Google tracks the vast majority of cellphones in the United States, collecting your location, usage and device data through installed software and apps. The tracking occurs by various autonomous processes you cannot see or stop, even when you turn off location history, and Google and other companies keep that data for years. Outside of your control and wherever you go, your cellphone continuously creates a durable and revealing digital trail, and law enforcement agencies can get warrants to obtain it.

But some of those warrants aren’t looking for data about a specific person. Instead, police are compelling tech companies to reveal every cellphone in a particular area during certain time periods. Called geofence warrants, their use is at the heart of a case before the U.S. Supreme Court that will determine what the Fourth Amendment’s protections against unreasonable search and seizure mean in the digital age.

The Supreme Court case Chatrie v. United States involves the hunt for a suspect in an armed bank robbery in busy Midlothian, Virginia, in May 2019, and how police settled on a man named Okello Chatrie as the perpetrator.

Detective Joshua Hylton was granted a geofence warrant that compelled Google to search its database and identify every cellphone in a 17½-acre area around the bank, including private residences and a church, for a period of two hours. Working closely with Google, police ultimately narrowed in on Chatrie. When the trial court denied Chatrie’s motion to suppress the geofence-derived evidence, Chatrie appealed.

The Supreme Court will decide if, when and how law enforcement can use geofences. It matters because all cellphone-carrying people can end up in tomorrow’s geofence, like all those who were unknowingly grabbed in the Chatrie search. And nearly all users are unaware of these fences. No one specifically consents to be included in them, but people have no choice. What happened in the Chatrie case is a feat otherwise impossible but for advances in location tracking technology and advanced AI systems.

As a privacy, electronic surveillance and tech law attorney, author and legal educator, I have spent years researching, writing, educating and advising about these kinds of privacy and legal issues, and my books on electronic surveillance and evidence are routinely cited and relied upon by courts grappling with these issues.

How geofences work

Geofences are part of modern life. By carrying your smartphone and other devices, you generate location and other device activity data. That data is collected, stored, analyzed, and bought and sold by multiple companies. The location history data being collected about you is what makes geofences possible, and it is comprehensive and precise.

Location history relies on a variety of sources of data that can include cell tower location, cellphone data such as connections to Wi-Fi networks and Bluetooth sources, and cellular data sent via cell tower. This means the communications you received and sent and the apps you used can be swept up in a geofence.

Advanced AI technologies analyze that data to discern increasing amounts of personal and behavioral data – insights about people, groups and activities – that can be used for a variety of purposes, including targeted advertising. Your rich location history and device data get snatched up regularly in such fences by private companies; your present and past self travels through them constantly.

A geofence can be in real time, for instance to identify and track who is at a protest, or any period in the past decade or so. It can be dynamically generated, like a circle around a specific location, or it could be a predefined set of boundaries, such as a specific address or area defined by streets or other geographical boundaries. One geofence warrant that Google received covered 2.5 square miles of San Francisco for a period of 2½ days.

There has been a significant increase in law enforcement’s use of geofence warrants over the past decade. Google revealed in court that it received a 1,500% percent increase in geofence requests from 2017 to 2018, a 500% percent increase from 2018 to 2019, and by 2020, it had 11,500 geofence warrants in a year. Between 2021 and 2023, geofence warrants made up over 25% of all warrants that Google received from law enforcement agencies in the United States.

Search warrants and the Fourth Amendment

The Fourth Amendment is the foundation on which all U.S. electronic privacy laws rest. When government agents want to search or seize a person, place or thing – absent consent or emergency – the Fourth Amendment requires agents to obtain a court-approved warrant based on probable cause. Agents do this by providing a judge with enough evidence to establish probable cause that the person, place or thing to be searched or seized is associated with a crime.

The resulting warrant must describe with “particularity” the specific person, place or thing to be searched or seized. If these requirements are not met, the search is unreasonable and therefore unlawful, and evidence obtained in that search cannot be used in court, barring a good-faith exception.

The Fourth Amendment’s “particularity” requirement strictly forbids general warrants, historically used by British troops against Colonists to engage in overly broad or all-encompassing searches.

Reverse warrants

The only “particularity” that police can specify in applying for a geofence warrant is that a crime occurred at a particular time and place. Hence, geofence warrants are often called reverse warrants because they literally reverse the traditional process of conducting an investigation to identify a suspect and then obtain a warrant to gather information on that suspect. Geofence warrants gather all devices in a time and place, and then, aided by technology, police sift through for potential suspects.

The execution of a geofence warrant is very different from that of a typical warrant. Litigation records reveal a collaborative effort between law enforcement and Google that follows a three-step process. First, law enforcement officials specify in the warrant a time and place to be searched. The data they’re seeking is not merely a list of cellphone devices in the area; it is usually more detailed. For instance, it could include data about whether a device accessed a particular email account or app or sent a text at the time it was in the area of the geofence.

Second, the company provides the officials with an anonymized list of users or devices matching the warrant’s criteria. At this point, things start to become more fluid, and the officials may seek additional information about specific users outside of the initial search parameters.

Third, law enforcement officials then analyze the information and request that the company “unmask” certain users. In complying, Google may tell police the account holder’s name, their address, their email address, and even whether they were communicating or using certain apps during the relevant time. The officials then decide whether any of the users may be connected to the crime.

This close work between the private entity – usually Google – and law enforcement throughout the geofence warrant process raises significant privacy and civil liberties concerns. It also does not appear that there is any court review or judicial oversight during this give-and-take between law enforcement officers and Google in the geofence warrant process.

A split among appeals courts

In the Chatrie case, the trial court took issue with the geofence warrant police used, finding that it lacked particularized probable cause. But the trial court also determined that the officers in question had relied on the defective warrant in good faith, and thus it ruled the geofence evidence could be used against the defendant.

On appeal to the 4th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, a divided panel affirmed the trial court’s decision, and it concluded, over vigorous dissent, that obtaining the geofence data was not a search. The full 4th Circuit affirmed the trial court’s decision.

But the 4th Circuit’s 2024 Chatrie decision stands at odds with the 5th Circuit’s 2024 decision in United States v. Smith. In the Smith case, the 5th Circuit ruled that “geofence warrants are modern-day general warrants and are unconstitutional under the Fourth Amendment.” This split among the federal appeals courts should be resolved by the Supreme Court in its Chatrie decision.

Chatrie and the Supreme Court

For decades, the court has grappled with law enforcement’s use of technologies to track the location of people or things, issuing decisions about cell site location information and GPS. It has ruled that the U.S. Constitution requires law enforcement agents to obtain a warrant to track a person using their cellphone location history data or GPS, barring exigent circumstances.

The government is arguing in the Chatrie case that users voluntarily consented to the collection of location history, so they have no reasonable expectation of privacy in the data, and thus there is no violation of the Fourth Amendment.

Some of the amicus briefs filed in support of the defendant assert that electronic location data is protected by the Fourth Amendment’s warrant requirement, and that the geofence warrant fails to satisfy the Fourth Amendment’s particularity requirement. Some also argue that approving this warrant would open the door to a variety of reverse search warrants. And some contend that there is no meaningful consent or voluntariness around the data collection that underpins geofence technology.

Questions from the Supreme Court justices during oral arguments on April 27, 2026, indicate that at least some of them consider geofence warrants to be general warrants and thus unconstitutional. But for now, we wait.

Anne Toomey McKenna serves on the Advisory Board to the Institute for Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE)-USA's Artificial Intelligence Policy Committee (AIPC) and Chairs multiple AIPC subcommittees. The AIPC work involves subject matter and education-related interaction with U.S. Senate and House congressional staffers and the Congressional AI Caucus. McKenna has received funding from the National Security Agency for the development of legal educational materials about cyberlaw (a course which the government still makes available online for the public) and funding from The National Police Foundation together with the U.S. Department of Justice-COPS division for legal analysis regarding the use of drones in domestic policing.

