Over recent weeks, the slogan “ditch the witch” has been featured alongside AI-generated photos of Victorian premier Jacinta Allan. She’s depicted in a dusty and distressed witch’s hat, a fake wart on her chin, on billboards and trucks around Melbourne in the lead up to the state election this November.

Instead of critiquing her policies or governance, the campaign attacked her gender. The brothel owner who partly funded the campaign says the slogan is not sexist.

It’s not the first time the phrase has been used that way. In 2011, then-opposition leader Tony Abbott stood before protest placards that read “ditch the witch”, targeted on that occasion toward our first woman prime minister, Julia Gillard.

In fact, there is a long sexist history of labelling women in power as witches.

So, why is it misogynistic to call a powerful woman a “witch”?

Threatening the patriarchy

Witchy women weren’t always bad.

In early European medieval stories, for instance, the magical woman Morgan Le Fay is described as a healer and scientist. Then, starting around the 12th century she is recast as a vindictive, evil character. Some scholars have suggested the narrative rules of the French chivalric romance literary genre may have played a role; to work, these stories needed a villain to prevent a knight from being with his lover.

From the early 15th century on, it became a very derisive way to refer to women. Texts like German friar Heinrich Kramer’s misogynistic witch-hunting manual Malleus Maleficarum (1486), among others, were highly influential in shaping the negative image of the witch.

Think also of the fairy tales collected in the 19th century by the Brothers Grimm, told to teach children about moral order. Witches serve a purpose in these stories as villains who lure and eat children. Subtle messages are conveyed about the dangers to the social order posed by women who don’t marry, don’t much like children, and possess power and ambition.

Threatening the patriarchy by displaying ambition or failing to conform to societal gender norms – such as the expectation to be “beautiful”, to bear children and to be a “good wife” – began to be taken as evidence of witchcraft. Think of the infamous Salem witch trials of the 1690s in America, where Bridget Bishop, an elderly, poor and argumentative widow and midwife – all of which were taken as evidence of her being a witch – was the first to be executed.

Many women were violently killed as a result.

A worthless woman

Witch-hunts have since shifted from the literal to the metaphorical.

Contemporary witch-hunts demonise women who hold positions of power or possess similar traits to the women deemed witches centuries ago.

Calling a woman a “witch” reinforces the idea that women who seek or have political power are not to be trusted. They are cast as inherently deceitful, dangerous, and diabolical.

It’s also a sledge that targets women’s appearance. Witches are portrayed as ugly, poor, disabled, barren spinsters who fail to live up to feminine beauty standards.

As women’s value in a patriarchy is tied to their appearance and how appealing they are to the male gaze, a witch is therefore seen as worthless.

In a patriarchy, a woman’s value is also linked to producing children and playing the role of a “good wife” – something that witches famously do not do. So when Julia Gillard – once described by a Liberal senator as “deliberately barren” – is called a witch, it is about punishing women who do not perform femininity in a certain, traditionalist way.

There is also a double standard. While women politicians risk being denigrated as witches, this is a term rarely, if ever, used for male politicians.

The male supernatural counterpart to a witch is a wizard or a warlock. A warlock (derived from the Old English “wǣrloga” which meant traitor, scoundrel, monster) and wizard (derived from the Middle English “wysard”, meaning wise) both imply greatness.

The former instils fear; the latter implies skill and excellence.

What actually is misogyny?

It’s worth thinking carefully about the difference between sexism and misogyny. And there is a difference. As writer and philosopher Kate Manne puts it:

Overall, sexism and misogyny share a common purpose – to maintain or restore a patriarchal social order. But sexism purports to merely be being reasonable; misogyny gets nasty and tries to force the issue […] Sexism wears a lab coat; misogyny goes on witch hunts.

Sexism is the belief that men are superior to women. It justifies patriarchy by presenting men as “naturally” dominant and women as subordinate. Sexism can, however, be used to support misogynistic ends.

Misogyny – unlike sexism – distinguishes “good women” and “bad women”, targeting and punishing the latter to coerce all women to adhere to the patriarchal social order.

Feminist scholars note how frequently women who rise in male-dominated institutions are marked as “bad women” who can potentially threaten the patriarchy, making them targets for misogyny.

These bad women are made an example of. The idea is to send a message to all women that this is what they risk if they follow in their footsteps.

In today’s context, the label “witch” loudly communicates to others that they must remain appropriately feminine and, above all, not challenge societal norms.

To be feared and destroyed

From the 20th century, witches have been embraced and reclaimed by some feminists who deconstructed the negative stereotypes. They have reinterpreted the witch as a feminist icon of women’s resistance.

But when the witch trope is used against women politicians, even as a joke, it reinforces certain beliefs about all women’s essential nature.

By doing this, society is asserting women should not seek power and that those who do so are dangerous; they are to be feared and destroyed.

Blair Williams 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.

Following the recent announcement that Australia would acquire three submarines already in US service rather than two used submarines and one new one, AUKUS has again dominated headlines.

AUKUS is a defence capability agreement between the United States, the United Kingdom and Australia. Since it was announced in 2021, it’s rarely been out of the news.

But how much of what you have heard is true?

As a former Navy officer specialising in anti-submarine warfare, I am frequently asked the same questions about AUKUS. While I can’t address everything in one article, here are the details behind some of the most common claims.

Why is Australia buying used submarines?

Australia has Collins class submarines that entered service between 1996 and 2003. Work should already be underway to replace them, but decades of delays and underfunding have left us with an ageing fleet.

Though the Collins class submarines will each go through a multi-year maintenance period extending their life, they won’t last long enough. They will need to be decommissioned before Australia can co-design, build and produce submarines here under AUKUS.

A stopgap solution is required. The purchase of three Virginia class submarines in 2032, 2035 and 2038 will provide this, and also give Australia the ability to start operating nuclear-powered submarines.

Think of it as a “crawl, walk, run” approach. The Virginias are the walk phase before we start building our own nuclear-powered submarines.

Acquiring submarines already in service reduces risk and complexity, avoids the challenges of introducing a new submarine, and removes the need for initial certification trials.

Is Australia getting a less capable submarine?

Not in any meaningful sense, though the third Virginia will be an older version than planned, so its sensors will probably be slightly less capable.

Australia will now receive three Block IV Virginia class submarines. These remain among the most capable attack submarines in the world. They carry more than 20 torpedoes and 12 Tomahawk land strike missiles.

Much of the commentary this week has suggested Australia has lost additional missile capacity because the submarines we’re receiving won’t have the “Virginia Payload Module” – a new hull section that allows the submarines to carry more missiles.

But that commentary is incorrect.

The submarine Australia was expected to receive in 2038 was never intended to have that capability.

In conflict, Australia would predominantly use these submarines in an anti-submarine and anti-ship role. Land strike missiles are not used for this and so the extra capacity isn’t essential. It’s also capability the US has said it is not willing to provide.

The main difference is the third submarine will have fewer years of life remaining than a new boat. A Virginia class submarine off the production line would normally have a 33-year life.

At Senate estimates this week, the Australian Submarine Agency said each boat will have more than 20 years of life remaining when we receive them.

Claims these submarines would only have eight years of life do not withstand scrutiny. The kind of submarines Australia will receive only started entering service in 2020.

Are we paying $368 billion for three used submarines?

