President Donald Trump’s rapid and dramatic turn from threatening to kill “an entire civilization” in Iran on the morning of April 7, 2026, to announcing a two-week ceasefire later that day left many observers with a sense of whiplash.

While it is difficult to predict whether the ceasefire between the U.S. and Iran will hold or how events will unfold, the dynamics of the conflict so far reveal multiple vulnerabilities in the short term and numerous detrimental effects on the region in the medium to long term.

Already, the truce has shown signs of strain. Iran and the U.S. almost immediately offered dueling narratives about the agreement, including whether it would cover the war in Lebanon. Iran and Pakistan, the primary mediator, asserted that it would, while the U.S. and Israel, which pledged to honor the U.S. agreement, said it would not. Indeed, a day after the ceasefire came into force, Israel conducted some of its most intense bombing in Lebanon to date.

As an expert in Middle East politics, I believe that the involvement of so many governments and militant groups – in both the negotiation process and in terms of the regional effects of the conflict – make it more difficult to uphold a ceasefire.

Over the past decade, there has been a shift in regional alliances in the Middle East, leading to increasingly assertive foreign policies by many countries and a deepening rivalry between Iran and Saudi Arabia. The current war only fuels these dynamics, incentivizing competition and offering governments and militant groups new opportunities to exert leverage over opponents.

The current reality also underlines the idea that external intervention and privileging war over diplomacy has made conflict resolution ever more difficult in a region with a long history of imperial expansion, great power competition and bitter political divides.

Regional fault lines

One of the more remarkable aspects of the war in Iran that began on Feb. 28 was how quickly it escalated in terms of geographic scope and the actors pulled into it.

The three key countries involved – Israel, the U.S and Iran – are all facing internal political tensions, polarization and legitimacy crises.

Outside countries such as China, Russia and Pakistan have deployed their own strategic interests and diplomatic tools in the conflict in indirectly getting involved.

The conflict has also drawn in a variety of regional governments and other groups, from [Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states] to Hezbollah in Lebanon and the Houthis in Yemen.

All of that is bound to deepen the fault lines that make regional tensions and sectarian conflict more likely in the long run.

Meanwhile, public opinion in the Arab world shows profound damage to the United States’ reputation in the region and a loss of credibility in the international legal and humanitarian system.

I think these developments are also deeply troubling for the long term.

Events since the war began have been bad enough. The war has led to over 1,200 Iranian civilian deaths, over 3.2 million Iranians temporarily displaced and significant damage to Iranian infrastructure. Thirteen American soldiers have also died in the course of the conflict, as have more than two dozen in Israel and the Gulf states.

That’s to say nothing of the toll in Lebanon, where more than 1,500 people have died and more than 1 million displaced since the beginning of March.

The Houthis and the politics of regional instability

The Houthis in Yemen, one of the conflict participants that remained surprisingly silent at the outbreak of the war, are instructive for understanding the region’s complicated and fractured dynamics.

As a religious rebel movement that follows the Zaydi branch of Shia Islam, the Houthis, who took over Yemen’s capital in 2014, have been the target of sustained military operations by Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates since 2015. This has only pushed them closer to Tehran.

Avowed opponents of Israel, the Houthis declared war against the country following the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, and Israel’s subsequent war in Gaza.

In 2024, the Houthis attacked maritime shipping in the Red Sea near the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, a key maritime choke point. That prefigured, in a much smaller and less consequential way, Iran’s own actions in blocking the Strait of Hormuz during the current crisis.

That Houthi campaign to block maritime shipping resulted in a U.S.-led international coalition and significant military strikes against the insurgent group, their redesignation as a foreign terrorist organization, and ultimately a ceasefire deal between the U.S. and the Houthi movement in May 2025.

Yet the underlying regional disputes and domestic fractures that the Houthis were part of were never resolved.

Eventually, the Houthis reentered the fight against Israel amid the latest war in Iran, attacking Israel on March 28.

They refrained from attacks in the Red Sea and currently are observing the ceasefire. But entering the war enabled a weakened Houthi movement to signal resolve, military capacity and commitment to its alliance with Iran, just as Yemen continues to face an economic and severe humanitarian crisis. The Houthis now also have added leverage to play the role of spoiler amid ongoing diplomacy.

The costs of diplomacy avoidance

Of course, the Houthis are not the only movement that will perceive the war on Iran as an opportunity to exert regional influence.

Just as the Houthis and their enemies are using regional conflicts to boost their domestic legitimacy and strategic advantages, so too are the more salient participants − Iran, Israel and the U.S. − relitigating their own past conflicts on the battlefield.

Amid all of these current regional trends of crises and contestation, the United States’ own strategic goals have remained remarkably unclear. The Trump administration has vacillated from a focus on regime change to preventing Iran from developing nuclear capabilities.

So far, there are no indications that talks with Iran to extend the ceasefire into a full diplomatic agreement will successfully prevent Iran from pursuing uranium enrichment. Indeed, one of the contested points of the framework for talks with Iran is the apparent acceptance of Iran’s right to nuclear enrichment.

In 2018, Trump abandoned the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, or so-called Iran deal. In it, Iran agreed to terms, including limiting uranium enrichment, that would block its path to a nuclear weapon, should it have desired one.

Under the Iran deal, Tehran had also complied with inspections by the International Atomic Energy Agency. It was not until much after American withdrawal from the agreement that Iran once again started stockpiling uranium and pursuing enrichment.

In her 2020 book on the tenuous 22-month diplomatic process leading to the Iran deal, aptly titled “Not for the Faint of Heart,” Ambassador Wendy Sherman wrote how complex, challenging and delicate such multiparty negotiations can be.

But the recent war on Iran suggests that the current machine-gun politics approach toward Tehran and the Middle East favored by the U.S. and Israel comes with serious costs and risks.

In the course of a war with unclear targets, vague strategic objectives and high human costs, the region is far less stable than it was when the conflict began. That has made the path to long-term durable peace all the more difficult now that diplomacy is back on the table.