Few things matter more to us than our eyesight. We fear losing it even more than some life-threatening conditions.

Yet for many New Zealanders, access to routine eye care remains out of reach. This is despite the wide-ranging impacts of vision loss for both individuals and society.

It limits opportunities for work and study, raises the risks of traffic accidents and falls, and is linked with higher rates of depression and dementia. Globally, the annual cost in lost productivity has been estimated at nearly NZ$700 billion.

What’s more, it is mostly avoidable. More than 90% of vision loss can be prevented or treated with simple, cost-effective care such as glasses or cataract surgery.

In dollar terms, providing funding for spectacles and eye examinations for New Zealanders could provide a $36 benefit for every $1 spent.

If Aotearoa matched Australia’s public funding policies for community eye care, allocating just 1.2% of its health budget could fund 2.4 million eye examinations and 60,500 pairs of glasses. Current funding delivers eye care services to 25,000 children for about 0.02% of the health budget.

With the government now deliberating its 2026 health budget, our preliminary research looks at what it could cost to make routine eye care a reality for all New Zealanders.

A plight out of sight

Anyone reading this article in New Zealand through a pair of $2 reading glasses isn’t alone in choosing cheap solutions to improve their vision. As many as one in four Kiwi patients may be skipping or delaying specialised eye care because of the cost.

Routine eye examinations and spectacles are delivered almost exclusively by optometrists in private practice, with very little public funding to offset the costs.

This places New Zealand behind other countries, including Australia, the United Kingdom, Ireland and the United States, which fund routine eye care for some or all of their population.

For Kiwis needing financial support for eye care, options are limited. The children of Community Services Card holders can access up to $287.50 for an eye test and glasses via Enable New Zealand.

People on low-incomes can apply for a $280 loan from Work and Income New Zealand, which must be repaid. Spectacles are not currently available in the public sector. Despite advertised “$0 eye tests” and discounted spectacles, the reality is that eye examinations and spectacles remain unaffordable for many.

Optometry services provide more than a new pair of frames. Regular eye examinations are essential to detect and treat progressive conditions such as glaucoma and diabetic retinopathy which are asymptomatic in their early stages.

By excluding this preventative eye care from the public health agenda, New Zealand is leaving some communities to live with an avoidable burden.

In particular, eye care services are two to three times less accessible for Māori and Pacific people than for other New Zealanders.

One recent study found that in an inner-city Auckland community with a high Māori and Pacific population, half of residents with vision loss had never had an eye examination, while three-quarters had never been prescribed custom spectacles.

Should NZ adopt Australia’s model?

If New Zealand seeks a fairer model for eye health, policymakers have only to look across the Tasman.

In Australia, all citizens and permanent residents are eligible for Medicare-funded, comprehensive eye examinations delivered by optometrists.

Around one-third of its population uses these services every year. Uptake is highest among older adults, while additional policies target Indigenous Australians, for example via state-funded spectacle subsidies.

If New Zealand saw similar uptake, we estimate that adopting a comparable model would cost around $349 million a year, funding approximately 2.4 million eye examinations.

An additional $13 million would deliver around 60,500 spectacles to people who need them the most. Even this generous costing is comparable with other health investments, such as the Labour Government’s 2023 proposed investment of $390 million to extend free dental care to approximately 800,000 19–30 year olds.

Universal funding is not the only option: more targeted approaches could prioritise those at greatest risk of avoidable vision loss.

For instance, our analysis indicates that public investment of $89 million could subsidise approximately 760,000 examinations for Community Services Card holders who are most likely to need financial support.

Just $37 million would fund eye care for children under 15 years, aligning with universal dental and GP services for this age group. At the other end of the age spectrum, around $166 million per year would support eye care for older adults, who have the greatest need.

This investment would arguably be more effective than the $61 million proposed within the 2020 health budget to fund one-off “eye health checks”, for which there is no evidence of population-level benefit.

Healthy eyes should not be a luxury. New Zealand can and should include eye examinations and spectacles within its health expenditure.

Preventative eye care is a cost-saving investment that will reduce the societal and economic impacts of vision loss. For policymakers, it as an opportunity to invest in an area of health that has remained out of sight for too long.

Lucy Goodman receives funding from the Health Research Council of New Zealand.

Jacqueline Ramke has received research funding from the Health Research Council of New Zealand, Buchanan Charitable Foundation and the New Zealand Association of Optometrists.

Pushkar Silwal has received funding from Health Research Council of New Zealand.

In a major ruling that would permit weakening the voting power of minorities in the United States, the Supreme Court on April 29, 2026, struck down a Black-majority district in Louisiana’s congressional map as “an unconstitutional gerrymander” and altered the court’s interpretation of the Voting Rights Act.

In a 6-3 decision, the court’s conservative majority argued that Louisiana had violated the law by drawing a second Black-majority district. Justice Samuel Alito wrote that the court was upholding a key part of the Voting Rights Act known as Section 2, which prohibits “voting practices or procedures that discriminate on the basis of race, color, or membership in one of the language minority groups identified” in the act.

But the conservative justices also devised a new interpretation for its application based on historical developments. By doing that, the court majority made it more difficult for plaintiffs to challenge redistricting plans under the act.

In a dissent, Justice Elena Kagan called the decision the “latest chapter in the majority’s now-completed demolition of the Voting Rights Act.”

Kagan, joined by the other two liberal justices, argued that the decision will make it effectively impossible to use race in redistricting – as has been done historically under the Voting Rights Act – and more difficult to prove discrimination under the act. She wrote, “The court’s decision will set back the foundational right Congress granted of racial equality in electoral opportunity.”

I’m a scholar of national political institutions, election law and democratic representation. The timing of the case carries major implications for the 2026 midterm elections. The decision, by weakening the Voting Rights Act, could make it easier for states to draw partisan gerrymanders of their congressional districts that reduce the power of minorities.

Long legal battle

The central question in the case was to what extent race can, or must, be used when congressional districts are redrawn.

Plaintiffs challenged whether the longstanding interpretation of Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act, which requires protection of minority voting power in redistricting, violates the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution, which guarantees that individuals should be treated the same by the law.

In short, the plaintiffs argued that the state of Louisiana’s use of race to make a second Black-majority district was forbidden by the U.S. Constitution. From my perspective as a scholar of U.S. federal courts and electoral systems, this case represent the collision of decades of Supreme Court decisions on race, redistricting and the Voting Rights Act.

To understand the stakes of the current case, it’s important to know what the Voting Rights Act does. Initially passed in 1965, the act helped end decades of racially discriminatory voting laws by providing federal enforcement of voting rights.

Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act forbids discrimination by states in relation to voting rights and has been used for decades to challenge redistricting plans.

Callais had its roots in the redistricting of Louisiana’s congressional districts following the 2020 Census. States are required to redraw districts each decade based on new population data. Louisiana lawmakers redrew the state’s six congressional districts without major changes in 2022.

Soon after the state redistricted, a group of Black voters challenged the map in federal court as a violation of the Voting Rights Act. The plaintiffs argued that the new map was discriminatory because the voting power of Black citizens in the state was being illegally diluted. The state’s population was 31% Black, but only one of the six districts featured a majority-Black population.

Federal courts in 2022 sided with the plaintiffs’ claim that the plan did violate the Voting Rights Act and ordered the state legislature to redraw the congressional plan with a second Black-majority district.

The judges relied on an interpretation of Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act from a 1986 Supreme Court decision in the case known as Thornburg v. Gingles. Under this interpretation, Section 2’s nondiscrimination requirement means that congressional districts must be drawn in a way that allows large, politically cohesive and compact racial minorities to be able to elect representatives of their choice.

In 2023, the Supreme Court upheld a lower court’s interpretation of Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act in a similar racial gerrymandering case in Alabama.

