Taylor Swift has filed a trademark application covering her voice and stage image. It includes a photo of her performing in her distinctive bejewelled Eras Tour bodysuit and two voice recordings: “Hey, it’s Taylor” and “Hey, it’s Taylor Swift.”

It’s the latest example of the singer using her status and power to challenge industry norms and assert the rights of artists.

In 2014, Swift removed her entire catalogue from Spotify in protest at the low level of artist remuneration generated by the platform (later relenting in 2017). In 2019, she began rerecording her previous albums in protest at the acquisition of her back catalogue by alleged industry foe Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings, giving her back control over masters of her songs. The new “Taylor’s Versions” outperformed the original versions on streaming services.

Although the actor Matthew McConaughey beat Swift to the punch by successfully trademarking some of his famous spoken lines of movie dialogue earlier this year, she appears to be the first music artist of note to take the step. The move raises some interesting issues in terms of copyright law and the rights of music artists.

‘Passing off’ and deepfaking

In music, both sound recordings and the songs which they embody are protected by copyright law. Much of the income generated by the music industry is based on the commercial exclusivity to exploit these forms of intellectual property (IP), which that law ensures.

All of Swift’s vocals are protected from copying in terms of being sampled without permission. But the question of whether or not a vocal being performed (or manufactured in the case of AI) to sound like Swift is a copyright infringement is less clear.

In 1988, Bette Midler successfully sued Ford Motor Company for using an impersonator to perform her songs in TV adverts. This case suggests that deliberately copying a singer’s voice, style and tone can amount to passing off. In UK law, passing off is a common law tort involving misrepresentation that causes reputational or financial damage. In the US, similar protection is provided under the Lanham Act, which also guards against misleading imitation.

This article is part of our State of the Arts series. These articles tackle the challenges of the arts and heritage industry – and celebrate the wins, too.

Swift has also experienced the darker side of deepfakes, including fake pornographic images and AI-generated photos showing her wearing a “Swifties for Trump” T-shirt ahead of the last US presidential election.

The US Take It Down Act, covering explicit deepfake content was passed into law in 2025. Similar protection is possible in the UK via the Data (Use and Access) Act 2025.

While further legislation is being developed in the US to address AI-generated impersonation more broadly, Swift’s move to trademark both her voice and visual likeness suggests a desire to retain stronger legal control over her identity. This may give her a basis for pursuing civil action under common law or intellectual property rights when objectionable AI-generated content appears. Given her significant wealth and influence, such legal routes may also allow for faster enforcement than relying solely on the criminal justice system.

The trademarks registered both by McConaughey and Swift arguably only offer protection for exactly what has been registered on the basis of the scope of a trademark being “what you see is what you get”.

However, the fact that many platforms require proof of IP registration before taking down potentially infringing content suggests that having these trademarks in place will act as a powerful deterrent against future fakes at the very least.

Training data

A more complex issue for Swift and artists in general is the use of their existing works as data by AIs to create new works. For example, I could prompt an AI to write a song for me in the style of Fearless-era Swift but performed by a voice that is a cross between Norah Jones and Diana Krall. It would be very hard to prove that any particular piece of IP had been infringed, as the AI would be synthesising dozens of songs and performances to achieve its creation.

However, new content would have been created via the mining of existing IP; a songwriter’s moral right of integrity protects against adaptation of their works without permission, and musicians and songwriters have become increasingly concerned that they are not being recompensed sufficiently, or indeed even consulted about AI using their work.

In the UK, the Musicians Union has launched an initiative demanding consent and remuneration for AI training and AI-generated music. The UK government has pulled back from its previous line of allowing an exemption for AI training on copyrighted works in favour of more creator control after strong opposition to this stance from the creative industries.

The UK Performing Rights Society, which collects royalties from around the globe for its songwriter and composer members (and their publishing companies) when their work is performed live, broadcast or streamed, has declared that it will not register AI-generated works. However, it will register works which it classes as AI-assisted. This leads to the question of how much human input needs to be evidenced for a piece of music to be copyright-able.

In UK copyright law, the Copyright, Design and Patents Act allows for recordings “generated by computer” but a song or composition needs to display originality to acquire the law’s protection – a product of skill, judgement and labour which should arguably involve significant human involvement, but how much?

There have been some positive developments for artists’ earnings, with certain AI companies recently reaching settlements with major music rights holders over the use of training data in music generation. However, artists such as Swift may still need stronger protection to prevent the unauthorised use, imitation and commercial exploitation of their distinctive vocal styles.

The current regulatory grey areas around AI’s use of IP have been likened to the wild west. With her trademarking initiative, Swift has donned her Stetson, pinned on her five-point star badge and declared herself the new sheriff in town.

Justin Morey 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.

The United States hosted its first World Cup in 1994.

Soccer has changed dramatically in many ways since then – on and off the pitch.

As the US (with Mexico and Canada) gets set to host the mega-event once again, more than anything, the tournament’s defining change since 1994 is its sheer scale-up.

The scale-up

This scale-up can be clearly quantified. The 1994 tournament featured 52 matches across 32 days with 24 teams. By contrast, the 2026 event (the first three-nation World Cup) will involve 78 matches in the US alone, over 39 days.

The competition’s 48 teams are divided into 12 groups, with progression to the knockout stage awarded to the top two teams in each group along with the eight best third-placed teams.

In terms of games, the tournament has doubled in size since 1994.

The scale-up is not accidental. It has been driven by the twin forces of globalisation and commodification, alongside a deliberate strategy by FIFA president Gianni Infantino to both protect and extend football’s commercial dominance.

Central to this has been expanding the tournament into non-traditional markets, most notably the US – the world’s largest sports economy – thereby generating substantial financial returns and commercial interest.

Infantino and FIFA have faced sustained criticism in global media – ranging from controversial symbolic gestures involving Donald Trump to concerns over ticket pricing. But the broader outcome is clear: the World Cup has become more expansive and commercially powerful than ever.

Read more: Why Trump and FIFA are perfect bedfellows as the World Cup heads to the US

At the same time, FIFA has deepened its claim to global reach by incorporating smaller nations such as Cape Verde and Curaçao, whose combined populations are well under one million.

The scale-up rests on two core dynamics. First, more matches mean more broadcast content, and media rights remain FIFA’s largest revenue stream. Expanding to 104 matches significantly increases the value of rights deals, particularly across participating nations.

Second, expansion broadens FIFA’s political base. By granting more countries access, it strengthens the influence of nations previously on the margins of global soccer.

Within FIFA’s voting structure, each member association carries equal weight: the vote of powerhouse Brazil counts the same as that of Curaçao, a recent entrant with a population around 150,000.

At the same time, a larger tournament increases the likelihood that major population centres and emerging consumer markets (such as China, India, and Southeast Asia) will participate, further expanding the World Cup’s commercial reach.

The unresolved question for FIFA is one of limits: how far can expansion go before it dilutes the exclusivity and premium value of the World Cup?

The World Game in the US

Soccer in the US has grown markedly since the 1994 event. In many ways, this growth reflects the original intent behind awarding the 1994 World Cup to the States.

The 1994 tournament was still the best-attended in history, largely due to the use of National Football League (NFL) venues. It was granted on the condition that a viable professional league be reestablished following the collapse of the North American Soccer League in 1984.

Major League Soccer (MLS), launched in 1996, is now firmly established within the US sporting landscape.

The pathway has also strengthened, with college athletes feeding into MLS and increasingly major European leagues, alongside the expansion of secondary professional and semi-professional tiers.

Growth has been especially strong in the women’s game thanks to significant new investment.

The US men’s team, currently ranked 16th in the world, could plausibly make a deep run in 2026.

As in 1994, matches this year will largely be staged in football stadiums to maximise capacity.

Rule changes and technology

FIFA’s rule changes are largely designed to keep the ball in play and increase the tempo of matches. Measures addressing time-wasting – from stricter control of throw-ins and goal kicks to tighter management of added time – reflect this objective.

The 1994 World Cup introduced major reforms, including a ban on back-passes to goalkeepers and awarding three points for a win to encourage attacking play.

Looking to the 2026 event, technological oversight will expand, with Video Assistant Referee (VAR) technology applied more broadly to decisions such as second yellow cards and corner calls.

Player welfare has also become more prominent: after the extreme heat issues of 1994, mandated drinks breaks will be introduced – one in each half around the 22-minute mark.

Substitution rules have also evolved significantly, increasing from two in 1994 to five regular substitutions, along with an additional allowance for concussion replacements.

Same game, different scale

Since its codification and even in early filmed matches more than a century ago, soccer’s simplicity has been the foundation of its global dominance.

The sport’s continuity bridges generations. The leading players of the 1994 World Cup, such as Italy’s Roberto Baggio and Brazil’s Romário, could plausibly compete in the modern game, even if today’s players are generally more physically developed.

Ultimately, despite the scale, global reach and commercialisation of tournaments like the World Cup, soccer’s enduring success lies in its consistency.

The game played on the world’s biggest stage remains fundamentally the same as that played in parks, schools and local grounds; simple, universal and instantly recognisable.

Steve Georgakis 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.

Four percent of Americans – roughly 12 million people – believe that “lizard people” secretly control the Earth. At least, that was the finding of an infamous 2013 public opinion survey.

Do so many people really believe such outlandish claims? Or do results like these partly reflect people giving silly answers or deliberately skewing surveys for fun?

US psychiatrist Alexander Scott believes the latter plays a significant role.

Using the survey as an example, he coined the term “the Lizardman constant” to describe the idea that a certain amount of noise and trolling will always exist in surveys about unusual beliefs.

As Scott warned: “Any possible source of noise – jokesters, cognitive biases, or deliberate misbehaviour – can easily overwhelm the signal.”

