Feeding children can be challenging. It is sometimes hard to know if you’re getting it right.

We want the best for our children, and we often think that means making sure they eat the right amounts of the right foods. Research tells us that we also need to think about how we’re supporting children to eat, and the messages they receive about food.

With more children attending child care for the vast majority of their day, early learning settings are critically important for promoting children’s optimal growth and development during foundational years.

Opportunities for nourishment in these settings are especially important as more than one in four children experience food insecurity at home.

What does responsive feeding mean?

Children are born with the ability to recognize their own hunger and fullness.

Over time, this capacity may shift as cultural and social beliefs around feeding young children — and financial stress or food insecurity — can result in caregivers overriding children’s internal cues by controlling their food intake. This can involve pressuring them to eat, restricting food or using food to reward behaviour.

It takes time for young children to learn about different foods and textures. Some children are adventurous eaters who may be excited to try new foods and accept them more quickly. Other children may be naturally more cautious eaters and need support or extra time.

A responsive feeding environment allows children to communicate their feelings of hunger and fullness, and in this way encourages children to regulate their own eating.

When caregivers respect a child’s autonomy, children can build comfort with a wide variety of foods and textures. This allows children to practise self-regulation by responding to feelings of hunger and fullness, and develop a lifelong healthy relationship with food.

Responsive feeding in child care

We established the CELEBRATE Feeding project, which stands for Coaching in Early Learning Environments to Build a Responsive Approach to Eating and Feeding.

Our project has worked with child-care programs in Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island. It supports early childhood educators to build their confidence and skills in responsive feeding — while fostering the joy of eating through an environment that celebrates diversity and inclusion.

We developed the CELEBRATE Feeding Approach as a flexible framework to support key educator behaviours in priority areas of change. These areas include mealtime routines and how educators talk about food throughout the day.

Educators discovered their powerful impact through role modelling when they sit and eat the same foods as children.

When we support children in having control of what and how much goes on their plate, they build autonomy with their decisions about the food as well as physical and fine-motor skills.

Reducing pressure

Through CELEBRATE Feeding, educators reshaped their language to reduce pressure on children to eat more or less, or to eat certain foods.

This meant moving away from coercing, praising or rewarding children based on what they were eating. Children may take a bite when pressured to eat, but in the long-term this pressure can backfire and make them less willing to accept the food.

We encouraged educators to focus on more neutral language by avoiding labelling foods as good or bad, and not pressuring children to eat more or less of certain foods.

Table talk

Educators also engaged children in conversations at the table that were not just about food. Focusing on connection and fun at the table, rather than worrying about what children are eating, can especially help children who may be stressed at mealtime because of household food insecurity or because they have been labelled as difficult or picky eaters.

We want to create a safe, positive environment for children to enjoy a variety of foods and avoid attaching feelings of guilt and shame to food.

Read more: School lunches, the French way: It’s not just about nutrition, but togetherness and bon appetit

Encouraging food exploration

Educators were coached to provide repeated opportunities for children to explore foods, without the expectation to eat or taste. This was achieved through meals and play, gardening, cooking, sensory activities and food-related books, songs and materials.

Children explored food through sight, smell, touch and taste in positive and joyful ways to support their curiosity and confidence as competent eaters.

Shifting perspectives around eating

Changing our approach around food can be hard. As adults, our own personal values and beliefs around food have been shaped throughout our lives. Our cultural and social beliefs around food, financial stress or food insecurity influence what we say and do when we’re with children.

Engaging families in this process and keeping equity and inclusion at the forefront can help create food environments that support everyone.

One director of a child-care program told us that in every facet of a child’s life, educators viewed children as capable and confident except when it came to food. Participating in the CELEBRATE Feeding project was a game-changer for shifting perspectives for her and her team.

A perspective shift means that we need to trust that while adults’ concern for children’s nutrition is genuine and well-meaning, children are capable of practising self-regulation by responding to feelings of hunger and fullness.

Prioritizing curiosity and joyfulness

Educators have been overwhelmingly receptive to rethinking their approach to feeding children by prioritizing curiosity and joyfulness rather than coercion and obligation.

We are continuing to share these messages through professional development and resources on our website.

While it sometimes feels hard to get it right when feeding children, we encourage caregivers to take a breath and aim for connection at the table.

Creating trust, confidence and enjoyable food memories are perhaps more important for long-term health than one resentful bite of broccoli.

Jessie-Lee McIsaac has received funding from the Canadian Institutes of Health Research for the CELEBRATE Feeding project and other research. She has also received project funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, Public Health Agency of Canada, Margaret and Wallace McCain Family Foundation, and the Nova Scotia Department of Education and Early Childhood Development. Her research program is undertaken, in part, thanks to funding from the Canada Research Chairs program. McIsaac is a board member of a non-profit child care centre in Nova Scotia. Our Celebrate Feeding intervention used the Nourishing Beginnings program from the Dairy Farmers of Canada as one training opportunity for educators. While Dairy Farmers of Canada is an industry group, Nourishing Beginnings was designed to align with evidence-based responsive feeding and child nutrition guidelines. The workshop offered to educators during our intervention was delivered by our Coaches (Registered Dietitians) with support from Dairy Farmers of Canada Dietitians. No team members received personal financial benefit from Dairy Farmers of Canada related to their work with CELEBRATE Feeding.

Julie E. Campbell receives research funding from the Government of Nova Scotia

Melissa (Misty) Rossiter received project funding from the Canadian Institutes of Health Research and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and has been supported by a Jeanne and J.-Louis Lévesque Research Professorship in Nutrisciences and Health.

Many grocery shoppers know the routine: bring fruit and vegetables home, rinse them, dry them and hope they stay fresh long enough to be eaten. But fresh produce is delicate. Grapes shrivel, apple slices brown and berries can spoil quickly.

At the same time, many people worry about what may remain on the surface of fruit they buy, including pesticide residues.

Cleaning and freshness are usually treated as separate problems that require different treatments. Washing feels like a simple act of control. But it’s not quite that simple.

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration recommends rinsing produce under running water and says soap, detergent and commercial produce washes are not recommended. Water helps, but it does not solve every problem.

Our new study suggests those goals may be combined. We developed a dual-function biodegradable wash that is able to remove surface pesticide residues and form a thin protective layer to help fruit stay fresh for longer.

The timing matters. Around one quarter of fruits and vegetables are lost or wasted globally each year. For fresh produce, even small gains after harvest can matter because quality can change quickly during shipping, storage and daily use at home.

What’s inside and how does it works?

The wash developed in the study is made from starch nanoparticles, tannic acid and iron. Starch is a plant-based material often used in food science because it can form films. Tannic acid is a plant compound found in many foods and plants. Iron helps connect tannic acid into a fine network on the surface of the starch particles.

In plain terms, starch provides the base, tannic acid adds useful plant chemistry and iron helps hold the structure together. During rinsing, this structure can interact with some pesticide molecules on the fruit’s surface and helps wash them away.

When immersed, the same wash can form a very thin coating layer. This is not meant to be a heavy wax-like layer. It is closer to a light surface film that can slow water loss and help maintain appearance. That matters because people often decide whether to eat or throw away fruit based on how it looks and feels.