Louisiana lawmakers redraw districts

Following the court order, the Louisiana state legislature passed Senate Bill 8 in January 2024, redrawing the congressional map and creating two districts where Black voters composed a substantial portion of the electorate in compliance with the Gingles ruling. This map was used in the 2024 congressional election and both Black-majority districts elected Democrats, while the other four districts elected Republicans.

These new congressional districts from Senate Bill 8 were challenged by a group of white voters in 2024 in a set of cases that became Louisiana v. Callais.

The plaintiffs argued that the Louisiana legislature’s drawing of districts based on race in Senate Bill 8 was in violation of the 14th Amendment’s equal protection clause, which requires equal treatment of individuals by the government, and the 15th Amendment, which forbids denying the right to vote based on race.

Essentially, the plaintiffs claimed that the courts’ interpretation of Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act was unconstitutional and that the use of race to create a majority-minority district is itself discriminatory. Similar arguments about the 14th Amendment’s equal protection clause were also the basis of the Supreme Court’s recent decisions striking down race-based affirmative action in college admissions.

In 2024, a three-judge district court sided with the white plaintiffs in Louisiana v. Callais, with a 2-1 decision. The Black plaintiffs from the original case and the state of Louisiana appealed the case to the Supreme Court. The court originally heard the case at the end of the 2024-2025 term before ordering the case reargued for 2025-2026.

Major implications

The court’s opinion reinterprets key precedent on the Voting Rights Act and the application of Section 2 to redistricting. It carries major consequences for the federal courts, gerrymandering and the voting rights of individuals.

For 39 years, Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act has required redistricting institutions to consider racial and ethnic minority representation when devising congressional districts. Majority-minority districting is required when a state has large, compact and cohesive minority communities. Historically, some states have redistricted minority communities in ways that dilute their voting power, such as “cracking” a community into multiple districts where they compose a small percentage of the electorate.

Section 2 also provided voters and residents with a legal tool that has been used to challenge districts as discriminatory. Many voters and groups have used Section 2 successfully to challenge redistricting plans.

Section 2 has been the main legal tool for challenging racial discrimination in redistricting for the past decade. In 2013, the Supreme Court effectively ended the other major component of the Voting Rights Act, the preclearance provision, which required certain states to have changes to their elections laws approved by the federal government, including redistricting.

In this case the court did not fully overrule the previous interpretation of Section 2, but it has altered its application. The effect is that it limits the legality of using race in redistricting and the most common way to challenge discriminatory redistricting.

Additionally, because of the strong relationship between many minority communities and the Democratic party, the court’s decision has major implications for partisan control of the House of Representatives.

By changing the interpretation of Section 2, Republicans could use the ruling to redraw congressional districts across the country to benefit their party. Politico reported that Democrats could lose as many as 19 House seats if the Supreme Court sided with the lower court.

This case builds directly on a recent case also authored by Alito. In 2024, the court overruled a lower court’s finding of racial vote dilution in South Carolina.

This is an updated version of a story that originally published on Oct. 13, 2025.

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

In February 2025, the Canadian government announced Alto, a high-speed rail line that will eventually connect Toronto to Québec City. In November, the government said it would introduce new legislation to speed up the project.

One of its proposed benefits is that electrified, high-speed rail will help Canada reduce emissions and meet its climate targets. Alto says the project will help prevent many short-haul flights and remove the carbon emissions equivalent to 100,000 cars from the road each year.

But Alto is unlikely to meaningfully reduce Canada’s GHG emissions. There are indeed benefits from high-speed rail development, including bolstered regional connectivity and economic growth. However, a significant reduction in emissions is not a realistic outcome.

Claimed emissions reductions

Alto — the federal Crown corporation developing the project — said that by getting passengers out of vehicles, “we can collectively remove up to 90 billion vehicle kilometres travelled from the roads over the project’s lifecycle, equivalent to approximately 100 thousand cars’ worth of travel removed annually from the roads.”

While 39 million tonnes may sound large, it’s a relatively small GHG reduction from the point of view of a national-scale infrastructure project lasting more than 60 years. It’s akin to only 0.65 megatonnes of CO2 per year of the project through to the mid-2080s.

For reference, Canada’s annual emissions today are about 1,000 times greater than that. When framed in the context of existing annual emissions, the claimed reductions are modest.

Induced demand

Alto’s expected reduction in vehicle and air travel is likely an overestimate. Research into 210 projects in 14 nations found that ridership forecasts for high-speed rail are often higher than what eventually comes to pass. This gets at another challenge with high-speed rail’s energy impacts: induced demand.

One of the real benefits of high-speed rail development is economic growth. This arises because a new high-speed train makes new forms of economic activity possible.

It reduces the time it takes to travel between cities, making greater connectivity possible, while also increasing tourism opportunities. In theory, it also expands the distance that workers are willing to commute, which could create new housing development opportunities in regions that otherwise would not have experienced them.

Nevertheless, these same benefits potentially undermine some of the environmental arguments for high-speed rail. These new economic opportunities induce new transport demand — not only for the new train but for other modes of travel as well.

Research in this area suggests that about 20 per cent of high-speed rail traffic could be made up of new travellers who would not have made the trip otherwise. That does leave up to 80 per cent of high-speed rail travellers switching from another mode of transportation. However, there are a couple of reasons why that may not result in significant GHG reductions in Canada.

First, many travellers will be those who would have taken the conventional train and who will merely switch to the high-speed train instead. This would indeed mark a lower emissions journey given that VIA Rail’s current trains are diesel-powered. But it’s not as substantive a reduction as switching from air travel, for example.

In addition, sales of electric vehicles are expected to increase rapidly in the coming years. If EVs become more commonplace, or even the norm, the government must consider whether a diverted automobile trip in the decades to come would be diverting a passenger from a (GHG-emitting) combustion engine or a (non-emitting) electric one.

Much of the diverted automobile traffic for high-speed rail — by the time the train line is built — will likely come from EVs. That leaves diverting traffic from aircraft as the main way to reduce transport emissions. Yet even this sector is also expected to electrify in the coming decades.

In fact, it is precisely the short-haul flight market within the busy Québec City-Windsor corridor where small electric aircraft are set to debut in Canada. Airlines have already put in orders for electric planes, which may even enter into service before the first rail link is built.

Emissions from construction

Another significant effect that could increase GHG emissions would be the construction of the rail infrastructure itself. This would not be inconsequential: 1,000 kilometres of dedicated tracks within a swathe of land several dozen metres wide, featuring overpasses and tunnelling to ensure there are no grade crossings with roads, not to mention the need for overhead power lines.

The sheer amount of concrete, steel and copper required to build Alto will be immense, and would contribute to Canada’s GHG emissions during construction.

This is not to say Alto shouldn’t be built, nor that it’s a bad idea. The construction and operation of a high-speed rail line would generate growth and socioeconomic value for Canada.

It would create tens of thousands of construction jobs, billions of dollars in new opportunities annually and could help revive Canada’s suffering steel sector (currently dealing with tariff pressures from the United States).

Such infrastructure could very well be operated without producing much GHG emissions, and fit well within Canada’s aims for a future net-zero society. But this doesn’t mean that introducing a high-speed train itself would substantially help in Canada’s near-term climate mitigation efforts. It won’t.

Ryan M. Katz-Rosene 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.

Every day, millions of people watch their pet reptiles run, dig, swim or climb up against the walls of their enclosure. Reptile keepers call this “glass surfing,” but among scientists, this conduct is typically considered to be a type of repetitive behaviour, akin to pacing in polar bears.

Repetitive interactions with the barriers of a tank or cage might initially be endearing — because it seems like the reptile is eager to explore — but can quickly become distressing if a reptile simply does not stop. Many people feel helpless as they watch their beloved pet rub the scales on their nose off, causing ulcerations or deformities, or dig at the walls of an enclosure until streaks of blood are left behind.

Why do they do this, and how can we stop them?

Our lab examined the behaviour of one of the most popular pet reptiles around the world — the bearded dragon — and discovered some interesting similarities between repetitive behaviours in reptiles and mammals.