As researchers who study uncommon beliefs such as conspiracy theories, we wanted to investigate how this kind of cheeky trolling can muddy the waters.

Trolls and true believers

Building on earlier Australian research, we surveyed New Zealanders to test how common dishonest or joking responses were in conspiracy theory surveys.

We did this in two ways. First, we directly asked people a yes/no question at the end of the survey:

“Did you respond insincerely at any earlier point in this survey? In other words, did you give any responses that were actually just joking, trolling, or otherwise not indicating what you really think?”

Second, we included in the survey a “conspiracy theory” so ridiculous we could assume most, if not all, people who said they believed it were taking the mickey.

We asked them if they believed:

The Canadian Armed Forces have been secretly developing an elite army of genetically engineered, super intelligent, giant raccoons to invade nearby countries.

In our representative online sample of 810 New Zealanders, 8.3% of respondents confessed to being insincere in the survey.

Another 7.2% said they thought the Canadian raccoon army theory was probably or definitely true. That proportion – similar to findings from Australia – would equate to more than 300,000 adult New Zealanders.

To complicate things slightly, there was some overlap between those admitting to insincere answers and those claiming to believe the raccoon conspiracy. Combined, 13.3% of respondents fell into one or both groups – roughly one in eight people not appearing to take the survey seriously.

Importantly, these respondents were also much more likely to endorse other conspiracy theories, inflating estimates of how widespread those beliefs really are.

For instance, 6.5% of the full sample endorsed the claim that governments around the world are covering up the fact that 5G mobile networks spread coronavirus.

But once we removed the insincere responders, that figure dropped by more than half to 2.7%.

Across 13 different conspiracy theories, the estimated proportion of believers fell substantially once those respondents were excluded.

Another interesting insight from our study was that people endorsing contradictory conspiracy theories were much more likely to show signs of responding insincerely.

Previous studies have found some people appear to believe conspiracy theories that directly contradict each other. In our survey, for example, some participants agreed both that COVID-19 is a myth and that governments are covering up the fact that 5G networks spread the virus.

But nearly three-quarters of those respondents also showed signs of joking or dishonest answers.

This suggests genuinely believing contradictory conspiracy theories may be less common than previously thought.

Not every conspiracy believer is joking

Our findings add further weight to the idea that surveys may overestimate how many people truly believe some conspiracy theories – thanks, in part, to trolls.

But does that mean all conspiracy theory research is bunk?

Fortunately not. Most research in this area is not focused on counting conspiracy believers, but on understanding why people hold these beliefs and what effects they can have.

We tested several well-established findings from earlier conspiracy theory research to see whether they still held up once insincere respondents were removed from the data.

For example, previous studies have found that people who endorse conspiracy theories are more likely to see the world as a dangerous and threatening place.

We found the same pattern. In fact, removing insincere respondents made little difference to the broader relationships identified in earlier research.

Nevertheless, we recommend that future surveys include ways to gauge whether respondents are answering sincerely and account for this in the analysis. At the very least, researchers should acknowledge that trolls and joking responses can distort their results.

While our research suggests some people are taking the mickey in surveys, it also shows a significant minority genuinely appear to believe some of these claims.

In some cases – such as believing authorities are covering up the fact that the Earth is flat – this may be relatively harmless. But other conspiracy beliefs can lead to real-world harm.

Good-quality research is essential for understanding how sincere believers end up down these rabbit holes, and how those beliefs influence real-world behaviour.

Research into why people embrace conspiracy theories – and the real-world consequences of those beliefs – remains important.

But when surveys suggest millions may believe in lizard overlords or genetically engineered raccoon armies, it is also worth remembering the “Lizardman constant”: some respondents may simply be having us on.

The authors acknowledge the contributions of Rob Ross, Mathew Ling and Stephen Hill to this article.

John Kerr is supported by a Royal Society Te Apārangi Mana Tūānuku Research Leader Fellowship.

This research was supported by the Marsden Fund Council from Government funding, managed by Royal Society Te Apārangi.

Mathew Marques 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.

The World Health Organization has declared the Ebola outbreak in Africa a public health emergency of international concern.

So far, 336 people have been infected in the central African and East African countries of Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo. At least 88 people have died.

Ebola is caused by a group of viruses called Orthoebolaviruses. The strain of the virus responsible for the outbreak, Bundibugyo, is rare. There is no vaccine to protect the public from its spread, making it particularly dangerous.

The WHO declares a public health emergency of international concern when there is a serious, sudden, unusual or unexpected outbreak that requires an international response to reduce its spread.

It has previously declared public health emergencies during outbreaks of mpox, COVID, Ebola, Zika, polio and swine flu.

When did this outbreak start?

The virus was first detected on May 5 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and was confirmed as the Bundibugyo strain on May 15.

The disease had spread to Uganda, with two cases detected in the nation’s capital, Kampala.

A recent suspected case in the DRC’s most populous city, Kinshasa, did not test positive but it seems likely that the outbreak could arrive in this city.

The WHO has warned the true scale of the outbreak is likely larger than current figures suggest.

How does it spread?

African fruit bats appear to be the natural hosts of the virus. Monkeys, apes and antelope can catch the infection from bats.

The first human case was identified in the DRC in 1976. This is the 17th outbreak. The worst outbreak was the 2014–16 West Africa epidemic, which was caused by the Zaire strain and killed more than 11,000 people.

The virus spreads from human to human through direct contact with the bodily fluids of an infected person, such as blood, faeces or vomit, including after they’ve died.

Health-care workers and caregivers face the highest risk of infection.

What are the symptoms?

The symptoms of Ebola disease can be sudden and include a fever, fatigue, malaise, muscle pain, headache and sore throat.

These are followed by vomiting, diarrhoea, abdominal pain rash, and symptoms of impaired kidney and liver functions, leading to organ failure. In some cases, there is bleeding and haemorrhaging.

Overall, around 50% of people who contract Ebola die from it. The mortality rate of previous outbreaks ranges from 25–90%, depending on the strain and access to health care.

The current strain has a lower death rate of around 40%. However it’s considered more dangerous as there is no vaccine.

Why isn’t there a vaccine?

There are two approved vaccines for Ebola.

One, Ervebo, was released in 2015 and was provided to 345,000 people during the 2018–2020 outbreaks in the DRC. This works by using a protein from the Ebola virus to train our immune system to recognise and respond to the virus, without using a live strain.

The other vaccine, Zabdeno, has undergone clinical trials. It is mainly provided to primary contacts and health-care workers. This is because it requires two doses, several weeks apart, making it less suited to an emergency response.

Vaccines for the current Bundibugyo strain are sill in the research stage, having undergone pre-clinical trials in animal models.

How is it treated and managed?

There are no specific treatments for the Bundibugyo strain. Treatment focuses on managing the symptoms such as maintaining blood pressure, reducing vomiting and diarrhoea, maintaining hydration, and managing fever and pain.

Public health responses are overseen by the WHO’s Ebola surveillance strategy. The response combines community communication, rapid diagnosis, isolation, contact tracing and safe burials to stop transmission.

Contact tracing involves identifying everyone who had direct physical contact with a symptomatic case, monitoring them daily for 21 days, and isolating and testing anyone who develops symptoms.

Testing uses real-time PCR and rapid antigen tests (RATs) to detect viral particles in a similar way to COVID.

However, local conflict, poverty and difficult terrain combine to make field management challenging.

Should we be concerned?

The epicentre of the outbreak, Ituri province, is a conflict-affected, high-traffic mining region. Workers regularly move across health zones and borders, increasing the risk of spread.

At least four health-care workers have died, suggesting gaps in infection prevention at health-care facilities.

There is no current need for border closures but authorities have recommended the DRC and Uganda enhance contact tracing and scale-up laboratory testing.

Australia’s direct risk remains low, and the WHO has advised against travel restrictions. Australian border authorities require those returning from Ebola-affected regions to report this.

As this is a rapidly evolving situation, it’s important to remain up-to-date with current restrictions and quarantine guidelines.

Thomas Jeffries 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.

Pope Leo XIV has just declared artificial intelligence one of the defining moral challenges of our time, in his first encyclical: a formal letter intended to guide moral, social and theological thought. Titled Magnifica Humanitas (Magnificent Humanity), it argues technology must serve humanity, rather than concentrate power or weaken human dignity.

He presented it at the Vatican alongside AI developer Christopher Olah, cofounder of Anthropic, who acknowledged that companies like his need moral guidance to guard against “incentives and constraints that can sometimes conflict with doing the right thing”, the New York Times reported.

“Technology is not simply a tool,” read the roughly 42,300-word open letter. “When it becomes the standard by which everything is judged, it begins to dictate what matters and what can be discarded, reducing creation to an object of exploitation and human beings to mere cogs in a system driven toward ever greater efficiency.”

It warns that AI is never truly neutral, but “takes on the characteristics of those who devise, finance, regulate and use it”. And it calls for ethical oversight, social justice, protection of workers, responsible governance and peace.

Automated warfare

The encyclical criticises the use of AI in warfare, calling for imposing the “most rigorous ethical constraints” on weapons developed using AI.

As governments invest heavily in autonomous military technologies and AI-assisted defence systems, the “growing ease” of deploying them makes war more likely and “less subject to human control”, it warns. This “violates the principle that armed force should be used only as a last resort in cases of legitimate self-defense”.

The letter also criticises the growing concentration of technological power, and systems that reduce people to data or economic functions. It promotes what it calls a “civilisation of love”, centred on human dignity, solidarity, truth, compassion and the common good.

Pope Leo’s response to the the AI revolution deliberately references his predecessor Pope Leo XIII’s response to the problems of the Industrial Revolution, Rerum Novarum (“Of New Things”), in 1891. Though Magnifica Humanitas was released on May 25 2026, it is symbolically dated May 15, the date of Rerum Novarum.

