordinary people too dependent on landowners for their livelihoods.

They did not emphasize that money would be good for people, as proponents do now. They argued that money was owed to people.

Today, concerns about AI-driven automation are driving the discussion about basic income. But automation may also be how the 21st-century form of semilegal theft becomes visible. Mounting calls for an “AI dividend,” provided on a regular basis, or “universal basic capital,” received as a lump sum, or even public ownership of AI may all reflect a dawning awareness of a new wave of dispossession.

This time, it’s fueled by the appropriation of humanity’s next common resource: our knowledge and skills.

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

– ref. Basic income’s appeal today is similar to its roots in 18th-century England – it’s a way to compensate people for a common good taken for private gain – https://theconversation.com/basic-incomes-appeal-today-is-similar-to-its-roots-in-18th-century-england-its-a-way-to-compensate-people-for-a-common-good-taken-for-private-gain-276950

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Mary Thurlkill, Professor of Religion, University of Mississippi

Several Shiite communities in South Asia recently refrained from celebrating Eid as they mourned the death of Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. From Nigeria to Kashmir – well beyond the Gulf region – the assassination has stirred deep concerns among Shiite Muslims.

Shiite Islam is the official, and majority, religion of Iran. Shiite minorities in other countries tend to view Iranian leaders as protectors and have sometimes risked personal safety to protest the war.

As the violence expands around Tehran, Shiites are not only grieving the death of their leaders but also fear the loss of holy cities and shrines that anchor their collective memory.

Many of the cities targeted in the war today are home to these types of shrines, including Qom, Isfahan and Mashhad. In Isfahan, the 17th-century Jame Abbasi Mosque, also known as Shah Mosque, sustained damage during one of the airstrikes. After the ayatollah’s death, Shiites gathered at Imam Reza Shrine in Mashhad to mourn his loss. In a signal recognized by all Shiites, Iran raised the black flag at the shrine’s dome to mark the community’s shared grief.

Qom, located about 80 miles south of Tehran, has attracted much media attention because of the large-scale military attacks against it. Various social media platforms are showing destroyed buildings and plumes of smoke filling the skyline.

After Khamenei’s death, the city was targeted because the Assembly of Experts gathered there to elect his successor. Israel attacked Qom’s Shokouhiyeh Industrial Zone, known for its drone production companies.

With the news blackout in Iran and Gulf states, it’s impossible to know the impact of military operations on holy sites like Qom. Regardless of the level of material damage, Shiites are deploring the physical and spiritual assaults against their sacred landscape.

That’s because in Shiite Islam, grief is not only personal but collective. As a scholar of medieval Islam and Shiite piety, I have seen how this grief is expressed through rituals, pilgrimage and devotion to saints.

Redemptive suffering

Shared sorrow is a key part of Iran’s Twelver Shiite identity, which venerates the Prophet Muhammad’s family through daughter Fatima and cousin and son-in-law, Ali.

Fatima and Ali’s lineage is called the Imamate, with each individual imam recognized as a sinless spiritual leader. Each imam is responsible for providing guidance as the “proof of God” on earth.

Ali’s leadership and the imams’ leadership wasn’t recognized by all Muslims, however. Some of Muhammad’s companions and early leaders of the Umayyad dynasty, which ruled from 661-750 C.E., rejected their authority and punished their followers.

According to Shiite tradition, in 680 C.E. supporters of Ali’s family living in Kufa – in modern-day Iraq – appealed to Husayn, the prophet’s grandson, for assistance. They had refused to pledge their allegiance to the Umayyad Caliph Yazid because they viewed him as illegitimate and oppressive.

Husayn gathered a small group of friends and family, including wives, children and siblings, and headed to Kufa. Their party was intercepted outside the city, on the plains of Karbala, by Yazid’s forces led by Umar ibn Sa’d.