Removing surface pesticide residues

The cleaning results were strong. On apple surfaces, the wash removed more than 85 per cent of thiabendazole, compared with 48 per cent for tap water, 65 per cent for baking soda and 61 per cent for native starch.

Thiabendazole is a fungicide used on some fresh produce post-harvest. We also tested two other pesticides. The wash removed 93 per cent of the acetamiprid residues and 89 per cent of imidacloprid from apple surfaces. These results suggest the wash can work across more than one type of pesticide residue, rather than only one special chosen compound.

There is, however, an important limit. The study focused on residues on the fruit surface. Some pesticides can move into plant tissue while the fruit is growing, which makes them much harder to remove after harvest.

A better wash should not be understood as a way to erase all pesticide exposure. It’s a tool for reducing what’s on the surface of a fruit or vegetable.

Read more: Our study analysed pesticide use and residues across Europe. Here’s what we found

Keeping produce fresh longer

The second part of our study looked at freshness. Over 15 days, untreated grapes lost around 45 per cent of their weight, while grapes treated with our wash system lost only 21 per cent. Fresh-cut apples also lost less weight over 48 hours, dropping from 17 per cent in untreated samples to nine per cent.

Those changes can impact what people buy. Treated grapes looked fresher after storage, and apple slices stayed lighter for longer. That kind of change matters outside the lab because produce that looks dried out or browned is less likely to be eaten.

The coating also showed an ability to slow oxidation and inhibited a test bacterium in laboratory experiments. This doesn’t mean the wash has completed all the safety tests needed for consumer use. However, it does suggest the coating may do more than simply sit on the surface.

What this could mean in practice

For now, a realistic use for our wash would likely be in post-harvest processing plants, not kitchen sinks. Processing facilities can control washing time, concentration, water handling and disposal more carefully than households can. We estimated the raw-material cost is less than US$0.032 per apple. Meanwhile, we are actively working on developing a household spray formulation for consumer use.

More work is needed. The wash should be tested on more fruits and vegetables, under commercial conditions and through the regulatory steps required before real-world use.

Still, the idea is useful because it reframes the problem. A fruit wash doesn’t have to be only a rinse. It could clean more effectively and then keep working, helping produce stay fresh, appealing and more likely to be eaten.

The research discussed in this article received funding from the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada (NSERC).

Ling Guo and Tzu-Cheng (Ivy) Chiu 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.

For many residents in the Northern Hemisphere, the advent of the summer season has always signalled travel. Travel with family, travel with friends, adventure travel, sightseeing travel, travel by automobile, travel by train, travel by air.

Air travel for Canadians this summer is looking to be one of the most turbulent seasons in decades, squeezed by a U.S. travel boycott that began in early 2025 and a global aviation fuel crisis triggered by the closure of the Strait of Hormuz.

What might air travel this summer look like, and what should passengers expect when making travel plans?

Canadians are still boycotting the U.S.

Since early 2025, Canadians have shunned travel to the United States in response to U.S. President Donald Trump’s tariff threats and repeated remarks about Canada becoming the “51st state.”
Canadian return trips from the U.S. are down 32 per cent compared to March 2024, according to Statistics Canada. Canadians instead preferred domestic or other international travel locations.

The air travel industry has taken notice. Canadian airlines cut capacity to the U.S. by 10 per cent in the first quarter, according to aviation data firm OAG. Air Transat even plans to end all its U.S. flights by June.

Air Canada expanded flights to and from Mexico and has introduced new air routes. WestJet has also announced new domestic routes for the summer, along with adding additional flights between Eastern and Western Canada.

To characterize these plans as aggressive would be an understatement.

The ongoing fuel crisis

On Feb. 27, the U.S.-Israeli military campaign against Iran began. Iran’s subsequent closure of the Strait of Hormuz — through which roughly one-fifth of the world’s oil normally moves — has sent aviation fuel prices soaring, affecting supplies destined for Asia and Europe.

Read more: Middle East conflict is pushing oil prices higher — and most Canadians will feel the costs

Since the war began, jet fuel prices have risen nearly 70 per cent, according to the Platts Global Jet Fuel Index. Air carriers have been forced to adjust their capacity plans and increase airfares.

Several global regions are facing imminent shortages of aviation fuel. Several Asian and Western European countries have begun to ration fuel products such as gasoline, diesel and aviation fuel as local reserves dwindle.

Some carriers have begun to implement capacity reductions in response to rationing measures, impacting both aircraft and staff levels.

Spirit’s collapse as a warning

Financial turmoil has now become the the subject of heated conversation in airline boardrooms, with any number of initiatives being considered to conserve liquidity in an environment that threatens the survival of many carriers.

The clearest illustration of that pressure came May 2 when Spirit Airlines shut down. Spirit ranked eighth among U.S. airlines by seats offered in 2025. Its closure has left roughly 17,000 employees without jobs and stranded tens of thousands of passengers who held tickets for future travel.

U.S. Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy said the airline “was in dire straits long before the war with Iran,” but the fuel price spike removed any remaining margin for survival. Spirit Airlines CEO Dave Davis told The Wall Street Journal the airline’s recovery plan would have succeeded if not for the Iran war and soaring fuel prices.

Read more: As war raises oil prices, households pay while energy companies profit

Spirit’s exit will remove one of the few remaining ultra-low-cost options for American travellers, and could push fares higher across the industry.

Its closure has brought the aviation fuel cost crisis into immediate focus with both regulators and the travelling public. Are other U.S. carriers at risk of the same fate as Spirit? Are other airlines globally at risk as well?

What this means for summer 2026 travel

For Canadians planning summer travel, the picture divides roughly along domestic and international lines.

Airlines have increased fares to recover fuel cost increases, cut services on routes that have become unprofitable and begun redrawing growth schedules to reflect geopolitical uncertainties.

For travellers contemplating international travel this summer, airfares have increased substantially. Domestic Canadian fares are also higher than 2025 levels, though the increase is more modest.

Demand on domestic routes has remained strong, and carriers have given no indication of softening. Competition among carriers — a key driver of lower airfares — has been muted at best, with airlines focused on profitability and, in some cases, survival.

Like all such crises, this aviation fuel crisis will eventually end. The question of when is the subject of debate and consternation. The International Air Transport Association has noted that even if the Strait of Hormuz were to reopen, recovering normal jet fuel supply could take months.

For travellers still finalizing summer plans, the central question is how much risk they can tolerate. Further capacity cuts are possible if not likely, and passengers will get minimal notice if flights are cancelled.

Those who want a straightforward, low-stress trip would do well to look closer to home and stick to domestic flights. Those with more flexibility and appetite for uncertainty will find that international travel this summer will be one for the record books.

John Gradek 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.

Anti-immigrant marches in several major South African cities (such as Tshwane and Johannesburg) in early May 2026 once again led to questions being asked about xenophobia in post-apartheid South Africa.

In the wake of the protests President Cyril Ramaphosa called on South Africans to embrace solidarity with their African neighbours. For their part, foreign governments lodged their protests while police sought to curtail violence.

The tension in the country was palpable.

Are the recent outbreaks of anti-immigrant activism a harbinger of a wider uptick in anti-migrant sentiment amongst South Africans? Recent public opinion data from the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) suggests that this might be the case.