– ref. After ceasefire, negotiating a lasting deal with Iran would require overcoming regional rivalries and strategic incoherence – https://theconversation.com/after-ceasefire-negotiating-a-lasting-deal-with-iran-would-require-overcoming-regional-rivalries-and-strategic-incoherence-280243

For the first time since Viktor Orbán came to power in 2010, the Hungarian electorate is faced with a genuinely competitive campaign ahead of the 2026 general election on April 12.

For the past 16 years, Prime Minister Orbán’s party Fidesz has dominated. Faced with smear campaigns and attacks portraying opponents as a threat to national interests and sovereignty, any opposition has been fragmented and ineffectual, held together by uneasy alliances.

This time round, however, Fidesz’s hold is threatened by a single challenger, the Respect and Freedom Party (Tisza), which is currently leading by around 20 percentage points in the polls. Founded in 2020 and led by Péter Magyar since 2024, this centre-right party positions itself as a cross-ideological alternative. Its main focus is tackling government corruption and improving living standards and public services. Its international stance is pro-European and unifying.

The 2026 contest comes at a time of economic strain and growing public dissatisfaction. Hungary is one of the EU’s poorest member states. It also ranks among the most corrupt in international indices. Voters are therefore not just choosing between parties, but between the continuation of an entrenched system and what the Tisza is framing as a regime change.

Hungary is widely described as a competitive autocracy. Elections are regularly held, but the government dominates most of the media and benefits from institutional rules that favour it. Research bears this out. Campaigns in competitive autocracies occur in constrained information environments: governments dominate the media, limit opposition visibility, and, as studies I have contributed to show, often disseminate misinformation from the top.

Increased public engagement

Fidesz has reshaped the country’s political system in ways that help it retain a durable electoral advantage. Since 2010, televised debates have disappeared from election campaigns. Around 85% of the media is now controlled by pro-government outlets that often convey identical narratives.

In line with these constraints, the government’s rhetoric has centred on security for over a decade. In 2022, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine gave new momentum to the Fidesz campaign. It framed the opposition as pro-war. Campaign events were held in controlled settings, with Orbán appearing in pro-government media and smaller local events.

The 2026 election campaign has been different. Orbán is now campaigning more actively across the country. While he has continued to claim that the opposition, aligned with Ukraine and the EU, would take Hungary to war, he has been making frequent appearances and directly engaging with voters. Other government figures have also taken on a more visible role. Ministers are touring the country and appearing at campaign events.

The party has also made efforts to strengthen its social media presence as a way to distribute pro-government messages.

Despite this, the government’s control over the campaign agenda has been less stable than in previous elections. Increased exposure has come with greater risks. High-profile party members have generated public controversy. In January, transportation minister János Lázár drew ire for comments he made about the country not needing foreign labour, in which he also insulted Hungarian Roma.

Elsewhere, there have been confrontations at campaign events, where protesters have openly challenged the prime minister and black-clad security personnel have intervened. Anti-government protests at these events have also multiplied, reflecting this more direct and less controlled campaign environment.

Robust opposition

This shift is in direct response to the challenge Tisza poses. The party emerged as a major contender following the 2024 European parliamentary elections.

Magyar is a former Fidesz member and the ex-husband of the former justice minister Judit Varga. He entered frontline politics in early 2024, distancing himself from the government following the presidential pardon scandal, which led to the resignation of both Varga and president Katalin Novák. He later released a recording of Varga referring to alleged interference in a major corruption case.

He has spent the past two years touring the country and building local Tisza organisations. In his speeches, streamed on social media, Magyar often responds within hours to government-related developments then returns to them in later appearances. Following allegations of intelligence interference targeting his party, he quickly incorporated the issue into his campaign.

Cost of living

This campaign is unfolding against a backdrop of difficult economic conditions. Inflation is high, living costs are rising, the economy is stagnant. Research shows that competitive authoritarian governments, like Orbán’s, use propaganda to shape media narratives and reduce the salience of economic problems for voters. Tisza, by contrast, has made living standards a central theme.

In the final weeks of the campaign, Magyar has emphasised the argument that Orbán’s government is aligned with Russia and highlighted concerns about election rigging as a basis to call for electoral reform. Orbán has struggled to push back on all counts and has found itself unable to shift the campaign agenda back towards security issues.

Magyar’s party has also demonstrated its ability to connect to the public. On March 15, a key national holiday marking the 1848 Revolution, Tisza held a rally in Heroes’ Square, Budapest, rivalling the government’s own peace march. Sources vary on the scale of both events. Fidesz quoted the Hungarian Tourism Agency’s figures of 180,000 people at the government’s march, and 150,000 at Tisza’s. Politico quoted sources close to the opposition estimating their attendees numbering over 350,000.

In his speech at his march, Orbán again framed the election as a contest between peace and war, casting it as a decision between himself and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. Magyar, however, used national symbols and historical references to present the vote as a decisive turning point in Hungary’s political direction.

For years, Fidesz shaped campaigns on its own terms, limiting uncertainty. The current campaign shows that this control can be disrupted: rather than responding to government attacks, the opposition has set the agenda by elevating issues that mobilise public attention, forcing the government into a more competitive mode of campaigning.

This election therefore presents the possibility of more than a routine change of government. It could mark a turning point for the political system. Whether or not such a shift materialises, the campaign demonstrates that even in constrained environments, ruling parties can be pushed into forms of competition more typical of democratic settings. Once this happens, structural advantages no longer compensate for the strategic demands of open contest.

– ref. Hungary election: how a new opponent has forced Viktor Orbán into the first genuinely competitive race in 16 years – https://theconversation.com/hungary-election-how-a-new-opponent-has-forced-viktor-orban-into-the-first-genuinely-competitive-race-in-16-years-279941

The Deb is finally here. The film has been plagued by unresolved legal troubles and repeated delays. But here it is – and for the most part, it’s an enjoyable Australian comedy with characteristically crude humour, but aimed squarely at a young, female audience.

It’s a shame it’s not as good a musical as it is a comedy.

The Deb began life as a stage musical, as the first recipient of Rebel Wilson’s scholarship program for young, female-identifying comedy writers. Written by Australian comedy writer Hannah Reilly and musician Meg Washington, the musical was produced by the Australian Theatre for Young People (ATYP) and enjoyed a successful season in 2022. Almost immediately, Wilson flagged her intent to adapt the stage show for film.