Industrial Revolution to AI Revolution

An encyclical is not an ordinary papal statement. Traditionally addressed to bishops and the wider Catholic world, it is one of the Catholic church’s most authoritative teaching documents.

The pope no longer has the direct political power the papacy held in the 19th century. But papal teaching still carries moral weight across a global Catholic network of schools, universities, charities, hospitals and community organisations.

The Vatican cannot regulate AI. It cannot write safety standards, police data centres, or force companies to disclose how their systems work. But it can help shape the moral terms of the debate. For more than a century, Catholic social teaching has influenced public arguments about work, inequality, poverty, human dignity and the ethical limits of economic power.

Although popes issued encyclicals long before the modern era, Rerum Novarum made social encyclicals globally influential.

It confronted exploitative labour conditions, widening inequality, and conflict between workers and employers. Pope Leo XIII defended workers’ rights and argued that wealth carried social responsibilities. He criticised both unrestricted capitalism and revolutionary socialism.

The document influenced debates about labour rights and economic justice well beyond the church. In Australia in 1907, Justice H.B. Higgins drew on Rerum Novarum when establishing principles for a fair living wage.

Pope Leo XIV’s encyclical attempts to do for the AI age what Rerum Novarum did for the industrial age: provide a moral framework for a technological transformation reshaping work, power and human relationships.

Human dignity in the age of algorithms

Pope Leo XIV argues human rights are not granted by governments or corporations: they arise from the intrinsic dignity of every person. Technologies should serve humanity rather than reduce people to data, economic units or optimisation problems.

He builds on Pope Francis’ critique of “the tendency to let the logic of efficiency, control and profit alone shape personal, social and economic decisions”, in his 2015 encyclical. It, too, warned of the risks of technology.

Pope Leo XIV argues moral responsibility can’t be transferred to automated systems, regardless of how sophisticated they become. He also rejects transhumanist ideas that human limitations should be technologically overcome, arguing vulnerability, dependence and imperfection are essential to being human. Relationships, care, solidarity and compassion are not weaknesses. “Humanity flourishes not despite limitations, but often through them.”

Running throughout the encyclical is a contrast between a “culture of power” and a “civilization of love”. One treats technology primarily as a tool for domination and control. The other places human dignity, justice and care at the centre of social life.

Why this matters

The significance of Magnifica Humanitas lies in its ability to shape public conversation and moral imagination. Moral frameworks matter. They influence what societies fear, what they tolerate, what they defend – and what they refuse to sacrifice.

Governments are investing in AI capability while still developing frameworks for transparency, accountability and safe deployment. Businesses are adopting AI tools at speed. Schools and universities are rethinking assessment, authorship and learning. Workers are being asked to adapt to systems they did not design and often cannot challenge. And citizens are increasingly governed, assessed and targeted by automated systems they may never see.

Pope Leo XIV’s intervention reminds us the central question is not whether AI will be powerful: it already is. The question is whether that power will be made answerable to human dignity.

The future of AI will not just be decided in laboratories, boardrooms or parliaments. It will also be decided by the moral limits societies are willing to set. Pope Leo XIV’s encyclical is an attempt to draw those limits.

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.

A huge change is coming to the world’s booming artificial intelligence (AI) sector.

Starting with Elon Musk’s SpaceX, with OpenAI and Anthropic preparing to follow, all three private companies are set to sell shares of their stock to the general public for the first time. These are what’s known as initial public offerings (IPOs).

SpaceX – the first of them to launch this Friday, June 12 – expects to raise $US75 billion from selling just 4% of the company’s shares.

Musk is already the world’s richest man, worth around US$800 billion. He owns around 42% of SpaceX now, plus options to buy more shares at a fraction of the US$135 a share price ordinary investors are being asked to pay. Given his existing wealth, after this Friday’s listing Musk looks likely to become the world’s first trillionaire.

Together, these three companies are valued at almost $US4 trillion and are expected to raise a record-breaking $US200 billion, despite well-founded concerns that big AI stocks are now hugely overvalued.

While most of the news coverage has focused on the money involved, there’s actually another side to these sales that could be a big deal in the longer run.

At a time when everyone from the Pope to people from all walks of life worldwide are concerned about AI’s growing role in our lives, these stock exchange listings have the potential to finally bring some extra transparency to the inner workings of the AI giants.

Why SpaceX, OpenAI and Anthropic matter to you

Once these companies list, hundreds of millions of investors around the world will be exposed to these companies. That could be directly, if you buy these stocks, or else through index funds, which hold shares on behalf of investors – including big retirement and superannuation funds.

Even for those who don’t consider themselves investors, these three share offerings could easily affect your savings too.

Here’s what we know about these IPOs so far.

SpaceX’s most recent June 3 filing amendment with the United States Securities and Exchange Commission added a notable new line. It said SpaceX “may issue a significant amount of equity in connection with future transactions”.

US business outlet Fortune is reading this as a signal for a possible future Tesla merger, bringing another of Musk’s companies into the fold. That could be the biggest merger in history.

Read more: Switzerland’s entire GDP: visualising Elon Musk’s record-breaking pay deal

Investors can sue over failures to disclose

Once publicly listed, the AI labs of SpaceX – xAI – as well as Anthropic and Open AI would be subject to public market scrutiny for the first time.

This would push these companies to disclose more AI risks than they have had to as private companies – or risk being sued for misleading investors.

US securities laws are among the most enforceable in the world. Under US law, investors can sue a company for securities fraud if it fails to disclose a risk that later materialises.

One regulation commonly used in securities fraud lawsuits is Rule 10b-5 under the Securities Exchange Act of 1934.

This has been successfully used in the past many times. For example, Bank of America paid US$2.43 billion settle a lawsuit related to its purchase of investment bank Merrill Lynch in 2008. Countrywide Financial paid US$600 million for failing to disclose the mounting risks of its subprime mortgage business.

Only last month, the International Monetary Fund warned “financial stability risks mount as artificial intelligence fuels cyberattacks”, pointing out:

Anthropic’s recent controlled release of its Claude Mythos Preview, an advanced AI model with exceptional cyber capabilities, underscored how quickly risks are increasing […] This foreshadows how fast‑moving, AI‑driven cyber risks could destabilize the financial system if not managed carefully.

There are good reasons to be concerned about the increasing dominance of tech companies and what happens to economies around the world if the AI share bubble bursts.

Having more of the biggest AI companies forced into greater disclosure would offer one silver lining amid those AI fears.

What difference could public disclosure make?

Just as an example, let’s suppose Anthropic accidentally leaked its Claude Mythos source code (like a leak that actually happened earlier this year). Then let’s say North Korean hackers used that code to hack into US government systems.

If that happened when Anthropic was a public company, its share price would very likely fall in response.

Investors could then sue Anthropic for failing to disclose the risk of code leak, which later caused the share price to fall.

This mechanism has its limitations: it only works if AI harms are eventually reflected in stock prices of Anthropic.

In other words, the mechanism only protects the general public from AI risks indirectly – though protecting Anthropic’s investors first.

Read more: Musk’s SpaceX is shaping up as the biggest IPO on record. It’s also bending the rules to do so

How much more accountability should we expect?

The market is meant to incorporate all public information to arrive at the fair price of a public company.

In doing so, market listings should make it easier for investors to police AI safety. After all, it’s in investors’ interests to not drive humanity to the verge of collapse.

But is the market delivering on this function so far with AI?

So far, you’d have to say it’s not. For instance, the world’s second-largest stock exchange, the New York-based Nasdaq, controversially changed its own rules for SpaceX to join its Nasdaq 100 index after just 15 trading days, not the usual three months.

But perhaps there is still hope that investors’ own desire to survive AI will make them push companies to manage AI’s risks more responsibly.

Will it be enough? Probably not on its own. The risks most people worry about with AI – diffuse, slow-moving, hard to pin to a single quarter – may never register clearly in an earnings report.

But more disclosure is better than less. And more disclosure is exactly what these listings will finally force.

Marta Khomyn 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.

The fresh air, picturesque vistas and pristine bush of the Blue Mountains west of Sydney draw millions of visitors a year.

Unfortunately, the Blue Mountains are also the site of a controversial investigation into water contamination with “forever chemicals”, also called PFAS.

Our recent study investigated long-term PFAS contamination from two incidents, both involving petrol tanker crashes and fires. Both accidents occurred in drinking water catchments, and our study found contamination was present but undetected for 24 and 33 years, respectively. We have searched the international literature and could not find similar examples.

PFAS (Perfluoroalkyl and polyfluoroalkyl substances) are a broad category of thousands of synthetic chemicals used in numerous consumer and industry products. Exposure to PFAS is associated with a greater risk of several illnesses.

Our research shows how vulnerable drinking water supplies are to long-term PFAS contamination. It also shows how contamination can remain hidden due to an absence of PFAS monitoring.

Two historical accidents

The 1992 petrol tanker accident in the Blue Mountains at Medlow Bath caused PFAS contamination of the local drinking water supply. And 32 years later it forced the closure of two storage reservoirs.

Despite limited data, we identified the source of contamination as a type of foaming material used globally by firefighters to help extinguish burning fuel fires. This foaming substance was mixed with water using perfluorooctane sulfonate, a type of PFAS.

Firefighters used this substance to form a foam “blanket” and coat burning materials and extinguish liquid fires. The PFAS foams were used for decades before their harmful human health and environmental impacts were understood.

Nine years after the first petrol tanker accident, another fuel tanker crash and fire linked to PFAS contamination occurred in 2000, near Ourimbah on the NSW Central Coast. The fuel tanker was carrying 40,000 litres of fuel, and the crash and fire were triggered by a collision with a car. This resulted in the tragic death of two people.

Similar to the Medlow Bath accident, news footage showed water and foam were used to control the blaze. It also showed a foamy runoff draining from the accident.