The HSRC’s South African Social Attitudes Survey is an important source of information on what ordinary South Africans think about international migration. The survey series consists of nationally representative, repeated cross-sectional surveys that have been conducted annually by the HSRC since 2003.

The latest data, from the 2025 survey, show that South Africans are more hostile towards immigrants than at any other time before since the survey began in 2003. An important dimension of the change has been an attitudinal shift and hardening of attitudes towards migrants among poorer and working-class adults. In addition, the recent growth of anti-immigrant sentiment has been geographically concentrated in four provinces: Mpumalanga, Gauteng, Limpopo and KwaZulu-Natal.

Read more: What research reveals about drivers of anti-immigrant hate crime in South Africa

The rise in anti-immigrant sentiment is particularly concerning given that the country is due to hold local government elections on 4 November 2026. Aspirant political parties, in an attempt to maintain or gain power, may seek to exploit anti-immigrant sentiment for their own ends. In this way elections can provide a potential accelerant for xenophobia.

Growing hostility may even provoke xenophobic violence in a country that has a long history of collective anti-immigrant hate crime. and is home to more than two million international migrants.

Declining Hospitality

South African Social Attitudes Survey has included the following in its questionnaire since 2003:

Please indicate which of the following statements applies to you? I generally welcome to South Africa… (i) All immigrants; (ii) Some immigrants; (iii) No immigrants; and (iv) Uncertain.

In 2003 about a third (34%) of the South African adult population said that they would welcome all immigrants. The remainder indicated that they would accept either none (32%) or some (35%).

The proportion of the public that would be prepared to welcome foreigners tended to fluctuate within a narrow band over the 2003-2017 period.

But around the time of the COVID-19 pandemic in early 2020, the research data began to show an upswing in anti-immigrant sentiment.

Read more: Xenophobia is on the rise in South Africa: scholars weigh in on the migrant question

About a quarter (26%) of those surveyed said that they would welcome all immigrants during the 2021 survey round. This was similar to figures in the mid-2010s.

But the share that held this hospitable attitude fell in subsequent survey rounds. In 2025 15% of adults said that they would welcome all foreigners.

Conversely, the proportion of the public adopting a hostile position (in other words ‘welcome no immigrants’) increased from 30% in 2021 to 42% in 2025.

Geography and class

The provinces with the highest growth in anti-immigrant sentiment – Mpumalanga, Gauteng, Limpopo and KwaZulu-Natal – are ones through which most immigrants travel and often settle.

The situation has become particularly delicate in KwaZulu-Natal. The share of adults in the province who said that they would welcome no immigrants grew from 23% in 2021 to 45% in 2023 and then again to 60% in 2025.

The upsurge in hostility in KwaZulu-Natal could be linked to growing popular anger against the current economic and political status quo. A staggering 88% of provincial residents are unhappy with present economic conditions, and an equal proportion expect conditions to worsen over the next five years.

The notable attitudinal shift among poor people is also concerning.

South Africa is a highly unequal nation characterised by stark economic divisions. Most citizens can be found on the wrong side of these divides and could be classified as economically disadvantaged.

Historically, as research has shown, anti-immigrant sentiment in the country tended to cut across class divisions. But in the years following the COVID-19 pandemic, something changed.

Before the pandemic, South African Social Attitudes Survey data showed a linear relationship between economic disadvantage and anti-immigrant sentiment. In the years following the pandemic, however, a clear pattern emerged. As the lockdowns ended and the post-pandemic recovery began, most socioeconomic groups in South Africa became more and more hostile towards immigrants. But antipathy grew at a much more aggressive rate for the low and lower middle socioeconomic groups.

During the 2025 survey round, adults in these groups were much more hostile towards foreigners than those in the upper middle and high socio-economic groups.

The drivers

What could have caused the economically disadvantaged to become more antagonistic towards immigrants over the last five years or so?

It could be argued that the poor have become more likely to scapegoat foreigners for the failures and inequalities of the post-pandemic economic recovery. Poor people have been badly affected by a cost of living crisis and persistent deindustrialisation. They need someone to blame and foreigners have long provided a handy scapegoat.

The South African economy has struggled in the last few years, dealing with doggedly high unemployment. The country also has notoriously high crime rates. Such problems, as experts have argued again and again, cannot be directly laid at the feet of immigrants living in the country. But it would appear that they are getting blamed anyway.

What should be done?

The South African government has a National Action Plan to Combat Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance.

Implemented in March 2019, one of its goals was to reduce public hostility towards migrants. Clearly, whether because of a lack of resources or government coordination, the plan has not succeeded.

The country needs to reinvigorate it and its associated processes. What’s needed is political, civic and community leaders to address legitimate socio-economic grievances without allowing immigrants to become scapegoats for deeper structural failures in society.

Efforts to strengthen social cohesion, improve economic inclusion, enhance public trust in governance and promote responsible political leadership are also crucial.

Well-provisioned and effective anti-xenophobia strategies are urgently required to address the worsening situation. The alternative is to allow hatred to flourish.

Steven Gordon has received funding from South Africa's National Research Foundation. He is affiliated with the University of Johannesburg.

Until recently, AI’s role in research felt like having a useful assistant. It could summarise a paper, clean up a dataset or draft an abstract. Researchers were still in charge of the thinking.

That changed in late 2025 when cutting-edge “frontier” AI models became capable of reasoning and planning reliably by themselves. A key feature of these models is “tool calling” – the ability to interact with external tools in order to act on the world, not just describe it.

This marks the rise of agentic AI: systems that do not just respond to instructions but can independently plan, execute and iterate. In science as in other fields, chatbots have become coworkers that can autonomously complete real work, end to end.

An example of this is Tokyo-based Sakana AI’s The AI Scientist. Unveiled in mid-2025 and now in its second iteration, the Japanese tech company bills this as “the first comprehensive system for fully automatic scientific discovery”.

The AI Scientist scans existing literature, generates hypotheses, writes and executes code, analyses results and produces a full research paper – largely without human involvement. It reasons, fails and revises, just as a junior scientist would.

The proof? An AI Scientist academic paper describing “a pipeline for automating the entire scientific process end to end” was accepted by the International Conference on Learning Representations and published in the scientific journal Nature in March 2026, following peer review.

This represents something genuinely new: an autonomous AI system passing a milder version of the Turing test by demonstrating scientific quality, if not (yet) machine intelligence.

Other significant achievements include Singapore-based startup Analemma carrying out a live demonstration of its Fully Automated Research System (Fars) in February. It produced 166 complete machine-learning research papers in roughly 417 hours for around US$1,100 (£810). That’s one academic paper every 2.5 hours at a cost that would sustain a research assistant for a couple of weeks.

And Google Cloud AI Research recently unveiled PaperOrchestra, which takes a researcher’s raw experimental logs and rough notes and converts them into a submission-ready manuscript, with figures and verified citations. In blind evaluations by 11 AI researchers, it easily outperformed existing autonomous systems in this area.

Having spent two decades researching disruptive technological innovations, I believe a significant threshold has been crossed. While there is a way to go before AI systems match the very best human-produced work, the era of fully automated research has arrived.

Implications for academia

The arrival of autonomous research systems lands on an academic system under severe strain in many countries. Over the last decade, the number of papers submitted to academic journals has grown much faster than the pool of qualified peer reviewers, leading to suggestions that the science publication system is being “overwhelmed”.