Cut off from water and vastly outnumbered, Husayn’s camp suffered for 10 days in the desert, and the Kufans never rallied to their defense. Desperate from thirst, Husayn rode out of the camp with his infant son to appeal for water, but an enemy archer shot an arrow through the child’s neck.

Tradition says that on the 10th of Muharram, Husayn and his companions met Yazid’s military on the battlefield and were massacred. Many of the men were beheaded and women captured; Umar ibn Sa’d marched the spiked heads and shackled women through various towns on the way back to Caliph Yazid in Damascus to deter further protest.

Husayn’s Kufan supporters acknowledged their failure to aid the imam and pledged to publicly atone. In 685 C.E. about 4,000 penitents revolted against Umayyads in Syria; the majority died.

Shiites worldwide still commemorate Husayn’s death at Karbala as a sacrifice for the community’s collective redemption.

Shiites frame their own suffering – from facing injustice to martyrdom – as symbolically participating in Husayn’s sacrifice. Public ceremonies include “taziyeh” plays performed during Muharram that recreate Husayn’s martyrdom and the public recitation of poetry dedicated to his family.

A sacred landscape

America and Israel associate holy sites such as Qom with underground bunkers, uranium plants and military headquarters. But for Shiites they are centers of pilgrimage, where the faithful seek connection with God, the imams and their sacred history.

Qom has universities and stunning sacred architecture that date back to the Safavids, a dynasty that ruled Iran from 1501 through 1736. Its seminary is the foremost clerical institution in the world, training students from Lebanon, Iraq and Afghanistan in a wide range of topics, including Shiite jurisprudence, Quranic interpretation and Arabic literature. Women also attend the seminary but with segregated classrooms and some course restrictions.

Qom’s primary sacred site, the shrine of Fatima bint Musa, who died in 816 C.E., is one of the most important sacred sites for Shii Muslims worldwide and attracts millions of pilgrims each year.

Popularly known as Fatima Masuma, she is the daughter of seventh imam Musa al-Kazim and sister to the eighth imam, Ali al-Rida.

Iranian Shiites – known as Twelvers – believe there are 12 imams in the Prophet Muhammad’s family lineage with exalted spiritual status, and that the 12th imam never died but went into “hiding.” Shiites know the 12th imam as al-Mahdi, or the messiah: they believe he will return at the world’s end times to restore God’s justice and peace.

According to Fatima’s hagiographies, or popular sacred stories, she remained unmarried and devoted herself to scholarship. She’s known as a trustworthy transmitter of hadith – sayings from the prophet and his family – and she studied the Quran and jurisprudence. She’s especially revered in Shiite Islam because of her kinship with the imams.

Tradition notes that when Fatima’s father, Musa al-Kazim, was unable to meet visitors with spiritual questions, he directed them to consult his daughter.

During her lifetime, the Abbasid dynasty rose to power in Baghdad and quickly sought to curtail the imamate’s popularity because many Muslims viewed Ali’s family as the only legitimate rulers.

Saintly intercession

Just on the outskirts of Qom is a village called Jamkaran, home to another important pilgrimage site. According to tradition, the 12th imam, or Imam al-Mahdi, appeared to a devotee in the 10th century and requested a shrine be constructed.

From 1995 to 2005 the Iranian government greatly expanded the mosque complex and city infrastructure to support the millions of pilgrims who visit annually.

Shiites believe al-Mahdi is mysteriously present at the site and listens to their concerns. In a popular ritual of prayer and piety, visitors write personal requests on bits of paper and drop them down the “Well of Requests.”

Shiites share political pain and injustice not only with each other but also with the imams, bound in collective grief and prayers for redemption. These traditions help explain the powerful reactions seen across Shiite communities following attacks on sacred sites and the killing of Grand Ayatollah Khamenei.

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

– ref. Shiite grief over attacks on Iran’s sacred cities has deep historical roots – https://theconversation.com/shiite-grief-over-attacks-on-irans-sacred-cities-has-deep-historical-roots-278799