By Christina Persico of RNZ Pacific

World Rugby has denied reports that it gave Samoa an ultimatum to sort out problems over which body governs the sport in the country, or face a ban from international competition.

This follows reports that the Samoan government was given 24 hours — until Friday — to accept a review of its decision to withdraw its support of Lakapi Samoa.

Prime Minister La’aulialemalietoa Leuatea Schmidt announced earlier this year that he was establishing a rival union to take over the role of Lakapi Samoa (the Samoa Rugby Union).

• READ MORE: Samoa face World Rugby ban over PM’s ‘political madness’, opposition warns
• Samoan government axes Lakapi Samoa

But World Rugby denies reports that it had told Samoa that failure to accept the review would result in Samoa copping a ban — it also confirmed it is involved as a mediator to resolve issues at Lakapi Samoa.

A spokesperson for World Rugby told RNZ Pacific: “We are in active and constructive dialogue with all parties and remain focused on a positive resolution.”

Yesterday, Samoa’s opposition leader Tuilaepa Sa’ilele Malielegaoi said that Samoa faced suspension by World Rugby because of “a dirty political move” by the government and particularly his rival, the current Prime Minister, La’auli.

Tuilaepa spoke to RNZ Pacific after the government announced that it was pulling its support of Lakapi Samoa due to “unresolved internal issues and division” at the national rugby union, and amid reports that Samoa was risking being banned from World Rugby.

RNZ Pacific has contacted Lakapi Samoa and the Samoan government’s press secretariat for a response to Tuilaepa’s comments.

Tuilaepa stepped down as long-time chairman of the Samoa Rugby Union earlier this year after his political stand-off with La’auli threatened to stall a new funding programme for the Pacific’s three top rugby unions.

La’auli had refused to sign any new agreement with the Fijian and Tongan rugby unions until Tuilaepa and his board resigned and made way for new appointments.

Fiji fiasco
The crisis surrounding Samoa rugby has shades of the political problems which caused Fiji to be banned from the World Rugby Council in 2023 over governance concerns, after the government in 2023 effectively took control of the Fiji Rugby Union (FRU).

The following year, the FRU was reinstated as a member of the governing body’s council afterb a suspension of almost 15 months.

However, the FRU has become embroiled in more problems lately, after a dispute over player payments became public.

This week, the FRU board chairman John Sanday said the union had a plan B in place to ensure Flying Fijians players don’t make “ridiculous” demands of management in future.

This follows an incident during Fiji’s recent Nations Championship stint in Europe, where they lost all three test matches to Wales, England and Scotland.

Sanday said players demanded an increase of their daily allowances from F$500 a day to $1000, but the FRU only agreed to pay F$600 per day.

That was despite the fact that players had signed contracts pre-tour.

Sanday said the players argued that the union would make a lot of money from the three games it technically “hosted” on the northern tour.

He has now revealed the FRU will review the squad’s make-up and form a standby squad ready to play for Fiji if current players don’t change their attitude.

The chairman said the FRU was now a business, which required a changed mindset.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/world-rugby-says-no-ultimatum-given-to-samoa-over-governance-fiasco/

As countries around the world look to follow Australia’s lead in restricting young people’s access to social media, a new report by the eSafety Commissioner might give them reason to pause, at least temporarily.

Australia’s online watchdog found more than 80% of kids were still using an age-restricted platform, such as Instagram, TikTok or Snapchat, three months after the trailblazing social media ban took effect.

The report is the first in a series the commissioner will publish as part of a two-year evaluation process. It contains several other key findings which confirm earlier evidence that the ban isn’t quite going to plan.

Reductions in social media use ‘limited in scale’

The commissioner’s report presents findings from 803 children (aged 10–15) and their parents, drawing on national baseline survey data from just before social media restrictions took effect in December 2025, and data collected from a three-month follow up from March to April 2026.

Its aim isn’t to assess the long-term effectiveness of the policy, but to examine whether anticipated early changes are happening.

While the number of children holding accounts dropped from roughly 52% to 42%, the emerging picture for ongoing use of social media is concerning. As the report says:

Our findings suggest that three months after the commencement of the age restrictions, reductions in children’s use of age-restricted platforms and account ownership have been limited in scale.

The “primary reason” for this was “ineffective implementation of age assurance measures by platforms”. In fact, more than half of kids surveyed said the platforms hadn’t even asked them to confirm their age. Some 18% reported platforms had incorrectly estimated their age to be above 16, and 37% said they had simply listed their age as 16 or above on their accounts to maintain access.

Prior to the restrictions being introduced, 85.9% of children reported using at least one social media platform. This number only dropped to 81.5% at three months.

“This may reflect the relatively low barrier to continued account access,” the report said, “with little need for children to rely on workarounds to obtain or maintain access”.

Alongside this, the report found “early signals” some children were moving to other platforms, such as Reddit and Pinterest. It also detected an “unintended consequence” of the ban: the proportion of parents who didn’t know their child had used social media increased by 10%.

And despite Prime Minister Anthony Albanese saying he hoped the ban would lead to more kids “playing outside with their friends”, the report found “little to no change” in what kids did offline three months after the ban took effect.

Unsurprising results

The results of this first evaluation are not surprising.

There have been regular media reports of children retaining accounts and getting around age-assurance checks.

And the findings reinforce the online regulator’s report from March, which raised concerns that social media platforms were not complying with the legislation.

The findings also echo other research showing children continue to access social media.

What happens next?

The report’s release is timely, given the government’s intention to “double down” on compliance by increasing penalties and expanding the commissioner’s information-gathering powers.

The government will now be under pressure to make good on its intentions to investigate non-compliance and, where appropriate, implement fines. The findings of this three-month report may bolster those investigations.

Earlier this week, the companies selling age-assurance software also called on the government to implement a “mandatory independent audit” of every platform covered by social media age restrictions, to test if they are using the tools properly.

The Age Verification Providers Association argues social media companies may opt to wear fines to see the legislation fail.

Yet even if companies comply and keep children under 16 from having accounts, this won’t stop kids accessing social media. The legislation does not restrict use in a logged-out state – and the three-month report shows children continue to access social media in this way.

All this should demonstrate to other countries that age-based restrictions are not a quick fix.

The government has committed to introducing digital duty of care legislation this year, which would hold technology companies to account and provide protections for Australians of all ages.

If we want to protect our kids from harmful content and algorithms on social media, that legislation cannot come soon enough.

Lisa M. Given receives funding from the Australian Research Council and the eSafety Commissioner. She is a Fellow of the Academy of the Social Sciences in Australia and the international Association for Information Science and Technology.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/more-than-80-of-kids-still-using-social-media-despite-ban-new-esafety-report-finds/

Should I let my kids down that tube slide? How to weigh the benefits with the risk of injury
Tube slides aren’t like traditional playground slides. But children can still have fun without getting injured.

Bali’s traditional boats embody centuries of maritime tradition – but they’re quickly disappearing
Bali’s traditional elephant-fish canoes embody generations of craftsmanship, spiritual belief and maritime knowledge. But only a handful remain.

Data centres are power hungry – but they don’t have to be a burden on NZ’s grid
AI data centres are contentious for consuming large resources. But with the right incentives and regulation, can they make for more flexible electricity systems?

Forbidden Planet hit cinemas in 1956. Its warnings about AI should terrify us
Technology may give us extraordinary new power. But it may also give our deepest, least understood desires a power of their own.

Sam Altman says we’re ‘in the singularity’ with AI. Here’s why he’s wrong
The singularity has two features. The AI systems Sam Altman sells don’t deliver on either of them.

Sports venues are offering facial recognition to let people in. What are the risks?
When consumers provide consent for recording their facial data, they must fully know what they’re consenting to.

Samoa face World Rugby ban over PM’s ‘political madness’, opposition warns
By Margot Staunton of RNZ Pacific Samoa’s opposition leader Tuilaepa Sa’ilele Malielegaoi says the country faces suspension by World Rugby today because of “a dirty political move” by the government. Tuilaepa’s spoke to RNZ Pacific after the government announced that it was pulling its support of Lakapi Samoa due to “unresolved internal issues and division”

Fauci’s COVID-origins hearing shows how conspiracy theories became political weapons
Conspiracy theories don’t just explain events – they identify villains, and Fauci is among the most popular.

We revisited a forest experiment that lay forgotten for 30 years. What we found was astounding
There is no silver bullet for managing forests, but this study answers some historic questions.