Why are PFAS a problem?

PFAS, often called “forever chemicals”, are a broad category of thousands of synthetic chemicals. They are used in numerous products, such as non-stick cookware, stain-resistant fabrics, takeaway food packaging and even cosmetics.

PFAS molecules don’t easily break down, and readily accumulate in tissue of wildlife across the globe. Exposure to small amounts of PFAS sees the chemicals build up in the vital organs of animals and people. Analysis of human autopsy tissue revealed accumulation of PFAS in the brain, lungs, liver, kidney and bones.

In 2025, an Australian Bureau of Statistics report revealed nearly all Australians have PFAS chemicals accumulating in our bodies.

Should we be worried?

Exposure to PFAS is associated with a greater risk of several illnesses. These include decreased fertility, higher blood pressure, increased risk of cancer (particularly prostate, kidney and testicular cancers), liver disease, higher cholesterol and obesity.

One of the humans are likely to consume PFAS is through eating foods containing PFAS and in drinking water.

The Upper Blue Mountains water supply serves about 40,000 people, and operated by Sydney Water Corporation. It reported that one of the most hazardous forms of PFAS, PFOS, reached 16.4 nanograms per litre in the local drinking water on June 25 2024. This is double the safe amount, according to the recently revised Australian drinking water guidelines.

Discovery of PFAS triggered the closure of two drinking water reservoirs downstream of the Medlow Bath petrol tanker crash and fire. Although a lack of testing data creates uncertainty, it is likely PFAS contamination was undetected in the Blue Mountains drinking water supply for more than 30 years.

What our study showed

Our study showed contaminated creek water contained 2,000–2,400ng/L of PFOS in October 2025. This is 250–300 times the maximum safe concentration (less than 8ng/L) recommended by the Australian Drinking Water Guidelines.

The Blue Mountains contamination plume extended downstream into Greaves Creek, in the upper Blue Mountains. This creek is part of the UNESCO Blue Mountains World Heritage Area, where PFOS levels exceeded aquatic ecosystem guidelines by 100 times. The safe level of PFOS concentration for protection of freshwater species is 0.23ng/L.

As far as we know, the PFAS contamination identified in this study has not received any remediation to remove contaminated soil or water. Most PFAS contamination across Australia has occurred at sites where PFAS foam was used in repeated fire fighting training activities. Our work shows even single incidents involving PFAS can have long-lasting environmental impacts.

Ian A. Wright has received research funding from industry, local, NSW and Commonwealth Government. He has previously worked for the water industry (Sydney Water) as a scientist and catchment officer.

Amy-Marie Gilpin receives funding from the research and development corporation Hort Innovation.

Katherine Warwick receives funding from the water industry (Sydney Water), WIRES, local and state government bodies.

In recent weeks, the back-to-back state visits to Beijing by Russian President Vladimir Putin and US President Donald Trump have put China in the global spotlight.

For some international analysts, the summits showcased China as a “stabilising force capable of hosting two major rivals within days”, a “broker between the big powers” and a “pillar of global stability”.

To others, the visits highlighted how China is becoming an “indispensable global power” and President Xi Jinping a “world leader to be reckoned with and courted”.

Chinese analysts, meanwhile, noted that over the past six months, numerous other world leaders have visited Beijing, including those from France, Britain, Canada, South Korea and Germany. Crucially, some leaders returned after long gaps. It was the first visit in eight years by a UK prime minister, for example. And the first visit in nine years for a Canadian, South Korean and American leader.

With all these visits happening one after another, Chinese media described the Chinese capital as an international “living room” that provides stability in a turbulent world. Another headline read, “The world is entering ”Beijing time“.

Beyond the optics

While this has undeniably been a big moment on the global stage for Beijing, these interpretations miss three important points.

First, it is unclear whether world leaders are visiting China because of proactive Chinese diplomacy or as a way of gaining leverage in dealings with the Trump administration.

For example, when Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney visited Beijing in January, it was widely interpreted as a response to Canada’s structural dependence on the US and the volatility of the second Trump administration. Some media said he was playing the "China card” to negotiate better terms with the US.

Second, Beijing sets a high “entry price” for visits to its “living room”. Occasionally, these summits have been linked to major policy shifts by visiting dignitaries.

When Trump visited Beijing, for instance, he backtracked on earlier calls to block Chinese nationals from buying farmland in the US and to impose limits on the number of Chinese students at US universities. Chinese media highlighted the negative reactions these concessions got from Trump’s MAGA base and other Republicans in the US.

Similarly, Carney’s visit to China resulted in a trade deal reducing tariffs on made-in-China electric vehicles to 6.1% for the first 49,000 cars annually. In late 2024, Canada had imposed a 100% tariff on Chinese EVs. Months later, during the 2025 election, Carney called China the biggest threat “from a geopolitical sense”.

Carney’s concession on electric cars drew criticism back home. Politicians warned it would invite a “flood of cheap made-in-China electric vehicles”, without guarantees of investment in Canada’s economy.

Finally, these visits by foreign leaders have clearly not changed China’s core foreign policy positions.

The appeals of European leaders did not, for example, change Beijing’s material support for Russia’s war in Ukraine. Nor did they reduce China’s large trade surplus with the European Union.

Similarly, Beijing did not agree to assist the Trump administration on Iran, despite Trump’s praise for Xi’s leadership and his decision to pause a weapons sale to Taiwan.

And even Putin failed to resolve disagreements over the Power of Siberia 2 pipeline, a project long sought by Putin. If built, the pipeline could carry 50 billion cubic metres of Russian natural gas annually to China, or about 12% of China’s gas use in 2025.

Visibility without influence?

The recent influx of international leaders to China may instead be a reflection of growing uncertainty in the global order.

The dramatic shifts in US foreign policy under the Trump administration have prompted a great deal of concern among Washington’s traditional allies. It’s also provided an opportunity for China to project itself as a stable partner after years of pursuing its more aggressive, wolf-warrior diplomacy.

But these visits do not prove China’s diplomatic efforts have become more effective. Domestic economic pressures and competing international priorities still limit what Beijing can realistically deliver.

For example, to prevent factory closures and meet growth targets, Beijing channels massive state subsidies into certain manufacturing sectors. This creates surplus output that is exported globally – including to the EU – at artificially low prices. China can’t afford to rein these exports in.

At the same time, China has continued to support Russia and Iran in challenging the US and Europe’s security, despite the importance of these Western markets to China’s economic development.

As a result, high-profile meetings in Beijing produce ceremony and pomp, but deliver limited concrete outcomes.

These recent visits by Trump, Putin and other world leaders have certainly made China appear more central to global diplomacy. But this visibility does not necessarily translate into effective global leadership.

Czeslaw Tubilewicz 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.

When the University of Queensland Press cancelled the publication of Wiradjuri poet Jazz Money’s book Bila: A River Cycle because of a blog post by its illustrator, 60 UQP contributors signed a letter of protest. Some declared they would no longer publish with UQP. Fourteen staff members issued a statement decrying “the precedent the University of Queensland has set”.

Had HarperCollins, a publisher owned and controlled by the Murdoch family, nixed an Indigenous children’s book, the decision would perhaps not have been experienced as such a betrayal. UQP, however, boasts on its website of “publishing literary works, poetry and Aboriginal Torres Strait Islander stories”: scarcely an orientation one usually associates with politicised book pulping.

The Bila episode follows a recent pattern in which supposedly progressive institutions and organisations respond to any connection to the Gaza genocide as aggressively as their right-wing counterparts, or even more so.

Conservative politicians and the right-wing press systematically demonise the Palestinian cause and its supporters. According to a study by Ette media, the Australian published, between October 7 2023 and April 9 2026, an astonishing 412 articles wholly or in part about Palestinian writer Randah Abdel-Fattah. Yet some of the most punitive campaigns have played out not in the corporate sector but at the ABC and within the university sector.

In How to Sell a Genocide: The Media’s Complicity in the Destruction of Gaza, Adam Johnson explores a similar phenomenon in the United States. His book does not focus, he says, on “the conservative or MAGA media’s dehumanization of Palestinians”. This is partly because right-wing outlets such as Fox News, the Wall Street Journal and The Daily Wire don’t disguise their anti-Palestinian stance, but also because the timing of the war in Gaza made the reporting and commentary by supposed progressives particularly important.

“There was,” Johnson reminds us, “a Democratic president in office when the genocide began in earnest, and support from Democrats in Congress and in the think-tank and media world was dispositive in continuing said genocide.”

His critique of what he calls the “Center-Left media” is based on careful documentation of some 12,000 articles and 5,000 television clips. He brings, as they say, the receipts.

For instance, Johnson notes that CNN – a pillar of US liberalism – mentioned the child deaths in the first 100 days of the Ukraine war far more (4,223 times) than child deaths in the corresponding period in Gaza (3,632 times). On MSNBC, child victims of the Ukraine war featured 1,775 times, compared with 1,522 times for Gaza.

Yet, in the first 100 days of the Ukraine conflict, 262 children died. In Gaza, the toll of dead kids exceeded 10,000.

The systematic obliteration of civilian infrastructure in Gaza meant that, even in the initial period Johnson studied, 80% of the population was displaced. In Ukraine, the equivalent figure was only 33%. Yet Johnson finds the US television networks referred to refugees, displaced people and similar terms eight times more often for Ukrainians than for Palestinians (1,663 versus 211).

Lexical scruples

The International Association of Genocide Scholars describes the Israeli war on Gaza as meeting the legal definition of genocide. The association’s position came after a vote, so we know it reflects the judgement of 86% of its members.

Almost all the major human rights organisations and NGOs agree, including Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, B’Tselem, the Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention, Genocide Watch, the European Centre for Constitutional and Human Rights, the Middle East Studies Association, Oxfam and Physicians for Human Rights Israel.