Set in the fictional, drought-ravaged town of Dunburn, The Deb is a loose riff on the fable of the the town mouse and the country mouse.

Wealthy, stylish, attractive and self-confident Maeve (Charlotte MacInnes, reprising her role from the stage production) is a Sydney private school student who, after being expelled from school for staging a political protest against the tyranny of the top shirt button, is dispatched to the country by her principal-slash-mother for some fresh country air and a change of perspective.

Her cousin and foil, Taylor Simpkins (Natalie Abbott), is an earnest, sweet, unpopular farm girl, desperate to find a date for the debutante ball. Politically, socially, and sexually, the two girls are a world apart.

All about the women

Maeve is initially horrified at the tradition of the deb ball and what she sees as its backwards, patriarchal implications. Yet one of the film’s strengths is that it manages to make the clash between Maeve’s woke politics and the sensibilities of Dunburn’s residents for the most part funny, rather than painfully didactic.

As Maeve softens, she realises that traditions – even antiquated ones – are important rituals that connect communities together.

There’s a lot to like about the performances. The Deb is a proud member of a movement that I have previously termed the “female turn” in Australian musical theatre, recognising the viewership for musical theatre overwhelmingly skews young and female.

The film is unambiguously geared at this market. This is a film all about the women, and both MacInnes and Abbott deliver in spades.

The male characters, like the salt-of-the-earth Rick (Taylor’s father and the town’s mayor, played by Shane Jacobsen) and Maeve’s dreamy love interest Dusty (Costa D’Angelo), are peripheral at best.

Wilson’s on-brand performance as Janette, a hairdresser whose claim to fame is having waxed Hugh Jackman’s “back, sack and crack”, delivers exactly the broad comedy that the project’s funders, who made her appearance on screen a condition of their investment, were presumably looking for. Wilson’s two onscreen daughters deserve special mention. Stevie Jean, who plays teenage mean-girl Annabelle, has one of the best voices in the cast, while Scarlett Crabtree’s Kid Koala is a comic highlight.

The trouble with the music

The strong performances are not enough to override the film’s central problem: that, devastatingly for a musical, the music is the weakest link.

The Deb doesn’t manage to settle on either a sonic or choreographic language that supports the deeply Australian narrative, humour, aesthetic and landscape underpinning it.

Individually, there are some great, catchy songs – but the score as a whole does not cohere. Stylistically, the influence of Fangirls and Muriel’s Wedding: The Musical is apparent, but the creators of The Deb seem to have misunderstood that in both these cases, there were more sophisticated dramaturgical underpinnings connecting genre, story and character than are evident here.

While songs can perform a multitude of different functions in musical theatre, in The Deb they mostly do not push the plot forward.

The film itself implicitly concedes this: as the plot heats up, there is a long, songless stretch where all the important things happen without music. To my mind, this was an admission by the filmmakers that the music is subsidiary to the action; a soundtrack, rather than an integrated, essential part of the storytelling.

Genuine warmth

My husband grew up in a country town akin to Dunburn, and I had the great pleasure of watching the film with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, both of whom had actually attended their own debutante balls (my husband abandoned us after the first song, reinforcing my view about the film’s audience).

The three women who remained found many pleasurable, laugh-out-loud moments of quintessentially Australian humour in the film. It exhibits a genuine warmth for Australian regional towns, and the people who live there. It’s a welcome message for a nation that, as the current polling for One Nation indicates, continues to experience a city/country divide.

It’s a pity it doesn’t have a winning, iconic song to bind us together and do what musicals do best – send us out into our communities, armed with songs to share.

The Deb is in cinemas now.

– ref. Rebel Wilson’s directorial debut, The Deb, has genuine warmth – but doesn’t quite work as a musical – https://theconversation.com/rebel-wilsons-directorial-debut-the-deb-has-genuine-warmth-but-doesnt-quite-work-as-a-musical-271737

Wednesday’s ceasefire announcement by President Donald Trump, linked to Iran reopening the Strait of Hormuz, prompted immediate optimism shipping would quickly resume. It didn’t.

The following morning, traffic remained minimal. A handful of vessels, largely linked to Iran, made the transit. But most of the ships waiting in the Gulf stayed put. Iran announced shortly afterwards that it would effectively close the strait because of Israel’s attacks on Lebanon.

The reality is the strait was never closed. Framing the issue as “open” or “closed” misses the point.

Ships are not being physically blocked. They are being deterred.

Over recent weeks, Iran has demonstrated both the capability and intent to target commercial shipping. Attacks and credible threats against vessels have driven daily transits down from around 130 to just a handful. Until that risk changes, ships will not return in meaningful numbers.

So what can be done to turn this around?

Both walking and talking

The ceasefire declarations have added to the uncertainty rather than resolved it.

Washington has asserted that the strait is open.

Tehran’s messaging has been more ambiguous, including references to requiring vessels to inform Iranian authorities before transiting.

Some interpret this as a precursor to attempts to exert control over the waterway through a toll.

This ambiguity matters. Shipping is a commercial activity driven by risk calculations. Operators and crews will not move on the basis of political statements, particularly when recent experience suggests those statements may not hold.

Read more: Will the conflict in Lebanon destroy the US-Iran ceasefire? Maybe, but it was already shaky

The importance of reassurance

In practice, restoring traffic through the strait will likely occur in two phases.

The first is reducing the threat. That can occur through military means, diplomacy, or a combination of both, but it must materially degrade Iran’s ability and willingness to target shipping.

The second is reassurance.

Even if Iran’s attacks on civilian shipping stop as a result of the ceasefire, shipping will not immediately return. Confidence has been shaken and will take time to rebuild.

A credible reassurance effort would include limited naval escorts, at least initially. It’s notable the US did not move immediately to demonstrate confidence in the ceasefire by escorting US flagged and crewed commercial vessels out of the Gulf.

That would have sent a clear signal to industry, helped restore confidence in transits and undercut subsequent Iranian claims that ships require approval from its armed forces.

Given Iran’s interest in maintaining the ceasefire, it would have been unlikely to challenge ships under US naval protection. The US hesitation has instead created space for Iran to entrench its position, pushing vessels closer to its coastline and reinforcing its ability to shape how the strait is used.