Falls in whale sightings, rare seabirds appearing – is something unusual happening in the Southern Ocean?
Could marine heatwaves in the cold Southern Ocean be making animals and birds migrate? It’s possible – but we need better monitoring to know.

Wetlands are crucial food baskets for NZ’s native eels – new research
Wetlands are increasingly appreciated for their role in flood prevention and as carbon sinks. But they also act as a crucial food source for the wider catchment.

Defining a ‘normal’ country: Japan’s long struggle between pacifism and the threats of a new era
Japan’s leader says the country needs a stronger military. This has prompted deep reflection and fierce debate about the country’s post-war legacy.

Can pumping groundwater really flip Earth’s poles? An expert explains
An Australian politician says pumping groundwater might save Earth from ‘flipping the poles’. What’s she on about?

Is social housing policy failing NZ families trying to move from renting to home ownership?
New Zealand needs more social housing and affordable rentals, but also better pathways for working renters to become home owners.

Australia’s childcare safety changes are turning one. Are they working?
It has been a frightening time for Australian families, amid ongoing claims of abuse and neglect in childcare centres.

This history of currencies suggests the US dollar’s dominance may fade – but it will happen slowly
The US dollar is said to benefit from ‘exorbitant privilege’ in international trade. But history shows that may not last.

Ontario adjusted its return-to-office rules for FIFA World Cup traffic. Why are disability accommodations treated differently?
The province’s World Cup exemptions show that remote work can be accommodated when governments decide it matters.

Canada’s new food security strategy invests in technology but overlooks the people who help farmers use it
Ottawa’s $3-billion National Food Security Strategy funds greenhouses, food terminals and processing plants, but not the advisors who help farmers put any of it to work.

Wildfires, wombats and wake-up calls – what to read, rethink and act on this week
There is often a disconnect between coverage of acute emergencies and the long-term link with the climate crisis.

Why Andy Burnham is right to want for-profit firms out of social care
Any reforms which aim to make services work for people, not profits, must change who owns social care services.

As a parent you may not like the thought of your child swinging upside-down from the monkey bars or jumping off that big rock. But it’s important for children to have risky play. It encourages them to learn their limits and build confidence in themselves.

However, sometimes the risks outweigh the benefits, and it can be hard for parents and carers to know how to manage the balance.

This month a tube slide, opened as part of a new $4.5 million playground in Sydney’s south-west, closed just three weeks after it opened.

Locals reported injuries caused by riding the slide, and a man in his 30s was also taken to hospital after he sustained a leg injury using the slide. According to media reports, the slide would remain closed until an assessment was complete.

This is not the first time a tube slide has made headlines for the wrong reasons. In 2022, another slide in NSW was closed after multiple serious injuries occurred, including a four-year old who fractured both her legs after riding the slide with her father.

There have been other cases of tube slide injuries in NSW and Adelaide as the equipment has become more popular across Australia.

What is it about large tube slides?

Giant, plastic tube slides aren’t like traditional playground slides. They are higher and longer, and the smooth plastic surface means riders slide down at greater speeds. The bends in the slides also mean riders experience sudden changes in direction and increased g-forces.

This can make the experience more thrilling, but also more demanding for the user’s body than a traditional playground slide. Tube slides require more strength and coordination from riders to remain in the correct sliding position. This means sliding feet first with legs held together in the middle of the slide.

Users, particularly younger children riding tube slides, may become scared by the speed, the darkness of the enclosed space and unexpected forces on their bodies. Their natural reaction can sometimes be to hold out an arm or a leg to slow themselves down. However, this can cause friction which “catches” them in the slide, potentially leading to twisted or broken limbs.

What can parents and carers do?

Here are five points parents and carers should consider when children are using slides and other playground equipment:

1. keep in mind that sliding down any slide with a child in your lap does not make it safer. Research has shown this actually increases the chance of lower-limb injuries for children compared to if they were to ride alone

2. take height guidance signage at playgrounds seriously. Giant tube slides are designed for users taller than 1.2 metres. This is because smaller children may not be able to slide “feet first” as easily, and can struggle to control the correct position through bends

3. be aware that clothing type affects sliding speed. Heavier fabrics, such as denim, create more friction and may slow the ride. But smoother synthetic fabrics, such as lycra, reduce friction and can result in a faster descent

4. if the child is too young or small to go down a slide, find another age-appropriate activity in the playground for them

5. actively supervise preschool-aged children on all playground equipment by engaging with them and not being distracted by other activities, such as phone usage.

Ability level is important

Playgrounds are typically designed with ability filters. These are physical barriers that discourage children who are not tall enough – or who haven’t yet developed the proper strength and coordination skills – from using specific playground equipment.

For example, stairs leading to a slide may be too high for toddlers to climb but an acceptable height for older children to use.

It’s important for adults to be aware of these design elements and to not help children reach slides where they can’t access them on their own.

A good rule of thumb is: if the child can’t access the entrance of the slide without help, then they are most likely not ready to use that particular slide.

Why are tube slides still around?

The objective isn’t to eliminate every risk from play.

Instead, the goal in designing playspaces is to eliminate hazards and manage foreseeable “bad” risks while providing opportunities for kids to learn new skills.

A hazard is anything that can cause harm, while risk is the probability the hazard will cause that harm. Bumps and scrapes are usually considered acceptable risks during play. Broken limbs are not.

In Australia, safety standards evolve as playground designs change and new evidence emerges about how equipment is used (as well as any related incidents that happen).

Last year, the independent safety standards peak body published a new set of guidelines specifically for tube slides. Some of these safety measures included decreasing the steepness of slides to reduce speeds, and extending run out sections at the ends of slides to help riders slow down.

These standards are only mandatory if they are specified in the supply contract. So parents and carers still need to pay attention while children are playing.

For the new tube slide in Sydney’s south-west, the root cause of the incidents need to be established before any potential changes are made to the safety handbook.

Lisa Sharwood represents the Australasian Injury Prevention Network on the Standards Australia committee “CS-005- Playground Equipment and Surfacing”. This committee was responsible for drafting and publishing the series of standards that apply to all playgrounds, and the supplementary guide that applies to giant slides. Lisa also represents the Australasian Injury Prevention Network on the Standards Australia committee “SF-051- Trampoline Facilities”.

David Eager has represented Engineers Australia on the Standards Australia committee “CS-005- Playground Equipment and Surfacing” since 1998, and was the committee chairperson from 2008 to 2021. David is also the chairperson of several other Australia Standards committees including contained play facilities, land-borne inflatable devices, artificial climbing structures and challenge courses, trampoline park facilities, and sports and recreational facilities and equipment.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/should-i-let-my-kids-down-that-tube-slide-how-to-weigh-the-benefits-with-the-risk-of-injury/

Five decades ago, Bali’s coastline was adorned with traditional fishing canoes with colourful carvings of mythical elephant-fish. Where did they go?

The disappearance of these canoes tells a much bigger story about how tourism, collecting and coastal change are reshaping Indonesia’s living maritime heritage – and why preserving these traditions matters.

The boats that once lined Bali’s beaches

Before Bali became one of the worlds’ most popular tourist destinations, fishing villages lined the beaches of Benoa, Nusa Dua and Sanur, along the island’s southern coast.

Generations of fishers built and sailed jukung pelasan – traditional timber double-outrigger sailing canoes with colourful carved gajah mina (elephant-fish) prows.

The gajah mina is a creature in Balinese Hindu tradition with the head of an elephant and the body of a fish. Symbolising unity and harmony between land and sea, it is said to protect crews during voyages and provide safe passage.

These were not just fishing boats; they were central to daily life in southern Bali.

The jukung were symbols of status and community identity. They embodied generations of craftsmanship, spiritual belief and maritime knowledge. They expressed the economic, social and spiritual life of Bali’s coastal communities, and reflected the enduring relationship between its people and the sea.

Today, however, only a handful remain.

My latest research, published in the International Journal of Nautical Archaeology, found only six intact timber jukung pelasan remain on beaches surveyed.

Their rapid decline over the past half century offers a window into the profound changes that have reshaped Bali.

Prosperity came at a price

The transformation began in the 1970s and 1980s. As Bali’s tourism industry took hold, hotels and resorts replaced stretches of beachfront once home to traditional fishing villages. Many fishers left the sea for more stable work in tourism. As livelihoods declined, so too did the timber jukung.

At Sanur, I spoke with a retired boat builder who told me there’s simply no demand left for timber fishing boats, as nobody fishes anymore.