A common desire to escape

Mammalian carnivores, such as mink, polar bears and lions, sometimes perform repetitive pacing in captivity. And while there may be multiple reasons for the behaviour, researchers have found that thwarted escape is a common motivation.

In other words, mammalian carnivores may pace when they want to escape, and anything that increases their motivation to escape might elicit pacing.

We wanted to find out whether the same is true for reptiles. Inspired by a study of the repetitive behaviours of caged mice from the 1990s, we examined exactly where lizards directed their repetitive behaviours within their homes. After all, if this behaviour represents a motivation to escape, then it should be biased towards escape routes.

Our results supported the common theory: Lizards climbed up, dug at or walked against the only “door” in their enclosure more than any other barriers. When this door was partially obscured, their behaviour became even more focused on the remaining transparent portion.

Pooping away from home

But this raises the question: What are reptiles trying to escape from?

Enclosures that are too hot, small or boring may be a common cause of wanderlust. As a result, increasing the size or complexity of a reptile’s home can often reduce rubbing on enclosure barriers. However, there are also cases where this hasn’t worked, suggesting we don’t yet have the full picture.

Remarkably, in our study, we found that defecation was 15 times more likely to occur within periods when bearded dragons were performing repetitive barrier interactions. This suggests that — like rodents and other lizards — bearded dragons may prefer to do their business away from where they sleep and eat. Though whether defecation results in repetitive behaviours, or repetitive behaviours cause defecation, is still unclear.

Wild females roam in spring

We also found that female bearded dragons rubbed incessantly against enclosure barriers more in the spring compared to the winter and compared to males.

This may reflect how, during springtime, female lizards in the wild tend to roam widely whereas male lizards typically patrol a territory. Captive females could be more motivated to escape in the spring compared to captive males, who can still patrol the inside of their tank.

There were also some interesting things we didn’t find. For example, although repetitive pacing in mammalian carnivores often correlates with feeding, the same was not true for our lizards. This may be because, compared to mammalian carnivores, bearded dragons are much less active foragers. As adults, they are primarily vegetarians and may wait for insects to come to them. Therefore, feeding may not influence their motivation to escape.

Furthermore, although our lizards sometimes performed a lot of repetitive rubbing, digging or scrambling, they never got stuck performing those behaviours, as can happen for many other vertebrates. Whether this holds true for all reptiles may provide valuable insight into how repetitive behaviours change and develop over time.

Owners must observe and adapt

Our research shows that reptiles may sometimes scrabble against the walls of their enclosures for relatively benign reasons, like the need to poop.

It also shows how important it is to understand a species’ natural habitat and behaviour. For example, if female bearded dragons want to explore new areas in the spring, regularly moving the items inside the lizards’ home may simulate this exploration, reducing their need to escape.

Resolving repetitive behaviours in reptiles will not have a one-size-fits-all solution — decades of research have examined repetitive pacing in mammals, and these behaviours are still troublesome. The motivation behind a reptile’s behaviour could even differ day-to-day.

Caring for reptiles means that we must learn and observe with an open and curious mind, accept when we are wrong and adapt. Large and naturalistic enclosures will often improve a reptile’s welfare, but are not a one-time cure-all. As reptile keepers, we have the unique privilege of rising to this challenge.

Melanie Denomme receives funding from Natural Sciences and Engineering Council (NSERC).

The decision by the United Arab Emirates to leave the oil producers’ cartel Opec after 59 years is more than a symbolic break. It highlights a growing divide among major oil producers over how to respond to a changing energy landscape, and will weaken the group’s ability to manage global supply.

In the short term, the impact of the UAE’s exit will be limited. The world still needs every available barrel of oil, and the UAE accounts for some 3-4% of global production. But the forces behind the decision are more significant than the move itself. They are both economic and political – and the war in Iran helped the two align.

For years, the UAE has been investing heavily to expand its oil production capacity, spending around US$150 billion (£111 billion) to push its potential daily output close to 5 million barrels. But Opec quotas have prevented it from fully exploiting that capacity. Actual production has remained well below its potential at about 3.5 million barrels a day (mbd), with some 5 mbd capacity, constrained by the Opec quota system designed to restrict supply and support prices, generally shaped by the de facto leader, Saudi Arabia.

This has created a tension. Why invest to produce more oil if you are not allowed to sell it?

Abu Dhabi’s answer reflects a different economic model. The UAE can balance its budget at much lower oil prices than Saudi Arabia (just below $50 v Saudi $90 a barrel or more), giving it less incentive to restrict output. Instead, it has prioritised maximising its oil exports.

That strategy is also shaped by expectations about the future. As countries such as China accelerate the electrification of transport, the hitherto steady and reliable demand for oil is slowing and becoming less reliable. Over time, it is likely to plateau. UAE is also well ahead of the Saudis in energy transition – and maintain their net zero target as 2050, compared to the Saudi 2060.

From the UAE’s perspective, the bigger risk is not falling prices, but leaving oil in the ground that may never be sold.

Shifting geopolitics

The timing of the exit is not just about economics. It also reflects shifting political and security calculations, particularly after the UAE came under heavy, sustained attack during the war in Iran.

In Abu Dhabi, there is a growing sense that regional institutions and partnerships, such as the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) offered limited support during that period. Anwar Gargash, a senior presidential adviser, told reporters that: “The GCC’s stance was the weakest historically, considering the nature of the attack and the threat it posed to everyone,” adding that he “expected such a weak stance from the Arab League … But I don’t expect it from the GCC, and I am surprised by it.”

That experience has reinforced a more independent foreign policy. The UAE has strengthened ties with the US and Israel, building on the agreement it signed as part of the 2020 Abraham accords. The relationship with Israel is seen not just an economic and security partnership, but as a channel for influence inside the White House.

At the same time, relations with Saudi Arabia have become more strained, with differences over regional conflicts in Somalia and Yemen and economic strategy increasingly visible. Leaving Opec is both an economic decision and a geopolitical signal.

The UAE’s departure also raises questions about the future of Opec itself. The group once controlled more than half of global oil production. Today, its share is much smaller (no more than 35%), and internal divisions over production quotas are more pronounced. Quotas, long the core of its strategy, are increasingly seen as uneven constraints rather than shared commitments.

Saudi Arabia remains the only member with significant spare capacity, giving it outsized influence. The result is an organisation that still matters, but is less cohesive than it once was.

Not necessarily a win for the US

Some have hailed the UAE’s exit as a victory for Donald Trump, who has repeatedly criticised Opec for keeping oil prices high. A weaker OPEC would indeed lead to higher output and lower prices at the pump.

But sustained lower prices would also put pressure on higher-cost producers, including the US oil patch, which has been one of Opec’s main competitors in recent years. It benefited from the cartel’s restraint when it came to capping oil production. So what now looks like a geopolitical win could, over time, become an economic challenge.

For now, I believe that the UAE’s exit will not dramatically reshape oil markets. Demand remains strong enough to absorb additional supply, particularly as countries rebuild their inventories when Iran reopens the Strait of Hormuz. But the deeper significance lies in what the decision reveals.

Oil producers are no longer aligned around a single strategy. Some are trying to manage scarcity and keep prices high. Others are racing to monetise their resources before demand peaks and they end up with stranded assets. That divergence is likely to grow – and may ultimately prove more consequential than any single country leaving the cartel.

We may be entering a new age where oil is going to play a much lesser role in our lives.

Adi Imsirovic 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.

Sencos – special educational needs coordinators – play a vital role in maintained mainstream English schools, nursery schools and sixth forms. If you are a parent, you may encounter them if you have concerns about your child’s progress or the support available, or during review meetings. Children may meet them through assessments, pupil interviews or informal check-ins.

They are teachers who take on additional leadership responsibility for special educational needs and disabilities across the school. In many cases, they continue to teach classes, but in larger schools the role is increasingly non-class based due to its scale and demands.