The figure most often quoted for AUKUS is $368 billion. While technically correct, this figure covers costs through to 2055 including infrastructure, workforce and maintenance costs over 31 years, plus the purchase of Virginia class submarines to Australia and building our own submarines.

Of the total, about $244 billion is the projected cost, while the remaining $122.9 billion is a 50% contingency on top. This is money set aside to cover risks, cost growth and unforeseen problems. Most defence projects carry 5–10% contingency.

The Department of Defence’s 2026 Integrated Investment Program states nuclear-powered submarines will cost between $71 billion and $96 billion over the next decade.

Against projected defence funding of about $887 billion over the same period, this equates to around 8–11% of defence spending.

Read more: In view of Trump’s review of AUKUS, should Australia cancel the subs deal? We asked 5 experts

Can the US build enough submarines for Australia?

This is one of the most legitimate points of debate in the discussion.

The US reduced its production rate of submarines after the Cold War. Since 2011 it has set a goal of increasing its build rate to two submarines a year. From 2016–19 it averaged 1.9 boats a year.

According to the US Congressional Research report on Virginia class submarines, this build rate dropped off due to workforce issues during COVID and challenges associated with moving to the build of the new Block V submarine, which is 2,000 tonnes larger than the Block IV Virginia. The US is investing billions of dollars into its submarine industrial base to address this issue.

In May, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Daryl Caudle told Congress he expects Virginia production to reach two boats per year in around 2032. He previously said the US will need to get to a 2.3 production rate to get to its 2054 goal, including the sale of three Virginias to Australia. The US is presently building 1.3 a year.

The US submarine industrial base challenges are real, and will take significant effort to address. Has the US said it will not sell submarines to Australia if it doesn’t get there? No.

Is AUKUS risky?

Yes.

AUKUS is the most complex defence project in Australian history. There are risks in the US and UK industrial bases, workforce growth, infrastructure and funding. Anyone claiming otherwise is not engaging with reality.

But much has been achieved in less than five years.

Australia has established a submarine base near Perth, embedded personnel in US and UK submarine programs, commenced major infrastructure works, trained hundreds of personnel, and secured US congressional approval for the submarine transfers.

At the recent AUKUS Defence Ministers’ Meeting, all three countries stated the program remained on track. Based on the evidence available today, I agree.

This is a multi-decade program. There will be changes along the way. Not every adjustment is evidence of failure.

What happens if Australia abandons AUKUS?

Australia cannot simply walk away from AUKUS and pick another submarine off the shelf. Any alternative would require a new acquisition process, a new agreement and years of negotiation.

There is also no obvious replacement. France’s nuclear-powered submarines, for example, are built through a single shipyard and can take more than a decade to complete.

If Australia was to abandon a second submarine program in little more than a decade, this time with our closest ally, it would be hard to imagine another country lining up to partner with Australia on a future submarine project. After cancelling the French submarine program and significantly reducing other naval programs, our reputation for delivering in this area is already under pressure.

AUKUS should continue to be scrutinised. But that scrutiny should be anchored in facts. Any proposal to abandon it must also explain what replaces it and how Australia avoids a submarine capability gap.

Having spoken with officials in our partner nations, the concern raised most often is not the US or UK industrial base. It is Australian political will. As a nation, we should be mindful of that and measured in our debate.

Jennifer Parker 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.

At a security conference in Singapore over the weekend, the three AUKUS partners – the United States, United Kingdom and Australia – announced a tweak to their partnership that has generated quite a lot of attention in Canberra.

Australia will now receive three second-hand Virginia-class, nuclear-powered submarines in the coming years, instead of the original deal of two used vessels and one brand new sub.

Australian Defence Minister Richard Marles spun this as a welcome streamlining of the fleet that would simplify its supply chain, as well as the management and sustainment of these complex warships.

What Marles seems not to have noticed is that not all Virginia-class submarines are the same.

The new boat the US had promised would have been from Block 6, the most recent design. Instead, all of Australia’s submarines will now likely come from Block 4, which carry a much smaller weapon payload. Firepower is a measure of a fighting ship’s utility. Having the largest weapon capacity is a key ingredient for battle success.

It seems Australia has been a willing – not to say eager – victim of what is essentially a “bait and switch”.

The deal has always been unequal

The unilateral change of plans should not have come as a surprise to anyone in the Australian government.

AUKUS has always been a one-sided deal in which the US reaps the benefits while Australia accepts the risks. The agreement Australia entered into provides the US with numerous opportunities to cancel or modify the deal. Washington simply acted on what was permitted.

In addition, the AUKUS agreement allows the US president to cancel the submarine transfer at his or her whim, while Australia has no right to challenge or lobby against the decision. The current president, Donald Trump, is not known for loyalty to his allies. The fact the AUKUS deal was signed by his predecessor, Joe Biden, is likely to further reduce Trump’s level of commitment.

Read more: In view of Trump’s review of AUKUS, should Australia cancel the subs deal? We asked 5 experts

To make the US decision more of an affront, Australia has already contributed at least US$2 billion (A$2.8 billion) to the American submarine manufacturing pipeline.

The US is not building enough submarines to meet its own requirements, let alone the additional boats it has promised to Australia. The Australian cash contribution was meant to improve the US rate of production so Canberra would be able to get one or two of the latest boats. Australia’s investment has turned out to be a very poor one, and there are no refunds.

The Australian government has also misinterpreted what the US hopes to get out of the deal.

For the Americans, selling Australia any subs at all makes little sense in the contest with China for supremacy in the Western Pacific. It just reduces America’s own military capability.

The key element in AUKUS for the US has always been the submarine base that Australia is building at HMAS Stirling in Western Australia. This is where the US Navy plans to operate its submarines. The US has already announced the establishment of the support elements that will administer and sustain these warships.

As we can see now, Australia has virtually no leverage to make the submarine deal more equitable.

The Americans know that Australian strategic policy since before the Vietnam War has been to demonstrate relevance to the US. Australia has not hesitated to rush into US-led wars – even those of dubious legality – in order to show loyalty. If this was a poker game, the Australians would be playing with most of their cards face-up.

What can Australia do to gain more agency?

Unfortunately, not a lot. The US holds all the important cards. Australia will likely continue to be a dutiful ally in the hope the US will deliver what it has promised. But there are no guarantees.

The only vulnerability the US has is its desire to base its submarines at Stirling. If Australia was to halt construction or restrict US access to the base, it would be seen as tantamount to cancelling the deal. The price Australia would pay for its temerity would be an enormous loss of respect and favour in Washington – the very thing a long succession of governments has sought to boost.

Australia’s defence policy has seen our country ensnared in a trap of its own making. There are lessons our political leaders can hopefully learn.

The first is to accept the wisdom of former UK Prime Minister Lord Palmerston’s adage that countries have no eternal allies, just eternal interests.

The second is to recognise that an unbalanced alliance leads to servility, not partnership.

The final lesson is to develop faith in Australia’s ability to protect itself rather than turning to an ally of increasingly dubious reliability.

Albert Palazzo 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.

We have thousands of spontaneous thoughts a day. Most of them are mundane, such as “Where did I leave my car keys?”

But every now and then a strange and distressing thought might pop into our mind, such as “What if I hurt myself or someone I care about?”