If systems like Fars can produce thousands of papers per year, the publication infrastructure of science faces a volume it was never designed to handle. Some academic reviews have already been identified as using AI-generated content. As submission numbers continue to rise, this may alter the role of a published academic paper as a definitive signal of the quality and skills of human researchers.

An optimistic take is that AI may shift academia away from its strong reliance on quantity-based metrics, in favour of how influential or innovative publications are. This is a reform critics of the current system have long called for.

Less optimistically, as AI research scales up, an academic system designed for coherent, methodologically defensible contributions may inflate the proportion of incremental, rather than radically novel, scientific contributions. Both the quality and originality of research could suffer as a result.

Science has always needed its heretics to advance. Italian astronomer Galileo, the “father of modern science”, was forced to recant his defence of heliocentrism before the Catholic Church’s Inquisition. Hungarian physician Ignaz Semmelweis died in a psychiatric institution having failed to convince his colleagues that handwashing could save lives.

Yet historically, the ability of scientific institutions to encourage radical approaches has also been a mainstaple of how science has progressed. To sustain this, AI systems will need to be trained to maximise novelty and transformation, rather than plausibility and incremental progress.

AI’s impact on creative industries

The transformative effects of this new breeed of AI extend well beyond scientific research. A striking example is The Epstein Files. This fully AI-generated podcast reached number one the UK Apple Podcasts and Spotify charts in early 2026, drawing 700,000 downloads in its first week.

Music is further along and more conflicted. By mid-2025, the fully AI-generated band The Velvet Sundown had amassed over a million monthly Spotify listeners. In 2026, the platform was forced to introduce artist-protection features after AI tracks began displacing human music on popular playlists, while Deezer, facing roughly 50,000 AI-generated uploads daily, began excluding them from curated lists.

Ownership remains the elephant in the room. US courts have ruled that AI-generated works cannot be copyrighted, since human authorship remains a legal requirement. AI can produce at industrial scale, but no one can own the output legally.

This matters far beyond intellectual property law. In creative industries, it threatens the royalty streams, licensing deals and catalogue valuations on which artists, labels and publishers have built their entire business models for generations.

In science, meanwhile, it is destabilising the entire incentive architecture, which rests on the foundational assumption that knowledge is both generated and owned by humans. When that assumption dissolves, so does much of the institutional logic that has governed how we produce, reward and trust expertise.

The question, across all these fields, is no longer whether AI can produce the work. Rather, it is whether sufficient thought has gone into what we will gain and lose when it does.

Sorin M.S. Krammer 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.

Pakistan has emerged as a central diplomatic broker in the conflict between the US and Iran. When announcing a pause to the US operation to guide stranded vessels through the Strait of Hormuz on May 6, Donald Trump said he had made the decision “based on the request of Pakistan”.

The Pakistani prime minister, Shehbaz Sharif, subsequently expressed hope “that the current momentum will lead to a lasting agreement that secures durable peace and stability for the region and beyond”. This latest intervention comes a month after Pakistan secured its biggest diplomatic win in years by brokering a ceasefire in Iran.

But how did Pakistan emerge as the most trustworthy mediator in this conflict, and what drove Islamabad to involve itself? Pakistan’s biggest advantage is that it enjoys relationships with both the US and Iran, which has helped it be seen as a neutral party by each side.

Pakistan has worked with the US in dealing with Iran for decades. Since 1981, two years after the US and Iran severed diplomatic ties following the Islamic revolution, a dedicated section of the Pakistani embassy in Washington has handled Iranian diplomatic affairs in the US.

Pakistan has also worked with the US in mediation efforts elsewhere. Most notably, it facilitated former US secretary of state Henry Kissinger’s secret visit to China in 1971. This paved the way for the normalisation of relations between the US and China later that decade.

Relations between the US and Pakistan have not always been smooth. In 2011, a decade after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the Atlantic magazine in the US referred to Pakistan as the “ally from hell”. Whether or not it did so knowingly, Pakistan hosted al-Qaeda mastermind Osama bin Laden following the attack.

Trump himself also denied Pakistan military aid during his first term as president, saying it was not doing enough to combat terrorism. And Pakistan’s human rights record, particularly concerning democratic backsliding and restrictions on civil liberties, have at times led to tension with the US government.

However, Pakistan’s relationship with the US has improved markedly in Trump’s second term. Trump, who often uses personal ties to guide US foreign policy, has developed a strong relationship with Sharif and the chief of Pakistan’s army, Asim Munir. In June 2025, Munir was even invited to the White House for a private lunch. This was the first time a US president had hosted a non-head of state military leader at this level.

Pakistan’s recent efforts to court Trump have played a key role in building these ties. Over the past year Pakistan has nominated Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize, joined his Board of Peace and launched a collaboration with his World Liberty Financial crypto platform.

And in July, Islamabad signed a deal with the US to allow Washington to help develop Pakistan’s largely untapped oil reserves. “We read him [Trump] right,” said the former chairman of the Pakistani Senate’s Defense Committee, Mushahid Hussain Syed, in an interview with the Washington Post on April 20.

The relationship between Pakistan and Iran has also been characterised by ups and downs. While Iran was the first country to recognise Pakistan’s independence in 1947, their relationship has often been fraught with tension. This largely stems from Iran’s territorial claim to the Balochistan province of Pakistan, as well as from Pakistan’s ties with Iranian rivals.

As recently as January 2024, tensions between the two countries appeared to be escalating again over Balochistan. However, hostilities soon receded and both countries formally resumed their bilateral ties. They subsequently expanded their security cooperation and invited each other’s ambassadors and foreign ministers for a formal reconciliation ceremony.

Strategic necessity

Some commentators argue that Pakistan’s decision to step in as the primary mediator in Iran has been driven by strategic necessity. Its Balochistan province is currently grappling with an insurgency. Islamabad will thus want to avoid a situation where the Iran war spills into Pakistan, as this could destabilise its border regions even further.

There are also economic reasons explaining Pakistan’s involvement. Pakistan has been severely affected by the disruption to Gulf shipping. It imports between 85% and 90% of its crude oil from Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) and almost 99% of its liquified gas from the UAE and Qatar.

Before the war broke out, Pakistan’s economy had been starting to gain momentum. But higher oil prices are now affecting government revenues, increasing its fuel import bill from US$300 million (£220 million) before the conflict to US$800 million now. Pakistan’s authorities have been forced to raise consumer fuel prices by more than 50%.

Pakistan’s agricultural sector, which employs around 40% of the country’s population, is also vulnerable to the conflict due to its reliance on fertiliser imported through the Strait of Hormuz. Prices of urea fertiliser have surged by 50% since the war broke out. Prolonged disruption to the agriculture sector risks plunging some of the most vulnerable people in Pakistan further into poverty.

Remittances are another area that could be affected by a protracted conflict, with as many as five million Pakistani people living in the Gulf region. Pakistan received roughly US$30 billion in remittances between 2025 and 2026, 54% of which came from the Gulf.

If the war continues to affect Gulf economies, many Pakistani workers may be forced to return home. This will cause remittance revenues to fall, depriving Pakistan of a vital source of foreign exchange, while simultaneously pushing up domestic unemployment.