The traditional boats, he said, couldn’t be repaired the old way: the trees once used for hulls were felled decades ago to make way for tourist beach resorts, and the bamboo needed for spars and outriggers no longer grows large enough. What little suitable bamboo remains is prohibitively expensive.

This boat builder is not alone. A former fisher also told me he now takes tourists out on fibreglass replicas for sunrise breakfast sails.

Indonesia’s tourism industry shows no signs of slowing. The nation’s revenue from tourism grew by 6.3% in the first quarter of 2026. In 2025, Bali generated 55% of the nation’s national tourism earnings in 2025 – with tourism accounting for about 60% of the island’s own gross domestic product.

Yet this prosperity has come at a price. Changing coastlines are adding to pressures facing the few remaining fishing communities.

Boats without a beach

As traditional fishing declined, many timber jukung disappeared from Bali’s beaches. Some were replaced with fibreglass boats. Others were sold to collectors overseas – who preserve the boats, but remove them from the communities that gave them meaning.

Today, only a few examples can be found outside Indonesia, such as in Darwin’s Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory, Seattle’s Burke Museum and at the Institute of Ancient Chinese Ships in Ningbo, China.

Australians know Bali as a holiday destination. With more than 1.5 million Australians visiting Bali each year, we remain the island’s largest source of foreign visitors, contributing 23.44% of total arrivals in 2025.

Yet Australia’s relationship with the island goes much further back than most people realise.

The shared seas between Australia and Indonesia have long connected people through fishing, trade and cultural exchange. For centuries, Indonesian seafarers crossed these seas aboard traditional boats, carrying people, knowledge and commodities. By 1754, Macassan traders were harvesting trepang (sea cucumber) in Australian waters, linking northern Australia to markets across Asia.

Beyond the boats

Maritime heritage isn’t simply about preserving traditional boats. It’s also about safeguarding the knowledge that made it possible: how to select timber, shape the hull, lash the outriggers and read the sea.

For generations, those skills were passed from boat builder to apprentice and from fisher to child. A boat preserved in a private collection can’t do this on its own.

Working with the remaining Balinese fishers and boat builders to record their knowledge, techniques and traditions is as important as preserving the boats themselves.

My ongoing research involves recording traditional Balinese maritime techniques, terminology and stories, working alongside archaeologist Widya Nayati from Universitas Gadjah Mada.

The goal is not just to help preserve Indonesia’s maritime past, but to sustain the living knowledge that connects communities, boats and the sea. The future of Bali’s maritime heritage will depend not only on those who inherit these traditions, but on those who value and support them.

Sarah Ward is affiliated with Dalian Maritime University and the Council for Asian Underwater Cultural Heritage and receives funding from the Australian Government in the form of a Research Training Program Grant unrelated to this research.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/balis-traditional-boats-embody-centuries-of-maritime-tradition-but-theyre-quickly-disappearing/

The artificial intelligence boom is driving a global expansion in data centres – and with it, public debate over their heavy demand for power, water and land.

Increasingly, governments are weighing their economic benefits against concerns about pressure on electricity grids, local communities and the environment.

That debate has now reached Aotearoa New Zealand. Singapore-based Datagrid has secured approval for a NZ$3.5 billion, 280 megawatt (MW) AI data centre near Invercargill.

Scheduled to open in 2028, it will become the country’s second-largest electricity user after the Tiwai Point aluminium smelter.

While Datagrid’s “AI factory” is expected to more than double the country’s data processing capacity, it has drawn some public unease. The Green Party recently proposed a one-year pause on new AI data centres while stronger rules are developed.

Similar regulatory debates are playing out overseas in places such as New York, Amsterdam and Australia.

In Ireland – now a global hub for AI infrastructure – data centres accounted for nearly a quarter of the country’s metered electricity consumption last year, forcing difficult questions about its future grid capacity.

That’s particularly relevant to New Zealand, where electricity shortages can already emerge during dry years when hydro lake levels are low.

But do data centres inevitably have to become another energy-hungry burden on electricity systems? And, if designed and operated differently, could they help support a cleaner, more flexible grid?

Can data centres be grid assets?

The answer lies in how these centres consume electricity. If they can adjust when and how they use power, they could become increasingly valuable as New Zealand adds more wind and solar generation to its electricity system.

But how, precisely?

Many of the computational tasks performed in data centres are not time-critical. AI model training, large-scale data processing and other batch computing can often be scheduled for periods when there is plenty of renewable electricity, wholesale prices are low or the grid is under less strain.

Rather than increasing demand during evening peaks, data centres could help absorb surplus wind and solar generation that might otherwise be curtailed. This gives renewable developers greater confidence that the electricity they generate will have a buyer, making new projects more financially viable.

Transpower estimates every gigawatt reduction in peak demand could avoid around NZ$1.5 billion in system costs. The Energy Efficiency and Conservation Authority has also identified flexible electricity demand as one of the cheapest ways to reduce future network investment.

Similar thinking is already emerging overseas.

In Australia, flexible data centre demand is helping support new solar and battery investment. Britain’s electricity system operator has suggested new data centres could be built faster in Scotland where renewable electricity is most abundant and the grid can best support them.

Data centres can also provide services besides simply consuming electricity. Most already contain sophisticated electrical infrastructure, including uninterruptible power supply (UPS) systems, batteries, backup power systems and, increasingly, on-site renewable generation.

With appropriate market rules, these assets could help stabilise the grid by providing fast frequency response and reserve capacity. Data centres themselves could temporarily reduce demand during periods of network congestion.

Many existing battery and UPS systems are already technically capable of providing these services, although market arrangements would need to evolve before they could participate more widely.

As well, data centres’ large and predictable electricity demand could underpin more renewable generation.

Long-term power purchase agreements could improve the financial viability of wind and solar projects – particularly smaller community-owned developments that can otherwise struggle to secure finance.

Datagrid’s power purchase agreement with Mercury covers 140MW of its 280MW electricity demand. This leaves open the possibility that the remaining demand could underpin a new generation of community-owned renewable energy projects across Southland.

Getting the incentives right

There is no doubt data centres are large electricity consumers. But that does not mean they have to be a liability for the electricity system.

Poorly planned projects could increase peak demand, require costly transmission and distribution upgrades, worsen local network congestion and compete with other users for renewable electricity.

But with the right design and market incentives, data centres could instead become part of the solution. By shifting when they consume electricity, they can help absorb variable wind and solar generation, reduce pressure on the grid and make it easier to operate a highly renewable electricity system.

For regulators, the key question isn’t whether data centres are good or bad for the electricity system – but how to create the planning rules, market incentives and operating arrangements that allow them to become part of the solution.

If New Zealand can get those settings right, data centres can help integrate renewable energy, support community energy projects and improve grid resilience.

With more projects likely to follow Datagrid’s Southland development, Aotearoa New Zealand’s goal should be to make data centres grid assets rather than grid constraints.

Alan Brent is a director of Wellington-based engineering consultancy Novaris Grid & Energy Systems. It has no commercial relationship with Datagrid.

Andrew Crossland is employed by the National Energy System Operator (NESO), a UK government-owned public corporation.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/data-centres-are-power-hungry-but-they-dont-have-to-be-a-burden-on-nzs-grid/

When Forbidden Planet arrived in cinemas in 1956, it was a daring investment in a small genre. At a time when science fiction meant low-budget monster movies and tales of alien invasion, MGM spent big on something far more ambitious: a movie that imagined a world of interplanetary travel, robotics and alien civilisations with real seriousness and scale.

The premise is a familiar sci-fi trope now, but wasn’t then. United Planet Cruiser C-57D crosses the stars using a faster-than-light “hyperdrive” and lands on distant Altair-4. Its mission: find out what happened to the colony there.

The crew, led by Commander Adams (a young Leslie Nielsen), finds Dr Edward Morbius (Walter Pidgeon) living in isolation with his daughter Altaira (Anne Francis) and their mechanical servant, Robby – the screen robot who would go on to be one of sci-fi’s most enduring icons in his own right.

Morbius claims to have unlocked the secrets of the vanished Krell, an ancient civilisation whose technological achievements far outstripped humanity’s. The rest of the colony, he says, were murdered in mysterious circumstances.

The film is interesting to revisit for many reasons, including its interpretation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and its legacy in shaping sci-fi cinema. But watching it 70 years after its release, perhaps it is most striking for what it has to say about the rise of artificial intelligence in our own age.

Technology may give us extraordinary new power. But it may also give our deepest, least understood desires a power of their own.