So, what’s the difference between these random (and sometimes scary) intrusive thoughts and suicidal thoughts?

And when can our thoughts be a warning sign we need help?

What are intrusive thoughts?

Intrusive thoughts are sudden, involuntary thoughts, mental images or urges. They often cover difficult themes such as causing or experiencing harm, contamination, making a mistake, or sexual or religious content.

Sometimes these thoughts can feel alarming or upsetting, especially if they’re unwanted and we feel an urge to get rid of them.

But most people experience intrusive thoughts and having them doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or will necessarily act on them.

It’s unclear exactly why we have intrusive thoughts. It might reflect the natural tendency of our minds to wander. This process is usually helpful, and can help us form new understandings or generate new ideas.

But under stress having intrusive thoughts can become less helpful, particularly when they are unwanted, upsetting or feel hard to control.

So if intrusive thoughts are mostly a signal of stress, not danger, when do they become a problem?

If these thoughts cause you distress and make it hard to manage everyday things such as work, school or relationships, this could be a sign of a mental health disorder such as obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), an anxiety disorder, depression or post-traumatic stress disorder.

What should you do about intrusive thoughts?

The more we try to push intrusive thoughts away, the more they return and the more intense they can become.

However, a type of psychological treatment that pairs cognitive behaviour therapy with “exposure and response prevention” is effective for dealing with intrusive thoughts in anxiety or OCD.

This involves allowing intrusive thoughts to be present without trying to control them, then gradually reducing less helpful responses (such as scrolling on your phone to try to block out the thought), so the brain learns the thoughts are not dangerous.

You can try a simple version of this at home:

• label the thought (for example, “This is an intrusive thought.”)

• reduce unhelpful coping mechanisms (for example, drinking alcohol to block out unwanted thoughts)

• let the thought pass (for example, try a visualisation exercise where you imagine the thought drifting down a stream, without engaging with it or trying to get rid of it)

• refocus your attention on enjoyable activities such as going for a walk, chatting to a friend, or focusing on a task like cooking. This is not to “escape” the thought but to let it sit in the background while you focus your attention on what’s important to you.

Read more: Unwanted unacceptable thoughts: most people have them and we should talk about them

What if your intrusive thoughts are about death, self-harm or suicide?

Intrusive thoughts about experiencing harm such as your own death, self-harm or suicide are surprisingly common. We can also have intrusive thoughts about harm coming to others, including loved ones.

While they can feel upsetting, having thoughts such as “I wish I didn’t exist” doesn’t necessarily mean a person wants to or will act on them. However, it may indicate they are feeling emotionally overwhelmed, anxious or depressed.

Intrusive thoughts about your own death and specific ways of dying can also mean something more serious. It can lead to a greater risk of suicide or self-harm.

When do intrusive thoughts become a warning sign?

If intrusive thoughts are causing you distress, impacting your day to day life or you’re having thoughts about suicide, these are clear warning signs it’s time to get help.

Other important warning signs can include:

• more frequent or persistent thoughts or images about death or suicide

• increased hopelessness

• actively thinking about, planning or preparing for death

• behavioural changes such as withdrawing from others.

How can I get help and what can I do to help someone else?

You don’t need to manage these thoughts alone.

If you notice these warning signs in yourself, it’s important to ask for support. Talking to someone such a GP, psychologist, psychiatrist, trusted family member or friend can be a good first step.

If you’re having intrusive thoughts about suicide, your GP may ask you to complete a safety plan, which is a helpful reminder of ways to get support and keep safe when difficult thoughts, feelings or urges come up.

If you notice these signs in someone else, it’s important to check-in with how they’re doing at an appropriate time and in a caring way.

Here’s a four-step guide:

1. Ask directly about suicide. This won’t put the idea in someone’s head. When done sensitively, directly (“Are you thinking about suicide?”) and honestly, it can help people feel less alone.

2. Listen to the person, take them seriously and stay with them.

3. Get help (see examples below).

4. Follow-up and check in regularly.

For more information and support

For more information and resources about intrusive thoughts and OCD you can visit Lifeline, or for young people ReachOut or headspace.

You can visit This Way Up or MindSpot to access evidence-based online treatment programs for intrusive thoughts and OCD.

There are also online treatments for kids and teens with OCD.

If you’re having distressing thoughts about death and dying or suicide and need someone to talk to you can call:

• Lifeline: 13 11 14

• Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636

• Suicide Call Back Service: 1300 659 467

We would like to acknowledge the contribution of Ann Martin and Jill Newby to this article.

Emily Upton receives funding from an Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship.

Kayla Steele 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.

Everyone has a storm story – whether it’s that time you just escaped a downpour, or the hailstorm that wrote off your car. Even though hailstorms are relatively rare, they cause significant damages. Two new studies shed light on how hail might change as the world warms.

In our study, published today in Nature Climate Change, we show that hail conditions may move towards the poles with global warming and shift a bit from summer to winter. This could lead to more hailstorms in places such as northern Europe, Canada, southeastern Australia and New Zealand’s South Island.

Another new study led by Shiyi Zhang at Peking University shows that hail may also become more damaging.

Hailstorms are costly. In Australia in 2025, hail in New South Wales and Queensland caused A$1.9b in insurance claims, and in recent years severe storms have caused enormous losses globally.

Severe storm costs are increasing. Much of this increase is because people and assets are more exposed to storms as populations increase and cities expand.

But is climate change also playing a role?

How does hail form?

To get hail you need a thunderstorm, and to get a thunderstorm you need an updraught. Updraughts form when buoyant air rises in a localised area. They bring up water vapour, which condenses into clouds made of tiny water droplets.

Inside a storm those drops hit each other, and if it’s cold enough, liquid drops freeze onto ice particles, growing them into hailstones.

For hail to affect us at ground level, a strong updraught needs to keep hailstones aloft for long enough to grow, and the hailstones must then survive melting as they fall to Earth’s surface.

Wind shear, or shifts in wind with height, increases storm severity by moving falling rain and hail away from the updraught, so the updraught is not inhibited and can grow stronger.

Buoyancy and wind shear form the basic atmospheric “ingredients” required for hail.

How might climate change affect hailstorms?

Climate change is warming the atmosphere and adding moisture to it. Moisture is the fuel for storms, and a warmer atmosphere is more likely to make strong updraughts that can support larger hail.

A warmer atmosphere also melts falling hail faster, which might make hailstones shrink or melt away before they reach the ground. So, these two changes work against each other.

According to past research, the broad expectation of climate change’s impact on hail is that it will bring less frequent hail, but the hailstones will be larger when hail does happen. That’s because more melting would mean smaller hail reaches the ground less often, but stronger updraughts would enable larger hailstones.

However, these changes vary regionally, depending on variations in the delicate balance between hailstorm ingredient changes.

Global climate models generally can’t tell us about individual storms, let alone hailstones – think of a low-resolution image that only shows the broad picture but no details.

So, instead of looking at hail directly, our study examined how the ingredients for hailstorms change. Because the exact relationships between ingredients and hail risk remain unclear, we used several so-called “proxy” relationships, including one that we previously developed for Australia and the wide range of weather regimes here.

New global projections for hail frequency

We applied three proxies to outputs from eight climate models to look at a range of possible future warming scenarios.