Yet most liberal news outlets still do not use the word “genocide” in relation to Gaza.

Johnson shows how such lexical scruples do not apply elsewhere. “Even though the destruction of Gaza, by all objective metrics, has been magnitudes more brutal and deadly than that of Russia’s invasion and occupation of Ukraine,” he observes, “the totalising moral labels of ‘war crime’ and ‘genocide’ were used on CNN and MSNBC 17.2 times more often in the context of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine than Israel’s action in Gaza.”

His review of the first 30 days of the two conflicts found that, on CNN and MSNBC, Ukrainians were described on air as victims of genocide or war crimes 1,790 times: 1,515 for war crimes and 275 for genocide. When the victims were Palestinian, the terms were used 104 times: 92 for war crimes and 12 for genocide.

“Ostensibly non-opinionated reporters and ‘analysts’ on both MSNBC and CNN,” writes Johnson, “often asserted, as a matter of fact, that Russia was committing war crimes against Ukrainians, without this being seen as violating their neutrality.”

Higher standards

Israel’s defenders insist the country should not be held to a higher standard than other nations. Johnson’s research shows the opposite is true: judgements regularly made in other contexts become controversial only when applied to Israel.

After an attack on the Al-Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza City killed about 200 Palestinians on October 17 2023, Israeli spokespeople denounced early media accounts that blamed an IDF air strike, releasing a recording purportedly capturing a dialogue between Palestinian militants accepting responsibility for the blast.

Channel 4 quickly debunked the audio as a clumsy fake; the investigative group Forensic Architecture determined that most of Israel’s claims about the hospital attack were demonstrably false.

In the months that followed, the IDF engaged in what UN experts later described as “medicide”: namely, the targeted destruction of Gaza’s healthcare system and the killing of more than 1,500 healthcare workers. In one particularly ghastly incident, the IDF fired on five clearly marked ambulances and a fire truck after they came to the aid of Palestinians wounded in an earlier attack.

A subsequent investigation by Forensic Architecture and Earshot alleged the soldiers fired more than 900 bullets at the convoy, before shooting the survivors at close range. The IDF then deployed bulldozers to crush and cover the vehicles, and bury the dead in an unmarked mass grave.

That was one year and five months after Israeli president Isaac Herzog rejected allegations of Israeli responsibility for the Al-Ahli hospital attack as a “blood libel”.

The pushback by the Israelis led to US news outlets formulating new policies. CNN and the New York Times began instructing employees that attacks could only be attributed to Israel after confirmation from the IDF and GPS coordinate location. Johnson quotes a source at CNN:

Whether it’s in the newsroom or in the field, we couldn’t credit anything to Israel unless we were held to this impossibly high bar of having to call it an “explosion”, until we geolocated the site of the explosion, sent the coordinates to the Israelis and asked them for comment.

Asked about whether the policy was applied in other conflicts, such as the Ukraine war, Johnson’s source answers: “Never, never, never, never, never.”

Terms and conditions

Previously, the World Health Organization, Human Rights Watch and the US State Department had all used data from the Gaza Health Ministry because of its proven reliability. After the Al-Ahli hospital attack, US news outlets began appending the description “Hamas-controlled” or “Hamas-run” to descriptions of the health ministry. Johnson says:

in our 100-day survey period, CNN used the “Hamas-run” label and related terms 277 times and MSNBC used it 146 times, despite neither using it once between October 7, 2023 and October 17, 2023.

The practice spread, including to Australia. By October 28 2023, the Sydney Morning Herald was also attributing casualty figures to the “Hamas-controlled Health Ministry”.

While no one has yet studied the liberal media in Australia with the rigour applied by Johnson in the US, the available evidence suggests it followed the patterns he describes. As I noted in a piece for Deep Cut News, the Age published a bold editorial declaring:

There is a genocide happening today […] Our government should urgently, repeatedly and loudly call for international intervention, and lead in imposing sanctions. We should send bountiful aid to the victims, and halt economic and diplomatic relations […] unless and until the savagery is stopped. All of us, as Australians, should shun travel […] for tourism or business.

And our government should, as it did with the Syrian refugee crisis a few years ago, rapidly engineer an intake of […] refugees.

That wasn’t about Gaza. It appeared in 2017, in relation to the persecution of the Rohingya people in Mynamar.

Some commentators point to the absence of a final judgement by the International Court of Justice in relation to Gaza. But in 2017 the International Court of Justice had not ruled that the killings of the Rohingya were genocidal. It still hasn’t. The glacial pace at which the court moves means genocide allegations brought by Gambia against Myanmar remain unresolved.

Nevertheless, in 2017, the Age saw no problem with using the word “genocide” after studying reports from Medecins Sans Frontieres about “a deliberate, systematic campaign causing death and human suffering”.

Today, Medecins Sans Frontiers describes Israel’s operations in Gaza as genocidal. The Age does not. It has not published an editorial akin to that it issued in respect of Mynamar; it has not called for the government to impose sanctions, nor urged Australians to boycott Israel.

An acquiescent press

How to explain the special treatment of Israel by the liberal press?

The Gaza war focused attention on lobbyists and their influence on politics and the media. In the US, the American Israel Public Affairs Committee devoted the staggering sum of US$100 million in 2024 to unseating candidates it deemed insufficiently supportive of Israel.

In his book Dateline Jerusalem, veteran journalist John Lyons describes a similar process in Australia. Well before the Gaza war, he witnessed the brutal discrimination dished out by Israeli soldiers to 12-year-old Palestinians in the West Bank, but recognised that, if he reported it, “I would be the target of a backlash which would be tough, nasty and prolonged”.

So it proved. His 2014 story Stone Cold Justice won a Walkley, but he was “attacked professionally, personally and relentlessly by the pro-Israel lobby and its supporters”.

Famously, Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky list “flak” from corporate lobbyists as one of the filters that produces an acquiescent press. Dissenting journalists face a barrage of time-consuming complaints so exhausting it induces preemptive self-censorship. Flak from pro-Israel groups aims, as Lyons puts it, “to make journalists decide that, even if they have a legitimate story that may criticise Israel, it’s simply not worth running it as it will cause ‘more trouble than it’s worth’”.

Along with the stick comes various carrots. In Australia, pro-Israel groups regularly provide journalists, editors and other media workers (as well as politicians) with all-expenses-paid “study trips” to the Middle East. Recipients of this largesse include a roll call of conservative media talent, but also include prominent journalists from the liberal press.

To contextualise that record, consider the response when hundreds of media workers (including me) signed an open letter on the Gaza conflict in 2023, calling on outlets to, among other issues, reject “both sideism”, centre the human casualties, show equal scepticism to IDF and Hamas reports, report credible allegations of “war crimes, genocide, ethnic cleansing and apartheid”, and cover the anti-war movement.

In reply, Nine issued a memo written by Tory Maguire, then executive editor of the Sydney Morning Herald and the Age, and signed by then Age editor Patrick Elligett, SMH editor Bevan Shields and national editor David King. The memo cautioned journalists that “personal agendas” should not influence reporting.

The principle, Maguire wrote, meant that “any newsroom staff who signed this latest industry letter will be unable to participate in any reporting or production relating to the war”.

Guardian staff received a similar message from the editors of its Australian, US and UK organisations: Lenore Taylor, Betsy Reed and Kath Viner. The memo explained that staff “should not sign public petitions or open letters about matters that have, or could be perceived to have, a bearing on [the publication’s] ability to report the news in a fair and fact-based way”.

Maguire, Shields and King had previously travelled to Israel on “study trips”; so had Taylor. A petition calling for fair cover for Palestinians created a perception of “bias” – but accepting free travel and accommodation from Israel or pro-Israel groups did not.

Double standards

Such double standards foster allegations of a media “captured” by pro-Israel lobbyists, a claim that can degenerate into antisemitic conspiracism. Johnson’s book rests on a much better analysis, one that centres US rather than Israeli power.

Three decades ago, secretary of state Alexander Haig provided a simple explanation of why Tel Aviv mattered so much to Washington. “Israel,” he said, “is the largest American aircraft carrier in the world that cannot be sunk, does not carry even one American solider, and is located in a critical region for American national security.”

Since the 1970s, the US has looked to Israel to protect American interests in the oil-rich Middle East. To equip Israel for that function, the US provides more cumulative foreign aid to Israel than any other nation: since 1948, more than US$300 billion (adjusted for inflation) in total.

Most US support, particularly in recent years, pertains to defence. The majority of Israel’s air force and all of its combat aircraft are made in the US. The analyst William D. Hartung estimates that, since the Hamas attack on October 7 2023, the US government has provided Israel with US$21.7 billion of military aid.

If we recognise America’s strategic reliance on Israel, we are better positioned to understand the liberal response to Gaza, which also needs to be seen in the context of Trumpism. During the first Trump administration, many progressive institutions ostentatiously signalled their opposition to a presidency they considered illegitimate and anomalous.

Johnson notes that, when the killing of George Floyd in 2020 spurred a revival of the Black Lives Matter movement, “media outlets, cultural nonprofits, and colleges issued lofty – if vague – statements of support for racial justice”. These were low-stakes anti-Trump gestures that aligned mainstream liberals with what they saw as the imminent restoration of progressive normality.

Support for Ukraine was equally easy. Unlike Palestinians, Ukrainians were, after all, understood by the Western media as civilised. In the London Telegraph, pundit Daniel Hannon spelled out why Ukrainian suffering resonated in the West: “They seem so like us. That is what makes it so shocking.” In 2022, CBS News foreign correspondent Charlie D’Agata explained (in remarks for which he subsequently apologised) that Ukraine was not “a place, with all due respect, like Iraq or Afghanistan, that has seen conflict raging for decades”; it was “relatively civilized, relatively European”.