Despite its importance, the Senco role is often hampered by excessive workload, inconsistent status – many Sencos are still not part of school leadership teams as this is not a requirement in legislation – and a limited understanding of its scope. These factors affect both effectiveness and retention.

The government’s recent policy proposals for special educational needs and disabilities support make frequent mention of Sencos and the role they play in schools. As a former Senco, and as someone who has worked in Senco professional development for almost twenty years, I have scoured the proposals to understand what they mean for the profession.

Statutory support

The reforms – still under consultation and not yet law – formalise much of what Sencos already do. However, they also signal a profound shift. The role is set to become more data-driven and more central to whole-school development than before.

Sencos oversee Sen Support – internal school provision for learners with special educational needs. They also oversee support for children with education, health and care plans (EHCPs). EHCPs are legal documents issued and funded by local authorities for children with more complex needs. They outline a child’s needs, required provision and targeted outcomes across education, health and care.

The recent policy proposal sets out a system of school-based individual support plans for every child and young person identified with special educational needs. These digital plans would be statutory, monitored and reviewed annually at minimum.

Sencos would therefore be responsible for ensuring that each individual support plan accurately identifies any barriers to learning (such as sensory needs or a specific learning difference), and records support and reasonable adjustments (such as adapted materials or additional processing time). While the terminology may be new, this practice is not. Individual support plans largely formalise what Sencos already do for learners at Sen Support.

However, the statutory nature of individual support plans represents an expansion of legal accountability, borrowing from policy implemented in recent years in Wales. Whereas EHCPs apply to a small proportion of pupils in schools, statutory individual support plans could apply to a greater percentage of the school population.

This risks creating a compliance-heavy model of inclusion. Sencos may spend increasing amounts of time on producing evidence rather than working directly with teachers and families.

EHCPs will remain for a smaller number of children – those with the most complex needs – who will receive specialist support packages. The definition of complex needs has not yet been defined in the policy proposals, which may be an area for contention.

By tightening access to EHCPs while expanding individual support plans, the reforms shift the pressure point from local authorities to schools. Sencos may become the public face of a rationed system. They will need to mediate between school resources, parental expectations and local authorities, as well as colleagues working in health and care.

There is the risk that trust in Sencos may decline unless schools are given the capacity to deliver the promised support. At the same time, Sencos will have to navigate families’ worries about tighter access to EHCPs.

Overseeing mainstream support

A central message of the policy proposals is that mainstream education must be strengthened in terms of its ability to include pupils with special educational needs and disabilities. This is a laudable aim, but it requires significant investment in teacher expertise, curriculum flexibility and environmental adaptation.

For Sencos, it will mean leading whole-school early identification and targeted support. They will need to build teacher confidence in adaptive and inclusive education and provide more robust evidence when specialist placements are requested. They will lead in helping families school provision. This shift may increase contested decisions and appeals, with Sencos becoming the key point of contact for families navigating changing legal boundaries.

One of the government’s most ambitious proposals is the Experts at Hand service. This is designed to give schools quicker access to educational psychologists, speech and language therapists and other specialists. It’s likely to place the Senco at the centre of multi-agency work, coordinating referrals, implementing specialist advice and contributing to wider planning.

What’s more, every member of school staff will complete a national special educational needs training programme. It’s likely that Sencos will take a lead in delivering much of this professional development. This will elevate the Senco as a driver of whole-school pedagogy.

The proposals amount to a significant widening of the Senco remit. Their success hinges on whether the Senco role is finally given the leadership status, time and support it requires. Without structural changes such as protected leadership time, a place on leadership teams, administrative support and clear career pathways, the reforms risk accelerating burnout. However, with the right support and sufficient resourcing, Sencos can be leaders shaping the cultures, systems and partnerships that help every child to learn and flourish.

With sincere thanks to Christopher Robertson, the Co-ordinator of the SENCo Forum, who shared his insights with me as I was writing this article.

Rock paintings are found throughout Zimbabwe. They were made during the last 10,000 years by hunter gatherer groups and later by farming communities.

These came to the attention of the ERC Artsoundscapes project, based in Spain, in 2021. The project brings together experts in archaeology, ethnography, psychology and acoustic engineering to explore how humans understood sound in prehistoric times. Our team has studied some of the rock art of South Africa in which dance scenes are depicted, and we have begun work on documenting and analysing similar rock art in Zimbabwe.

Read more: Dance scenes in South African rock art: a closer look at ritual, music and movement

Zimbabwe’s rock paintings are concentrated in the country’s eastern provinces, which is where we’ve focused so far. More can be found in the Matobo World Heritage Cultural Landscape in Matabeleland South, which will be the focus of future study.

We have published an article describing dance scenes in this rock art and comparing them with information from ethnographic sources to understand what kinds of dances they depict. The ethnographic research was done by anthropologists and focused on hunter gatherer groups in the broader southern African region (Botswana and Namibia).

We found that all the kinds of dances that have been described in living cultures – dances for ritual, entertainment or special circumstances – are depicted in Zimbabwe’s rock art. But ritual is a central theme.

This points to the need to refine our classification of rock art scenes. We’ve been using features like the body posture of depicted figures to classify a scene as a dance. But ritual dances often involve going into a trance state – and this alters a person’s ability to control their body, move in synchrony with other people and follow “rules” of a dance. Therefore, it may be necessary to reconsider whether some rock art scenes in Zimbabwe, and in the whole of southern Africa, depict dances or not.

Here we will discuss some examples of the rock art in Zimbabwe and explain how we categorised them.

Analytical method

We reviewed published works by archaeology researchers such as the late Peter Garlake and university professor Ancila Nhamo. We also used online resources, including the British Museum online collection by rock art photographer and author David Coulson, which features rock art from Zimbabwe and other southern African countries.

Our inquiry aimed to determine whether all dances that have been recognised ethnographically, in living people, in Zimbabwe as well as in other countries of southern Africa, are also represented in Zimbabwe’s rock art.

We analysed the scenes by applying six attributes that have proved useful in studies in other parts of the world, such as the Middle East and the western Mediterranean. The attributes are divided into those related to the dancers themselves and those related to the type of dance. They are:

• dancers’ body posture (including bent figures, outstretched arms and flexed legs)

• items they hold, such as sticks, rattles, or headgear

• interaction between dancers

• evidence of synchrony

• direction of movement

• gender of the figures represented.

Dance scenes in Zimbabwe rock art

Using these attributes, we can say that a scene such as this one found at Lake Chivero is a dance because it has several men all wearing aprons, displaying the same body posture, and positioned in synchrony with outstretched arms.

Yet, in other scenes we encountered unexpected problems with the second group of attributes (type of dance). Those were designed to analyse dance scenes in other parts of the world with different belief systems. But they are not always valid when dancers engage in trance dances.

One example of this type of scene that does not follow the norm is found at a site called Chivhu. A series of therianthropes (figures with both human and animal features) were painted associated with a large snake bearing two animal heads. In the scene we analysed there, the interaction between dancers is irregular, their movements are not synchronised, and the direction of the dance is not homogeneous, as would be expected in a regular dance. But regular interaction, synchronisation and uniform direction are simply not possible when dancers are in an altered state of consciousness. So, this scene might not look like a dance but it probably is one, based on what we know from studies of living people in cultures associated with the makers of the rock art.

Other dances recognised ethnographically as being of ritual character are initiation dances. An example of a dancing scene which may indicate a boys’ initiation dance can be found at a rocky outcrop in Glen Norah, Harare. American anthropologist Lorna Marshall, who undertook fieldwork among the !Kung people of the Kalahari Desert in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s, described how the !Kung boys from Nyae Nyae in Namibia in the 1950s sometimes bent their upper bodies into an almost right-angle posture while dancing. The dancers in the painted scene are accompanied by other men who are not participating in the dance. These kinds of initiation dances are not documented or practised in Zimbabwe, however. So although the painted scene looks like an initiation dance, it probably isn’t one.