An effective reassurance campaign would also involve a broader international presence to provide surveillance, information-sharing and rapid response capability. The international community should move quickly to establish this. Its very establishment would help restore confidence in transits.

We have seen this model before. The International Maritime Security Construct, established in 2019 following Iranian attacks in the Gulf of Oman, focused on transparency, coordination and reassurance rather than large-scale convoy operations.

I served as the construct’s Director of Plans in 2020. A similar, but more effective, approach is likely to be required again. It is not a silver bullet, but reassurance is layered, and this would at least provide the clarity and communication shippers need.

Diplomacy will also matter. Clear, coordinated messaging from the international community, backed by explicit economic consequences for any renewed attacks on merchant shipping, will be essential to rebuilding confidence.

The question of tolls

There has also been speculation about whether Iran might seek to impose a toll on vessels transiting the strait.

The legal position here is clear. The Strait of Hormuz is an international strait under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. Ships enjoy the right of transit passage through the strait. Charging vessels for passage would cut directly against that principle and set a dangerous precedent for other strategic waterways.

There are early signs Iran is testing the boundaries. Reports of radio calls warning vessels they require approval to transit, and suggestions that ships should notify Iranian authorities before transiting, point to an attempt to exert greater control over the strait.

That should be resisted.

Allowing a toll, or even limited restrictions, to take hold in the Strait of Hormuz would have far-reaching consequences, undermining the central principle of maritime trade: freedom of navigation. Regardless of Donald Trump’s flippant comments, the international community is unlikely to accept any enduring Iranian toll system.

If Iran attempts to pursue one, it should face clear economic consequences, including sanctions.

Questions remain about whether mines have been laid in or near the strait. Even the suggestion adds to uncertainty and reinforces the need for a coordinated international response, including transparent assessments of the threat environment.

A clear, public assessment from the international community on whether the strait has in fact been mined would go a long way. It should be an early priority for any coalition effort.

The bottom line

Ultimately, shipping will return to the Strait of Hormuz not when it is declared open, but when it is assessed to be safe enough.

That will require a sustained period without attacks, a visible international effort to secure the waterway, and clear signalling that the rules governing international straits will be upheld.

Until then, the ships will wait.

– ref. What will it take to get ships going through the Strait of Hormuz again? – https://theconversation.com/what-will-it-take-to-get-ships-going-through-the-strait-of-hormuz-again-280275

The four Artemis II astronauts who looped around the Moon this week are expected to splash down soon. NASA’s grand mission spells a return to human deep-space travel, with renewed interest in building a long-term Moon base.

The images captured by the crew are spectacular, offering a view from the far side of the Moon with Earth hovering low on the horizon.

They are another reminder of technical achievement and human ambition. But in the background, decisions about what happens next and who benefits are already taking shape.

While there have always been legal tensions around ownership, access and control of space, in 2026 they no longer seem like abstract concepts.

The 1967 Outer Space Treaty declares space “the province of all mankind”, barring countries from claiming ownership. Yet newer frameworks like the United States’ Artemis Accords introduce concepts such as exclusive “safety zones” around lunar activities, which could include mining of water or helium-3.

Space law expert Cassandra Steer views this as an example of the US “trying to carve out a loophole”. Legal scholar Michael Byers and space archaeologist Alice Gorman further note that even well-intentioned mechanisms can become tools for asserting control in a domain that is meant to remain shared.

This tension between cooperation and competition, shared benefit and private gain, is neither accidental nor new. It reflects fundamentally different ways of imagining the future of space.

So, is this new lunar era going to be one marked by countries’ collective stewardship of what lies beyond Earth – or yet another space race?

4 futures for the final frontier

Our latest research charts these competing visions for space across four different trajectories.

Some countries treat space as a frontier to be claimed and exploited, echoing earlier eras of terrestrial expansion. Others see it as a resource to fuel economic growth on Earth, prioritising rapid development over long-term sustainability.

A third vision imagines space as an escape hatch: a place to build new societies as Earth becomes less habitable. And finally, a smaller but emerging perspective views Earth and space as strongly interconnected, requiring stewardship across both domains.

These scenarios are already playing out in current policy and practice.

Consider the growing commercial presence in orbit. Satellites now number in the tens of thousands, with around two-thirds of them owned by SpaceX and hundreds of thousands more planned.

The result is orbital congestion and a creeping “tragedy of the commons”, where individual actors maximise short-term gain at the expense of the environment. Orbital debris, including more than one million fragments larger than a centimetre, threatens long-term access to space itself.

At the same time, geopolitical competition is intensifying.

Artemis II might be framed as an international mission, but it also reflects strategic positioning – particularly as major powers like the US and China race towards their lunar ambitions.

A sense of possibility

Within this increasingly contested landscape, Indigenous worldviews offer a fundamentally different way of imagining space: not as a frontier apart from Earth, but as part of a shared living system.

Our research, using a method known as “causal layered analysis” developed by Pakistani-born Australian political scientist Sohail Inayatullah, shows these tensions reflect deeper competing assumptions about what space is for.

Depending on who is making the rules, it becomes either a marketplace, a lifeline, a refuge or an ecosystem.

Artemis II brings those differences into sharp relief. The decisions being made now about regulation, access and governance will shape the future of space activity for decades.

We argue for a shift towards an “Earth-space sustainability” model, one that treats Earth and space as interconnected rather than separate domains.

That means setting shared sustainability goals and involving Indigenous peoples in co-governance, bringing values of reciprocity, shared responsibility and long-term stewardship into decision making.

These principles need to be embedded in institutions as well as rhetoric.

Co-governance frameworks that bring together governments, industry and Indigenous communities – alongside enforceable standards and tools such as the Space Sustainability Rating – offer one path towards more responsible stewardship.

This is not the easiest route for countries to take. It challenges powerful economic incentives and geopolitical rivalries. But the alternatives – unchecked competition and environmental degradation – are worse.

The return to the Moon offers a sense of possibility. It is natural to be captivated by the engineering, the scale and the ambition of it. But the more consequential story lies beneath.

As humans circle the Moon once again, the question is no longer whether we can go back, but how we choose to behave when we get there.

The author acknowledges the contribution of Ronda Geise who led this research as part of her masters degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Auckland.