First, the proxies and models agree that in the warming scenarios hail-prone conditions are shifting toward the poles – decreasing across mid-latitudes in the southern hemisphere, and increasing in mid-high latitudes, particularly in the northern hemisphere.

We project more frequent hail conditions in northern Europe, Canada and the northwestern US, southeastern Australia, and the South Island of New Zealand; and less frequent hail conditions in northern Australia, most of Africa, southern India and southeastern China.

Second, our results predict less frequent hail conditions in summer and more in winter. That means winter crops like wheat may see increasing risk, while risk may decrease for summer crops like maize. If climate change shifts arable regions closer to the poles, these crops may be subjected to increased hail frequency there.

Third, the different proxies don’t always agree, particularly in the tropics where some show increases and others decreases. These disagreements highlight the difficulties in estimating changes in hail environments and how that connects to whether hail happens.

Less frequent, but more damaging

What about the severity of hail when it occurs? Zhang and colleagues took a different approach to ours. They applied a model of hailstone growth and melting to climate simulations, to examine possible hail sizes and changes in potential damage they might cause.

Their new global simulations overall predict more large hailstones and fewer small ones. This result is in line with previous reasoning – a warmer atmosphere can melt smaller hailstones away but produce larger hail through stronger updraughts.

Like ours, their study shows regional differences in changes. Both studies show increasing hail risk with increased frequency and hail damage potential in the mid-high latitude northern hemisphere and southeastern South America.

In sub-tropical regions of Africa and northern South America, both studies show decreasing hail risk. In southeast US, mid-northern Africa, southern India, and northeastern Australia, we project decreasing frequency while Zhang and colleagues project increasing damage potential.

These two studies point to increasing risk from hail damage in a warming world, even though the details of where this will be experienced are still not clear. The more warming occurs, the more this risk will increase.

Quickly reducing greenhouse gas emissions is the surest way to blunt the most damaging effects of climate change.

Timothy H. Raupach's role at UNSW receives funding from QBE Insurance, which had no role in the design of this study. He receives funding for other projects from the Australian Research Council, Guy Carpenter, and Aon Japan.

Steven Sherwood receives funding from the Australian Research Council and the Minderoo Foundation.

Public hearings are underway this week to highlight the impacts of the government’s new National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) bill to tighten eligibility and save costs.

Over the past two days, the Senate inquiry heard that if the bill passes in its current form, it risks entrenching gender inequities in the NDIS and further excluding women and girls.

We have long known the NDIS has a gender problem.

Women and girls only make up 38% of the scheme. Men outnumber women in every age category (except for 55 and over) and dominate nearly every disability type within the scheme.

From the age of 15, access requests from men are also approved at a higher rate than access requests for women.

Tighter eligibility

From January 1 2028, the bill will require scheme applicants to access all “appropriate” treatments (meaning known, evidence-based and available in Australia) likely to “materially” (meaning noticeably) improve or alleviate the impact of the impairment, before NDIS access is granted.

Applicants have always been asked to demonstrate they’ve tried other treatments before applying for the NDIS. But this new rule is likely to place an even higher burden on people with impairments that are difficult to diagnose and medically complex to treat.

Under the new permanency rules, people may have to try lots of potentially marginal treatments that might slightly improve functioning, even if their conditions are not understood, or the treatment is expensive or difficult to access.

Women are more likely than men to have medically unexplained or chronic conditions, such as myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia, which causes chronic pain.

These “pay to prove” dynamics also disproportionately affect those with fewer financial resources. Women with disability are more likely than men with disability to live on lower incomes. They also have higher expenses and lower earning capacity due to greater caring responsibilities.

Tightening access to the scheme in this way – without first addressing costly and difficult-to-access treatment pathways – risks excluding these women and girls from key supports.

Support can only be provided for approved conditions

If the bill passes, the NDIS will only fund supports for needs that directly relate to NDIS-recognised impairments.

This reverses changes to NDIS legislation introduced two years ago, which better recognised the complex way people actually experience impairments.

We have spoken to people in our current study about chronic pain who have explained that pain from one condition (for example, a connective tissue disorder) can affect the functional impacts of another impairment (for example, autism or a psychosocial disability, for which they receive NDIS support). For them, it’s impossible to distinguish between support needs “arising directly” from their NDIS-recognised impairment and support needs that are indirectly related to that impairment.

Women are also more likely than men to experience multiple chronic health conditions and disabilities, especially in age groups under the NDIS cut-off of 65.

Narrowing the lens of assessment and restricting access in this way also has gendered consequences.

Cuts to social participation funding

The bill gives the minister power to make cuts to entire categories of supports in the future, without introducing legislation or consultation.

We got a taste of what this could look when the government announced it would cut participants’ social and community participation budgets.

The 50% across-the-board cuts will shift these responsibilities back onto informal carers – largely women.

There are more than twice as many female primary carers as male primary carers. Of those providing primary care to children with disability, the overwhelming majority (84.7%) are women.

Some 43.8% of primary carers also have disability themselves. This means that when it comes to carers, we are often talking about women with disability who are the primary carers for children with disability.

These cuts will increase unpaid caring responsibilities. The bill’s explanatory memorandum acknowledges this:

Due to the gendered nature of caring, women are more likely to be impacted by changes to the supports available […].

These changes may lead carers to cut back on paid employment, deepening women’s socioeconomic exclusion.

Cuts to social and community participation funding are also likely to increase social isolation and reduce natural safeguards of community connection for people with disability.

Women with disability are disproportionately likely to experience violence, so cutting them off from vital community participation supports poses an unacceptable risk.

What needs to be done?

The bill’s explanatory memorandum says:

opportunities to increase gender equality will be considered as part of the design and evaluation of future market reforms to delivering social and community participation and capacity building activities.

However, no timeframes, benchmarks or accountability mechanisms are provided for when or how this work will occur.

The Australian government’s approach to gender-responsive budgeting requires new policy proposals to include gender analysis proportionate to the scale, scope and likely impact of the reform.

Given the scale and implications of the proposed NDIS reforms, we need a comprehensive and publicly available gender impact analysis before this bill is passed.

We also need more certainty on what can be done for those outside the scheme who need foundational supports. The Australian government has announced the Thriving Kids initiative. However, there is limited detail on planned foundational supports for other participant groups.

Researchers and advocates have been calling for an NDIS gender strategy for years. The National Disability Insurance Agency (NDIA) began work on this in early 2025, but by 2026 this work had been paused to prioritise broader scheme reforms. Advocates, such as Women with Disabilities Australia, continue to draw attention to the gendered issues of these reforms.

The likely consequences of these reforms show a gender strategy is needed more than ever.

Sophie Yates receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council.

Molly Saunders 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 Australian government has launched its largest-ever lawsuit, suing American chemical giant 3M and its local subsidiary. The government is seeking A$2 billion in damages for the past and future cost of investigating and managing “forever chemicals” contamination from firefighting foams on almost 30 Defence sites.

The government alleges the company withheld internal testing that showed these foams did significant environmental damage. 3M has vowed to defend itself.

What’s interesting is the scope. State-owned facilities, such as public water utilities, are unlikely to be included. The case also avoids any mention of possible impacts on human health. This is at least in part because the impacts of forever chemicals are a live topic of scientific debate and inquiry.

What is the case based on?