The Tempest, transposed

Loosely based on The Tempest, the script replaced Prospero’s magic with advanced science, the enchanted island with a distant planet, and supernatural forces with the power of an alien civilisation.

Morbius stands in for Prospero, Altaira for Miranda, Robby for Ariel – exiled figures ruling over a world shaped by forces just beyond their understanding.

It’s easy to see this device echoed in later epics like Star Wars (1977), Alien (1979) and Dune (1984). Each takes a familiar human story and inflates it to cosmic scale, trading a single kingdom or family for the fate of entire worlds.

But not everything in Forbidden Planet’s plot is borrowed.

Behind the flying saucers, ray guns and at times unsubtle exposition, is an original idea that now shines through as contemporary and cautionary: the Krell vanished because, at the height of their power, they built a machine that could translate thought directly into physical reality.

In doing so they gave their subconscious minds free rein, and were annihilated by monsters born from their own repressed impulses.

Echoes of the Krell in Silicon Valley

Some of the film’s most striking scenes show Morbius leading Commander Adams through the vast machinery that once powered Krell civilisation – thermonuclear reactors stretching for miles, with enough power to rival an “exploding planetary system”.

The parallel to today’s data-centre build-out, and its voracious appetite for electricity, is hard to miss.

Even more unsettling is the parallel to our own screen addictions.

Early in the film, Morbius demonstrates how he interfaces with the Krell machine via a headset and 3D viewer. Doing so, he boasts, has enhanced his intelligence to superhuman levels.

He has been “plugging in” as often as he can, each time supposedly just chasing a little more of the Krell’s knowledge – but really, we come to realise, for the feeling of intellectual superiority it gives him.

At the film’s climax, Morbius finally understands why the Krell disappeared. What he admired so much as the ultimate evolutionary step – a machine that melded thought and reality – unleashed a “monster from the id”.

Invisible and unstoppable, it tore through the Krell one by one as their own minds turned against them.

The term “id” Morbius reaches for was coined by Freud to describe the primal, irrational part of the subconscious — distinct from the more rational ego and superego.

In 1956, the world had fought two catastrophic world wars in under 40 years, and nuclear weapons had given the id a tool of unprecedented power.

Morbius, reflecting on the Krell’s fate, eulogises:

After a million years of shining sanity they could hardly have understood what power was destroying them.

By the film’s end, Morbius admits the monster on the loose is from his own id, drawing power from the very machine he so admired.

He dies protecting his daughter from the monster, and with his last breath destroys the machine and the Krell planet.

Is AI what we think it is?

Elon Musk recently said AI can lead to “an age of amazing abundance where anybody can have anything they can think of” – the same dream that drove and destroyed both the Krell and Morbius.

Current discussion underwrites that dream, treating AI as our manifest destiny – an inevitable, transformative force we simply need to regulate.

We’re missing a much older, more uncomfortable question: what if AI isn’t new at all? What if it’s just another expression of our most ancient desire for a “brave new world” of better weapons, greater resource exploitation and a more God-like place in the universe?

Forbidden Planet suggests an uncomfortable reading of “AI”: amplified id. Not human intelligence sharpened, but human appetite unleashed.

The Krell did not destroy themselves because their machines failed. They destroyed themselves because their machines succeeded.

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

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/forbidden-planet-hit-cinemas-in-1956-its-warnings-about-ai-should-terrify-us/

“We are now, like, in the singularity”.

These are the words of Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, speaking on the Relentless podcast on July 25.

He added: “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, and I think it’s going to be incredible, hugely positive, awesome for the world”.

Days earlier, OpenAI had disclosed that two of its artificial intelligence (AI) models, during an internal cyber security evaluation, had escaped their sealed testing environment, reached the open internet, and broken into the infrastructure of the AI platform Hugging Face, which confirmed the intrusion.

But what exactly is “the singularity”? And is Altman right that we are in it?

What is the AI singularity?

The term has a precise meaning.

Mathematician and science-fiction author Vernor Vinge defined it in 1993 as a point at which machine intelligence exceeds human intelligence and begins improving itself, triggering an acceleration so rapid that humans can no longer predict or control it.

The singularity has two features. It is recursive: the system improves itself over and over again. And machine intelligence exceeds human intelligence.

The kind of systems Sam Altman sells don’t deliver on either of these features.

Today’s AI cannot make itself smarter

Today’s AI systems, the ones that OpenAI builds, are based on large language models (LLMs). These deep neural network algorithms get pre-trained with vast amounts of training data. By the time you use one of them, the network itself is frozen in time. Every one of its billions of internal functions and weights – or “parameters” – is fixed.

These AI models cannot change (or “learn”) while running. The model that broke into Hugging Face was identical afterwards to what it had been before. It learned nothing from what it did.

Making an AI model smarter requires another training run with new, human-curated data, tens of thousands of specialist chips, and enormous energy.

It is true that AI models take part in improving some of their system’s components, such as by generating training data, tuning prompts, or writing and running code to improve the scaffolding around them. But the model never edits its own weights on the fly, and every one of these improvements are still part of a human-initiated training or engineering loop.

Nor do these systems hold any goals of their own. They act on goals we hand them. Even AI agents – systems that run an LLM in a loop to work through complex tasks step by step – do not hold any goal internally. It has to be stored outside the model and fed back in with every single prompt cycle. Remove the loop, the scaffolding and the prompt, and nothing happens inside of it.

A ladder that doesn’t exist

The second problem with the singularity story is the word “surpass”. It assumes that AI and human intelligence are somehow similar. They are not.

Human intelligence is inseparable from being a living body with needs and wants. Humans learn continuously by acting in the world and getting feedback through our senses. Our goals arise from our situation as creatures who must eat, sleep and belong, and who cannot avoid asking what we want our lives to be.

An AI model has none of this. No body, no needs, no action-feedback loop, no stake in anything. Between prompts it is just a static mathematical object.

And yet, it has been trained on more text than any human could read in a thousand lifetimes, and will outperform nearly all of us at drafting a contract, writing code, or explaining a diagnosis empathetically.

So, which is more intelligent? The question does not compute. There is no single ladder that humans and machines are climbing. AI already vastly exceeds us at some tasks, while being hopeless at others any child can do.

Yet, because these systems talk like us, we fall for an illusion. When we assume from the outset that machines are in the process of catching up with us, it is easy to assume a mind at work when these systems output intelligent-sounding text.

We call this anthropomorphic seduction. It makes a security incident such as the Hugging Face hack sound like an awakening.

In fact, in that case OpenAI’s models simply optimised to solve the test they had been given by finding security loopholes. They just did it in ways that broke their sandbox, which also had a security loophole.

In the end, the Hugging Face story points to a gross failure of security governance on OpenAI’s behalf, not an emerging super intelligence. This is why the framing of “agent going rogue” is so problematic. It elevates and blames the technology, but excuses OpenAI’s engineering.

Keeping our feet on the ground

None of this takes anything away from what these systems can do. They are remarkable, they are getting better, and they are reshaping how a great deal of work gets done.

But we should keep our feet firmly on the ground.

The machines are not waking up. They are doing exactly what we built them to do, extremely fast. Because they are probabilistic they sometimes run in directions we forgot to fence off. That is worth worrying about. We need guardrails, governance, and most of all, education – so we start worrying about the right things.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/sam-altman-says-were-in-the-singularity-with-ai-heres-why-hes-wrong/

Queues at sports events can be very long, even at large venues with many entrance gates. To speed things up, Geelong Football Club recently introduced an “express lane” option for club members.

Instead of scanning tickets on their phone, members can opt in to facial authentication to enter the club’s home venue, GMHBA Stadium. They upload a selfie to their account, and the technology can then verify them at the entrance.

Other AFL clubs are reportedly in discussion with the US-based facial authentication technology provider, Wicket. That means more sports fans may soon need to decide whether this technology is for them.

It’s not the first time facial authentication has been offered at Australian sports venues. Fans at this year’s Australian Open could register with Wicket for faster entry.

Having your face recognised to “skip the queue and get to your seat sooner” promises convenience. But when consumers provide consent for these technologies to record their facial data, they must fully know what they’re consenting to.

Facial recognition is becoming common

Facial recognition technologies are becoming increasingly common in Australia. They’ve been used in retail settings to track shoppers, and by police in Western Australia to spot people of interest in crowded places.

Facial authentication is a type of facial recognition that relies on the individual providing a selfie to confirm their identity, rather than having their face scanned in a public place.