Pakistan’s relationships with the US and Iran put it in a strong position to intervene in the conflict diplomatically. But its mediation has also been a calculated effort to stabilise its borders and protect its economy.

Natasha Lindstaedt 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.

Netflix’s latest drama Legends offers a compelling window into the criminology of undercover policing, covert surveillance and organised crime.

Inspired by a real UK customs investigation, the six-part drama follows ordinary British customs officers sent deep undercover to infiltrate drug trafficking gangs.

Written by Neil Forsyth (also creator of Brink’s-Mat robbery drama The Gold), Legends balances tension and realism with a measured, slow-burn pace that prioritises character over spectacle. Steve Coogan plays Don, a former undercover police officer tasked with recruiting customs officers to go undercover themselves to infiltrate drug gangs.

Much of its strength rests on the central performance of Tom Burke, whose portrayal of the lead undercover officer, Guy, anchors the series emotionally. Burke brings a quiet intensity to the role, capturing the unease, vulnerability, and moral ambiguity of someone living between identities.

The supporting cast also does an exceptional job, reinforcing the drama’s grounded and realistic tone, capturing the collective pressure, uncertainty and emotional toll of undercover work.

Becoming a legend

Unlike elite operatives, these are everyday officials thrust into extraordinary criminal worlds, making the series not just gripping television, but a sharp exploration of how undercover work reshapes identity, morality and survival.

The title itself is significant. In undercover policing, a “legend” is the carefully constructed false identity, complete with backstory, relationships, habits and a believable past. These identities must withstand intense scrutiny from criminals, meaning success depends on absolute credibility.

In Legends, officers must abandon their real selves and convincingly live as criminals to gain trust. This demands constant performance, producing intense psychological strain as loyalty to the state clashes with the need to belong within a criminal world.

In criminology, this reflects the concept of identity conflict. Undercover officers must operate simultaneously as agents of the law and participants in deviance. Howard Becker’s labelling theory is particularly relevant here: labels do not simply describe behaviour – they shape it.

To be effective, officers must adopt the identity of the “criminal,” often participating in minor illegality or forming close ties with offenders. As former undercover cop Don explains, “Your legend has to come from you, or it won’t work,” emphasising that a convincing undercover identity cannot simply be performed, it must feel authentic and internally lived to be believable.

Psychological unravelling

The result is moral ambiguity, where the line between observation and complicity becomes increasingly unstable. As seen in Donnie Brasco (1997) and The Departed, (2006) prolonged immersion can erode the boundary between professional duty and personal identity, leading not to control, but fragmentation.

Legends appears to centre on this psychological unravelling. These are not distant professionals but ordinary individuals removed from everyday life, required to deceive family and colleagues while facing the constant threat of exposure. This is particularly evident with Guy, who appears increasingly weighed down by the demands of sustaining his legend.

Even in controlled situations, there is a sense of constant vigilance in his interactions – carefully measured responses, restrained body language, and an underlying tension that suggests the effort required to remain convincing. At the same time, brief glimpses of his life beyond the operation hint at growing emotional distance, reinforcing how the undercover role begins to dominate his identity.

Criminologists describe this as role contamination, where it stops being a performance and begins to reshape the real self. The deeper the infiltration, the harder it becomes to return.

The criminal world they enter is equally significant. The series focuses on drug gangs, which links directly to organised crime theory. Drug trafficking organisations are not chaotic groups of offenders, but structured systems with hierarchies, codes of loyalty and mechanisms of control. Trust is currency; betrayal is often fatal.

For undercover officers, success depends on understanding not just who controls the drugs, but who controls fear, respect and power. This aligns with criminal enterprise theory, which argues that organised crime emerges in response to market demand.

Drug trafficking persists because prohibition generates profitable black markets, and criminal groups operate much like businesses within them. In this sense, Legends is not simply about crime, but about parallel economies embedded within society – where criminals may wield more immediate authority than the state.

In many communities, organised crime groups provide forms of protection, employment and dispute resolution where trust in formal institutions is weak. Drug gangs can become alternative authorities. For undercover officers, this makes infiltration even more complex because they must navigate a world where legitimacy is not automatically attached to the police or the government.

Instead, loyalty may belong to the gang leader who provides security or income. As it goes on, Legends is likely to show how dangerous this balance becomes when officers must earn trust in a system built on suspicion.

Legends also raises pressing ethical questions. Undercover policing relies on deception, manipulation and at times emotional exploitation. Officers may form relationships with people who are unaware they are being investigated, blurring the boundaries of acceptable state power.

If the law depends on deception to enforce itself, where should the limits lie? As films like Sicario (2015) suggest, the pursuit of justice can itself become morally compromised. Legends will probably explore this moral uncertainty, showing that successful infiltration often comes at a personal and ethical cost.

Ultimately, Legends is far more than a crime drama about drug gangs. It is a study of how states confront organised crime by constructing false identities and sending ordinary people into extraordinary danger.

This makes Legends not only compelling television, but also a valuable exploration of policing, identity, organised crime, and the hidden moral costs of state power.

Adriana Marin 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.

How does a medium once branded “the devil’s own box” become the fireplace around which a nation tries to rekindle its broken identity?

This question lies at the heart of our recently published book that marks 50 years since the flicker of the first official TV broadcast in South Africa in 1976. The volume takes stock of television’s journey from a tool of state propaganda to a contested site of democratic expression.

Today, this fireplace has expanded beyond the state-owned public broadcaster to incorporate private TV channels and platforms. It has evolved into the digital frontier of streaming services like Netflix, SABC+ and the now defunct Showmax.

These have begun to globalise local stories. At the same time, they raise new questions about who truly owns and has access to the South African story in an on-demand age.

A radical shift

TV in South Africa has always been more than just a source of entertainment. It’s a powerful symbol of the society it reflects: unsettled (1976-1992), in transition (1992-2010), and deeply complex (2010-present), as one scholar has argued.

With democracy in 1994, the country’s broadcasting landscape underwent a radical shift. A state-controlled monopoly evolved into a competitive, privatised industry. This was led by the launch of free-to-air private channel e.tv and the expansion of pay service MultiChoice (now Canal+).

Read more: SABC crisis: South Africa needs its public broadcaster – but who is going to fund it?

Nevertheless, the public broadcaster, the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC), continues to command a dominant audience share. It reportedly attracted over 17 million viewers a day in 2024.

South Africa’s overall TV viewers are expected to number 9.5 million by 2029. This will be driven by a surge in streaming.

Early years

The vibrancy of today’s market is in stark contrast to a history of deprivation and political paranoia. Until 1976, South Africa was a global anomaly: Africa’s most industrialised country had no television service.

Apartheid was a system of institutionalised racial segregation in South Africa from 1948 to 1994. The white minority government used tools of state power, including broadcasting, to enforce its policies.

The TV screen was a battlefield of exclusion. Formal suggestions to introduce TV were made as early as the 1950s, but the government stalled its arrival. The regime wanted to control information and cultural production. It feared TV would disrupt a social order that kept the country in a state of self-imposed isolation.

It wasn’t a political shift that forced its hand. It was a day etched in history: 20 July 1969. The world held its breath as it watched US astronaut Neil Armstrong take humanity’s first steps on the moon. But South Africans were left in the dark.