– ref. Artemis II: as humans return to the Moon, which of these 4 futures will we choose? – https://theconversation.com/artemis-ii-as-humans-return-to-the-moon-which-of-these-4-futures-will-we-choose-280267

“Same as it ever was” is a phrase that continues to resonate in 2026.

The oil shocks of the 1970s, triggered by conflict in the Middle East, sent global energy prices soaring and exposed the vulnerability of modern economies to fuel supply. They also sparked a global surge of interest in alternative energy.

One particularly intriguing idea at the time came from Stephen Salter, a University of Edinburgh researcher who recognised the enormous amount of energy that is constantly cycled within oceans.

He developed a method of turning wave energy into electricity using a pear-shaped device dubbed the “nodding duck”. Despite its whimsical nickname, Salter’s solution appeared able to efficiently extract a large share of the energy carried in passing waves.

The easing of oil shortages and the politics of energy funding brought an end to Salter’s project and pushed marine energy research out of the spotlight.

Still, work in the field has quietly carried on. The last few decades have seen research and development into approaches that source energy from tides, marine winds – and even from differences in heat and salt at different depths.

At the same time, there has been another fundamental shift since the 1970s: the awareness that burning fossil fuels is warming our climate – and that we urgently need to reduce our dependence on them.

An ocean of potential?

New Zealand already generates a high share of its electricity from renewable energy, mostly from hydro, geothermal and wind. But much of the wider energy system still needs to follow.

In scaling up the country’s renewables sector, a large and untapped opportunity lies just offshore.

New Zealand’s west coast is continually swept by waves generated in the Southern Ocean, while the shape of its islands amplifies tidal flows in places like Te Moana-o-Raukawa Cook Strait – one of the most energetic stretches of water on the planet.

These conditions offer exceptional potential for marine energy, for which there is now an increasing range of technologies to harness.

Offshore wind is already well established globally, making up over 99% of marine-based renewable energy capacity. Tidal energy is quickly growing as a sector and now accounts for nearly two thirds of the non-wind ocean energy market. It has advanced through systems that operate much like compact underwater wind turbines.

The UK and France are now planning to install tidal stream energy infrastructure that would deliver at least 400 megawatts of capacity over the next decade, while other countries including Canada, the US, China and Japan are exploring the tech to a lesser extent.

Comparatively, wave energy still has a way to go. But scientists have been developing technology such as buoys and actuators that convert ocean wave motion into electricity, all building on those ideas first explored by Salter.

The new generation of marine energy technologies is solving many of the basic challenges of accessing this large energy resource. The next step is to get it accepted as part of an energy portfolio.

Unlike fossil fuels, waves and tides offer variable yet predictable sources of energy. But doing this at scale will require ways to store that energy – such as pumped hydro or large-scale batteries – to provide reliable supply when demand is high.

In New Zealand, scientists have been exploring these concepts as part of wider research into the potential for capturing energy from the country’s unique ocean environments.

Some of this work, supported by New Zealand’s Marsden Fund, has sought to understand how ocean energy works in these extreme conditions. This enables assessment of how turbine systems developed for smaller coastal settings might perform in more powerful ocean conditions.

Barriers to blue energy

While many of these marine energy technologies are technically viable today, they continue to face significant barriers to deployment. High upfront costs, limited economies of scale and cautious investment environments have all slowed progress.

Previously, proposed marine projects have tended to over-promise relative to technology and social license at the time. One example was a large tidal scheme in the Kaipara Harbour north of Auckland that was touted as capable of powering the equivalent of 250,000 homes. It did not proceed.

Another hurdle has been knowledge gaps in how marine energy developments might affect vulnerable local ecosystems. Recent research has highlighted not only the lack of data on critical species, but also the need to incorporate Māori perspectives and values when assessing impacts on the marine environment.

And so, as another global oil shock unfolds, New Zealand finds itself not much further down the road in realising its marine energy potential than it was 50 years ago.

One way forward is for the country to build on its strengths in hydro, wind, geothermal and solar – and make an even greater push toward renewable energy.

Doing this will require more than discovering new efficiencies in technology. It will mean better understanding how people make decisions about energy use, investing in environmental science to assess impacts and fostering a more capable domestic engineering and infrastructure sector to support deployment.

Regardless of where future renewable growth comes from – be it the sea, sun, earth or skies – it will be essential for reducing fossil fuel emissions. Greater resilience to future oil shocks would be an added benefit.

– ref. NZ is surrounded by ocean energy. Just what would it take to tap it? – https://theconversation.com/nz-is-surrounded-by-ocean-energy-just-what-would-it-take-to-tap-it-279842

On the shores of the west coast of Australia lies a window to our past: the stromatolites and microbial mats of Gathaagudu (Shark Bay).

To the untrained eye they look like a collection of rocks and slime – but they are in fact teeming with microbial life. And these stromatolites are living “relics” of ancient ecosystems that thrived on Earth billions of years ago.

If you wade past, it feels like you’re walking back through time. In fact, the first bubbles of oxygen that filled the atmosphere on early Earth likely came from ancient stromatolites. You could say we owe our very existence to these piles of rocks.

So, what other secrets of our past could these ecosystems tell us? Through decades of research, we know how early life has woven its path through these “living rocks”. But most recently our team embarked on the greatest genealogy search of them all: searching for our great microbial ancestors, the Asgard archaea.

And in a new paper, published today in the journal Current Biology, we report how this search led to the discovery of a key clue that could help explain how complex life evolved on Earth.

The cells that comprise complex life

Asgard archaea were originally named after Norse gods. This fascinating group of microbes sits on the cusp of one of the most significant events in the evolution of life: the origin of the complex cells that make up plants and animals, known as eukaryotes.

Evidence suggests Asgard archaea are the closest relatives of eukaryotes. And that on an early Earth it was the “marriage” of an ancient Asgard archaeon and a bacterium that led to the first eukaryotes.

They formed an ancient partnership. They shared resources and physically interacted, leading to the first complex cells. Like a Romeo and Juliet tale of two distant families coming together, Asgard archaea and bacteria decided it was time to break from traditional family values.

But we have never seen a model of how this may have occurred. Until now.