Rock art may also depict eland dances, the girls’ initiation dance. For example, dancing scenes depicting only women that may be interpreted as eland dances are found in Chipinge and Mudadi in Zimbabwe’s Chivi district.

The Makonde dance from Mashonaland West, which features more than 30 performers, is not easy to interpret. It is not clear whether this represents a large dance scene or if the dancers can be divided into different groups. Some individuals are clapping, while others are dancing, which may indicate the presence of trance dancers (group labelled b). Additionally, there are female dancers with tufts on their legs and wearing back aprons (group labelled a). These could be dancing for entertainment, because in reality for an eland dance (a ritual) they would probably remove the aprons.

Categorising certain dances can be challenging, and some may have been performed purely for entertainment purposes. For example, there is a dancing scene at Charewa that depicts women, men, and possibly children participating. We propose that this could represent an entertainment dance or a dance in some particular circumstance where everyone joined in.

Other elements emerging from the analysis of the dance scenes found in Zimbabwean rock art include the presence of musical instruments and a variety of artefacts associated with the dancers. Hand rattles frequently appear in dancing scenes and have been recognised as the most depicted musical instruments in Zimbabwean rock art, as we’ve discussed in an article about musical instrument representations.

Dancers are sometimes depicted with dancing sticks or other accessories, not only rattles. For instance, some figures appear to be holding round discs that are difficult to identify at Chikupu.

Moreover, dancers may be adorned with beads, as observed at Charewa Panel 2, and often wear distinctive headgear, typically resembling antennae, which may symbolise feathers as described in ethnographic accounts.

It’s important to accurately identify and describe these scenes. Our analysis highlights the valuable information that can be gleaned from close examination of the depictions, as well as from the use of ethnohistorical sources related to dance.

Margarita Díaz-Andreu received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme for the ERC Artsoundscapes project (Grant Agreement No. 787842) . Margarita Díaz-Andreu is affiliated with ICREA and the University of Barcelona.

Joshua Kumbani 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.

South Africa’s first attempt to establish a binding artificial intelligence (AI) policy framework came to an abrupt halt just 16 days after it was officially gazetted.

On 10 April, the Department of Communications and Digital Technologies published the Draft South Africa National Artificial Intelligence Policy for public comment.

Journalists checked the references and found that they contained fabrications. These fell into two categories: academic journals that do not exist; and real journals in which the referenced research articles were never published.

Read more: AI policies in Africa: lessons from Ghana and Rwanda

Such fabrications are typical of a known generative AI problem called hallucination.

Withdrawing the draft, the communications minister was frank: the problem was not a technical glitch but a failure of oversight. Generative AI was used without proper human verification of the sources, compromising the credibility and integrity of the document.

Much of the public commentary has treated this as an embarrassment: the policy meant to govern AI was itself undermined by AI.

As a senior lecturer in cyber law, including the regulation of AI, I argue that framing this episode as an embarrassment obscures what needs to be examined. It misses the main point of what is at stake.

The hallucinated citations reveal two specific failures. Epistemic integrity (the assurance that research has been conducted through reliable, ethical and repeatable methods that any reader could verify) was absent. So was information integrity (the public’s reasonable expectation that information from an authoritative source can be trusted).

The policy was not equipped to govern either of these failures, and has now itself demonstrated both. This matters because generative AI can be harmful, and its harms are not limited to fake references, but also include fake images, fake videos, fake voices, and the weaponisation of people’s likenesses through deepfakes.

What is AI hallucination?

Hallucinations are a known problem of generative AI, the category of AI that produces text and images (audio and visual media) through tools like ChatGPT and Grok.

Read more: What are AI hallucinations? Why AIs sometimes make things up

Hallucinations happen when an AI system, in trying to fulfil a task, produces content that sounds convincing but is inaccurate or entirely fabricated. They are a growing problem:

• In universities, academics have been found listing fake AI-generated sources.

• In courts in various countries, and in South Africa, lawyers have submitted non-existent sources in their pleadings. There are many examples of such cases.

• In documents, such as the retracted AI policy. The hallucination did not just invent sources. It manufactured seemingly credible African scholarly authority. Highly respected authors’ names were cast in a false light. It also attributed false evidence to real institutions that are recognised as authoritative publishers of academic papers.

What now?

South Africa’s policy was based on responsible AI governance. Responsible AI needs accountability, transparency, and explainability. These are non-negotiable conditions, echoed by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development principles and the Smart Africa AI Blueprint that the policy draws on.

Read more: AI in Africa: 5 issues that must be tackled for digital equality

These governance principles are not just for AI system designers. They bind any institution that uses AI, including use in the production of public documents. The policy failed all three in its own production. The department has some serious questions to answer on all these fronts.

1. Accountability

This is an opportunity for the department to gain the trust of South Africans and demonstrate resilient and responsible governance in action.

Accountability calls for a comprehensive explanation of the extent to which the non-existent sources have affected the policy. The department should not proceed to revision without meeting the standards that the revised policy will propose for others.

2. Transparency

Transparency demands disclosure. Which sections of the policy are materially affected by the fake sources? Which tool was used? By whom? At which stage of drafting or compiling public submissions did they enter the policy? Was AI used to generate the literature review, the founding values, the synthesis of public comments, or all the above?

The department has not told us.

3. Explainability

Explainability demands that we can trace reasoning. The hallucinated sources appear in the reference list, but without a full disclosure from the department, the public cannot know which parts of the policy they were used to support, or how deeply they shaped its foundational priorities and values.

The public comment sections, by contrast, have a verifiable record of where the information came from.

Read more: One in three South Africans have never heard of AI – what this means for policy

Explainability requires that we can trace what shaped the normative framework of the policy. Without a section-by-section review that informs the public which parts of the policy were affected and to what extent, by the policy’s own standards, the department will have failed both the transparency and explainability requirements.

What needs to change

The retracted policy rightly recognised AI as a tool for inclusive economic growth, capacity development and human rights protection. It also acknowledged that it is a “point of departure” and that sector-specific approaches will be needed.

What must change is how generative AI is treated, both in the production of policy documents and in the mandates the policy creates for synthetic media, such as deepfakes.

These are not problems to be sorted out later at sector level. They are public trust cross-cutting challenges that require their own regulatory logic and governance mechanisms built on cross-sectoral cooperation. The revised policy must incorporate them as a structural pillar, not as a subcategory of innovation governance, but as a problem the state is already living with.

Read more: Deepfakes and South African law: remedies on paper, gaps in practice

This means designating a specific mandate holder for synthetic media and information integrity. Existing regulatory bodies already hold overlapping jurisdiction over digital content, identity harms, and information distribution.

What is missing is an agreed framework on definitions, remedies, and the steps to be taken when generative AI is used to spread misinformation and disinformation through fake sources and synthetic media.

Mandating that is not a question of creating new institutions. It is a question of political will and policy design.

Acknowledgements: After drafting this article myself, I used Claude to improve the readability of the piece. I personally drafted, verified and reviewed all the substance and sources referenced in it. I take full responsibility for the contents of this article.

Nomalanga Mashinini receives funding from the National Research Foundation Thuthuka Grant. She is also a member of the Thematic Working Groups on AI Talent and Skills and AI Data Ecosystems, under the Africa AI Council, established by Smart Africa.

Mali has been in a state of political turmoil since 2012. That year saw a military coup as well as armed groups taking over northern regions of the west African country. In the intervening years, efforts at establishing transitional governments have failed, culminating in the military junta dissolving and banning all political parties in May 2025.

In addition, the country has seen waves of military interventions by outside players like France, the US and most recently Russia. All have invested heavily in trying to contain the extremist threat in Mali.

But groups linked to al-Qaeda and the Islamic State have continued to expand their influence. And in late April 2026 the military government found itself having to fend off coordinated attacks from separatists and jihadists across the country. The defence minister, General Sadio Camara, was killed.