A sense of exclusion swept through a country lacking the technology that made the world a global village. It sparked a tide of public dissatisfaction that would be increasingly difficult to contain. On 5 January 1976, South Africa finally joined the television age.

At first, South Africans could watch five hours of programming an evening. Extra time on weekends was devoted mainly to sports.

The single SABC TV channel broadcast equally in the languages the government spoke: Afrikaans and English. African languages and viewers were an afterthought, as with radio. It was only in 1982 that services aimed at black South Africans were introduced. TV2 broadcast in isiZulu and isiXhosa. TV3 broadcast in Sesotho and Setswana.

A golden season

Our book tracks the often-contested role of TV in South Africa as it transformed into a platform for diverse voices and cultural expression.

This shift in focus toward the 1990s marks what one media scholar calls South African TV’s “golden season”. A period defined by the transition to a new democratic dispensation.

As the industry sought to redefine itself, local content production and experimentation flourished. A tool for propaganda was reimagined as a tool for peace. The SABC became a public broadcaster with a mandate to “inform, educate and entertain, while reflecting national culture and serving audiences across languages and communities”.

A good example of a transforming SABC was the 1992 launch of Contemporary Community Values Television (CCV-TV). This daring channel operated from 1994 to 1998 with the specific goal of ridding the SABC of the shackles of a racially polarised broadcasting system. It became a vital channel of transition by focusing on nation building through its programming.

Between the scholarly analysis, our book includes reflections from practitioners who were at the coalface of these transformative changes. This includes Felicia Mabuza-Suttle on using the talk show format for racial reconciliation, Keith Pfeiffer on the “Simunye” (We are one) rebranding that mainstreamed Black celebrity culture, and Manko Buffle on the ideological shift toward inclusive children’s programming.

Another downhill

But the post-apartheid optimism was to be tempered by gradual institutional decline and a period of “state capture” from about 2011 until 2018.

Successive government administrations were criticised for undermining the public broadcaster through financial mismanagement and editorial interference. An era of political patronage hurt the SABC, while independent and private channels began to increase their local content offerings.

Battle of the box

Between South African TV’s transition and the modern era of globalised streaming, we identify a period of “reclaiming the gaze”. This period represents a deliberate move by Black scholars to centre marginalised voices and critique the industry from an Afrocentric perspective.

They interrogate how television has been used to either reinforce or challenge social and political power structures by analysing representations of Blackness and content created by Black producers.

Some argue that, today, South African TV has become a force for cultural expression and communication across communities. However, the legacy of exclusion and ongoing struggles for representation continue to shape debates about access, ownership, and the role of media in a democratic South Africa.

In our book we include arguments for an inclusive and equitable media landscape for all South Africans. This is particularly relevant in an age of streaming services, where local stories reach global audiences. Even as the industry moves toward an on-demand future, the struggles remain familiar, with issues like token depictions of disability, languages being marginalised, or Black identities on newer channels being given a tabloid treatment.

Why this matters

As we confront the new era of social media influencers and algorithmic streaming, reflecting on this history reminds us of television’s power to shape public opinion and promote social cohesion.

Read more: Radio in South Africa turns 100 – and collides with podcasting and streaming

Whether through a 1970s living room set or a modern smartphone screen, the core of this journey is not just a history of technology, but a history of the South African people: their ongoing fight to be heard and accurately represented in the mirror of a screen that is now both local and global.

Sisanda Nkoala receives funding from the National Research Foundation. She serves as a public representative on the South African Press Council.

Two months into the war in Iran, the reasons the US gave for launching this conflict – and Washington’s minimum criteria for claiming success – now appear unintelligible. So much so that US officials are now arguing the war had actually ended in America’s favour almost a month ago, when the ceasefire came into effect.

It is hard to think of a more damning indictment of Donald Trump’s catastrophic war in Iran than the spectacle of his secretary of state, Marco Rubio, telling reporters on May 5 that the main goal now was to get the Strait of Hormuz “back to the way it was: anyone can use it, no mines in the water, nobody paying tolls”.

This, he argued, was an entirely separate defensive and humanitarian operation and would only become a war if US ships came under fire – which they in fact did that same day. Rubio ignored the obvious contradiction that the humanitarian operation had been necessitated by the very war he was simultaneously presenting as already won.

Things took an even more absurd turn later that day. Trump announced he was suspending “Project Freedom”, his plan for the US Navy to escort tankers out of the strait, after just one day. The US president cited “great progress” toward an agreement with Iran. As has happened several times now, global stock markets rallied before falling back again.

While few doubt Trump is desperate to put this disastrous war behind him, particularly before heading to Beijing on May 14, he massively oversold the impression of a breakthrough. The Iranians were merely considering a 14-point proposal for 30 days of negotiations aimed at finding a durable end to the war.

The more convincing reason Trump abandoned Project Freedom is that it was already clear it would not solve the crisis. Most owners of the 1,500 ships currently stranded behind the strait were unwilling to risk passage even with a naval escort. Iran’s response, attacking shipping and launching missiles at the United Arab Emirates, also threatened the ceasefire itself.

Washington’s problem is that the Iranians will probably insist talks can only begin, and the Strait of Hormuz reopen, if Trump agrees to end the economic blockade of Iranian maritime trade. The US blockade is inflicting serious damage on the Iranian economy.

Apart from anything else, Iranian officials see ending the blockade as logical reciprocity. But they also understand time is running out before the closure of the strait causes lasting structural damage to the global economy – if it has not already. This gives them enhanced leverage at the moment.

Yet even if negotiations begin, the same problem that prevented a deal before the war remains. Trump lacks the detailed and institutionalised policy apparatus of his predecessor, Barack Obama, whose 2015 nuclear agreement with Iran the current US president so desperately wants to outdo. Obama’s deal took 20 months of intense wrangling to complete. Trump has neither the patience, technical expertise or direct diplomatic connections to achieve the same.

Added to this are new conditions created by the war itself. The fragmentation of Iran’s decision-making process and the empowerment of elites with an even higher tolerance for military and economic pressure have introduced uncertainty into the equation. And Iran has now realised the increased leverage it has through its ability to close a critical artery of the global economy.

Colossal failure

The answer on the nuclear issue may lie in a fudge. Iran could well agree to a moratorium on uranium enrichment while not yet agreeing to ship out or dilute its enriched uranium – though without ruling that out in order to prolong negotiations.

If slightly more moderate heads in Tehran prevail – and that remains a very big if – it would be an obvious concession to make. Iran’s geographic advantages and ballistic missile capabilities have established a credible deterrent against future attack.

The question is whether anything short of total surrender on the nuclear issue is acceptable to Trump, and whether he is willing to resist inevitable Israeli opposition to blurring this red line. If not, he has already threatened to resume bombing at a “much higher intensity” than before.

Yet there are serious doubts about whether he has the stomach for this. And even if he does, it is difficult to see how any amount of US and Israeli bombing can force the Iranian regime to surrender.

Trump’s shifting aims for the war and desperate scramble for an exit underscore that this entire enterprise has been a colossal strategic failure. It will define his legacy, reshape the Middle East and impose further misery on the Iranian people – the very opposite of what he has repeatedly said he wants to do.