Johnson shows that, in the period he surveyed, the New York Times, the Associated Press, the Washington Post, CNN, Politico, USA Today and Axios collectively used the term “savage” 16 times for the killing of Israelis, but never for the killing of Palestinians.

Likewise, “slaughter” appeared 120 times in relation to the killing of Israelis, but only once for Palestinians. “Massacre” was used 344 times in relation to Palestinians killing Israelis, but never for Israelis killing Palestinians. “Barbaric” was used 14 times to describe the killing of Israelis, but zero times in relation to the deaths of Palestinians.

The cable coverage displayed a similar pattern. Johnson records that on MSNBC, presenters and guests used “massacre” 177 times, “barbaric” 46 times, “savage” 23 times and “slaughter” 102 times in relation to Israeli deaths. They never called the killing of Palestinians “barbaric” or “savage”. In relation to Palestinians, they only used “massacre” eight times and “slaughter” four times.

References to “savagery” and “barbarism” echo the logic of settler colonialism, identifying the uncivilised natives as a problem to be solved.

The sphere of deviancy

By denouncing Putin’s invasion, liberal politicians and institutions were opposing a traditional US adversary. They were siding with the incoming Biden administration and most Western nations. And they were distancing themselves from an increasingly unpopular Trump, widely seen as sympathetic to Russia.

After October 7 2023, the calculus changed. Unlike a stance on Ukraine, opposition to Israel’s war was not cost-free. Hostility to the longstanding foreign policy consensus required a modicum of courage. In the terms established by Daniel Hallin’s famous study of the US media and Vietnam, The “Uncensored War” (1986), those who opposed Israel’s war stepped outside the “sphere of consensus” and the “sphere of legitimate controversy” to inhabit the “sphere of deviancy”.

This is a space occupied, in Hallin’s words, by “those political actors and views which journalists and the political mainstream of the society reject as unworthy of being heard”.

Not surprisingly, as Johnson explains, institutions that had previously backed Black Lives Matter, the people of Ukraine and other popular causes “found both their tongues and hands tied on the subject of social justice as the death toll in Gaza skyrocketed”.

In 2022, Harvard president Lawrence Bacow proclaimed his institution’s solidarity with Ukraine with a rousing speech. “Now is the time for all voices to be raised,” he declared:

The deplorable actions of Vladimir Putin put at risk the lives of millions of people and undermine the concept of sovereignty. Institutions devoted to the perpetuation of democratic ideals and to the articulation of human rights have a responsibility to condemn such wanton aggression […]

Today the Ukrainian flag flies over Harvard Yard. Harvard University stands with the people of Ukraine.

By 2024, Harvard had changed its mind. The time for raising voices had, apparently, come to an end. In the face of student protests, Harvard announced it would “no longer take positions on matters outside of the university”.

Johnson notes that 50% of the top US colleges – including Johns Hopkins, Northwestern, Yale, Cornell, Columbia, University of Michigan, Stanford, University of Pennsylvania, University of Virginia, Dartmouth and UCLA – issued statements of support either for Ukraine and/or for Israel in February 2022 and October 2023.

Then, as the Gaza crisis intensified, they suddenly explained they couldn’t take stands on political issues.

Third partying

The media, however, had to say something. In 2016, progressive outlets in the US had portrayed Trump as something akin to a fascist. In 2020, they had campaigned, more-or-less openly, for the Democrats. Even sober publications such as the New York Times made clear their preference for Joe Biden: a sensible centrist who would restore decency and democracy. Not surprisingly, in 2023, the Gaza genocide – and Biden’s complicity with the killing – created a tremendous ideological crisis for the liberal media.

Johnson notes that Biden could have stopped the war at any time, citing multiple Israeli sources to that effect. In November 2023, for instance, retired Israeli major general Yitzhak Brick acknowledged that the Gaza operation depended utterly on the US:

All of our missiles, the ammunition, the precision-guided bombs, all the airplanes and bombs, it’s all from the US. The minute they turn off the tap, you can’t keep fighting. You have no capability […] Everyone understands that we can’t fight this war without the United States. Period.

Michael Herzog, the former Israeli ambassador to the US, explained:

God did the State of Israel a favor that Biden was the president during this period, because it could have been much worse. We fought for over a year, and the administration never came to us and said, ‘ceasefire now’. It never did. And that’s not to be taken for granted.

Biden’s agency was rarely acknowledged by the mainstream media. Johnson describes the emergence of several distinctive styles of reporting that allowed “the average media consumer – and media worker – to cope with the undeniable and untenable war crimes being carried out by their leaders before their eyes”. A common trope involved what he dubs “Third Partying”. This entailed journalists framing the US “as a neutral party – even a humanitarian force – always looking (but, mysteriously, always failing) to end the conflict”.

Liberals depicted Biden as helpless. As the New York Times put it, the most powerful man in the world was supposedly constrained by the “limits of US influence in the Mideast”. They wrote stories about what Johnson calls “Fuming/Deeply Concerned Biden”, in which the president featured as “secretly upset, outraged, having stern words for Netanyahu, or privately sad or anguished about civilian casualties”.

We might think about these tropes in relation to journalism professor Jay Rosen’s work on the professional socialisation of political journalists into what he describes as the “savvy style”. Rosen explains:

In politics, our journalists believe, it is better to be savvy than it is to be honest or correct on the facts. It’s better to be savvy than it is to be just, good, fair, decent, strictly lawful, civilized, sincere, thoughtful or humane. Savviness is what journalists admire in others. Savvy is what they themselves dearly wish to be. (And to be unsavvy is far worse than being wrong.)

Savviness is that quality of being shrewd, practical, hyper-informed, perceptive, ironic, “with it”, and unsentimental in all things political. And what is the truest mark of savviness? Winning, of course! Or knowing who the winners are.

In relation to Gaza, savvy commentators recognised (though not necessary openly) the US reliance on Israel to maintain hegemony in the Middle East. Savviness meant understanding the political consequences of that relationship: namely, that US politicians would back Israel under almost every circumstance.

The Australian situation

Though the Australian situation is different, certain parallels can be identified.

The Albanese government came to power in 2022 with considerable support from a liberal media impressed by Labor’s aura of competence, particularly in contrast to the shambolic Morrison administration.

As a backbencher, Anthony Albanese had spoken at rallies to denounce the IDF for meeting “children throwing rocks with helicopters, with tanks and with missiles”. But as prime minister, he and his foreign minister Penny Wong sought, above all else, to strengthen the US alliance as a counter to an increasingly confident China. In relation to Gaza, Australia determinedly followed the US lead.

The tropes identified by Johnson appeared, in slightly modified form, in the Australian liberal press. For instance, after Greens leader Adam Bandt’s defeat in the seat of Melbourne during the federal election in May 2025, Nine’s David Crowe explained that Bandt had lost in part because he had:

seized on the war in Gaza to accuse Albanese of knowingly aiding Israel in a genocide. There was no such support for genocide; the Australian government wants a ceasefire and a two-state solution. Most importantly, most Australians knew their government did not have the power to stop the war. The Greens leader was eyeless in Gaza, blind to the danger for him and his party.

Crowe was right to say that an Australian prime minister lacked the power of a US president to stop the war. But Bandt had never suggested otherwise. Instead, the Greens – like many others – had insisted that abstract calls for a ceasefire and a two-state solution (an outcome that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has repeatedly vowed to oppose) meant nothing unless accompanied by what Bandt called pressure from “real, concrete steps”, such as an end to military trade, the imposition of sanctions and the expulsion of the Israeli ambassador.

Symptomatically, in his condemnation of Bandt, Crowe does not reject his description of the war as genocidal. Instead, he presents Bandt’s response as an electoral misfire by the Greens. “Young voters may be drawn to its exaggerated rhetoric and confected conflict,” he concludes, “but voters trend to drop the party as they age.”

We might again recall Jay Rosen. “Prohibited from joining in political struggles,” he writes,

dedicated to observing what is, regardless of whether it ought to be, the savvy believe that these disciplines afford them a special view of the arena, cured of excess sentiment, useless passion, ideological certitude and other defects of vision that players in the system routinely exhibit. The savvy don’t say: I have a better argument than you. They say: I am closer to reality than you.

Throughout the liberal media in Australia, the question of Gaza often manifested as a tension between employees and management. In November 2023, for instance, the Australian Financial Review reported on a meeting by the staff of Schwartz Media, publisher of the Saturday Paper, at which editor-in-chief Erik Jensen addressed concerns about the paper’s response to the Gaza crisis.

As far back as 2021, Alex McKinnon, the one-time morning editor of the Saturday Paper, identified what he called “an unofficial but widely known editorial policy of avoiding coverage of Israel and Palestine, especially any coverage that could be perceived as being critical of the Israeli government’s ongoing human rights abuses of Palestinians”. Many staff members, said McKinnon, “expressed discomfort with it, but all seemed resigned to it”.

In response to McKinnon, Jensen rejected claims of a pro-Israel bias. He said the same in the 2023 staff meeting. Yet, as the staff reportedly argued, the Saturday Paper had previously distinguished itself with overt stances on other progressive causes, such as refugee rights and climate; it campaigned, through the dogged reporting of Rick Morton, for justice over the Robodebt scandal.

On May 21 2022, the Saturday Paper called for the defeat of Scott Morrison in the federal election, saying Morrison “will be remembered, if he is remembered at all, as the country’s great torturer”. On April 8 2023, the paper attacked Peter Dutton’s stance on the Indigenous Voice to Parliament, saying his “cynicism is boundless” and calling him an “ugly person who makes true the old joke about politics and show business”. The editorial accused him of dividing the country with his “ghoul politics”.