But alongside expanded use come growing concerns about privacy and consent. Under Australian privacy law, facial images and other biometric information are classified as “sensitive information”, which means informed consent is generally required for their collection.

In 2024, the Office of the Australian Information Commissioner found Bunnings breached privacy law because it failed to get informed consent from its customers to collect facial data in store.

If consent is the key safeguard, the next question is: how can it be meaningfully secured?

What makes consent meaningful?

Under Australian law, consent must generally be informed, voluntarily given, and capable of being withdrawn. In other words, you must understand what you’re agreeing to and have genuine choice in the matter.

For Geelong Cats’ fans, facial authentication is entirely optional. Members are able to opt out as well. This is important as it gives fans the capacity to change their minds.

One complication, however, is incentives. If club members register for facial recognition, they’re awarded 40 loyalty points. Providing incentives doesn’t make consent invalid. But it does raise the question: at what point do incentives put pressure on fans to sign up where they might otherwise not have?

Where sensitive information is involved, AFL clubs should be cautious about offering rewards such as ticket discounts, prizes or other benefits in exchange for participation. Even if the incentives are modest, they can risk undermining genuine choice.

What are the potential risks of facial authentication?

Informed consent also requires people to be aware of any risks. So what are some potential risks of providing facial data?

Cyber security

Recent data breaches to Optus, Qantas and Medibank have shown even large organisations are vulnerable.

The recent Origin Energy data breach affected about 900,000 customers, and exposed personal data including names, addresses and dates of birth.

Biometric information is particularly sensitive because unlike a credit card number or password, it can’t be changed.

While it’s important not to overstate cyber-security risks, some people may wish to minimise the amount of personal data they provide to organisations – including their facial data.

Future data sharing

The idea of “consenting forever” is another issue plaguing much of the consent we provide online. You could agree to one thing today, but the terms might change in future.

This problem isn’t unique to facial authentication. In 2023, X (formerly Twitter) changed its privacy policy to allow the collection and use of biometric and employment data. Users who signed up years before may not have noticed the change, and may not have signed up in the first place if such a policy had been in place.

In a sports club membership context, it’s important to consider: what additional technologies might become available; what new commercial partnerships might the club enter into in the future; what other changes might they make to how your facial data is used? It’s something to keep in mind when clicking “I agree”.

Function creep and normalisation

“Function creep” happens when a technology used for one purpose gradually expands in scope. Over time, what starts out as a simple selfie to prove who you are could extend into mass surveillance.

Fans might use facial authentication to enter a sporting or events venue today. Once the technology is established, however, its use could be expanded for personalised marketing, loyalty programs, or partnerships with other companies.

A related concern is normalisation. If facial recognition technologies become common in sporting venues, retail stores or airports, they might gradually start to become part of everyday life, no matter where we go.

The more common a technology is, the less people might question its use – and the harder it can become to opt out.

Should you opt in?

Facial recognition is increasingly common at sporting venues in the United States. The same might soon happen in Australia.

If this does happen, fans should have a choice about whether to use it or not. But choice is not enough. The choice should be informed, voluntary and free from coercion, as outlined by law.

Clubs and venues must clearly communicate benefits and risks to their patrons, and explain how they will safeguard their personal information now and in the future.

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

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/31/sports-venues-are-offering-facial-recognition-to-let-people-in-what-are-the-risks/

By Margot Staunton of RNZ Pacific

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/30/samoa-face-world-rugby-ban-over-pms-political-madness-opposition-warns/

Dr. Anthony Fauci invoked the Fifth Amendment and declined to answer questions from a Senate committee more than 100 times on July 29, 2026.

The Republican-led hearing – convened to scrutinize Fauci’s management of the pandemic and the origins of COVID-19 – was the latest chapter in a political story that began in 2020, when uncertainty, fear and frustration with the government became entangled with conspiracy theories.

In the past six years, some of these theories have emerged from the margins of the internet and made their way into Republican politics, the MAGA movement, anti-vaccine communities and even white-nationalist extremist networks.

Conspiracy theories do not simply explain events, they identify villains – and Fauci has become one of the most popular in this particular story.

In the years since the pandemic, U.S. Sen. Rand Paul and others have accused Fauci of many things, but the central conspiracy accusation is that Fauci helped enable the COVID-19 pandemic through U.S.-funded research at a lab in Wuhan, China, and then participated in a coordinated government-scientific cover-up, misleading Congress to conceal that connection and suppress the laboratory-leak explanation. Paul, a Republican, has repeatedly called for Fauci’s prosecution.

In January 2025, President Joe Biden granted Fauci a preemptive pardon covering potential federal offenses related to his government service since 2014. Fauci had not been charged with a crime, but critics portrayed the pardon as evidence that he had something to hide. Fauci has denied claims of wrongdoing and has testified multiple times before Congress.

The Fauci conspiracy is much bigger than Rand Paul, though. Paul may be its most persistent congressional promoter, but it’s been amplified by a wider network of Republican lawmakers. Several Republican members of Congress, such as Rep. Steve Scalise, Rep. James Comer and former Rep. Brad Wenstrup, among others, have advanced versions of the Fauci/COVID-origin narrative. House Republicans formally investigated these claims for two years, while members repeatedly accused Fauci of suppressing the lab-leak theory and misleading the public.

That investigation ultimately endorsed a central claim of the conspiracy narrative: the House GOP’s COVID-19 investigation concluded the virus most likely leaked from a Wuhan lab, that Fauci helped shape a scientific paper dismissing that theory, and that he privately testified the “six feet apart” guidance “sort of just appeared” – though these are the conclusions of a partisan committee, not an independent inquiry, and Fauci and Democratic members have disputed them.

I’m an associate professor of sociology and criminology, and my scholarship focuses on far-right networks and digital radicalization – the exact ecosystem where these conspiracy theories have taken root and spread. My research on how these movements evolve online and intersect with political activists and extremist networks was directly relevant to tracing how COVID-origin claims moved from fringe communities into mainstream political discourse.

Fauci’s decision to invoke the Fifth Amendment, which he and his lawyer explained not only as a basic constitutional right but also a strategy to avoid the possibility that Paul might try to prosecute him for lying to Congress based on anything he might say, may be politically explosive and provide his opponents with another talking point. But, in my assessment, the spectacle says more about what happens when conspiracy theories become embedded in political institutions than it does about the origins of COVID-19.

From uncertainty to conspiracy

COVID-19 created the conditions in which conspiracy theories flourish: enormous uncertainty, frightening consequences, rapidly changing information and distrust of institutions.

People wanted explanations. Why did the virus appear in Wuhan? Why did recommendations about masks change? How were vaccines developed so quickly?

These questions were legitimate. Problems emerged when those questions became connected to a predetermined conclusion: Powerful people either created the pandemic or concealed the connection to the lab in Wuhan.

A 2021 survey by the Public Religion Research Institute illustrates how widespread one version of this thinking was. About 4 in 10 Americans – 39% – agreed that the coronavirus had been intentionally developed by scientists in a laboratory. Among QAnon believers – a sprawling conspiracy theory claiming that a cabal of powerful elites, often portrayed as child-trafficking Satanists, controls government and society and that Donald Trump was secretly fighting it – the figure was dramatically higher, at 85%. The same survey found that people who embraced anti-elite and anti-expert attitudes were more likely to accept coronavirus conspiracy theories.

Conspiracy thinking is rarely isolated. For example, a person who comes to believe that public health officials are secretly manipulating information may be more receptive to claims that vaccines contain hidden dangers. Someone who distrusts pharmaceutical companies may be more receptive to claims that the pandemic was engineered for profit. Someone who believes powerful elites routinely operate in secret may be more receptive to broader conspiracy narratives such as QAnon.

These beliefs can reinforce one another, creating a broader worldview in which institutions, experts and government officials are presumed to be acting deceptively.

The Fauci conspiracy

Because Fauci was highly visible during the pandemic, advising presidents and appearing on television, he quickly became associated with government efforts to control the spread of the virus.

For some Republicans and MAGA activists, and others who distrust the government and scientific institutions, Fauci came to represent lockdowns, masks, vaccines and government mandates.

Anti-vaccine activists incorporated him into broader narratives about pharmaceutical companies and public health agencies. Conspiracists took the story further, portraying Fauci as part of a secret effort to conceal the origins of COVID-19. Extremists connected these claims to older ideas about government tyranny, social control and corrupt elites.

The result was a feedback loop.