Forever chemicals are properly known as PFAS, or per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances. They are also known as “forever chemicals” because they take a very long time to break down in the environment.

The Commonwealth case focuses on the use of PFAS-containing firefighting foams manufactured by 3M and used on Defence bases from the 1970s until the mid 2000s. These aqueous film-forming foams have been slowly phased out in Australia.

Several communities near affected Defence facilities have sued the Commonwealth, with class actions and other claims amounting to around $400 million in legal settlements.

Until now, the government hasn’t sought to recover these costs, but is doing so now to remediate the sites, pay out class actions and cover future remediation.

While full court documents are not yet public, multiple government statements and the court file suggest the claim is mainly based on the Australian Consumer Law.

The Commonwealth may argue 3M engaged in misleading or deceptive conduct by failing to disclose what it knew about the environmental risks of these firefighting foams.

In the United States, many state attorneys-general have sought to recover clean-up and monitoring costs from manufacturers allegedly promoting PFAS products as safe, despite knowing their risks.

How likely is a settlement?

While both sides appear to have adopted a firm public position committing to the case, this isn’t guaranteed. Large lawsuits like this frequently reach a settlement before trial.

This is because reaching a settlement allows parties to agree on compensation without a judicial finding of liability.

Australian courts encourage alternative dispute resolution, which can enable settlements and reduce costs and uncertainty, while allowing defendants to avoid formal findings of wrongdoing. Class actions against Defence have all settled before trial.

In the US, municipal governments and water authorities sued 3M and other PFAS manufacturers for selling products they knew would contaminate the environment, seeking payments to “help clean up the mess that they created”. These claims became part of a larger case.

In response, 3M agreed to pay about A$14 billion (US$10 billion) to assist with testing and treatment costs while denying liability.

Settlements have also been reached in personal injury litigation, including one against another manufacturer, DuPont, worth A$953 (US$670) million across 3,550 claims.

What’s in and what’s out of the case?

The proceedings have been framed as an effort to recover past and future costs from almost 30 Defence sites.

Yet PFAS contamination isn’t limited to these sites. Other sites of concern include state-operated firefighting facilities, industrial sites and public water supplies. This case is unlikely to directly address those locations.

It’s not clear whether any funds recovered would support measures sought by affected communities, such as routine blood testing or long-term medical monitoring. Residents of Katherine in the Northern Territory have questioned whether any potential settlement would compensate losses not covered by earlier class actions. Many civilian and military firefighters exposed to these PFAS foams for decades have not been involved in compensation schemes or major litigation.

Notably, the case doesn’t mention any possible effects on human health. Assistant Minister for Defence Peter Khalil has cited advice from health authorities that evidence of health impacts from forever chemicals remains limited.

In 2023, the cancer agency of the World Health Organization found one forever chemical, PFOA, was carcinogenic. But there are many different types of PFAS. The WHO is now conducting a systematic review of key PFAS compounds and health outcomes, such as cancer and reproductive toxicity.

The PFAS class actions against Defence similarly excluded personal injury claims, focusing instead on property, business and cultural losses. Even so, evidence about possible health effects was raised because contamination affected property values.

It will be interesting to see whether the Commonwealth can separate environmental contamination from health concerns, while maintaining its position that evidence of human health impacts remains limited.

What’s next?

If the lawsuit goes to a trial and the government succeeds in its claim, it would likely open the door to further claims against 3M by fire services, water suppliers and other affected groups.

This could also happen if the claim is settled out of court.

Regardless of the result, more legal action and advocacy is likely from communities affected by PFAS around Australia.

Cameron Holley receives funding from the Australian Research Council (DP260103099).

Carley Bartlett receives funding from the Australian Research Council (DP260103099). Her PhD was supported by an Australian Government Research Training Program scholarship.

The United States is threatening to impose trade tariffs of up to 12.5% on 60 countries, including Australia, over their inaction on forced and slave labour worldwide.

On Wednesday, US trade representative Jamieson Greer said:

The failure of our most important trading partners to address the importation of goods made with forced labor is unacceptable.

Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese responded that a new tariff on exports to the US was “unjustified”, as Australia has “robust, comprehensive and world-leading legislation addressing forced labour and modern slavery”.

Who’s right? And are the US claims about other nations turning a blind eye to forced and slave labour – where a person is either forced to work, or even owned by someone else – actually true?

Which countries could face new tariffs

In a new report released by the US Trade Representative, 54 countries – including Australia, China, New Zealand and the United Kingdom – were found to have:

failed to impose a legal prohibition on the importation of goods produced wholly or in part with forced labour and to effectively enforce such a prohibition.

All of those countries face a proposed 12.5% tariff on their exports to the US.

Another six economies – including Canada, the European Union and Indonesia – face lower 10% tariffs. They were seen to have done more overall, but failed to effectively enforce their own laws.

Forced labour is a form of modern slavery, defined under international law as “all work or service which is exacted from any person under the threat of a penalty and for which the person has not offered himself or herself voluntarily”.

This definition is consistent with an almost century old US law, Section 307 of the US Tariff Act of 1930. It’s now being used to legally justify this latest round of tariffs.

The US has a strong history of taking legislative action against forced labour. Section 307 prohibits imports of goods mined, produced or manufactured by forced labour.

In 2022, the US also established the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act, prohibiting goods being imported from China’s Xinjiang Uyghur region, where there are “credible” allegations of widespread forced labour.

‘We get one ruling, we do it a different way’

These proposed forced labour tariffs appear to be less about labour rights and more about trade.

This latest move comes after US courts blocked US President Donald Trump’s sweeping international tariffs announced over the past year. That prompted Trump to pledge: “We get one ruling, and we do it a different way.”

As former Australian ambassador to the US Joe Hockey said about the new forced labour tariff today, “America is running out of money and they need to get it from somewhere”.

These tariffs are still subject to public consultations over the next month.

While using tariffs as a way to strengthen action on forced labour is questionable, there is some substance behind the US allegations.

41,000 people in Australia alone

An estimated 50 million people around the world – and rising – are trapped in modern slavery, more than half of those in forced labour.

Australia is estimated to have more than 41,000 people working as forced labourers or other forms of modern slavery, including child marriages.

Reports to the Australian Federal Police of human trafficking have nearly doubled in the past five years.

Australia’s laws are not world leading

In 2018, Australia established its Modern Slavery Act. This law was hailed as a critical first step in acting on modern slavery.

The law requires large business to report annually on the risks of modern slavery in their operations and supply chains.

Since 2019, more 17,000 modern slavery statements from more than 27,000 businesses have been lodged on Australia’s modern slavery registry.

Yet in 2023, an independent report found:

there is no hard evidence that the Modern Slavery Act in its early years has yet caused meaningful change for people living in conditions of modern slavery.

That’s not surprising: there is no enforcement built into the law.

What more needs to be done?

If Australia does want to have “world-leading” laws – and a stronger case to argue for lower US tariffs – what needs to change?

While the Modern Slavery Act has raised awareness of the problem in Australian boardrooms, it is not improving the working conditions of supply chain workers, here at home and overseas.

So Australia needs to move quickly to strengthen that law with enforcement, and establish a forced labour import ban.