Elections and Indigenous reconciliation are important issues. But so is genocide. Had the Saturday Paper applied the same editorial focus to Gaza, it might have published something like this:

How will history regard the government of Albanese, Chalmers, Marles and Wong? It will record that after two and half years of genocide by Israel, Australia’s leadership invited Israel’s president for a state visit. Australia refused to condemn the raft of war crimes committed by Israel and supported by the United States, first in Gaza and then in Iran and southern Lebanon. […]

Australia has said nothing while Israel has continued to assassinate journalists, medics, aid workers, diplomats, foreign and spiritual leaders across the Middle East. Worse, it has done nothing even to dissuade Israel – no sanctions, no calls for justice or statements of support for the ICC arrest warrants, not even stopping our arms trade to Israel.

This passage was written by Nick Feik, the former editor of Schwartz Media’s magazine the Monthly, but it didn’t run in the Monthly or in the Saturday Paper. It appeared on Feik’s personal Substack.

Alternative platforms

That’s symptomatic of a growing trend in which writers horrified at the genocide are, either by choice or necessity, publishing on alternative platforms rather than the established liberal outlets. Robert Manne has long been acknowledged one of the most important public intellectuals in Australia. Remarkably, if you want to read his thoughtful comments on Gaza, Bondi and antisemitism, you must turn, not to any of the mainstream papers, but to his Substack.

Rick Morton, who spearheaded the Saturday Paper’s coverage of Robodebt, posted his thoughts on Gaza and the Bondi massacre on Ghost, a Substack alternative, in January 2026. He quit his job at the Saturday Paper shortly afterwards.

Alex McKinnon established a Substack to report “what others won’t about Australia’s silence on Palestine”; he later launched Deep Cut News with Antoun Issa, who resigned from the Guardian in 2024 “due to objections over the outlet’s coverage of the Gaza genocide”.

Antoinette Lattouf – who won a high-profile legal case against the ABC after it sacked her for sharing a post from Human Rights Watch about Gaza – now works with Jan Fran making podcasts and YouTube shows for their own Ette Media.

Scott Mitchell and Osman Faruqi, who both worked for Schwartz’s 7am podcast (as well as various other outlets), collaborate on the news platform Lamestream.

The proliferation of new outlets and the rejuvenation of older ones, such as Overland, has led to important interventions. The Klaxon, a project of investigative journalist Anthony Klan, doggedly pursued the ties between John Roth, the husband of antisemitism envoy Jillian Segal, and the far-right Advance project. Deep Cut News published the letter in which a pro-Israel academic group lobbied to exclude Abdel-Fattah from the Bendigo Writers Festival. Lamestream broke the story about UQP’s cancellation of Jazz Money’s book.

Yet good journalism does not, in itself, guarantee the survival of the outlets who conduct it. The mass street movement in support of Gaza created a new audience for alternative publications. But with the establishment of a ceasefire (though not a genuine peace) the protests have declined, creating a difficult environment for media projects challenging the liberal consensus.

Legal ramifications

In the US context, Johnson doubts that the progressive outlets that supported the genocide will pay much of a short-term price. On the contrary, he identifies a process of rationalisation and justification already underway. Insofar as liberals apportion blame, they attribute it to Netanyahu and what they see as an unfortunate overreaction by the IDF to the barbarities of Hamas. He concludes:

Mostly, I think the genocide in Gaza will be put into a memory hole, forgotten, dismissed as a lefty ‘obsession’, or hung up, the disproportionate focus of which, it will be heavily implied, is evidence of latent antisemitism. And that will be that.

Nevertheless, the consequences of so much killing cannot be evaded entirely. The precedent set by the genocide will reverberate for generations, in the media and elsewhere. As Johnson notes,

we will likely see versions of Gaza play out in the coming decades across various peripheries […] And the model of deflection, dehumanization, and liberal excuse-making perfected during the Gaza genocide will be the template – the weapons, technological and rhetorical, having been sharpened over late 2023 into 2025.

The Gazafication of south Lebanon provides one immediate and obvious example, but there are others. The indifference to legal norms shown by Donald Trump when he greenlit the US and Israeli war on Iran reflected the experience of Gaza, where nothing said by the International Court or the United Nations or similar bodies made any difference at all.

Discussing Trump’s kidnapping of Venezuela’s president Nicolás Maduro, legal scholars Oona A. Hathaway and Scott J. Shapiro warn:

It is not just the existing international legal system that is in jeopardy now. At risk is the survival of any rules at all – and with them any constraints on the exercise of state power.

In that context, as historian Pankaj Mishra concludes, the

critique of the fourth estate, the so-called pillar of democracy, not only becomes more pertinent. It resonates as a broader analysis of the decay of democratic institutions in the West.

How to Sell a Genocide is part of that critique. But much more remains to be done.

Jeff Sparrow has signed statements of solidarity with Palestine and participated in campus campaigns against the genocide in Gaza.

Indie sleaze is back, but not as you remember it. The 00s scene’s revival taps into a growing backlash against hyper-polished influencer culture, offering a messier, more authentic alternative that feels both nostalgic and deliberately staged.

The original indie sleaze look of the 2000s was an intentionally unrefined way of dressing, driven by a desire to stand apart from mainstream fashion, with a carefully constructed sense of effortless cool.

The look was built from a recognisable set of clothing and styling details.

Black or acid-wash skinny jeans were central, paired with vintage T-shirts featuring band logos or bold graphics. Leather biker jackets reflected indie and punk influences, while sheer tights, often with rips or ladders, were styled with body-con dresses and oversized knits worn over mini-skirts. Footwear reinforced the relaxed, undone feel with worn-in Dr Martens, Converse and ballet flats completing the look.

Culturally, the trend was rooted in the indie music scenes and nightlife cultures of cities like London and New York. Bands like The Strokes, Arctic Monkeys, The Libertines and Yeah Yeah Yeahs influenced the style by popularising a deliberately dishevelled, off-duty look that blurred the line between stage wear and everyday dress.

The style was also worn by well known models such as Kate Moss and it girl Alexa Chung. These women brought the look to a wider audience, as they captured its mix of nonchalance and effortless styling in front of the camera and across early digital media.

No one’s 20s and 30s look the same. You might be saving for a mortgage or just struggling to pay rent. You could be swiping dating apps, or trying to understand childcare. No matter your current challenges, our Quarter Life series has articles to share in the group chat, or just to remind you that you’re not alone.

Read more from Quarter Life:

• Why Charli XCX might be gen Z’s answer to the Romantic poets

• Let ‘performative males’ be – gender has always been a performance and our need for authenticity is bad for us

• Is today’s political climate making dating harder for young people?

The origin of indie sleaze

Indie sleaze emerged just before social media became fully embedded in everyday life. While early platforms like Tumblr played a role in circulating party photography and candid, flash-heavy imagery, the moment still felt more spontaneous and less controlled. It was a time before style was divided into “aesthetics” and “cores”, when young people dressed a certain way because they were part of a scene, not because they had discovered a neatly packaged, shoppable trend online.

As such, the original indie sleaze sat at a transitional moment, where subculture, style and digital self-presentation began to merge, but had not yet become fully commodified.

The indie sleaze revival taps into a desire for something that feels raw, imperfect and less controlled, in contrast to today’s hyper-curated digital environment. What makes indie sleaze appealing to a new generation is perhaps not simply how it looked, but what it allowed – messiness, excess, emotional openness and a rejection of constant self-improvement.

But there’s a contradiction. The original indie sleaze was socially driven, shaped by nightlife and real-world scenes, whereas the 2026 version exists within a culture that is far more curated. In many ways, the “sleaze” is missing. What remains is a stylised version of messiness.

The current revival grows out of the Y2K trend (a revival of early 2000s fashion and aesthetics), but it’s best understood as a reaction or mutation of it rather than a continuation. The initial Y2K revival (late 2010s into early 2020s) was glossy and hyper-feminine, reintroducing early‑2000s silhouettes like low‑rise jeans, micro bags, butterflies, neon and logo culture.

Indie sleaze draws on a similar era, but strips away the polish. Where Y2K is shiny, indie sleaze is grimy. Where Y2K is cute and curated-for-pretty, indie sleaze is curated-for-attitude. This is where the looks overlap. Neon carries over but is used abrasively rather than playfully. Ballet flats reappear but styled with sheer tights and dark makeup rather than the sweet and girly aesthetic from before. The low-effort silhouettes remain but are framed as emotional and anti-glam rather than flirty.

Culturally, there remains a strong link to both a musical and digitally social narrative. Take for example the song Messy, by Lola Young. Not only does the artist herself confirm to the semiotic iconography of the look with her unprettified dark, smudged makeup, heavy boots, leather, denim and oversized silhouettes, but the song itself communicates a message of messiness. Not in a chaotic party sense, but in its emotional exposure.

Lyrically the song explores themes of rejecting polite femininity; she’s too loud, too emotional, too much and she’s not interested in fixing that. That attitude translates into what indie sleaze represents today. The refusal of optimisation, acceptance of visible flaws and leaning into excess rather than managing it away.

The resurgence also reflects how we now engage with the past through platforms like TikTok and Instagram, where cultural moments are converted into digestible visual codes. Indie sleaze is no longer a subculture but an archive of recognisable signs: smudged makeup, flash photography, slip dresses, battered leather. These reference points are easy to remix and circulate, making the trend especially suited to algorithmic spaces and inseparable from digital culture, even as it romanticises pre-digital freedoms.

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.

Sir Donald Bradman needs little introduction.

Cricket – and possibly world sport’s – most dominant figure, “The Don” is known for his staggering batting feats, including a scarcely believable batting average of 99.94, and his leadership of Australia’s 1948 team nicknamed the “Invincibles”.

However, few would know Bradman was a key figure behind cricket’s transformation from time-consuming five-day matches to the chaotic world of one-day and Twenty20 (T20) games that dominate the sport’s calendar, broadcasts and finances today.