Foreign interventions over the past decade have often misunderstood what was happening on the ground. Extremist groups have capitalised on issues such as land disputes, corruption, and resource competition to gain legitimacy, often aligning with the community’s tensions. The weakness of state institutions and security forces has allowed groups such as Jamaat Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) and the Islamic State in the Greater Sahara (ISGS) to consolidate power.

These groups have adapted by forming alliances and tailoring their narratives to local grievances, prioritising immediate issues over ideological objectives.

We are political scientists who have researched the security situation in Mali and the Sahel. Our recently published paper showed that non-state armed groups in the Sahel, particularly in Mali, have emerged as key power brokers, shaping local governance by filling gaps left by weak state institutions.

While external actors such as France, the US and Russia have prioritised counter-terrorism and state-building, they often overlook the governance functions of non-state armed groups. These groups often provide essential services and gain local legitimacy.

Recognising the role of armed groups as local power holders does not mean accepting or legitimising their actions. However, ignoring this reality has led to policies that miss the mark. When interventions focus only on military solutions, they risk misunderstanding why people interact with these groups in the first place.

Our findings challenge conventional interventions that focus solely on defeating non-state armed groups or reinstating centralised state control. We argue that security solutions alone are insufficient. We advocate for a more nuanced approach that integrates the potential for non-state armed groups when it comes to governance, legitimacy and local agency. Non-state armed groups have provided governance over territories in countries like Colombia, Syria and South Sudan, among others.

Armed groups as de facto authorities

Armed groups in Mali are not just fighting forces. In many parts of the country, they play a more complex role. It is difficult to estimate the exact number of groups operating within Mali. The largest and best known, Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wa al-Muslimeen, is a coalition of five organisations and claims to have over 10,000 fighters in the country.

In central and northern Mali, bordering Algeria, the state is often distant, absent or mistrusted. Armed groups step into this vacuum. They settle disputes, enforce rules, collect taxes, and sometimes provide a basic sense of order.

For communities living with daily insecurity, these functions are not abstract; they shape everyday life.

Our study established that this does not necessarily mean the population agrees with these groups or supports their ideology. Many do not. However, when there are few alternatives, people adapt. They follow the rules because they need to survive, not because they believe in them.

This distinction is important. This helps explain why these groups are so difficult to dislodge. Their strength does not come only from weapons but also from how deeply they are embedded in local realities.

Why military strategies fall short

International efforts have largely focused on fighting these groups and rebuilding the authority of the Malian state. Although well intentioned, these kinds of interventions often overlook something essential: what happens to the spaces these groups leave behind?

An example is France’s 2013 intervention. The French army helped the Malian army to regain control of the northern part of the country from advancing Islamists during Operation Serval. The aim was to stop extremist forces from advancing to Bamako. This did not end the conflict. Many fighters moved to rural areas where the state had little presence and built ties with local communities.

In central Mali, where cattle farming is a key source of income, this dynamic contributed to the spread of violence between Fulani and Dogon communities, reinforcing grievances exploited by extremist groups.

Simultaneously, attempts to strengthen state institutions have struggled. In some places, security forces are seen as ineffective and even abusive.

Faced with this reality, people often turn to whoever can offer some level of predictability and protection, even if that actor is an armed group.

External involvement has also become increasingly fragmented. France’s withdrawal, rising anti-western sentiment, and the arrival of Russian-linked forces have created a crowded and sometimes conflicting intervention landscape.

Different actors bring different agendas, and their presence does not always translate into greater security. In some cases, it can even worsen things by reinforcing tensions or weakening trust in already fragile institutions.

Caught in the middle, civilians make difficult choices daily. Their decisions are rarely ideological but rather about survival.

Rethinking the response

We conclude from our findings that a more grounded approach would begin by listening to local realities. It would address the gaps that allow armed groups to take root. This means improving access to justice and security, supporting local institutions, and taking grievances seriously. It also means recognising that legitimacy is built from the ground up, not imposed from above.

Mali’s experience shows that there are clear limits to what military force can achieve on its own. As long as interventions overlook the everyday realities of governance and survival, they are unlikely to bring about lasting change. Until that shift happens, armed groups will remain hard to dislodge, not only because they can fight but also because, in many places, they have become part of how life is organised.

Norman Sempijja is affiliated with Mohammed VI polytechnic University and based at the Faculty of Governance Economics and Social Sciences.

Mouhammed Ndiaye 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.

In the last of our series on environmental issues and the Wales election campaign, we look particularly at countryside policies of two parties that are new contenders for seats in the Senedd.

The elections to Wales’s parliament, the Senedd, on May 7 are set to be the most unpredictable since the creation of the devolved government in 1999. With current polling indicating close contests in many constituencies, rural voters could make a critical difference to the final result.

Issues such as farming support, windfarms, pylons and changes to rural healthcare services are contentious, but they form part of a larger question about the future of rural Wales. Interestingly, the two parties projected to win seats in the Senedd through election for the first time – Reform UK and the Green party (Reform UK has two seats in the outgoing Senedd through defections) – represent contrasting visions of the Welsh countryside.

Reform’s rural vision

Reform UK has directly targeted discontented rural voters. With a cover image showing daffodil-covered green hills, Reform’s manifesto says it will “back Welsh farmers”. It promises “agriculture will be treated as a strategic national asset”.

Specific policies include: reforming the new post-Brexit Sustainable Farming Scheme to emphasise food production, funding for young farmers’ clubs, scrapping net zero targets and banning new onshore wind farms and solar arrays, reducing environmental regulations and protecting lawful game bird release. It also plans to “streamline planning regulations” and cut back on “red tape”.

Read more: Why windfarms and electricity pylons have become a major issue in the Welsh election

Reform is competing with the Conservatives for the voters that this version of rural Wales appeals to. Although the Conservative manifesto is less dramatic in tone, especially on net zero, it also plans to scrap the Sustainable Farming Scheme and introduce a moratorium on industrial scale wind and solar power stations.

A Green vision

The strongest prospects for the Green party are in urban constituencies. However, their platform contains policies that would have significant implications for rural Wales. They include a Land Reform Act, making it easier for communities to buy land, a “Welsh Right to Roam” offering “responsible access to the countryside”, a national rewilding strategy and commitments to a Sustainable Farming Scheme that rewards “nature-friendly farming” and renewable energy targets.

These represent a very different vision for the Welsh countryside to Reform. But they also reflect an alternative, almost counter culture, strand of Welsh rural society that has welcomed people who moved to rural areas in search of a new way of life since the 1960s and pioneered organic farming and low impact development.

There are currently Green councillors in rural Monmouthshire and Powys. Some projections suggest the party could win two or three Senedd seats in significantly rural constituencies.

If the Greens achieve more than 10% of the vote nationally, they are likely to do so by taking votes from Plaid Cymru, including in rural areas.

Plaid Cymru needs both rural and urban seats to become the biggest party. Its manifesto contains a significant section on rural policies, but with less prominence than Reform UK’s. Plaid’s rural policies broadly share the pro-environmental approach of the Greens, but the influence of conservative rural voters in its heartlands is evident in careful positioning on farming, windfarms and pylons, as well as the absence of mentions of rewilding.

On rural and environmental issues the Greens are more aligned with Labour, while Plaid Cymru are closer to the Liberal Democrats.

Politics in rural Wales

Wales is sometimes described as predominantly rural, but while 80% of the land is countryside, most people live in the towns and cities. Nevertheless, around a third of Wales’s population lives close to the countryside, in largely rural local authorities.

Over the last 25 years rural Wales has experienced substantial social and economic restructuring, including declining work in farming and manufacturing, along with many young people leaving to find jobs. These areas face challenges from low wages, sparse infrastructure, precarious public services and competing visions for land use.