Claims were generated in online communities, repeated by political figures and amplified by media personalities, who injected these talking points back into supporters’ social media feeds. The repetition made the claims feel increasingly familiar – and familiarity can be mistaken for evidence.

The lab-leak question is not the same as a conspiracy theory

Asking whether SARS-CoV-2 emerged through either zoonotic spillover, which is when a virus jumps from animals to people, or through a laboratory-related incident is not inherently a conspiracy theory. Scientists and governments have legitimate reasons to investigate the origins of a pandemic.

The World Health Organization’s independent scientific advisory group reported in 2025 that much of the information needed to fully evaluate the competing hypotheses had not been provided by China. It concluded that the available evidence suggests spillover but maintained that the laboratory-leak hypothesis could not be ruled out.

There is, however, a distinction between investigating whether a laboratory accident might have occurred and claiming that scientists created a virus and intentionally released it. That distinction is important in returning to Fauci and the claims raised at the July 29 hearing: Were lawmakers investigating the possibility of an accidental laboratory release, or were they advancing the more conspiratorial idea that scientists deliberately created and released the virus?

The Republican-led House subcommittee argued that U.S. government–funded research may have contributed to the pandemic.

The investigation did not establish that the virus was intentionally manufactured or released.

Today, the scientific question of where SARS-CoV-2 originated remains unresolved. But conspiracy theories can transform the absence of evidence into evidence of concealment.

From fringe theory to political reality

The most consequential feature of conspiracy theories may be their ability to move from one group to another.

A claim can begin in an obscure online community and spread through social media to become a political weapon.

The Fauci hearing demonstrates the culmination of that process. These claims have moved into the formal machinery of government, where they are being amplified by elected officials and federal agencies. A theory’s credibility can increase simply because someone with greater institutional authority has repeated it.

That may be the most important question surrounding Fauci’s hearing: What happens when conspiracy theories acquire the authority of the government?

Art Jipson 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.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/30/faucis-covid-origins-hearing-shows-how-conspiracy-theories-became-political-weapons/

What’s the best way to manage a forest? Australians have argued about this for decades. The debate is often framed as binary: do we protect forests entirely, or harvest trees to support local economies and communities?

The reality is more interesting, as our new research on a long-forgotten experiment in Victoria’s mountain ash forests reveals.

Since the 1970s, scientists and the public have questioned the use of clearfell logging – where all trees in a block of forest are cut down. Conservationists argued it destroys habitat for rare species and reduces the forests’ ecological value. Foresters said mountain ash is adapted to catastrophic bushfires, and clearfelling is the forestry equivalent.

The argument was heated and the polarisation unhelpful. But the underlying questions about the impacts of clearfelling, and how they compared to less intensive forestry options, remained unresolved.

A landmark experiment

In the mid-1980s, the Victorian government launched a major restructure of the timber industry, and invested today’s equivalent of A$26 million to explore alternatives to clearfelling. This would use silviculture, the branch of forestry that deals with establishing, growing and tending forests.

The Silvicultural Systems Project was established at two sites between 1987 and 1989: Tanjil Bren in Victoria’s Central Highlands, and Cabbage Tree Creek in East Gippsland.

It was a landmark experiment, comparing forest regeneration across the full range of silvicultural approaches. These included traditional clearfells (250–350 metres wide), small patch clearfells (50–140m wide), and heavy thinnings, where 50–70% of trees were cut. Extensive areas of unharvested forest were kept as benchmarks for comparison.

The forest at Tanjil Bren was dense mountain ash regrowth from the 1939 fires. Hundreds of survey plots were established and thousands of seedlings were monitored. By the early 2000s, the results were clear: mountain ash regenerated best on clearfell sites. Where tall canopy trees were retained or the cleared patches were small, common understory species such as acacia dominated.

The findings were published. The access road grew over. The project sign collapsed. The experiment was forgotten. The debates continued.

But the trees kept growing.

Astounding results

In 2014 we visited the Tanjil Bren site as part of a University of Melbourne subject on silviculture in native forests. A colleague, Simon Murphy, had been involved in its establishment and suggested our students see the long-term outcomes of different silvicultural systems side-by-side. What we found was astounding.

The original results still held: 30 years later, the mountain ash in the large cleared patches and clearfelled areas was vigorous and abundant. But it was the heavily thinned parts of the forest that really caught our attention.

The trees left behind after thinning were enormous. While they were only 80 years old, the largest averaged well over a metre in diameter at chest height, and some were more than 1.5m. Thinning had given these trees more space and resources to grow, and they had responded dramatically. The largest trees in the thinned stands were 20% bigger in diameter than those in the unharvested control areas.

More remarkable still: the thinned stands of trees had stored as much or more carbon in their wood than the unharvested control areas. In just 30 years, the heavily thinned forest had not only recovered all the carbon removed during harvesting, but had also gained enough additional carbon to equal the increase seen in the unharvested controls.

These findings have profound implications. Bigger trees are more resistant to fires, so when the next fire occurs, they are more likely to survive. Bigger trees are also more likely to form hollows – a critical and declining habitat for rare species such as the greater glider and Leadbeater’s possum.

The acacia trees that grew in most of the silvicultural treatments are also vital for Leadbeater’s possums, which use it to forage and move around the forest. Camera traps across the sites confirmed this: Leadbeater’s possums were found in every silvicultural treatment plot we surveyed – but none of the unharvested areas.

Lessons for the future

The Tanjil Bren SSP offers three important lessons.

First, long-term silvicultural experiments are irreplaceable. Australia’s forests contain many forgotten experiments that could transform our understanding of how forests respond to human intervention. But all too often, they end up neglected, unfunded and forgotten. We should find them before it is too late.

Second, forest thinning is not a trade-off. Our findings show this for mountain ash, and other studies in North America have shown this for conifer forests. It can deliver wood for local industry, absorb carbon and improve habitat for wildlife. It is a win-win-win outcome that challenges the false dichotomy of conservation versus production that has dominated public debate for decades.

While thinning cannot (and should not) be done everywhere, it may be a useful tool to create more variety in tree ages and sizes, particularly in forests impacted by clearfelling or high-severity fire.

Third, and perhaps most importantly: there is no silvicultural silver bullet for managing forests. The long-forgotten experiment at Tanjil Bren has taught us that there are options available for managing our forests beyond clearfelling that can contribute to the societal demand for wood, maintain carbon stocks, and conserve biodiversity.

Craig Nitschke receives funding from the Australian Research Council (DP22010371), State Government of Victoria’s Department of Energy, Environment and Climate Action, Australian Forest and Wood Innovations (AFWI), New South Wales Department of Primary Industries and Regional Development – Local Land Services, NSW Natural Resources Commission, Greening Australia, Natural Hazards Research Australia, North Central Catchment Management Authority (CMA), Northeast CMA, Goulburn Broken CMA.
He also receives funding from commercial companies Radial Timber Australia and Heartwood Unlimited for separate research unrelated to the study described in this article. Neither company would benefit or profit from any of the results associated with the research described in this piece.

Patrick Baker receives funding from Australian Forest and Wood Innovations (AFWI), the Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research (ACIAR), and the Australian Research Council (ARC).

Raphael Trouve receives funding from the Australian Research Council (ARC).

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

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/30/we-revisited-a-forest-experiment-that-lay-forgotten-for-30-years-what-we-found-was-astounding/

In late June, whale watchers in southwest Western Australia sounded the alarm. They had seen far fewer humpback whales at a time when they normally migrate up from the Southern Ocean to calve and feed. Numbers were 60% below normal.

A week later, birdwatchers spotted a “once in a lifetime event” as large numbers of rarely seen albatrosses and petrels appeared off Australia’s east coast, thousands of kilometres from their usual foraging grounds deep in the Southern Ocean. Many birds were in poor condition.

The sightings came just weeks after a dying migratory seabird was confirmed as Australia’s first case of highly pathogenic H5N1 bird flu.

These sightings raise troubling questions. Seabirds and marine mammals such as whales use ocean currents and weather to travel long distances to feeding and breeding grounds. If these species are changing their behaviour, it could be a sign of altered conditions in the Southern Ocean.

We know the world’s oceans are running very hot. Marine heatwaves can affect any part of the ocean – even frigid Antarctic regions. If species are used to water temperatures around 2–6°C, a sudden boost of a couple of degrees can upend ecosystems. If the heatwave lingers, the cumulative effect can be much bigger.

We don’t yet know for sure, as monitoring in the Southern Ocean is limited. But we know marine heatwaves can alter currents, weather conditions and prey availability.