A 2023 review of the Modern Slavery Act recommended penalties for companies failing to comply with reporting requirements and the introduction of a human rights “due diligence obligation” – similar to European Union laws and emerging requirements in South Korea, Thailand and Indonesia. This sees companies working to reduce human rights harms not just in their own factories, but through their suppliers’ suppliers too.

The Albanese government partially accepted some of the 2023 report recommendations, including the need for penalties. Three years on, it’s failed to take serious action.

The Australian government should also establish a forced labour import ban, like one the EU passed two years ago, now being phased in across all 27 member states. This would stop specific goods suspected of being produced with forced labour at the border.

Whether these proposed tariffs come into force or not, this new US forced labour investigation could actually do some good.

Right now, millions of people are working in dangerous, dehumanising conditions to make goods sold in Australia and worldwide. It’s long overdue to do more to stop it.

Justine Nolan 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.

As Aboriginal nations mounted a series of coordinated and strategic campaigns to defend Country against invading settlers, the smallpox epidemic spread across the southeast from 1830 to 1832.

It disproportionately affected Aboriginal people, killing large numbers of First Nations people exposed to it. Historical research so far has looked at the origins of the epidemic, mortality and the culpability of the settlers.

Yet Aboriginal warfare in the late 1830s suggests many communities survived the earlier epidemic. So how did Aboriginal people respond and survive in the face of a new and deadly disease?

With access to a lesser-known medical report from 1831 by army doctor John Mair, our newly-published research offers an alternative account of Wiradjuri, Gomeroi and Wailwan peoples of the plains and river country (of what is now western and northwestern New South Wales). This gave us an insight into their experience of what they named “Boulol” on the northwestern plains and “Thunna Thunna” in the Lachlan and Wellington Valleys.

Our research unearthed three distinct responses that are reminiscent of leading disease control measures across the globe and that continue today.

Efforts to isolate and separate

The 1830s epidemic probably was not the first time the peoples of the plains and rivers experienced smallpox. Old men at one cattle station told the station manager in 1831 they had experienced the disease when they were very young, and they had the distinctive scars to prove it.

It’s likely these men had previously caught smallpox in 1789 or 1790, after the disease had first broken out around the colonisers’ camp at Sydney Cove and moved west over the ranges. These men – and other plains country old people – would have understood the disease from the vast networks of trade and communication that linked the coast to the plains country.

It should come as no surprise, then, that they had well thought out strategies to respond to the epidemic, such as the movement of people away from the disease and population centres.

At that same station, the manager observed one smaller group isolating away from a larger group that had the disease. What the stockman interpreted as enmity could instead have been strictly observed isolation. This could have been similar to the sometimes violent quarantine practices of English-speaking societies.

In another example, this time from a station at Wallerawang (near present-day Lithgow), a group “convinced of the contagious nature of the disease” fled to Emu Plains, 100 kilometres southeast and on the opposite side of the mountains, in order to escape the epidemic.

Again, the Wallerawang station Wiradjuri people seem to have recognised how smallpox spread from person to person.

After the epidemic, they returned. We know this because a decade later the local pastoralist, James Walker, reported he was grateful for their return as he relied on their labour.

Devising treatments

The Aboriginal peoples of the plains and river country also responded to the smallpox epidemic with active treatment.

George Clarke was a bushranger known as “the Barber” who lived with the Gomeroi people for several years. He provided detailed descriptions of how Gomeroi doctors treated the disease.

Initially, treatment included immersion in cold water, but since deaths still occurred, this treatment was discontinued and other cures tried.

Head hair was removed by scorching close to the scalp. Further treatment included “pricking the pustules with a sharp pointed fish bone” and pressing out the fluid with a flat instrument.

John Mair, who interviewed Clarke, interpreted these treatments as being consistent with the best accepted medical interventions for smallpox then known in the world. Mair was highly trained, with a medical degree from the University of Edinburgh and training at leading British and French hospitals.

He found examples of head-shaving and pustule pricking in his textbook. He was comfortable with the idea that Aboriginal knowledge systems may have reduced mortality of the smallpox epidemic and mitigated symptoms.

Clarke’s bushranging itself pointed to the effectiveness of Gomeroi practices. “The Barber” was arrested twice in 1831, in April and October, before and after the epidemic. Gomeroi warriors were with him both times. Smallpox did not prevent them from fighting the invading squatters.

Getting vaccinated

Accepting vaccination was another way that Wiradjuri, Gomeroi and Wailwan peoples responded to the smallpox epidemic.

Smallpox was the first virus for which a vaccine was found. Yet in the 1830s, this technology was still only 30 years old, with significant limitations in its efficacy and safety.

Mair was committed to vaccination, offering it to settler children in Sydney. When he first heard rumours of the epidemic to the west, he sent vaccine packages and later performed vaccinations himself.

Mair was conscious that vaccination could only work if it was accepted by Aboriginal people. He soon found out Aboriginal people took up vaccination very readily, compared with the “little desire” he had seen in Sydney among the settlers.

Reading Mair’s views, we conclude these unnamed Wiradjuri people decided to trust Mair, even with limited evidence, to receive a procedure that they probably understood as an action intended to prevent the return of smallpox.

When vaccination was not possible, at least one group of colonisers offered a riskier alternative. Variolation involved controlled inoculation with smallpox pus, which supposedly caused a mild case of smallpox that prevented future infection.

Read more: Eradicating smallpox: the global vaccination push that brought the world ‘arm-to-arm’

It mostly worked, even if it could have up to a three in 100 fatality rate.

When vaccination failed during the epidemic, Arthur Ranken, a pastoralist on the Lachlan River, performed variolation on several Wiradjuri people and convinced his neighbours John and Jeremiah Grant to do the same. The Grants experimented with variolation in stages – first testing it on ten people from “Miles’ and Camberrang’s tribes”, then others from the community, and lastly, on Jeremiah Grant himself.

This procedure did offer protection, but it also came with more risk. The pastoralists may have been motivated to resort to variolation to secure their Aboriginal labour force. Variolation had become common on slave plantations in the Caribbean and Americas during the 18th century for this reason, and Ranken had brothers who were both doctors and slave owners.

Yet Ranken and the Grants appear to have omitted one crucial part of the variolation procedure – the strict quarantine of people who’d had the treatment. Without this step, the colonisers let the recovering patients spread smallpox to others, even while being protected themselves.

Aftermath

The smallpox epidemic of the early 1830s undoubtedly was a devastating event that caused many deaths and affected survivors for decades. Yet to focus only on this impact is to tell an incomplete history.

The Wiradjuri, Gomeroi and Wailwan peoples of the plains and river country actively responded to smallpox just as they responded to other forms of violence. They carefully deployed Traditional Knowledge, observation and intuition in the treatment and response to smallpox, in ways that drew on networks across vast distances with earlier experience of the disease.

Less than a decade after the epidemic, from 1838 to 1844, Gomeroi, Wiradjuri and Wailwan led an uprising that has been described as a high point of resistance to the colonisers, forcing them, in some places, to retreat. Smallpox did not destroy either culture or willingness to fight for country.

Heidi Norman receives funding from the Australian Research Council and Greater Sydney Parklands.

Nicholas Pitt receives funding from the Australian Research Council’s Australian Laureate Fellowship and the School of Humanities and Languages at UNSW Sydney.