Three issues in particular have attracted attention. First, plans for the Sustainable Farming Scheme (the Welsh government plans for agriculture subsidies to replace EU funding) provoked protests by Welsh farmers in 2024, especially over proposed requirements for 10% of farmland to be planted with trees. The later was subsequently withdrawn.

Second, there’s been opposition to new windfarm developments and pylon lines. Rewilding projects have also been controversial. Third, downgrading of services at hospitals serving rural areas and closure of village schools, have sparked local campaigns.

Public anger over these and other issues has often been directed at Welsh Labour, the governing party in Wales since 1999, with other parties trying to cast it as urban focused.

Labour did win rural constituencies in the 2024 UK general election, and current First Minister Eluned Morgan has a long-standing interest in rural affairs, outlining a plan for rural Wales in 2017. The Labour manifesto promises to “increase rural Wales’ skills and productivity” and to promote “food, farming and forestry”.

The traditional stronghold of nationalist Plaid Cymru is in the rural north and west Wales. While the Conservatives’ strongest support is in rural districts close to the English border and in parts of south Wales. The most enduring areas of support for the Welsh Liberal Democrats are in rural mid Wales.

Results to watch for

A few key results will provide an indication of the political temperature in rural Wales:

• Whether Plaid Cymru or Reform UK get most votes in Brycheiniog Tawe Nedd, Gwynedd Maldwyn and Sir Gaerfyrddin

• Whether the Greens win a seat in Ceredigion Penfro, Gwynedd Maldwyn, or Sir Fynwy Torfaen

• Whether the Conservatives get seats in Bangor Conwy Môn, Brycheiniog Tawe Nedd and Ceredigion Penfro, and the Liberal Democrats retain their seat in Brychceiniog Tawe

• Whether Labour’s Eluned Morgan can hold on to her seat in Ceredigion Penfro.

If, as seems likely, no party has a majority, rural issues will play an important role in coalition discussions. A shared rural vision could assist agreement between Reform UK and the Conservatives; while negotiations between Plaid Cymru, Labour or the Greens will need to resolve differences in rural and environmental policies. This may have profound consequences for the future of rural Wales.

Michael Woods receives funding from UKRI. He is a member of the Liberal Democrats.

The future of Shakespeare may well lie beyond the English language. That was the striking message I took away from a talk by translation studies scholar Professor Susan Bassnett at the British Shakespeare Conference in Hull in 2016.

Her point was simple but powerful: Shakespeare’s works are likely to survive and flourish not only in English, but through translation, adaptation and reinvention across the world. Inspired by this, I asked six of my colleagues around the globe to share some Shakespeare adaptations in other languages that you might enjoy.

1. Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela (2013)

Hindi, based on Romeo and Juliet

Ram‑Leela is as heady a mix as Shakespeare’s own play, in equal parts comic and tragic, tender and flamboyant. Director Sanjay Leela Bhansali relocates the action of Verona to an Indian town riven by two criminal clans: Rajadis and Sanedas. Violence saturates daily life. Bullets spill from spice jars and a Rajadi child urinating on Saneda territory ignites a vicious brawl.

In such a world, can love bring peace? The leads’ scorching chemistry makes us hope. My students practically swooned during a screening. At the end, soulful lyrics such as “Tera naam ishq / Mera naam ishq” (“Your name is love / My name is love”) frame the film’s Romeo and Juliet – Ram and Leela – through love rather than their hate-fuelled lineage.

The film also gives depth to its Lady Capulet and nurse figures, while Leela is sensual, witty and brave. Juliet exactly as Shakespeare imagined her.

Varsha Panjwani teaches at New York University, London, and is the creator and host of the podcast Women and Shakespeare.

2. Otel·lo (2012)

Catalan, based on Othello

An award-winning work of Catalan cinema, Otel·lo transposes Shakespeare’s play to a contemporary film studio. Such a meta-narrative approach feels in line with the play’s focus on the enticing power of storytelling – famously embodied in the character of Iago as its arch-villain.

Blending documentary, mockumentary and thriller aesthetics, the film turns Iago into an unscrupulous filmmaker willing to cross every boundary in the name of art. With his role played by the actual director of the film (Hammudi Al-Rahmoun Font), the adaptation skilfully integrates form and content. We are, like Othello, manipulated into thinking that the fiction he has created is reality.

The film asks: To what extent are the images we absorb real? What purpose do they serve? And how do they affect our views on gendered and racialised minorities?

Inma Sánchez García is a lecturer in European languages and culture at the University of Edinburgh.

3. Throne of Blood (1957)

Japanese, based on Macbeth

The genius of Throne of Blood is that despite being set in 16th century Japan and changing almost everything about the original, it is immediately recognisable as the Scottish play. It’s considered by many to be the greatest Shakespeare film ever made.

The mist-swirled locations, the screeching flute and ominous drumbeats, the spooky old lady in the forest, and above all the samurai, barking orders and getting lost on their horses, can mean only that “Macbeth doth come”. The final scene when Washizu’s (Macbeth’s) soldiers turn on him with a hail of arrows may even represent an improvement on Shakespeare. Meanwhile his poker-faced lady clearly wears the kimono-trousers in their marriage.

Daniel Gallimore is a professor of literature and linguistics at Kwansei Gakuin University

4. Bhrantibilas (1963)

Bengali, based on Comedy of Errors

If you asked me to pick a favourite Shakespeare film, I’d probably surprise people by saying Bhrantibilas. It’s one of the earliest filmed Shakespeare adaptations in Indian cinema. It was also the inspiration for the globally popular film Angoor (1982).

What I love about it is how confidently it relocates Shakespeare’s farce into a Bengali urban world without ever feeling like a dutiful “literary” exercise. A huge part of its lasting appeal is Bengali superstar Uttam Kumar. It’s pure pleasure watching him play the twin roles – Antipholus of Syracuse and Antipholus of Ephesus, identical twins separated at birth, whose accidental reunion causes chaos. His comic timing is razor-sharp, and there’s also an ease and charm that makes the confusion feel human, never mechanical.

Decades on, audiences still return to Bhrantibilas, often knowing every gag by heart, which says a lot about its cultural afterlife. For me, it’s a perfect example of how Shakespeare survives not through reverence but through reinvention – absorbed into popular cinema and kept alive by star power, humour and sheer re-watchability.

Koel Chatterjee is a lecturer in English at Regent College, and the creator and host of The Shakespop Podcast and The Shakesfic Podcast.

5. Rahm (2016)

Urdu, based on Measure for Measure

Measure for Measure has long been regarded as a “problem play”. Disfavoured among Shakespeare’s works for centuries, it hit stages again in the 20th-century and reached new audiences through its resonances with the #MeToo movement.

A local leader tells a devout woman that if she loses her virginity to him, he will spare her imprisoned brother’s life. This film shifts the action from early modern, Catholic Vienna to an ambiguous period in Islamic Lahore. Moderate and extremist versions of faith contend, against the backdrop of the city. This film’s billing as a thriller, and status as the only big screen version of the play, help raise it from obscurity.

Sarah Olive is a senior lecturer in English literature at Aston University.

6. To The Marriage of True Minds (2010)

Arabic, based on Sonnet 116

This freely available short film expands on one of Shakespeare’s shortest forms: the sonnet. It riffs on Sonnet 116, heard at countless weddings: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds … admit impediments.” Here, its Arabic translation provides both the back story to – and future hope for – an asylum-seeking couple in a same-sex relationship, Falah (Amir Boutrous) and Hayder (Waleed Elgadi).

The story of their journey by sea, and shots of a tossed-about paper boat reference the poem’s sea-voyage imagery. Over 12 tense minutes, we hold our breath to see whether the Iraqi poet and his childhood beloved will overcome the impediments of religious conservatism, on one shore, and an apparently hostile asylum system on the other.

Sarah Olive is a senior lecturer in English literature at Aston University.

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something from bookshop.org The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Sarah Olive 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.