Oceans running hot

Since February, a large and persistent marine heatwave has affected waters around Australia’s Heard Island and McDonald Islands, stretching as far south as the edge of Antartica’s sea ice. These remote islands are extraordinarily rich in life. But researchers have found their waters are exposed to damage from climate change.

The southern Tasman Sea has also endured a marine heatwave since at least April, likely due to the fact we are coming out of successive La Niñas.

Both areas of ocean are among the fastest-warming on the planet. The steady drumbeat of climate change can make marine heatwaves more severe, more frequent and longer-lasting.

It’s possible this marine heatwave is putting pressure on seabird and whale food supply. But there remain significant gaps in our knowledge.

One reason is that extreme events don’t occur very often. Given this, it’s worth looking at past events.

Devastation from ‘the Blob’

Between 2014 and 2016, the North Pacific Ocean was hit by an event scarier than any monster movie.

A huge, long-lasting and extreme marine heatwave stayed in place for many months. It became known as “the Blob”.

Water temperatures were between 2°C and 6°C above normal. While this may not seem like a drastic change, it led to widespread ecosystem disruption. At least 240 species were found outside their normal ranges – some further north than ever recorded.

It’s hard to overstate how extensive its effects were. Kelp forests disappeared. Millions of starfish dissolved into goo. Whales died. Seabirds starved. Toxic algal blooms appeared.

It’s possible reported falls in whale numbers and unusual sightings of seabirds might be linked to a smaller version of the Blob in the cold Southern Ocean.

We already know marine heatwaves can disrupt the feeding behaviour of marine predators such as little penguins in Tasmania.

Our research has shown marine heatwaves lead to significant shifts in the types of zooplankton – tiny floating animals – found in coastal seas off Tasmania. Zooplankton are important food sources for seabirds, whales and fish.

As early as 1997–98, researchers found warmer surface waters in the Southern Ocean made it harder for female Antarctic fur seals to find prey while raising their pups.

Deaths of pups and adults are becoming more common in the South Atlantic. The population has fallen by around 1.5 million in the 15 years to 2022. The species was once considered abundant. But it’s now has recently listed as endangered.

We don’t know what we don’t know

By studying past events, scientists now have a better understanding of how marine ecosystems respond to extreme events.

Even so, there’s a lot we don’t know. For example, we have strong evidence climate change is affecting Antarctic krill. But we still don’t fully understand how a particular marine heatwave affects these tiny crustaceans or how ocean predators such as whales and seabirds respond during such events.

In short, our knowledge of how extreme events affect ecosystems isn’t keeping pace with climate change.

For scientists to understand how vulnerable species respond to environmental triggers, we need to monitor key species over the long term, while tracking environmental conditions in breeding and foraging areas and their food sources.

This type of monitoring is expensive, time-consuming and challenging. It would require national coordination, international collaboration and sustained support. But if we want to understand what’s driving ecosystem changes affecting local and migratory species in our waters, it will be necessary.

Once up and running, these dynamic monitoring systems would help authorities respond quickly by, say, reducing or redirecting fishing boats if there’s a sudden drop in fish numbers. Monitoring would also show areas in need of better protection.

We know changes are taking place in these cold oceans. Fewer whales and rare seabird sightings are a warning sign. If we don’t have better monitoring, we will keep flying blind as global warming accelerates.

Mary-Anne Lea has received funding from the Australian Research Council, the Australian government, international agencies and others. She is affiliated with the University of Tasmania, the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research (SCAR) Expert Group on Birds and Marine Mammals, the SCAR Standing Committee on the Antarctic Treaty System (as a delegate to CCAMLR), the IUCN World Congress on Protected Areas, Marine Mammal Protected Areas Taskforce and is a co-founder and Board director of Homeward Bound Projects.

Christopher Chapman has received funding from Parks Australia and the National Environmental Science Program’s (NESP) Climate Systems hub.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/30/falls-in-whale-sightings-rare-seabirds-appearing-is-something-unusual-happening-in-the-southern-ocean/

Conservation projects often focus on protecting a threatened species from predators and habitat destruction. But as our research shows, restoring food webs can be as important to supporting ongoing recovery.

This may require ecological restoration of several sites that connect an endangered species with its food.

Our recent study focused on Waituna Lagoon, a site in the South Island long recognised under the Ramsar Convention for its outstanding biodiversity values as an internationally important wetland area.

The research demonstrates the lagoon’s significance as an important food source for longfin eels, which are classified as at risk, with declining populations.

The lagoon is formed by a barrier beach. When it overflows this barrier, either naturally or through excavation, it remains open to the sea until big swells block the opening again. This can take anywhere between a month and a year.

During the open state, īnanga – small migratory native fish which form the majority of whitebait – run freely from the ocean and become extremely abundant.

This supercharges the wider catchment’s food web, including eel populations living upstream in surrounding creeks.

How īnanga support eel growth

The duration of open conditions varies between years, and so does the abundance of īnanga. We think of this as a “natural experiment” that manipulates food supply. Our study shows how important changes in īnanga abundance are for longfin eels.

We analysed a small set of otoliths (fish “ear” bones) collected from local iwi (tribal groups). Otoliths have annual rings that record age and growth rates in much the same way as tree rings.

We found that during open years, Waituna Creek eels grew faster than during closed years when īnanga were scarce, confirming the key role īnanga play as a prey fish.

Large īnanga runs boosted the abundance of eels in the catchment to far higher levels than typically occur in coastal streams that don’t have large downstream wetlands.

Our findings are significant because New Zealand’s main eel conservation strategy is to protect eels from fishing within the conservation estate. However, the Waituna Creek produces almost ten times the biomass of eels per year and kilometre of stream length than streams within the conservation estate (on average).

The value of growing big eels

Boosting eel growth is a critical lever for eel conservation. Having bigger, faster growing and more abundant eels in steams means more females reach their spawning grounds in the equatorial Pacific Ocean.

Eels return from their spawning grounds as tiny leaf-shaped and transparent juveniles. The journey back into rivers is perilous and the more females make it to the spawning grounds, the more juveniles will be returning to Aotearoa.

Larger eels are also more likely to make it to the spawning grounds. Even more importantly, large eels produce a disproportionately large load of eggs.

A single four-kilogramme longfin eel can produce around eight million eggs, whereas a female of half that weight may only produce about two million eggs.

Creating landscapes rich in wetlands that provide lots of high quality, energy-dense food in the form of īnanga can help eels reach a larger size and better support the New Zealand-wide population.

Wetlands support wider ecological restoration

Understanding how wetlands benefit the wider surrounding landscape opens a new avenue for ecological restoration. This includes protecting and creating food-producing habitats which then disperse the benefits throughout a catchment.

Previously, if a project’s goal was to enhance biodiversity in a particular location, it usually focused on that site. But our research suggests it might in fact be better to focus restoration efforts on adjacent sites that produce a food source to improve ecological conditions for a threatened species.

In our study, the goal was to improve conditions for eels living in a lowland agricultural stream with elevated nutrients, little riparian planting and an engineered channel designed for convey flood waters with little consideration for fish habitat.

There are many streams like this across New Zealand and these systems have proven stubbornly resistant to restorations efforts.

At Waituna Creek, the biomass of longfin eels more than doubled two years after efforts to restore the stream through riparian planting and creating woody habitat in the stream channel. But the restoration was successful because the eels had enough food in the form of īnanga swimming upstream from the wetland to support the population increase.

We are increasingly appreciating the ecological role of wetlands as we recognise their value as critical natural infrastructure that slows down water to prevent flooding, locks up carbon and traps sediment and nutrients. Now our study shows they are also hotspots that can fuel fish growth in distant sites through connected systems.

Like many areas around the world, New Zealand lost about 90% of wetlands over a period that coincided with large declines in many native freshwater fishes. Fortunately, we are now actively restoring and creating wetlands.

The recently completed Jobs for Nature programme restored more than 6,000 hectares of wetland. It will be exciting to see the benefits of this work transferring through to native fishes.

Protecting wetlands doesn’t just preserve the plants that live there. It protects highly valued predatory fish and bird species in connected systems.

Simon Stewart receives funding from Te Apārangi Royal Society of New Zealand and the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment’s Endeavour Fund. Earlier aspects of this research were funded by Dairy NZ and the Department of Conservation through the Living Waters programme.

Robin Holmes receives funding from the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment’s Endeavour Fund. Earlier aspects of this research were funded by Dairy NZ and the Department of Conservation through the Living Waters programme.