The war has has shattered confidence among US regional allies that Washington can protect them. It has also alienated traditional US allies who were blamed and then punished for failing to solve a problem they neither created nor could resolve. The US and Israeli attacks have further entrenched a brutal regime that will now be even harder to negotiate with, while completely marginalising moderate voices inside Iran.

If negotiations can prevail, the successes the US president and his advisers trumpet – the destruction of parts of Iran’s military-industrial capacity and navy – are real. Though in the former case probably only temporary and in the latter, demonstrably not critical for maintaining freedom of navigation.

The only positive is that Trump’s brief experiment with military adventurism, an aberration even within his own muddled political trajectory, may now be ending.

Christian Emery 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.

For months, the Iran war was framed through the language of military success. This was shaped in part by longstanding orientalist assumptions reflected in the rhetoric of leaders such as Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu about the relative weakness and fragility of states such as Iran.

Encouraged by Israeli intelligence capabilities, precision strikes and overwhelming American military superiority, many policymakers appeared to assume Tehran would eventually collapse under pressure. Iran, in this view, was too isolated, internally divided and economically weakened to withstand sustained US-Israeli escalation. Some even suggested American troops would be welcomed by sections of a population frustrated with the regime.

But this hasn’t been the reality of the past two months. The Trump administration now appears to be groping for any settlement it can sell as a “win”. This may be hard if, as has been reported, the US military campaign ends without Iran being forced to make any meaningful concessions over its nuclear programme.

If that transpires, it will suggest that the German chancellor, Friedrich Merz, was right when he said that the US has been humiliated by Iran in a lesson about how power really works.

The problem was not simply military miscalculation. It was strategic incoherence rooted in assumption that Iran could not meaningfully endure prolonged confrontation. As the war progressed, the fantasy of decisive victory collapsed under the weight of economic, political and strategic reality.

No clear objective

At the same time, at least in public, America’s leadership appeared regularly to change its mind about what would represent a “win”. Was it destroying Iran’s nuclear and ballistic missile programmes, neutralising its armed forces, forcing regime change, or ending Tehran’s regional influence? Throughout the conflict, the objectives shifted constantly. That ambiguity was not a minor flaw in strategy. It was the strategy’s central weakness.

Modern wars require a clear objective and a realistic path to achieving it. Throughout this conflict, the US and Israel never convincingly defined either.

If the aim was regime change, there was never serious appetite for the kind of occupation and state reconstruction that had in Iraq and Afghanistan already proved disastrously costly.

If the aim was simply degrading Iran’s military capabilities, that was always going to be a temporary fix – Iran has spent decades building a system designed around resilience, decentralisation and survival under pressure.

And if the aim was to end Iran’s role as a regional power, that has clearly failed. Iran remains intact. Its institutions survived and were able to install a new generation of leadership. And, as we’ve seen over Tehran’s ability to control the Strait of Hormuz, Iran’s strategic relevance survived.

This was never going to be a conventional war about controlling territory. It was a clash between two very different understandings of victory. The US and Israel wanted a decisive and demonstrable victory. Iran wanted to endure. That distinction changed the entire war and handed the strategic advantage to Tehran.

Iran understood something many policymakers in Washington continue to underestimate: weaker states do not necessarily need to defeat stronger powers militarily in order to succeed. They simply need to avoid collapse while imposing sufficient economic, political and strategic costs that the stronger actor eventually recalculates.

This is not a new lesson. It runs through modern history, from Vietnam to Afghanistan. Superior military power does not automatically produce political victory. But more importantly, the conflict also revealed the increasing cost of escalation in an interconnected global economy.

Global battlefield

The war’s consequences spread across the global economy as oil prices surged, shipping routes faced disruption and already fragile supply chains came under renewed pressure. The closure of the Strait of Hormuz – through which roughly one-fifth of the world’s seaborne oil supply passes – was enough to trigger market anxiety. Iran does not need to fully close the strait to create economic shockwaves. In the modern global economy, uncertainty itself is a weapon.

The longer the war continued, the harder it was to remain politically sustainable – not just regionally, but globally. That is why, despite aggressive rhetoric, neither side now appears eager to return to full-scale war.

There is a broader lesson here that western powers repeatedly struggle to absorb: military power can destroy infrastructure and impose suffering, but it cannot easily manufacture legitimacy, political order or strategic clarity. That is why “winning” modern wars has become increasingly elusive even for the most powerful states on earth. Wars without realistic theories of victory tend to end the same way: through exhaustion, recalculation and negotiation. That increasingly appears to be where this conflict is heading.

The limits of power

Perhaps the greatest irony of the Iran war is that all sides now appear to recognise what should have been obvious from the beginning: total victory was never truly achievable. The war became a demonstration – not of the absence of power, but of its limits.

That matters in an increasingly fragmented global order where wars are becoming less about decisive triumph and more about endurance. States shaped by sanctions and prolonged isolation often develop a capacity to absorb pressure beyond what outside powers anticipate. Iran’s resilience was not created during this war. It was built over decades.

Military superiority still matters enormously. But the ability to endure politically, economically and socially matter just as much. Iran is a state with a complex, resilient structure, and depth of legitimacy especially when it comes to conflicts with the US and Israel. Iran understood that from the beginning.

It has taken Iran’s opponents too long to grasp the same facts. But they have now been educated by experience.

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.

Jeremy Howick, Professor of Empathic Healthcare and Director of the Stoneygate Centre at the University of Leicester, has been named this year’s winner of the Professor Sir Paul Curran Award for Excellence in Academic Journalism.

The prize is awarded annually to an academic who has shown exceptional skill, dedication and engagement in communicating their knowledge to readers through their contributions to The Conversation.

Jeremy has written 26 articles that have garnered 775,000 pageviews since his first publication in 2016 – including translations into French and Portuguese. His articles have looked at placebos, the effects of empathy and empathic treatment by clinicians, and medical safety, among others.

Presented this year by Lady Helen Curran in Sir Paul’s absence, we were delighted to welcome around 80 authors who had written for The Conversation in 2025 at Bayes Business School, City St George’s, University of London. Over drinks, they met Conversation editors and colleagues from across the sector.

Jeremy said: “It is a great honour to win this prestigious award. Thank you to The Conversation for the wonderful work they do, to my editor Clint Witchalls and to Stephen Khan for your help over the years.

"I have written for The Conversation for 10 years, and it has been an important part of my life’s work. I have always viewed public communication as a duty. My research as an academic has been funded by the MRC, NIHR, and other public bodies, meaning that the taxpayer has often paid my bills. The Conversation gives me a forum through which I can explain my research to the public.

"But also I’ve always been motivated to change practice. You can do that by becoming a politician or policymaker, but I’m not patient enough for that. The other way is to inform the public to create a groundswell for change. At the Stoneygate Centre for Empathic Healthcare in Leicester, and before that at the Oxford Empathy Programme, I’ve attempted to do just that by working to ensure that all healthcare consultations include a dose of empathy. The evidence is starting to show that we are succeeding at making a real difference, and The Conversation has contributed to that real-life impact. So thank you once again for this amazing award. I’m humbled and honoured.”