Holding up a mirror to the ancient past

Our team used the mats of Shark Bay as a “seed” to establish cultures of these ancient microbes. We are one of only four groups worldwide to achieve this, through years of research with a dedicated team of graduate students nurturing the Asgards like offspring.

But the Asgards were not alone. We found them together with a sulphate-loving bacterium. Could this be a model of how complex life may have started on a primitive Earth?

We began by sequencing the Asgards’ DNA to decipher exactly how these microbes tick at the genetic level. We also used artificial intelligence to model how proteins could have behaved in a world before eukaryotes. Evidence suggested these two microbes were sharing nutrients. In other words, they were cooperating.

But we wanted to delve deeper. What do our great microbial ancestors look like? Here we turned to electron cryotomography, a high-resolution imaging approach that allowed us to observe cells and structures at a nanometre scale.

And here we showed – for the first time – an Asgard archaeon and a bacterium directly interacting. Tiny nanotubes were connecting the two organisms – perhaps reflecting what their great-ancestors did on an early Earth that ultimately led to the explosion of complex life as we know it.

Weaving western science with Indigenous knowledge

This was a major discovery – one that originated in Gathaagudu, a World Heritage Site with significant environmental and cultural values.

Aboriginal people first inhabited Gathaagudu over 30,000 years ago. We wanted to recognise and celebrate the language of the Malgana people, one of the traditional language groups of Gathaagudu. We also wanted to connect western science with Indigenous Knowledge in a meaningful way.

To this end and working closely with the world’s foremost Malgana language expert, Kymberley Oakley, and Aboriginal elders, a name was granted for our novel Asgard archaeon from the language of the Malgana people: Nerearchaeum marumarumayae. The species name – marumarumayae – is derived from the Aboriginal language of the Malgana people, meaning “ancient home”, a reference to stromatolites being of ancient origin in Earth’s history.

Weaving Aboriginal language into the naming of our new microbe represents a fitting connection between unique Aboriginal culture in Australia and the ancient microbe discovered that calls the mats of Gathaagudu “home”.

Gathaagudu is under threat from global change, from increased heatwaves, cyclonic events and human activity. And among the values to preserve and conserve are the significant Aboriginal connections as well as the trails of life going back through evolutionary time.

With our study we have peered into our past. And maybe like the Montagues and Capulets of Shakespeare, we see distant families of microbes coming together to bridge the divide and ultimately form the early eukaryotes that eventually led to us: a fragile branch on the evolutionary tree of life.

– ref. ‘First contact’ that may have led to complex life on Earth finally witnessed by scientists – https://theconversation.com/first-contact-that-may-have-led-to-complex-life-on-earth-finally-witnessed-by-scientists-280173

The war in Iran has led to a global energy crisis. Shipping traffic through the Strait of Hormuz, a major energy chokepoint that handles roughly 20% of the world’s oil, has been largely blocked by Iran since hostilities broke out in late February. This has, at times, caused oil prices to rise above US$100 a barrel.

As the primary customers of Gulf energy, Asian economies are being hit particularly hard by this crisis. According to figures published by the International Energy Agency in 2025, around 80% of the oil and petroleum products and nearly 90% of the LNG that transited the Strait of Hormuz that year were destined for Asia.

Not all countries in Asia are equally vulnerable. Those most exposed to energy market disruption share a set of structural characteristics: heavy reliance on imported fossil fuels, limited fiscal space and constrained energy systems that make it difficult to switch to alternatives quickly.

Countries such as Bangladesh, Pakistan and Sri Lanka are all heavily dependent on imported oil and gas to meet domestic demand. However, they lack the foreign exchange reserves needed to secure energy supplies in volatile global markets. When prices spike or supplies tighten, these economies are forced into painful trade-offs between energy access, inflation and fiscal stability.

Wealthier Asian economies such as Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong and Singapore have greater financial resources, granting them superior purchasing power in volatile markets. But they, too, are structurally exposed to global energy crises. Their energy systems are also deeply dependent on fuel imported from the Gulf, which leaves them sensitive to supply disruptions.

These countries have the fiscal capacity to maintain strategic energy reserves, providing them with temporary relief from disruption. Japan and South Korea, for example, have both initiated record-breaking releases from their state oil reserves since the start of the Iran war.

But with the exception of China, which has huge stockpiles of oil and LNG as well as robust domestic energy supply, these reserves are not designed to offset prolonged disruptions. Japan and South Korea’s national stockpiles only hold enough oil for around 200 days.

Governments under pressure

Faced with tightening supplies and rising prices, many Asian governments have moved quickly to curb energy demand. One of the most immediate responses has been to limit mobility. The Philippines, Pakistan and Sri Lanka have all introduced four-day working weeks or have extended public holidays to cut commuting and fuel use.

Pakistan has also introduced hybrid working arrangements for public-sector employees, encouraging remote work to reduce transport demand. Education systems have been similarly affected. Bangladesh brought forward Ramadan holidays in universities, while Pakistan closed schools for two weeks from March 10 and shifted higher education online.

In some cases, governments have introduced more direct restrictions. Myanmar’s military leaders have imposed fuel rationing and have restricted private vehicle use to alternating days based on licence plate numbers.

Other interventions have focused on managing demand in less disruptive ways. Thailand, for example, has raised recommended air-conditioning temperatures to 27°C and is encouraging energy-efficient workplace practices such as replacing suits with short-sleeved shirts.

Some Asian governments have turned to subsidies to shield households and businesses from rising energy costs. Indonesia has allocated tens of billions of US dollars to maintain affordable fuel and electricity prices, while Thailand has capped cooking gas prices and promoted alternative fuels such as biodiesel.

However, subsidies are proving difficult to sustain. For lower-income countries in particular, fiscal constraints limit how long such support can be maintained. Pakistan initially introduced targeted subsidies for farmers and the transport sector, but has been forced to scale them back as the crisis has continued.

Perhaps the most consequential response has been in Asia’s power sector. As energy supplies have tightened and prices surged, several Asian countries have reverted to coal – a fuel many nations have been phasing out.

Thailand has restarted two decommissioned units at the Mae Moh coal-fired power plant, while South Korea and Japan have lifted restrictions on coal generation to allow older plants to operate at higher capacity.