The United States government’s recent release of hundreds of previously classified Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAPs) cases spanning the 1940s to the present, along with the new Steven Spielberg movie, Disclosure Day, about extraterrestrial life, has fuelled the idea that aliens are visiting Earth.

In fact, polls in Australia, the US and elsewhere indicate around a third of the public believes aliens are here.

However, while what we know about the universe suggests aliens may exist, there are three compelling reasons why they probably aren’t visiting us.

Space is big – very big

To begin with, space is vast – beyond our imagination.

Proxima Centauri, the nearest star to our Sun, is about 40 trillion kilometres away, 268,000 times farther than the Sun is from Earth. That’s 4.3 light years as astronomers measure it. A light year is the distance light travels in one year at 300,000km per second.

We can only travel across space at a fraction of the speed of light with current technology. Even our fastest spacecraft, the Parker Solar Probe, travels at a top speed of roughly 191 kilometres per second – 0.064% the speed of light.

At that speed, it would take about 6,650 years to reach Proxima Centauri, and that’s just in our local stellar neighbourhood. So interstellar travel within human lifespans would require much higher velocities.

Let’s assume we did have the means to travel close to the speed of light. That introduces the first problem with travelling at that velocity. Albert Einstein demonstrated that time is relative; the rate of time flow is not the same everywhere in the universe. The faster a spaceship travels from Earth, the slower time will pass for its passengers. This is called time dilation.

For example, when NASA astronaut Scott Kelly arrived back on Earth from a year on the International Space Station, he was milliseconds younger than his identical twin because time moves more slowly for objects in motion, and the International Space Station travels at roughly 28,150 kilometres per hour.

This difference was negligible for the Kelly twins. But for any aliens cartwheeling through our skies, it would be significantly more because of the journey to Earth and back from a distant star system at a necessarily higher speed. They would go home to a planet much older than the one they left – perhaps by a century or more. They would be time exiles.

Unimaginably high energy requirements

Then there’s the unimaginably high energy requirement for interstellar travel.

The mass of the spaceship increases with velocity, so an increasing amount of energy is required to accelerate it.

At the speed of light, the ship becomes infinitely massive, requiring an infinite amount of energy. This is clearly impossible.

Another significant issue is that space is a vacuum – but not completely. There are just enough particles to worry about. They can potentially cause fatal radiation for passengers and the instruments of a high velocity spacecraft, or destroy it. Sparsely spread hydrogen atoms turn into intense radiation at near light speed, and the heat that is generated would ablate and eventually destroy the hull.

Faster-than-light travel, according to physicist Miguel Alcubierre, is possible, but it comes with its own set of issues and a currently impossible energy requirement.

That raises the question of why spend all this energy to travel to Earth? Anything we have, an advanced civilisation (as they would have to be to get here) would be able to make on their planet.

A unique biosphere

Yet another issue is our biosphere, unique to Earth as far as scientists know.

Life and the planet co-evolved. Complex life would not exist on Earth if cyanobacteria, a type of single-celled microbe, had not pumped oxygen into our mostly nitrogen atmosphere 2.4 billion years ago.

It’s therefore not toxic for us, but oxygen is reactive and could be highly corrosive for aliens. And while they could wear protective suits like humans do when going to inhospitable environments, reports of visiting aliens do not include any descriptions of spacesuits.

So, are aliens out there?

If aliens are not here, are they out there?

It’s an interesting question, scientifically and philosophically. Scientists do not have enough information yet, but they are working on the question.

About 6,200 exoplanets have been found in more than 4,700 solar systems, though none are like Earth or our Solar System.

Most stars could have at least one planet, and there are more than 100 billion stars in our galaxy alone. The number of planets is therefore astronomical, and some may be habitable.

Closer to home, there are worlds with potential for microbial life either past or present – Mars, Europa (a moon of Jupiter), and Enceladus and Titan (moons of Saturn). If we discover life began twice in our Solar System, that will increase the odds of life elsewhere.

Since 1960, we’ve had the capability to look for intelligence elsewhere, piggybacking on normal radio astronomy. The biggest search for alien life projects are carried out by the SETI Institute in California and the Breakthrough Listen project based at Oxford University in the United Kingdom.

Nothing has been found across all the searches made. Finding intelligence in our time frame – about a hundred years – in the 13.8-billion-year history of the universe is challenging.

However, as a 1959 Nature paper noted, while it’s difficult to estimate the chance of success, if we don’t search, the chance drops to zero.

Carol Oliver is co-chair of the International Academy of Astronautics international SETI Committee.

The United States has launched new airstrikes across Iran this week as President Donald Trump, losing patience over the protracted negotiations to end the war, has leaned into violence to ratchet up the pressure on the Iranian leadership.

The US secretary of defence, Pete Hegseth, made clear the airstrikes would likely continue if the peace deal continued to stall, saying:

If we need to negotiate with bombs, we’ll negotiate with bombs.

This came after Iran and Israel fired missiles at one another in recent days and Iran shot down a US helicopter.

Up to this point, both the US and the Iranian regime had respected the precarious ceasefire that had halted the war in early April. Both sides seemed to want it to continue. And Trump is still insisting a peace deal is imminent.

Why, then, are both sides firing on each other now, and where does this leave the negotiations? There are a few plausible explanations.

Escalate to deescalate

In conflicts, states often escalate to deescalate. This is when a country ramps up military action with the aim of intimidating the other side into submission.

Both the US and Iran want to show force to pressure the other side into accepting an agreement that meets their own core interests.

However, the two sides remain at an impasse because their most critical interests are at odds with one another.

The US wants Iran to capitulate on its nuclear program and reopen the Strait of Hormuz to commercial traffic, with no constraints. Iran wants its frozen assets released and a lasting ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon.

Both sides remain far apart on the nuclear issue, with Iran unlikely to fully agree to US demands that it dismantle its nuclear infrastructure and cease uranium enrichment altogether.

Given the stalemate, both sides want to show they are willing to escalate through military action. Yet, neither wants the ceasefire to break completely.

Trump wants to move on from the war and shift the political agenda domestically in an election year. Fewer than one in six Americans think the US is winning the war. The Iranian regime remains standing, but it cannot ignore the mounting economic pressures of a full-scale war for much longer.

The problem is that escalating in hopes of intimidating an adversary into a deal only works if the other side is not pursuing the same tactic at the same time. Otherwise, both sides end up in an escalation trap, each ramping up the severity of attacks and unable to back down.

Accidental escalation

An alternate explanation is that these escalations are the unintended but inevitable consequence of a tense ceasefire that includes a live military blockade in the Strait of Hormuz.

It remains unclear if the Iranian drone that downed the US helicopter this week, precipitating the retaliatory airstrikes, was intentional or an accident.

An existential regional conflict

Making things more complex is the fact this isn’t just a fight between two protagonists – Israel is simultaneously launching military strikes on an Iranian ally, Hezbollah, in Lebanon.

Israel’s military operation deep into southern Lebanon has fundamentally shifted the regional geopolitics. And it may undermine the tenuous ceasefire between the US and Iran, despite Trump’s efforts to maintain regional calm.

What the Trump administration does not seem to have fully grasped is that in the eyes of the Israelis and Iranians, this conflict runs much deeper and has been going on far longer than the current war. For both sides, it is existential. The Islamic regime in Iran has long opposed Israel’s place in the region, and Israel has long viewed a nuclear-armed Iran as the chief threat to its survival.