Senior Health Editor Clint Witchalls said: “I remember Jeremy’s first piece: Why doing good can do you good, about how doing good things for others doesn’t just feel nice but can actually make you healthier. Studies showed that volunteers have lower stress levels, healthier hearts, and even a brain that rewards them with feel-good chemicals for being kind. At the time Jeremy was at the University of Oxford and focused on researching the placebo and nocebo effects, which he has also written about for us. I can highly recommend Jeremy’s book: The Power of Placebos.”

Commendations

Highly Commended for his work was archaeology researcher Stephan Blum, from the University of Tübingen in Germany. Perhaps understandably he was not able to attend on the day, but his certificate is winging its way eastward.

Senior Arts Editor Anna Walker said: “Not only is Stephan a delight to work with, but he instinctively understands what The Conversation needs. His ability to connect the ancient world to contemporary concerns is a defining strength of his writing. Whether exploring environmental pressures behind the fall of Troy or reassessing long-held assumptions about early trade and wine production, he shows how the distant past can illuminate present-day issues, presenting history not as something static or remote but as a dynamic field that continues to shape how we understand the world today.”

Responding to the award, Stephan wrote: “Writing for The Conversation has been a tremendously rewarding experience, and I truly appreciate the opportunity to contribute. It means a great deal to see the work recognised in this way.”

Commended for their work on the thorny topic of climate finance were Meilan Yan of Loughborough University and Narmin Nahidi of the University of Exeter (who was also not able to attend).

Senior environment editor Anna Turns said: “I first worked with Meilan in May 2025 when compiling a user-friendly guide to climate finance – a notoriously complex and abstract topic. Climate risk is one of Meilan’s biggest worries and this is very much something that gets overlooked among a chaotic landscape of geopolitical unrest. Her pieces bridge the gap between climate science and financial risk in tangible and relatable ways.

"Narmin Nahidi, who we also discovered through working on the glossary of climate finance, explained many terms for us and has since tuned in to pitching timely and topical stories, is always been keen to collaborate on edits and a pleasure to work with.

Editor-in-Chief Stephen Khan thanked Lady Curran: "Professor Sir Paul’s ongoing commitment to The Conversation is greatly appreciated and we were delighted Lady Curran was able to meet the authors shortlisted this year and make the presentations.

"We’ve had thousands of fantastic articles and podcast contributions from across the academy over the past 12 months, taking expert knowledge to millions of people from all walks of life around the world.

"These authors authors showed a particular ability to make complex research accessible, engaging and genuinely useful. Jeremy Howick’s writing exemplifies the very best of The Conversation’s mission: rigorous evidence communicated with clarity, warmth and public purpose.”

A huge thank you to Jeremy, Stephan, Meilan and Narmin for their work with The Conversation over the years, and to all our authors – without whose efforts there would be no Conversation.

Historically, the United States hasn’t always been easy to deal with, but it was consistent. Even countries that disagreed with American policies knew there was a logic underlying its actions, and this predictability gave the country some credibility.

But now, under U.S. President Donald Trump’s second administration, American foreign policy has become haphazard and contradictory, driven by a leader who believes his ability to exercise power around the world is constrained only by his own morality.

This is new and, for observers around the world, perplexing. As Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney recently said: “Washington has changed. There is almost nothing normal now in the United States.”

Trump maelstrom

Some, like U.S. Vice President JD Vance, are labouring to erect a retroactive, pseudo-intellectual scaffolding around this chaotic mess, seeking to frame it as a coherent doctrine. But it’s become increasingly clear there’s no grand plan, just a Trumpian maelstrom of impulsive reactions, extractive transactions and personal grudges that shift with the news cycle.

To understand this political dysfunction, a German thinker from more than 100 years ago, Max Weber, offers a helpful guide.

Most famous today for his theory of “the Protestant work ethic,” Weber’s writing also explored the concept of “patrimonialism.”

This is a system of governance in which a ruler treats the state as personal property, governs by whim and uses the state’s resources to reward cronies and enrich family. Drawing largely on his understanding of the Ottoman Empire, Weber called the most extreme form of this system “sultanism.”

Reading Weber today, it seems the best description of how the U.S. engages the wider world could be termed “sultanism with American characteristics.”

Loyalty over experience

Consider Iran. Following the start of Operation Epic Fury, the Trump administration cycled through so many conflicting war aims that CNN was able to assemble a montage of the contradictions.

Senior administration officials worked feverishly to build a strategy around the operation, but it soon became clear that this “war of choice” was started based on little more than the president’s whim.

Read more: Vietnam ruined Lyndon B. Johnson’s political career. Will Donald Trump face the same fate over Iran?

Weber’s framework extends to the people around Trump. In sultanistic systems, staff are selected based on loyalty, not merit, and serve the ruler, not the state.

As Weber wrote, this leads to “an administration and a military force which are purely personal instruments of the master.”

We see this pattern vividly illustrated by the Trump administration’s approach to staffing senior roles, including those leading high-stakes diplomatic negotiations.

Look at Steve Witkoff, a real estate developer and longtime Trump friend with no foreign policy experience, who has served as the administration’s lead envoy on some of the most sensitive negotiations in the world.

Or Jared Kushner, the president’s son-in-law, who, despite having no background in foreign policy, was entrusted with key roles in Middle East diplomacy, while his investment firm pursues deals with the same Gulf states he is negotiating with on behalf of his country.

Serving the sultan

These are not appointments that a merit-based system would produce. But right now in America, officials serve the sultan, not the republic, which is why their speeches are regularly given for an “audience of one.”

Furthermore, in seeking the sultan’s favour, appointees regularly debase themselves on television, such as when Kevin Warsh, Trump’s pick to be the next head of the Federal Reserve, refused to admit Trump lost the 2020 election.

This sultanistic pattern of rewarding loyalty and punishing defiance is expanding. Federal disaster relief, long treated as a non-partisan obligation of the government, has become a stark illustration of this logic.

Since the start of his second term, Trump has approved just 23 per cent of disaster funding requests from blue states, compared to 89 per cent for red states. In some cases, the conditionality for disaster aid has been made explicit: for example, in 2025, as fires ravaged Los Angeles, Trump threatened to withhold aid unless California enacted voter ID laws — a condition with no relationship to disaster recovery.

This fear of punishment also helps explain why, fearing for their businesses, many media companies are bowing to “the court of King Trump.”

‘Orgy of corruption’

Finally, Weber’s framework sheds light on what may be the most defining feature of the Trump administration: a blurring of the lines between public office and private enrichment. Under sultanism, the distinction between the ruler’s personal wealth and the state’s treasury is, at best, notional.

Trump and his team have governed accordingly, with perhaps the most egregious example being hundreds of millions of dollars of insider trading around the Iran war. In a healthy democracy, this “orgy of corruption” would be investigated and prosecuted. But in a patrimonial system this is simply how things work: the state exists to serve the ruler and his inner circle.

This is what the world must now manage. A sultanistic system does not respond to appeals to shared values or long-standing agreements. It responds to leverage, personal relationships with the ruler and transactional incentives.

Policymakers and business leaders increasingly understand they are dealing with a court that rewards fealty and punishes defiance. That’s why the Swiss gave Trump a gold bar in exchange for lower tariffs, and why the Qataris gave him a “palace in the sky.”

In 2026, appeals to shared democratic values or common national interests are pointless; bring the sultan something he wants or face punishment. Weber helps explain why.

Christopher Collins 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.