And it was all sparked by Melbourne’s oft-criticised weather, some worried bean-counters, and a bright idea.

Sports can change dramatically in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, these moments create immediate shockwaves. Other times, it’s not until much later that their impact become obvious. This is the first story in a rolling series that explores key (and sometimes long forgotten) moments in sports history.

Read more: Game changers: how soccer’s mega-money era was sparked by a little-known Belgian athlete

The first one-day international

Domestic one-day matches of between 40 and 60 overs a side had been played in India and England since the 1950s.

These shorter, more dynamic games were aimed at attracting new spectators.

However, they had not been considered for international matches.

The first one-day international (ODI) in 1971 was an accident: an unscheduled match played as a last-minute replacement for a Test abandoned due to heavy rain.

According to Australia’s captain Bill Lawry, the match was conceived by Bradman for financial reasons. Facing heavy financial losses the English and Australian cricket boards agreed to play a game on what would have been the last day of the Test.

Around 46,000 spectators saw Australia win after each side was allotted 40 eight-ball overs.

It was a financial hit, popular with spectators and deemed an “overwhelming success” by the media.

But growth of this format was slow, mainly due to the conservative nature of international boards.

The next ODI did not happen until August 1972, and other countries did not start playing them until 1973.

Remarkably, considering the amateur status of women athletes at the time, the first limited-overs World Cup was a women’s tournament in England in 1973 – two years before the maiden men’s World Cup was played.

One-day cricket’s popularity soon soared, especially after the men’s World Cup in 1975.

Kerry Packer’s World Series Cricket, launched in 1977, confirmed its place on the international cricketing calendar and played a huge role in the shorter format’s popularity.

The media baron was desperate to showcase cricket on Channel Nine but his TV rights bid was rejected by the Australian Cricket Board. Aggrieved, Packer instead set up a breakaway competition, signing many of the world’s best players.

The new-look competition featured brightly coloured team kits, white balls, games under lights and batters wearing helmets – all of which are still in place today.

How ODIs changed cricket

Test cricket was, and often still is, criticised for being too slow and boring.

The limited number of overs in ODIs increased the speed of the game: batters looked to score more quickly and take more risks, which resulted in more boundaries.

Clive Lloyd, who captained the West Indies to two World Cup wins, called limited-overs cricket the greatest innovation for the sport. He specifically referred to improved standards of fielding and tactical awareness.

ODIs have greatly increased athleticism: batters need to be stronger to hit more boundaries and quicker to ensure they are fast enough when running between wickets.

Fielders need to be faster and more athletic to stop boundaries and extra runs. They also need stronger arms to throw the ball faster.

In 1992, fielding restrictions were introduced for the first 15 overs, only allowing two fielders outside of a 30-yard circle. This promoted early aggressive batting.

These fielding restrictions forced captains to rethink field placements and bowling rotations.

While Australia scored 191 runs to win the first ODI, current teams regularly surpass 300.

Scoring has increased because of power hitting, bigger bats, specific training and better running between wickets.

Boundary ropes introduced for player safety also reduced the distance required to hit a boundary.

Bowlers have had to develop more variations, such as slower balls, to make it harder for them to score runs.

In this shorter format, the importance of all-rounders (players who can bat and bowl competently) has increased greatly.

Wicketkeepers are also expected to be better batters. Former Australian wicketkeeper Adam Gilchrist had success opening the batting, which gave his team more flexibility to include other batters and all-rounders.

Player uniforms also evolved.

One-day clashes originally used traditional white clothing, but colour uniforms introduced a new dimension for televised cricket. They have been used permanently since the 1992 World Cup.

As the format evolved, player names and then numbers were gradually added to playing tops, making identification easier for commentators and spectators.

Read more: Game changers: how one team’s dominance transformed rugby league forever

Continuing relevance

Limited-overs cricket laid the platform for even shorter formats such as T20s, the Hundred and even ten over games.

Ironically, these innovative formats now threaten the continued relevance of 50-over cricket.

Analysis of more than 340 ODI matches played in Australia between 1985 and 2015 shows average attendances have declined over time. In the 1980s, games in Australia regularly drew crowds of more than 35,000, but in recent years attendance has struggled to regularly reach 25,000 per match.

However, major events like World Cups can still draw large crowds. The 2023 tournament was attended by a record 1.25 million people and made Australian captain Pat Cummins “fall in love with ODI cricket again”.

ODIs have given fans decades of drama and achievement.

Older fans still remember classic games such as Australia’s tied 1999 World Cup semifinal against South Africa, and Michael Bevan’s last-ball four to beat the West Indies on New Year’s Day in 1996.

But 50-over cricket now faces a challenge to stay relevant alongside more exciting and more profitable T20 tournaments.

If ODIs are to keep their place in a busy cricket calendar, they must continue evolving to ensure they maintain player and audience interest.

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.

The 2026 Fifa World Cup is the biggest ever edition of the world’s most watched sporting tournament. The 48 teams taking part in Canada, the US and Mexico may find their toughest opponent is the extreme heat.

Very hot temperatures are expected across many of the states including Texas, California and Florida where World Cup games are being held this summer, with wildfire risks being highlighted in some states. The tournament kicks off on June 11.

The problems heat causes during matches were visible during the 2025 Fifa Club World Cup, played in the same summer months and across many of the same North American venues. Players and managers repeatedly referenced the stifling weather conditions.

Borussia Dortmund manager Niko Kovač said after a match in Cincinnati he was “sweating like I’ve just come out of a sauna”. Chelsea midfielder Enzo Fernández described conditions as “very dangerous”, adding that “everything becomes very slow”. Juventus manager Igor Tudor revealed that ten players asked to be substituted during a match against Real Madrid in Miami, where temperatures reached 30°C, with 70% humidity.

North America’s last World Cup (USA 1994) also produced memorable scenes relating to heat. German striker Jürgen Klinsmann recalled: “I played in Dallas at 120 degrees [49°C ] I was dying” in a match against South Korea. Meanwhile, Republic of Ireland manager Jack Charlton was reprimanded by Fifa officials for throwing water bottles onto the pitch to help his dehydrated players during a game in Orlando.

Extreme heat is not just uncomfortable – it threatens both health and performance. Football already has documented cases of heat-related fatigue, collapses and hospitalisations, including Guatemalan referee Humberto Panjoj collapsing during a 2024 Copa América match in Kansas City.

Heat also changes the game itself. Studies show players cover less distance, perform fewer high-intensity sprints and get tired more quickly in extreme conditions. Tired players are more prone to mistakes and injuries, while hotter matches have been linked to more penalty shootouts, as exhausted teams struggle to break each other down in extra time.

Scientists commonly use wet bulb globe temperature (WGBT) to assess heat stress. Unlike air temperature alone, WBGT combines temperature, humidity, solar radiation and wind, making it a better indicator of how dangerous conditions feel to the human body.

Several football governing bodies – including the global players’ union Fifpro – consider a WBGT above 28°C to be a threshold where matches should potentially be delayed or postponed.

20-year average levels of extreme heat in 16 venue cities

Possible solutions?

A study I led in 2025 found that 14 of the 16 upcoming World Cup host cities are likely to exceed the extreme 28°C WBGT threshold if conditions this summer are typical. Most of the danger falls during mid-afternoon, and Fifa has clearly tried to reduce some of the risk through scheduling. Compared with the Club World Cup, matches in the hottest cities and non-air-conditioned stadiums have largely been shifted away from the most dangerous hours of the day.

That will help – but it will not eliminate the problem.

Some high-risk fixtures remain. Late afternoon (5pm) and early evening (6pm) matches in Miami and Kansas City carry a greater than 30% risk of WBGTs exceeding 28°C if summer temperatures are typical, rising above 50% if conditions are hotter than average. The final at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey kicks off at 3pm, when the probability of extreme heat is about 30% in a typical summer and 55% in a hot one.

Those estimates may even turn out to be conservative. Heatwaves are becoming more frequent and intense globally. The 2021 western North America heatwave shattered records by more than 4°C in some locations. A similarly extreme event during the World Cup could push lower-risk cities such as Seattle, Toronto and Vancouver into dangerous territory, while prolonging extreme evening heat in more vulnerable venues such as Miami, Kansas City and Philadelphia.

And even air-conditioned stadiums do not remove the wider public-health risk.

In the hottest cities such as Dallas and Houston, indoor venues may protect players and match officials during the game itself. But tens of thousands of spectators will still spend hours travelling, queueing and celebrating in dangerous outdoor heat. Many fans are older, less physically fit than elite athletes, dehydrated from alcohol consumption, or arriving from cooler climates with little acclimatisation.

The risk therefore extends well beyond the pitch.

Yet Fifa’s current heat policy remains limited. All matches will have three-minute hydration breaks midway through each half, but the threshold for stronger action remains exceedingly high. Current Fifa guidance only mandates additional precautions at a WBGT of 32°C.

That figure has alarmed scientists and medical experts who have sent an open letter urging Fifa to strengthen its heat protections before the tournament begins. Their recommendations include doubling the time for cooling breaks to six minutes, lowering the WBGT threshold for intervention and introducing clearer rules for delaying or postponing matches in dangerous conditions.

It is possible matches could be delayed or postponed if WBGTs exceed 32°C. This would be a decision for Fifa – and is something they have never done before. It is worth noting that the 32°C threshold is also considerably above levels many experts consider dangerous.

It’s likely that more World Cups will be played outside the traditional summer months in future. This was the case for the Qatar World Cup in 2022, moving from June/July to November/December and is almost certain to be the case for the 2034 tournament in Saudi Arabia.

The 2026 World Cup may ultimately become a defining test for how global sport adapts in a warming world. Scheduling matches outside the hottest hours is a sensible start. But as temperatures continue to rise, timing alone may no longer be enough.

Donal Mullan 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.