As such, Iran will not abandon Hezbollah, which it has long funded and armed, and respect a ceasefire with the US, while Israel wages war in Lebanon. The reason: the regime see itself and Hezbollah as one front fighting the same battle.

And on the Israeli side, the October 7 2023 Hamas attacks on Israel fundamentally shifted Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s approach to the region. Since then, his far-right government has adopted an offensive military strategy of capturing territory in Israel’s neighbours – Syria, Lebanon and Gaza – and establishing security buffer zones. Netanyahu has also vowed to eliminate any threat coming from Iran, Hamas and Hezbollah.

However, the non-state actors of Hamas, Hezbollah, and even the Houthis in Yemen cannot be eliminated with conventional military force. Militant groups like these can blend into civilian populations and reemerge, sometimes months or years later.

So, despite Israel’s significant use of military force and the widescale destruction of Gaza and now southern Lebanon, Israel will not succeed in eliminating Hamas or Hezbollah, and will keep fighting.

Trump’s approach to regional diplomacy has ignored these complexities. Trump leans heavily on bilateral and personal relationships to achieve his objectives. He has shown little interest or patience in addressing the underlying drivers motivating the multiple actors involved in the conflict.

Will the ceasefire hold?

The most important thing to understand here is how Trump views a “ceasefire”. In a news conference this week, he said in the Middle East, a ceasefire means “shooting in a more moderate manner”.

But we do know he doesn’t want to return to a full-scale war, which is why he demanded Israel and Iran stop striking one another earlier this week.

So, we could see more strikes between the three sides as they continue negotiating. And we may see a memorandum of understanding between the US and Iran in the coming days or weeks. However, this would likely be an agreement for both sides to continue talking. It is unlikely it will resolve the core issues.

Nor is Israel likely to withdraw its troops from southern Lebanon or halt its asymmetric war with Hezbollah.

As I’ve argued before, this has the making of a “frozen conflict”, or an unresolved war that continues at a low level, below the threshold of full-scale combat.

If the deeper roots of the conflict are not resolved, a “ceasefire” between the US, Israel and Iran can only ever be temporary.

Jessica Genauer 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.

Frances Rings’ artistic directorship of Bangarra Dance Theatre’s shines through the company’s new triple-bill production, Sheltering.

Rings demonstrates a commitment to uplifting company members and First Nations creatives, with a coherent curatorial vision that shows care for diverse audiences.

This triple-bill is a beautiful sampler of what this important company has to offer to the cultural, political and creative facets of our nation.

A nurturing home for First Nations creatives

Sheltering comprises three individual choreographic works: Keeping Grounded, Brown Boys, and Sheoak.

Sheoak is a 2015 work by Rings herself, commissioned by then Artistic Director Stephen Page.

Keeping Grounded (2023) is choreographed by Indjalandji-Dhidhanu and Alyawarre woman Glory Tuohy-Daniell, with a cast of eight company dancers.

The most recent work is a short dance film called Brown Boys (2024). It was directed by Cass Mortimer Eipper and Daniel Mateo, a Bangarra company member and Gomeroi and Mari Ma’ufanga, Tongatapu (Tonga) man.

Both Brown Boys and Keeping Grounded were first presented in Bangarra’s emerging artist showcase, Dance Clan, and supported from there onto the mainstage program. Creators Tuohy-Daniell and Mateo trained at NAISDA, Australia’s National Indigenous Dance College, and joined Bangarra through its Russell Page Graduate Program, which provides training and mentorship for new company dancers.

Keeping Grounded

Keeping Grounded opens onto an enormous and heavy rope net designed by Dyarubbin woman, Shana O’Brien. Under it, figures twitch and roll like a catch of fish.

Karen Norris’ textured lighting supports the impression of a coastal setting, and “sets the scene” across the work as it shifts from an evocation of Country to a more technologically-mediated aesthetic.

In an interview with Glory Tuohy-Daniell, the choreographer describes how the work invites viewers “to consider how small, almost forgotten actions keep us grounded […] a step barefoot, a moment of stillness, a return”.

Tuohy-Daniell’s movement vocabulary is striking for its literal groundedness, reflecting the central theme highlighted in the work’s title.

The first sections see the dancers bound to the floor with a variation on the typical angular, rolling, swooping and sharply delineated shapes of Bangarra’s Indigenous contemporary style – here purposefully fractured.

Set to a score by Brendon Boney, the movement in this section is broken into one movement per beat, a staccato rhythm that suggests a disconnect from the flow of nature. This “pixellated” quality makes familiar forms new in an exciting way.

Brown Boys

Six-minute dance film Brown Boys is a meditation on the experience of young First Nations men. Daniel Mateo, the writer, choreographer and performer, has a cultural background spanning northern New South Wales and Tonga.

The program notes describe Brown Boys as a total work of art involving poetry, choreography, cinematography, sound and dramaturgy.

Adding to this is the central role of sculpture. Set and costume designer Elizabeth Gadsby has worked with traditional forms to establish a culturally informed aesthetic. This includes a fale (pronouned “fah-lay”), which is a traditional Tongan shelter made of grass matting. This structure frames Mateo’s body inside the film frame.

Ochres, minerals and soils are other material elements featured in the design and choreography. The striking final image shows Mateo literally grounded by a soil mound that takes the silhouette of a 19th century crinoline skirt.

Mateo’s text and performance are extraordinary. His direct and settled gaze to camera, gentle unfolding movements, and spoken word poem, give visibility, dignity and complexity to the figure of the young Indigenous man. That he has “always been beautiful” could not be more persuasively portrayed.

Sheoak

Rings’ mastery of group choreography was recently showcased in her commissioned work for the Australian Ballet, Flora. Having delivered another major work for Vivid 2025, this was likely the right time to revive one of her classics.

The opening image of Sheoak showcases both Rings’ choreographic skill and Jennifer Irwin’s amazing legacy as a costume designer. The dancers wear shirts with black on white streaks – skeletal puzzle pieces that join together to form larger human sculptures.

The theme of this work is cultural strength, resilience and adaptability, with the sheoak tree as the central metaphor. Dancer Chantelle Lee Lockhart is captivating in the role of this “Grandmother tree”, as it’s known to the Dharawal people.

The choreography weaves around Jacob Nash’s set design, featuring seven two-metre-long branches. The passing of branches signals the struggle to pass on cultural responsibility and knowledge from generation to generation.

The company of technically virtuosic dancers seems right at home in each of the three diverse works of Sheltering. The program particularly underscores Tuohy-Daniell’s potential as a new leading light in Australian choreography

Sheltering as a whole is dedicated to the late David “Dubboo” Page, brother of former Artistic Director Stephen Page. David’s work as composer, singer and musician was central to establishing the Bangarra aesthetic. His music also features in Rings’ Sheoak.

Sheltering is on now at the Sydney Opera House until June 13. The production will show at the Arts Centre Melbourne from June 18 to 27, and at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre from July 9 to 18.

I am writing as an Australian of Irish and Danish political exile, convict, and settler descent working within the Western tradition of contemporary art and dance. I acknowledge the much deeper cultural traditions that bind music, dance, painting, sculpture, and site in the art of Indigenous peoples.