The current energy market disruption has exposed structural vulnerabilities in Asia’s energy systems, including import dependence, limited diversification and fiscal constraints. Governments have relied on a mix of demand reduction, subsidies and fuel switching to limit the impact.

However, these are stopgap measures. If disruptions persist, these countries may be forced to rethink their energy strategies more fundamentally. This could accelerate investment in renewables and nuclear power, as well as efforts towards regional energy integration. But it also risks entrenching coal use and, in the process, hindering global climate goals.

Either way, the current crisis is a reminder that energy security and economic stability remain tightly intertwined and that disruptions in a single chokepoint can ripple across the global economy.

– ref. Some countries in Asia are rationing energy – why they’ve been hit hardest by the crisis in the Gulf – https://theconversation.com/some-countries-in-asia-are-rationing-energy-why-theyve-been-hit-hardest-by-the-crisis-in-the-gulf-279888

The human body is often described as a marvel of “perfect design”: elegant, efficient and finely tuned for its purpose. Yet, when we look closer, a rather different picture emerges.

Far from being a flawless machine, the body reads more like a patchwork of compromises shaped by millions of years of evolutionary tinkering. Evolution does not design structures from scratch. Rather, it modifies what already exists.

As a result, many aspects of human anatomy are just “good enough” solutions – functional, but far from perfect. Some of the most familiar medical problems and ailments arise directly from these inherited constraints.

The spine

The human spine tells this story best.

Our vertebral column has evolved little from our four-legged, quadrupedal tree-dwelling ancestors, where it functioned primarily as a flexible beam for smooth movement from branch to branch, while also protecting the spinal cord.

When humans adopted an upright bipedal gait, the spine retained these functions. But it was also repurposed for the additional need of supporting our body weight vertically and maintaining our centre of gravity, while still allowing the flexibility for us to move. These opposing demands creates strain.

The characteristic curves of the human spine helps distribute weight, but it also predisposes us to lower back pain, herniated discs and degenerative changes affecting its most important function – protection the spinal cord and surrounding nerves. These conditions are extraordinarily common, not because the spine is inherently poorly made, but because it’s doing a job it was never originally designed to do.

The neck

Another clear argument against divine design is the recurrent laryngeal nerve, which takes a course that simply makes no sense to invent.

This nerve, which is a branch of the vagus nerve, predominantly controls our organs’ “rest and digest” functions (such as slowing heart rate and breath). The laryngeal nerve also connects the brain and larynx, helping control speech and swallowing.

Logically, one might expect it to use the most direct route to connect brain and larynx. Instead, it descends from the brain into the chest, loops around a major artery, then travels back up to the voice box.

This detour is not a clever design, but a historical leftover from our fish-like ancestors when the nerve took a straightforward path around the gill arches. As necks lengthened over evolutionary time, the nerve was stretched rather than rerouted.

This inefficiency can increase our vulnerability to injury during surgery.

The eyes

Even the eyes reflect evolutionary compromise.

In humans and other vertebrates, the retina (the light-sensitive layer at the back of the eyeball) is wired “backwards.” This means light must pass through layers of nerve fibres before reaching the photoreceptors – specialised cells responsible for detecting light and converting that into a nerve impulse to send to the brain.

The optic nerve then exits through the back of the retina, creating a blind spot just below the horizontal level of the eye where no vision is possible. The brain fills in this gap seamlessly, so we rarely notice it.

So while we’ve developed incredible vision and light receptor cells, this has happened at the expense of having a gap in our visual field.

The teeth

Our teeth offer another reminder that evolution prioritises adequacy over durability.

Humans develop two sets of teeth: baby teeth and adult teeth – and that’s all. Once adult teeth are lost, they’re not replaced – unlike sharks, which continually regenerate teeth throughout life.

In mammals, tooth development is tightly regulated and linked to complex jaw growth and feeding strategies. This system worked well for our ancestors, but for modern humans it leaves us vulnerable to decay and tooth loss.

Wisdom teeth provide another example of evolutionary lag. Our ancestors had larger jaws, suited to tougher diets that required heavy chewing. Over time, human diets softened and jaw size decreased. However, the number of teeth did not change as quickly. Many people no longer have space for their third molars – leading to impaction, crowding and often requiring surgical removal.

Wisdom teeth aren’t useless in principle, but they no longer fit comfortably within modern skulls.

The pelvis

Childbirth presents one of the most profound evolutionary compromises. Like the spine, the human pelvis must balance two competing demands: efficient bipedal walking and birthing large-brained infants.

A narrow pelvis improves locomotion, but restricts the birth canal’s size. Meanwhile, human babies have unusually large heads relative to body size, resulting in a difficult and sometimes dangerous birth process – often requiring outside assistance.

This tension between mobility and brain size has shaped not only anatomy but also social behaviour, encouraging cooperative care and cultural adaptations around childbirth.

Evolutionary persistence

Evolution doesn’t necessarily eliminate structures unless they impose a strong disadvantage. So some anatomical features persist despite offering limited benefit.

The appendix, once considered a completely useless evolutionary left-over, is now thought to have minor immune functions. Yet it can become inflamed, causing appendicitis – a potentially life-threatening condition.

Read more: Intelligent design without a creator? Why evolution may be smarter than we thought

Similarly, the sinuses, have unclear functions. They may lighten the skull or influence voice resonance, and we can even use their size and variability for forensic identification. But the sinus’s drainage pathways go direct into the nose, making it prone to regular blockage and infection, a developmental byproduct rather than a purposeful adaptation.

Even tiny muscles around the ears hint at our evolutionary past. In many mammals, tiny ear muscles allow the outer ear (pinna) to swivel, improving directional hearing. Humans have these muscles, but most people cannot use them effectively.

Our bodies are not perfectly designed, but are a living archive of evolution. Anatomy reveals a historical record of adaptation, compromise and contingency. Evolution does not aim for perfection; it works with what is available, modifying structures step by step.

Understanding anatomy through this evolutionary lens can also help us reframe how we see common medical problems. Back pain, difficult childbirth, dental crowding and sinus infections are not random misfortunes. They are, in part, the consequences of our evolutionary history.