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/30/wetlands-are-crucial-food-baskets-for-nzs-native-eels-new-research/

When Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi visited the White House in March, she reportedly told US President Donald Trump that Japan could not send forces to help secure the Strait of Hormuz due to limits under the country’s constitution.

Article 9 of Japan’s constitution renounces war and says the country will not maintain military forces for the purpose of settling international disputes. Since 1947, it has been the centrepiece of Japanese pacifism.

However, this could be changing. Takaichi’s conservative government has backed higher defence spending, looser arms-export restrictions, stronger regional security ties and, most controversially, a revision of Article 9.

Her government argues this is necessary to respond to rising threats from China and North Korea. Late last year, she enraged Beijing when she raised the spectre of coming to the defence of Taiwan. Earlier this month, Beijing accused her government of pursuing “reckless militarism”.

Public opinion in Japan remains divided over Takaichi’s more hard-line approach. Thousands have demonstrated in defence of the constitution, with many opposed to changes that might make it easier for Japan to join foreign wars.

But Japan’s pacifism has never simply been a static constitutional principle. For 80 years, it has been shaped by war memory, nuclear trauma, alliance politics, regional tensions and fierce political struggles over the meaning of peace.

The postwar view of peace

Around three million Japanese people died in the second world war, along with many millions across Japan’s Asia-Pacific empire. Several forces shaped what peace meant at this moment.

Early postwar thinkers connected peace to atonement. They spearheaded a “community of contrition” committed to addressing the social and individual shortcomings behind the country’s militarism. Shortly after Japan’s defeat, Prime Minister Naruhiko Higashikuni called for the “repentance of the entire nation”.

But postwar pacifism also drew heavily on a sense of victimhood. Many Japanese suffered through the firebombings of their cities and the deaths of loved ones on distant battlefields. Many felt their leaders had deceived them into fighting an unwinnable war.

The US-led occupation from 1945 to 1952 reinforced this sense of victimisation. The Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal tried 28 Japanese leaders for war crimes. Although the tribunal was criticised as “victors’ justice,” it confirmed for many Japanese that their leaders were to blame.

Assigning guilt in this way made it easier to reimagine Japan around the defining slogan of the era, “peace and democracy”.

The 1947 constitution, which gave this slogan legal force, was drafted by American occupation officials. The origins of Article 9 remain ambiguous, but a note from US General Douglas MacArthur to the drafting group specified that the constitution should eliminate Japan’s capacity to wage war.

Although US President Richard Nixon would later describe Article 9 as a “mistake”, it became the symbol of postwar pacifism in Japan.

An anti-nuclear movement is born

The Cold War soon turned peace into a fiercely contested issue.

A key moment came in 1954 when the United States detonated a hydrogen bomb at Bikini Atoll in the Pacific. A nearby Japanese tuna fishing vessel, the Daigo Fukuryū Maru, was exposed to radioactive fallout and one of its crew later died.

The incident shocked Japan, leading to a media frenzy over “atomic tuna” and “ashes of death”. It also helped spark a mass movement against nuclear weapons.

Cultural groups – many led by women – began a nationwide petition opposing nuclear weapons. This led to the formation of the influential Japan Council against Atomic and Hydrogen Bombs and another group, Nihon Hidankyo, which won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2024.

American fears about social unrest in the occupation years led to heavy censorship of any discussion of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. With these restrictions removed, writers and artists began directly linking pacifism with antinuclear sentiment. The first Godzilla film, released just after the Bikini Atoll incident, brilliantly blended traumatic war memories, nuclear anxieties and aspirations for a peaceful future.

Antiwar and pacifist groups also began protesting against US military bases in Japan, permitted under the US–Japan Security Treaty of 1952.

The largest confrontation came in 1959–60 when the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) pushed a revision of the treaty through the Diet (Japan’s parliament). Hundreds of thousands of citizens, political groups, labour unions and civic organisations participated in the largest confrontation over peace and democracy in modern Japanese history. Although the treaty was ultimately passed and ratified, Prime Minister Kishi Nobusuke and his cabinet were forced to resign.

The lesson for Japanese leaders was clear: pacifist sentiment ran deep and could erupt if sufficiently provoked. As a result, the ruling LDP largely avoided the issue of constitutional revision for decades.

Staging ground for the Vietnam War

Instead, conservatives forged their own version of pacifism.

In the 1950s, Prime Minister Yoshida Shigeru’s postwar strategy (known as the “Yoshida Doctrine”) kept defence spending low, with a focus on economic recovery and heavy reliance on the United States for security. The doctrine resonated with the national pacifist sentiment, but was also a pragmatic strategy for a poor and vulnerable Japan.

Yet, cracks emerged in the doctrine almost immediately. With the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950, the Japanese relented to US pressure and established the National Police Reserve. In 1954, this became Japan’s Self-Defense Forces (SDF).

Ever since, critics have challenged the constitutionality of the SDF, arguing Japan shouldn’t have a military force of any kind (even one focused solely on self-defence) when Article 9 says the country will not maintain “war potential”.

In the years that followed, conservative Japanese leaders continued to use the language of pacifism pragmatically and opportunistically, while gradually expanding the SDF and the security alliance with America.

The Vietnam War sharply exposed this contradiction. From 1965, US bases in mainland Japan and US-occupied Okinawa became staging grounds for American bombing of North Vietnam. Japanese antiwar activists responded by building a large movement of students, writers and local citizens’ groups against this action. Protest leaders such as novelist Oda Makoto questioned whether Japanese people could call themselves peace-loving while the US waged war in Asia from Japanese bases.

‘Chequebook diplomacy’

By the 1980s, Japan was an economic superpower. Its cars, electronics and cultural products spanned the globe, and its people were enjoying unprecedented prosperity. Japan may have lost the war, but in the 1980s it seemed to have won the peace.

Reflecting this new confidence, Prime Minister Nakasone Yasuhiro argued Japan should take greater responsibility for its own defence by formally recognising the SDF under Article 9.

In the early 1990s, the economic bubble burst and Japan entered a period of stagnation. During the 1990–91 Gulf War, President George H. W. Bush asked Japan to contribute more than money to the US-led coalition against Iraq. Prime Minister Kaifu Toshiki attempted to authorise a deployment of defence personnel, as well, but strong political and public opposition blocked the plan.

Japan eventually contributed US$13 billion and sent minesweepers only after the fighting had ended.

Despite this significant contribution, Japan was criticised in the international community for its “chequebook diplomacy”. Stung by the criticism, the Japanese government passed landmark legislation in 1992 allowing the SDF to join United Nations peacekeeping operations. To appease pacifists, the law included strict limits on where Japanese personnel could be sent and what they could do. Later that year, Japan contributed to a peacekeeping mission for the first time in Cambodia.

Prominent politicians seized the opportunity to redefine Japanese pacifism. In his bestselling 1993 book, translated in English as Blueprint for a New Japan, the conservative politician Ozawa Ichirō called on Japan to become a “normal country”.

By “normal”, he meant Japan should go a step further and revise Article 9 to allow SDF forces to join multilateral security missions under the banner of the United Nations.

New threats emerge

When Prime Minister Shinzō Abe took power in 2012, he was committed to this constitutional change. But strong public and political resistance again stood in the way, forcing him to adopt an incremental approach.

At the core of Abe’s vision was the notion of “proactive pacifism”. He believed Japan was facing new threats that required it to play an active role in maintaining regional and international security. Being a passive bystander was not enough.

In 2014, the Abe cabinet changed the government’s interpretation of collective self-defence in Article 9, allowing the SDF to provide limited forms of assistance to an ally under attack, even if Japan itself had not been attacked.

Then in 2015, the Diet passed a package of security laws that significantly expanded what the SDF could do.

Abe’s security laws provoked widespread public opposition, resulting in some of the largest demonstrations Japan had seen in decades. Citizens worried the reinterpretations would draw Japan into American wars and undermine the spirit of the pacifist constitution.

In a sense they were correct. Abe had not revised Article 9, but he had certainly changed the official meaning of pacifism.

Now, Takaichi, as Abe’s self-described ideological and political heir, is actively embracing many of his aspirations when it comes to defence and security.

Where Japan goes from here is unclear. But eight decades after the war, this national debate over what pacifism means will no doubt continue to shape Japan’s future, and that of the entire region.

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

Original source: https://analysis1.mil-osi.com/2026/07/30/defining-a-normal-country-japans-long-struggle-between-pacifism-and-the-threats-of-a-new-era/