– ref. The human body isn’t a masterpiece of design – it’s a patchwork of evolutionary compromise – https://theconversation.com/the-human-body-isnt-a-masterpiece-of-design-its-a-patchwork-of-evolutionary-compromise-279343

Amid a renaissance in the science of psychedelics, public interest in psilocybin – or magic mushrooms, as they’ve long been known – is surging.

One study found that rates of psilocybin use increased 44% among adults ages 18-29 from 2019 to 2023, and 188% among those over age 30. This amounts to more than 5 million adults using psilocybin in 2023 alone. And those numbers are rising: A study published in early 2026 found that about 11 million adults in the United States used psilocybin in the previous year.

In many ways, the growing scientific and public interest in psilocybin mirrors the early days of recreational cannabis legalization in the U.S. Much like how cannabis commercialization quickly outpaced the development of regulations necessary to protect public health, the expanding psilocybin market and surging public interest are moving faster than the science and regulations needed to ensure it is used safely.

We are substance use researchers who have spent more than a decade studying the many new, high-THC cannabis products that have flooded the legal-market.

Now, we similarly aim to bridge the gap between public enthusiasm for psilocybin and the limited scientific evidence available about its potential benefits and risks. Currently, this type of real-world data on the effects of psilocybin mushrooms is almost nonexistent.

How do psilocybin mushrooms work?

Psilocybin is a prodrug, which means that it has very low activity until the body converts it into psilocin. Psilocin is the compound primarily responsible for the psychoactive effects of psilocybin mushrooms.

Psilocin resembles the chemical messenger serotonin, which is involved in regulating a range of physiological and psychological functions, including mood, appetite, cognition and sensory perception. As a result, when psilocin binds to serotonin receptors, it alters how people think, feel and experience the world.

Importantly, research suggests that psilocin also alters the brain’s ability to strengthen or weaken neural connections, referred to as synaptic plasticity. This process likely underlies the profound and sometimes long-lasting effects psilocybin mushrooms can have on thoughts, emotions and perception.

Psilocybin mushrooms contain numerous other compounds, together known as tryptamines, such as baeocystin, norbaeocystin and aeruginascin. Research on rodents shows that mushrooms containing these compounds may elicit stronger and longer-lasting effects than psilocybin alone.

But very little is known about how these other tryptamines affect humans. This is because federal regulations require researchers to use an isolated, synthetic version of psilocybin in clinical studies rather than the entire mushroom.

Thus, the many ongoing clinical trials testing psilocybin as a treatment for various mental health conditions use synthetic psilocybin that does not contain these other tryptamines.

Psilocybin mushrooms sit in a legal gray area

Psilocybin is more accessible than ever before.

In 2019, Denver, Colorado, became the first American city to decriminalize psilocybin mushrooms. This means that possession becomes the lowest law enforcement priority and criminal penalties are reduced or eliminated, but it does not fully legalize them.

Over the next two years, several other U.S. cities including Oakland and Santa Cruz, California; Seattle, Washington; and Detroit, Michigan, followed suit. In 2020, Oregon legalized psilocybin for supervised use in licensed settings, and Colorado did the same in 2022. These legal, supervised-use programs allow access to psilocybin mushrooms in regulated environments without a prescription.

Even for people living outside those states and cities, the barriers to accessing psilocybin mushrooms are low. With a quick Google search and around US$35, anyone can legally purchase kits containing the materials needed to grow psilocybin-containing mushrooms. These kits are legal to buy and sell because they contain only mushroom spores, which are tiny reproductive cells from which mushrooms grow. Once these spores begin growing into mushrooms, they can produce psilocybin, making the mushrooms a federal Schedule 1 substance.

Because psilocybin mushrooms exist in this legal gray area and are governed by different rules across states, psilocybin mushrooms are essentially unregulated across most of the U.S.

As a result, consumers lack reliable information about what their mushrooms contain, how much they should take and how to use them safely.

Psilocybin potency is increasing in the US

Much like the cannabis industry, which has seen a steady increase in product variety and product strength since legalization, the psilocybin mushroom market is experiencing rapid growth.

For instance, psilocybin edibles are now available and increasingly popular.

In addition, selective cultivation practices are being used by individual and commercial growers to systematically increase the amount of psilocybin contained in their mushroom strains. For example, the Oakland Hyphae Cup, a community contest intended to identify the best mushroom strains, has shown wide variability in psilocybin content across samples.

Researchers are identifying a similar pattern of widely variable psilocybin content in scientific studies of psychedelic mushrooms from around the world.

Potential harms of psilocybin

Despite psilocybin’s therapeutic promise, it also carries risks. Psilocybin can cause headaches, nausea, dizziness and changes in blood pressure.

Less commonly, some people experience psychotic symptoms, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, paranoia, confusion or emotional distress.

Another serious potential side effect of psychedelic drugs is what’s known as hallucinogen persisting perception disorder. It involves ongoing perceptual distortions similar to those experienced while directly under the influence of psilocybin, which can persist for weeks, months or years, even once the psilocybin has left the body.

Harms are more likely when people take high doses.

As mushroom potency increases without market regulation, consumers may inadvertently ingest more psilocybin than intended, increasing the risk of harm. Without sufficient research on modern psilocybin products, consumers have little guidance on how to reduce potential harms.

Next steps in research and regulation

Studying psilocybin in the real world requires creative research approaches.

Our team hopes to work within federal restrictions to study people using their own psilocybin mushroom products at home, while providing real-time data to our research team using app-based surveys.

Independent laboratories using state-of-the-art measurement techniques can aid researchers like us by providing information about the potency of the mushroom products that people are using.

While ongoing clinical trials provide important data about the effects of psilocybin under tightly controlled conditions, real-world data is needed to understand how modern psilocybin mushrooms are used and experienced by consumers.

These insights matter not only for scientists and policymakers but for the growing number of people trying psilocybin mushrooms for relief, self-improvement or out of curiosity. In a largely unregulated market, and with few clear guidelines on safe use, consumers are left to simply figure it out on their own.

– ref. Psilocybin mushrooms are going mainstream, but scientific research and regulation lag behind – https://theconversation.com/psilocybin-mushrooms-are-going-mainstream-but-scientific-research-and-regulation-lag-behind-277472